#once again reminded of Isaacs saying to trust him only as much or as far as you could throw him | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

prettiestvulcan · 4 years ago

Text

pairing: enji todoroki x oc

rating: explicit

wc:

summary: a summer getaway gets heated, in more ways than one.

warnings: none

a/n: part of @delirieum's hot milf summer collab!

She’s always had a dislike for summer. The sticky, humid heat. The influx of tourists, which meant more crime. The increase in her number of patrols. Summer meant more work in near unbearable conditions.

There is one plus to summer, though. It means the kids are out of school, so she gets to spend more time with them. Sure, during the day she’s always on patrol, but then she gets to pick them up from her parents’ house and take them to pick out dinner. They don’t have to be in bed for school, so she can introduce them to her favorite childhood movies.

This summer is different, though. Her parents are taking their grandkids on a vacation and she can’t go with them. Work is having their own week-long mandatory ‘vacation’, which involves flying out to an island for team-building exercises disguised as fun. It’s the first time the agency has done something like this, but her guess as to why is as good as anyone else’s.

“Mommy, do you have to go?” Her youngest asks. She kneels before him, giving him a soft smile.

“I’m sorry, sweetie, but mommy has to go because of work.” He pouts, crossing his arms with a frown.

“I don’t want you to go.” Isaac looks close to tears. “I don’t want to go with Nanny and Pappy. I want to go with Mommy.”

“Isaac,” she brushes tears from his cheeks with a thumb. “Don’t cry, sweetheart. Mommy will be back. And I’ll call every night before bedtime.”

“Promise?” He sniffles. She nods, holding out her pinky. He grins, wrapping his much smaller pinky around hers.

“I pinky-promise,” she answers. His tears have started to dry up.

“Okay,” he finally relents. “I’ll go with Nanny and Pappy.”

“That’s my boy,” she ruffles his hair, the curls catching occasionally. He doesn’t seem to notice.

He runs off towards the front door, giggling the whole way. She stands, watching him go with a smile. He’s always been a cheerful kid, willing to do as she asks. She’s grateful for it. However, her eldest isn’t as agreeable. Perhaps being close to ten, she’s just going through a face. She was a fussy baby, though, so something tells her she just takes too much after her father.

“Why do I have to go?” Hazel starts. “I’m old enough to make my own decisions.”

“Hazel,” she reproaches. “I don’t have time to find you a babysitter. Nanny and Pappy already agreed to take you somewhere fun.”

“Ugh,” she groans. “Whatever, mom.” Hazel storms off without another word. She frowns, watching her go. If only there was some way she could make both of them happy. She hadn’t lied, though; the trip for work was very sudden and she didn’t have time to look for a babysitter. It was only through luck that her parents had agreed to take them on vacation with them this year. Perhaps because they were both old enough not to need as much supervision and constant care.

With a sigh, she grabs her suitcase once more and climbs into the taxi. She really wishes she could have given Hazel a goodbye hug, but she knows her daughter well enough to know that wouldn’t have gone down easily. There would have been a lot of yelling and pushing, possibly some kicking. She really hopes Hazel doesn’t regret not saying goodbye.

The taxi drops her off outside the entrance of the airport. She takes her suitcase from the trunk before heading inside. The layout is huge, but everything is clearly marked and mapped. She has no issues finding the check-in for the airline. Finding the gate is even easier, since each gate is in a specific order. She sits down to wait for their boarding time, taking her phone out to make sure there are no calls or texts from her parents. Thankfully, there are none so everything must be alright.

She decides to look around the area from her seat, spotting several familiar faces in the seats around her. They all seem absorbed in their own activities, so she leaves them be. She was never really familiar with any of the other sidekicks, anyway. Being a single parent meant she didn’t have much time for get-togethers, so she was always turning down invites after patrols. They’re always friendly towards her, however, so she thinks they’re all on good terms. They probably understand her hesitance to leave her kids at home with the babysitter longer than needed.

After a while, it’s time to board the plane. It’s her first time flying since before Isaac was born, but she still remembers the drill. Show your boarding pass, get it scanned, find your seat. It’s very straightforward. Everything about the trip so far has been, which is something she’s grateful for. She’s not a huge fan of surprises. Never has been. Although she supposes Isaac and Hazel are two surprises she absolutely couldn’t live without.

Soon, the pre-flight announcements are beginning. She’s surprised to see no one in the seat beside her. It’s nearly a full plane, though she’s not going to complain. It just means she has more room to stretch out. She listens to the pre-flight announcements, turning off her phone as instructed. She takes her in-flight bag off the floor, putting it in the empty seat beside her. She couldn’t quite reach the overhead bin and had been too embarrassed to ask for help.

The plane takes off, bringing with it a slew of emotions. She’s excited to be going somewhere, even if it’s for work, but she’s going to miss her kids. Not being able to see them for an entire week? It’s an entirely new experience for her. She’s been home with them basically since they were each born. She’s been there to kiss ouchies better, to read them stories before bed, tuck them in with a kiss on their foreheads. She’s been there to wipe their tears, to make them smile and laugh. Being away from them will be a new experience for all of them, but at least they won’t be completely alone. She trusts her parents to take care of them, just like they cared for her as a child.

She takes comfort in that thought, relaxing back against the seat. She hadn’t realized how tense she’d been the whole time, but once she relaxes the soreness of her muscles makes itself known. She rubs at her thigh, trying to soothe some of the pain. It works, to some degree. She’ll just have to remind herself to relax and take something for the pain once the plane lands.

She rests her head against the headrest, closing her eyes. Nothing wrong with a nap on the flight. Just as long as the turbulence of landing wakes her, she’ll be fine. She feels herself slipping into unconsciousness….

The island is beyond anything she could have imagined. It’s lush and tropical, palm trees dotted everywhere. The air smells like salt from the sea, but somehow still refreshing compared to city air. Even the hotel is magnificent. There’s an indoor spa! She’s never stayed anywhere with its own spa.

They arrive late the first day, so they’re told to find their rooms and get settled in. They’ll receive instructions the next day, according to Burnin who is giving the orders. She wonders if Endeavor will show or if this whole event is being organized by Burnin. She’s certainly capable of doing it.

She spends the first night unpacking and familiarizing herself with the hotel. There’s so many extra amenities and she hopes she has time to try out some of them. She takes photos of the view from her hotel window, sending it to her parents so they can show Isaac and Hazel. When she’s finished exploring, she retires to her room and makes the promised call.

Everyone is doing great, of course. They also made it to their hotel, which Isaac excitedly informs her has an indoor pool. Hazel is much less talkative, but seems to be in high spirits even if she doesn’t outright say it. She’s glad they’re enjoying their trip so far and hopes they keep up the momentum. When they finish swapping stories, she wishes them goodnight and tells them she’ll talk more tomorrow.

The next day, they all have breakfast in the hotel’s café before convening outside. It’s more upscale dining than what she’d have expected. Once outside, Burnin gathers everyone close before speaking.

“Hello, everyone!” Her voice easily carries across the crowd. “I hope you’re ready for a fun week!”

There are cheers from the other sidekicks.

“Well, have I got a surprise for all of you.” She’s close enough to see Burnin grin. “There’s no agenda for this week, aside from getting out there and having fun together!”

No agenda? She’s a little surprised by that. She thought this was a mandatory team-building trip, not just a vacation. She feels conflicted. On one hand, she’s glad for the opportunity. On the other, she had fully expected the week to be planned out for her so now she’s at a loss.

What does one even do on vacation? It’s been eighteen years since she’s done anything by herself. Sure, she’s taken weekend trips with Hazel and Isaac but never alone. And never somewhere so opulent or tropical. She doesn’t know what to do with herself now.

“Now get out there and have fun!” She snaps back to reality at the sound of everyone’s cheers, before shuffling back inside the hotel. Whatever she wants to do, huh?

She changes into something more comfortable, having expected there to be training. Thankfully, she had thought ahead and packed extra clothes on the off-chance there was any free time. It looks like her foresight had come in handy, as she takes out her bathing suit and coverup. Nothing like a trip to the beach.

She’s surprised that there’s no rigorous training. Endeavor is known for running a tight ship, so this whole trip seems out of character. Then again, ever since his last major fight, something had changed. He’s still just as strict, but he seems almost approachable now. A little more lenient. She’s certainly not as terrified of being called to his office anymore.

She wonders if he’s come on this trip, as well, or if he’s staying back at the office. He could use the trip, she feels. He’s always working so hard. Besides, she swears she saw his youngest in the crowd. If his son is here, surely he would’ve come as well.

Someone clears their throat behind her and she startles, realizing she’s just been staring at the open elevator doors. She shakes her head, murmuring an apology, and enters the elevator. The figure behind her enters, as well, and as she turns her eyes go wide.

“Endeavor, sir,” she hurries to greets, giving a polite bow. “Thank you for this opportunity.”

He doesn’t say anything, just looks at her with a grimace. She wonders if she’s said something wrong before he grumbles something under his breath, inclining his head in acknowledgment. He doesn’t say anything else, but she’s shocked to see him. She wants to comment on it, but the elevator arrives at the ground floor before she can figure it out.

“Ah, Endeavor, sir,” she calls out without thinking.

“Please call me Enji.” She can’t help the eyebrow that raises. “We’re on vacation. I’m not your boss right now.”

“Of course, Enji, sir.” He doesn’t look pleased with the added ‘sir’ so she tries again. “Alright. Enji.” It feels awkward coming out of her mouth. He’s been her boss for the better part of a decade and never once called him by name.

He seems pleased by the amendment on her part, though it’s hard to tell with him. She shifts her weight from foot to foot, trying to figure out why she even called out to him. He waits, turquoise eyes trained on her.

“Would you like to come to the beach with me?” She almost smacks herself with how bold she’s being. Sure, he’s been nice to her over the past few months, but that doesn’t mean he wants to be friendly.

He looks just as surprised by the offer, one eyebrow raised. She purses her lips to keep from saying anything more, waiting on an answer. Her heart pounds in her chest. Finally, he speaks.

“You’re going to the beach?” She nods. “I’ll accompany you. I was headed there regardless.”

She takes in his appearance for the first time, noting the swim shorts. He’s wearing a white t-shirt, a towel slung over his shoulders. She nods to show she understands, eyes moving back up his hulking frame, to find his eyes also looking over her.

Had she just been caught checking out her boss?

Had she just caught her boss checking her out?

The thought brings warmth to her cheeks. She ducks her head down, though she’s sure he’s already seen her blush. She decides to take the lead, brushing past him towards the door. She can feel him follow, after a few tense seconds.

She feels a little silly. She’s too old to be checking out other men, let alone her boss. It doesn’t matter if he’s older; he has his own family. She knows he has at least three kids, though she’s never heard about their mother. He has to be married, though. There’s no way a man like him hasn’t been snatched up.

She tries to push those thoughts aside, instead focusing on walking down to the beach. It’s not far from the hotel; might as well consider it the backyard. The closer they get, the more of the ocean she can smell. She’s not sure it’s an entirely pleasant scent.

There isn’t much in the way of conversation. For her, it’s just too awkward to start one and he’s not exactly known for being chatty. She’s sure he doesn’t find it awkward at all, the silence. But she does.

As she scrambles to come up with something to say, they finally arrive at the beach. There’s a few others on the beach, rainbow color of towels spread along the sand. She tries to find a spot some distance from the main crowd, not wanting to interrupt or intrude.

She expects him to part once they reach the beach, but he keeps pace with her easily. She did invite him to come with, but she hadn’t actually expected him to follow through. Sure, they talk at work about work. But conversations about patrols are entirely different from conversations about life and the weather.

They lay their towels out, red and blue side by side. It’s a little closer than she’d been expecting, but still a respectable distance apart. She hesitates a brief moment before pulling her coverup off, folding it and setting it aside. She has nothing to be embarrassed about.

Hero work has been good to her. Even after two kids, her physique is still desirable. She’s not exactly slim, but she’s muscular enough to hide the chub from two kids. She has very few major scars, the most notable being the faded white scar on her right leg from a piece of metal out of a falling building. She’s lucky it didn’t take her entire leg.

“I’m going to swim,” she announces to her company. He inclines his head, again not saying anything. She leaves him where he’s reclining on his towel, heading down to the water.

She feels more comfortable in the water. It’s cool and refreshing, compared to the sticky heat on the beach. She takes her time in the water, swimming around and floating. She even rides a few waves to the shore before swimming back out. When she’s had enough, she returns to her towel.

Endeavor—Enji, she corrects herself. He’s still laid out on his towel, but his eyes open when he hears her approach. She flops down onto her towel, feeling energized after her swim. She turns her head to face Enji, having felt his eyes on her.

He’s wearing an inscrutable expression. He’s not exactly easy to read, but it looks as if he’s taking extra care not to express any emotion. She offers him a smile, not sure what to do or say. He doesn’t return it, but he does finally look away.

She peers up at the clear blue sky, wondering what kind of exchange that was. She rests her arms behind her head, closing her eyes. It’s a vacation. She’s going to get in as many naps as possible….

She wakes sometimes later, having been shaken awake. She blinks a few times to clear the sleep from her vision.

“The tide is coming in,” Enji tells her. She nods to show her understanding before sitting up. She stretches with a yawn. “Dinner?”

She’s not sure if it’s a question or a demand.

“Sure,” she agrees. “I could go for something to eat.” She stands, grabbing her towel. She shakes off as much sand as possible before slipping her coverup back on.

“We should change at the hotel,” he says.

“Good idea.” She looks down at herself. “A quick shower might be good, too.” She gives him a crooked smile. He nods and she swears she sees the ghost of a smile on his lips.

She feels significantly less uncomfortable on the walk back, perhaps because he’s actually not that scary. He’s just not very talkative. And if she doesn’t think about how he’s her boss, it’s almost like hanging out with a friend. A very new friend. Okay, maybe it’s still a little awkward.

Dinner is a quick and quiet affair. He doesn’t say much and she isn’t sure what to say. When they finish, they bid each other a good night and go their separate ways. She takes the time to call her parents so she can speak with Isaac and Hazel. They tell her all about their trip so far and she shares hers.

“You spoke with Mr. Endeavor?” Isaac seems in awe.

“Yeah, sweetie. I spoke with Mr. Endeavor.”

“Can you get his autograph for me?” She can hear the excitement in his voice.

“His autograph?” She repeats.

“Yes!” Isaac is definitely bouncing on the other end. “I saw him on the TV! He’s my new favorite Hero!” She chuckles.

“Sure thing, sweetie. I’ll get his autograph for you.” It shouldn’t be too difficult. He is her boss and she’s sure he’s used to being asked for it.

“You’re the best, Mommy!” She smiles at that.

“Love you, too, sweetie.”

“Okay, I’m gonna give the phone to Hazel now.” There’s a shuffling noise before she hears Hazel’s voice.

“How are things going, Mom?”

“They’re going well,” she answers. “How are you doing?”

“It’s okay.” She hears Hazel shrug. “Nanny took me to the museum, so I guess it’s alright.”

“The museum?” She prompts. “Which one?”

“The Hero Museum,” there’s a smile in her voice. “It was pretty cool.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.” She really is. Hazel is a difficult child sometimes, but her interests aren’t outside the realm of any other ten-year-old. “I love you, sweetheart.”

“Love you too, Mom,” Hazel huffs. “I’m giving you back to Nanny now.” More noise as the phone is swapped to another.

She talks to her mom for a few more minutes, just to be sure the kids are behaving. Her mom assures her that everything is fine and to enjoy her own vacation.

The next day is spent much the same: at the beach with her boss. Enji. She keeps having to remind herself. She does manage to get his autograph, explaining it’s for her youngest. He asks about him, and she’s more than happy to talk about her kids.

He speaks about his own children, much older than her own, but there’s pride in his voice as he speaks about them. She can’t help but smile, her laughter coming freely when he tells embarrassing stories about them. It feels like she’s getting to know him and she can’t help but like what she’s seeing.

It’s hard not to find him physically attractive, but she’s old enough to not be distracted by a pretty body. She’s worked for his agency for nearly ten years; she’s long gotten used to the way he looks. But something about their conversations has her reassessing him.

The third day on the island, something feels different between them. He feels warmer, somehow. It isn’t exactly anything particular he does. It’s in the way they lean towards each other when they speak, the way they keep bumping into each other, the way they keep finding ways to spend time together. It’s a combination of all these things that has her heart pounding when she sees him.

She decides to make a move. Either he ignores it or he reciprocates. Either way, there’s no harm done. They’re on vacation. Perhaps she’s feeling a little risky because of it. Away from work, away from her kids, she’s feeling a little more brave than usual.

It’s been years since she last was with anyone. After Isaac’s father left, she swore off dating and catching feelings in general. It was just too much of a hassle. Why now, after all these years, she isn’t sure. Something about it just feels different. Feels right.

They go out for dinner as usual, but she invites him to the hotel bar afterwards. She doesn’t fully expect him to agree, so when he does she’s feeling more confident. They sit next to each other at the near empty hotel bar, drinks in hand.

When she makes a joke, laughing at it while he gives a slight grin, she reaches out to put her hand on his arm. He looks surprised by it at first, eyes going slightly wider. She wonders for a brief moment if she’s overstepped, pulling her hand back, but he quickly grabs it before she can withdraw.

They stare at one another, neither saying anything. It’s like he’s waiting for a signal. She nods. He moves into action, pulling her up from her seat. He keeps their fingers entwined, tugging her along to the elevator.

It’s actually happening, she realizes, as she leads him to her hotel room. She didn’t think this would ever actually happen.

He presses her against the hotel door, mouth hot and heavy on hers. She grasps at his arms, his shirt, anything she can reach to keep herself afloat. She’s quickly giving in, sinking further into his desires. She doesn’t think she wants to fight them anymore.

His mouth moves down to her neck, biting and kissing. She can’t help the sounds spilling from her and just hopes no one in the rooms around can hear her. His hands—big, so big—tug at her dress until she’s slipping the straps from her shoulders and letting it fall to the ground.

His bright turquoise eyes stare at her, wearing nothing more than a pair of lacy underwear. She feels intimidated by that heavy gaze, feels the urge to cover herself.

“Don’t,” he growls as he grabs her hands, pulling them away. “Let me see you.”

She lets her hands fall to the side, trying not to feel so self-conscious. She tries not to think of all the stretch marks across her belly and thighs, on the tops of her breasts. She tries to remind herself that they wouldn’t be here if he didn’t see something desirable about her body.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, cupping a breast. It fits perfectly in his hand, his thumb rubbing circles against her nipple. She squirms, a moan slipping from her parted lips.

“You too,” she tosses back. “I want to see you, too.” He grins, something crooked and slightly menacing. But he pulls away from her, tugging off his shirt and shorts. She reaches for the last piece separating them from each other, pulling them down.

She can’t help but stare. She knew he was a large man, but it couldn’t have prepared her for how proportionate that made him. Long and thick, red at the head. She wraps her hand around him as best she can, giving a few short tugs, and hears him groan. Will it even fit?

She doesn’t have much more room for thought as he pulls her in for another kiss, tugging her towards the bed. She goes willingly, wanting nothing more than to feel him against her. He nibbles at her bottom lip and she licks at his; soon their tongues tangle together. It’s been so long since she’s been with anyone like this. She hopes she can make it as good for him as it feels for her.

She lays on the bed, situating herself against the pillows. She beckons him, wanting to close the distance between them. He lays himself atop her, balanced by his hands on either side of her hips. He kisses her, sweeter this time. Not as desperate.

He kisses a path down her neck, across her shoulder, before dipping to take a nipple into his mouth. She shudders, pleasure welling within her. She runs a hand through his hair, red strands tickling between her fingers. He hums, licking and sucking her nipples.

“Enji,” she whines, pushing on his head. He chuckles, moving lower. He plants kisses across her stomach, still a little pudgy from her last pregnancy nearly eight years ago. She feels self-conscious about it, but the way he worships her body makes it a little better.

Finally, he’s exactly where she wants him. He wastes no time, diving right into his task. Her head knocks against the headboard, but the brief bloom of pain is nothing compared to the sensation between her legs.

He eats her out like a man starved. A little uncoordinated, but enthusiastic. His tongue circles her clit before flicking it, a single thick finger toying with her hole. She grips the blankets beneath them, unable to stop the noises slipping out of her kiss-swollen lips.

He slips a single finger in finally. It’s as thick as two of her own, but she knows she’s going to need the preparation if he’s going inside of her. She squirms, wanting to clamp her legs shut, but his shoulders keep her spread. She has no choice but to give in to the onslaught of sensations.

And give in she does. Head thrown back, mouth open and spilling profanity with his name mixed in. She couldn’t keep quiet if she wanted to and she can tell he definitely doesn’t want her to keep quiet. That single finger pumps in and out, stretching her, before he adds a second.

It’s almost too much, but she forces her body to relax. She’s soaking, giving him plenty to work with. His spit and her fluids ease the way for that second finger. She moans, pressing down against him. She feels his laughter, a gentle vibration through her cunt.

“Please,” she begs. “Want you inside.”

She’s ready for it. She can handle it. He pulls off, looking up at her, and she can’t help but flush at the sight of him. His chin is wet with her juices, his lips swollen. He shifts up, towering above her, and reaches down to line himself up.

Her mouth opens on a silent moan as he pushes in, stretching her beyond what she thought she was capable of. It’s painful at first, but as she has time to adjust it morphs into pleasure.

“Finally,” his voice rumbles through her. “Been wanting to do this.”

She whines, pushing her hips down and against him. She needs him to move already. It’s been ages since she last got fucked and she’s eager for it. She wants him to pound her into the mattress until she forgets who she is.

He delivers on those fantasies. He fucks into her roughly and with abandon, until she’s moaning his name and his name only. He shoves two of his fingers into her mouth and she sucks on them, drool seeping from the corner of her mouth. She doesn’t even care, too busy with the feel of him.

She doesn’t even care anymore when things changed between them. The only thing she cares about in that moment is coming around his cock. She can worry about feelings and emotions later. Right now, she’s only focused on reaching that high.

He reaches between them to roll his thumb against her clit and she can feel her eyes roll to the back of her head. Just a few circles and she’s cumming hard around his cock. He fucks her through it, fingers shoved deep in her mouth.

When she comes down, she takes a moment to appreciate the fucked out look on his face. The squinting of his eyes as he concentrates, the sweat beading on his temples, and the slack-jawed grunts and groans spilling from his lips.

“Inside,” she tells him. “Come inside me.” It’s a risky request, but she wants it. He does, too, judging by the way his thrusts speed up until he growls and spills inside of her.

When he pulls up, she feels his semen trickle down the inside of her thighs. He collapses onto the bed beside her, but searches for her hand among the sheets. He laces their fingers together and she smiles up at the ceiling.

The mood is ruined by the sound of her ringtone, however. She’s tempted not to answer, but it might be her parents calling about the kids. With a sigh and a silent promise to return, she gets out of the bed to answer.

“Mommy!” Her son, Isaac, shouts from the other side. “Are you coming home yet?”

“Not yet, sweetie,” she laughs. “In a few more days.”

“Awww,” he pouts. “You’re with Mr. Endeavor, right, mommy?”

“Yeah,” her voice is soft with affection as she gazes towards the bed, where Enji is lounging.

“Did you get his autograph for me?” She chuckles, but confirms she did.. “Yay! You’re the best, mommy!”

Isaac hands the phone off to her mother, who updates her on her eldest who refuses to come to the phone. It’s just like Hazel to be so stubborn. They’re doing fine, her mother assures her, and tells her to enjoy her only vacation in eight years. She just laughs, but promises to have as much fun as possible.

When she’s finished, she sets her phone back down on the desk and wanders back to the bed. Enji greets her with open arms and she rests her head on his chest. She listens to his heartbeat, letting it lull her to sleep.

Best getaway ever, is her final thought before she falls asleep.

#🖖🏻.writes #bnha #endeavor x oc

35 notes · View notes

shyrose57 · 4 years ago

Note

Brothers anon, sorry this keeps taking me a while to send, been very busy lately.

He only had a hunch at first he was his ancestor but later talking with Karl confirmed it. I have yet to decide, I think he probably will just so I can focus more on the current events and not his past.

He solely relys on his instincts when around other endermen. Although when around Ran he relys more on his social interaction skills. Though he still does certain things (like no eye contact, he leaves two blocks for Ran as a show of care and harmlessness, and sometimes warbling at Ran) due to his instincts. For other enderman it generally works out well, they mostly leave Ranboo alone anyway. But for Ran, he doesn't care much.

He is aware of Enderwalk Ranboo, mostly cause Phil warned him about it. His interactions with Enderwalk Ranboo are mostly Enderwalk Ranboo entering his room and trying to get close to Ran only for Ran to really full heartily growl and lash out at him when he gets close. Then Enderwalk Ranboo whines and leaves. Ranboo is hesitant but welcoming and open to Ran all the time, mostly because holy shit its another enderman hybrid, he thought he was the only one! And Ranboo can tell the two share a bit of similarities but mostly just thinks its because there both enderman hybrids.

Karl manages to convince the Artic Commute to leave the two alone and once they leave starts to question Ran. Only to pretty often get cut off by him asking a retaliation question. Ran is angry and desperately wants to know everything, Karl is scared and wants to know everything Ran knows. So they eventually come to a agreement where Karl asks a question, Ran answers then he asks a question and Karl answers that. After a while of this they come to an agreement to wait til Ran is fully healed to start to find a way to get him back. And in the meantime Karl'll explain his timetravel stuff and how Ran got here, hoping to get the Commute to agree to help them find a way to get Ran home.

A mix of annoyed, angry, relieved, and homesick (cause Tubbo reminds him of Jackie). Bit of both, he wants to know whats going on and where Ran came from, but is also just curious about the other hybrid. Tubbo heads to the Artic cause Ranboo hasn't been over at all in weeks, keeps saying he's to busy and how something interesting happened at the Artic. So Tubbo gets tired of it and decides to head over to find out whats keeping Ranboo from visiting. Ye medic Eret, I was originally thinking of medic Bad but I think I may try to include the Egg in this somewhere so he's not a option. They have a mutual relationship, no one there really has a reason to dislike him or to heavily like him, but they all get along whenever they meet. Eret learns by Phil contacting him for help, cause while Techno and Phil both know some health knowledge they don't know enough to properly treat Ran and make the call to call in Eret to help, both trusting them enough to keep this secret between all of them. Karl learns because of Eret actually, Eret comes to Karl for help to see if he has any enderman biology books and half handly mention how a enderman needs help, leading to Karl asking if its Ranboo or Edward, the no he gets in response alarms him enough to back Eret into a corner and force him to tell him who was there that needed help. All Eret said was a dark enderman with green eyes, which reminds Karl of Ran and gets him panicked enough to go see if its him. Tubbo knows cause he gets impatient of waiting for Ranboo to vist so he vists with no warning, leading to him meeting Ran while looking for Ranboo. Its kept hush hush cause their all unsure of how the rest of the SMP would react to having Ran there, especially when it's revealed he's from the future.

He did. He's not having fun. Karl used too but not anymore since he's time travled so much he's gotten used to it.

Partially, he understands all common though is only able to speak a medium amount, mostly due to his mouth and vocal cords are just unable to make some words or sounds needed to speak it. When that happens they basically play charades. He is still Technos roommate and is happily helping Ranboo in anyway he can.

------------------------

They steal anything they can get their grubby hands on. It actually goes pretty well as well shockingly. They mostly steal anything that looks expensive, though they manage to find a bunch of raw material like gold, iron, and even diamonds and steal all of that. And they get far enough no one can find them at first.

Thats exactly what happened, they make eye contact, hear a ruckus from nearby, make eye contact again, then fucking book it away from the sounds.

The most trouble the group makes is when Grievous makes fun of Porkums hat and gets punched for it.

Honestly with all the wars and battles that go on in the SMP he probably doesn't even bat a eye, its probably normal for him.

First thing Jackie does is complain about everyone being taller than him. I imagine Pogtopia being abandoned for years hasn't left it in a very stable state. So Jackie just steps in the wrong place and gets sent tumbling down, with rocks falling after trapping him.

All happened after they met Karl, but all happened at different times. So for example, the Wild West where thrown back 3 years after meeting Karl. While for the Haunted Mansion crew, they where thrown back months after meeting Karl. Even though they've all met him before their reactions are slightly different depending on how long ago they met Karl. Again for example Sherman and Jon Jon greeted Karl like a old friend and were happy to see him again. While all of the Haunted Mansion crew greeted Karl with questions as they more recently saw him so didn't feel the need to say hello. Cause Isaac and Karl are both in Kinoko Kingdom, where Karl holds all of his books about the time travel journeys, Karl is able to bring Isaac to the books and show him the City of Mizu Book, along with the others that explain who they people he was with where. Plus Isaac just doesnt really have a reason to not believe Karl as he has never lied to him or anything.

Im guessing you mean after the search party is formed, then its actually Ran found first since he's so close. Karl has to try to convince Ran to join them so they can count him as found and then take him to a holding type area. Ran refuses at first and Karl gives him a ultimatum that he either goes with them and gets to go home or stays here forever. He eventually agrees to come with if he gets to search with them, and reluctantly Karl agrees. Karl does what any of the Tales people joining them on their search, but much to his dismay more people insist on joining them. Ran also actually has information on the Bandits but refuses to give it until they find Jackie, cause he has a bad feeling that something happened to him. Ran actually has his left hand bandaged cause a massive piece of glass went through his hand. Jackie will eventually get his arm in a sling due to a broken bone. Ranbulter and James suffer hypothermia and have to be taken care of by Bad (the Egg doesn't exist in this au). Zack slips trying to get away from the Bandits and twists his ankle. Sherman breaks a finger trying to get out of the ravine. And Benjamin gets a slash on his leg after trying to run from Drowned and getting grazed by the trident. Both sides goals are getting back home. Though it's harder for the Tales cause not all of them get along. Karl gets worn down over time and slowly becomes more distressed and hopeless about getting them home. And all the stress builds up til he just snaps and sadly, quite a few people are in the line of fire when he snaps.

From Future To Past AU:

What led to him suspecting Ranboo to be his ancestor?

Do certain blocks have certain meanings, then? For Endermen?

Enderboo sounds very sad and put-out. How is he generally in this AU, seeing as Phil's aware of his existence at the least? How does Ran feel about his visits, and what are his thoughts on when it happens? Are Ender hybrids rare in general, if he's so surprised to see another one?

How'd Karl convince him? How do the two currently view each other, and what were their previous interactions beforehand, if Ran's reaction to him was so upset, and Karl was spooked? How do they get along after?

How does the rest of the Arctic react to Tubbo's presence, and how do our two Endermen feel about the possible tension-considering Ranboo's closeness to Tubbo, and Ran being reminded of Jackie. What are you thinking, egg-wise? Why does Eret go to Karl for books? Is his library well-known?

So Karl could possibly help Ran out with the effects? Or is at least aware of them? Or no?

Charades with them all sounds like so much fun, honestly. Can you imagine it?? And good! We need more Edward around!

---------------------

Tip Of The Iceberg AU:

Good for them. Do they end up having to return the stuff later, or no?How does it go when Las Nevadas realizes who the thieves are?

Common sense isn't dead! Huzzah! Absolutely hilarious image though.

Good for Porkums, honestly.

That is also true! And really funny image, once again. Eret's just like- 'ah, my window, mysteriously broken. Again. Absolutely shocking. Whatever will I do.' Completely deadpan while they pull out supplies from a chest kept nearby for this exact thing.

Everyone else: Where are we? Are we in danger? What happened?

Jackie: How dare you all be taller than me.

That's not good though. How do they and the others react to that?

Have certain events of the Tales been altered then? Seeing as some of them would be dead otherwise? Or were they revived when they were thrown back in time?

How do all the Smp members react to these random people who popped up seeming to know Karl? 'never lied to him' implies Issac knows Karl a bit more beyond just meeting him now, so what's with that? Is he just naturally trusting of him, or do they know each other?

How does that first interaction go, not just between Karl and Ran, but with the others with them? What information does he have on the bandits, and how did he get it? Similar past as before, seeing as Jackie remains so important to him?

Poor Tales. None of them are having fun, huh? Where are they all housed after this, and what are relationships like as of now? Do the groups stick together from era, or with whoever they just get along with best? How do they interact with certain Smp members?

And what happens both during and in the aftermath of Karl snapping?

#dream smp #dream smp au #tales from the smp #karl jacobs #ranboo #Tip Of The Iceberg AU #From Future To Past AU

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luca-moreno · 4 years ago

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“Does it ever stop hurting?” “No, you just make room for it.” (isaac)

post war terra nova --

Luca does his best to block out the soft, breathy moans drifting from down the hallway. He’s used to them by now, but he’s not used to the teeny tiny pang of envy that curls around his heart when he hears them. Not envy for either of them, but envy for just… someone.

He tugs on the soft folds of his quilt and gathers up his pillow to make his way through the quiet farmhouse. The front door is sealed only by a screen to keep the bugs out and the floorboards creak ever so slightly under his feet. He’s tread them so often now, he knows which boards are louder than others, where to place his feet to creep through the darkness. Outside he can see the moon reflecting across the surface of the lake and he shuffles barefoot through the damp grass towards the small dock that juts over the water. And overhead, the stars are bright and expansive in a cloudless sky, so vibrant in the deep night it feels like he can reach up and touch them. These are the times on Terra Nova he likes the best, when the sparkle presses down on him and he can lie back and imagine he’s still right up there amongst them.

He drops the quilt to the dock along with his pillow and lies back, hands behind his head as he tracks the movements of the distant solar systems. The night wasn’t quiet, too noisy with the native nocturnal flora and fauna echoing soft calls and rustling through the wildflowers. It had been one of the hardest things to get used to when Isaac had brought him here. That and the wide, open skies and the smells of so much earth. Everything was so fresh and wild here and Terra Nova was beautiful away from the ravaged cities. Isaac had been lucky that the farm had been saved from the reapers, but Luca was luckier that Isaac had insisted in sharing it with him.

Sometimes Luca had to sit back and wonder how it had all happened to him. A home and a family and a future far beyond what he could ever have dreamed for himself all wrapped up in one.

He’s still watching the stars wheel overhead when the vibration of footsteps echo through the dock. Luca doesn’t bother to sit up yet. He recognizes that solid tread, knows exactly who it is before he even lowers himself beside him.

“What are you doing out here all alone?” Isaac asks him quietly.

Luca pulls himself up so he can sit shoulder to shoulder with the other man. “How did you know?”

“I heard you creeping. It’s that fourth step, gives you away every time.”

“I’ll remember that for next time.”

Isaac hums thoughtfully then, - “Did we, uh... Were we too loud?”

Luca’s glad for the dark to hide the twitch of his mouth. There wasn’t much that rattled his captain- no, Admiral now, but any mention of his very active newlywed status was one of them. Luca shakes his head.

“No, don’t worry. I’ve been awake for a while. Couldn’t sleep. I dunno, just those post war blues, I guess.”

“Luca,” Isaac sighs. “You know you can talk to me, son. About anything but if you need to talk to a pro-“

“No,” Luca waves him off. “Nah, not that. I’m okay, really. Well, maybe a little sore and tired from all the work you’ve been making me do around here because boy, launching drones and hacking unfriendly AI's is absolutely nothing like building fences and milking cows or planting... and oh, sweet khalahira, that’s it isn’t it? I’ve found you out. I’ve uncovered your scheme. It was your devious plan all along, wasn’t? Befriend the stray and establish trust, then drag them back to your colony to make them work for you as slave labor on your farm.” Luca shakes his head disapprovingly and with great drama. “Admiral Cerrillo, I’ve discovered your nefarious plot. I'm disappointed in you.”

Isaac chuckles in spite of himself. “You have been spending far too much time with my mother, Luc. You almost sound just like her.”

“Well, someone has to keep you in line-“

Luca’s comment is joined word for word by another voice, this one high and sweet. He looks up to find Eva walking onto the dock, a pale lace shawl around her shoulders to protect her from any chill and a curtain of pale hair loose around her head. Her grin is a flash of white in the darkness.

“See,” Luca elbows Isaac as Eva takes a seat on his other side and loops her arm through his. “It’s not just me.”

“I don’t know if I should be amused or terrified,” Isaac says dryly. “Maybe I shouldn’t be leaving tomorrow after all if it just means you’re all going to gang up on me.”

Luca tries very hard not to let the dark pit in his stomach leak too heavily into his heart at that thought. The closest thing he had to a father, and one of his most favorite people in the galaxy was going to be leaving them again.

It was hard enough for him and Mara, he can't even imagine how hard it will be for Eva.

But then Eva is nothing if not strong.

She props her chin on his shoulder, as though sensing the thread of his thoughts. Somewhere off in the distance, there’s a small splash of something diving into the lake. If he’s lucky, the fog might creep in and he’ll be able to stand in a cloud again.

“Are you alright, Lulu?” she asks him softly.

He leans into her, ignoring the question. He’s not sure what he is these days.

"Sure," he shrugs. "Why are you guys both up now, anyway? Did you get lost on your way to the kitchen looking for sustenance before round-”

“Fourth step,” Eva reminds him with a squeeze of her red painted nails against his arm. She's chuckling though. “Gives you away every time you sneak out.”

“That damn floorboard,” Luca mock growls just as Isaac says, “See, that’s what I told him.”

They laugh together and Luca leans further into Eva’s warmth. It’s nowhere near the closest season on the colony, but it was cold enough that the slight breeze off the lake makes his skin prickle and he shivers.

He refuses to admit it could be anything else.

“Does it ever stop hurting?” Luca asks suddenly, the question bubbling up inside of him and falling out of his mouth before he has a chance to stop it. He's ignored it for so long, pretended it didn't exist - he wants to regret it, to hunch down and hide his face, but some how he can't find the energy to do so anymore.

That was the worst part, he thinks. The sapping grief that made it hard to even function.

"Oh, Lulu," Eva murmurs as she pulls him into a hug. Luca sobs once into her chest as Isaac squeezes his shoulder with a soothing gentleness.

“No," he says softly. "You just make room for it.”

"I hate it," Luca mumbles. "It's stupid and it hurts and I didn't mean to wake up sad and make you both come out here. You don’t have to be here. I was trying to give you space. You know, because it’s the last night and all and... you guys love each other and I love you both and-”

Isaac squeezes his shoulder again, ending his ramble. “We know that, son. But we love you too. And you don’t have to be alone. Ever.”

#fun fact i discovered tonight: terra nova doesn't have a moon?#well now it has two *throws sand*#i blame this on the stupid aesthetics that have been haunting my tl lately #eva novakov #isaac cerrillo #luca moreno #luca prompt fills #post war #terra nova

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queerebrum · 4 years ago

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@theb1te, @newtsnogitsune these two went together exceedingly well for me, so I combined them. Thank you both!! There’s a war in Derek’s mind. It’s a war between the parts of him he can control, and the parts of him he cannot. It’s a war between the man he’s become and the fragile child he once was, standing silent and terrified as he watched flames lick the sky and turn his family to dust. He wasn’t even in the fire. He and Laura only found out once they’d started towards home, heard the sirens, and smelled the smoke. There had been firefighters there already, but the Hale house was secluded enough that by the time they’d arrived it had already been too late. Derek had watched helplessly as the flames burned through the part of his chest reserved for pack bonds and familial love, leaving behind nothing but a charred hole inside of him. He was no longer a child when the people he now considered his friends, his family threw Molotov cocktails at his uncle. They unknowingly creating a hybrid kind of monster that it took every ounce of Derek’s anger and hatred – holding fast to the image of Laura’s open, haunted eyes – to push past and eliminate. Fire has always cut him deeper than anything else. Deeper, even, then the scent of French perfume and the wicked smile on plump pink lips.

Over the past few hours the ring of fire trapping him where he stands, seems to grow closer even though Derek knows it had been lit in a fixed circle by the hunters to contain him. They could be Kates or Monroe’s or Araya’s, Derek can’t tell the difference at this point. They all want him dead.

There was a time – in the dark months after Scott and Erica and Boyd and Isaac all suffered under his hands, after Cora came back only to find a disappointment and left, after he watched the pack crumble under the heavy loss of Allison, who was everything Kate never was – where Derek would have agreed with them. But he isn’t that person anymore. Now, he has a pack that loves him, an alpha he trusts with his life. He has friends, a family again. He’s scraped away the festering wound in his heart and taken the risk of revealing new, tender flesh. And he hasn’t been let down yet – they’ve come through for him time, and time again. His vision swims, tears that might have fallen evaporating with the heat of the flames. He desperately – helplessly – searches for an escape that does not exist. He can’t hear anything over the roar of the flames and the pounding of his own heart in his ears. He sinks to his knees, wrapping his arms over his head, trying futilely to protect himself from once more burning – this time literally rather than metaphorically. Suddenly, there’s a voice in his ear. It takes Derek a moment to remember how to breathe, how to hear, how to do anything but hide. “Derek,” the voice says. “Derek, come on, get up, you’re okay. I’ve got you.” Arms wrap around him from the back, another person on their knees, holding Derek tightly even as he shakes. As the flames die, extinguished by some unknown force, the room that had been lit by them grows dark. Derek focuses on trying to breathe, lifting his head and blinking his eyes open slowly, cautiously. He glances down at the hands that hold him. Hands he knows, hands he trusts with his life and with more. His nose is full of the scent of ash and gasoline, but he can hear now, a familiar cadence of a heartbeat and breathing. Derek doesn’t trust himself to speak, so he turns to face the person holding him. Jordan’s face is pinched with concern, his green eyes narrowed, his hair a mess. He’s mostly naked, Derek notes absently. It’s far from the first time he’s seen Jordan like this, covered in ash and dust and all the things he normally fears, but doesn’t where Jordan is concerned. Jordan burns, but unlike fire, Jordan has never hurt him. Jordan would never hurt him. Derek opens his mouth but still can’t find words and Jordan’s expression softens. He leans forward to press their foreheads together. “You’re safe now, Derek. We got here as soon as we could. I’m sorry.” Derek isn’t quite sure what Jordan is sorry for, but he just accepts it, allowing his head to slip from resting against Jordan’s to laying against the hellhounds’s too-warm shoulder, face buried in his neck. Jordan rests his chin on Derek’s temple and allows him the quiet moment. There are likely others in the room, but Derek doesn’t care. He’s been through a whirlwind of emotions in the last minutes, fear and helplessness, despair, panic, and then this heavy, exhausting wave of relief. It’s hour’s later, curled between Jordan’s legs on the couch, freshly showered, that Derek remembers the sequence of events. “You walked through the fire to get to me,” he says quietly. Jordan’s hand, fingers trailing lightly up and down Derek’s bicep, stills. A chuckle rumbles through his chest. “Fire can’t hurt me,” he reminds Derek quietly. “I had to get to you. I knew you were probably terrified.”

Derek has known, subconsciously, that this was true. Jordan is a hellhound, he lights himself on fire regularly. No man-made flame could hurt him. But, it isn’t until this moment, still reeling from the events of the day, that Derek lets the weight of that fact settle, heavy and comforting in the same way Jordan’s embrace had been earlier.

Fire has taken so much from Derek. It has ravaged his life and his soul, warped him into a person he hated. He’d used the fire, the pain, as an awful excuse for hurting others.

Fire had destroyed Derek, and he built himself back up from the ashes. He’s earned a place int he pack, earned a place here, safe in Jordan’s apartment, in his arms, in his life.

And Jordan is impervious to fire. Fire has taken everything from Derek, but not this, never the man he loves. He smiles, the first of the day, and presses his lips against Jordan’s softly.

#darrish #Derek hale #Jordan parrish #derekjordan #teen wolf #theb1te #newtsnogitsune #zyndz #caden #skull #friends #cj writes stuff #my fic #safety/fear of fire

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littlestarofthewest · 5 years ago

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Title: One more to Love | Word Count: 2450 | Rating: Explicit (18+)

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x female reader

Tags: A/B/O, pregnancy, angst and fluff and smut

This is my story for @sad-sweet-cowboah for the @rdrsecretcupid2020 event. I’m sorry for the delay, my health wouldn’t let me post any sooner. I still hope this is something you can enjoy! ❤️️

Ever since you presented as Omega in your teenage years, you had this unique sort of disgust for the world around you. Everything began and ended with what you were now; the rest of your personality forgotten. Lucky for you, your parents died before they could marry you off to a disgusting Alpha that lived near your farm. Unlucky for you, there were more horrible Alphas out there, and your heat was a constant reminder that one of them might get you.

Years of your life have been spent running and hiding away whenever your body betrayed you again. To this day, you still feel it in your bones, and it always takes a moment for you to remember that you're safe now, you never have to run anymore.

"You alright?" Arthur asks, his voice barely audible, making sure not to startle you.

"Of course," you say, carding your fingers through his hair. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Despite being buried inside of you, Arthur hardly moves, only his size reminding you of what you're doing right now.

Arthur runs his fingers along your cheek, searching your eyes. "You looked miles away."

"I was," you say with a laugh. "Paradies or something."

Arthur furrows his brows as if he's not sold on that being the truth, and you kiss him before smiling up to him. "I'm always good when I'm with you; you know that."

You don't get an answer. Instead, Arthur leans in to kiss along your neck, almost as if he has to prove your point. You close your legs harder around him, urging him to move, and he follows your lead. Every thrust makes your mind wander again, but it's no longer about the past. You relish in the feeling of utter bliss, being held by your Alpha, the one you truly love and trust.

Arthur's scent alone can calm you down and keep you in a state of deep relaxation, even more so when you're in heat, and Arthur makes sure to only be there for you. He stays close, always protecting you, and even before you got together, he made sure that your heat was bearable.

Most of the time, Arthur took you out of camp and found a secluded spot where you could lay low for a while, away from any overeager Alphas. He made sure that you ate enough and at least got a little bit of sleep in between the demanding waves of your heat. To this day, you're astonished how he managed to take care of you like that without his urges ever coming out. It's one of the reasons you fell for him.

Even now, buried inside of you and surrounded by your scent, Arthur's restraining himself, never just using you for his pleasure. His hands wander all over your body, his fingers leaving goosebumps in their wake. He kisses from your neck down along your collarbone and even further, circling one of your nipples with his tongue before sucking it into his mouth. Arthur knows all too well how sensitive you are there, and you claw at his shoulders while rolling your hips, desperate for more friction.

At first, Arthur keeps teasing your breasts as if he doesn't even notice your desperate movements, letting you drive yourself closer and closer to the edge. You pull him close, your lips hot on his ear. "Please, Arthur, take me!"

"You know it's better to go slow," Arthur says, but while he tries to sound calm, you can hear the desperate trembling in his voice.

"You've been going slow all day," you say, remembering each time Arthur made you come, the memory adding to your current arousal. "Maybe I need it fast now. Rough."

Arthur buries his face against your neck, a deep growl rolling out of him. "Don't tease me, darling."

You know he's hanging on by a threat, and every instinct beaten into you by a cruel life tells you that you should tread carefully, but it's Arthur after all. You trust him more than anybody else in the world. He would never hurt you.

"I need more," you whisper, nibbling on Arthur's ear.

Arthur lets out a defeated grunt before he retreats. He grabs you by the hips and carefully turns you around. Out of habit, you arch your back and present yourself to Arthur. His fingers dig into your flesh as he pushes back into you, and you let out a satisfied moan.

You never thought you could enjoy yourself like this, but you desire the stretch when Arthur buries himself deep inside of you and welcome every thrust. Just like you wanted, Arthur goes a lot harder now, adding wet and indecent sounds to your lovemaking.

You push back against him, eager to feel him as deep as possible. It doesn't take long for your arousal to build up, hot waves of heat rolling over you as Arthur seems to split open your core.

Soon, your thighs are trembling, and you throw your head back, letting out eager cries to spur Arthur on. His hand wanders up your back as if he needs to calm a wild horse, but then his fingers close around your neck. Holding you in place like that, Arthur pushes even harder, finally throwing you over the edge. You move under Arthur as if to throw him off while pleasure ripples through your body.

Arthur moans, his hips bucking, and you can feel his knot swelling inside of you. Hot spurts of his come fill you up as he leans over you, holding you down until you both come down from your high.

Both of you still breathing heavily, Arthur rolls you to the side, pulling you close while he's still buried inside of you. Arthur pets your hair while nuzzling his nose against your neck.

"You alright?" he asks, his voice rough. "Feeling better?"

"So much better," you sigh, a pleasant warmth taking hold of you, the pressure of your heat gone for now.

"Good," Arthur says, and you turn your head as far as possible to steal a kiss. Arthur smiles. "You should try to sleep. I'll get you something to eat when you wake up."

Pressed against Arthur's warm body and surrounded by his arms, it doesn't take long for you to fall asleep. For once, you believe that your suffering is finally over, and you're excited about what the future might bring.

‐----------

It's been two weeks since you've started avoiding Arthur, and you know you're running out of time. Even with his patience and willingness to give you space when you need it, he's going to suspect that something's wrong. It's just that you haven't figured out what to do yet.

If you're honest with yourself, you've known for weeks, but managed to convince yourself that the signs didn't mean what you feared. You enjoyed being with Arthur as if you knew that your time together was coming to an end. By now, you can't lie to yourself anymore, though. With every passing day, you come closer and closer to the unavoidable truth. You're pregnant, and Arthur is the father.

With what you know about Arthur's past, it's the worst thing that could have happened. The only time he's ever talked to you about Isaac and Eliza was at a week moment when Arthur was wounded and more inebriated that was good for him. You felt his pain in every word he spoke that night, only to never bring it up again. There's no way you can put this burden on him once more.

Still, you find yourself wandering over to Arthur's tent by the time it's getting dark. Most of the others turned in already, and you are all packed and ready to go. You don't want to leave the Van der Linde gang, but if it comes down to it, you will leave to give Arthur his peace. It won't be easy for you, but you've won hard battles before, and you know you can endure anything to make your little one happy.

Arthur is sitting on his cot, turning a small jar around in his hands. It contains a little flower that you know his mother gave to him. With a heavy heart, you say his name, wondering if it might be the last time.

"Arthur? Do you have a moment?"

Arthur's face lights up as he looks up to you, and he puts the flower back on his table before clapping the cot next to him. "Sure."

"There's something I have to tell you," you say, trying your best not to drag this out.

"Alright," Arthur says, his face growing weary.

You take a deep breath before sitting down, thoughts spinning through your mind, and your heart beating like crazy. You thought about many different ways to start this conversation, but always imagined disaster following it.

"I wanted you to know that I'm ready to leave," you say.

"To go where?"

After another sigh, you decide to throw it all out there. "I'm pregnant, Arthur. For a while, I thought it might be something else, but I'm sure now. I wish things were different and we could still be together, but knowing about your past, I can't put you through this again. I will go so that you can carry on without that burden."

Arthur is staring at you, and although you have the urge to run, you know that you have to give him a little time to process your words. With a sigh, Arthur runs his hands over his face before looking at you again, his expression still blank.

"Do you think that I would make you leave here while you're with child?"

His voice sounds offended, so you carefully pet his arm. "Of course not, but it's what I want. You've been so hurt by what happened to Isaac and Eliza; I can't do that to you again."

Arthur takes another long moment to look at you; then he gets up from the cot. You suspect him to walk away, but he kneels to open the chest with his clothes, rummaging around in it. When he sits back down next to you, there's something small hidden inside his hand.

"I guess it's my fault. Maybe it's something I said or did, but when Eliza told me she was pregnant, she thought that I would leave her, too," Arthur says, and you feel a sting in your chest. After all, he did no such thing, and you didn't mean to insult him.

Before you can say as much, Arthur holds out his hand, giving you the item he's been holding. It's a small puppet. The head, hands, and feet are wooden while the body is made of soft fabric, the arms, legs, and body of the puppet stuffed firmly to make it feel nice to the touch.

"We didn't have much money, so we made a few things ourselves," Arthur says while looking down at the puppet in your hand. "Children need toys, after all."

"It's beautiful," you say, the words barely audible. Your heart seems to beat out of your chest while you're unsure what to take from this information.

"When I came to the house, there was no doubt in my mind what the crosses outside meant," Arthur says, his voice cracking, "but I still went inside. Isaac loved that puppet when he was small. It's the only thing I took, the only thing that's left."

Your heart aches for Arthur. It already hurts so much when you think about leaving; you can't imagine what it must feel like to lose your family like this. "I'm so sorry, Arthur."

"Don't be. It wasn't your fault, just like it wasn't theirs," Arthur says, his eyes still fixed on the puppet. He scoffs. "Wanted to throw that thing away so many times, but I couldn't do it. I wasn't myself back then until Hosea told me to give up or have hope. Hope is what keeps us going, he said."

You can't help a small smile. Even in your short time with the gang, you got a lot of advice from Hosea, and wanted or not; it always turned out right. Arthur looks over the camp as if he's looking for Hosea in the dark.

"In the end, I only kept it for one reason," Arthur says. "I thought that maybe I might get another chance. That one day, there might be a child I could give this to. So I guess it's yours now."

Arthur looks at you, and your heart gives out. Your fingers dig into the fabric of the puppet while you're frozen in place. This little thing survived so many years and travels, meaning so much to Arthur; he can't possibly waste it on you.

"Oh Arthur," you say, the words barely coming over your lips. "I can't-"

Arthur shakes his head to cut you off and puts his hand on yours, closing your fingers around the puppet.

"I thought I took good care of them, but I didn't. It's my fault they're gone," Arthur says, his voice heavy. "There's so much more to being a father; I know that now. I understand if you want to go, but I would do anything to protect you and our child, to take care of it as a real father should."

You feel like your soul is leaving your body. You rarely heard Arthur talk so passionate about something, and you didn't think that staying with him could ever be a possibility, no matter how much you wanted it.

Arthur is searching your eyes, his voice barely audible by now. "If you'll have me."

During the whole conversation, you tried your best to keep your feelings in check, but now they all come out in a rush. You throw your arms around Arthur, and he pulls you up into his lap.

"Of course, I'll have you," you squeal, peppering kisses all over his face. "I love you, Arthur."

Arthur almost crushes you with the way his arms close around you, but you don't care. His scent surrounds you, filled with happiness and love, and you drink it all in until Arthur pulls you in for a long kiss.

"Love you, too," he whispers against your lips before burying his face in the crook of your neck.

You keep sitting there, holding on to each other for a long time while Arthur's hand is resting on your stomach, bringing warmth to your whole body. For the first time in your life, you're happy to be an Omega, and with your Alpha by your side, there's nothing that can frighten you ever again.

#rdrsecretcupid2020 #sad-sweet-cowboah #arthur morgan x female reader #rdr2 smut #rdr2 fanfic #my writing

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asterekmess · 5 years ago

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S3A - E2

Here we go, Episode 2 of the rewatch. Honestly, even if you guys really don’t care about these, I’m gonna write them anyway, cus I need to get my FEELINGS out.

Anyway. Read More as a symbol of my love.

Thoughts:

Your pen is dry, honey. Try a sharpie.

So Stiles has literally known Heather since he was born? Nursery school is from 0 months to 5 years old, apparently. And Scott doesn’t know who she is? How does that even happen? It’s not like Stiles hasn’t seen her in ages, she recognizes him Instantly from across the room and he recognizes her back. So, Scott just never met her or asked about her or anything? Stiles never told him?

If anyone was curious, apparently Heather’s friend is named Danielle (according to Amazon Prime’s “X-Ray” thingy). She’s the same girl from Lydia’s birthday party, I think. The one who woke Stiles up? OHmygod that would be so fucking interesting. If he invited her and Heather to Lydia’s party. Maybe Heather couldn’t go, but Danielle showed up.

Awww, was Heather Stiles’ first kiss? Did they play winery as kids? Hide and seek? did they break a stupidly expensive bottle of wine?

I have personal issues with Stiles supposed canon age. I refuse to believe he’s not 17 and a year older than the others, because of repeating a grade when he was really young. I just refuse to believe otherwise. XP

PLS STOP making fun of girls asking for guys’ consent. This show would be awesome for like ten whole seconds if they stopped RUINING the girl’s asking for consent by having the guys laugh at them or treat it like a joke.

Allison, Scott’s not gonna have a single fucking clue what you’re talking about when only you hold out your arm to show the bruise.

Also. I believe in Big Dick Stiles Stilinski, bc he’s too smart not to know that wearing too big a condom is like the worst possible idea and can render it basically useless, and he wouldn’t have grabbed one (which we see he did in the next episode or something) if it wouldn’t fit. Therefore. XXL for our boy. XP

Hold up. So no one heard Heather screaming? Was she hallucinating the wine bottles breaking? Maybe it was an illusion, cus there’s no mess when Stiles gets down there? But still, the screaming is real. Scott should’ve heard screams like that even from outside the building.

Also, I feel p fucking bad for Stiles. As far as he knows, she bailed on him. What if he thought it was a prank or a joke or something? Or, even worse actually, since he’s known her for so long and she left her shoes down there, I bet he’d be worried instantly.

*snort* I looked up Derek’s loft set for research. They had to do so much editing to make it look grudgy and out of the way. This building is in the middle of town and it’s Massive and Gleaming. It’s a place where you can rent office suites. XD

I love everything about Isaac’s little venting session over getting Peter’s help, except the part where where he mentions Scott. Fuck scott. (whoops, now I need the tag. Like you didn’t see that coming?)

I find it hilarious that Peter’s intro is Rock Music. Also. “Fair enough.” I do love this man. (took me a while though.) Like, he’s honestly pretty simple to understand most of the time. He just wants people to be honest to him, say what they wanna say to his face.

Look at Peter, giving us one of the very few hints at werewolf history. Presumably, the ability was meant to be used to share memories with pack, locations of dens or images or even scents of other packs. And though mostly Alphas do it, clearly not just Alphas do it. This is fucking Interesting, I want MORE.

Aannnd, we discover that Scott’s been lying to Allison this whole time and letting her think that Derek just randomly attacked her mother. Love it. Also, I’m still not over Allison’s behavior in the last season? Waiting on an apology, hun, and it better be good.

OH. OH NOW You can sense the werewolves, Scott? SERIOUSLY?

Why do they make every single scene with Finstock have something to do with Stiles’ sex life? Like....it’s awkward. Stop. Also, can you imagine Stiles getting a rep around school for having a big dick bc of this? Is that something that actually happens in high schools? I had no friends, I would not know.

“No play.” The first time Scott decides that neutrality is better than actually doing something useful. I’m salty. *nods* yup. I am. I know what this scene does later on, and I hate it.

Also, can I just say that I literally hate that EVERY SINGLE time Stiles is having a good time, they make it Horrible? Stiles makes a lil joke about Derek being a Sourwolf? Derek gets claws through his lungs and spits blood. Stiles gets to play on the team? Across town Erica and Boyd are being tortured. Stiles is about to have sex? The girl he’s supposed to have sex with is being traumatized downstairs. Stiles is about to play a stupid fucking game in class? He gets taken in for questioning because his friend since birth has been kidnapped. They literally refuse to ever let Stiles be happy without making him look like an idiot or an asshole for having a single good emotion. It makes me so MAD. You can literally measure the show! If Stiles is actually smiling, then someone’s about to die.

OH MY GOD. Really? Another moment we didn’t get to see? “Derek says it’s easier to turn teenagers” WHEN DID HE SAY THAT? I‘M SO CURIOUS. Also how does Stiles know what Peter and Derek tried to do to get Isaac’s memories back? Are they reporting to Stiles? Letting him know what’s up? STILES IS HALE PACK I WILL FIGHT YOU.

I’m getting really sick of Deaton somehow knowing more about werewolves than the two born werewolves. Like, it’s really fucking annoying? They know their own species, or at least they should? It was the same with Chris helping out on the hunt. He doesn’t know werewolves better than they know themselves and I’m fucking tired of it. Let Peter and Derek have their own fucking history and knowledge about their own fucking species.

*snort* i paused at just the right time and the water effect made Derek and scott’s foreheads Really big. XD

I enjoy Stiles getting distracted now that his job is done. I feel that in my soul. The only difference between us is that he has the confidence to just Grab the shit he wants to play with, and I never did so I just zone out staring at it.

I’m not stupid. I see them suddenly throwing in the work ‘risky’ everywhere. But I still appreciate Derek reminding Isaac that he doesn’t have to do the ice tub thing.

More reflections...what’s with the reflections in this season so far?

Also, is this how people sound when they’re hypnotized. I’m on Stiles’ side actually, giving this the side-eye with Isaac’s constant “They’re here” thing. It seems really weird and overdone.

God, this scene is such fucking bullshit. Derek would never put Isaac in danger like that. Isaac’s the only Beta he’s got at the moment. He wouldn’t do that and it’s fucking Stupid to make him be so vicious and scare the shit out of Isaac. I fucking hate it.

I think it’s sweet that Isaac looks to Stiles for answers when everyone’s acting weird.

Ten hours of research, and Stiles has a little pinboard on the floor, the prototype for his big one Awwwwww.

Papa Stilinski comes through ONce Again!

If they’re supposed to meet at 5 and get to work at dark. Why is it dark when they get to Dereks??? WORK WITH ME HERE.

WHY would they patch the wall (Which is stone, so wtf did they patch it with? Concrete?) if they closed the bank down right after the robbery???

IT”S THE SCENE *heavy breathing* “Big bad wolf, yeahhh, lookatdat” Peter looks SO DONE “I’ve been dealing with this for months, make it stop”

aaaand again. “Risk” Since when does Peter care about risk? I never understood this scene. We have evidence that Peter cares about family, and according to werewolves, pack is family. He flipped shit to find Derek when Derek was missing. This is exactly the kind of thing he would do. I just...I don’t get it. Don’t like it, either.

“Yeah, if you want me to come” “NOT you” I love this scene, because it shows not just that Stiles is fucking raring to go and help, but that he didn’t offer before only because he thought Derek wouldn’t let him. We know Derek doesn’t think Stiles is useless. He put Stiles in charge of researching this entire bank. Which means it’s not that he doesn’t think Stiles could help, it’s that he doesn’t want Stiles to get hurt. And apparently Stiles knows that Derek feels that way, and knows Derek is vehement enough about it that he didn’t even bother bringing it up in the first place. That’s some serious trust and understanding, and even respect right there that Stiles is showing. Understanding what Derek would feel before he did it, trusting that Derek knew better about what was too dangerous for Stiles to involve himself in, and respecting him enough not to bug him about it anyway.

personal preference, I hate how much time is wasted just showing people walk down halls with weird lighting effects, or showing Allison trip over debris and pull her coat closed. Like...it’s really not needed?

Sup, Morrell? 20 seconds to get hidden? Is that 20 sec before the alphas get in hearing range or 20 sec before they actually get there? And how did the Alphas know that Derek was coming tonight? As far as they knew they took Isaac’s memory away and killed Braeden.

KALI WEAR SOM EFUCKING SHOES YOU NASSTY.

Smart girl with the bleach. I mean, I don’t know why the sudden scent of bleach didn’t tick kali off, but sure, whatever works.

I’m not even kidding. When I saw this scene for the first time I fucking burst into tears. Just that little glimpse of Erica and I was a mess

I really love Stiles and Peter chatting though. Like, Stiles gives no fucks, and Peter sounds just so used to it. Also, Derek’s couch looks sooooo comfy. I wanna sit on it. And Peter halfway through calling Stiles annoying is just like “Shit. He’s right. Again.” and there’s no physical distance. Peter once dragged Stiles around by his neck all night and nearly killed Lydia. But Stiles has no qualms about walking right up into his space and helping him out. PLUS, when Peter realizes Stiles is right, there’s no insults. Not even frustrated ones. When STiles describes the walls of the loft, Peter doesn’t say, “No, you idiot, the bank vault.” or make a quip. He’s immediately looking to Stiles for the information and trusting that he has it and will know where it is.

Then we have Scott just...whatever the fuck he’s saying. I don’t wanna hear it.

Okay, that is way more space behind Derek and Scott than Stiles said. And how is the moonlight even getting in? They had to shimmy through a shaft in the walls, there’s no windows in the walls. AND HOW THE FUCK would the ALpHA PACK KNOW THEY EVen KNOW WHERE THE BANK IS???

Derek should be able to hear the phone call. Just. Yes. That’s how that works. Also, Peter, now is not the time for gladiator analogies.

And the tears are back. All it takes is one fucking word. “Cora?”

IT DOESN”T MAKE SENSE. HOW WOULD THE ALPHAS KNOW??? If Marin hired Braeden and told her to get a message to Derek about the bank they were being kept at, then that means that it was all this really dumb double-double cross. Her making it look like she double-crossed the Alphas by telling Braeden to give up their location, but actually doing for the Alphas to trap Derek and Scott. What the absolute fuck?

FINALLY Someone holds Scott accountable. THANK you Derek.

Also, hello Lydia, I’m so sorry honey but you’re about to enter a whole new nightmare.

Final thoughts: I’m very long winded, and very frustrated and very fucking sad. I am just so goddamn sad and the next episode’s gonna make me feel even worse so I’m taking a break.

#personal #TeenWolf-Rewatch #anti-scott mccall

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edelwoodsouls · 4 years ago

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all roads lead - ch. 6

When his mother dies, Stiles runs away, straight into danger - only to be saved by Peter Hale. Seven years later, after burying their alpha, Stiles and Malia return home.

Word Count: 2,397 | Also on Ao3 | Other Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5,

Chapter 6: FLINCH

It takes less than an evening for the pieces of Beacon Hills to begin to fall together in Stiles' mind.

The four teenagers kill time until dinner watching television in somewhat awkward silence, passing around a bowl of microwave popcorn. Stiles still can't figure out what they were watching, his senses too overwhelmed by the two unsuspecting werewolves sitting so close on the sofa beside him, the beta leaning into his shoulder, his father shifting back and forth in the kitchen next door.

Dinner is an even more tentative affair. Melissa arrives just as John sets the shepherds pie in the centre of the table. She stinks of hospital cleaning fluids and that distinct floral perfume that hangs around his father's scent, but her smile is just as warm as Stiles remembers, and when she hugs him without hesitation it feels a little too much like memories eight years gone.

Melissa and John are sickeningly good together. They move around, between, with each other in a perfectly synchronised dance. They touch, and laugh, leaning into each other with the effortlessness of certainty.

They're good for each other, and Stiles is surprised to find any lingering bitterness begin to fizzle out inside him.

But whilst John's cooking has, in fact, come on in leaps and bounds since the last meal he gave Stiles - frozen waffles and ketchup - it's not enough to dissipate the thick tension in the air, like the pressure of clouds before lightning.

Scott manages to carry the conversation practically single-handed, with regular interruptions from Malia. He tells them all about sports practice, about the pretty cool new english teacher, about the cute puppy he treated at the animal clinic.

The topics are noticeably inane. More than once, Scott stumbles over a word, glances sharply at Stiles and Malia, quickly changing the subject. Stiles almost pities him. If he didn't know anything about the supernatural, he'd be more than a little suspicious by now.

Stiles stays quiet for the most part, watching this choreography of a normal life that he has never had the chance to witness so closely. Even in a half supernatural family, real life holds dominion. They worry about how to keep their grades up to stay on the lacrosse team. The fact that the local ice rink didn't get enough funding to stay open. The flashy new rich kids with bikes much better than theirs. Random, normal things that completely pass Stiles by.

He wonders how much he missed in New York, holding himself above the rest, writing them off as petty teenagers who knew nothing of the world. Was it just jealousy the whole time? That they could care about the things Stiles had to leave behind?

He cringes away from this realisation- and finds Isaac is staring directly at him.

Where Scott is a waterfall of movement and sound, Isaac is a silent, watchful stone. They balance each other well - Scott's open sunshine, Isaac's caution. He watches the room the way Stiles does: looking for the exits, assessing the threats. Flinching at any movement too sudden, any voice too loud. The clatter of cutlery against plates, a sharp bout of laughter.

He recognises the signs of trauma - no, the signs of abuse - far too well. The mystery of this strange boy his father and old best friend have adopted unfurls a little more.

Stiles meets his eyes, surprised when Isaac doesn't look away. He may behave like a shrinking violet, but Stiles gets the feeling he would do anything for Scott. The way he leans towards his alpha, instinctively, protectively - the same way he leans towards Malia, a gravity built on years of weight. He wonders if this boy filled the vacuum Stiles left when he vanished. If Scott attracts broken, darkened things like moths to flame.

Maybe magic and werewolves are an inevitability in this town, not the result of an ill-wandered youth.

"Are you gonna start coming to school?" Scott asks out of nowhere, and the tension ratchets up a thousand volts, breaking apart the unnoticed staring contest.

"Uh," Stiles starts. Stops. "I'd like to, yeah."

"I'd rather jump off a skyscraper," Malia all but snarls into her mashed potato. "But yes. I guess."

"Awesome," Scott grins. "It'll be great to have new people who're actually nice." Stiles has to stop himself from snorting. Never did he think someone would describe him as nice. "The new twins are dicks. Isaac got detention because of them."

"Detention?" John asks sharply, a father if ever Stiles heard one.

Isaac flinches a mile. Folds even further in on himself, eyes lost in his lap. "It wasn't what it looked like," he says, so softly the words are almost lost in the sudden silence of the kitchen.

"It wasn't his fault!" Scott leaps in vehemently. "The twins riled him up, got him angry, then framed him for beating them up in the halls-"

"Isaac, we're not angry, honey," Melissa says suddenly, yet gently as ever. "We absolutely believe you. There's nothing to be afraid of."

"Right, absolutely," John stumbles to follow, face drawn in panic. "Even if you did have detention, it's honestly nothing. What's one detention? Stiles had detention every day for a year when he was nine!"

"In my defence, Miss Clarke really hated you because you arrested her brother for kidnapping," Stiles says. "So really I think I was entirely innocent on that front."

The tension in the room eases, air let from an overblown balloon. Isaac uncurls, slowly, like a sunflower as the dawn breaks over the horizon. Scott's hand rests on his arm, not taking any pain but clearly reminding him of comfort, of pack. Stiles knows very little about Isaac, and yet he finds himself wanting to do anything to alleviate his discomfort.

He's not used to allowing himself to care about others. About anyone, really, except Peter and Malia, and- the one or two people who wormed their way into his heart by sheer force of will. Maybe he looks at Isaac and sees a possibilty of his own future, if he had remained trapped in a house of ghosts and overboiling temper. He'd like to think that's all, that his carefully guarded heart isn't beginning to crack more than it already has.

The rest of the meal passes with an added, wary undercurrent, everyone dancing around their words like cracks in the pavement.

Plates cleaned away, Scott stands up. "Mom, can you help me with dessert?" There's a strangled note to the alpha's voice, as if the words have been trying to force themselves out for too long. Stiles watches them leave.

"So why are you here?" Malia asks Isaac, so abruptly Stiles doesn't have time to anticipate damage control.

To his credit, Isaac barely seems phased. "Freezer related incidents," he shrugs, as if this is a perfectly sensible answer. "Why are you?"

"Coyotes."

Stiles leaves them to trade snide remarks at each other whilst his father referees; they seem impressively evenly matched. Instead, he has no qualms about focusing his hearing towards the other room, the murmured voices and distinct lack of movement.

"What happened, hun?" Melissa asks, voice soft as ever, yet firm, prompting.

"The alpha twins," Scott starts, stops, and Stiles has to school his expression to hide his shock. Twin werewolves are rare, believed to be incredibly powerful. Alpha twins are unheard of- except a single pair, blood-soaked and vicious. Why would they be in Beacon Hills of all places?

"The alpha twins?" Melissa prompts.

"They've really gotten under Isaac's skin since they... killed the others. They know exactly how to rile him up, and so they've made him a target. And I got a call from Derek on the way home - he and Cora were attacked at the loft. He almost bled out. I just- I don't know what I'm doing, mom."

Stiles hears the moment when Scott's voice breaks, and finds his heart cracking a little more in kind. He of all people shouldn't have let all those sunshine smiles distract him from the obvious pressure of being an alpha so young. Scott's positivity, even when they were children, had been a result of his suffering, not evidence of its lack.

And he's still an alpha, Stiles has to remind himself. He still has blood on his hands, somehow, and that makes him a threat despite any deceptive kindness.

"You're doing everything you can, sweetie," Melissa's voice is muffled, as if by a hug. "You've only been an alpha for a few months, and it's not easy, being a leader even in the best of times. What you've dealt with? Becoming a werewolf, hunters, now the alpha pack? It amazes me every day that you even get out of bed."

"I really wanted this to be the year I got my life back on track. Getting my marks up so I can do AP classes and stay on the lacrosse team, y'know? And now Stiles is here again and I don't know how to feel about that at all..."

"Because he's been gone so long? Because this house is already lively enough with two boys under its roof?" There's a small smile in Melissa's voice.

"Because everything new in this town seems to be something twisted and awful and supernatural. He's been gone seven years. Why did he leave? Where has he been? Who's Malia? I want to trust him, I've missed him so much, but..."

"What do your magical alpha senses tell you? What does he smell like?" The kitchen goes quiet for a moment, and Stiles feels the uncomfortable itch under his skin of being watched.

"He's human," Scott sighs with a guilt-wrenching amount of relief. "But he smells like concern all the time. The way he and Malia move around each other, I can't help but wonder what the two of them have been through, where they've been-"

"Scott, the best thing about you is your big heart. I often wish you wouldn't give it out so easily, but don't let past burns close you off completely from genuine miracles. Stiles is human, and against all odds he's come home. The rest can come later, when he's ready. We have to give him time. I mean, we're hiding things from him too, aren't we? Unless you'd like to carry this trifle back in there in all your sideburns and fangs."

Stiles pulls his attention back to the dinner table, reeling. There's so much, too much, all at once.

The alpha pack were infamous in New York. They were a favourite horror story, passed between supernatural teenagers like an urban legend, a ghost story. For betas the meaning was clear: don't anger your alpha, or he might murder your whole pack and join the alpha pack. For alphas: don't be too good at anything, don't make yourself special or noticeable, or the demon wolf will stalk you from the shadows.

Peter had scoffed at the stories, but even he couldn't hide how they made his skin crawl.

If the alpha pack are in Beacon Hills, this is the worst possible place he and Malia could be. The blood of his own pack is fresh on Stiles' hand, the obstacle between him and them a singular beta. He is a wolf who has also been a fox, who still has a little magic left running through his veins despite no longer being human.

There is no guarantee they would care about him at all.

But the risk is there, a sliver of ice sliding towards his heart.

They must be here for Scott, but what makes him special? Or maybe they're here for Laura Hale, the current alpha of the prestigious if decimated Hale pack. Scott mentioned her younger brother Derek, so the two packs must be on tentatively good terms, at least.

Unless, of course, Scott McCall is the current owner of the Hale alpha power. Which is an entirely possible and unpleasant reality that leaves an awful taste in Stiles mouth. He tries to imagine Scott stood over a body, claws blood-soaked, eyes flickering from gold to red.

It feels so wrong. He shoves the image away as Scott and Melissa emerge from the kitchen, carrying a towering monstrosity he supposes is the aforementioned trifle.

"You with me?" Malia nudges him gently in the ribs. There's a question in her eyes - she knows his propensity for eavesdropping, and he can see how much effort it's taking her not to ask right here and now.

"Later," he whispers, turning back to the table with as much of a grin as he can manage.

There are too many unknowns in Beacon Hills. At least in New York, there was an obvious hierarchy, the etiquette between packs and other supernatural creatures rigorous and unchallenged. Here it seems like a mess of blood and confusion.

But leaving now would cause more problems thann Stiles has the energy to deal with. A reawakened search for a missing sheriff's son and an Eichen House escapee could make national news, especially now that Scott and Isaac know about New York.

And Stiles finds he doesn't want to leave - just yet, at least. Even in a house of wolves, he has a bed to sleep in, Malia by his side, his father in his life. He's laid the groundwork for friendship that he hopes will make people hesitate and listen before they try to murder him. Yes, there's risk, and the potential for blood in the near future.

But is it really so different? He ran from blood - who knows what would have happened to him and Malia if they'd stayed in New York?

The Argents are not a forgiving family, and Stiles has done the unforgiveable. They would have been hunted to the ends of the earth, and without the power of the nogistune he doesn't think they'd last long.

And whilst there probably isn't a standard punishment for betas who get possessed and murder their alpha and several other prominent figures in the supernatural community, he can't imagine they'd be lenient.

After all, no one particularly cared about Peter Hale, but everyone loved Noshiko Yukimura.

So they'll stay. Act human. Go to school, play lacrosse, hang out with Scott. Maybe even try to help out with the alpha pack, if they can.

And when the blood comes knocking, perhaps they'll stand a chance.

#teen wolf #fanfiction #stiles stilinski #malia tate #isaac lahey #scott mccall #sheriff stilinski #melissa mccall #own work

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dragonrajafanfiction · 5 years ago

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Dragon Dancer Chapter 25: Between Worlds

My eyes opened to brilliant sunshine. A quick check of the phone revealed that I’d slept two hours later than usual. There was a message from Johann saying that he would meet me pretty much an hour from now.

“Great,” I responded back, “Because I just woke up!” Laughing emoji.

“That’s good.” came the response. I watched the typing icon at the bottom of the screen, a fond smile on my face. “I’ve noticed that when it comes to academics, you’re excelling. But in physical aptitudes you’re still lagging behind. After what happened last night, it’s apparent that you need to excel there too.”

My phone blinked up an attachment. Johann texted. “Here’s your modified schedule. It’s going to be tough, but we’re running out of time.”

When I saw just how much I was going to be working on combat, my eyes flew open. Academics only occupied three hours of my day now.

And my number one trainer for each session was Johann himself.

An hour later I met him at the gym.

Master List

“Lancelot told me that you have done well with the fundamentals. So we’ll be focusing on techniques now.” He was visibly strong, not in a bodybuilder sort of way, but like a farmer’s son, sculpted by hard work every day.

“We’ll be going very fast through this."

“What’s the hurry?” I asked.

“After the three months is over, there will only be one week left before you’ll be taking your finals. I have no doubt you’ll do fine on the written test. But the physical test… I worry. And that’s a third of your grade. You can’t fail it and then move to the next semester.” Johann explained.

“The physical test is composed of three parts, agility, arms and combat.” He ticked each off his fingers. “Combat is your weakest link. If we can get that up to speed you’ll have a better chance of passing.”

It wasn’t like I was soft. Lancelot marveled at my core strength, balance and practiced awareness of what my body was doing at any given time. But if you hit me, I crumbled like tissue paper, and I was just as ineffective hitting others.

I was surprised he was so concerned. I thought I was doing well with agility, at least, and I was practicing shooting every day!

“So, we’ll start with holds and breaking them. We’ll all be wearing protective equipment during the test and no one will be hurting anyone else. But if they can pin you, or drag you, you’re pretty much done.”

I let out a little quiet moan of despair.

Johann actually chuckled a bit. “Don’t take it so hard. It’ll be fine. I won’t let you fail it.”

I nodded twice. I could feel my pulse racing at the idea of him so close.

He walked over to stand behind me. “We’ll start with the most common one. Wrapping the arm behind the neck.”

I flinched.

“Don’t be nervous, I’m just showing you.”

My body wasn’t listening. The weight of his arm was barely there and my heart was slamming in my chest. This wasn’t the pitter-pat of a little crush like I’d assumed it was to start. This was actual fear, the cold, clinching terror.

I suddenly realized this is why he was training me himself. There was no way I would be able to tolerate this from anyone else.

His voice was close to my ear “Panic is what kills people. Not lack of training. I’m not here to tell you not to be scared. I’m just telling you… put it away long enough to learn… the rest will take care of itself.”

I wasn’t sure what he meant by 'take care of itself', but I didn’t want to let him down. I forced my thoughts away from the way I was feeling and instead focus on what he was doing, and what he was telling me to do.

Using my meager strength wasn’t going to break any hold on me. What I needed to do was use my knowledge of how a body could and could not move and my own weight to drag my opponent into a position where he would stop focusing on holding on.

Once we practiced for real, I was able to break his hold on the first try by counterattacking him with a hold of my own and using my entire weight to bring him down.

He rolled, immediately back on his feet before I could finish backing away. “Good. Now do that ten times faster.”

We practiced for about fifteen more minutes before he called a break and got some water for us. While he was gone, I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths.

I took the water offered by Johann. “You know… when I first came here, I met someone who… put his arm around me like that so I couldn’t get away from him. It looked friendly… but it was really a hold I didn’t know how to escape from. That’s why I… got upset.”

“Oh...”

“Funny, I forgot about it until now. But I guess my body didn’t.”

“Oh.” He turned his eyes away from me.

“Don’t feel bad. In fact… that was the person I was running from when I first met you right?”

He cringed. “And then I… grabbed your wrist…”

“And I almost broke it, trying to get away!” I started to laugh again. “I thought you were one of his goons!”

“That explains a lot.”

“Like what?”

“Oh uh… I thought my eyes were what made you nervous. I was wondering why you weren’t afraid of them afterwards.”

“They’re unusual but very pretty!” I took a long drink and screwed the cap back on, mumbling. “Now I understand why you’re worried about my exam. I’m a little brown bag of issues.”

I noticed his cheeks were a little red. Was he really that embarrassed about something that happened months ago? “Ready for another round?” He asked, changing the subject.

“Yep!”

Despite my efforts to maintain a cheery disposition, the training lasted far too long for my mood to hold up. The longer it lasted, the tougher he was on me. He was pushing me to fight harder and faster. While I tried my best, it was obvious that, if he wanted to, he could have his way with me. It was just a matter of his changing his mind and deciding not to be nice. The fear was like dangling off a precipice with only a narrow guardrail of trust between us. The trust was there, but so was the dizzying, terrifying feeling of what could happen if it was suddenly broken.

By the end of day I was a wreck in every sense of the word. I didn’t want to talk to him any more, look at him any more.

The training not only reminded me of Isaac, but that I’d been dragged through the grass, strangled near to death, had a gun to my head, been strapped to a chair, sedated, carried, hit...

This training dredged up every feeling of being lost, trapped, terrorized and manipulated.

When Johann teleconferenced me for the evening review exam that evening, I wasn't as pleasant as I had been. It didn't feel like my own emotions, but some half physical, half mental entity that resented Johann for pushing past a carefully crafted and indicated line. It didn't matter if I gave him permission and it was necessary. It still felt like an invasion. He'd opened this box of awful memories after I'd stuffed them in and locked the lid.

The next day, I had a definite chip on my shoulder.

"Did you sleep well?" He asked me.

"No Let's just get started." I said, not smiling.

That brought him up short. "Alright."

I was more than eager to apply what I learned. When breaking out of a wrist grapple, I turned Johann's arm too far and he hissed, "Hey, take it easy."

He reached around to get behind my head but I broke that too, backing away.

"Good… very good." His expression had changed to one of quiet approval. We circled a moment. "Keep an eye on your footing…" He reminded me.

Taking out my feelings on Johann had had the opposite effect! Something in me got so annoyed! Didn't he see that I didn't like this?

He straightened. "I'd like to see more of that… faster."

That annoyed devil inside me interpreted faster as more ferocious. I didn't want him touching me for a millisecond longer than he had to. By lunch, we'd moved on to maintaining distance after a grapple. By the end of the afternoon, we'd started on incorporating offense with defense.

By hour four, my tolerance reached its breaking point. I slammed the heel of my hand into his collarbone. “Stop!”

Johann backed away, rubbing it furiously for a second before he paused. “Are you hurt?”

“No. I … I’m done. I don’t want to do this any more.” I stood stiff, arms at my side.

“Could have just said so…” His eyebrows rose.

Guilt washed over me. “I’m sorry…”

He shrugged. “You worked hard today. Only thirty minutes left.” I must have still looked stricken, because he continued. “I’ve been hit harder. If it makes you feel better for our next session, we’ll use padding.”

I went back home to study, exhausted and feeling guilty. Ielia burst out of my necklace spinning around in ecstasy. She gave me two thumbs up. I rolled my eyes at her and walked away but she stayed, floating ahead of me. She put her hand up to stop me and then pointed to the wall where my rune was.

I sighed, rolling my eyes. “Alright.” I carefully traced with my pen where her finger indicated. When the rune was done it sprouted a dark star from its center, a Nibelungen gate. A door to the outside.

She immediately floated through. I followed and was transported to a wide open stone work cavern. My heart thudded. It was the place. The same place where I met Isaac for the last time. “How did you do this?” I asked, my voice echoing off the walls.

She just spun around in the air, looking smug. Then she closed her eyes and a bright spear of light appeared in her hand.

I could only stare. “We’re not on campus...I can… use my dragon gift.”

I could go. I could go anywhere.

“We’re going to get in so much trouble if they find out.” I stood there, eyes wide.

She shrugged and put her finger to her lips. Then she pointed the spear at me. She wanted to train me. That’s what it was. I shook my head. “I’m already worn out.”

She let her hand down and put them behind her back. The spear swam through the air around us and alighted on its tip in front of me.

I didn’t have to physically throw it? I didn’t have to grab it at all?

She suddenly raised her head. Through the gate I heard a strange rumbling sound. She took my hand and pulled me back into my room. Someone was knocking. It was Mingfei. “Hey!” He gave me a jaunty wave when I opened. “Professor Schneider wants to see us in the library lab.”

“Just us? Okay.”

As we walked, he glanced at me. “How have you been?”

“Alright. Johann told me that right after our three months is over, there’s going to be a test. I’m not doing well in combat so we’re starting to train together. It’s a bit… nerve wracking.”

“Really…?” Lu looked down at me with wide brown eyes. “That’s what he’s talking about for after the three months?!” Mingfei rolled his eyes.

“What?”

“I just…” He sighed. “It’s… I thought maybe he’d be talking about something a little more… I don’t know… important.”

“If I don’t pass the test, I won’t be able to move on to the next semester! That’s kind of important!” I squinted at him.

“Yeah, sure…”

When we arrived at the lab, people were surrounding a large table in hazmat suits. We stood behind the glass. Professor Schneider nodded to us. “I’m glad to see you have recovered, Charlotte.”

I smiled brightly at him.

“The dragon corpse is dormant but we want to remove its technology. It’s an alchemical device that appears fused to its central nervous system. It’s hard to work around it. Since you resonated with the device, I thought perhaps you or Lu Mingfei could help.”

Lu shrugged. “I don't know why I’m here. Charlotte is the one who understood the thing.”

“I would not say I understood it. More like… it hacked my brain.” I looked squarely at Professor Schneider. “It put thoughts in my head, overrode my own thoughts until I was forced to say things I didn’t believe.”

“A mind control device….” Schneider growled.

“Why would a dragon mind control another dragon?” Lu asked.

There was a sudden commotion. The beast twitched and everyone had ducked behind cover. The professor took a breath as his oxygen tank hissed. “If you can remove the device, then we can safely put the beast in cold storage.”

I looked over at Lu. “I read that the Light King was crueler than the Dark King. Many cruel leaders find ways to mind control.”

They outfitted me in protective equipment and led me out into the secured area. Through the other visors, I caught a glimpse of faces I didn’t recognize, probably all members of the College elite.

I leaned over the body. The device was completely metal and as the professor described. There was no way to unwind the metal work from the flesh. I took a deep breath and let it out. I didn’t know anything about dragons or devices. But I had stood before a corpse before.

“Eternal Cycle. Unity in All Things… Self Sufficiency…” I whispered the draconic as quietly as I could, hoping no one would hear me. At the head of the beast, a small light turned on, just above its sightless eye.

I walked to the front of the creature. Was it a button? I reached out to touch it.

I felt a sudden jolt of pain, like something had bitten down hard on my fingertips. I jerked my hand back, shaking it in a reflex. “Ouch!” Bright red blood spattered onto the machinery. A few shouts went up from the lab techs but they quieted when they saw the droplets being attracted to the device, into the gears and crevices.

“It’s absorbing the blood…” Someone whispered.

Immediately, the machine jundid itself from the body with a heavy thud. Some of the parts fell on the floor.

The eye of the dragon suddenly rolled toward me.

Mom? Mommy?

I looked the dragon in its single eye. I could understand its dragon speak. “I… I’m not your mom…” I answered back in English.

The head lifted and rested against my chest. My hand reached up and held it before it could knock me over.

Mommy!

My eyesight grew blurry. My chest tightened. I was crying? Why was I crying?

It was crying, tears trailing down the center of its snout.

A loud bang shocked me out of my trance, the head grew heavier and fell to the floor, dragging the body off the table with it. Its tongue lolled from its mouth. Its eye was closed.

Their hands, painfully tight on my arms, hauling me to the door, were a provoking fire. I dug in my heels and leaned back hard, pulling with my legs.

These lab techs were no Johann. They immediately lost their balance and fell, letting me go in the process.

Lu appeared next to me. “Let’s go! Come on!”

Even as he was guiding me out, I couldn’t take my eyes off the body of the dragon…

The child.

We ended up in a hallway and I finally found my voice. “Lu! Why? Why did they kill it! It was just a baby!”

He stopped and turned to face me. “I know. I heard it.” His eyes were dull and sad. “I know.”

“You did?” I asked in wonder.

“Yeah!” He hissed in frustration. “I see a lot of things that other people can’t see! Sometimes…” For a brief second, he looked around to make sure we were alone. He leaned closer, whispering. “I feel like I’m going crazy because I see these visions and hear these voices… from the dragons.”

I watched his eyes fill and spill over. “I know… I know we have to protect people. I know we do… but I also know… that dragons … dragons are people. I was even friends with one… for a while.” He hung his head.

He covered his eyes with one hand, his voice cracking. “..dead now. There was nothing I could do.”

“How… How do you deal with this? What are we doing? Lu...” My lip trembled. “What are we doing?”

“The purity of our dragon line means that we sympathize with them more… it's just something we have to deal with…” He managed to pull himself together, taking a shaking breath, his hands on my shoulders. “If you don’t… you’ll end up like the S-ranker from 40 years ago who killed himself in his second year.”

I had to admit to myself that I had had those thoughts. I looked into his eyes. He must have them too. “We gotta stick together.”

I took his hand and wrapped my pinkie around his. “Promise… that we can share S-rank secrets? If you and I feel the same, the world will be a less lonely and miserable and terrible place!” I sobbed and bit back the sorrow rising in my throat.

The light returned to Mingfei’s eyes. He curled his pinkie around mine “Promise.”

I rested my head against his chest and took a deep breath. I felt him put his arms around me. I closed my eyes, listening to the sound of his heart. “Secret number one?”

“Huh?”

“While I was gone. Someone… shared a vision with me. They said… ‘I see you… standing on the threshold between the world of humans, and the world of dragons.’ I didn’t understand what he meant. But now…”

He patted his hand on my head like I was a little kid, smiling. “This is getting a little too serious. Let’s go back to my place. It’s a little against the rules, but right now? I just want to play video games.”

#Johann chu #Mingfei lu #Dragon Raja #Fanfiction #Writing

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rcris123 · 5 years ago

Text

The wind is harsh; he can hear it in the twisting of the branches above. They found a tree perched on a ridge of this plateau, underneath which the soil cut abruptly, creating a wall that they decided to use as shelter for tonight. Wet and with the air cooling further as night fell they ended up knees to their chest and arms folded over each other to preserve warmth.

John kept coughing; reckons his lungs still got some water left in them – and frankly they ain’t got the time to pat the man rough between the shoulder blades to get him comfortable. And then he never asked further.

Arthur shielded his son, like he always did; the love that man bore for his child was undeniable and tender in a way few men had the courage to – but he doesn’t think they’re any kind of men... They’re on the fringes; never the norm, so maybe the outlaw lifestyle suited him and he should have thought of it earlier than Arthur collapsing in front of him.

That felt so long ago... The Molly-house is only a distant memory now, but thinking back he can still remember the smell of fluids in the sheets, the smoke, the alcohol... Some of them made couples and they’d bed each other sometimes. He couldn’t say he didn’t try it once. It was easy, available and not meant to last and they all knew it. Imagine whoever you want darlin’. And Sebastian’d lay back and close his eye, but before his eyes was a black screen: nothing. Pleasure could build but there was no one there; and nothing he really desired. Sex was just like alcohol; it numbed the loneliness. For a while.

He doesn’t know how those 5 years passed, but at the same time he wonders how he got the chance not to be stuck there until he would be useless and greying... How’d he got the chance to meet exactly Arthur, ‘cause there’s so much about him he can find no replacement for. Handsome, wounded outlaw and his beloved son, queer on top of it to somehow end up his partner.

Chest squeezed at the thought; of course he could hardly sleep, but eyes were closed. Hand draws tender circles over Arthur’s arm. Maybe it’s giving him tingles that he’s so close other men, but the way they’re all squeezed together for some form of warmth and comfort felt like a permission. And then they all knew he loved Arthur.

“I love you.” Just a whisper; it’s to give him courage. “Buck.” It’s how Arthur called him. Stubborn buck, when he thought that’s something that’d much rather describe the other than himself: hardy, agile, determined and with a certain pride that he wouldn’t admit ‘cause he thought of himself as lowrung and worthless.

Arthur shifted as if he heard and there’s that smile crawling on his lips. Sebastian pulls himself closer and feels the sweet nothings on his tongue, but that may just be too much-

He wasn’t the first awake. Sean and Kieran seemed to have climbed up near the tree, inspecting the horizon for possible ways to take. Flat Iron Lake still glistened in the distance, the morning sun reflecting on its surface.

He reaches for Arthur; he’s there.

“Mornin’ Buck.” He sounded tender, but not worry free.

“Mornin’.” A lean in. “What you thinking about?”

“We should head East now, but on foot-”

“We just need to find the nearest town, and we’ll buy some horses from there.”

“I ain’t been this far south before...”

O’course... Sebastian did neither. He’s been stuck for most of his life in dusty Rhodes and the rest in Saint Denis, but Arthur was a traveler.

“I bet you’ve seen a lot of places you’ve never been to before.” Sebastian muses.

A chuckle, that by now sounds almost familiar: “You ain’t wrong about that.” He takes a deep breath in before he gets up. “We’re gonna get out of this one as well.”

Hand extends to Sebastian; he pulls himself up.

John is the last awake. He’s complaining about the throat bothering him and who can blame him – thou truly, he’s the only one speaking...

Bones don’t get stretched for long before they pick a route, courtesy of Kieran and Sean, who’d tried making heads or tails of this desert they found themselves in, and start marching. And marching they did. The heat wasn’t bad at first, only prickling at skin after about half an hour, but then blood started to run hot, then boil. Sun rules above them like some tyrant king, unrelenting, unforgiving. They don’t know how long they walked in a straight line until their trajectory changes to bee-lining from the shade of one shriveled tree to the next. Stops become more frequent. They ain’t got canteens with them. John’s feeling weak; collapses on the treetrunk after the first few. Arthur’s bent with his hands resting on his knees, urging Isaac to sit down next to John.

They don’t have water with them. Alcohol will make them thirsty and delirious. And he’s starting to doubt the words he said this morning.

They decide to wait for evening; march at night. They throw away good alcohol so that him and Sean could try and look for some water to fetch. Kieran wanted to help, but he’s still got that injured hand – a whole chuck of flesh taken out of it. Well one could argue Sebastian’s been shot in the leg, but he’s hoping they forgot that.

“Here.” He offers Isaac the bottle first and the boy gulps it down without breathing. They found a spring not that far from here.

“Thank it easy, kid or your lungs’s gonna catch fire.” Arthur warns and Isaac takes the bottle from his mouth and passes it to his father. “Thank you.”

Arthur drinks slowly, then hands the rest to Sebastian:

“I had my fill at the spring.”

“Where’s this spring, we need these refilled.”

“I’ll go-”

“You need to rest yourself. Lookit you.” Sebastian takes a breath in at that. “You’re all purple under the eyes; I’ll go.”

“I can come too.” Isaac offers.

The sun ain’t as fierce now as it’s starting to set and golden hues paint the landscape. If it weren’t for their predicament it’d almost be pretty. He does rest; he has to trust Arthur. He trusts him, in fact; he’s a more than capable man.

Father and son return with the bottles filled and they go on their march yet again. Maybe they’re lost souls in purgatory.

Sebastian honestly had no idea what to expect from this ‘Blackwater mission’, Arthur told him it was foolish, and maybe he wasn’t a planner, but he had experience – Sebastian did not, and his optimism faded to dread, then a sort of hollow acceptance as if Death was trailing just slightly behind them on a pale horse waiting for them to drop. One by one...

Dawn comes. All their boots are cream from dust, legs are sore and he can only speak for himself but the one still healing’s stiff and throbbing with pain. They find themselves a tree and fall under it, huddled like the night before. No incentive needed, they fall asleep each as they manage.

When he opens his eyes for a moment to shift his position he sees Sean completely fallen over in Kieran’s lap and John more or less leaning against him. Isaac is clinging to Arthur and the man’s body looks so still it feels lifeless. In his exhaustion fueled daze he thinks of something he shouldn’t and heart squeezes in his chest. He jerks with eyes fully open.

They’re breathing...

He doesn’t remember when he falls back asleep; his eyelids are always heavy and the hunger in his stomach keeps growling.

Flies wake him up in the afternoon; it smells like corpse.

He jolts awake again:

“Jesus!” John’s thrown off and goes to cover his face before he falls to lean on something else.

Sebastian quickly rushes to his feet; he’s shaking. He can’t help but smell his clothes: just sweat, pungent, disgusting, but it’s just sweat. He turns to the rest. They’re all slowly waking; Isaac’s lifting his head in confusion.

Arthur’s eyes are closed, his breathing rapid, precipitated.

John catches him staring and shoves the man awake. Wind’s knocked out of him as he lands on one arm and starts coughing lightly.

That glare Arthur gives is tired.

“Maybe we should be eating something...” Kieran prompts.

They got some cans left. They chow them down at lightning speed, but Sean doesn’t look too fresh after all that food taken on an empty stomach that fast.

And they start crawling again. Tonight there’s no moon. Arthur’s last, Sean first.

The desert keeps on going and Flat Iron Lake’s left the view.

Tree to tree their journey takes them, further inland. The wind is harsher there; and maybe he’s going delirious thinking this is feeling like a descend to Hell. He’s losing; they’re all losing. They’re all losing because he’s a bad luck charm; karma’s best contender for misfortune. Panic boils through his system, steps drag, stumble, and he feels his lungs fill up with dust.

What the fuck is this dread? Does it belong to him? Why? Why now all of a sudden, just because one job went bad – Oh no and he’s reminded of Dutch now. He’s an outlaw now, ain’t he?... He’s an outlaw; he ain’t the man he was, but what man was he to begin with. What man was he supposed to be or become if it weren’t for one fateful encounter.

Should he owe everything to Arthur?... That ain’t how things work. He’s-

He’s lost.

And he’s dragging Arthur in with him and it’s smelling like death-

He eats dust falling on his face. The entire line of people stop to gawk. Isaac rushes to his side first to help him up; Arthur follows.

“I’m fine...” he spits dirt out, pushes himself up only to find himself wanting to fall back in Arthur’s arms. He only gives the man a look; he probably looks pitiful now, wiping wet sand from his lips. It crunches between his teeth.

“C’mon up.” Arthur offers him a hand and heaves as he strung Sebastian up. “Walk with me...”

Sean starts walking again, and his hand slips into the other’s and squeezes it tight. The march goes on; Isaac in front between them, and the two of them at the rear, arms dangling from each other as they walked.

He didn’t notice at first, Arthur’s palm’s burning-

“Arthur...”

He knows: “It’s just the heat. Heatstroke...”

And the bulletwound... His leg won’t give him peace, he can’t imagine how Arthur’s repeatedly abused shoulder would feel like... And he wants to believe him, although deep within himself he knows the man is lying; he’s alright for everyone else’s sake – he-

“I know you.”

Arthur’s hand squeezes his own hard; Sebastian reciprocates the gesture:

“It ain’t gonna get much worse. I promise.”

Isaac whips his head around:

“Don’t you worry ‘bout that, Isaac.”

“Don’t lie to me. Not now.”

“I ain’t trying to lie...” Arthur speaks. “I’m trying to keep hopeful.”

“Okay...” the boy says, but ain’t in the least hopeful...

They end their march near sunrise; they found a road. If they kept to it they might just reach some form of civilization. But rest came first.

It was definitely fever when Arthur rested his head on Sebastian’s shoulder; even his breath came out hot. Isaac curled next to them.

And throughout the day it got worse- bouts of cough started up, wheezing.

“Are you sleeping?” Sebastian whispers to him.

“No...”

“We’re getting you to the nearest docto-”

Arthur holds him firm: “At night...”

But he can’t watch him like this; not with the thoughts he’s been having lately. He swipes a few strands of hair out of Arthur’s face and the man leans into the touch like he’s been starved.

“We can’t let the kid get sick...” Arthur says, trying to suppress another cough.

A kiss to the temple: “Never, Buck.”

He feels Arthur’s cheeks rise against his clothes: “I like it when you call me that...”

Well he can’t deny that’s a truly special pet name: “Me too...”

A moment’s silence. Breaths rise and fall in sync after a short while. Eyes close and he adjusts his position against the tree, arm drawing Arthur closer in; in turn the man climbs a leg over his own; comfortable. They need as much rest as they can get.

And it was obvious they weren’t going to get much of it...

Arthur startles Isaac awake with his coughing, and the boy goes to shake him awake but there ain’t no use: man’s gotta cough a lung out first.

Sebastian strings himself and the man up with a heave: “We’re getting you to a doctor-”

John, Sean, Kieran were all awake by the time as well staring at the pair of them as if their friend’s been given a death sentence. And maybe that was correct but he ain’t letting Arthur lose the fight just yet.

The walk is painful; Arthur is heavy in his arms and his shot leg is screaming with every movement. They were allowed no rest, but he’s starting to understand that it ain’t like them to just give up. They are stubborn men. And they have a son to look after.

Isaac walked first behind them; the rest followed.

Then Isaac walked ahead.

It was past midday at this point, the heat was slowly simmering down, but it wasn’t enough for them; bodies have been pushed quite beyond what they could; they haven’t eaten, got any good rest or significant break. And now... Isaac’s walk was brisk; stiff from all the sore muscles, but it felt like he was putting all the energy he had left into this, as if there truly was a town just near of here.

But there wasn’t.

They walked, and walked some more; Arthur took to his own legs, dragging them through the dust, one hand into his own. And Isaac was still ahead, the faintest sniff escaped him sometimes, but the boy wouldn’t turn when his father called out to him. And then they walked some more.

Heat produced sound at this point. Sebastian couldn’t feel his leg; it grew completely numb with pain. And Arthur looked worse: hair drenched in his own sweat, skin drained of color, while his cheeks and nose reddened to a concerning color. And still man had the strength to keep up the pace, following behind Isaac intently, loyally.

The world started to grow dim – and they kept on walking. The boy kept on walking ahead, stiff, limping from exhaustion, and only the boy existed outside themselves. John, Kieran, Sean faded to background noise. Arthur’s huffing, his own pain and Isaac’s silhouette became all that he knew, besides the inertia of moving his feet.

Any moment now, he feels the pale rider’s going to swoop in and mercifully depart them. Two queer men, their son and the fortune they never got to taste. What’s he come to; it’s almost beautiful in its tragedy.

He’s already convinced himself the sound of hooves is that impending doom – but it’s merely another traveler-

Isaac seems to spring to life the moment the man comes into view; moves to stand directly in front of the rider.

“Isaac-” Father’s voice is lacking a certain sternness.

“Can I buy your horse, mister?” Isaac sounds terribly polite for how his voice was shaking.

“No. Get away from here, brat-”

Man’s eyes peel open when the boy pulls out his revolver, the other hand swooping in to grab the reins.

“I’ll buy your horse, mister. 100 dollars.”

“Isa-” but John steps in, his own gun raised:

“Hand the boy the horse, it ain’t worth your life.”

Man slowly raises his hands and dismounts. Isaac reaches in his pockets and hands the man the promised money.

“Now get going!” John’s tone still retained its broken highpitched squeal. Traveler stands there for a moment then the feller books it.

Arthur takes from his side:

“The hell is wrong with you-”

“You need a horse. You’re sick!” Son defends his choice.

“You ain’t no outlaw! I ain’t raised you an outlaw-”

“What other choice did I have!? Did we have!”

Arthur’s jaws clench shut followed by a deep inhale, and silence falls.

“Get in the saddle and let’s go... Please...” Isaac begs at this point, tugs Arthur’s sleeve. “Pa...”

Man sits there a while, until his chest vibrates under a cough he’s trying to suppress. Son urges his father one more time and this time he gives in.

Isaac mounts first with the man on the back of the horse.

“Make sure you don’t forget us here.” Sean decides to butt in as Isaac spares one more glance at the people he leaves behind, before spurring the horse maybe a bit too harshly.

He holds his breath watching them take the road into the night. He can feel his heart thumping against his ribs, but the ache is only noticeable when he finally exhales. Head bows and he’s waiting for his thoughts to collect. They’ll be fine he’s trying to tell himself.

And it’s only now that he feels completely exhausted, weak and feeble. Posture slouches and his knee trembles from the pain of having to still stand up.

“Hey... Uhm you ain’t lookin’ that good, Sebastian.” Kieran’s voice is meek as usual.

“Guess I ain’t...” There’s no tree to lean upon so he just ends up laying on the ground with a huff.

“What a mess...” John utters, skipping a stone out of frustration.

“Guess it could have gone worse.” Sean argues, flopping down beside Sebastian. “And maybe our luck’s turning.”

Silence.

Then John’s voice pitches in again: “I... wonder if Jack’s gonna end up like that...”

“Stickin’ up for you? No chance.” Sean mocks.

“Hey-”

“Let the man talk.” Sebastian grunts; it felt like all John was being taken for was a buffoon with half a brain, even in his most sincere moments.

He’s almost taken aback: “Thank you, Sebastian...”

“Ain’t... always a straightforward way of being a father...” Sebastian admits.

“How can I know? All I ever saw was Arthur and his kid. He was there the day I joined, you know. A toddler running around this massive man in his 20’s that had no fucking clue how to deal with me and him at the same time.” John cracks a faint smile. “I probably should have turned out much better... I ain’t even fully knowin’ what I was trying to prove. I ain’t Arthur. I ain’t some golden boy, some father of the year or the other...”

“But you love the kid, don’t you?”

“Of course! I mean... It’s still weird thinking he’s mine. But he’s five already... But he’s got everyone else looking out for him! I ain’t though he’d be needing me.” Then, after one short pause, John’s expression sours, lips curling in on themselves: “Arthur ain’t really got someone like that did he?... Like, he raised that boy alone, before the gang really got that big-... Shit.” Man rubs his chin.

“It ain’t your fault.” Sebastian tries his best to be reassuring.

“At this point who even knows whose fault it is...”

Silence again; he doesn’t know how to reply to that; he’s empty of any good words and he really ain’t the man to be giving advice...

“You know,” John speaks up again. “You ain’t a bad man, Sebastian.”

A few blinks; it takes him a while to answer: “Thank you...”

“I...” A huff. “Arthur’s really thinking about you, you know? He-” John purses his lips.

Eyebrows furrow: “What?”

“I asked him a dumb question once; that’s all...”

They somehow fell asleep when they hear what sounds like a two horse wagon racing their way. Sean is first up, reaching for his gun.

“It’s Isaac!” the boy shrieks pulling hard on the reins.

They all exhale, but a whole wagon feels-

“Where’d you get that?” Sebastian dares ask and hopes he’s soft.

“I bought it.” Isaac defends, apologetically this time.

“How is he?...” Kieran’s the first to ask; not because it wasn’t on his mind as well?

“In a hotel room. They don’t have a doctor in town. Said we gotta head to Calport, then take a boat to Saint Denis.”

“Jesus...”

“We gotta-” Isaac sighs as if trying to hold something in. “I’m so sorry. Seb...”

Sebastian climbs up next to him on the driver’s seat, picks the reins and tries a smile.

Isaac gives him directions as he drives, but otherwise keeps the conversation quiet. In about half an hour they find themselves in a small town that, with its dusty roads and dried up buildings, reminded him of Rhodes.

The hotel wasn’t fancy: more or less crumbling down; stairs creaking under his boots. The room was sparse and they find Arthur sitting on the side of the bed, leaning over his knees, propped in his elbows. Head was low and hair looked sticky. Isaac wasted no time sitting beside his father, a hand rubbing between his shoulders after an awkward stutter.

Arthur bends his head towards his chest further as he coughs.

Sebastian limps to join them; the rest of the posse flooding in after him.

“So, uh... what now?” Kieran had enough confidence to speak up.

John pinned his arms on his hips, Sean scratched his chin; so it was up to them... And he doesn’t have the strength to ask anything of Arthur, but he can’t find it in himself to say anything either – think of anything either. He’s feeling sore and numb and simply wants to revel in the company of those he holds dear and he so wants to cling to this feeling of home he’s barely gained an appreciation for.

“Guess we need rest for tonight.” Arthur speaks up. “And tomorrow we head out...”

“In that case we better get ourselves some provisions; everythin’ we had was on them horses.” Sean says. “Isaac would you come with me?”

“Let the kid rest.” John intervened.

“No, I want to come...” Arthur’s son knew very well what people intended.

“I’m coming too.” Said Kieran.

“Guess I’ll be joining then...” John got the hint; the rest were already heading out. “Rest up, a’right, Arthur?”

Man just scoffs and the moment John turns his back Sebastian presses his head onto Arthur’s shoulder, with one hand blindly finding the other’s. And Arthur softens under touch; covers his mouth when another cough comes.

“Hang in there, cowboy...” he finds himself saying.

“Don’t intend on dying just yet.” Arthur’s conviction strengthened him, strengthened the grip he had on his hand.

“I fear of getting lost again.”

“I ain’t letting you.” Another cough.

“Can’t let you bear all that alone either.”

“I know... Just... what am I supposed to do? There ain’t no stopping-” Thumbs rub over Arthur’s palm in gentle, calm strokes. “Hosea died...” Arthur confesses, leaning his head further onto his own. “He said he’s gonna take care of us. All of us.”

“You ain’t him to take that responsibility.”

“They’re my family, Sebastian.”

“I know...” He tried to be comforting, but words don’t quite help him today do they... “And you surely ain’t alone.” Head nudges itself further into Arthur. “Never alone.”

Arthur swings himself around, catching Sebastian in a secure embrace and holding the other up to his chest. He straddles the man’s lap and his arms find themselves on Arthur’s back. Tight; it’s a pleasant reassuring pressure; he can feel his heart drum against his chest.

“Neither are you.” Arthur utters, avoiding pressing his face to Sebastian’s; man’s breathing is wheezed and heavy.

There’s little hope for them, but they can’t just stop...

They have somehow fallen asleep, limbs tangled and unwilling to let go of one another, but Arthur’s convulsive cough jerk him awake. His skin is sticky from sweat and skin burning from fever. He doesn’t seem awake.

But Isaac was. Boy was looking at the way his father suffered from a rag he set for himself at the foot of the shoddy bet: two eyes peering over the thin metal frame, watching in horror. The man who raised him grew weaker and weaker under his eyes, and under Sebastian’s a well; he’s seen this man on the brink of death a couple of times now already.

The cough grows increasingly violent, man having trouble getting any air in. He doesn’t know how he fumbled, but Sebastian tried his best to prop the man in a sitting position, waiting for the bout to pass.

Arthur was fully awake at this point, caught Isaac looking at them.

“You-... Should eat something, Pa.”

“Yeah...” Arthur struggles to get a grip on his posture, leans over the side of the bed; staggers up. Sebastian finds himself following suit. “Did you get anything?”

“Yeah. John and Sean are still downstairs at the saloon.” Isaac stands up. “Do... you want me to come with you?”

“Always, kid.”

The boy follows intently, sticking close to Arthur as if there was something he wants to atone for. And Arthur ain’t dumb enough not to notice the changed demeanor of his son:

“You okay there, Isaac?”

“... How are you feeling?”

Now, with an arm outstretched Arthur waits for his son to descend in front of him, hand finding its way on the boy’s back.

“Better.” It’s a lie; Sebastian knows. “A bed and some proper sleep is all this ol’ man was needin’.”

Boy squints his eyes, but bows his head and shakes it.

“Don’t... lie to me, Pa.”

Arthur stops and puts both hands on Isaac’s shoulders.

“Just... don’t lie to me, okay? You’re all I have-” Boy barely stifles a sob. “Just tell me what I can do- I can help. Let me help-” Arthur pulls the boy to his chest, shushing and Isaac clings to the man’s clothing: “Let me help...”

But not even Sebastian knew how to help and he’s afraid Arthur ain’t knowing either...

The hug don’t last the chatter from downstairs forces the men apart; it ain’t private and they ain’t regular. He descends last, Isaac by his side, both of them seemingly of the same mind, taking care their Arthur don’t stumble.

The moment they’re downstairs, John, Sean and Kieran turn their heads their way. Sean lifts a glass: “English!” And once they’ve made their way to the table he cheers: “Ye’r finally awake!”

“Feelin’ any better?” Kieran chimes in, leaning over the table, but Isaac seems discomforted by the question. “I-I ain’t meaning to say you-”

Arthur waves a hand: “Peachy. Seen much worse.” Man looks over at John, then back at everyone else: “You all ‘kay?”

“Sure! Asked ‘round town for some routes, fastest way back to Saint Denis.” Sean explains. “Said there’s a bigger town called Callport ‘bout a day or two from here. And we should be able to take a boat ‘cross the Lannahachee from there.”

“And we bought a wagon.” John mentions, before averting his gaze-

“Tell’em John! Tell‘em what happened.”

The man groans at that: “Jim! Name’s Jim Millston.”

“You heard that lads, Millston.”

“Shut up!”

But that had Arthur chuckling. And in the mids of this, Sebastian didn’t pay attention that the boy took off and ordered them food.

“Now tell’em what Kieran said when asked ‘bout his name.” Sean kept on.

“Not this again...” Kieran commented. “What was I s‘possed to say!?”

“Kieran Duffy.” John said almost irritated. “They ain’t knowing you.”

“And what did he say?” Arthur’s looking cheered up by all this.

“Ugh- Said I ain’t got any.” Kieran finally caved in. “Said my parents died before they could give me one.”

Arthur chuckles: “Maybe you’d make a good dime novelist.”

“Nah, I’m a horse boy, that’s all.”

Isaac places them two plates of food and Arthur thanks, then asks the kid to take a seat beside him. He wastes no time taking a bite, showing his son appreciation for the gesture. He can still hear the subtle coughs that come with the first few bites.

The rest of the dinner is eaten in silence; the food doesn’t taste good, nor bad; it’s bland, the meat is dry and stringy and the porridge sticks to the corners of his mouth. But he downs it with the help of a pint of beer. Arthur gulps his drink in one go.

“So we got a wagon...” Arthur starts and he ain’t exactly content with the predicament he’s just been put in without his choice. Sebastian liked to think he knew the man enough to know he’d protest vulnerability ‘cause it’s the face of helplessness – and it ain’t like Sebastian ain’t just the same in that regard. “We can already leave for Callport. It ain’t like we got much with us.”

“I don’t think so.” John’s the first to protest.

“Why?”

“ ‘cause you’re... Well...”

“The sooner we get back to camp the better.”

It’s a logic he can’t argue with.

“You ain’t fully rested yet-”

“ ‘course I ain’t.” Arthur’s struggling to raise his voice and at the same time fighting to keep the conversation civil. He takes a look at his son: “We ain’t knowin’ how this is gonna go...” Fear starts to glisten in the boy’s eyes and Sebastian puts a hand on him.

“He needs a doctor that’s all.” He intervenes, trying to steady it; not his best suit thou.

“Is it too much to wait for tomorrow?” Isaac asks.

“We could get some more supplies, ask the locals about things.” Kieran chimes in. “We got some food. A-And I can probably ask around for some cough medicine.”

Arthur just pursed his lips; a stifled cough:

“I need to stretch my legs...”

Isaac follows in an instant; Sebastian looks at the lot of them, all with sour faces, bows his head and excuses himself as if they were some strangers...

Outside Arthur’s leaned on the wall with his son next to him, trying his best not to worry the boy further. It was all so entirely messy, dissonant, trying to keep up with a reality that no longer existed if ever. They didn’t know what to do – they don’t. Stuck and they keep pushing, hoping the wall will break and reveal some hope after it all, but even that seemed like some lofty ideal, dangled before them, a dancing shadow on the wall. It’s not real.

“I ain’t dead. Or dying.” Arthur sighs and starts walking. “Just caught something when I dragged Marston out of the water. I’ll live through it.”

“Don’t expect anything less from you.” Sebastian says and finally there’s a smile.

“I’m just worried.” Isaac counters, trotting up between them. “There’s been a lot lately... Hosea-”

“I miss him too, kid...” Arthur confesses. “But I ain’t letting no one get there again.”

“Does that include you, thou?” Isaac wasn’t convinced; fear ran deep.

“I really do hope so.”

“We’re trying our best.” Sebastian adds.

“And I ain’t intending on leaving you alone like this.” Arthur stresses the words. “Both o’ you.” A sigh: “But enough talk ‘bout all that. I just need to feel a lil’ bit human again, not like some medical example.”

Putting it like that really gave a sense of perspective about the ordeal; Arthur who seemed to have held up this gang for many years looked about to crumble now, and it ain’t that worry ain’t natural, but how’s someone whose only worth seemed to be his usefulness supposed to feel when they all see him become fragile. That sentiment there’s one that he’s very familiar with: one thing and that one thing is me, all of me. Sebastian liked men, and he only allowed himself to be that for five entire years and it never crossed his mind that he could just saddle up and ride out west; become a cowboy and be himself, queer and all... He’s still feeling like a shell, and everything else like some reality he ain’t truly a part of.

But he got no choice but to fight.

Hand in hand; it’s real, and it ain’t slipping through, feverish and sweaty as that other palm felt on his.

Isaac’s been doing thinking this entire time: “Well I saw an interesting place if you want to check it out. Some abandoned ranch house not far from the town in a big corn field.”

“Lead the way then.”

The stalks could be seen from the edge of town; it was a little ways away from there; the lights of the houses barely touching the field. Wind whistled through making it resemble something out of a ghost story. It’s a wonder that the lantern he pulls out is still working after having been soaked through that night, then left unused for the next couple of days.

He takes on ahead; and he probably shouldn’t admit that his hand started to shake lightly. It felt more and more like something out of a nightmare of his, but Isaac finds his way right beside him. There was something daring in that boy’s eyes, and that might just give him some courage too.

There’s nothing in the cornfield. The house is indeed empty and beside being dusty to the point that it crunched under their boots it was clean.

“Oh?” Isaac darts from his side and proceeds to pick up a guitar that was lying in the corner. “Wished I asked Javier how to teach me to play one.” He tries a strum.

Sebastian puts the lantern down and Arthur finds his place on the edge of the bed; it creaks.

“I used to know how to play one he says.” He says.

“Really?” Boy lights up and hands him the instrument. “Think you can try and play something?”

“I can’t promise anything.”

Isaac flops next to his father: “Doesn’t matter; it’s still music.”

Obliged. Sebastian sits down, tries finding a comfortable pose; lips quirk as he’s trying to remember a song. Nothing. Crickets chirp outside. Still nothing. A deep inhale. Okay. He takes it from the gravest note to the highest, playing one by one then a strum down. That sounded like a tune. He repeats it a few times, eyes glued to the chords before he lifts them up.

Arthur’s eyes then; he can’t help not smiling. They ain’t been that bright or tender in quite a while; he’s starting to understand the meaning of tonight: they gotta be sweet to take away some of the bitterness that’s drenched them. Sebastian keeps on strumming.

Isaac lays his head down, closes his eyes: “It’s just like when we first met. The church remember?”

“Mhm...”

“I didn’t get it... but... Pa?” Arthur turns to look. “Did you always know?”

“I ain’t the right one to be asking these questions.” Arthur chuckles, turns into a cough at the end. “I’m a fool all things considered.”

“Well you ain’t the biggest fool.” Sebastian has to laugh; that felt like a jab at John honestly. “But did you know, Pa?”

“Well...” a scratch of the beard. “I liked him. Had a kind face.”

Hand’s placed on the guitar: “Don’t make me want to kiss you.”

“No chance with the kid watchin’.” Arthur jokes, but he’s soon cut by a protesting Isaac.

“I liked you too, Arthur.” He confesses. “You intrigued me.” He lays the guitar down. “And I guess I ain’t done discovering you.”

Arthur bows his head with a smile, while Isaac looks at the both as if this is his first time hearing a love confession.

Morning came without them paying it much notice; they returned to the hotel sure, but after that the order of events blurred. They were tired. And so sun found the bundled in a pile in a single bed. It wasn’t comfortable, his left arm was filled with static, but he’d trade nothing else for the warmth in his chest. He slips away enough to be able to stand up and lean over: a kiss on Arthur’s jaw, just beneath the ear. A few more until he wakes.

“I love you too.” Instead of ‘good morning’ because Arthur doesn’t return the kisses; caution is better, and still that manages to make his heart expand between his ribs, pulsate pleasantly.

“I’ll smother you with mine.” Sebastian coos with a thin smile on his lips; one more.

He loves the man.

Isaac tosses to the other side with a groan. And he loves the family they’ve somehow been blessed to be.

Setting out felt like they were forgetting something, but all they had was on their person and a crate of provisions in the wagon. Sean jumped front, but John drove and the Irishman didn’t quite protest about it yet. But even with this promise of a new day, maybe a new start and new luck, they all still knew Arthur ran the fever.

And the fever only grew; so did the cough. Of course, Isaac took notice of the man’s growing sluggishness, the wheezing of his breath; the boy started remembering how he got treated for influenza when he was younger. Onion syrup, chicken broth and cold rubs with camphor. And sweating, lots of sweating.

“You’d bundle me up in some old furs and tell me to stay put. You gave me your old journals and I’d scribble in them.” Isaac recounts with fondness.

Arthur sighs: “They all got burned down last winter with that fire business up North-”

“Yeah I remember... But I can always try and make new ones. I know I ain’t much of an artist.”

A chuckle, a ruffle of untamed hair: “Always aiming to please, ain’t ya?”

Sean eavesdropped on the conversation: “You know my Ma’ always made me Elderberry blossom tea to get rid of the fever. And willow bark, grinded to powder with a bit of warm milk to slide down the throat.”

“My parents used Turpentine and lard for colds.” Kieran adds. “Rubbed all over the chest. The smell was awful. I would get sick from it.”

“Wasn’t you real young when your parents died?” Arthur asks.

“Yeah. Cholera.”

“Christ! What a way to go.” Sean blurts out.

“Don’t make it worse.” John intervenes.

“Do ya ever let up, Marston?”

“The willow bark might get handy if we ever find any around.” Sebastian rubs the back of his neck in thought; it’s getting really hot.

“Streams should have some form o’ willow growing there.” Kieran says, then rubs his beard. “Wait... Ain’t hair tonic using camphor? You know the one that you rub in ye’r hair.”

Arthur muses, pursing his lips like he always did when he was unsure: “I guess... I still hear the best medicine’s whiskey.”

“That’s for pain, not fevers.” Sebastian counters; Kieran was rummaging his satchel.

Arthur scoffs then John’s voice picks up: “Listen to your man, Morgan.”

“Shut up.” The man in questions calls back only mildly offended. Kieran had pulled out a bottle of something and was looking on the back of it with squinted eyes.

“What you found there?” Sebastian asks.

“Uhh some horse stimulant.” Kieran chews on his lips: “Yup. It has camphor. Reduces pain and cools them down.”

“You want me rubbed in horse stimulant now?” Arthur protests, and a cough builds up behind his words.

“It’s all we got.”

“It ain’t that bad. It’s gonna go down soon enough.”

Wishful thinking.

The cough continued. The heat outside ain’t helping either; they were all sweaty. Kieran was driving now and john climbed in the back, offered them some water to rub on the back of their necks to cool off, but even so Arthur seemed to heave as if he ain’t got air to breath. Skin burned like a heated oil lamp.

“Kieran, can I get that horse stimulant.”

“Sure-”

“Sebastian...” Arthur was on the verge of protesting.

“It’s gonna cool you off.” He don’t wanna say that if he keeps running this fever for the next day he’s probably a goner.

“I don’t like this...”

“I know.” Sebastian didn’t like it much either.

Still, when he asked Arthur to unbutton his shirt, man obliged. John turned his entire body so he wouldn’t look at them. Sebastian poured the oily substance on his right hand and stuck it underneath the other’s shirt; the smell stung in his nostrils; the rubs are hardy, firm, making even a man as big as Arthur sway under the motion.

Hand retracts: “You know. I ain’t talked lot about Lily...” He pours some more stimulant on his hands. “She got sick a lot when she was young.”

“I’m sorry to hear that...” Arthur says; Isaac keeps quiet.

Palms rub together and he motions for Arthur to lean in for him to rub the thing over his chest. Same firm rubs, round the neck and down the burning chest:

“I was so scared for her. But she’s always been a fighter.”

The smell makes Arthur cough, but he keeps up the conversation: “Don’t doubt it.”

“Myra- Her momma would rub her down with this or something like that. The smell hung around the entire house. I could almost taste it.” The moment he’s done he buttons up Arthur’s shirt. “And when she’d be cooking, or sleeping I’d be the one to rub it on. I kept massaging a while after and she fell right back to sleep...” They’re fond memories, even if they sting now.

“You’re a great father-”

“No, I-” he wants to deflect that.

“They ain’t gonna rob you of it no more.” Despite the cough that shook his body Arthur’s arms are steady, containing, his palms like hot irons, especially in this blazing heat; he ends up easing into it.

John peeked over his shoulder at them: “I’m sorry you had to lose a child, Sebastian...”

Head simply bobs down, and Arthur goes cough inside his fist with wet heaves. It’s silence for a while, then the coughs start up again, more feverishly and the man is forced to bed over. Isaac perks up, but stays pinned to the spot- John holds the boy’s shoulders.

Arthur waves a hand: “I’m fine. I’m-” another bout, just as violent. He heaves. “Just the goddamn smell. Christ’alive...” Some more drown out coughs. “I’m fine...” He leans his head against the sides and he’s given an extra coat to let that camphor work its magic.

Sebastian can’t get sleep, not even as night falls. Everyone else seems to have gone numb to the sound of Arthur coughing. It sounds worse than it did before, but at least the temperature is steady. The sick didn’t get much sleep either, heaving and covering his mouth for the next fit.

Man looks at his hand, then up at Sebastian. Heart stings, and when he gets to look at what the cough left behind it sinks. Blood...

They wasted too much time...

#arthur morgan #john marston #sean macguire #kieran duffy #sebastian castellanos #isaac morgan #sebthur #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 fic #rdr2 fandom #whump #WELL THIS WAS A LONG TIME IN THE MAKING BUT HERE IT IS #man this chapter is kind of depressing ;w;

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ghostofaformerself-archive · 4 years ago

Note

Five times kisses from Isaac @ entraum 🥺

FIVE TIMES KISSED ISAAC LAHEY / @entraum

THE FIRST TIME IS HARMLESS. she stops by the shop to have lunch with him fairly often. it's nothing special, but it's nice. it's calm and easy, just like their friendship. this time when she leaves, though, when his next client shows up and she gets up to leave there's a quick peck exchanged between them. ❝i'll grab some dinner and come over later.❞ it's not clear who initiated it, but she only realizes it's occurred once she steps outside. rayne isn't really even sure it happened, but another part of her knows it did. the tingling feeling on her lips is still present long after she's left the shop. even the hot coffee passing through them doesn't diminish the sensation.

fingertips brush gently against her own lips as if she needs to check there's nothing on them. the action came so naturally, absently, as if they do it all the time and she knows they don't, they haven't. the strangest part of the whole thing is how much she wants to do it again. for so much longer.

THE SECOND TIME IS A GAME. head tilts back to rest on his shoulder when she feels lips and teeth against the flesh of her neck. she's wrist deep in the sink doing dishes from their impromptu dinner, but concentration is broken the moment those little electric currents dance across her skin. everywhere lips touch she feels sparks.

❝not fair, i'm—❞ words are cut off by a hum in the back of her throat when he bites down on her shoulder just a little harder. he's hardly playing fair.

apparently it's all the encouragement he needs because in the next second rayne finds herself facing isaac, pinned between his body and the edge of the counter. hands are snaking beneath her shirt and fingers squeeze her sides. he's teasing her and it's entirely unfair, but rayne isn't working to fight it. at least not until she finds herself impatient and wet hands weave into his hair so she can tug him away from her neck and shoulder to crash lips against his instead. they're a mess of lips, tongue, teeth, as they both make a grab for control.

THE THIRD TIME BURNS. they've done this before, plenty of times really, but there's something about this time that's different. she can't quite place it. the need to be as close to him as possible, to touch and feel everything she can over and over again. it starts with a movie. huddled on one side of the couch while they watch, but she can't focus. they're barely leaning against each other, but she can feel the tingling across her skin in all the places their bodies meet. the longer she sits there, the more she feels it, the less she can focus on anything other than isaac. their proximity, the way he feels, the way he smells. it almost reminds her of heightened senses when she was first turned, how much she craved and needed blood, how she would do anything to get it. this feels the same, but different. she needs isaac, craves him as if her very existence hinges on being as close to him as possible. that's when she finds herself in his lap as quickly as she takes her next breath. lips hover just over his and she feels tension in him, but it's less shock and more possessive as fingers tighten where he's holding her hips. there's barely space between their lips as her gaze is locked on isaac's and betrays every intention she has to take this as far as he's willing to. it's not the first time they've done anything, but if he's willing to go as far as she is it'll be the first time they do everything.

the gap is closed ( by which of them is unclear ) and they become a mess of teeth and tongue fighting for the upper hand, all the while trying to touch every part of each other they can. the fire igniting beneath her skin reminds her what it was like to be alive, to be so fragilely human. if her heart could beat, rayne knows it would be breaking through her ribs in this moment. all she wants is to touch and taste every inch of him, and as she trails kisses along his jaw, down his neck, she feels a familiar hunger sparked by lust and so desperate to taste the blood she hears pumping through his veins. hesitation is apparent as lips pull back from his neck and she closes her eyes, a whispered apology the first words spoke between them since this all started. ❝i'm sorry.❞

isaac isn't, though; he wants her to, he craves the feeling as much as she does the taste. he trusts her even if she doesn't trust herself to stop when she should. he understands her hesitation, knows it's nothing he's done but rather an internalized fear she has based on past occurrences. he's not going to force her into anything, but he wants rayne to know he trusts her self-control even if she doesn't.

lips crash back against his. the way he dares to trust her so implicitly despite her own reservations, and despite the kind of monster she's been in the past, sparks something in her chest. it's a warmth not triggered by his touch or by the closeness they're sharing, but perhaps something more akin to isaac's ability to trust her so wholly pulling at her. if she can't trust her own judgement, maybe she can deign to trust his judgement instead. rayne trusts isaac, so why shouldn't she trust his belief in her? maybe? she dares ones more to trace that same path over again, this time stopping at his carotid and letting herself linger instead of shying away. there's still hesitation. he trusts you. believe in that if not your own self-control. rayne is careful when she bites down, fangs piercing his skin as easily as a hot knife through butter. from the moment the metallic taste touches her tongue all she can do is hope she'll be able to stop.

THE FOURTH TIME IS A PROMISE. bodies keep turning up and she knows what it means. the warnings are there. of course he found her, he always finds her. he made her after all. made her into a monster like him and it's not something she can escape no matter how far she runs. she’s shoving clothes into a bag when isaac finds her. of course he’s come looking for her, she’s been ghosting him for days. it’s easier to leave if she says nothing, if she cuts it off without warning and breaks his heart instead. but he’s here. isaac is standing in her doorway staring at her as she stares back, clothes in one hand and duffle grasped in the other. for a moment she freezes, unsure of what she should be doing. all she can manage is to stare at him, the silent exchange leaving nothing but questions in the air: what’s happening? where is she going? why is she leaving? is this why she’s been avoiding him?

❝you need to go.❞ it’s like the world is moving again as she resumes throwing clothes into her duffle bag like he’s not even there.

❝rayne stop–❞ he takes enough steps forward to wrap a hand around her wrist gently, but firmly, and force her to stop and look at him. ❝stop.❞ it’s said again, this time a little more forcefully. ❝what is this? what are you doing? where are you going?❞

lie. lie. lie. lie. lie. lie. lie because his life depends on it, you know it does. but she can’t. no matter how much she’s trying to force a lie to leave her lips she can’t make it. there’s something stopping her, and she knows it’s whatever this thing between them is. it’s the same thing that’s making her skin feel like it’s burning where his hand holds her wrist. ❝i can’t–i have to go, i can’t stay. i need to go. i need to leave. i can’t be here.❞ none of it is a lie, not when she believes it so wholeheartedly. rayne needs to leave because it’s the only way to keep isaac safe. the terror pounding through her system is so painfully human in this moment.

brows furrow. he’s missing something. there’s only half a thought here, half a story that he hasn’t been privy to. he knows enough, though. He has enough information from this to know she’s scared deep into her bones and doesn’t doubt that it’s connected to the slew of killings that have occured in the last short while. could it be her? is that why she’s so afraid? is she falling back into the same pattern he told her about? ❝whatever it is we’ll figure it out, rayne. just talk to me.❞

wrist is wrenched from his grasp and the bag drops to the ground. ❝there’s no ‘figuring it out’, isaac. if i stay he’ll kill you.❞

now isn’t the time to ask, not while she’s panicking. not while she’s trying to find every reason she can to run and disappear. he won’t let her, he can’t. arms wrap around her firmly, holding the vampire in place despite how she fights against him–though it doesn’t seem like she’s trying too hard. a gentle kiss is pressed to the top of her head. ❝no one is killing me, rayne. we’ll figure this out, but no one is going to kill me, i promise.❞

THE FIFTH TIME MARKS A DESPERATE APOLOGY. this is her fault. she's known it would come, but she's been selfish, she stayed when she should have run like every other time. rayne sneaks out if only to avoid the inevitable confrontation that would ensue if isaac catches her, and she's glad for her ability to move like a shadow. out the living room window and into the alley just to avoid waking him. she's thankful her heartbeat can't give her away. she's meeting him as far away from isaac, from the city, that she can get. there's complete refusal to let him have the chance to get anywhere near Isaac in any capacity. not if she can help it. hands are in her pockets as she listens, waits, assesses, notices.

❝enough with the games. you've won, stop hiding.❞ the distaste in her voice is made obvious. she wants it known that she hates this, that she hates him, with every fibre of her being. he steps out into her line of sight, a woman in tow behind him, following like a puppy who's none the wiser.

gaze narrows on him. rayne knows why he's brought this woman with him, she knows and she hates it. her skin is crawling and nails are cutting into her palms the longer she stares at him. there's a large part of her that just wants to reach into his chest and rip out his heart, but—but what? what's stopping her? isaac isn't here, no one else is here. no one except the woman he's brought along, but is rayne willing to risk that casualty just for a chance to kill him? then she hears it. it's behind her, and it's faint, but she knows and it has her spinning around with enough time to put herself in his path and stop him with hands on his shoulders. she's face to face with isaac now, and it's written across her face: rayne is terrified for him.

❝you’re not supposed to be here.❞ it’s whispered, the tone desperate as she holds him by the shoulders to stop him from going after the vampire only fifty feet behind her. ❝isaac you have to go, you can’t be here. he’ll kill you just because he can.❞

❝not if i rip him apart first.❞

rayne wants to believe it, to think that they stand even a chance against the other vampire, but she’s not foolish enough to underestimate him. she isn’t willing to take the chance that they aren’t strong enough. the golden hue that’s taken over isaac’s irises is enough to tell her he’s serious and she needs to stop this in its tracks before she has to watch him die too. a hand drifts from his shoulder to rest on his cheek as her gaze softens and she forces isaac to look at her, thumb brushing gently over the skin. for a moment she just watches him. lips tug into a sad smile. ❝this only ends one way, isaac. there’s only one outcome that doesn’t end badly and i just need you to trust me on that.❞ she takes the chance to pull him in and press lips together, the kiss slow and melancholic. when rayne pulls back there’s no hiding the shine in her eyes and the tears that create twin paths down her cheeks. ❝i’m sorry. i really am.❞ her next words are mouthed silently so only he can see: i love you.

it’s a split-second and she’s tearing into the throat of the woman the other vampire has brought along. blood hits her tongue and dark eyes bleed out to vibrant crimson as her demeanour changes to something more primal and greedy. animalistic. she isn’t rayne anymore, at least not the way isaac knows her. she’s the monster she never wanted to be again, but if it means keeping him safe it’s a small price to pay.

#» the answers you want aren't always the ones you get ( answered )#» i may not be an artist but i know a work of art when i see one ( isaac & rayne )#» isaac lahey ( entraum )#» we failed to identify the unsub ( anonymous )

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justauthoring · 6 years ago

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No Reason To (28/50)

Prompt: “And I guess… when it comes down to it, I trust you.”

It has come to my attention that by adding links to my posts, it stops that post from being seen in the tags tagged. So, sadly, I will no longer be able to tag previous parts of NRT on new chapters. BUT all part can be found easily on my “No Reason To Series MasterList!”

A/N: So, a special one might make a mini little appearance in this chapter, so look out for that!

Send me a little comment in the ask section or leave it below on what you thought of this chapter. As usual, I hope you all enjoyed!

AGAIN, remember if you’d like me to continue this series, just leave a little comment or an ask letting me know. I will NOT continue the series if no one wants me to.

Please don’t plagiarize my work - I spend a lot of my time writing, copying and pasting destroys that. If you want to repost my work. please ask first - but even then I might say no.

Pairing: Stiles x McCall!Reader

Based off of: Teen Wolf 04x06 and 04x07

“It wasn’t even me.”

“Doesn’t matter. I should’ve been here.”

“Honestly, it’s okay--”

“But I promised your mom--”

“Dad.”

Rafael halts, his eyes widening when what you’ve just said registers within him. You inhale deeply at the heavy stare Scott is sending your way, gently grabbing your dad’s wrist and pulling his hand away from your arm. You’re still not completely comfortable with him, let alone touching you, but you appreciate his concern.

Of course, it’s very rare that you call him dad. If you’re ever actually addressing him, he’s just ‘Rafael’ and it’s been like that for a long time now. Ever since everything came out, the truth of your past, you haven’t been able to muster up the courage to actually call him by anything other than his name.

So, it’s no wonder he’s surprised when the word ‘dad’ comes spilling past your lips.

Swallowing thickly, you shake your head up at him. “I’m fine,” you assure, turning to Scott with a worried glance and a frown marring your lips. “Besides it was Scott that was here. That she went after.”

“I’m fine,” Scott urges, copying your previously said words as he nods at the two of you. “Honest.”

“It’s just,” your father stammers, shaking his head. “I said I would be at the game. I wasn’t. I-I should’ve been here.”

“Well, I mean,” Scott begins, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye as he tries to explain himself. “This was just a pre-season scrimmage. I didn’t even tell you about it.”

“Y/N was here,” Rafael reminds, his eyes falling on you as you frown. “And I promised your mom I would be around so she could pick up some double shifts at the hospital.” Pausing, he inhales deeply. “I should’ve been here.”

Biting your bottom lip, you shrug; “you’re here now.”

“And that’s all that matters,” Scott adds, nodding at your father.

Just then, as silence falls over the three of you, Deputy Parrish along with the Sheriff turn around the corner, with Violet. The same girl who’d just tried to kill your brother.

“Jordan Parrish?” She questions, pulling your eyes on her as she squints in thought at his name tag.

“Deputy Parrish,” Jordan corrects, narrowing his eyes at the back of her head, continuing to lead her through the hallway. As she passes by you and Scott, you watch her carefully as her hardened gaze falls on Scott, a smirk almost on her lips, before her gaze falters to you. You swallow thickly, shoulders tensing at the look she gives you, gaze never leaving her as she’s lead away.

“Sheriff,” Rafael calls, pulling you from your thoughts. “What is that? Is that the weapon?”

Glancing down at what your father refers to, your eyes fall on the bag Noah holds in his hands. “Yeah,” Noah confirms, flipping it over for a better view of the weapon. “It’s a thermo-cut wire.”

As you turn to look back up at your father, you notice a look crosses his face. Suddenly, and without warning, he’s turning, the speed in his step quickening slightly to catch up with Parrish. “Parrish,” he calls, “hold up.”

Just as you move to follow, you and Scott are both stopped by Liam rushing in before you.

“Where’s Kira?” Scott questions, brows furrowing.

“She took off,” Liam explains, “Stiles told her about Lydia cracking the second third of the deadpool.”

Your lips part with realization; “her mom’s on it.”

“Everyone’s on it,” Liam reminds, voice pitched with panic.

Shaking his head, Scott gestures to Liam; “you’re not.”

“Not yet,” Liam sighs, “there’s still another third, right?”

Setting your head in your hands, you let out a sigh, shaking your head. This was way beyond any of you. Werewolf or not. Banshee or not. Witch or not... this was incredibly dangerous.

Turning to Scott, your lips part to say something, but you hesitate the moment you see the look in his eyes. Turning to Liam, you watch as he turns his head over his shoulder. They’re listening into your father’s conversation with Violet.

After a few minutes, you let your hand fall on Scott’s arm. “What’re they saying?”

“Violet,” Scott begins, turning to look at you. “Her and her boyfriend, Garrett, they’re something called ‘The Orphans’.” As he explains himself, his eyes narrow slightly in thought, shaking his head. “Her thermo-cut wire, it’s a weapon similar to one in over a dozen murders.”

Eyes widening, your lips part; “a dozen murders?”

Nodding, Scott’s eyes meet your own; “a dozen.”

You step back, giving Scott room to break the lock on Garrett’s locker. The moment he has it broken, he turns to look at you, nodding at you as he pulls open the door. Your eyes flutter across the contents on the inside, lips parting slightly when they land on red duffel bag.

“I think someone’s coming,” Liam yells in a hushed whisper by the door, pulling both yours and Scott’s attention on him. “Hurry!”

Listening to his call, you lean forward, taking the zipper of the bag in your hands and tugging. When it’s completely at the end, you pull the flap of the bag open, your eyes widening in disbelief at the sight before you.

“You find anything?”

It’s money. Lots of it. More money then you think you’ve ever seen directly before you.

As you turn to look at Scott, you find yourself bewildered when he shakes his head, lips parting to answer Liam. “No,” he says, voice slightly rough with uncertainty. “Nothing.”

Why was he lying?

“Scott,” you hiss, attempting to keep your voice as quite as possible. Grabbing him by the arm, you tug him towards you, wide, slightly angered eyes meeting his own as you shake your head in both disbelief and question. What was he thinking?

Scott only shakes his head at you, taking the flap of the bag out of your hands and closing up the bag once again.

“I know that look Scott.”

Your brother keeps his head tilted downwards, avoiding your gaze.

His silence causes you to shake your head, pacing slightly before him as your eyes fall on the red duffel bag shoved underneath of his bed. It’s like it’s taunting you, just like you know it’s taunting Scott. “We can’t,” you continue, your voice somewhat forced as you crouch down, maneuvering in a way so you’re in Scott’s line of shot. As he hesitantly raises his eyes to meet your own, you shake your head. “This is wrong.”

“But mom--”

“But mom, what, Scott?” You interrupt, voice sharp. “This is wrong.”

Scott’s face tenses and leaning forward, he grabs the duffel bag from underneath his bed, sliding it towards you. Your eyes follow it’s movement, landing on it as he slides to a stop before you. Before you know it, a shadow falls in front of you, and your eyes meet Scott’s. “Open it,” he pushes, nodding down at it.

“Scott...”

“Open it.”

With a shaky exhale, you reach forward, slowly and hesitantly, before flipping the flap over, revealing the contents inside. All the money inside.

“This money,” Scott continues, pointing at it, “this money can do so much good. We can pay off our bills, get the electricity back.” Shaking your head, you lean back, scoffing, but before you can make it very far, Scott reaches out for you, holding you in place as your eyes fall on his once again. “We can save mom so much stress. I know you’ve heard her, Y/N. At night, crying.”

Your eyes fall shut, inhaling deeply.

“Stiles and his dad can pay off their bills.”

Your eyes open just as quickly as they had fallen shut, and you stare back at Scott in surprise.

“We can do so much good with this,” Scott whispers.

“But it isn’t ours,” you argue, voice barely above a whisper. “This money, it’s not ours.”

“We found it.”

Swallowing thickly, you shake your head, pushing yourself up to your feet. You step back before Scott can stop you, turning towards his door as you repeatedly shake your head at him, holding your hand out before you in a warning to step back. “You don’t touch that money,” you warn, staring at him with a look he can’t argue against. “At least not for now. We don’t tell anyone about it either, okay? We keep this a secret, until we figure out what to do with it.”

Closing the flap, Scott pushes himself back up to his feet, sliding the bag back under his bed before turning back towards you.

“Okay?” You urge, raising a brow.

Nodding, Scott sighs; “okay.”

You let out a small smile at the text sent your way.

It’s a picture of Isaac in his school uniform in front of his big fancy school, believe it or not with the caption ‘bet you wish you were here’. It causes a small giggle to leave your lips, a pause of happiness despite all the terrible things that have happened in the last few days, let alone past few hours. You two regularly text each other despite him being in an entirely different country. Mainly because you miss him and he misses you.

That, and just to keep each other updated on things.

And for a moment, you wonder if you should say something about the deadpool. If you should tell Isaac about Liam and what’s been happening. How Scott was nearly killed just last night... but you don’t. Because he went to France to get away from everything, and you still commend him on his bravery to do so. You don’t want to ruin the calm life he’s built for himself.

So, instead, you reply with a simple laughing emoji and a ‘beats Beacon Hills’.

As you move to set down your phone and grab your textbooks, a hand falls on your shoulders, causing you to jump. Your instincts kick in, and at the gasp that leaves your lips, you turn, ready to punch whoever decided to spring up beside you. But a hand catches your fist and your eyes land on that of your brothers.

“Jesus,” you breathe, setting a hand against your chest. “Don’t scare me like that, especially after...” Your words trail, however, the minute you notice the wild and panicked look in Scott’s eyes. Then, you finally notice it deep inside your chest. How you hadn’t noticed it before, you’re not sure. “What’s the matter?” You instantly ask, eyes widening in worry. “Scott, what’s--”

“It’s Liam,” he breathes, inhaling deeply. “Garrett has him.”

“What?” You screech, instantly shutting your locker door as you turn to Scott.

“I’m sorry,” Scott breathes, “but I need your help. I can’t do this without you.”

Setting your hand on Scott’s shoulder, squeezing it slightly in reassurance, you shake your head. “What do you need?”

“Okay, what do you want? You want me to go to Stilinski? I can do that. Or I can talk to my father. He’s an FBI agent.”

Smirking, Garrett’s eyes fall on you; “I thought we agreed to meet one on one.”

Crossing your arms across your chest, you raise a brow over at the younger boy. “Cut the crap,” you hiss, eyes narrowing darkly. “What do you want? Scott’s right, our father--”

Garrett’s chuckle causes you to pause, watching him carefully as he pushes off the side of the bus, turning to you and your brother. “You think I want to talk to anyone with a badge right now? I’m not talking to a werewolf,” he pauses, eyes sliding to you once again, “and a witch, because I want to talk to someone.”

“Then what are we supposed to do?”

Turning his head to the side, Garrett’s jaw clenches; “they’re transferring Violet to a federal facility. You’re not going to let that happen.” You let out a small growl as Garrett points his lacrosse stick at Scott’s stomach, the one you know has the knife built in.

Shaking his head, Scott raises his chin defiantly; “how?”

“They’re going to put her in a car,” Garrett begins. “we’re going to follow it. We get ahead of it. You stop it.”

“You want my brother to attack a car?” You hiss, “that’s your plan?”

“He’s an alpha,” Garrett growls, eyes sliding back towards Scott. “If you can’t stop one little car, then one little beta is going to die.” Raising his lacrosse stick, your jaw clenches at the knife that protrudes. “I stabbed your boy with a blade dipped in wolfsbane. Once it gets to the heart... bad things happen.”

“There’s a stop sign half a mile ahead.”

“So I take out the tires with my claws?”

“Teeth, claws, heat vision, whatever. Just stop them.”

Shaking your head, you inhale deeply. “Scott,” you call, leaning forward to pull your brothers attention on you. “I can stop them. You don’t have to--”

“No,” Scott interrupts without a second of hesitance. “You’re not doing that. I can’t risk you being caught.”

“But I can stop the car from far away, no one will even see--”

“No, okay?”

You pause, lips parting at Scott’s blatant interruption. You stare back at him for a moment longer, testing his determination. But, just as you open your mouth to speak again, Garrett interrupts you. “You ready?”

Letting out a huff, you fall back against your seat, annoyed. If Scott would just let you help and stop trying to be such a brother, it could diminish the risk of him being caught by a long shot.

However, you can’t dwell on the issue for much longer before you suddenly feel the car screech to a stop as Scott bellows out; “stop! Stop the car!” You instantly straighten out, leaning forward to see what was wrong. That’s when your eyes land on the tipped over car, the same car you’d been following and the one that holds Violet, with two men out on the side of it.

You rush out behind your brother instantly, your eyes widening when you realize the two on the side of the road are Sheriff Stilinski and your father. You halt to a stop as Scott continues to run, suddenly frozen stiff with fear as your brother bellows out dad repeatedly, crouching before him to help both Rafael and Noah. But you can’t find the will within you to move. Seeing your father, despite everything, on the ground, passed out, it... it terrifies you.

“Y/N!”

Scott voice fades to the back of your mind, and it isn’t until you notice Garrett creeping up behind you do you move. Your head turns over your shoulder to look at him, body tensing in preparation, but it’s only a second later that you realize he isn’t even looking at you. And rather, something directly past you.

As you move your head to look, a hand grabs your wrist, tugging you backwards as you stumble into your brothers arms. You meet his eyes for a brief second, before turning around to gaze back at Garrett and the large... creature stood directly next to him.

With his weapon out, what had originally been the lacrosse stick, Garrett begins to swing it rampantly. “Come on! Come on!” He bellows, chin raised in defiance as he tries to appear strong before the creature. “Yeah, that’s right. You’re not so big.”

Your attention, however, is soon stolen by another one of those things as they creep up behind Garrett, stabbing him directly in the chest. Your eyes widen, hands falling to your lips in bewilderment as Garrett’s weapon clatters to the ground uselessly.

Before you know it, Scott is leaving your side, rushing towards Garrett. His name leaves your lips in a shrill cry which then turns into an actual cry the moment your brother is knocked down by one of those things. You barely even register the pain that floods your own body, too worried about Scott as he falls to the ground with a thud. Without hesitation, you rush forward to help your brother, but a hand latches around your ankle, causing your eyes to fall on that of Noah.

“Don’t,” he rasps, shaking his head.

Turning around from Noah, you turn to one of the creatures, eyes falling shut for a moment as you let your power surge around you. “I have to,” you whisper, dismissing Noah’s warning as you run forward. You manage to knock one of them back before it can reach you, slamming it to the ground.

And for a while, you keep up your own, but the second your eyes land on that of Scott’s unconscious form, you feel a sharp pain radiate throughout your side. It causes you to lose balance, stumbling to the side slightly as you push back the thing. But, then, it’s friend comes lunging at you from the behind, knocking you to the ground with a hit that takes your breath away.

You want to get back up, keep fighting, but your vision darkens and you begin to feel light-headed. Before you know it, your eyes are falling shut and the world fades to black.

You wake with a gasp, your entire body lurching forward. A scream tears through your lips, unable to stop yourself as your entire body shakes with a fear. Your mind races to remember what events have just occurred, but you find it happens too fast, unable to keep up with it.

Then, there are hands on your shoulders, pulling you from your thoughts as your vision spins to focus on one thing.

“Y/N, Y/N,” the voice sounds familiar. “It’s me. It’s Scott.”

Blinking, you feel your body still, eyes finally focusing on that of your brother’s. He’s staring down at you with concern, and as you sit there, chest rising and falling, you let your eyes fall downwards, to your hip where blood has leaked through to your shirt.

“You’re okay,” Scott whispers, pulling your eyes back on him as he nods down at you. You notice two figures stood behind him, Deaton and Chris, staring back at you with mild concern as you breathe heavily to catch your breath. Letting out a sigh, your hand moves to grasp Scott’s, holding onto him tightly as you stare up at him in wonder. “It’s okay.”

“Kate,” you breathe, voice barely above a whisper. “And those things...” Then, your eyes widen. “Dad... and-and Noah, where--”

“They’re safe,” Deaton speaks up, pulling your eyes on him as he nods down at you, reassuringly. “They’re at the hospital.”

Letting out a breath of relief, you nod, your grip never loosening on Scott’s hand.

“Listen, Y/N,” Scott calls, pulling your focus back on him. “I might know how to find out where Liam is, but we have to go after Violet. If you want to stay back, I under--”

“No,” you interrupt without hesitation, moving to push yourself off the table. “I’m coming with you.” Once you’re on your feet, your hand having never left Scott’s you nod up at him. “Always.”

“You shouldn’t have come.”

Pausing, you feel your shoulders tense in anticipation, glancing around the warehouse for the owner of the voice. For Kate.

“Kate,” Scott calls out, “i’m here for Violet. I need to talk to her.”

You follow Chris’ lead as he takes a step forward, hands held out beside you in caution.

“I knew you’d find me,” Kate says eventually, her voice a distant echo. Then, her shadow appears on the sheet a few feet in front of the three of you, and once again, you all halt to a stop. Chris instantly raises the gun in his hand, pointing it towards the figure as you feel your body tense. “But... I was hoping we could do this later.”

Then, as her figure continues to grow closer, two more appear next to her -- the exact same shape as those creatures. As those beserkers as Scott had called them.

“I just... needed a little more time.”

“For what?”

“To learn control,” Kate answers, and your eyes widen when her hand presses against the sheet covering her figure. She has... claws. Then, she steps back from the sheets, still hidden in shadows. “Lower the gun,” she orders, “we walk away. And you don’t have to get hurt.”

“Where’s Violet?” You ask aloud.

“Put the gun down, Chris,” Kate whispers, ignoring you.

“Where is she?”

You turn to Chris, watching as his finger presses against the trigger of his gun. Kate lets out a low growl, and you shift on your feet in anticipation, waiting for Scott’s lead.

To your surprise, he calls out; “no, no!” But his heed isn’t listen to, and the beserkers soon started running forward, Chris instantly pressing against the trigger of his gun, gun shots ringing out in response.

“No, no, stop! No!” Scott continues to bellow, causing your brows to furrow in confusion.

Chris continues not to listen, a scream tearing through his lips as he mercilessly shoots at the creatures. Kate runs up to him soon however, knocking the gun out of his hands before punching him across the face. You finally let your power surge within you the second you’re forced back, separate from both Scott and Chris as a beserker lunges after you.

You dodge it’s hit, barely moving in time as you move to hold it back.

It doesn’t work, and soon you find yourself slammed against the floor on your back, shuffling backwards as the berserker stomps towards you. Before it can hit you however, something catches it’s attention. Your eyes widen when you notice Chris stood behind the thing, pulling it’s attention off of you and onto him. As it turns to hit Chris, you push yourself hastily up to your feet, taking a deep inhale before shooting your hands before you, fire bleeding from your fingers.

It causes the beserker to cry out in pain, turning towards you with haste as you dodge it’s hit. With a swipe of your hand, you send it to the ground, just as Chris follows up behind you, punching the thing harshly in the back right where you had burnt it seconds ago.

However, you’re soon distracted by a hit to the side, your attention turning to Kate. The berserker manages to land a hit across your thigh, a cry tearing past your lips as you fall to the ground. As you move to push yourself back up, the berserker slams it’s fist into your thigh, a scream tearing through your lips as your body falls against the ground, a exhausted huff leaving your lips.

It takes you a moment to gather your bearings, the pain in your leg too much to bare. But then, you hear Kate bellow out a scream of no and you raise your head to see Chris on his hands and knees, one of the berserker’s hovering above him.

However, Kate’s scream, followed by a roar, causes the thing to stop. She starts to walk away, the berserker, followed by the other one, following after her. You hear Chris rasp out your brother’s name, and with a soft groan, you push yourself up, ignoring the pain in your leg as you crawl over to the man. Your hand falls on his shoulder just as one appears before him, Scott’s hand.

Chris accepts it, Scott pulling him up to his feet before turning to you. Wrapping his arm around your waist, Scott pulls you back up to your feet, you slightly limping in response, as you gaze back at him, eyes drifting between him and Chris.

“Scott,” Chris breathes, voice raspy, “i’m sorry.”

“I’m not going to find him,” your brother mumbles, frowning.

Shaking your head, you lean against Scott; “there’s still time. There’s always time.”

“I’m okay. I’m fine.”

You grip Stiles’ shoulder tightly as he sets you down Scott’s bed, trying to ignore the racing of your heart and the thin sheet of sweat that lines your forehead. Even though those four words leave your lips, you can’t ignore the exhaustion that floods your entire being or the pain in your thigh at the slightest movement.

The moment you’re settled, your eyes drift from Scott’s who stands a bit back to Stiles, who stares down at you with deep concern. Hands slipping from his shoulders, you let one clasp his hand tightly and the other fall to your stomach, shaking your head. “I’m okay, I promise.”

Stiles only stares back in disbelief, shaking his head as his eyes fall to the wound on your thigh. Deaton wrapped it back at the vet office after he’d helped get the wolfsbane out of Liam, but it still hurt like hell and Deaton had said that it might take a while to heal.

“Stiles,” you call, squeezing his hand as your gaze remains unwavering. “I’m fine.” Then, your shoulders fall and you turn to the red duffel bag sat on Scott’s floor. “We have bigger things to worry about.”

Stiles seems doubtful, concerned, so he stays close to you as he lets his eyes fall on the red duffel bag. Biting his bottom lip, Stiles turns to Scott; “you counted it yet?”

Letting out a shaky sigh, Scott shakes his head; “no.”

“We should probably count it.”

As they turn the duffel bag over, the contents of money spilling out, something else follows. Your eyes widen when the land on a cassette tape. As Scott picks it up, further confusion floods you at the words written over it.

PLAY ME

“After entering the IP address, you will be connected through a Darknet portal to an untraceable bank. Once logged in, enter your account number to receive wire transfers. The IP address will deactivate with each transfer. You will be assigned a new IP address if you choose to continue down the list. Remember, visual confirmation is always required for payment.”

Leaning forward, Stiles presses the stop button on the tape. “You guys ever make a wire transfer?”

Turning to Scott, you shrug; “never had enough money.”

“Okay,” Stiles nods, “so you didn’t understand a word of that either?”

“I don’t understand any of this. Why would someone use all this money just to kill us?”

“Someone want you dead, dude,” Stiles sighs, shoulders tensing. You frown when his eyes land on you. “Both of you. All of you. Badly.”

There’s a moment of just silence, neither of you sure what to say. Then, suddenly, Scott begins to pack up all the money, causing your brows to furrow and Stiles to jump to alert. “Woah, woah, what are you doing?”

“It’s late,” Scott says bluntly, “we’ve got the PSATs in the morning.”

“He’s right,” you nod over at Stiles who just shakes his head.

“No, I-I meant the money,” he stammers, “five hundred thousand. You know how much money that is?”

Pausing a moment, Scott’s eyes narrow in confusion; “it’s five hundred thousand...--”

“It’s half a million dollars, Scott,” Stiles reminds and your shoulders fall. Part of you already knows where this is going. “What are you going to do, just slide it under your mattress?”

“What we need to do,” you cut in, “is talk to Derek. The money’s his.”

“You mean his and Peter’s,” Stiles corrects, causing you to frown.

“What does that mean?”

“It means maybe we should proceed with caution.”

Brows twitching, Scott shakes his head; “you don’t think we should tell Derek?”

“No,” Stiles says bluntly, causing you to turn to him with narrowed eyes. Shaking his head, he pushes himself up to his feet. “No,” he repeats, “no, of course we have to tell him. I’m just... I’m just saying some of that money’s Peter’s, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Right? Peter,” Stiles repeats, putting emphases on Peter’s name. “Homicidal killer? Remember? You want to give five hundred thousand to him.”

“Okay,” you say slowly, shaking your head. “So, we should give Derek his money back. But not Peter?”

“I didn’t say that.”

Turning to Scott, you frown; “Stiles, what are you saying?”

Before Stiles can explain himself, there’s sudden footsteps, nearing Scott’s room. Eyes widening, you hold your hands out before you urgently, reaching for the bag as you help but Stiles and Scott shove it underneath the latter’s bed. Just as Stiles helps you up to your feet, Malia bursts through the door, soaked from the rain.

“We found Satomi’s pack,” she explains, “Derek and I. But they’re dead.”

“All of them?”

“All the ones we found,” she sighs.

“Then where’s Derek?”

“How’s your leg?”

Glancing down at your wrapped leg, you send a small smile Kira’s way. “It’s good,” you encourage with a nod, padding the injured spot lightly. “I can walk on it better now. But this doofus refuses to let me walk on me own.” You turn to Stiles at your words, sending him a slight glare as you gesture to the tight arm he has wrapped around your waist.

“Hey,” Stiles calls offending, turning to you with wide eyes. “Can’t I be considered about my girlfriend?”

Rolling your eyes, you shake your head.

Kira chuckles slightly, mimicking your grin before her gaze wonders elsewhere. “Where’s Lydia?”

“She took it her freshman year.”

Upon your words, Malia’s eyes widen; “does that mean I could’ve taken it some other time?”

“Malia,” your brother calls softly, “you’ve studied harder for this than any of us.”

Leaning against the locker, Malia frowns; “doesn’t mean i’m gonna do good.”

“Well,” Stiles corrects, though Malia only stares back at him in confusion.

“Well, what?” She repeats slowly, shaking her head with furrowed brows.

“It’s do well, not do good.”

“God!”

“Okay, okay.”

“Malia,” you call, setting your hand on her shoulder as you smile down at her. “You’ll do fine. I know you will.”

“And you’re doing this,” Scott adds on, causing your eyes to fall on him. “Because while we’re trying not to die, we still need to live. If I survive high school, i’d like to go to college. A good college.”

“It’s only three hours,” Kira reminds, smiling reassuringly. “We can survive three hours.”

You jump at the sudden thud that echoes from beside you.

Turning your head to the right, your eyes widen in concern when you notice the girl who’d been setting next to you on the ground, unconscious. “Sydney!” You hear Mrs. Martin call out in concern, rushing forward and crouching before the girl as you turn to her in surprise.

Slowly gaining conscious, the girl, Sydney, sits up with the help of Mrs. Martin.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m okay,” the girl breathes, standing up to her feet. “I just got kind of dizzy.”

You turn to go back to your test, but Mrs. Martin calling out Sydney’s name once again followed by a ‘how long have you had this?’ causes you to pause, turning back around. Your eyes fall to Sydney’s wrist, catching sight of the reddish veins that have appeared there.

“I don’t know,” Sydney breathes, voice shaky.

“Ms. Martin,” the instructor calls out, “do I need to stop the test?”

“Uh, no,” Ms. Martin shakes her head, gently pushing the girl back into her seat. “It’s fine.”

But something about the look in her eyes tells you it isn’t.

“Everybody stay in your seats,” she instructs once she’s at the front of the classroom. “I’ll, um, be back in a minute.”

Grabbing her phone off the counter, she turns to the instructor, and her words cause you to frown with concern.

“Nobody leaves the room.”

“Bet they’re thinking small pox.”

“Not likely.”

Blinking, you turn from your spot next to Stiles, glancing back at the instructor with a raised brow.

“Smallpox was eradicated worldwide in nineteen-seventy-nine,” he continues, “we’ve only managed to completely eradicate two viruses in history. The other was rinderpest. It killed cows.”

“So we should be comforted by that, right?”

“Unless it’s something worse.”

Pausing, you frown. Great comfort....

“Whatever it is,” Malia speaks up, pulling your eyes on her. “They’re taking it pretty seriously. They’re a lot of cars and trucks out there.” Pausing a moment, she turns to Stiles; “your dads with them.”

“Hey,” Stiles calls, standing up as he moves towards the bin of phones. “I should probably call him.”

“Don’t bother,” the instructor interrupts once again, “they would have shut off any access to all outside communication by now. No cell service, no WiFi. No one starting to panic. Looks like we’re all just going to have to wait here and see what happens.”

Leaning into Malia, you frown; “is it just me, or is he kinda creepy?”

You shake your head as Scott’s eyes continue to flash red.

“It’s still happening.”

Sighing, you set your head in the palm of your hand, shaking it.

Turning to Malia, your eyes fall on her claws as she holds them up, shaking her head. “I can’t make them go back,” she sighs, turning to you as you give her a pitiful look in response.

“Obviously the virus is affecting the two of you in a way it won’t hit any human being,” Mr. Yukimaru explains, nodding over at Malia and Scott.

“You guys have to stay out of sight,” Stiles advises, “we have to quarantine you from the quarantine.”

“Yeah, but where?” You question with a shake of their head. “I mean, what if they get violent? Like on a full moon.”

“We shouldn’t stay in here,” Scott rasps, still bent over and out of breath. “Not in the locker room.”

“A classroom is not going to hold us,” Malia stammers, shaking her head.

“What about the basement?”

“Too many ways out.”

“We need something secure,” Scott explains, nodding his head. “Somewhere nobody can find us.”

You turn to Stiles the moment you notice him pause, meeting his eyes briefly as they light up with realization. “The vault,” he calls out, turning to Scott. “The Hale vault.”

“The Hales always have an escape route. Like their house,” Scott reminds, nodding at Stiles’ suggestion. “There has to be another way in.”

“Okay. This is where the school sign is, so the vault’s got to be right about here.”

“I suppose if there’s a second entrance, it would probably be accessible from the basement.”

Leaning back, Stiles extends his hand out. “It’s probably somewhere in this hallway. Or this corridor.” Though, as his words finish, you notice him wobble on his feet slightly. Your eyes widen, instantly reaching out to catch just before he clatters to the floor. He blinks the moment he’s in your hands, shaking his head. “Whoa.”

Pulling down the sleeve of his hoodie, you frown when you notice the red veinish details across his wrist -- exactly like that girl.

“It’s happening to you too,” Mr. Yukimura sighs, “you’re getting sick. You all are.”

Your brows furrow at his words, about to question them but before you can, Kira speaks up, shaking her head up at her father. “I don’t feel sick,” she shrugs.

“I think it’s affecting you differently, neurologically,” Mr. Yukimura explains, reaching into his back pocket for something. “I found your test answers her in a pile with the others.” Laying the test on the desk, your eyes widen when you realized every circled answer that Kira had filled it, is off to the left, out of place.

“But how does that explain me?” You question after a moment, frowning as you turn to Mr. Yukimura. “I feel fine.”

Sighing, Mr. Yukimura shakes his head. “That I can’t explain,” he says honestly. “I don’t know much about witches.”

Frowning, you let out a huff; “you and me both.”

“There’s got to be more to this.”

“That doesn’t mean... I mean, it’s dangerous, Y/N.”

Biting your lip, you hesitate on a reply. Your eyes falter on Stiles’ own for a second before glancing past him, falling on that of Kira and how weak she is. Then Malia who lays in her lap barely able to sit up on her own. And then you turn to Scott, your brother, who’s hands are shaking uncontrollably in his lap and the way his chest rises and falls rapidly, without stop.

And then finally, your gaze falls back on Stiles and the exhaustion in his eyes, the sweat that clings to his skin. And you think back to how you are the only not effected, not sick, and that must mean something, right? It has to mean something.

So, with a small, sad smile, you let your hand fall on Stiles’ cheek, cupping it. “I have to go,” you repeat, voice soft so only he can hear. “I have to.”

But Stiles only shakes his head, taking a step towards you as one hand falls on your waist, pulling you close and the other cups the back of your head, pulling you closer. He doesn’t argue, because he knows his argument will only fall on deaf ears. But his hands shake as he holds you close, and it’s not because of the sickness that affects him.

“I have to,” you murmur once again, head buried into the crook of his neck. “I have to save you and everyone else.”

And then Stiles leans back, cupping your cheek. His eyes stare deep into your own, flooded with worry and concern but when he parts his lips, he doesn’t disagree. Instead, his thumb strokes across your cheek as he frowns; “you’re gonna come back, right?”

“Yeah,” you whisper, smiling softly up at him as you lean into his touch. “I’ll always come back. I promise.”

Stiles nods, finally, and he steps back, letting go of you but his gaze never leaves your own.

You return his nodding, move to step out of the vault. The moment you’re outside, you hesitate by the door just for another moment, glancing back at Stiles one final time as you send him a small smile. Then, with a nod, he moves to shut the vault door and slowly, he disappears from your view.

And the moment the door is fully shut, you turn, heading down the hallway you’d just gone down moments before with everyone else. Your steps are quick, heart pounding against your chest as you keep a careful eye out for anything. As much as you hate the idea of it, it’s obvious that this isn’t just any outbreak.

Violet and Garrett, or The Orphan’s as they were more commonly known as, aren’t the only professional hunters after you and your friends. And you know it.

As soon as you reach the top of the steps, you move to step towards where the quarantine zone is, hoping to find Ms. Martin. But, something out of the corner of your eye catches your attention. It’s the door to the boys locker-room, and for some reason, it’s open. Your brows furrow, eyes narrowing in thought. It shouldn’t be open.

Taking a step forward, you hesitantly set your hand on the door knob, pushing it open. Something feels wrong, but your heart tells you to continue. You promised Stiles that you would find the cause of this all, and you were determined to. For his sake, for Scott’s, Malia’s and Kira’s. For your friends sake.

But just as you step into the room, the lights suddenly switch off, enveloping you in darkness. It causes you to gasp, your body tensing as you instantly turn towards the door, sensing the danger. But, just as you reach for the door knob, it slams shut, leaving no light to bleed into the room. You can’t see a single thing.

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

The voice frightens you, your body jumping slightly in response. But even so, your brows furrow when you realize the voice sounds slightly familiar -- you just can’t exactly place it.

“Who are you?”

You hear footsteps, echoing around you. You try to follow them, but in complete darkness, it’s nearly impossible.

“We’ve only met once,” the voice continues, and your lips curve down into a deep frown, trying to recognize the voice. “But I was so sure I made a lasting impression.”

The instructor for the PSATs.

“You,” you breathe, voice barely above a whisper.

“I do believe you called me creepy.”

Eyes narrowing, you let your eyes fall shut, your powers surging through you. But, even with the extra light glowing from your body, you can’t find him. His footsteps echoing around you continue to taunt you, hidden in the shadows, out of view.

“You’re doing this?”

“Guilty as charged.”

Feeling anger surge through you, you swipe your hand out, intent on hitting the man. But nothing ever echoes, except a faint thud, causing you to frown in confusion. Once again, your hand swipes out before you, and nothing.

“If you can’t see me,” the man’s voice echoes, taunting. “You can’t hit me.”

You feel your shoulders tense, fear flooding through you as his words register within you.

Biting back the fear, you let out a growl, holding your hands out before you protectively. “I can try,” you snap, swiping your hand across yourself once more. As before, it does nothing.

“You won’t hit me, because you can’t see me,” the man speaks once again, continuing to taunt you. Then, his footsteps halt, and so do you, fearing the worst. Your head spins every which way, eyes squinting to catch just the slightest sight of him, It’s useless. “But,” and suddenly, his figure appears before you, a pain radiating throughout your stomach. “I can see you.”

You curl into yourself, your hands falling to the knife lodged into your stomach as your eyes register on the man before you. He smirks down at you, twisting the knife inside of you before slamming you up against one of the lockers. A cry leaves your lips in response, head bouncing off of the locker as your entire body tenses, jaw clenching at the feeling of the knife still lodged into your stomach.

“You witches are hard to catch,” the man smirks down at you sickly, watching as you swallow thickly, your skin growing clammy as you try to breathe through the pain. “You aren’t affected by the virus, so I had to find a different means of catching you. Thirty million is a lot of money to pass up.”

You growl at his teasing’s, struggling within his grip only to instantly regret it the moment a sharp pain radiates through out of your body.

Then, the man steps back, knowing you can’t do much with the knife pressed into his stomach. He doesn’t grow that far, just creating enough distance between the two of you so he can pull something out of his back pocket. Your eyes watch his movements closely, watching as he pulls out of a blindfold, holding it out before you with a proud smile.

“You can’t hurt me if you can’t see me.”

“I was wondering how that idiot got sick.”

Letting out a whimper, you try to peer through your blind at who the instructor speaks to. You can barely see a thing, just make out a faint outline. However, you do notice the hitch in the persons breath the minute you’re shoved forward, the instructor holding onto your arm tightly, your hands tied behind you.

You try to struggle, but it’s useless, because every bit you move sends a bout of pain throughout your entire body that blinds you with excruciating agony. The knife was pulled out, shortly after the man had bound and blindfolded you, but it wasn’t healing because despite being a witch, you didn’t have Scott’s and Malia’s healing abilities. Instead, you were left to bleed out.

Though, originally, it had looked like the man just intended to kill you. He’d been about to before something had caught his attention. What, you weren’t sure, but you assumed it to be whoever was stood in front of you. Whoever you couldn’t see.

Then, he had grabbed you by the arm, yanked you up to your feet despite your yelp of pain and dragged you unceremoniously forward. Without a care for your well being. Though, you guessed a man trying to kill you wouldn’t care all that much.

“I’m also wondering where you’re friends are,” the man continues, his voice sending a shiver through your spine as you let out a shaky breath. “Since in order to be paid by the benefactor, I need to have proof they’re dead.”

You’re not unaware of the gun the man holds in his free hand, nor of the fact that it’s point directly at your right side.

“Visual conformation.”

And just like that, you feel your heart plummet.

“Stiles...”

Even though you can’t see Stiles, you can now feel his heavy gaze on you. And it fills you with nothing but dread.

Dread that only intensifies when you feel the gun leave your side and point at, only who you can assume, Stiles.

“Exactly.”

You let out a groan as you’re tossed to the ground, your head falling back against the wall as you let out a small whimper of pain. Your entire body shakes in response, fighting the restraints wrapped tightly around your wrists. You can’t see a thing, but you can imagine that the man’s gun is still pointed at Stiles who you can’t help but worry for, even more than yourself.

“I’ll deal with you in a minute,” the man whispers down at you, before you hear his footsteps fleeting.

Your heart drops when you hear another pair follow his own.

You want to help, but with your hands tied behind your back, you can’t pull off the blindfold. And your powers are useless if you can’t see, just like the man had said. And with the nasty wound in your stomach, moving is just as impossible because every slight movement causes your body to tense with blinding and unfathomable pain. You can feel your energy slipping by every passing moment and you so badly want to close your eyes and fall asleep, but you fight the urge for Stiles.

“Stiles!” You call out, voice pitching in panic as it echoes across the otherwise silent room. “Just let him go,” you cry, knowing that you’re most likely speaking to the wall. “Please!”

“Y/N,” you hear Stiles call, causing you to freeze. “It’s fine. It’s going to be okay.”

Letting out a cry, you shake your head. But before you can say anything more, there’s a shuffle and a grunt, and the two pairs of footsteps are in the faint background.

“Still a bit feverish, Mr. Stilinski.”

You listen closely to their conversation, trying to ignore the way your heart pounds against your chest.

“But you should know something,” the instructor continues, “the virus doesn’t kill humans, you’ll get better. So don’t you think you should tell me where they are?”

Your breath hitches when you hear their footsteps stop.

“Shouldn’t one of you get to live?”

“I think I saw them in the library. Or it might’ve been the cafeteria. It was definitely one of those two.”

“If you don’t tell me,” the instructor begins, his voice having lost some of it’s humor. “I’m going to back into that office and kill your pretty little friend.”

You hear a shuffle of footsteps before; “you’re already going to kill her. At least this way, she has a chance.”

“With a bleeding wound in her stomach?” The man questions, “I think not. But nonetheless, you are correct. So how about this, I’m going to count to three and then i’m going to kill you.”

Swallowing thickly, you bite your bottom lip.

“Think you can scare me?”

“No, I think I can kill you. I just thought the countdown would make it more exciting. So...” There’s a moment of pause before, “one...” The minute he starts counting, you move to scoot forward, best you can. You need to try. You can’t... You can’t lose Stiles.

“Two...”

Falling against the ground with a whimper, you halt to a stop when you hear approaching footsteps. You squint once again, trying to peer through your blindfold, but all you see is a fleeting figure before a gun shot rings throughout the area.

Your breath halts, and you feel your eyes water, fearing the worst. He can’t... He can’t be dead...

But then you hear almost a spitting sound, and the figure in front of you moves. You let out a shaky breath, listening closely, and then, before you know it, you hear Stiles call out; “where the hell did you come from?”

“Stiles, listen.”

Dad?

“I got a call from Melissa. I don’t know what it means. She said there’s an antidote. It’s in a vault, reishi mushrooms.”

“Wait, what in a vault?”

“It’s in a jar on one of the shelves. She said to tell Scott, it’s in the vault.”

There’s a moment of silence before, “Y/N...”

“What?”

“Y/N, Y/N! She’s...”

There’s approaching footsteps, fast, fleeting footsteps and then suddenly there are hands on your face, pulling the blindfold off. You see Stiles before you, face covered in blood that nearly causes your breath to stop. Then you see Rafael take a step towards you, but you can barely focus on him, wide eyes on Stiles. Your mind is reeling, fast, too fast to process.

“You’re okay,” he breathes, hands falling on your cheeks before lowering to your wound. His hand hovers over the wound, becoming covered in blood just like it stains his cheeks. You’ve never seen Stiles so frightened in his life and it crushes you that it’s because of you. It looks like he can barely think straight and everything is a jumbled mess, and yet, you’re still the first one on his mind. “Oh, God... Y/N...”

You move to reply, but then you remember... An antidote.

Shaking your head up at Stiles, you shrug his hands away. “Stiles,” you breathe, eyes wide. “Scott, Malia, Kira,” their names come pouring from your lips in a fast sputter, continuously shaking your head. “You need to go. Get to them. Please!”

Stiles only pauses a moment, eyes scanning across you one final time before nodding, standing up to his feet. He wobbles for a second, turning to Rafael who’s already rushing towards you, eyes wide as they fall on your wound. And yet, your eyes never leave Stiles, nodding at him, until he’s gone.

“Y/N...”

Teeth grinding together, you tilt your chin up as Rafael begins to apply pressure to your wound.

“Not how you expected to find your daughter, huh, dad?”

Even though it’s a joke, no laughter leaves both your father’s or your lips. Instead a moan of pain leaves your lips and Rafael stares down at you in disbelief for a moment before he shakes his head, snapping out of his stupor. “We need to get you to a hospital,” he breathes, voice pitched in panic as his arms move to slide underneath your back and knees. “Now.”

Oddly enough, his touch doesn’t bother you. Doesn’t frighten you. It shouldn’t, like it had before because whenever your dad used to touch you, as simple as setting his hand on your shoulder, you’d flinch away. But in this moment, maybe because of how tired you are, you just lean into the warmth.

You let out a groan as he lifts you upward, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck, holding onto him. You’re still worried for Stiles and Scott and all your friends, but the exhaustion is too much at this point and you can’t keep your eyes open for much longer. So, letting your head fall against Rafael’s chest, you let out a sigh.

“You’re okay,” Rafael whispers, “i’m not gonna let you die.” His thumb strokes against your chin, hands brushing back your unkempt hair as you stare back at him through heavy eyelids. “I’m not gonna let anything bad happen to you again, okay? I promise.”

You don’t completely register his words. Don’t completely register the meaning behind them either. But still, as your eyes finally fall shut, you can’t help but whisper.

“Thanks dad...”

Part 29?

Let me know what you thought?

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papel-creativo · 6 years ago

Text

Nature's Lullaby - Isaac Lahey x Reader (P.2)

Summary: I don't even know... Based on season 2, episode 2.

The trio make a plan, a rushed one, and (Y/N) was really hoping that it would work.

“How can I help you?” The receptionist catches the girl looking down the hall. She's at the police station, ready to talk to Isaac to let him know that they have a plan to get him out of there. It's his first full moon and it's going to be tough for Isaac, as well as Scott, who's going along with Derek to the new werewolf house.

”I'm here to visit a friend of mine, Isaac Lahey”

After a lot of pleading, they let her in.

“(Y/N)” He isn't surprised to see her, must have heard (Y/N) the moment she step in the station. He's handcuffed, inside a cell, and the girl can't get closer to him like she wants to.

“Are you okay?” Her hand is on the glass, the only thing that allows to see the werewolf.

“As well as I can be” He mutters, angry “Lock in a cell for something that I didn't do”.

The full moon is talking for him, angrier, irritable, he's a time bomb that wants to blow up, but not here.

“You know what's about to happen” His angry stand change in an instant, Isaac gets closer to the mirror, his hand in mind from the other side.

“Yes” He stares at her “Are you too-”.

“No” She's something different “It's a long story, but Scott and Stiles are onto something, we're not going to let you stay in here during the night”.

He looks like he doesn't know whose side his on, (Y/N) acknowledges that Derek and Scott aren't exactly the best friends, but they aren't enemies.

“You can trust me” Her voice comes out small, the presence of the guard behind her is a constant reminder to watch her words “I believe you, Isaac”.

“Why?” His stare's intense on her, making (Y/N) nervous.

“Because I was on the same position like you are, and all I needed was someone to believe in me” She pauses, that story is one that she never told to anyone before “So I believe you”.

...

In the back of the car of Stiles, (Y/N) listens the teen and Derek argue, like they always did.

“In short, Derek distracts the receptionist, Stiles gets the keys and I go to Isaac, right?” The group leaves the car, ready to put the plan on action.

The alpha has no problem distracting the girl, so (Y/N) and Stiles walk past quickly, Stiles leaving her to get the keys to open Isaac's cell.

Once she's there, the door's already open, or more likely, torn apart.

“Isaac” He's on full werewolf mode and roars at her, getting close dangerously. Just in time, Stiles arrives along a man, probably that one that the Argents send, who's planning to kill him.

The werewolf charges at him, while Stiles and (Y/N) hides behind a desk, not much protection from a werewolf.

“Can you use your powers?” Stiles asks.

“Yes, but I don't want to hurt him!” The man is unconscious on the floor, and when they think that is their turn, Derek arrives, and with a roar, Isaac is back to human again.

Bird runs to him, falls on her knees and touches his back. His head is hidden is his arms, afraid and sweaty.

“Get away from me” But the girl isn't getting away. She hugs him, covering him as much as she can, like trying to say that she won't let anyone hurt him.

“We've got to go” Derek says. The girl and the alpha help Isaac stand “You stay here” That's for Stiles “And you come with me” He commands to (Y/N).

The city is quiet as they walk through alleyways, moving in the shadows and far from the people. When they finally get to Derek's car, (Y/N) speaks.

“Keep him safe” She turns to leave them, but a hand gently grabs her arm.

“Don't go” His eyes are yellow, pleading her not to leave him, his human part, as well as his werewolf part, need her somehow. He feels safe when she's near, she has been the only one to show him kindness, and that ground him to reality.

“I won't” Derek nods, and it's enough to get in the car with the pack.

#isaac lahey x reader #isaac lahey imagine #isaac lahey #teen wolf imagine #teen wolf

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mashkaromanova · 6 years ago

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Eugene Botkin, 1916. Below is his last ever letter, written not long before he was murdered along with the Russian Imperial Family and three other servants on the 17th July 1918. Dr Botkin started this letter on 9th July 1918 but continued writing it on 17th July, when he heard the knock on his door, which was why letter ended abruptly. It was never finished or mailed. The letter was meant for his brother Alexander

“My dear, good friend Sasha, I am making the last attempt to write a real letter, - at least from here, - although this caveat is completely redundant; I do not think that it is in the cards for me to ever write from anywhere else again, - my voluntary imprisonment here is limited to my existence on this earth. In actuality, I have died – dead to my children, my friends, my work… I have died, but have not been buried yet, or rather was buried alive, - whichever you prefer: the consequences are almost identical, i.e. both one and the other have their negative and positive sides.

If I were literally dead, that is to say, anatomically dead, then according to my faith I would know what my children are doing, would be closer to them and undoubtedly more useful than now. I rest with the dead only civilly, my children may still have hope that we will see each other sometime in this life, while I, other than thinking that I can still be useful to them somehow, do not personally indulge myself with this hope, do not humour myself with illusions, but look directly into the face of unadorned reality.

Although for now, I am as healthy and fat as always, to a point where I feel disgusted every time I look in the mirror. I only console myself with the thought that if it would be easier for me to be anatomically dead, then this means that my children are better off, because when I am separated from them, it always seems to me that the worse off I am, the better off they are. And why do I feel that I would be better off dead, - I will explain this to you with small episodes, which illustrate my emotional being.

The other day, i.e. three days ago, when I was peacefully reading Saltykov-Schedrin, which I often read with pleasure, I suddenly saw the face of my son Yura in diminutive size, as if from far away, but [it was] dead, in a horizontal position, with closed eyes… The last letter from him was on 22 March o[ld] s[tyle], and since that time postal connection from the Caucasus, which even earlier faced great difficulties, probably stopped completely, as neither here nor in Tobolsk had we received anything else from Yura.

Do not think that I am hallucinating, I have had these types of visions before, but you can easily imagine, how it was for me to experience this particular thing in the current situation, which in general is quite comfortable, but to have no chance not only to go to Yura, but not even to be able to find out anything about him. Then, only yesterday, during the same reading, I suddenly heard some word, which to me sounded like ‘Papulya’, which was uttered in Tanyusha’s [his daughter Tatiana] voice, and I almost broke down in sobs.

Again, this was not a hallucination, because this word was uttered, the voice was similar, and not even for a second did I think that this was my daughter speaking, who was supposed to be in Tobolsk: her last postcard was from 23 May – 5 June, and of course these tears would have been purely egotistical, for myself, that I cannot hear and, most likely will never again hear that dear little voice and feel that affection that is so important to me, with which my little children spoiled me so. Again, the horror and sorrow which gripped me during the vision I described were purely egotistical too, since if my son had truly died, then he is happy, but if he is alive, then it is unknown what kind of trials he is going through or is fated to live through. So you see, my dear, that my spirit is cheerful, despite the torment I live through, which I bear, just described to you, and cheerful to a point where I am prepared to do this for many more years…

I am encouraged by the conviction that ‘one who bears all until the end is saved’, and the awareness that I remain loyal to the principles of the 1889 graduates. Before we graduated, while still students, but already close friends who preached and developed the same principals with which we started life, for the most part we did not view them from a religious point of view, I do not even know if too many of us were religious. But each codex of principals is a religion already, and for some it is most likely a conscious thing, while for others subconscious, - as it basically was for me, as this was the time of, not exactly uniform atheism, but of complete indifferentism, in the full sense of the word, - it came so close to Christianity that our full attitude toward it, or at least of many of us, was a completely natural transition. In general, if ‘faith is dead without work’, then ‘work’ cannot exist without faith, and if faith joins any of our work, then this is just due to special favour from God.

I turned out to be such a lucky one, through the path of heavy trials – the loss of my firstborn, the year-and-a-half-old little son Seryozha. Since that time, my codex has been widened and solidified significantly, and I took care that each task was not only about the ‘Academic’, but about the ‘Divine’. This justifies my last decision as well, when without any hesitation I left my children completely orphaned, in order to do my physician’s duty to the end, like Abraham did not hesitate to sacrifice his only son to God on His demand.

I strongly believe that the same way God saved Isaac, He will save my children too and be a father to them. But since I do not know how He will save them, and can only find out about it in the next world, my egotistic torment which I described to you, due to my human weakness, does not lose its torturous severity. But Job did bear more, and my late Misha always reminded me about him, when he was afraid that I, bereft of my dear little children, would not be able to bear it.

No, apparently I can bear it all, whatever God wills to burden me with. In your letter, for which I ardently thank you once more (the first time I tried to convey this in a few lines on a detachable coupon, hopefully you got it in time for the holiday, and also my physiognomy – for the other?), you were interested in my activities in Tobolsk, with a trust precious to me. And so? Putting hand on heart, I can confess to you that there, I tried in every way to take care of ‘the Divine, as the Lord wills’ and, consequently, ‘not to shame the graduates of year 1889′. And God blessed my efforts, and I will have until the end of my days this bright memory of my swan song.

I worked with my last strength, which suddenly grew over there thanks to the great happiness in the life [we had] together with Tanyusha and Glebushka [his son Gleb], thanks to the nice and cheerful climate and relative mildness of winter and thanks to the touching attitude towards me from the townspeople and villagers. As a matter of fact, in its center, albeit a large one, Tobolsk presents as a city that is very picturesquely located, rich with ancient churches, religious and academic institutions, [but] at the periphery it gradually and unnoticeably transitions into a real village. This circumstance, along with noble simplicity and the feeling of self-respect of Siberians, in my opinion gives the relationships among the residents and not visitors, the specific character of directness, naiveté and benevolence, which we always valued and which creates the atmosphere necessary to our souls.

In addition, various news spreads around the city very fast, the first lucky incidents for which God helped me be of use brought out such trust towards me, that the number of those wanting to get my advice grew with each day, up to my sudden and unexpected departure. Turning to me were mostly those with chronic illnesses, those who were already treated again and again, [and] sometimes, of course, those who were completely hopeless. This gave me the opportunity to make appointments for them, and my time was filled for a week or two ahead in each hour, as I was not able to visit more than six - seven, in extreme cases eight patients per day: since all these cases needed thorough review and much and much pondering.

Who was I called to besides those ill within my specialty?! To the insane, to those asking to be treated for drunkenness; [they] brought me to a prison to see a kleptomaniac, and with sincere joy I remember that the poor wretch of a lad, who was bailed out by his parents on my advice (they are peasants), behaved decently the rest of my stay… I never denied anyone, as long as the supplicants accepted that certain illnesses were completely beyond the limits of my knowledge. I only refused to go to those recently fallen ill if, of course, they needed emergency help, since, on the one hand I did not want to get in the way of regular physicians of Tobolsk, which is very lucky to have them in the capacity and most importantly, quality of relations.

They are all very knowledgeable and experienced people, excellent comrades and so responsive that the Tobolsk public is used to sending a horse or cabby to the doctor and receive him immediately. More valuable is their patience towards me, who did not have the ability to fulfill these types of requests, but on the contrary, was forced to make them wait a long time. It’s true that soon it became commonly known that I never refuse anyone and keep my word sacredly, a patient could wait for me with peace of mind.

But if their illness did not allow them to wait, then the patients went to local physicians, which always made me happy, or to Doctor Derevenko, who also possessed their vast trust, or they headed to the hospital, and this way it would happen that when I arrived at a time of prescheduled appointment, I did not find the patient there, but that was always convenient, since most of the time my schedule was so extensive that I wasn’t able to accomplish everything, at times debts formed, which I paid off when I did not find someone there.

To see [patients] at the house where I was staying was inconvenient, and anyway there was no room, nevertheless from 3 until 4 ½ - 5, I was always home for our soldiers, whom I saw in my room, the walk-through room, but since only our own [people] passed though there, it did not discomfort them. During the same hours, my town patients came to see me too, either for a refill of a prescription or to make an appointment. I was forced to make exceptions for peasants who came to see me from villages tens or even hundreds of versts away (in Siberia they don’t pay attention to distance), and who were in a hurry to get back. I had to see them in a small room before the bathroom, which was a bit out of the way, where a large chest served as an examining table.

Their trust was especially touching to me, and their confidence, which never betrayed them, that I will treat them with the same attention and affection as any other patient, not only as an equal but as a patient who has every right to my care and services, gave me joy. Those who were able to spend the night, I would visit at the inn early the next morning. They always tried to pay, but since I followed our old codex, of course I never accepted anything from them, so, while I was busy in an izba with a patient, they hurried to pay my cabby. This surprising courtesy, to which we are not used to at all in large cities, was occasionally highly pertinent, as at times I was not in a position to visit patients due to lack of funds and fast-growing cab costs.

Therefore, for our mutual benefit, I widely took advantage of another local tradition and asked those who had a horse, to send it for me. This way, the streets of Tobolsk saw me riding in wide bishop’s sleighs, as well as behind beautiful merchant trotters, but most often drowning in hay in most ordinary burlap. My friends were equally varied, which perhaps was not to everyone’s liking, but it was no concern of mine. To Tobolsk’s credit I must add that there was no direct evidence of this at all, and only one indirect, which in addition was not unquestionable.

One evening the husband of one of my female patients came to see me with a request to visit her right away, because she had strong pains (in the stomach). Luckily, I was able to fulfill his wish, albeit at a cost to another patient, for whom I did not schedule a visit, but rode with him to his house in a cab in which he came to get me. On the way he starts to grumble at the cabby, that he is not going the right way, to which the latter reasonably respon [letter ends abruptly].”

#trans: helen azar #dr botkin #1916 #1918 #1910s #romanov #romanovs #letter

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iamchrissi · 6 years ago

Text

Reflections on the water

I was rather frustrated with how little insight we got into Bev’s thoughts in Lies Sleeping. I fully understand that this is in a big part due to the limitations of Peter’s POV, but seriously, couldn’t we like, at least get a conversation between the two of them on things like kids?

Therefore, have a Bev characters study. Lies Sleeping Spoilers!

Also on AO3

She does the test alone.

Beverley thought about calling Peter, telling him when she realized her period was late, but Peter is... distracted, lately. Not that she blames him. Lesley always does a number on him, and now with Chorley dead and all that trauma that particular fight entails, he's almost sleepwalking through life.

She could have called any of her sisters, too, but with her sisters come opinions and gossip and before she'll know it all of them will know and... this is supposed to be just for her and Peter, at least at first. It's supposed to be theirs.

So, she does the test alone. She goes to a drugstore, buys three different brands, glares at the elderly white woman with the judgy eyes, and then she goes home and pees on three sticks.

They're all positive.

Bev breathes. In and Out. Closes her eyes. Feels a fierce joy bubbling up in chest, and an almost paralysing fear.

She pulls out her phone, dials Ty's number without even thinking about it. Her finger hovers over the call button, but then she puts the phone away again. Ty raised her, almost as much as Mum did. But Ty also gets extremely judgy. And her and Peter will never be close.

Bev opens her eyes, puts on her shoes and goes to visit Mum instead.

Bev wants kids. Always has.

She's been the first to volunteer for babysitting since she was old enough to do it. Chelsea and Olympia think she's daft for it, for doing chores when she doesn't have to, but Bev's always liked being around kids.

She likes the trust they put in her, and there's very few things that make her feel as good as the knowledge that she did good by a kid. Of course, most kids she's around are her little sisters, but that just means she already loves them anyway.

Ty used to tell her that she should go to college, first. That a good education was most important, and a good job the next important thing. That respect was the most important thing in the world, and once she got that, she could think of other things, like kids. But not before.

Bev never really listened when Ty got like that. It's not like she'll ever want for money, and at that age she'd rarely been around people who didn't respect her. Mum was good at keeping those far, far away.

Mum takes one look at Bev's face and sends all the others from the room. They go silently, but they all look at Bev in the way that means she'll be the talk of the family for weeks to come. It doesn't matter. Bev's never really left the gossip of the family ever since she was a hostage of the country cousins and decided to date a wizard. She's used to it.

She stands there, looking at Mum, until she makes a short gesture with her hand, and Bev almost collapses at her side, head on Mum's lap. Mum's hand finds her hair, weaving through it like she used to when Bev was a little girl.

Mum still doesn't say anything. She's waiting, and she will keep waiting, until Bev says what she wants to say. What she needs to say. I'm not someone to do your talking for you, she always says. If you have something to say, say it yourself.

“I'm having a baby.” She says, finally, making sure not to mumble. Ty hates it when she mumbles.

Mum keeps weaving her hand through Bev's hair. She smells like she always smells, of sea and salt and home, and Bev takes comfort in it. Mum'll still be here in a thousand years, she's sure, looking and smelling the same, an anchor in a complicated world.

“My baby is having a baby.” Mum says, finally, a feeling of joy in her voice. Bev's not the first of Mum's daughters to have kids, of course. Fleet and Ty still argue who of them holds that honor, Fleet with her foster kids or Ty with her biological ones. But it doesn't matter. What matters is that Mum is happy about it.

“Children always scare you, baby. They will as long as you life. But they'll give you joy, so much more than you can understand right now.” Mum says, and Bev feels tears run down her cheeks. She's sure she makes wet patches on Mum's skirt, but Mum doesn't mention it, and Bev won't either.

It's more than that, of course. It's Bev being a River and Peter being a wizard and Peter falling apart and fucking Lesley and magic and all that damned business. But right now, Bev needs to be just a woman who going to her mother because she is anxious about her first pregnancy.

Mum lets her stay.

That week, when Peter is missing, that week is the worst of Bev's life. She tries to tell herself that Lesley wouldn't hurt him, not really. Because Lesley was his friend, wasn't she? He trusted her. He's been trying to tell himself that Lesley doesn't really want to work with Chorley, she knows he has. And maybe she wants to believe that, too.

But Bev also thought that Lesley would never do something like kidnapping Peter, and obviously she did, so maybe none of them ever really knew her.

But that's not a good thing to be thinking about, not when she has Peter and Bev is panicking.

She goes to the Folly every morning, before class, and talks to Nightingale. He's not that much help. She knows he's working on it, going through every hint of where Peter might be at every given time, day or night. He looks worse every day, like he hasn't slept at all, but then again, it's not like Bev sleeps all that much.

She had meant to tell Peter. About the baby. She had meant to tell him. But she'd only known for two days herself, before Lesley got him, and he hadn't... he hadn't really been in a good place. Mentally. Emotionally.

She had figured that maybe she should give him a bit more time to calm down before dropping this bomb on him, no matter how happy it is.

But now... what if she never gets the chance to tell him?

“We're going to find him.” Nightingale tells her on the fifth day. His voice isn't breaking, but it's not as sure as it usually is, either. She's not sure if he's trying to convince her or himself.

“Of course we will.” She says, and is proud that her voice isn't breaking either.

(When she sees Peter again, who broke himself out, because of course he did, it feels like she can finally breathe again. Like all this week, she's been trying to inhale water and now it's air again. She thinks she gets it now, why people think twice about dating coppers.)

Bev knows she's young. Younger than people usually are when they have children, these days. But she's been with Peter for over a year, now. They're happy, when Lesley doesn't fuck things up. They want to stay together.. They both want kids.

And it's not like she doesn't have the resources for it. She has so many sisters, willing to help with advice and deed, she has her Mum and Peter's parents, always there to call. And money will never be a problem for a daughter of Mama Thames.

But still. Bev knows she's young. None of her friends from the university are even thinking of having kids yet. Not that they're generally averse to the idea, at least most of them aren't. But they're young, and they are free, and they want to stay that way for at least a few more years.

She considered that, too. The idea of being without any true bindings, of being free to travel to India and Australia and Nigeria and the like, spontaneously, whenever she wants to.

But Bev has never been that big on travelling. And finding babysitters shouldn't be a problem, with that big of a family. And she's sure Peter will work just as hard as she will.

And if she has to glare at a dozen judgy old ladies, then so what. They're going to judge a young black woman anyway, no matter what she does.

Peter reacts like she knew he would. Disbelief, then amazed joy. It makes Bev smile bigger than she can ever remember smiling, and it makes her hope.

Because she's been worried. Peter's not really been himself for a while now, and even though she thinks the therapist is helping, it doesn't mean everything is well.

But the way he smiles at her when she puts his hand on his stomach, still flat, reminds her of how he used to smile back when they first met. There's something youthful in it, something honest and happy and true. He hasn't looked that happy since Lesley switched sides.

(Sometimes, she wants to find Lesley, and drown her in her river. She could, she knows it. She's a goddess, there are very few limits to what she can do. And her sisters would help her cover it up. But then she'd have to lie to Peter, for the rest of his life. Because Peter is a police officer, first and foremost, suspended or not, and there's no way he'd ever look at her the same way again if she murdered someone. Even Lesley. Especially Lesley.)

That evening, they're making plans. Talking about everything and nothing, about nurseries and who's parents will babysit more. She tells him that she told her Mum first, and he tells her that he'd like to wait a bit until telling his parents.

They talk about whether they'd like a boy or a girl. They talk about the fact that both of them would like at least two children, because Bev grew up with so many sisters she can't think of her child not having any siblings, and Peter grew up an only child and would have liked a companion.

They don't talk about his suspension. Or him being a wizard, an Isaac, or her being a River. They stear clear of any topic that might lead to complicated discussions.

This evening is for celebration.

Ty sat her down, once, when it became obvious that Bev and Peter were going serious.

“We're not human.” She said, turning her wedding ring around her finger. She'd been wearing one of her costumes, an expensive looking light grey skirt and jacket over a white blouse. She looked rich, and powerful, and Bev wished she didn't.

She wished Ty had been wearing jeans and t-shirt, like she had in Bev's earliest memories of her. When she wasn't all that caught up in being respectable and powerful and showing all rich white men that she's better than them.

Not that that's not a totally reasonably goal that Bev totally supports. And Ty is totally better than all of them. It's just that she wished Ty wouldn't put on a show with her. That Ty knew that she's got nothing to prove to Bev.

“We're not human. We're not, Bev. I know you're young, and you see being a Goddess as just living a normal life with a few extra perks and responsibilities, but it's not.” Ty was not looking at Bev as she said it, she's staring at her ring.

“You're going to outlive him. Your wizard. And you're going to outlive all your college friends, too. And everyone you know, who isn't family or possibly Nightingale. Even some who... some who are family.” Ty's voice didn't break, but she had to take several deep breaths, which is almost the same coming from Ty.

She's talking about her children, Bev had realized with horror. She'd never... thought of it, truly, before that conversation with Ty. She'd just assumed … well, she'd assumed that they'd live. Live like her and Mum and her sisters.

Ty's hands were shaking, and Bev put hers over them. She couldn't think of anything to say. So she didn't say anything. Just held onto her sister, sitting there in her expensive costume, hands shaking with emotion she barely expresses to anyone anymore.

Peter being on suspension means that he's home a lot. He goes to the therapist, and he's at the Folly for magic lessons, and every now and then he just goes to have tea with Sahra and with Abigail and Nightingale and even Varvara. Sometimes they come here, too. It's good for him, to have this break. To focus on himself. To actually emotionally deal with things.

It also means that they are spending an unprecedent amount of time together. Not that Bev doesn't have her own things to do. She still goes to university, of course, and there's her duties as goddess, and she's got her own friends, too. She meets her sisters and sometimes she steals Sahra away.

But still. They spend a lot of time together. And it's good. Better than good. They watch silly action movies and share fantasy books and babysit Bev's younger sisters. Sometimes they go ghost hunting with Abigail, too. Or have Abigail just come to stay with them, so she's not alone at home.

They're good. They're better than good.

Two girls are playing in Fleets garden when Bev visits her, two of Fleets daughters. Niki, the changeling, and Sarah, who Fleet had found abandoned five years ago near her river.

Bev watches them as Fleet makes them some tea. She tries to picture her own child with them, playing make believe and running through the garden.

“How do you do it?” She blurts out. She didn't mean to start like this. She's not sure how she thought she'd start, what she'd say, but she hadn't meant to be this direct.

Fleet doesn't say anything for a moment, just puts the tea down on the table and sits down next to her. She's thinking about her answer, Bev can tell, really considering it. That's rare with Fleet, that she has to think about how to answer a question. Fleet has always been a woman who knows exactly what she wants, thinks and does.

“I suppose it's like how any mother raises any child. You can make plans, you can try to avoid any dangers and unpleasant moments, but life doesn't play that way. Not for ordinary mothers, and certainly not for us.”

“But how...” Bev doesn't want to be afraid. She's never liked it. Beverley Brook Thames charges right into the fray, she doesn't dither and worry. But this... this whole thing...

“You can't change it, so don't try. I look at my children and I don't know what their future holds. With some of them I don't even know what their past is like. All I have is today. Tomorrow, they might develop worrying powers, or they might fall in love with someone who doesn't love them back, or they might get in trouble in school or any other of a myriad of frightening possibilities. You can't focus on that, it'll drive you insane.”

She smiles at Bev, kindly, with that warm smile she'll always associate with Fleet.

“What is going to happen will happen. You can't stop it, you can't change it. That is the reality of life as a mother. So don't try, and don't worry too much. You have today. Everything else is going to figure itself out.”

Sahra shows up with a huge box of chocolates, a couple weeks before they officially announce it. Bev doesn't ask how Sahra knows, and Sahra doesn't tell, but it's not that important.

“You look good.” Sahra says, honest and calm. They've been meeting for coffee regularly for a while now, ever since that business in Hyde Park One made Sahra a definite part of all of this.

Bev hadn't really known what to make of her, at first, whether she should trust this woman who more or less took Lesley's place after Lesley betrayed... everyone, really. But Sahra is not anyone's replacement. Sahra is herself, first and foremost, a good copper and a good friend and a good woman. And talking shit about Nightingale and Peter is a lot more fun with her than it ever was with Lesley.

(There was always a certain... hard edge, to Lesley's complaining. Bev isn't sure if she really noticed it at the time, before everything, but in hindsight... Lesley meant it, a lot of the times, when she talked them down. Sahra is annoyed with them, and she's honest in her critizism, but she's friendlier about it.)

“Thanks.” Bev says, taking a piece of chocolate and savoring it. It's good chocolate, dark and full of flavor. “So do you.”

Sahra is wearing her dragon jacket, the one that makes her walk even taller than usual, over a pair of jeans and a black hijab. There's a spark in her eyes, a comfortable self assurance that has only grown since she's started smelling of magic. She looks so good that if Bev wasn't madly in love with Peter and Sahra wasn't crushing on her friend Michael, this would be much flirtier.

“Two gorgeous ladies and a lot of chocolate. If we were white, this could be the scene in chick flicks where one of us got cheated on by her boyfriend and us artistically crying about it to her best friend.” Sahra says, and Bev laughs.

“We wouldn't cry about it. We'd punch their goddammned lights out.” She says.

“Absolutely.” Sahra grins.

They tell Peter's parents on a sunny Sunday when she reaches the end of the first trimester. The maternity books she reads all agree that the chances of losing the baby dwindle dramatically after reaching that point.

Not that she had been that worried about that possibility, but still. It sort of makes sense to tell them at that point.

“Oh my dear.” Rose says, hand over her mouth, and then she hugs Bev. She hugs like Mum does. Over her shoulder, Bev can see Peter and his dad also hugging, sort of awkwardly. She smiles.

Bev doesn't have a father. Of course she doesn't, she was born of her river. She has a mother, and she has sisters, and a whole host of country cousins, but they weren't really family when she grew up.

The thing is, she doesn't have a father. She never needed one, not with Mum and her sisters, and she never really wanted one, either. She has a family. There was no vacancy left for a father to fill.

But her baby will have one.

Peter will be an amazing father, there's no doubt about it. He adores children, and he's good with them, and he adores Bev and the thought of being a father and...

Peter will be an amazing father. And Bev likes to think she'll be an amazing mother.

It shouldn't be a thing, to her, that she doesn't have a father, and her baby will have one. She knows Peter worries. His father... well, he tried, and he's still trying, but nobody is under any illusions that anyone other than Rose did the parenting.

It isn't a thing to her, most days, and maybe that's why it's weird. But that's just part of what's always going to be kind of weird.

There's a card in the post one day. Pretty in that generic way, some flowers and the sun.

Congratulations, it reads, in a handwriting Bev somewhat recognizes. All my love, LM.

She stares at the card for a few minutes, and then she goes to the river and burns it. She makes sure that there isn't even the smallest piece left, and then she lets the ashes float away with the water.

Lesley does not get to mess with Peter's mind again.

They have to talk about it, eventually, of course. About Rivers and wizards and magic.

“I don't know how it's going to be.” Bev says, and she doesn't hide how scary that is. “Ty's kids are mostly human, except for like, a good feeling for her River and an ability to tell when someone is … different. And they can smell wizards. But Ty's husband isn't a wizard, either, so...”

“Well.” Peter says, looking at her with a certain spark of curiousity in his eyes. This spark is a big part of why she fell in love with him, Bev thinks, this want to understand, not just to accept things as given but to truly make sense of them.

“Everyone can learn to be a wizard, if they put in the work. And as far as I know, it doesn't actually change the gene sequence or anything like that. Though... there was Melissa.”

“But Melissa is... well, I'm pretty sure it doesn't come from just her grandfather.” Mostly sure. It's really rude to ask why someone is special if they don't volunteer that information. Which Melissa hasn't. But her and Bev are still texting each other every other week or so, so maybe one day she will.

Or she won't. She's an awesome friend anyway.

“Magic can change people, we know that. Niki, the fake one, or the real one?... she changed just by virtue of having been exposed to magic for years, she learned the glamour. And her older sister, her eye color changed in just one night. Though that might have been the Fairy Queen deliberately doing that? So maybe magic does change practicioners too, and we just don't know it yet?” Peter is going scientific again, which is cute, but she can also tell he's kind of really worried.

Bev is worried, too. And scared, and anxious, and all those words that describe that deep pit of fear in her stomach when she thinks about all the ways that this can go wrong.

But there are also all the ways this can, and will, go right. She thinks of what Fleet said.

“We can't change it anyway. What is going to happen will happen. All we can do is be happy about it.” She says, quoting her sister, and puts Peter's hand on her belly. She's showing, now, quite a bit, and it's still an unbelievable thing.

Peter smiles.

Peter tells Nightingale alone. They considered doing it together, like they did with his parents, but somehow that would have felt wrong. Peter's and Nightingale's relationship is quite a messy one, if Bev thinks about it, what with Nightingale being Peter's colleague, his mentor, his friend, a person he lived with and his boss, all together, at the same time.

Bev sticks with Molly and Foxglove while Peter and Nightingale have their chat. She doesn't have to tell them. They've known for a while. Molly has started packing Bev a bigger lunch, and Bev is pretty sure she's seen a cookbook for pregnant women in the kitchen lately.

“Thank you both. For all your help.” She tells them sincerely. They smile at her, a minute thing from Molly, a bigger one from Foxglove, but both honest, both real. You're not alone, their smiles say. You have a family, right here, and all over town. You will never have to be alone.

That's the part that matters, she thinks. Not the magic, not goddesses and wizards and coppers and criminals. Family is what matters. And it's all around her.

#rivers of london #beverley brook #peter grant #lies sleeping spoilers #sahra guleed #my writing #i hope this is not like horrifically ooc but it demanded to be written #rol

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