#part 17

[saffusthings]

second chances

mob boss! lando norris x reader

part seventeen: dream a little dream of me

word count: 1.6k

warnings: tooth-rotting fluff

sixteen | seventeen | eighteen

The second date should’ve felt more awkward. It didn’t.

Alex had picked a science museum of all places—not exactly romantic on paper, but the look on his face when he pointed out the replica Mars rover was too earnest to judge. He had this habit where his whole face would light up like a lightbulb the moment before he got excited about something, and Y/N had already learned to clock it like a warning siren.

“So, technically,” he was saying, hands jammed in his jacket pockets as they strolled past a massive display on deep-sea robotics, “the algorithms used for this submersible’s sensor mapping were adapted from AI software developed for self-driving cars.”

“Technically,” she echoed, teasing, “you should probably just work here.”

He looked sideways at her with a crooked grin. “I applied when I was sixteen. They didn’t take me.”

“They’re clearly still recovering from that mistake.”

He tried to play it off cool, but she caught the slight flush of his ears.

She liked him more than she expected to. Not in the way you decide to like someone—more like how you step outside one day and realize the air smells like rain and suddenly, you’re soft and open and all the windows are down. He was like that: unexpected and quiet and warm around the edges.

They made their way through the rest of the exhibits in no particular order, weaving between dwindling crowds of families and groups of students on field trips, neither of them in a hurry. He let her take her time at the forensic anthropology section, where she ran her fingers along the raised edges of a reconstructed skull, and she let him lose himself in the physics wing, where he explained, with ridiculous enthusiasm, why the double pendulum was so cool. It was there that the nickname Professor Albon was born.

At some point, he took her hand. It wasn’t a big deal. He just did it naturally, without hesitation, like it had already been a habit, and for a moment, that simple touch made her feel warm all over.

They ended the night sitting cross-legged on the floor of the museum café, long after it closed, surrounded by vending machine snacks and a half-solved crossword puzzle she’d found in her bag. The overhead lights buzzed faintly, casting a dim glow over the abandoned chairs and tables, but neither of them seemed eager to move. They laughed about everything and nothing, the kind of laughing that came from being tired but happy, the kind that made her lean into his shoulder without thinking.

"Okay," Alex said, tapping the eraser end of his pencil against the page. "Eight-letter word for ‘illuminates or clarifies’?"

As she took a moment to think it over, Alex watched in his periphery as she counted off the letters of her word on her fingers. "’Explains’ fits," she mused, popping a purple skittle into her mouth.

"Hmm." He scribbled it in. "Not bad. Maybe I should keep you around."

"Yeah, yeah," she nudged his knee with hers, grinning. "You just like me for my crossword skills."

"Wrong. I like you for your crossword skills and your terrible puns."

“My puns are great, thank you very much.” She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling.

He liked her brain. She liked how funny he was. They made a good pair—two academically overworked people who laughed at obscure engineering memes and played footsie under café tables without meaning to. When they said goodbye that night, he kissed her like he was trying not to smile through it. Like maybe this could really be something.

It felt easy.

And in the days that followed, it stayed easy. He texted her every night.

alex: Made the Mars rover jealous. Can’t stop thinking about you.

Y/N: did you just say that unironically. because I might have to stop seeing you on principle.

alex: Too late, I’ve already added you to my will. You get the Lego Technic collection.

Y/N: wait nvm i’m back in

They made time. Even when they both shouldn’t have.

He’d bring her coffee before her class–something with cinnamon and oat milk in it. He’d scrawl dumb physics jokes on the lid just to make her roll her eyes. She started keeping his schedule in her head without meaning to. She knew which nights he had his advanced systems class and which ones he spent buried in the lab. He’d text her when his simulations crashed at 3AM. She’d send him memes about courtroom drama tropes in return.

He had an engineer’s sense of humor—dry, sneaky, often deeply specific. It took a while to catch on, but once she did, it felt like discovering hidden easter eggs in his sentences.

“You know,” he’d murmur as they lay back in the grass near campus, watching clouds roll over like they weren’t chilly out here in the autumn breeze, “you statistically reduce your lifespan by two minutes every time you eat instant ramen.”

“Cool. So I’ll be dying a noble, sodium-rich death then.”

He turned his head toward her, smiling with closed eyes. “Hmm, a martyr.”

“A hero.”

“Buried with your books and MSG packets.”

She shoved his shoulder. He let her.

On Thursdays, she’d sit outside his lab, cross-legged on the cold tile floor with flashcards in her lap, quizzing him on his presentation slides about failure analysis and impact resistance.

“Okay, explain to me like I’m five—what is a stress-strain curve and why should I care?”

“Because,” he’d say, crouching in front of her with a smirk, “it tells you how close something is to breaking.”

“And that’s relevant to your research…?”

He gave her a confused look, until it turned sheepish as he scratched the back of his neck. “I’m… not entirely sure about that bit, actually.”

She started looking forward to the moments in between—the walks across campus, the shared bag of chips while sitting on the hood of her car, the ridiculous voice memos he sent when he was overtired and delirious.

They kissed in stairwells and library corners and once,perhaps ill-advisedly, on a park bench in the middle of a thunderstorm. The rain had soaked through their clothes, cold and unrelenting, but he had just looked at her and said, "I think we should be stupid about this," right before he leaned in. It was impulsive and dramatic and made her laugh until she had to cover her mouth, their faces inches apart. Her hair was soaked, his glasses fogged up, and they almost dropped his backpack in a puddle, but the moment stuck—sharp and golden and untouchable.

They talked about future dates like there’d be dozens of them���bookstores they wanted to browse together, a tiny Thai place he swore by, a stargazing night he promised would be “scientifically optimized for romance” depending on the cloud cover. She rolled her eyes at that one, but her heart still fluttered.

They were still in the sweet spot—the space between maybe and more, where everything felt bright and possible. 

It wasn’t perfect – but it was promising.

The third date was dinner—some hole-in-the-wall Thai place with flickering neon signage and laminated menus stained with old curry thumbprints. He’d gotten lost on the way and sent a flurry of frantic texts.

alex :) : I passed the restaurant. Twice. There’s a cat staring at me through a laundromat window. I think it’s judging me.

Y/N: be strong. you can beat the cat.

alex :) : Negative, Sargeant. It’s very confident.

He’d arrived breathless, slightly damp from a drizzle, and holding a single packet of Skittles “for your efforts,” he’d said solemnly. She called him an idiot. He looked delighted.

That night, they talked about things that didn’t matter—TV shows neither of them had finished, foods they pretended to like for the aesthetic, the sheer horror of Alex’s undergraduate group project from hell (“We had a guy who thought duct tape was a structural solution”). 

And then, slowly, they talked about the things that did matter.

Like how she used to want to be a journalist when she was little, because she thought it meant you got to ask as many questions as you wanted and never had to apologize.

Or how he still wasn’t sure what kind of engineer he wanted to be—just that he wanted to make things that didn’t break when people needed them most.

“You know,” he said, nudging his glass in slow circles across the table, “you’re not what I expected.”

Y/N looked up. “Is that a good thing or, like, a 'you’re secretly a serial killer' kind of a thing?”

He smiled. “It’s a good thing. Really, really good.”

By the fourth week, they had a rhythm. It wasn’t just dates anymore—it was Hey, want to walk home together? and I saved you the last chocolate chip muffin, but only because I like you more than I like muffins. But barely.

It was him reaching for her hand without thinking, her resting her head against his shoulder on the bus when she was too tired to hold it up.

It was a shared Spotify playlist for when studying is ur 13th reason.

It was early Saturday morning sun filtering into her apartment while they quietly read their own books, his socked foot nudging hers on the side of the couch almost every ten minutes.

It was good.

But between the sleepy smiles and the shared muffins and the texts that kept getting longer instead of shorter, the truth was that they both had dreams. Big ones. All-consuming ones.

And no matter how much you wanted something—or someone—there were only so many hours in the day.

a/n: one of my more favorite chapters! an unfortunate lack of lando though :/ what did you think of it?

[zepskies]

Smoke Eater - Part 17

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader 

Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real. 

That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.

AN: Ready for some feels? ❤️‍🩹

🔥 Series Masterlist

Word Count: 5,500 Tags/Warnings: Angst, injuries, hurt/comfort and feels, tinge of spice.~

Part 17: “The Real Deal”

The first time Dean was awake for longer than a few minutes, he asked about you.

Sam wasn’t surprised. He was frankly relieved that he had an answer for his brother.

“She has carbon monoxide poisoning,” he said. Dean’s brows furrowed, but before he could start worrying too badly, Sam cut in again. “She’s okay. They’ve got her on 100% oxygen. Eileen and Andréa are with her right now.”

Dean nodded on a breath of relief, despite coughing himself. He still wore an oxygen mask, but he knew his exposure hadn’t been as bad as yours.

“CO poisoning’s no joke. Don’t let her take off that damn mask for anything until they clear her,” he said.

Sam raised a placating hand. “Don’t worry. She knows she’s got to stay put this time.”

Dean shook his head. You were so damn stubborn. He still couldn’t believe you’d dragged yourself out of bed within minutes of waking up, just to see him.

…Well, he could believe it, but he didn’t have to like it.

“Okay, do you need anything before Eileen and I run home to get you guys some stuff?” Sam asked.

He’d already drawn up a list for both you and Dean of things you two would need for the next couple of days in the hospital. Dean’s stay would likely be longer than yours.

“Nah, I’m good, man,” Dean replied.

He was still trying to find a comfortable position in bed. His back couldn’t fully touch the mattress, so he had to lie on one side or the other. Truth be told, it sucked. His head swam with the effects of the painkillers and antibiotics they were pumping him with, along with his head injury.

While his body wanted to keep sleeping, Dean wanted to see you. He wanted to make sure you were all right. He wanted to know what happened before the fire, and how you’d found out about Nick being Azazel’s son.

And he wanted to get you both home.

He wasn’t sure if he was going to get to do any of those things, any time soon.  

Sam saw his discomfort and frowned in sympathy. He went over to help Dean shift onto his other side. Dean shot him a look of annoyance, but Sam was firm.

“Let me help, or I’m calling Nurse Jeff,” he warned.

Dean's lips pursed. Jeff was nice and all, but Dean could concede this time. At least when it was his brother helping him, he didn’t feel like a complete invalid.  

“Andréa’s gonna stay with her?” Dean asked, while Sam helped him ease over and nodded at his question.

“Yeah. Ellen and Jo are on the way too. They’ll keep you company.”

Dean wanted to quip that he didn’t need a babysitter, but he held it in. It would be nice to see Ellen. He remembered seeing his father, briefly, before he fell back asleep. Sam told him John had gone back to the precinct to work out their protective detail, once you and Dean were eventually discharged from the hospital.

Over the last few hours, the rest of his team from Firehouse 25 had come in to see him in small groups, including Benny, Gordon, and Jack, Meg and Chuck, and Bobby himself, with his gruff worrying. Dean knew the Chief felt responsible anytime his firefighters got hurt, but Dean also knew the only one to blame was himself.

Still, he didn’t regret breaking ranks to go and find you. He’d never regret that choice.

Sam’s hand on his shoulder grounded Dean back into reality.

“Okay, I’ll be back,” said Sam.

Dean nodded, with a hint of a smile. “All right, Sasquatch. Get goin’ then.”   

Sam’s face betrayed his dry amusement…and a hint of fondness. He squeezed the shoulder he held, and hesitated, almost like he was steadying himself before he left his brother alone.

“Hey,” Dean said. He gave his little brother a true smile, if one edged with tiredness. “I’m okay. I don’t break easy.”

After a moment, Sam nodded. His lips flickered at a smile.

“Yeah, I know,” he replied, clearing his throat. Before they both might’ve succumbed to a dreaded “chick flick moment,” as Dean called them, there was a knock at the door. Ellen’s head soon peeked through into the hospital room. She smiled as soon as her gaze landed on Sam and Dean.

“There’s my boys,” she said. Sam welcomed her in, along with Jo, before he slipped out. The Harvelles brought food, of course, for you and Dean. And Ellen had bought some flowers.

Dean took off his oxygen mask and teased her a little. “Ooh, for me? You shouldn’t have.”

Ellen shook her head at his familiar antics. Jo came up on his other side of his bed and gave him a softer smile than usual. He tried to return it.

“These are for your girl,” said Ellen. “How’s she doin’? Have you been able to see her?”

Dean’s good humor dimmed. “She’s got carbon monoxide poisoning from the fire, but Sam tells me she’s resting. I haven’t been able to get over there yet.”

Ellen frowned, but she nodded and rubbed his arm. “Okay, well you just stay here and rest. I’ll go over and bring these to her, make sure she’s doing all right. Then I’ll come back and give you a full report. How’s that?”

Dean met her gaze with relief and gratefulness in his. “Thanks, Ellen.”

She nodded, giving him a motherly pat on the cheek. Maybe her brown eyes welled up with tears she would refuse to shed. And maybe Dean pretended he didn’t see them, knowing how she’d hate for him to call her out.  

“You two are gonna be just fine,” she said. Dean agreed with a nod and a smile. She left soon after with the flowers, discreetly wiping at her face.

When the door shut behind her, Jo took a seat beside his bed. She was looking around at the wires, the monitors, the minor burns and scrapes on his face, while trying not to look at the gauze spanning his upper back.

“How’re you really feeling?” she asked eventually, when she was able to meet his gaze.

Dean chuckled a little. “Like shit.”

She laughed too, though it soon ended in tears. She bit her lip against it, with her eyes squeezing shut.

Dean faltered. “Hey, none a’ that.”

It was an effort, but he reached for her shoulder. She clasped his hand there, then she held it between both of hers. Dean squeezed her hands.

“I’m okay. Scouts honor,” he said. He wished he didn’t have to keep telling people that, but here they were.

When she drew his hand against her cheek though, Dean internally sighed. He had to pull away.

Jo felt the loss of his hand, and of him. She looked up at him with sad blue eyes. Dean couldn’t answer her. Or at least, he couldn’t give her the one she wanted.

She ducked her head and tried not to cry harder.

“Jo,” Dean sighed. “Listen to me.”

She wiped at her face and managed to look up at him again. He was direct, but still gentle as he could be.

“You know I love you like family,” he said, “but you also know…I can’t be that guy for you.”

Her brows furrowed as she shook her head. “We had something, Dean.”

“We did,” he acknowledged. He could admit that much, even as he blew out a breath. “I fucked it up.”

At that, Jo’s face shifted towards resignation. “I did my fair share.”

“You were worried about me on the job, that’s all.”

“But you also didn’t fight for me. The second it got hard, you left and called it quits.”

“I know,” Dean admitted. He thought hard, and he nodded. He was a different man when he and Jo began. He hadn’t totally figured out what it was he wanted. He’d just known, instinctively, that it was different with her. He’d wanted to try to be more for her.

But, he’d let Ellen’s warnings and his own fears take over. He knew he’d been a coward, and at the time, he’d convinced himself that Jo was better off without that in her life. He knew now how that had just been a nice justification for breaking her heart.

“I know,” he repeated. “I guess I wasn’t ready for the real deal…but you’re the first one who made me want to try.”

Jo heaved a tremulous sigh, laced with tears that she brushed away from her face. She had already known it, deep down, but now she supposed she had closure. She knew now that he loved you, for real.

“And she’s the one who made it stick,” Jo supplied.

“Yeah,” Dean said. The truth was in his eyes. She’s the one.

After a moment, in which Jo locked away the rest of her heartbreak and denied herself a flash of jealousy, she wiped her face dry and looked up at Dean.  

“Then you rest up,” she said, with a small smile and red-rimmed eyes. “And whatever happens next, you better fight for her.”

Dean smiled back. He gestured at his prone form with a hand.

“And what do you think I’m doing here?”

“Looks to me like you’re sitting on your ass,” she quipped.

Dean laughed so hard he started coughing. Jo shook her head and helped him put his oxygen mask back on.

“God, you’re a mess,” she said.

Dean gave her a mock incredulous look. “Hey, no sympathy for the injured here?”

“If it was sympathy you wanted, you should’ve kept the mask on.”

Hours later, Sam and Eileen came back freshly showered and with plenty of clothes and necessities for you and Dean. And when his hospital room door opened, Dean fought through the haze of the drugs and his swimming head to wake up. He smiled at Eileen, who stepped through the door first. But then his eyes widened.

Sam carefully guided you in a wheelchair, with your oxygen tank rolling in next to you. You held the mask to your face, but Dean still spotted the edge of your smile.

Your eyes shone bright with unshed tears the closer you came. He had to clear his throat himself before he reached for your hand at the same time you held out for his.

“Hey,” you said.

“Hey, yourself,” Dean replied. He brought your hand to his lips and held it there. “How you doin’, sweetheart?”

“I’m okay, thanks to you,” you said, smiling, even though your voice shook. Tears slipped down your cheeks. Your lips trembled, and your face ducked down. “I’m so…so sorry.”

Dean frowned and squeezed your hand. “Don’t you do that. This isn’t on you.”

You shook your head, like you didn’t believe him. Or you didn’t want to believe.

He wasn’t having that.

“Hey, look at me,” he demanded. He tugged on your hand, until finally you did as he said. Your eyes were red and spilling over with tears. It made his heart clench, and out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Sam holding Eileen close. Both of them were getting emotional, though Sam was trying not to. 

Jo stood with her mother in the corner. While Ellen dabbed at her eyes, Jo had to avert her gaze. That part, Dean didn't notice, because his lips pressed together as he returned his attention back to you.

“You don’t gotta worry about me,” he said. “I’ll shake this in a few weeks. Tops.”

You nodded, but your denial was still obvious as your shoulders trembled. He could see there was no reasoning with you on this one, so he just tugged you closer—as close as you could get without leaving your wheelchair or taking off your oxygen mask.

He managed to reach for your face, soothing his thumb across your tear-stained cheek. You covered his hand and kept him there, for as long as he was able.

You were discharged from the hospital a couple of days later. It was a few more before Dean was able to join you. He wasn’t happy to learn that his head injury would put him out of commission for at least one to three months.

You wished he would be more fair to himself. He’d suffered a subdural hematoma after he was struck by the beam. The doctor officially labelled it a TBI, or a concussion, and he was already dealing with headaches and bouts of vertigo.

Not to mention the large second-degree burn that was only just starting to heal across his upper back. The doctor also warned that he might suffer some mood swings, due to the head injury.

Meanwhile, you were starting to recover from your cuts and yellowing bruises. Though the carbon monoxide had been driven out of your system, you still had your own headaches, nausea, and a lingering cough.

You both were a bit of a mess. Sam and Eileen had incredible patience, and you were so grateful for their help in those first days back home in Sam and Dean’s apartment. However, you couldn’t shake off your nature to help as much as you could in taking care of Dean while Sam and Eileen were back at work.

You knew your boyfriend wasn’t used to being catered to. He didn’t like being, what he deemed in his mind, “useless.” In your mind, that was just too damn bad. He was going to be cared for whether he liked it or not.

So you helped Dean adjust where he lied in bed for the third time this morning, arranging the pillows just so. All while you ignored his crabby mood.

“How’s that?” you asked, fluffing one more pillow between the small of his back and the headboard. You’d managed to find a way for him to sit up without his upper back touching the bedframe.

“Fine,” he said grumpily. He was channel surfing on the TV above his dresser. “And it was fine half an hour ago.” 

His mood was always dour after a shower; it meant you had to help him stand, and make sure he didn’t kill himself by slipping and falling. You sighed and brushed your fingers through his wet hair, mindful of the shaved and bandaged portion on the back of his head. He sure was an awful patient. 

“You used to like it when I joined you in the shower,” you tried to tease gently. He shot you a glance.

“Yeah, that was before I could barely piss standing up,” he replied. You rubbed his arm.

“Come on, babe. Don’t be like this. You’ll be healed up in a couple of months, and we can put this behind us,” you said. If he really wanted you not to feel guilty about his current state, then he was doing a bang-up job.

Dean turned to you then, and you understood the look on his face. Will it really be over?

You couldn’t fault him for it because you didn’t know the answer either. You both knew that Savage & Co. burning down was likely just another battle with Azazel, not the end of the war. 

And that was when John and Cas arrived for a visit, with the doorbell interrupting the silence. It was the first time they’d come together, and that told you one thing: this was more than a familial check-in.

You welcomed them into the apartment and made some coffee for everyone. Cas helped you get the mugs ready in the kitchen. Meanwhile, it gave John a moment with his son.

John dragged a desk chair over and sat by Dean’s side of the bed.

“How’s your head?” John asked.

Dean nodded, though his face said he wished people would stop asking him that.

“On the mend,” he replied instead.

John nodded in return. The space between them was awkward and quiet, except for the drone of the TV. Both men had their protective walls and their thoughts, but neither one was able to lower their guard.

When you and Cas came into the room with fresh coffee, it was a silent relief all around. You sat beside Dean in bed and handed him a mug of decaf. You might’ve claimed it was the real stuff, but Dean’s nose knew the difference; he didn’t play when it came to his coffee. Yet another reason why he hated being on these antibiotics. 

“So, let’s start from the beginning,” John said. He lowered his mug into his lap and looked straight at you. “What happened before the fire? Start from the very top of the day.”

You took in a deep breath and glanced at both Cas and Dean. Cas seemed encouraging, while Dean looked just as grave and interested as his father. 

You explained everything from the moment Marv came to give you his report, intended for Nick. You were going to just leave it with his assistant, but his office door had been open a crack, and you’d heard the voices within. You’d been curious enough to approach the door and listen in.

You recounted what you’d heard between Nick and the other man.

“We’re working together on this,” said Nick. “Keep an eye on the cop. Wait for an opportunity.”

“Together, huh? Azazel has his orders. You trying to take his place?” the other man replied. His voice was thin and nasal. You saw his profile, however. His eyes were dangerous.

Your eyes widened at the implications of his words though. Azazel?!

“Dad agrees with me. The guy’s not getting the hint, so we’ll need to remind him who really makes the rules,” Nick said.

Your eyes widened. Holy shit…Nick’s father is Azazel.

You clasped a hand over your mouth before the gasp could escape. A sharp breath still echoed through the hall. The men’s heads began to turn, but you did as well—away from the door and booking it down the hall as quietly and quickly as you could.

You remembered going back to your office, just to find Nick Savage waiting for you.

Dean’s grip on the bedsheets tightened when you told that part of the story. You tried to spare the details, but there were some things you couldn’t avoid…

A strong hand grabbed you and hefted you up. You felt a trickle of wetness rolling down the side of your face as you stared up into his. It must’ve been blood, but all you could focus on was the satisfaction in Nick’s eyes. Finally, they seemed to say.

But then he paused. Confusion was written across his face.

“Do you smell smoke?” he asked. You both saw it climbing under the door of your office.

It was a distraction that broke you out of your frozen fear.

On pure instinct, you jabbed at Nick’s ribs with your taser.

“After I…managed to get out of my office, that’s when I saw the smoke,” you said. Your voice became a tad more unsteady as the memories flit through your mind.

“It was chaos. People were getting trampled trying to get down the stairs…and when we saw the fire coming from below too, I barely made it out of the stairwell.”

You raised a slightly trembling hand to your mouth, but a warm hand slipped into yours, taking it from you. You met Dean’s furrowed brows and softened eyes.

“Come ‘ere,” he said quietly. You let him pull you towards him, against his side, and you blinked past the sting of tears.

“The rest you guys know,” you continued. “I couldn’t get out. Dean and his guys came and found me. He got hurt trying to get us out of there.”

Dean’s hand rubbed up and down your arm in comfort. He pressed a kiss to your forehead while you wiped at the few tears that managed to escape.

“Did you see Nick at all after what happened in the office?” John asked.

You shook your head. “No. I hope he burned to a damn crisp.”

“He’s officially missing, but his body hasn’t yet been identified from the remains at the building site,” said Cas.

That sobered you. You knew there were many people who hadn’t made it out of the building in time. You just couldn’t fathom the kind of person who would intentionally set that fire, damn the costs.

“What about the other man he was talking to?” John asked. You shook your head, but you provided a detailed description of him, from what you could remember: tall and lean, graying short hair, a nasal sounding voice.

“Any other details you can remember? Anything at all. Could be something you saw or heard, or even smelled,” John pressed.

Your lips pursed. The stress alone of reliving all of this was giving you a headache, not to mention making your chest feel tight. Your reply was a bit more clipped than you intended.

“What, other than the part where I was fighting for my life?” you said. “I think I gave a pretty good statement of the events, Detective.”

John paused. His mouth firmed, but he watched you with more sympathetic eyes. Dean saw that his father was trying to ease up. He rubbed your back in comfort again.

“All right, it’s okay,” said Dean. “You did good.”

You glanced at him and took a small, steadying breath. You relaxed a bit and met John’s gaze.

“I’m sorry,” you said, with sincerity. “If I remember something else, I’ll let you know.”

John nodded.

“That’s all right. We’ve got enough to arrest Nick Savage on assault charges, once we find him.” He shared a brief look with Cas. “In the meantime, we’ve got a couple of guys stationed outside the apartment building here. They’ll keep an eye on things.”

You and Dean nodded; it was a relief, but also disconcerting to know the police were watching you. A chime on your phone soon distracted you though. You reached over for where it lay on your nightstand and read the reminder notification. You turned to Dean.

“Ready for your pain meds?” you asked him. You saw the answer in the tightness around his tired eyes. You rubbed a soothing hand on his thigh. “You should eat something first though. Want some of the soup Eileen made?”

Dean shrugged, making an unenthusiastic sound. Your head tilted as you considered him. Then, an idea struck you.

“Ooh, I could make you a grilled cheese on the side,” you offered in a tempting tone. Your leading smile was just enough to get Dean to smile back, if more reserved.

“Hmm?” you prompted. “Come on, three different cheeses on some buttery bread…”

His smile became more genuine. “Okay, sounds good.”

You nodded and pat his thigh once more. You looked up at the detectives.

“You guys want lunch?” you asked. John started to shake his head, but Dean cut in.

“Trust me, you want to get in on this,” he said. The promise of your cooking managed to cut through some of the haze of his pain and discomfort.

Cas conceded first, with a nod. Though he got up from where he’d been sitting at the end of the bed.

“I’ll help,” he said, rolling up his sleeves. He soon followed you downstairs into the kitchen.

Again, it left father and son glancing at one another in silence. John was leaning elbows on his knees, hands folded. His lips drew upwards as he looked up at his eldest.

“Want some advice from an old man?” he asked.

“What’s that?” Dean replied.

John nodded, quirking a smile. “Hold onto that girl.”

A couple of weeks later, however, tensions were still running high. Dean was frustrated with his own inability, worsening with each bout of vertigo, and every time the pain in his skull necessitated a pill to cope with it. Part of it was also that he needed so much of your help when Sam was at work.

Every time Dean saw you cooking, cleaning, changing his bandages, reminding him to take his meds, helping him get around when he was feeling off…

He was grateful, more than you knew. He just couldn’t feel right about letting you do it all when he saw how tired you were. You were still healing up too. And he could only imagine how stressed you were after everything you’d been through in the past few weeks. Hell, in the past few months.

He felt guilty, and useless, and angry at how you’d gotten caught up in all this, and at Nick Savage and Azazel and everything in between.

So Dean now stewed in all of this while he sat watching mindless reruns of some dumbass show about fake ghost hunters, even though he was trying not to think of anything at all. Somehow he had nothing to do but think, even though the meds he was taking often made him want to crawl into bed and sleep.

You appeared from down the hall, looking and smelling like your nice floral soap after a shower, wearing nothing more than one of his old shirts. Your thighs were bare. Your hair was twisted up on top of your head, just asking to be taken down with a practiced hand. 

Dean liked the look of you.

Not that I can do anything about it, came a dull reminder.

You came around the couch with a roll of gauze and a medicated cream for his burns.

“Okay, Dean. Let’s go ahead and change the bandages,” you said, nodding at his back.

He was reluctant to move. He was finally somewhat comfortable sitting in the corner of the couch with a shit ton of pillows propped against his lower back. And he hadn’t told you this, but a headache had been building for the last hour. He’d been trying to wean himself off the pain meds.

“It can wait until Sam gets home,” he said. “Why don’t you relax? Take a nap or something.”

You frowned at him, tilting your head. “Sam works late every night. Doesn’t it make more sense to get it over with now?”

“You see it would, if you hadn’t already done it yesterday,” Dean replied, with a dry edge to his tone.

You arched a brow at him. You'd re-bandaged the burn across his back yesterday morning. It was now late afternoon.

“The doctor said once a day,” you said. “You want to get an infection?”

The back of Dean’s head pulsed with pain. He gritted his teeth in trying to ignore it.

“You want to get off my back? Literally?” he snarked.

You frowned at him and set down the medical supplies. Your hands went to your hips as you looked down at him.

“I don’t appreciate the attitude,” you said. “I’m just trying to help you.”

“I get that, but you don’t have to take care of me right now,” he said. “You can just let me watch this shitty-ass show in peace.”

Your brows knitted together. Both of you were stubborn, if in different flavors. You tried to come at it with a gentler approach, drawing near him to set a hand on his shoulder.

“I know it’s unpleasant, but you can’t change your bandages by yourself,” you said. Your thumb swept along his neck. You really hated seeing him in so much discomfort. “Don’t you want to get it over with so you can relax for the rest of the day?”

A sharper pain pulsed behind his eyes for a moment, making Dean take in a deeper breath through his nose. He could later admit, he lost patience with you (and his temper).

He turned off the TV and tossed down the remote.

“What is this compulsive need you have to control everything? Do everything?” he snapped. “Contrary to what you might think, I don’t need you to wipe my ass! Just give it a goddamn rest!”

Irritation was hot under his skin…until he actually looked up at your face. The open-mouthed look of shock, and hurt, your eyes welling up with tears as your hand fell away from his shoulder…

That’s when Dean knew this concussion was fucking with him.

There was no way he could be this much of an asshole, could he?

“Shit. Baby,” he tried, but you shook your head at him, making a negative sound when he reached for you. You walked away from him.

“Hold on!” said Dean. His first attempt to get off the couch was unsuccessful, and it made his head swim.

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered. He grimaced in annoyance, but he used the couch and the coffee table as leverage and pushed through onto his feet.

Once he knew he was steady, he thought he heard you in the kitchen. He found you there, trying to hide your face behind the open door of the pantry while you cried. It broke his heart, really.

“Sweetheart,” he called to you. His hand rested on your back, prompting you to look up at him with red, watery eyes.

“What now?” you asked. “Want to yell at me some more?”

Dean’s sad frown deepened as he tugged you closer, guiding you into his arms.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I really am. I don’t know where the hell that came from.” 

Maybe the knife stabbing through the back of your head, 'cause you're too stubborn to take all your damn meds, came the dry edge of his conscience.

You held onto him as tightly as you dared while you pressed your tear-stained face into his chest.

“That wasn’t you, Dean,” you said. “I get that you’re in pain, and that you're frustrated, but you don’t have to white-knuckle it. Or take it out on me, for that matter.”

“…I know,” he agreed, laying a kiss on your forehead. “If it happens again, I give you full permission to slap me. Concussion be damned.”

You snorted at that, despite a couple more tears slipping down your cheeks. You wiped them away.

“I know I was being a bit pushy,” you said, with a sigh. “But Sam does work late. I’d feel like shit just lying around here waiting for him to help you. And I’m the reason this all happened anyway, so I might as well—”

“Wait. Stop,” Dean said. He pulled away so he could grasp your arms and look down at you. His brows furrowed, and his jaw worked. “What did you just say?”

You looked up at him, and he saw the vulnerability in your eyes. Your lips pressed together, and you averted your gaze.

“No,” he said, curling his fingers under your chin and lifting your face back up to his. He didn’t like what he saw.

“Okay. Sit with me,” he said. He guided you to the dining table, where he pulled out both chairs. After you sat, he raised a waiting finger to you, just so he could grab his prescription from the kitchen counter and down what should've been his morning dose of pain medication with some water. Then he returned to the table and sat across from you.

By the time he got you to look at him again, your eyes were already filled with tears. He took your hands in both of his.

“What happened to me wasn’t your fault,” Dean said at last. He’d said it before, but apparently it hadn’t gotten through your head.

“You disobeyed a direct order to find me,” you argued. 

“I would’ve gotten called to that fire no matter what,” Dean countered. Still, that didn’t seem to sway you.

“You don’t know what it was like,” you said. You squeezed his hands, and your voice shook. “When I saw you in the ICU…”

All those wires, the newly wrapped burns, the oxygen mask, his skin pale and clammy, and his eyes closed…

“Before you got to me, of course I was scared. For a minute there, I thought I was going to die,” you managed to say. His hold tightened on yours. “But in that room, it was…it was different. It was you, but it was also my grandfather all over again. And I was so damn afraid.”

After that confession, you crumbled once again.

Dean slid his chair forward and held you close. His fingers swept through your hair after taking down your haphazard bun. He managed to pull you into his lap and he shushed you gently.

He glanced up heavenward and actually asked George for the right thing to say to you right now, because he had no damn clue.

After a moment, he released a humorless chuckle.

“You wanna know fear?” he said. “When my dad told me what you’d found out about Nick. And when I got the call that the building was on fire, somehow, I knew you were still in there.”

His fingers brushed along the shallow cut above your brow that was still healing.

“You had to deal with that bastard by yourself. That alone pretty much kills me,” Dean admitted. “And if I hadn’t gotten to you when I did…I’ll never regret that. Ever. I’ll take the whole damn building on top of me if that’s what it takes.”

You leaned back and shook your head at him, but he took your chin between his fingers and stilled you.   

“But I told you,” Dean said firmly. “I’m not leaving you.”

Your eyes met his before you let out a shaky breath. Maybe this time you would believe him.

He leaned down and kissed you soundly, so you’d get the idea. Your hand reached up to caress his cheek, and you moaned when his tongue caressed yours. His hand tightened on your hip.

“Dean.” Your warning was gentle. The doctor hadn’t cleared this yet for him, and he knew it.

“Just a little bit,” he said, smiling against your lips. His hand slipped under your (his) shirt and teased the edge of your panties.

You sighed with conflicting need when you felt the pads of his fingers stroke you through the fabric. It also stroked your arousal back to life.

“Okay, bedroom,” you caved. “But go easy. I’m serious, Dean.”

He smirked and pressed a kiss to the side of your head.

“Oh, I’ll definitely be easy.”

AN: Lol trust Dean to push his limits there. 😅 We also got some closure on the Jo & Dean arc, some supportive Sam and Eileen, and some major feels.

In Part 18, Sam and John work together to try and pin down Nick and Daniel/Azazel, Law & Order style...

Next Time:

The charges included four counts of murder in the first degree: the murders-for-hire, enacted by Alastair Rolston.

Followed by attempted murder in the first degree, ten counts of murder in the second degree (those who had lost their lives in the most recent building fire), conspiracy to commit murder, arson, and if that weren’t enough, a charge each of attempted sexual assault and sexual harassment.

When the last two charges were read out loud in the courtroom, Nick looked visibly angry.

Sam glanced over at the defendant with thinly veiled satisfaction. Some days, it was difficult for him to come to work.

Today was not that day.

“All right, that is a laundry list of potential misdeeds,” Judge Deveraux remarked. He looked up at Nick Savage. “How does the defendant plead?”

At the prodding of his lawyer, Amelia Richardson, Nick spoke up.

“Not guilty,” he said. Though he rolled his eyes, as if this was a waste of his time.

“What’s the deal here, Mr. Winchester?” Judge Devereaux asked.

“The primary charges are murder-for-hire, your Honor,” Sam replied.

Keep Reading: PART 18

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

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[thevoidstaredback]

Everyone's comm beeps in their ear, drawing their attention. "Kon, Jon, Cassie, and Bart all know now. I'm bribing them with the footage of Phase One." Tim's voice says. Their comms beep again and the line goes silent.

Dick sighs. Yeah, that checks. Honestly, he's surprised those four hadn't been told way earlier than now.

"What's wrong?" Wally asks from beside him.

"Nothing," ha answers. He finishes the drink in his hand in one go.

Wally snorts softly. "Yeah, sure. I assume someone's blown it?"

"Tim and Dami. Both Superboy's, Wonder Girl, and Impulse all know now."

"Our Wonder Girl?"

"Tim's.

"Ah." A beat. "The problem?"

"No problem. Though, B might say something."

"I thought he was all for telling the teams?"

"He is! This was all his idea! But Tim's bribing the other four with the footage of the Cave."

"You mean the footage that I haven't seen yet?"

"Yep."

"Then what are we waiting for?" Wally grabs his hand, "Let's go get Donna and go watch!"

Dick sighs again and goes along. He clicks his own comm on and says, "Me, Wally, and Donna are gonna come watch, too. Wally insists."

Damian's voice comes next. "Since when does Troy know?"

"Probably since I told her and Wally."

"What?" Steph's voice whines, "You've had two people know for so long?"

Before he can respond, Barbra hisses, "Hey! This is supposed to be a distraction free line, guys."

Jason snorts, "Me, Roy, Lian, and Duke are on our way, too. You girls should come watch; we'll make a party out of it."

"Good idea," Cass says.

Dick can see Bruce on the other side of the room, unable to react to a thing that's being said in his ear. Ha!

***

Bruce watched his kids all leave the room. He's glad that their teams know, though why did they have to let it slip while the party was still going on? Oh, well, nothing to do about it now. Especially because Oliver's agreed to give a speech.

"Ollie, dear, it's time for your speech now, isn't it?"

"Ah, yes." Oliver says, light pink dusting his cheeks at the address Bruce had been using since they were in high school. He made his way to the stage, the band quieting as he took the podium. "If I may have everyone's attention for just a moment?"

Great start, Ollie.

"Like all of you, the invitation to this gala tonight came as a surprise. A welcome one, but a surprise nonetheless. Now, I won't keep your attention for long, but, on behalf of Bruce, I'd like to thank everyone for coming tonight. This Gala tonight, Charity for Justice, is a fantastic way for us to give back to the people who work so hard to save us. And it's not just the Justice League; Doctors, Teachers, Veterans, et cetera. They're all heroes who deserve all the help we can give them. Being here tonight, while it may seem superficial, is a step in the right direction to helping the heroes of the world. Now, I don't know how Bruce is going to get this money to the Justice League, but I'm not one to questions his ways or his motivations. He's been a friend of mine since we were in high school, and I trust him with my life. Thank you, Bruce, for hosting tonight; And thank you all for coming and donating." Nodding to the audience, Oliver walked from the stage as they clapped.

Bruce smiled at Oliver as they met at the bottom of the stairs leading to the stage. "Thanks, Ollie. I didn't know you trusted me so much."

Oliver matched his smile. "'Course I do, Brucie! And what you're doing tonight is really good. I might just have to steal this idea from you."

Laughing, Bruce patted Oliver's shoulder before taking his place on the stage. "Thanks, Oliver, for speaking tonight. I know it was last minute, but you did great." The crowd chuckled a bit as Oliver raised the glass he now held. "At the risk of sounding like a broken record, thanks again, everyone, for coming here tonight. I know a lot of you are far from home, but it means a lot that you made the trip out.

"Admittedly, this entire gala was a spur of the moment decision. My kids, actually, came up with the idea, so if you're going to thank anyone, it should be them. They did everything on their own while sat back and let them do their thing.

"When you think of heroes, you're most likely to think of the Justice League and their sidekicks. But, who were the heroes before the Justice League was founded? Perseus, Heracles, Aeneas, Remus, Romulus, Vldar, Ragnar Lodbrok, Hua Mulan, Guan Yu. All of them were warriors. But, does combat make a hero? I don't think so. I think the thing that makes a hero is the willingness to help; the willingness to give even if you have nothing to give; the willingness to do what it takes to make sure someone gets to live even just a little bit longer.

"Oxford dictionary defines the word 'hero' as "a person who is admired or idealized for their courage, outstanding achievements, or noble qualities". While I agree, I think that this is a much too niche definition. After all, I've met hundreds of people who I would consider heroes, heard thousands more stories- and not one of them has been 'admired' or 'idealised' for it.

"Tonight, I've asked for donations from each of you. All of the money will be going towards helping the heroes of the world; those who are recognised as such, those who aren't, and everyone in between. Every donation made will be matched by not only myself, but Wayne Industries as well. Then, all the money will be anonymously give to the heroes of every city represented here.

"Again, I'm so glad everyone could make it tonight, and I'm beyond glad that you've all be generous enough to help our heroes. Please enjoy the rest of your evening." The applause was loud as he walked off stage, the music picking up softly before crescendoing as the crowd began talking again.

The comm in his ear clicked just before Barbra started speaking. "That was a good speech, B. Brought some of us to tears."

He picked up a drink and sipped it as he spoke into his own comm piece. "You're watching the cameras?"

"Naturally," Damian said.

"We're all too comfortable to move," Tim explained, "So Bab's pulled the cameras up on the TV just as Oliver finished speaking."

"I've never heard Batman talk so much..." That was Bart Allen, clearly close enough to hear him over Tim's line, but not close enough to be intentional.

"Hell," Donna was probably sprawled across Dick and Wally, "I've never seen him express emotion and I knew who he was!"

Bruce hid a laugh and a smirk behind his drink. "Watch it, now."

There were a few squeaks as the comms all clicked off, Barbra taking care of his as well.

The ballroom was emptying, slower than he would like, but faster than expected. The kids (because that's what they are, no matter how old they may be) all trickled back into the ballroom, waving goodbye and joining their families as they went, though his own kept themselves near the door to say goodbye to everyone leaving. He decided to join them.

Just as Oliver, Dinah, Roy, and Lian were leaving, he stopped his old friend and pulled him aside.

Oliver's guard was still down, relaxed even as Bruce pulled him into a completely empty room and shut the door. He heard the click of a comm turning on, though no one spoke, so he could only assume it was his own.

"I was just about to head home; What's up, Bruce?"

"Oliver, there's something I need to tell you." This was gonna be so funny.

"Bruce?"

When had first started out, he knew that having the same voice in and out of costume would be a potentially detrimental mistake, so he'd dropped his voice as low as he dared and added the grit to it. Eventually, he'd gotten a voice changer, but he'd kept up the training to make sure he didn't damage his voice in case the voice changer ever broke.

Taking a deep breath, Bruce turned around and dropped his voice. "I'm Batman."

Part 16 Part 18

[stardancerluv]

What the Emperor Wants

Part Seventeen

Summary: Reader is visited. Geta & his future empress share a moment.

Notes/Warnings: No warnings, some fluff, some angst, some dated views on religion & gods, dated views on communicating with the dead.

Pallas parts of a woman’s attire.

Thank you so much for reading!

❤️s, reblogs, comments & feedback is always welcome! 💐 If you would like to be tagged. Just ask! 💐

In may have been a short while but you had grown used to sitting off to the side behind Geta for everything from outside of the royal domus to this one or the one in country. It felt comfortable. It felt safe. But this was the first time you sat right beside him.

Some eyes flickered your way and when you caught them most looked away. A few who didn’t, you then looked away. But that was a only small handful.

Idly, you wondered if one of those here now were brazen enough to threaten you and then attend the banquet welcoming Geta’s mother. For a passing moment you could feel the cold metal against your throat. Quietly, you shrugged off the ill thoughts you would not allow that person to bring shadows to the feels of excitement you felt.

A herald, proudly announced his mother. There were cheers, clapping, hands over hearts and fists in the air.

You happily clapped. She may have said things possibly to upset you; but you knew how serious, nervous your own had been when your elder brother married. So you understood her emotions. You didn’t like them, but you understood.

You watched as she settled not far from you and Geta. Though an empty place was near here. You knew it was where Caracalla would be. You wondered idly where he would be.

At the memory of your mother, silently you sent her a prayer, you wished reached her in the afterlife. Hopefully, Pluto would allow her to hear the love of a daughter.

You followed Geta’s lead as you have before and sat. You relaxed once glasses began to clink, food began to be consumed and the hush of whispers and voices filled the air, laced by the beautiful playing of a lyre. You had heard, his mother was fond of those strings being plucked.

“Blossom?”

You resisted the urge to flinch. Geta’s voice was low, comforting.

“Yes?” You gave him a side long glance., while a smile played on your lips.

You had taken notice that the inky black was sharper around his eyes, and the sweet smelling powders, took and hid the flush of the anger that had burned so hotly in him. He was looking incredibly handsome.

“You looked far away. Are you in good spirits?”

You nodded. “Yes. Your words had given me great comfort.”

“Good.”

He sat back and popped a grape into his mouth, yet you felt under the table as he grabbed your hand and held your hand. He brought it to his thigh. His hand rested over yours.

Moments later, you heard a sharp chirp, before four tiny hands landed on your shoulder. You gave Dondas a glance. “Hello Dondas.” You greeted softly.

“Brother, you thought I’d be late didn’t you?”

Caracalla said in a soft, singsong voice, his overly warm hand rested on your shoulder just beside Dondas’s small ones and glancing at Geta, he had rested his other hand on his brother’s shoulder. He bent between the two of you, a lopsided smile was across his face.

“Not terribly so. Mother on the other hand may have.”

He giggled, more childlike than the ones you had heard when they were in the royal box.

“I wouldn’t miss a banquet for her.”

He appeared to waver on his feet. You wondered idly if he had more wine than he should before arriving. Standing again he slipped away from the two of you. Though, it was not before Dondas jumped from your shoulder to Caracalla. It landed, scuttled up one of the many colorful fabrics that hung and were twisted around him.

You glanced as he went over their mother, a strained look came over her face. You’d know that look on anyone.

*******

As the night grew on, and several dishes had been passed and glasses had been filled and refilled. Exhaustion, grew heavier on you. You could see as a cloud of it appeared to cross Geta’s eyes more than once.

With a gentle tug one you were familiar with you allowed yourself to be drawn closer to Geta.

“Yes, Geta.” You said barely above a whisper.

You were not entirely certain how to address him, especially in the presence of his mother.

“Sleep is attempting to claim me. And I am sure it is trying to claim you. Shall we walk back to my chambers and yours ?”

“Yes, please.”

*******

A handful of praetorian guards were close. You felt as if your every move was looked over. Did their opinion matter? Did they even concern themselves with his decision to make you his empress. Your stomach churned with all of the foods you had over the course of the evening.

*******

The walk to your chambers felt shorter than any other time. You were met with the brief halt outside the door to what had become your room.

“Check her room. All of you. I don’t want any corner, any shadow illuminated.” Geta’s sharply ordered.

Their armor, their swords and their feet jangled and thundered louder as they past the two of you.

After the last one passed the two of you in the passage way, a lone torch only flicked from the wall. You gasped as Geta, suddenly pulled you took him. His solid body, was against yours. It stole your breath. You barely saw a flash of his dark eyes, which were even darker with the ebony ink that still traced them. His lips found yours. They stole and pulled a kiss from you. Your lips responded in turn. It had felt like, eons since the last time they touched.

Distantly, there was the loud sound of the guards returning the door that separated the two of you.

You both parted, your heart like horses at a strong gallop and the warmth of the wine you drank was stronger.

The door opened. “Her chambers are safe.” Gallus, informed. You recognized him from other times Geta had spoken with him.

“Stay in her room while she slumbers. Just before Sol turns the sky from a rich purple to a clear blue, keep watch over her and fetch me. Then you shall retire till the moon in its brilliance in high once again in the sky.” Geta, ordered.

“Yes, sire.” Gallus, nodded.

You were surprised that he would fetched at such a time in the day or even at all. Looking his way, his eyes flickered and briefly met yours.

“Till dawn.” He said.

You bowed gently. The act felt right at that moment. “Till dawn.”

*******

“You will not know that I’m here.” Gallus told you sometime later.

“I am not terribly sure of this. But I will take your word.”

“Yes, my augusta.”

You glanced at him after the reply he had given you. You but his gaze did not meet you, but appeared to be on the hard ground before him.

You were not sure if it was right or even the particular act would be frowned upon. But you loosened some of the twists of your hair. As you finally laid for the evening. Left in your under stolla with the scarves in their colorful brilliance laid on one of your chairs. Like that of an artists work on one of the walls.

It was still rather stirring within you, there was a lounge, two chairs and this bed that was much too big in your chambers. You had only had some bedding and stool and the stool as still something you had grown accustomed to.

Lying in the bed, a whirl of emotions twisted and moved within you. A chill lingered from having that knife at your throat made you pull the blanket higher.

*******

You found yourself on a cool, stone bench. Blue, silvery water lapper at the dark gray and black stone that crested the water and were under foot.

A great dread and loneliness came over you. You wrapped your arms around yourself, wondering what you could possibly doing there. It was unlike anything your eyes had ever fallen on.

Feeling, a sharp chill graze your shoulder you looked up and gasped.

“Mother!” You leapt up, with no hesitation you threw your arms around her. She felt frailer, colder than she ever had in life. Your touch was feather light. You pulled back.

“Mother.” You said softly.

She nodded. “I heard your prayer.”

Tears, sprang from your eyes.

“The gods favor you, they favor him at this time. They grant us this gift.”

She came and sat beside you, cool fingers that barely you felt brushed aside your tears.

You took her hand, in both of yours. You wished you could give it some of your warmth.

“Oh, mother I…” You stumbled over over what to say. There was so much. “I don’t even know words to speak.”

She nodded, a smile not as radiant as a summers day touched her lips but it was a smile.

“Words are on a breeze my daughter but your heart has spoken.”

You squeezed her hand, knowing she had heard your prayer.

“Oh, mother.”

Her hand easily took yours had was graced with the precious ring and delicate bracelet Geta had given you. She gently touched the ring.

“My sweet girl, wild as an untamed mare.” She looked up at you. “A flame that burns brightly within you is why the gods chose you for him. You both are very strong, powerful flames.”

“It is not just curly, fiery strands that crown his head.”

A shadow of the amusement that only your mother could make fell over her face.

“Even here you have that flame that had caused so much worry in my heart..”

“Where is here?”

“A place where I am now, and hopefully you will not bring any light to for a very long time.”

“Why am I here now then?”

“Your being, you came close. Your flame danced on its wick but remained strong. And since, the gods do guide him and they allowed you to see my acceptance.”

“Mother.”

********

A warm hand, a gentle touch grazed your shoulder, startled you awake.

Terribly ruffled curls fell into his forehead as he looked down at you.

“Geta.”

“Yes, blossom.”

You sat up and not caring at all; you hugged him. You needed his solid warmth. You trembled as his arms, strong and warm wrapped around you. His hand gently moved up and down your back.

“This is this is the time between night and day. It is our time.”

Purple light flooded into your room. Gently pulled back and nodded after meeting his eyes.

“I am grateful for that. I had missed you.”

“And I you.”

You held each other then. At that moment, you don’t know why he needed you, but you knew why you did. You enjoyed his solid warmth.

@honey-eyed-munson @amethyst-serenade @laura-naruto-fan1998 @screaming-blue-bagel @kitkat80 @blondie324 @alyisdead @hellomadamebutterfly @helsa3942 @marrowfrog00 @misspendragonsworld @therealjomarch @deliciousfestsalad @aspiringwhore @justalittlebitshy @littlemissholy

[feletida]

Guest from the past 17: g-lag, antarctica.

[itstheendofthegoddamnworld]

Swallowed Whole by The Flame (Messmer the Impaler x Tarnished! Reader) 17

MASTERLIST

PREVIOUS | NEXT

Summary: The conflict of the heart is a heavy burden.

A/N: We're back, baby, and ready for more! See more at the end for my thoughts.

A03 link

-

Chapter 17: Conflict

The two of you had finally sat in a moment of bliss that morning, breaking your fast and sharing a meal with Messmer. The dishes with peppery and hot, sweet sausages and meats filled your stomach lining, along with sweet bread, fruits, and hot tea. Messmer fed you from his hand slithers of your shared meals, and you did the same, enjoying a moment of peaceful bliss that gave you the chance to be with one another alone. 

It gave you a look into what it could be like to be with one another, to share what you could only describe as a dream, living within the Keep with Messmer as if you two were a married couple. The thought made you deeply blush, your mind going to thoughts of marriage and even children-- what would they look like? Would they look similar to Messmer, with his red hair, or would they look like you?

You had to shake those feelings away- there was no way Messmer would want to be your consort, or even be it, married to you. He didn't seem to want to be an Elden lord's consort, but you had never thought of that. If the opportunity arrived for you to become Elden Lord, would he say yes to being by your side?

 The two of you continued to resume your days, though you shared them. After finishing your meal, you shared a bath, giggling in glee when Messmer couldn't seem to take his hands off you. You resist the urge to resume the moments from early morning and the previous night. 

Messmer dressed as did you, your handmaidens prepared your outfits, but despite looking down at the familiar tunics and trousers, you turned to them, "Are there any dresses?"

This caught Messmer's attention, midway, fastening his cloak before he heard what you had said, something lighting up on his face. Your maidens nodded, moving around you as they pulled different clothes out from the trunk, presenting many different colours and materials. You could sense Messmer's train of gaze on your back, watching as you finally picked one; the crimson silk with golden trim was light enough that you didn't feel that you were dragging so much of it.

Dressed up, you turned to face Messmer, intrigue on your face as you gauged his reaction. He's not meeting your gaze, his eye is staring over your dress, over the lower cut that reveals your collarbones, your cleavage, giving you a tall, graceful look.

And most of all, you're in his colours.

A sense of pride washes over him, maybe even some possession that clutches at his chest. It's only when he feels you take hold of his hand that he brings his attention back to look down on you. You know what this is doing to him, to watch as he tries to keep focused and calm. But all you do is simply smile up at him. "Do you like?"

"Minx," there is a growl in his throat as he possessively holds you to him, leaning down to take your lips in a passionate kiss. He kisses you when the two of you are alone, and though you understand his shyness to not show his pubic displays of affection around others, you'd hope he would grow more comfortable with it, "thou shalt be the death of me."

"I sure hope not." You giggle, his hair tickles your neck when he kisses you there, spinning you around so you're facing a full-length mirror. You fit effortlessly in his arms, with him caging you in them to bring you that security. You wish you could stay like this all day, enjoying these moments when nothing is a worry, and you can feel content in tranquillity.

-

You find him another time in his chambers, having just finished a meeting with his men. His forces talk of increasing their numbers, more soldiers in camps, fire Golems to fill the roads and destroying any part of the land that could be keeping Miquella's allies hidden.

"You're exhausted." You approach him, having watched the last remaining group of his men leave the room, with you and him being the only ones left in the room. "You will not be any good if you're not catching any sleep."

"I doth not slumber." He pinches the bridge of his nose, catching your gaze as you question his words with a quirked smile. He knows it himself it's not true. Looking towards the stone doors, watching as they, he pulls you to him, the second it's just the two of you. You're startled before you recover quickly, finding yourself sitting like a lap dog between his powerful thighs. The warmth he emits has you almost purring happily, whilst your lover pulls you closer to his chest. "Thee art cold."

"Ah, I did not notice." You instinctively reach for him, greedily taking in his heat, absorbing it as you take in the work that surrounds him. You wonder if ever in his life, he had always wanted to be like this, his mother's perfect soldier. Would he have rather been a singer, a mathematician, or a poet? You feel guilty that it is maybe something he has never had the chance to think of, but maybe you could give that to him?

You shake those feelings down, once you remember where you are, suppressing the feelings that maybe, you too, could've lived a different life. You have a hard time remembering who your family were; if you had many or few brothers and sisters, or even the colour of your mother's eyes. One thing you do know: if you had not gone down the route and followed the first Elden Lord, Godfrey, you wouldn't have become a Tarnished.

"Do you ever... wish things could be different?"

"How so, mine own dearest?" He answers softly in your ear.

"That we could live the life we always wanted to, without heartache, grief, or strife. Have you ever thought of that?"

It is the answer Messmer gives that you were expecting him to answer with: "Always." There is a pain you would never be able to know that he experienced, and vice versa, but together, you felt that this bond between two kindred souls had strengthened.

Messmer brought your attention once more. "I has't called for an audience with Sir Ansbach. I has't many things I wish to hear from him."

"Of course," you say, leaning backwards into him, resisting to ask him more, but knowing you could not keep quiet. The yearning, called to you, wishing that there was more. "Will you be here any longer? I do not wish to be alone in bed tonight."

His brief chuckle was reserved, just as he is, but despite it all, your silver tongue never ceased to entertain him. "I shalt not leaveth thee bitter cold in the sheets, starlight."

-

"Miquella's forces lurk near the Ancient Ruins of Rauh, they have eyes all on us." 

It is Sir Ansbach who speaks, having designated a meeting within Messmer's war hall. It is another day that has passed before you find yourself speaking with Ansbach, late into the twilight. It is no surprise to any, Messmer surrounds himself with his generals, stuck in meetings day in and day out. Some of Messmer's soldiers stand alongside their lord, with only you and Ansbach as the only two who have insight into Miquella's possible plans. Messmer is seated as the formidable leader at the head of the table, with you on the left side of the table beside him, Ansbach opposite you.

"Lady Leda will be awaiting for opportunity for Messmer's kindling to burn away the sealing tree." Continued Ansbach. "For this to work, I suggest that Lord Messmer and the Tarnished can lead the way and destroy the sealing tree and find her in Enir-Ilim."

"We know she won't be alone," you add, "after having defeated Redmane Freyja, she will have few allies beside her. Dryleaf Dane no doubt, but also an ally in the Hornsent."

"We will have to dispatch Needle Knight Leda first, to shake her allies, and make them retreat if possible," Ansbach turns to Messmer, "My Lord, with your aid beside the Tarnished and I, we will be able to overcome this obstacle."

"Then comes Miquella," you join, "if we can draw him close, we will be able to put an end to his plans. He will have no love, no alliances, just himself out in the open."

It is with this that Messmer has been silent the entire time. He stares only at the map on the table, his eye drifting only to the paper and not acknowledging anyone around him. It takes some time before she finally does something, a palpable, silent dread that looms with all of you awaiting a verdict. 

He stands to his full height, turning his back to the group, only to stare out at the flames in the hearth. "Increase the troops outside our gates. And those outside the Tarnished's chambers." 

You look briefly over to Ansbach, and back over to Messmer. "Miquella and his apostles know we're here. Don't you think it would be best to meet Miquella head-on? What good can we be if we lock ourselves inside?"

"We shalt be protected." He says coolly, "We has't stone walls, we can await Miquella's troops in mine Keep. Alloweth those to cometh to us."

"But why can't we attack when we know��we can bring extra forces to them? To surprise them?" You ask hesitantly.

"T doest not matter to me where we meet, on the fields or inside stone walls, Miquella and his followers shalt know of our strength." There is a dangerous look in his eye, burning as if the temperature of the room is rising. You catch a glimpse that his long fingernails have caused cuts into his palm, just from how hard he has crushed his hand shut.

"We shalt raze their resistance in embers and blood." He says adamantly.

You huff, "We will be ambushed inside our walls, Mes- my Lord. What will become of us?"

Messmer snorts, stubbornly answering you. "We shall beest safe in our walls, trust me."

You're amazed at how quick he is to decide and stick to something. You called it stubborn willfulness. "My Lord," you go to him with a different route, the softer approach, your tone warmer. You approached him confidently knowing you were his lover, that everyone knew you were his partner. Reaching out to him surprises you with the way he recoils at your touch. "Messmer-" Your voice did not hide your hurt.

"I shall not argue with thee about this, Tarnished." He snaps, and the use of your title hits you like a ton of bricks. Knowing he was stressed was one thing, to hide his affection for you around others so suddenly was another thing. You stepped back from him, a sting burning slowly in your chest, similar to a kindling beginning to burn. Two stubborn, headstrong people, refusing to listen or agree with each other.

Ansbach awkwardly stands between you two, aware of the heated stares and subtle touches from you. "Perhaps we shall come back to this another time, My Lord."

Messmer stares at you now as if he's dealing with an impatient child. "Nay. T'is been finalised and t'is an order."

You're so shocked by this outburst that you're not done with confronting him. Was this a front he was putting up, or perhaps some way to keep you inside these walls, trapped from being hurt or killed by the resistance of his brother? 

Stepping out in front of him, blocking his way from escape with your shorter body, you glare up at him, "This is not done yet. Why are you resisting this? We have the advantage."

"Enough-"

"No, this isn't what you would do, Messmer." You're aware you've used his name and not his title. The room feels hotter and smaller, and all eyes are on you both. 

"I shalt not hear more of this."

"Why are you so afraid?"

"Because thee art the target." He snaps, and it leaves you speechless. Your head feels dizzy from the room's heat, and no one is daring to speak up. It is only with the heavy, ragged breaths from Messmer, that leave you feeling as if it is just you and him. "What shall thee doth at which hour Miquella cometh for thee? They shalt targeteth thee and only thee.  Thee shall beest safe under mine own protection."

You realise what he's doing, and it saddens you to realise it's his way of protecting you, by keeping you here in danger. But you're a Tarnished, stripped of all and born to die and live and repeat the cycle. You knew of that long before you knew Messmer, so why did he wish to keep you locked up?

"I am not some doll you can keep here, Messmer," you try to keep your voice low, steady, but you can feel the tremble in your words, "What will I be if not a fool if I do not face Leda head on?"

"Thee wouldst beest safe," he answers, and you realise now his outburst was hiding something way worse from you. He's petrified. Lost in how he would feel if he had to witness you die again, and maybe for good. You realise it's a way of coping, and though your heart swells to the softness of his pleading, you realise you're not destined for this.

You turn to face Ansbach, who stands unprepared by this conversation. "If I were to face Miquella alone, would I have you as my ally beside me?"

"Always, my Lady," he hesitates to look over towards the redhead, who is seething quietly. "But, if I may, my Lord, will this be of your choosing-"

"T doesn't matt'r what I bethink. The Tarnished is mine own ally, but not one of mine own men, sworn to obeyeth mine own hests. " Messmer says solemnly. He has not looked at anyone in the room, his eye cast to staring off at something in the distance. "Alloweth her doth what as the lady prithee."

You know what comes next. Nodding to Ansbach, you face Messmer again, and ever so alone do you feel. You know he feels the same, but you know that even though you disagree, the yearning in your heart knows it is for the best. Reaching a hand toward him, you await his reaction. Messmer knows what you ask of him: to share his curse of flame to allow you to traverse past and onwards. It is a better option than killing him, but it still stings like betrayal in Messmer's heart, knowing he is sending his Tarnished away.

Without saying a word, he reaches to you, his grip around you is firm and you think he's either about to pull you close or not share his flame with you. Messmer's eye is now located on staring down at you, not in a glare or in frustration, but confusion, hopelessness and even a silent plea to not let you do this.

You cannot be commanded by him, he knows this as the truth, and as the heat radiates through you, brighter and hotter than any flame you've felt before, Messmer gives his blessing.

You brace for the pain immediately, but feel none. Messmer's face is one of calmness, albeit his eye is portraying how he is feeling. It is frantically looking over you, as if wishing to speak for him when the words cannot come. Come back to me, they say. Come home to me safely.

The heat passes it's over with, Messmer removes his hand as you check yourself out to see the blackest of flame you can now produce. Messmer's flame is small, a flickering candle in the palm of your hand, but you know it will be enough to burn.

You give a silent nod to him. Thank you; you try to portray through your eyes; I won't let you down. I will come back to you; before removing yourself from the room. Ansbach follows like a shadow behind you.

You cannot dare to look back on Messmer as the heavy doors shudder to a close, and the faintest of tears can finally fall down your cheek.

Forgive me.

-

A/N: Another sad chapter. Gosh darn, why am I better at writing angst than anything else? I was heavily inspired by Epic the Musical, especially the song Just a Man. I really dig the animatic that was done by CryInDollHouse for Messmer too and feel it really suits him. Sorry if the whiplash between Tarnished and Messmer has gone from one to the next, I wish I had written more of their developing romance for one another, but here we are. We're closing in on this story, and I have many plans on making this as happy as possible, regardless of how it gets there. I promise that when this does end, the angst will be lifted, and Messmer and Tarnished will know just peace.

[cacophony-eg]

Chapter 17 of Moon Knight and Sun King is NOW UP!

Read on =

AO3

Wattpad

Summary: M’Lady’s group and Sunset trio’s group sit down with their noodles and start their Q&A. MK learns how gold vision works, you get called villainous, Red’s fire powers have you nervous about triggering your apartment's sprinklers, Macaque is being his annoying but strangely helpful self. While Moon and Samadhi are mostly enjoying their noodles while listening to the groups go back and forth.

Part 1

Part 16

[spewagepipe]

On the Origin of RPGs, Part 1

To truly understand the origins of RPGs, one must know that a Feudal economy will inevitably collapse if the ruling lords ever stop acquiring new arable land. Since there is only finite land available on Earth, the lords are therefore forced into territorial wars, which exposes another fundamental flaw with that system: that although the legal right to command a fief's military forces is hereditary, the ability to command those forces with any semblance of competence is not.

By the end of the 1700's, the standard practice among the kingdoms of central Europe was to send the medieval nepo-babies off to military college to hopefully learn a smattering of elemental strategy before they reached a battlefield. It was under these conditions that the first ever "combat simulator" board game was invented, as a way to trick the kids into learning principles of warfare while having fun. Dismissed by experienced officers for being too abstract, the game inspired a deluge of successors before one of them was recognized by the Prussian military for being a genuinely realistic game worthy of inclusion in their academy curriculum.

A noteworthy feature of this last kriegsspiel (wargame) was the idea of a "vertrauter" (confidant) who could simulate the fog of war. Players on both sides (i.e., military students) would secretly issue their orders to the vertrauter (i.e., the students' instructor, a seasoned veteran). The vertrauter would then take measurements, roll dice, refer to statistical tables, and consult various other rules in order update the game state on the players' behalf. Finally, the vertrauter would deliver a battle report to the players, containing only whatever intelligence would be known to their (simulated) front-line staff.

The game was generally considered a great tool for both training and planning, but many of the academy instructors found mastering the rules to be a huge pain in the ass – a problem that was exacerbated by the ensuing 50 years of rules updates and feature creep. Eventually, the Prussian brass concocted a solution: if the ultimate measure of a wargame's realism is to see whether or not its rules agree with the expectations of a seasoned officer, then why not just have the rules say "whatever the seasoned officer expects to happen is what happens"?

This "free" wargame (in contrast to the "rigid" former one) enjoyed a dramatic increase in both popularity and perceived realism among the officers. Incidentally, the concept of "cognitive bias" would not be invented for another 100 years. Nevertheless, the Prussian victory over France in 1871 had the entire world looking to copy Prussian military doctrine, and so the kriegsspiel was exported around the globe.

The American localization, dubbed Strategos, tried to bridge the gap between "rigid" and "free" by including the byzantine rulebook of the former, but also granting the so-called "referee" license to deviate from the rulebook where their expertise with both warfare and game design deemed it necessary. Despite the endorsement of the USA Department of War (and perhaps because its author was one of the only living humans possessing the unusual combination of skills required run it), Strategos seems to have languished in obscurity.

That is, until 1967, when it was rediscovered by a recreational wargamer named David Wesely.

[onceuponapuffin]

Fanatic Intervention Part 17!!!

Okay, it's been a bit so quick recap: We just spent the evening at a dive bar singing karaoke and learning that 1) Jesus is a 13-year-old rich white kid with rich parents living in L.A. and 2) Muriel is missing. The Angel of Sardis gave us a lovely fishbowl (alcoholic drink since no one in this world has bothered to ask Reader's age because I have more room to play that way) as a reward for singing Taylor Swift (Shake it Off). We pick up our story The Morning After.

Also, since the poll about Sardis tied, I'm taking it to mean that everyone needs/wants more time with him to figure him out. Fortunately people also voted to bring him along, so we get to have LOTS OF THAT!! :D

Brandenburg Concerto No. 3 in G Major for anyone who's curious.

What music do you think Anathema likes??

Let's do this!!

Beginning || Previous || Next

**********************************

The next morning you sit at the table in the dining room of the massive Ritz hotel suite, staring into your coffee. You have a headache, and no one else seems to be faring too much better. If only it was just a hangover. A miracle from either Aziraphale or Crowley could fix a hangover, but there was no way that a miracle of any size could make your situation any less bleak.

Aziraphale, angel that he literally is, had thought to order in breakfast from the kitchens. You look from your coffee to the waiting plate of pancakes, eggs, and bacon, heaving a sigh. Jesus, if and when you find him, is an entitled teen. Muriel, friend and precious, is missing. Things are...well, it’s hard to feel happy or optimistic right now. Your companions aren’t faring much better as far as you can tell. Crowley is staring at his phone with a frown, the sound effects of Candy Crush drifting across the otherwise silent table. He’s playing at non-chalance, but you know Distraction As A Coping Mechanism when you see it. Aziraphale has barely touched his food, focusing more on alternating between stirring his tea, and sipping it only to add more sugar. The drink must be nearly syrup by now. Anathema keeps dangling her pendulum, pausing, then setting it down to re-cast her rune stones. You’ve noticed that they keep landing up the same way. Well, you need fuel in your system if you’re going to deal with all of this, so you reluctantly cut a slice of pancake with your fork and bring it to your mouth.

The silence stretches. Well, except for the ambiance; Candy Crush, spoon stir, runes cast, pancake slice. Candy Crush, spoon stir, runes cast, pancake slice. Candy Crush, spoon stir, runes cast, bacon – mixing it up a little. Candy Crush, spoon stir, runes cast

BAM!!!!

The door of the suite slams open, and there stands Sardis with his foot in the air.

He kicked the door down. What...on….earth…

“I FOUND HIM!” Sardis stomps into the suite toward the table, waving his phone in the air, “I FOUND HIM! I knew I’d seen his face somewhere, and I found him!!”

Crowley sits up straight for once in his life. “Who THE FUCK gave him a key?!”

You avert your gaze. The fishbowl was delicious, and he patted your head afterward and told you everything would be okay! Not your fault….entirely.

There isn’t much time for you to contemplate your guilt because Sardis has turned up the volume on his phone, and pressed play on a Tik Tok video. He turns his phone so that you all can see the screen. A boy with dirty-blonde hair is smiling out of it. His hair is longer in the middle and pouffed up with what is probably a standard-teenager’s worth of hair gel, and the sides are very short with...dollar signs shaved into them. It’s just a Tik Tok video, but you can smell the Axe body spray from here.

“Hey guys!” The smiling teen calls, waving at the camera. “It’s me, ya boy Jeremy. I’m bringing back my most popular series. That’s right! You asked, and I’m answering your prayers! Time to bring back Let’s See What I Can Get Away With Because I’m RICH.”

Your face twists in disgust, and you hear Anathema groan.

“I think we’ve seen quite enough,” Aziraphale says, speaking for you all.

“Are...are you sure that’s Jesus?” You ask. Honestly you’re hoping it’s a joke. You’re hoping beyond hope that this...this...caricature of a person is not the same person who you need to convince to help you save the world.

“Oh yeah,” Sardis replies, “That’s him. Right name and everything.”

“Wot? Jeremy?” asks Crowley with an edge of salty sarcasm.

“No,” Sardis says, “His true name. I know everyone’s, remember? It’s the right kid, you have my word on that.”

Truth be told, you’re still not exactly sure what his word is worth, but for now it’s a lead. You glance at Anathema, who shrugs.

“Fits the bill,” she admits, “All my readings have been...unsettlingly clear about the kind of kid we’re looking for, and I mean...” She gestures helplessly at the phone and the video that Sardis has, thankfully, paused. You blink, dumbstruck. Aziraphale said something last night about Heaven cutting corners. Apparently they had cut the corners so thoroughly they’d made a circle.

Great.

******************

Breakfast suddenly became easier after that. Maybe it was because Sardis was the only one who wasn’t completely despairing over everything, and maybe it was because he was suddenly helping himself to the plates of excess pancakes, bacon, and eggs. Suddenly, you noticed Aziraphale wave a finger and the food was hot again – trying to impress company, or be a good host, or both no doubt. You found that your appetite had suddenly returned, along with your need for caffeine. Even Crowley had grabbed some bacon now that, perhaps, there seemed a less likely chance of him having the choice if he waited any longer. Sardis did most of the talking, explaining that the shortest driving route would take 28 hours. Best to get started asap then.

“I am not listening to anymore of your….Us songs!” Crowley growls at you as soon as you get in the car.

“Not all of them are love songs!” You protest.

“No! No breakup songs either!”

“Fine, fair, but what about -”

“And especially no End-of-the-World songs!” He snarls. You’re pretty sure he’s halfway to hissing at you now. “We have enough of that to deal with assss is!” Ah, there it is.

Ever-so-gently, Aziraphale takes the phone out of your hand.

“Perhaps it’s about time someone else had a turn,” he says. Ah, so he’s finally gotten tired of humouring you and your taste in music. Well, it had to happen eventually.

Unfortunately, this means that you all end up listening to Brandenburg Concerto No 3 in G Major. Well, it could be worse, you figure. At least this song has movement to it, even if it does feel endless based on your musical standards. Crowley is driving and silent, Aziraphale is waving your phone around in the passenger’s seat like a conductor’s baton. The backseat is as follows – You, Sardis, and Anathema.

Yes, Sardis is there. Considering the way he found Jesus – or, Jeremy – so quickly, and the way he seems to be single-handedly keeping everyone’s morale afloat, it seemed a waste to leave him behind. Besides, both Crowley and Aziraphale had tried to make him leave, but he just….stayed. In the end, you pouted, they gave up, and now he’s sitting in the middle of the backseat, because you and Anathema have seniority.

Speaking of Anathema, you notice her very pointedly staring out the window. She looks...stiff. Maybe classical music isn’t her thing? Your suspicions are confirmed approximately nine minutes later when she practically jumps up from her seat and grabs the phone out of Aziraphale’s hand and presses stop. The music comes to a halt and silence fills the SUV. Aziraphale looks shocked and appalled.

“Anathema!” The angel exclaims after a moment. You can practically hear him clutching at his non-existent pearls. You can see him resisting the urge to clutch at his bowtie. “We weren’t even finished the Allegro!”

Anathema takes a deep breath. You’re able to count out a solid beat of ten before she speaks.

“I...am not...listening to classical concertos for 28 hours. I don’t care what key it’s in or how many allegros it’s got!”

Crowley snickers and snorts. “Concertos don’t work like that.” He says. You see Aziraphale gently pat the demon’s knee as if to say ‘that’s my man.’

“Well what would you rather?” Is what Aziraphale actually says, “More bebop?”

“Try me, and I’ll play death metal, I swear I will.”

“Um,” Sardis ventures cautiously, “Can I see that for a minute-- thank you.” He plucks the phone out of Anathema’s hand. After a minute or two of swiping, he taps the screen, and the car fills with songs from well-known musicals. Now, although this isn’t exactly to everyone’s taste, no one can find a good reason to outright hate it. No one can manage to find a good reason not to put up with it, and so by the time Music of the Night has melted into Seasons of Love, everyone has settled down and accepted that things aren’t actually all that bad.

“Impressive,” You mutter, basking in the semi-content vibe. Everyone is still a little on edge, but it feels less intense now.

Sardis smirks. “Six siblings,” he says to you with a small nudge.

“What happened to the others?” Anathema asks, tuning in to the conversation.

“Well,” Sardis sighs, “Of the seven of us - myself, Smyrna, Pergamum, Ephesus, Philadelphia, Thyatira, and Laodicea - Smyrna and Philly were the only ones who didn’t get hate mail. Smyrna was always super into the doctrine. She drank the kool-aid, as the humans here would say, and felt it her calling to ‘return home,’ as she put it. Bullshit, honestly. We weren’t born angels, we were made alongside the churches of Christ. ‘S one of the reasons why they don’t actually give a shit about us.”

“And why you worried that your miracles might get taken away,” You add, putting some of the pieces together. Sardis nods. “Wait, a minute,” You say, “You were made??”

Sardis laughs. “Alright Little Moth, you need to pick a lane here. Do you want to hear about my siblings or how I was born human?”

“You were BORN HUMAN?!” You are practically bouncing right now. What...how… “But you said that you can’t change your species!”

“I said your Miracle Enabler can’t change your species,” He replies with a twinkle in his eyes, “Not that it can’t be done. The seven of us were all born human. We made the first seven churches, so we were made guardians, lower angels. Like...lower than whatever the lowest type of angel you know of is. But we weren’t created as angels like your friends in the front seat.” Movement catches your peripheral vision, and you notice Crowley shifting a little in his seat. No doubt that’s a touchy subject that only Aziraphale is allowed to go anywhere near, but he says nothing. “So they all pretend we don’t exist, and look down on us whenever they need to deal with us. Sort of like we’re --”

“Oh, don’t worry,” You interject, “I read enough fantasy to understand the way magical societies view human-born magic users.” You can imagine that being An Angel of God would probably get old real fast if everyone who was supposed to welcome you actually hated you and made sure you knew it. Goodness knows it got to Aziraphale eventually, makes sense that a human-born angel (a huboan? You’ll work on it) would get sick of it a lot sooner.

“And that’s why I like you Little Moth,” Sardis says with a chuckle and a wink. “Anyway, so I know Smyrna went to Heaven. Philly stayed here. The two of us have always been really close, she stuck with me and we messaged and called and visited all the time until recently. I got some messages from her when the world went nuts during the first apocalypse, but I haven’t heard from her since. She stopped replying to my messages.”

Now it’s your turn to shift uncomfortably in your seat. Your eyes drop to your feet and start to fill with tears, so you change your view to the one outside your window.

“I can relate,” You say after a moment, holding back a sniffle and a sob. Deep breath. “Well, I’m glad you’re sticking with us.” You plaster a smile on your face and turn back to him. “Maybe we can find her.”

He smiles. “That’s what I’m hoping.” For a while, everyone is silent. After a few minutes, Anathema offers to put together a playlist with everyone’s favourite songs. The mood shifts considerably as the five of you spend the next few hours excitedly making musical suggestions.

It’s the best collection of music you’ve ever heard.

❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ 🖤

Beginning || Previous || Next

[angelynmoon]

Ted is not a monster, no matter what the police think, Karen's injuries are her own fault. She should not have pushed him, he's so tired of her nagging, of Holly's crying, of Mike not listening.

Nancy is a lost cause, has been since she began dating that Byers Boy.

The Byers always were Bad eggs. It didn't surprise Ted when Joyce lost her youngest. It was a little surprising when he showed up alive, Ted had figured that someone had killed the boy.

Ted wished Nancy had stuck to the Harrington boy, he was a good sort, and even if he was like his father, at least the money he came from would make up for it.

Ted was angry that Hopper had arrested him, was angry that when he discovered when Steve Harrington of all people had Holly, not the Ted wanted her, she was too needy and had been mistake, an accident but Karen wouldn't consider an abortion.

Ted sat on the cot in his cell, he was alone, Hopper having to step out for a moment.

And then the lights flickered.

Ted scowled, "That's not funny."

The lights did not stop flickering, flickering faster and faster until every light bulb burst in a shower of sparks.

Ted flinched at the sudden darkness.

"Hello?" He called, standing.

There was a long momrnt of silence before Ted feltt something right next to him, he could feel it's breath at his ear.

"Hello Ted." Harrington's voice said.

Ted breathed a sigh of relief.

"Steve, Son, you scared me." Ted said as he turned to look at Steve and froze at the sight of a Monster.

"I'm not your son, Ted." The monster with Steve's voice said "and you should be scared. You hurt Karen. I like Karen. She was nice to me, even after Nancy left me."

"She asked for it." Ted defended himself.

The monster bared it's teeth, too many, too wide and Ted had the distinct feeling he'd said the wrong thing.

"My father said the same, the creature that are my Spawn said the Same thing. Nothing asks to be hurt." The monster saud.

"Please, don't hurt me." Ted begged, falling to the his knees.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Ted." The monster said.

Ted let out a sigh of relief.

"Thank you." Ted started.

"I'm going to kill you, until the rivers of the Down Below run pure. You don't get the luxury of a quick death. Not after what you've done to my family."

The monster lunged and Ted did not have time to scream before the grey walls of the Station cell disappeared

When he became aware again Ted felt cold and something grey white was falling from the Sky.

Something screeched and Ted flinched.

Something dove at him and bit into his body, tearing him up until darkness came.

Ted woke up, something snarled and lunged, digging teeth into his arm, dragging him along until something cracked in his head and darkness came.

Ted, woke up to teeth in his throat, darkness came.

Ted woke up. Something nibbling at his toes before slowly moving up his leg and leg body until he was fully engulfed slowly his body began to to boil until finally, thankfully, darkness came.

Ted Woke up, Steve sat beside him on a Rock, a dark, poluted river flowed next to the vines that surrounded them.

"Please, Please make it stop." Ted begged.

Steve looked at him, eyes dark, empty.

"No." The monster said.

Something swooped, threw Ted up and swallawed him whole.

Darkness came...

Ted woke up...

Ted woke up...

Over and over until the Rivers of blood ran dry until the air purified.

But that took a very long time.

-

So um it's been quite a while since I worked on this, but here you go.

@addelyin @merricatty @lesbiabrobin @apuckishwit @0o-mushroom-o0 @starlight-archer @darkwitchoferie @just-a-tiny-void @swimmingbirdrunningrock @intergalactic-president-awesome @vampireinthesun @goodolefashionedloverboi @adhdsummer @purpleanimeoverart @space-invading-pigeon @lilaclilyroses @nohomoyesbi @plantzzsandpencilzzs @korixae @subversivecynic @flusteredcas @persnicketysquares @freddykicksasses @little-trash-ghost @cupcakesnwhiskey @cats-ate-all-of-my-pasta @planetsoda @paintsplatteredandimperfect @irregular-child

@daydreamsandcrashingwaves

@lifeisnotsobadonceyoustopcaring @steddieassheg0es

[birdifulhuman]

malevolent spoilers under the cut

UGH, Part 17??? FUcking kill me, Poor Faroe, good fuck. Poor Arthur? I guess, even if it technically was his fault. Good fuck, first his wife, then his daughter UGH.

[zepskies]

Break Me Down - Part 17

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Female Reader

Summary: You’re a private investigator by trade, but now you happily sit at a desk — leading a surveillance team at Supe Affairs. After managing to end Homelander in New York, Soldier Boy escapes custody. You are recruited for the manhunt, joining Butcher’s team.

Truly, you joined the S.A. for the right reasons. But after you become his accidental hostage, Soldier Boy will break down every single one of them…

💚 Break Me Down Masterlist

AN: *Gives you a box of virtual tissues.* Just in case. 😘

Word Count: 6,000 Tags/Warnings: Macho angst ahead, hurt/comfort, major, major fluff…

Part 17: More Than Words Can Say

Mount Sinai Hospital was one of the largest private hospitals in the city. 

Fortunately, it was also the closest to Vought Tower, or what once had been the focal point of the superhero industry. It had been reduced to mere rubble and whatever dilapidated parts still stood. 

All the news outlets were covering the tower’s collapse, and speculating on what could’ve created the blast that made the entire city tremble—not unlike last year’s incident, when Soldier Boy killed the most powerful supe in the world.

In the hospital, M.M. walked through the Emergency Department until he found Yvette and her son, Devon. They sat beside each other on a single cot, now joined by Yvette’s husband Chris while she signed her discharge papers. She’d gotten off with a minor concussion and a bandage over her temple. 

“Just checking in on you guys,” M.M. said. Yvette smiled, but she asked about you. 

“She’s in surgery,” he told her. 

Yvette nodded, though tears welled up in her eyes. Chris rubbed her back and held his son’s shoulder. 

“Please call me with any news on her,” Yvette asked. 

“You got it,” M.M. said.

“And please,” she said, holding her son. “Thank Soldier Boy for us.”

M.M. paused at that. 

Seeing the family was well in hand, he returned to the trauma wing. There in the waiting room sat the whole team, minus Butcher, who’d been admitted to the hospital as well after the ED doctors didn’t like what they’d found on his lab reports. (But M.M. would look into that later. Hughie was with him now anyway.)

That left Frenchie, Kimiko, and Annie to wait for any news on you. Even Grace had arrived an hour ago. 

But M.M.’s attention was drawn to the dusty motherfucker standing near the hallway. 

Soldier Boy leaned against the wall with his arms crossed. The collar of his supe suit was undone to give his neck and chest some breathing room. He’d removed his gloves, and an empty gallon jug of water lied at his feet. 

He was covered in a fine layer of soot and grime, though he’d since washed his hands and face to the best of his ability. He was also flanked by his two hired men, Frank Cardoza and Lorenzo Rivales. 

Grace had run a quick background check on both, and as M.M. had learned, they were ex-Marines Soldier Boy had picked up in Colombia, while he was busy infiltrating a drug cartel.   

Fucking figures, M.M. thought, shaking his head as he watched the man. Grace stood and joined him.

“He’s not just gonna fuck off back to South America,” he told her. “You realize that right?”

She considered that with a tilt of her head. “Let’s just see what happens here.”

As if right on cue, your surgeon made his way down the hall and over to the waiting group. Ben pushed off the wall and went to meet him, as did Grace, Annie, and M.M. 

Annie and Ben eyed each other with mistrust and annoyance, respectively, but then he ignored her to regard the surgeon with a terse, expectant gaze.  

The doctor was a graying man in his fifties. He seemed to internally brace himself before he spoke, glancing at Ben first before the others. 

“We’ve repaired the damaged muscle around her right leg. The femur is broken. We also addressed the wound near her shoulder,” he said. “However, the rebar did nick her heart. She’ll need additional surgery to repair it.”

Ben sensed a but coming. He crossed his arms. “Okay, what’s the problem?”

The doctor gave a nod and a short sigh. 

“She’s lost a lot of blood,” he explained. “We’ve given her a transfusion, of course, but she’s in a delicate state right now.”

“So why’re you wasting time? Do your fucking job,” Ben snapped. Grace shot him a glance, but addressed the doctor herself.

“What are her odds, doctor?” she asked. Ben eyed her with a glare. She ignored him for the time being. 

“She needs this now. But, there is a chance she won’t make it out of surgery at this stage,” the surgeon replied. “The OR will be available in thirty minutes…so this would be the time to be with her, just in case she’s unable to get through this.”

“Excuse me?” Ben said. 

His tone was dark and deep with grit, and the doctor stepped back. No one dared attempt to hold Ben back, but Grace quickly thanked the doctor and urged him to move forward with prepping you for surgery. 

Loco shared a saddened look with Frank, who watched their boss with a deepening frown. 

Annie turned to Ben with a measure of sympathy, hidden underneath her irritation at his attitude and her worry for you. You were still her friend, and she felt guilty for how cold she’d been treating you lately. And she could see, at the very least, that this man cared about you. 

“Look, can you just calm down a bit? We’re all here hoping she pulls through,” Annie said. 

M.M. stood behind her, silent, supportive. But Ben just ignored her, and everyone else for that matter. 

He stalked down the hallway. And when he turned a corner, out of eyeshot, he growled and punched a hole deep into the closest wall.

Hughie perked up when Butcher finally started to rouse in his hospital bed. They had him on a hefty dose of morphine. 

He blinked his weary eyes, his head rolling over on the pillow. His lips quirked when he noticed Hughie, who was glaring at him. 

“Watching me sleep now?” Butcher remarked. “Pretty fuckin’ creepy, Hugh.”

“You’re such an asshole,” Hughie said. 

That was something Butcher couldn’t refute. He nodded. “I see they told you.”

“When were you gonna say something?” Hughie said. “When you fucking dropped dead?”

“Probably not even then,” Butcher teased. But when he took in the younger man’s face, all he saw was his little brother, Lenny. Butcher sighed. 

“Ain’t nothing any of us can do about it.”

“Fucking cancer?” Hughie said incredulously. “You could’ve gotten treatment.”

“Would’ve bought me a few more months, maybe,” Butcher admitted. That fell between them for a moment with stony silence. 

“It’s all right,” he added. “I’ve had my fucking time. Got to see the life drain from that golden cunt’s eyes…got to let my girl rest easy.”

Hughie didn’t buy that. Or maybe, he just didn’t want to. His eyes burned, both with emotion and determination. He stood from his seat and set out to find Grace. If there was anything that could help Butcher, she would know. 

While the others went down to the cafeteria for a bite to eat, Frank sat in the waiting room with Loco beside him and Dr. Baker’s briefcase on his lap.

He was sorting through its contents while Loco sat with crossed arms and slumping shoulders. He looked over at Frank’s stoic profile with a frown.

He was older, but not by much. They’d gone through one fresh hell after another together, and somehow, Frank always managed to pull their asses out of the wringer. It seemed Frank was trying to do the same for their boss. 

It was funny, actually. Soldier Boy wasn’t their first contractor. You were their first kidnapping though. Neither he or Frank had felt good about it when Antonio brought you back to the mansion in Medellin, but they’d agreed to do a job. Guarding you became part of that job. 

And yet, you had somehow reminded both Frank and Loco that they used to be respectable members of society. They used to have families, friends. They had once been soldiers. Good men. Maybe that was why they’d grown fond of you over the past few months. 

And Frank…well, Loco knew the man had his reasons for wanting to be done with this work. Loco couldn’t blame him; he was feeling tired himself. 

“Found anything good?” Loco asked in Spanish. Frank’s dark brows had drawn together in new interest.

“More than good,” he said. He looked up, but didn’t find Soldier Boy in the waiting room. “Where the hell did he go?”

Loco pointed to the reception desk. “Try asking someone.”

With a sharp sigh, Frank gave Loco the briefcase. “Guard that with your fucking life. Don’t let anyone from the CIA take it from you.”

Loco gave him a look of offense. “It’s like you don’t know me at all, bro. Fucking hurts.” 

Rolling his eyes, Frank got up and went over to the reception desk. 

“Excuse me,” he said. There seemed to be no one at the reception desk. Granted, it was late at night, and they technically weren’t supposed to be there. Grace Mallory had worked out an agreement with the hospital to allow them all to stay overnight. 

He didn’t have to wait too long though, as an on-duty nurse came over with a clipboard in hand. Her red hair caught his eye, along with her pretty smile. 

“Hi there. Can I help you?” she asked. 

Frank faltered, just for a moment. But he cleared his throat and met her eyes. 

“Did you happen to see which way Soldier Boy went?” he asked.

She gave him a wan smile and pointed down the hall, to the left. “That ‘a way. Think he had an argument with the wall over there.”

Frank followed her gaze and caught sight of the hole in the wall. He frowned. 

“Sorry about that,” he said. 

The nurse gave him a sideways look. “No worries, hun. It’s not your fisticuff outline in the wall, now is it?”

Once again, Frank didn’t know quite what to say to her slightly teasing smile. But he returned it, more reserved, but genuine. 

“Thank you,” he said, with a nod. Then he remembered then what he needed to do. 

And he took off brusquely down the hall. 

It took him a few minutes to pull his head together, but Ben eventually worked up his nerve to go and see you. 

You were still drugged out asleep, of course. He stood outside the large window of your private room in the Intensive Care Unit. He wouldn’t go in though. Part of him refused to believe it had gotten to this. 

And the reality, that this was his fault. He’d caused the blast that destroyed the tower. His fault he hadn’t gotten to you sooner.

“You are the reason I needed saving,” you’d told him once. 

You were right then, and it still held up now. 

So, no…he wouldn’t go in there, into your room. The truth was, he couldn’t. 

But Ben’s awareness prickled before he noticed, Frank had joined him. Ben tolerated it. While he wanted to be alone, maybe part of him (one he wouldn’t acknowledge) craved some kind of company. 

“You’ll get paid, don’t you fucking worry,” he said dryly. 

“That’s not the only reason I’m here,” Frank said. 

It felt like a confession. Ben didn’t reply though; he was focused on your pale face, covered by the breathing mask. Shallow puffs of air fogged the inside of it while your heart monitor clipped on.

“There’s another solution here,” Frank said. 

Ben gave him a cursory side glance. “She wouldn’t take Compound V. Not even to save her fucking life.”

“That didn’t stop you before,” Frank mentioned. 

Ben didn’t answer, but he’d been internally debating it ever since he’d spoken with the surgeon. 

“All right, get it over here,” he said. “The temporary stuff.” 

Frank rose a brow. He’d been curious enough to try testing the man. But now, he frowned.

“She won’t forgive you,” he pointed out. 

“What’re you, devil’s fucking advocate? She’ll get the fuck over it,” Ben snapped. 

But after his initial anger subsided…he knew his subordinate was right. 

“She’ll be alive to hate me,” he said, more honestly.  

Frank inclined his head. “There could be another way.” 

Ben glanced over at him. 

“She lost a lot of blood,” Frank said. Ben frowned.  

“They’ve given her fucking blood transfusions—” 

“Yeah, normal blood. A supe’s blood is stronger. Yours could probably heal her,” Frank said. “But, the only one who can break your skin is you.”

Ben eyed him in suspicion. “Who told you that?” 

“Read it somewhere,” Frank said evasively. 

Ben huffed in response, but as that realization truly sunk into his mind, his lips pressed together in new determination. He left Frank to start a brusque pace down the hall. 

He ignored the red-headed nurse calling at him at the reception desk when he shoved through a locked security door, into the OR unit. He searched until he found your surgeon and pulled him from the sink he was washing his hands in.

The man gasped with fright, though he tried to hide it looking up at Ben. “What the hell’re you doing?”

“I’m making a donation,” said Ben. He raised a blunt nail to his wrist. “You better hurry the fuck up, because I’m about to open a vein.”

It was morning by the time another doctor returned to deliver an update on your progress: the “treatment” was working. Your wounds had knitted closed within an hour following the blood transfusion, and you no longer needed surgery. They had also x-rayed your leg and found that the bone was whole once again. Even your broken ribs had healed.

Ben nodded at the news. He didn’t respond, and just started walking down the hall. Grace, Annie, and M.M. stared after him with mixed reactions of confusion and curiosity. 

“Where are you going?” Annie asked. She was exhausted; all of them were. 

The supe ignored her though. M.M. shared a look with her before he decided to follow the man. 

Meanwhile, Ben once again stopped in the middle of the hallway when he was out of view. He took in a slow, steadying breath of relief, his fists clenching at his sides.

“Congratulations. After today, you’re gonna get your statue put back up,” M.M. said.

Ben turned around to stare back at the man, schooling his face into a stoic frown. 

“Yvette and her son are going to be fine, by the way,” M.M. added, as he crossed his arms.

Ben paused slightly at that, filing that information away with secret satisfaction. 

To M.M., he merely raised a brow. “You got something to say, or are you going to keep wasting my fucking time?”  

“You think saving one black kid makes you a hero?” M.M. asked, point blank. “Taking down Vought. Saving her. What does that all mean to you?”

Ben frowned in irritation. “Why the fuck do you care?”

“Just answer the question. Be honest for once in your motherfuckin’ life,” M.M. said. “Do you really think you’re a hero?”

Silence fell between them. 

Ben didn’t know what it was about this guy. Maybe it was his persistence, or the fact that he’d pulled you out of the rubble and got you to a hospital in time to save your life. 

But Ben actually considered the question.

Killing Stan Edgar and Black Noir. Saving you. He’d done it all for selfish reasons. The kid…that was something else. His face stuck in Ben’s mind, how he’d trusted the superhero, like dumb kids were supposed to do.

But in that moment, carrying the tower on his back and knowing he was the only barrier between a mountain of hot rubble and this one kid…Ben hadn’t wanted to fail. 

And still. You are the reason I needed saving…

It wasn’t really saving the fucking day if he started it, was it?

Ben’s lips turned on a humorless smile. Still, he had saved the kid. And his mom. And you. For now, that was enough.

“Looks like I am,” said Ben.

But he met M.M.’s stare, briefly allowing him to glimpse beyond a wall of arrogance and pride.

And Ben walked away. M.M. watched him go in silent contemplation.

Grace intercepted Ben before he could visit you in the ICU. 

Christ. What the fuck now? he thought sourly. 

She gestured for a word, and with an annoyed look, he followed her down the hall.

“I’ll get to the point,” she said. “Butcher is sharing a floor with your girlfriend, down in Oncology.”

Ben raised a brow. That prick had cancer? Par for the fucking course, if he said so himself. 

“So?” he remarked. 

Grace sighed. She’d expected that reaction. “They’ve given him weeks, but the way he’s been pushing himself, more likely it’s days. Taking the untested Temp V long-term has had its adverse side effects…if you were to make another blood donation, I’ll make it worth your while.” 

So now his blood was some fucking wonder drug? Hell no, Ben thought. 

“You’re asking me to save the guy who’s double-crossed me, tried to hunt me down, tried to end me?” he said, with a dark, incredulous chuckle. “You can fuck right off, sweetheart.”

She grated at the sweetheart remark, but Grace leveled him with steely blue eyes.

“If it weren’t for me, you’d be on ice right now,” she pointed out. 

Ben’s lips pursed. He’d really like to snap this bitch’s fucking neck on principle…but then he thought about it. He could work this into his favor. 

“You know what. I’m having a good day, so maybe I’m feeling fucking generous,” he said. His mouth edged into a smirk. “But I think it’s time we renegotiated our contract. Don’t you?”

Grace stared up at him, and she inhaled a deep breath. 

“Fine.”

You slowly woke up in a hospital room, in a paper gown with an IV drip and a heart monitor. Which made sense, as the events of yesterday came back to you in a rush. 

But beyond feeling relieved to be alive, you also felt extremely well-rested. You didn’t feel like a building fell on you. 

What kind of masterful drugs are they giving me? You tried to read your chart on the wall, but you didn’t see any pain medication on there. 

Annie popped into your private recovery room. Her face brightened when she saw that you were awake. 

“Hey, hun! How do you feel?” she asked, lowering into a chair at your bedside. You wouldn’t know that this chair had been occupied by various members of the team over the past few hours, including M.M., Frenchie, Frank, and even Grace. 

“Great, actually,” you replied. But now you frowned. “I shouldn’t feel great.”

You remembered nearly being crushed under a pile of rubble. You remembered falling on a piece of rebar, and unable to move your crushed leg. You remembered the worry in Ben’s eyes… 

And panic stung at yours.

“Did they give me Compound V?” your voice shook when you asked. Annie calmed you down with a shake of her head and a reassuring hand on your arm. 

The door to your room opened once again. Ben’s frame filled up the doorway. When his eyes met yours, your breath caught in your throat. He was still in his supe suit, and with his hands resting on his belt, he strutted inside the room. 

M.M., Frenchie, Frank, Loco, and Kimiko came in behind him and at least looked showered. Ben looked like he hadn’t even done that much, nor slept all night.

“It wasn’t the V,” he said at last. “Just a little blood donation. Seemed to work like a charm.”

His resulting grin had a bit of charm in it as well. Your head tilted in confusion.

"Whose blood?" you asked.

"Mine," he said. His expression faded, slightly more serious.

You found yourself slowly smiling, though your brows still furrowed in surprise. He gave me his blood…instead of Compound V.

While you tried to wrap your mind around the gravity of that, you reached for the pitcher of water on the rolling tray beside you. You grasped the pitcher, but the plastic actually crunched in your hand. You gasped and moved your hand over so the water inside wouldn’t spill all over you.

Ben raised a brow. 

The room fell silent as all eyes stared at you. When the water finished pouring out onto the floor, you gently set it back down on the tray. 

“Seems you got some of his strength in the deal,” Annie remarked. 

“Great, there’s two of them,” Hughie quipped with a grin. 

“Well, that’s probably just temporary,” M.M. sighed. “Hopefully.” 

You couldn’t help but laugh, and it brought a slight grin to Ben’s lips. 

After a bit of well wishing, everyone cleared out of your room to let you rest up…except for Ben, Frank, and Loco. 

“What are you guys going to do now?” you asked of the latter two. Loco cracked his knuckles. 

“Got another job lined up in private security,” he revealed. “I’ve lost the taste for drug running. Nearly lost a damn toe on the last one.”

You laughed. “Well, thanks for doing one more job here.”

“Anything for el Capitán,” Loco said, giving Ben a respectful nod. “He pays exceedingly well.”

You raised a brow at Ben, who shrugged with a cocky grin. Smiling, you turned to Frank, who was sitting in the chair beside your bed. 

“And you?” you asked. Frank gave you a rare smile. 

“Going home,” he said. “To my daughter.”

Your eyes began to sting, but you tried to blink away the beginnings of tears. You nodded and squeezed his arm. 

“Give her a big hug for me. And thank you again…for everything,” you said, even though you realized that thanking your former guard keep was strange. Still, there had been no part of your kidnapping that was normal in the least. 

Frank hesitated, but he covered your hand with his. 

Though he caught the way Ben’s face tightened, and Frank let go of you. He stood with Loco, giving you and Ben a final nod. Then the two men left your room and disappeared down the hall.

Part of you felt melancholy, like chapters of your life were closing. But you also felt like new ones were waiting in the wings.

Your gaze turned to Ben, who stood near your bed.

He was looking over your chart to see if the doctors needed anything else before you were discharged. But your soft voice called to him, earning his attention. You beckoned him closer.

He went over and sat down on the edge of your bed, laying a hand on your thigh. You reached out for his arm. 

“Thank you,” you said. 

Ben scoffed, though a hint of humor glinted in his eyes. “For what? Saving your reckless ass for the millionth time?”

“For saving Yvette and her son,” you replied with a smile. “And yeah, all that other stuff.” 

Your hand slid down his arm and slipped into his hand. Your fingers curled around his palm. 

“Really. Thank you…” 

Tears welled up in your eyes again. You still couldn’t fucking believe he opened up one of his own veins and gave you his blood. He gave a public hospital his blood in order to save you. 

He could’ve easily slipped you V24 again, or worse, the permanent stuff. But he didn’t just save you. He’d respected your wishes. 

What you wanted to say next got stuck in your throat.

Ben had something hiding behind his eyes, like he was reluctant to show you his real emotions. But when he focused on your face, his hand tightened on yours. His jaw clenched, but he didn’t speak. He only let go of your hand to brush a falling tear from your cheek. His lips twitched at a smile.

“Come on now, baby doll. You’re tougher than that.”

You choked on a laugh as more of your tears slipped down your warming cheeks. “Nope. I’m actually not.”

“Hmm. Could’ve fooled me,” Ben said. You matched his grin with a beaming smile of your own.  

Slowly, you pushed yourself up and took his dirty face in your hands. You guided him down to you, and you pressed your lips to his. 

He allowed it with his usual demanding, fervent kiss. But then it slowed. He held your wrist to keep your hand in place on his cheek, and his thumb drew bath and forth over your skin. 

You parted from him, pulling back enough to see his face. There was so much you wanted to say…but maybe right now, it was too much. 

You met him with another tearful kiss.

Before you were officially discharged from the hospital, you had one more visitor. 

Grace was once again there to debrief you. This time though, Ben sat at your side on the bed, a silent statue who regarded the woman coolly. He seemed to be tolerating her presence with more ease than usual, and you wondered why.

“You’re going on medical leave,” she informed you. “For three months, and then a psychiatrist will need to clear you for duty.”

Part of you wanted to argue, considering you were completely healed of your injuries. But you knew you needed a break from the S.A.—from all of this. 

“Your mother and sister will be brought out of witness protection soon, after we determine that the threat is sufficiently neutralized,” she said. “You can return home today as well.”

You could finally go back to your apartment…though the thought didn’t call to you as much as it should have. You glanced over at Ben.

“Is this the part where you try to ship him back to Colombia?” you asked. 

“That was the agreement,” Grace said wryly. You frowned, trying to blink away the tears forming once again in your eyes.

You didn’t want to lose him, but you also didn’t want to give up your life here. You didn’t want to leave the S.A., or your family, or your friends. Ben put you out of your misery, however.

“We renegotiated,” he said. 

Your eyes widened. “What?”

Grace explained, “In exchange for his assistance in another case, he can stay in the U.S. on a trial basis. As long as he agrees to live within the law.”

You didn’t entirely trust Grace. Ben would be watched at every moment. That was a given, but considering he still didn’t have full control over his nuclear power, you were surprised Grace would allow him free roam within U.S. borders. 

“And, provided, he agrees to a relocation. Preferably not in a densely populated area,” Grace added.

There it is, you frowned. You shared a look with him, and you could see he wasn’t entirely on board with this. You had no doubt he’d agreed to her demands by lying through his teeth. 

You turned back to Grace.

“What if he becomes a contractor for Supe Affairs,” you proposed. “There may be some fallout after Vought’s collapse, and more of their records to go through. Other labs to clear out. Ben would be a lot of help, if he’s willing.”

You glanced at Ben again. He met your eyes, then Grace’s, and he nodded marginally. He was getting bored of the heat in South America anyway. 

Grace heaved a sigh. Ben’s lips formed a smirk. 

“Oh, relax. I just ended Vought. You’d be an idiot not to cash in on that PR,” he pointed out. 

“Need I remind you that you caused the tower’s collapse?” Grace said tersely. “And you did not end Vought. There will be repercussions to this, believe me.”

Ben’s face tightened, but you grasped his hand. 

“But he fulfilled the mission,” you said. “He took out Black Noir…and Stan Edgar in the process.”

“The idea was to arrest him, but I get your point,” Grace said. Her hand raised to cover her mouth as she thought about your proposal.

Eventually, she spoke. “If you can play by our rules, then we’ll contract with you. But until you get that atomic bomb under control, you can’t remain the city. Upstate is the best I can do.”

Ben chafed at being told what he couldn’t do. What the fuck was he going to do in Upstate New York? Slowly rot to death in dusty-ass suburbia?

You shot him a knowing look, raising a brow. 

“It’s a fair offer, Ben,” you pointed out. His lips pursed in annoyance. But he glanced at your hand in his.

Then he looked up at Grace. “Fine. But first, unfreeze my fucking bank accounts.”

Ben later led you out of the hospital. There was a car waiting outside, and he got in to drive, despite you offering. He must’ve been going on very little sleep, if any over the past two days. 

And of course, he’d refused to be seen at all medically, saying he was fine. You were still concerned about that destabilizing gun Black Noir had shot him with. 

“I’m fine,” Ben had claimed. “Just need some sleep, that’s all.”

You watched his profile for a moment, and a smile started to raise your lips…until you finally remembered something that felt like a heavy stone in your stomach.

“Um…” you said, earning Ben’s attention. You looked up at him. “My father’s dead…”

Good fucking riddance, was Ben’s initial reaction. Followed by a frown, as he now realized he would never get the pleasure of choking the shit out of Jon himself. 

Ben had been fucking livid to learn from Frank that you’d been left alone in the Tower with your father while it was coming down (and Ben was petty enough to dock that little slip up from Frank’s pay). Had that asshole lived, Ben wouldn’t have put it past him to try and take you with him after escaping the building. The mere thought grated on him. 

“Black Noir killed him,” you said, heaving a shaky breath. 

That cut through Ben’s thoughts. He glanced over, watching you fight some conflicting emotions. 

“…Punched a hole straight through his chest,” you added.

Ben hummed in acknowledgement. You turned to him with a raised brow and glassy eyes. When he realized you were expecting a bit more from him, his lips pursed.

“Well, he got a quick death,” he said. “Better than he fucking deserved, far as I’m concerned.”

You sighed and leaned your head back on the head rest. Your eyes closed. 

“Goddamn it, Ben.”

Ben eyed you with a deepening frown. “What the fuck do you expect me to say?”

“How about some decency?” you asked, as a tear fell down your cheek. “He tried to apologize. But I wouldn’t let him.”

He paused at that. While he thought you were being unreasonable, it begrudgingly dawned on him what you wanted, and maybe, what you needed. He sighed through his nose. Even now, you were a handful.

Ben reached over, taking your hand from your lap. He pressed the back of it to his lips, earning your mild surprise.  

“That’s not your fault,” he said. And he briefly took his eyes off the road to look into yours. “None of it was. You understand me?”

Your face softened. Though you tried to blink away your tears, a few of them still fell. You wiped at them with your free hand, while the other squeezed around his fingers, resting against your thigh. Despite how you were fracturing inside, warmth still kept you afloat. 

So you looked up at Ben, and you nodded. He seemed satisfied by your answer. He turned back fully to the road, but you kept a tight hold of his hand. He allowed it.   

“We’ll have to go to the safe house to get our stuff,” you said eventually, with a small sniffle.

“No need,” Ben said. “That’s taken care of.”

That confused you. Was he taking you to your apartment then? 

But instead, he drove you out of the city, and an hour upstate into Scarsdale. You’d never been there, but you knew it by reputation—as one of the most affluent towns in the state.

You were even more confused when he drove down a street flanked by tall hedges within a private community. He pulled into a circular driveway in front of an immense white house, with a red brick roof, colonial architecture, a manicured lawn, complete with matching fountains lining the front door.

Ben parked the car and encouraged you to get out with him. You followed him up to the front porch, expecting an old billionaire to pop out of the tall bushes at any moment to chase you away. 

“What’re we doing here?” you asked. His hands fell to the belt of his supe suit as he surveyed the stood, the door, and the walls for anything amiss. 

“I’m looking into buying it,” he revealed, as if he’d just told you, It’s pretty fucking sunny today, huh? 

“Our stuff is ready to be shipped out when the deal closes with the owner,” he added.

Your eyes flew wide. “What? When did you have time to scope out houses?” 

You’d only been discharged about an hour after the conversation with Grace. 

“I had Frank look into some shit. He found this one,” Ben shrugged. “Could use some work, but not bad.”

Our stuff, you repeated in your mind. This house…was he trying to recreate what the two of you had in Medellin?

And more importantly, was this his way of asking you to move in with him? 

Well, there’s not too much asking going on, you thought in annoyance. And yet, you blushed; the sentiment in itself was enough to warm you. 

You brought Ben back down to Earth by grasping his hands, earning his attention from the old grout in the tile.

“Ben, this place is amazing,” you said. “But I don’t know if I’ll be comfortable living like this.”

He frowned down at you. “What the hell do you mean? You could have anything you want here. It’s safe. Got plenty of room—”

“A bit too much room,” you said, holding up your thumb and forefinger a couple inches apart. 

He looked adorably grumpy. You smiled and squeezed his hand. 

“Did you really feel cozy and at home in that mansion with fifty rooms and nobody in ‘em?” you asked.

He didn’t answer you, and he didn’t seem happy either. You didn’t want him to take this as a rejection. 

“If we’re going to do this,” you said, “then can we start a little smaller? Somewhere that feels like home to both of us?”

Ben stared back at you in annoyance. “You need to broaden your palate.”

You just managed to stop yourself from laughing.

“You haven’t had a normal home in a long time, Ben,” you replied. Maybe ever, you realized. “How about you trust me?” 

He gave you a dubious frown.

“What about this,” you tried. “Let’s pick it out together! If in a few months you still hate the new place, we’ll try it your way.” 

“You’re assuming we’re gonna make it that long.” Ben was starting to wonder if this was going to work after all. The two of you were from very different worlds. 

You offered a cheeky smile. “I’m optimistic.”

He huffed. “Sure.” 

You reached up on your toes, and gripped the front of his suit when you leaned up to kiss him. His hands rose naturally to hold you, resting on your jean-clad hips. He followed your languid kiss, his furrowed brows relaxing when you touched his cheek.

When you broke from his lips, his eyes opened to find yours. 

“I am, Ben,” you said more seriously. “I’m not playing games. This is real to me, and I want to be with you.” 

But then you hesitated. You lowered back down to your feet. 

“But if it’s not to you…if you’re just passing time with me, until you get bored,” you said, “tell me now. Please.” 

It was Ben’s turn to hesitate. It was the please that got to him, along with your downturned gaze. He captured your chin between his fingers and raised your face up to him. 

“I’m not fucking around,” he said. “I want you to live with me.” 

Your smile was soft and bright when you took his hand. Ben wouldn’t admit it, but something in his chest stuttered to life then.

“Okay,” you said with a nod. “Let’s do it.”

AN: *squeals* It's happening! We've really gotten here, folks. How'd you like how it all wrapped up with Grace, M.M., and even Butcher?

But we're not quite there with these two yet...

Next Time:

“Why’re you nagging me like a goddamn wife?” he snapped.

“Wife?” you scoffed, crossing your arms. “You don’t even call me your girlfriend.”

But God forbid another man even smile in your direction. Ben was possessive, protective, and claimed with all but words that you were his. And yet, he wouldn’t say it.

You shouldn’t have been surprised that he was afraid of commitment, but you’d been living together for six damn months.

Keep reading: THE EPILOGUE

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[thevoidstaredback]

Four days into the investigation, Constantine and Nightwing called a meeting between everyone involved. All the Justice League and their affiliated branches/teams were aware of the situation and were being kept informed, but only a few were actively working on the case.

Around the table sat Batman, The Flash, Zatanna Zatarra, Phantom, Green Arrow, Green Lantern, Captain Marvel, Aquaman, Raven, Wonder Woman, and Deadman. Constantine and Nightwing were standing at the head of the table.

“Did you guys find something?” The Flash asked.

Constantine nodded. “Yeah. Most of the Spirits we talked to weren’t very helpful, neither confirming or denying the magic theory. However, speaking with Lady Gotham got us closer to an answer.”

“Spirits?” Green Lantern asked, “As in ghosts?”

Deadman huffed a chuckle from his seat beside Phantom. “Close. Ghosts are less…friendly? Less likely to engage with humans. Spirits do their best to help the living, usually by protecting them.” He paused for a moment, thinking. “I’m a horrible example of a ghost, and Phantom here is a Spirit. Make sense?”

“Um…”

Phantom shook his head. “Just use ‘ghost’ as a collective term for right now.” He looked back up to the two at the front. “You were saying?”

“Right,” Nightwing coughed into his fist. “She said that ‘unresolved pasts will always come back to haunt you’ and to ‘start at your beginning’. She also said ‘humans rarely learn from their mistakes’.”

“Well, that gives us exactly nothing to go on.” Aquaman leaned back in his chair. “Did she say anything else?”

“Nope.”

Zatanna shook her head. “No, there’s something in her words.” She looked up at the two. “What exactly did she say to you?”

“‘You will find that unresolved pasts will always come back to haunt you. Old enemies to reappear, old loves to return, old families pulled together again. My advice to you is to start at your beginning. Fate is a circle and humans rarely learn from their mistakes’.” Nightwing quoted easily.

Raven hummed this time. “‘Start at your beginning’. Who was she talking to?”

“All of us?” Wonder Woman offered. “We could all have a piece of the answer hidden in how we started.”

“That would be an astounding coincidence.” Green Arrow said, “The chances are basically none.”

“But not zero,” Batman said.

“Think about it,” Captain Marvel leaned forward slightly, “Old enemies, old loves, and old families. People we’ve hurt or who’ve hurt us could be working together.”

“On a scale his size?” The Flash wondered, “They have no way of knowing who’s on the investigation. Besides, none of the victims have any kind of relationship with any of us.”

“Don’t they?” Deadman drew everyone’s attention, “All of their medical records show that they were all perfectly healthy and unhurt before suddenly not waking up anymore. Constantly, they’re being monitored to make sure they stay alive.” He turned to Phantom, “Sound familiar?”

Phantom didn’t say anything for a long while, mulling the words over in his head. No, the facts didn’t sound familiar. They didn’t even piece together a familiar picture, but he had a feeling he knew what Deadman was getting at.

“Phantom?” Green Lantern tapped the table in front of him.

Phantom hummed. “You must not know me as well as you think I do if you think that’s how my origin story goes, D’man.”

“Yeah, but you realized the same thing I did, didn’t you?”

“Either of you care to share with the rest of us?” Raven’s voice drew their attention back to the eyes on them.

It was Constaintne, however, that spoke next. “These people are all sitting in a state that a lot of people would consider limbo. They aren’t dead, but they aren’t very well living, either.”

“So, they’re all sitting in between life and death?” Aquman asked, “Is that what we’re supposed to get out of this?”

“‘Start at your beginning’,” Nightwing quoted again. “How many of us have died and been brought back to life somehow? Or visited an afterlife and survived?” The group shared looks around the table.

“Myself, Flash, Green Arrow, Green Arrow, Aquaman, Raven, Deadman, and Phantom have all died before, however temporarily.” Batman answered. “Constantine, Deadman, and Phantom are the only ones to have visited an afterlife.”

“Nine out of the thirteen of us here,” Green Lantern looked at Green Arrow, “Still think it’s a coincidence?”

“So, what now?” Captain Marvel asks. “We know who the zombies and ghosts on the team are. What happens now?”

Batman locked eyes with Phantom. “Did you find anything during your trip to the Realms?”

Phantom shook his head. “She didn’t tell me anything. She even prevented me from talking to literally anyone. I’m pretty sure She was laughing at me, too.”

They could all hear the capitalization on the word ‘she’.

“Let’s focus on the next part. ‘Fate is a circle and humans rarely learn from their mistakes’.” Wonder Woman said.

“Fate is a circle’...” Phantom muttered. He thought back to everything he could remember. His parents building the portal, him turning it on, the almost daily ghost attacks, Vlad, the G.I.W., Pariah Dark, becoming King, getting locked out of time, being summoned by and working with the JLD, working with the JL, Red Robin being pushy, Nocturne CopyCat. There has to be a connection in there somewhere, but where? Who? “‘Humans rarely learn from their’-” He cut himself off, jumping from his chair. “That’s it!” he shouted, followed by, “Shit!”

“What?” Constantine called, “What is it?”

“A portal! Someone’s trying to make a portal into the Realms!”

Part 16 Part 18

[forgers-therapist]

tiny people :3 (part 17)

[offsidekineticist]

I'M BACK!

This chapter took forever to figure out. Turns out the pacing was off, and what I figured would be 1 chapter is actually going to be closer to 2 or 3 chapters. Which is frustrating cuz it really feels like the fic just keeps adding chapters to itself at least as quickly as I can write them.

ANYWAY. Time for More Feelings! And Qweck being Absolutely Done with her customer service job.

Previous chapter (part 16) here

CW: Suicidal behavior and ideation; references to burning to death; burns; body horror

Nobody Is Always Right

"Yeah, so, would it be possible to get the Laria's Latte with no milk? And no caffeine?"

You take one of the ceramic cups on the counter and hand it to him. "Yes. Here."

"Oh...do I go fill it somewhere?"

"You wanted a latte with no milk or caffeine, right?"

"Yeah."

"There you go. NEXT!"

"Wait - I never actually ordered - "

"Sir, you have been served. If you want something else, please go to the back of the line."

"Whatever happened to 'the customer is always right?'"

"It was a lie. Nobody is always right, and you're old enough to learn that."

Usually this is where Mori, the brown-eyed girl from Corentyn who came in with a crop a few days after you arrived, would slide in between you and the countertop with a fabricated excuse for you to go back to the store-room while she smoothed things over with the customer. You would pretend to be torn about leaving someone so newly freed to handle the customers alone before acquiescing. By the time you returned, you’d have calmed down, and the problem customer would be gone.

Usually.

Today, though, Mori is desperately avoiding your gaze. All of your coworkers are desperately avoiding your gaze. They barely speak, and when they do it is only what is purely necessary. No niceties, no small talk, no jokes–just the bare necessities. And it’s not even your fault.

He took her in, raised her on his own, and she has nothing but contempt for him–and so she started pouring poison in your ear and you just believed her?!

The trap door to the dormitories above the shop was still open when Giliys arrived last night, and he was loud. Everyone in the building heard what he had to say.

But of course you did–she’s a pretty face, isn't she? She's someone new and exciting and we both know you–

So now, instead of bailing you out, Mori is very deliberately looking through the beans and blends under the counter, even though you don’t need any, while you are having the worst self-control day you’ve had since you were an initiate at the cloister in Ostenso.

You don’t know what exactly has caused their alienation–are they embarrassed at having heard that? Are they upset because they believe what he said about you and Laria? Are they jealous that you have a “father” you don’t supposedly don’t appreciate? You don’t know. Nobody will tell you.

“Where is your manager? I want to talk to her!”

“You’re talking to her.”

“What about Laria?”

“She’s out sick today.”

Laria came downstairs before sunrise to open the shop, only to find ash covered streets swarming with guards. She went back to her room after that, leaving you in charge to “keep the customers from walking all over” the newly freed employees. The others think Laria is just really upset about all the people who are missing or dead. You know better. You don’t know the nature of her relationship with Giliys, but she seemed surprisingly fond of him. You wonder if she still is, now that you’re sure she knows what he is.

“Well, then,” the customer–a dark haired youth, almost certainly a student–takes a moment to recover his equilibrium. “I’ll be back when she’s better to lodge a formal complaint! You have no idea how much trouble you’re in, Miss, I–”

“PRINCESS!”

The entire cafe seems to turn to look at the harried halfling running through the door. 

“What are you doing here?” you hiss.

“Look, it doesn’t matter. I have to talk to you now. It’s an emergency.”

You feel your face cool. “What happened? Where’s Theo?”

“What? No, Thay’s fine–it has to do with–y’know–remember at Rivad? The part I don’t remember?”

“Excuse me! I am still here!” the customer exclaims. You throw a wet dish towel in his face before turning to Mori.

“You take care of the customers, I have to deal with this.”

“You’re just leaving?!” Mori asks–the first thing she’s said to you today.

"How dare you!" The customer shrieks, his voice cracking. You ignore him.

“Yes. Is that a problem?” You don’t mean to glare at her, but you must have given how she seems to shrink into herself.

“N-no. Sorry,” she mumbles, and you know you’re going to catch hell for this later from Laria, but you don’t care.

You walk out from behind the counter, grab Giliys by the arm, and drag him into one of the backrooms of the coffeehouse, ignoring the brat's entitled spluttering. You do not slam the door behind you. You push it closed with exactly the appropriate amount of force for the situation. 

“The fire in the Villegre. That was you,” you say, skipping pleasantries. “It happened again.”

He squeezes his eyes shut and nods. “Yeah.”

That fucking bastard. You pick up the first thing you can grab–an apple–and hurl it at the wall with a roar. “I should have killed you at Rivad,” you snarl.

“Yes,” he agrees. “You can kill me now, instead.”

“Don’t tempt me,” you snap.

“I’m not tempting. I’m asking.”

Your body feels like ice. “What?”

He closes his eyes with a deep breath, and you are suddenly struck by how exhausted he looks. “I can’t stop her. Next time she comes out, I won’t come back. So we can’t give her the chance.” He flicks his wrist, and an ornamental dagger slides out of his sleeve into his hand. He holds it out to you, pommel first, tip angled towards him. “She’s weak from what she did this morning. If you’re quick, she won’t stop you. When it’s done, get rid of the body–make sure nobody will ever find it again. She’s trapped in a gem in my chest. Nobody can be allowed to find it again. She’s too strong now. My fault for feeding her.”

This–he–what?

“What about Theo?” you ask, suddenly remembering why you are so glad you didn’t kill Giliys at Rivad. “You’re going to leave me to deal with him alone?”

His exhaustion shifts to regret. “I’m sorry. If I had a choice–”

“You did have a choice!” you snap. “You had a choice when you decided to let a monster live in a gem in your chest!”

“I know.” He takes a deep breath. “Please, Qweck. I don’t know I’ll be able to do it by myself.”

He never calls you Qweck. He also never begs.

Another thought strikes you. “What does Theo think of this?”

His jaw sets. “Just take the fucking dagger, Qweck.”

“Does he even know?”

“Please–”

“It would kill him to lose you, you know that, right?”

“He hates me!” Giliys exclaims. “He just forgot. I confused him–he’s not himself. It’ll be better once I’m gone.”

“He could never hate you! I don’t know why you keep saying he does, but he doesn’t, so if you actually care for him, you’ll find another way to–”

“I fed her some of my crops.”

For a moment you wonder with confusion when Giliys was ever a farmer, and why plants would satisfy a creature that fed on souls. You know what the word ‘crops’ means to a Bellflower tiller, but no tiller would ever think of doing what Giliys just said he had done.

And yet, as you stare at him in dawning horror that you’re sure is visible on your face, he holds your gaze with something like defiance. “I had to feed her souls to keep her from taking over. So every so often–when she got hungry–I would pick out someone from my crops. Someone alone, who had no one waiting for them. Someone that no one would miss. I’d say I had a place in the city and invite them to stay with me while they got their feet under them. They always said yes. Always so happy to finally have a friend. I’d take them down a back alley and….” He stops, still looking you in the eye. “They’d always try to scream. It was always too late by then, but they’d try. Hellfire burns fast. It never took long. Just long enough for them to realize. And then they’d be gone. No soul, no body, just a pile of ashes that I’d spread out to be less obvious. And then I’d go back to Cheliax, to Brastlewark, and Thay would see there was something wrong, realize I’d ‘lost’ one, and he’d fuss over how my clothes were wet and muddy, and he’d give me some of his to wear while my clothes dried out, and I’d pretend not to notice they were much too big for him and nothing like what his normal clothes, and he’d give me cocoa and tell me stories about the kids at his library until dawn, and by the time I left, I’d feel ok. Every time I felt her hunger and felt like this time I couldn’t do it, I’d remember that he’d be there when I was done. And it would be enough.”

You’re shaking now, and you don’t know if it’s rage or shock or cold or all of it. “Does he know?” you ask, voice low with anger.

He nods. Oh, gods, he nods. “He told me he’d kill me if he ever saw me again. And then you called me to get him out of Rivad.”

Theo knows. He used Theo to carry him through damning innocents, and he let him find out. 

You’ve known Giliys for decades, worked with him, even vouched for him on occasion. You’ve known from the beginning that he was a murderer, that he subsisted off of a combination of paid assassinations and corpse robbing, but you let it go because he was dedicated to the cause–or so you thought. You shouldn't have. You should have realized–how did you not realize–

But what you’re feeling right now can’t possibly compare to what your father felt when he realized. To care so deeply for another for years, only to discover that he was a monster who used your affection to motivate his atrocities–it would be heartbreaking. The confusion and uncertainty–wondering if you had ever known him at all, if he had ever returned your affections or cared about you beyond your ability to comfort him when his conscience woke. Asking yourself how he fooled you for so long–how you could have possibly loved that–

It was a betrayal that would destroy anyone. How had it not destroyed your father?

Maybe it did, and you just never noticed. 

There’s no thought in your movement. You have barely realized you’ve taken the dagger from him before you have him pressed against the wall, golden blade bared against his throat.

“You son of a bitch,” you growl through grit teeth. You feel his body relax, and that only adds fire to your rage–does he think you won’t hurt him? Does he think your healer’s oaths will keep him safe? That your self-control and discipline will hold you back from giving him what he deserves?

No. He knows they won’t.

This is why he told you. He told you so it would be easy to kill him. So that even if it would break your oaths, you’d kill him in a fit of rage. And it almost worked.

What is wrong with you??

You are a child of Irori on the path to perfection. You should be above this. You should be above snapping at customers. You should be above lashing out at Corvinius. You should be above abandoning your father to the monster who used him.

The bastard must see the rage clearing from your eyes, because his face hardens. “Do it,” he hisses. “Just fucking do it! I deserve it–you know I do–just–”

You need to think. You need everything to stop so you can think and figure out what to do–if killing him is right or if you just feel like it is because you’re angry or–

Pain.

You hiss in pain as you recoil, practically jumping backwards, away from Giliys. You look down at your left arm–the one that had been barred against his chest to hold him in place–and find an ugly burn on the side of your forearm. You hear a strangled cry, and when you look up at Giliys, face twisted in pain as he gasps for breath and claws at his chest.

His chest which is now glowing through his smoldering shirt.

All else forgotten, you move to help him. “What–”

“No–get back! Get back!” he croaks, left hand shooting towards you to push you back if you come too close, right hand continuing to claw at his chest, heedless of the flames and growing burns.

“You’re–”

“What is going–” Your words die as he raises his eyes to meet yours–green eyes ringed with hellfire. You know the answer before he says it.

“Get everyone out. Out. Out now!” he pants.

“We’re too late. She’s back.”

[locitapurplepink]

Taglist: @photogirl894 , @kanerallels , @bigfrozensix , @lucy-shining-star , and anyone else who's a fan of this series.