#she wakes up in a room full of strangers. they differ in race and background but the same symbol stares back at her from all of their faces

[shieldborn]

OATH: (blood cw, death cw) for a long time nora thinks it is rage and anger that fuels her. she is made strong by it, that she lived instead of others is an injustice that flows through her veins and settles into her grip on her sword. the oath she made to herself is more than revenge.

she pulls herself up and stands among the fallen bodies of her friends, her friends marred with blood, soaked in so much death that she could not recognize a friend's easy smile in the cold faces that remained. she stands alone amongst her closest companions and she sees only bodies crumpled like dolls by a force stronger than they had ever seen. in death they were nothing more than the crest that decorated their armor. she does not recognize her friend in the cold body below her, her friend who was so full of life. nora, gently, with softness that will not be felt, lifts a chain from around her friend's neck, pulling free a silver signet ring from its safe harbor under their torn armor. nora can do no more for the bodies, but as she pushes herself to her feet, she takes her friends with her, setting the chain to rest against her chest, feeling the chill of metal fight against the warmth of her beating heart.

her oath is not about revenge. her friends are dead, there is nothing that will bring them back. nora discards the armor that had kept her safe for so long. she had found community once by bearing the symbol of her battalion, how stupid of the farmer's daughter to not recognize the brand that marks beasts for slaughter. she would no longer allow herself to be marked. when she died, she would not die faceless.

[americancowgirl19]

Mutant not Monster - Part One

Part One: Background; this is basically a background part. Dean will be in the next part with Sam. I highly recommend you read this part so you can understand the plot.

Summary: Y/n and her twin brother, Warren, are both mutants. In a world where mutants aren’t accepted, Y/n and her brother have to go on the run as anti-mutant extremists begin hunting their kind down. Sam and Dean are hunters, just not mutant hunters. However, their paths cross and despite a rocky beginning they become allies against not only the war against mutants but the war against mankind. 

Warnings: angst, curse, fluff, anti-mutant terrorism

Reader: Female Reader; Y/n Worthington 

Pairings: (Eventual) Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3,794

A/n: This is more of my own mini story than a specific part of X-Men and Supernatural. I’ll stick as close to supernatural as I can but if you see things that are different than they were in the show, just roll with it. This is kind of a crossover with X-Men and Supernatural but I’m just doing my own thing with the X-Men characters and Supernatural. I’m not going along with any specific movie or comic book. When Dean and Sam come in it’ll technically take place around the season 4 of Supernatural where they know about angels. Also gif is from google and it’s Miley Cyrus from the ‘Can’t Be Tamed’ music video.

Part Two

Masterlist

1989 - Y/n POV - Reader is 9

“Warren slow down!” I shouted after my brother as he scales up the tree. I try to keep up with him but struggle to maintain a steady grip on the bark. My twin brother just laughs and continues to climb branch after branch.

“Y/n! Warren! Be careful!” Our mother shouts approaching the tree. I take a second to look down at her. She stands by the trunk with her arms crossed. Her eyes squint as she looks up into the tree but I doubt she can see us through the branches and leaves. “Don’t climb too high!”

“Come on, Y/n,” Warren says regaining my attention. He motions for me to continue following him. Huffing I reach for the next branch and pull myself up.

“How much farther? Mom doesn’t want us too high,” I tell him.

“Don’t worry, we’ll be fine,” Warren says ignoring the uneasiness in my voice. While I didn’t have a fear of heights, in fact I liked being higher than everyone else, I was afraid of losing my grip from being too tired. As much as I tried to keep up with my brother he seemed to have energy for days.

“Warren, look at this,” I say finding a birds nest. My brother looks down at me before quickly climbing to my spot.

“Wow,” He whispers as the newly hatched birds chirp for their parents. “They’ll be big enough to fly before we know it,” He tells me.

“Do you ever wonder what it’s like to fly?” I ask looking at him.

“All the time,” He says. “I wonder what it’s like to soar with the birds and fly through clouds,”

“You’ll probably get wet,” I warn him. “Clouds are water after all,” Warren shrugs.

“Never been afraid of a few rain drops,” He smirks at me. I smile rolling my eyes. I look back at the baby birds.

“Warren! Y/!” Our mother shouts for us again. “Come down from there, it’s time for supper!”

“Can’t she see we’re busy in the tree?” Warren grumbles. I laugh.

“Come on, I’ll race you to the bottom,” I challenge him. He smirks and begins climbing down at the same time I do.

“If I win, I get your ice cream!” Warren shouts.

“Like hell you will!” I shout back.

“Language, Y/n!” Mother scolds.

“Yeah, language, Birdie,” Warren teases.

“Oh, why don’t you- Ah!” I screech when my feet slide off the branch. I go to cling to the tree but I fail to get a grip. Before I can fall too far Warren has my hand in his.

“I’ve got you!” Warren says quickly.

“Don’t you dare drop me, Warren Worthington!” I shout holding his hand as tightly as I can.

“Never,” Warren reassures me with a playful grin before swinging me to the next branch.

1994 - Y/n POV - Y/n is 14

“St. Joes Catholic School?” I ask with disbelief in my voice. “They’ve got to be kidding, right?” I ask my brother as I flop down on his bed. He walks into the room after me and shuts the door.

“I don’t think they are,” Warren says taking a seat at his desk chair.

“Why are they sending us away?” I whisper but don’t expect an answer. In fact, I’m terrified of what the answer would be. Warren stays quiet as he mulls over the information our parents just dropped on us. “We never fit in here,” I admitted whilst sitting up. Warren glances at me. “They may be our parents but we’re practically strangers to them. We share nothing in common with them except some similarities in our looks. We don’t belong here Warren and they know it,” I sigh looking down at my fingers.

I expect Warren to argue against me like he usually does. This isn’t the first time I’ve voiced my opinions on this matter. Ever since I could remember I’ve felt as if Warren and I were outcasts in our own home. Our parents used to try and connect with us but they gave up years ago.

I didn’t even notice Warren standing up until the bed sinks beside me. I spare him a glance before looking back at my hands. We sit in silence for a few moments before I lay my head on his shoulder. His head soon rests on top of mine.

“Don’t worry, we’ll find a place where we belong,” He reassures me. “We’ll find a home,” I smile as my mind begins imagining what this home would look like. “It’ll be a place where we do fit in and we’re not strangers,”

“As long as you promise we’ll stay together,” I say lifting my head. Warren looks at me. “Don’t you dare leave me, Warren Worthington,”

“Never,” Warren smirks winking at me. “Lighten up a bit, Birdie,” He says nudging my shoulder. “Who knows, maybe St. Joes Catholic School is where we’ll find people to connect too,” He shrugs.

“It would be nice to talk to someone who doesn’t have your ugly mug,” I comment standing from the bed.

“Well, it shouldn’t be hard for me to find someone who doesn’t crack mirrors when they look in them,” Warren fires back. I don’t dignify him with a verbal response. I simply flip him the bird and leave his room.

1997 - Y/n POV - Reader is 17

“Go Warren! Run!” I scream from the stands as my brother overtakes the lead runner in the track meet. I clap loudly and scream when he takes first place without a problem.

“He won! He won!” My brothers girlfriend, Amanda, shouts from beside me. We jump up and down together before laughing excitedly. 

When the meet ends the two of us instantly go looking for my twin. I weave through the crowd in his direction. Amanda follows me knowing all too well about my inner Warren Compass. It didn’t matter where I was or where he was, we could always find each other. Amanda also swears that we have some sort of telepathy between us or that we could read each other’s mind. While I knew that neither of those things were true, I did have a sixth sense when it came to my brother. Warren has the same feeling about me as well.

“There he is!” Amanda shouts surpassing me to go to her boyfriend. Warren spins around and pulls her into his arms. She giggles as he spins her around. I gag when they romantically kiss.

“Did you see my last run?” Warren asks us.

“Of course, baby,” Amanda smirks leaning into him not even caring about his drying sweat.

“You mean the one where you look like a flailing chicken without a head?” I ask before doing a dramatic imitation. Amanda snorts while Warren lunges for me. I laugh evading his attempts to put me in a head lock.

“Ok! Ok!” Amanda shouts getting between us. “I want to get back to the dorms, get cleaned up, and go to the party,”

“Hell yeah, baby,” Warren smirking lighting up at the mention of a party. Amanda shakes her head wondering where he gets all his energy. It didn’t matter that he just spent all day running, he still has enough energy to take over the world.

It doesn’t take us long to get back to the dorms and cleaned up. Warren promises to meet us at the party before going to take a shower. Amanda and I both go to the bathroom to do our makeup and to get changed.

“Oh my God, is your back ok?” Amanda instantly asks.

“Um, it’s fine?” I say turning towards her.

“Where did you get all of those bruises?” She wonders.

“Bruises?” I ask before going toward the mirror. “Oh, shit,” I whisper seeing them. They weren’t too bad but they were definitely noticeable. 

“What they hell are you doing when I’m not there to supervise you?” Amanda laughs while returning to her makeup.

“I don’t know,” I whisper to myself. I take another moment to stare at the bruises before shaking my head.

A couple weeks pass and the bruises don’t leave. In fact, the grow darker. I take extra care with how I move but it doesn’t matter. The bruising just continues to get worse until things start to get even weirder.

I wake up in my bad with a sore back. That’s nothing new, it’s practically my norm by now. However, waking up to find several feathers in my bed is new. I sit there in confusion as I wonder where the hell these feathers have come from.

“Y/n! Open up!” Warren shouts slamming his fist against my door repeatedly. “Open the door!”

“I’m coming! I’m coming!” I shout hopping out of bed. He doesn’t stop knocking until I let him in. “What the hell?”

“You’re getting random bruising too?” Warren asks the instant I close my door.

“How do you know about that?” I ask.

“Amanda told me,” He said. I frown my eyebrows wondering why now, all of the sudden, she’s telling him about my bruised back. “She told me because of this,” He takes his shirt off and turns his back to me.

“Jesus, Warren,” I whisper looking at his bruises. They’re similar to mind in shape but they’re much darker and slightly bigger. “Wait,” I whisper stepping closer. I run my finger along a section of his back and he instantly flinches away from me.

“Uh, ow!” Warren snaps.

“Sorry!” I raise my hands defensively. “But you have something coming out of your back,”

“What?” He frowns his eyebrows and I nod. He goes to my full length mirror. He then notices the nubs that I pointed out. “Turn around,” He says coming over to me. I do as he says feeling nervous that he might find the same happening to my back.

“I woke up with feathers in my bed,” I whisper holding back a flinch when he touches my bruises.

“Sorry,” He whispers noticing me tense. “You have the same thing happening,” I slowly turn towards him. “I have feathers in my bed too... I thought they were from my pillows but...” His voice trails off.

“What’s happening to us, Warren?” I whisper. He pushes his lips together.

“I don’t know, Birdie,” He whispers back.

1997 - Y/n POV - Reader is 17

“Warren! Warren, open the door!” I shout pounding on his door like he had mine a week previous. “Warren, I know you’re in there, now open the damn door before I break it down,” I growled hitting the door even harder.

A few moments later my puffy eyed brother opens the door just enough for me to slide in before closing it again. He hangs his head as I stare at him. When he sniffles and wipes his nose on his sleeve I snap out of my trance.

“Come here,” I whisper pulling him into a tight hug. I frown my eyebrows when I feel something on his back but I don’t pull away. He holds me so tight that it’s hard to breathe but I just hold him. “What happened?” I whisper.

“She kept asking questions,” He tells me after a few minutes. “She kept wanting to know about the bruises and I just... I couldn’t tell her,” I close my eyes and hold him even closer. I try to hold onto him but he pushes me away. “Then this happens,” He whispers sniffling as he takes off his shirt. I look at his chest before giving him a look. He turns around and I gasp.

Two small white wings have sprouted from his shoulder blades. They look like a baby birds wings. Not nearly big enough to fly nor hold his weight. Despite they’re small size they’re beautiful.

Then it clicks. Our backs have been going through the exact same transition. Slowly, I step back to his bad and fall on it. Warren quickly pulls on his shirt again.

“We’re mutants,” I whisper.

“Yeah,” Warren whispers.

“We’re mutants,” I whisper again. Warren sighs walking over to me. The bed bounces slightly when he collapses beside me.

“Yeah,” He repeats. We lay on his bed in silence as we try to come to terms with the... new development. “I quit track,” He tells me. “Not like I’d be able to hide these things at practices and meets... Plus who knows how big they’ll grow,”

“Warren,” I whisper lowly. “St. Joes is notorious for they’re anti-mutant beliefs,” I say slowly turning my head towards him. Warren continues to stare at the ceiling. He lets out a long sigh.

“Yeah,” He mutters.

“Shit,” I whisper.

1998 - Y/n POV - Reader is 18

‘Y/n Worthington,’

I frown my eyebrows as I slow to a walk in the middle of the empty hallway. I look around for the voice who said my name. However, the few people in the hallway pay no mind to me.

‘Y/n Worthington’ The voice says again. ‘My name is Charles Xavier and I am a mutant like you,’

“I don’t find that very comforting at the moment,” I mutter feeling standoffish. I can hear the voice laugh a bit.

‘No, I expect you wouldn’t’ He says. ‘I’ve been looking for you and your brother for a very long time,’

“Where are you?” I ask as I continue to search for him.

‘Not far from the school,’ He responds vaguely. ‘I need you to listen to me. There is someone on campus that wants to hurt you and your brother,’

“Warren,” I whisper no longer caring about this Charles Xavier. The only thing on my mind is finding Warren. Before I could start my wild goose chase the voice in my head tells me exactly where he is. I don’t bother to question him, I simply race to his location. “Oh my God,” I gasp seeing the building is engulfed in flames.

Before I even try to go into the fire something in the sky catches my attention. I then notice it’s Warren trying to save people. Sprinting into action, I leave the crowd. My pure black wings rip through my long jacket and take me to the sky towards my brother.

“There’s more people on the third floor!” Warren shouts over the noise of the crowd.

“There’s someone after us!” I shout to him.

“No shit! Who do you think started the fire?!” Warren snaps.

“Don’t get snippy with me, Angel!” I growl back at him.

“Just get the people out! I’ll handle the guy that’s trying to kill us,” Warren orders. I want to argue but Warren is already flying off and somebody has to get those people out.

My wings carry me into the building. They fold around my body protectively as I crash through a window and land on the hot floor. It takes some convincing but I finally get the people to trust me enough to allow me to get them to safety.

‘You’re brother is a mile to your left,’ Charles informs me. I send a silent thank you before quickly going towards Warren. I get to him in time to see him dropping a man to his death.

“Warren?” I ask slowly flying towards him. My large yet feminine keep me in the air beside my brother. Warren’s head hangs as he stares at the mans dead body on the ground below us.

‘If you both would join me, I’d like to talk with you,” Charles says in my head. I can only assume Warren hears him as well. 

“Angel?” I ask moving even closer to him.

“Let’s just go,” Warren says flying to where Charles wants us to meet him. I glance back to the dead body before flying after my brother.

1998 - Y/n POV - Reader is 18

“Wow,” I whisper walking towards Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters.

“Aren’t we a little old to be going to a school like this?” Warren asks as we follow behind Charles. I nod along with Warren’s question seeing as we’re both legally adults.

“This isn’t just a school for the gifted but a home,” Charles explains. Warren’s head snaps towards me at the same time mine snaps to him. “Here you can learn different skills you did not learn at your previous school. You will also meet students with various gifts, some like your own,” I slap Warren’s arm when I see a girl fly past us with wings that came off of a fairy. “You are welcome to stay here for as long as you wish,”

“This place is amazing,” I laugh in wonder. Warren slowly beings to grin which only brightens my mood. Ever since the fire a few days ago, Warren’s smile has been nonexistent. 

“I’ll show you to your rooms, allow you to get settled,”

“Are we sharing a room?” Warren wonders.

“While school is in session, yes,” Charles nods. “But when most of the students return to their homes, you can have separate rooms,” I smile at my brother. Even though I didn’t exactly like sharing a room with him, it would be nice to have him close after someone had tried to kill us.

“Well, it’s not as big as the one at mom and dads but it’s cozy,” I say while walking around the room. Charles had left us to settle in a few seconds ago.

“Do you ever wonder what mom and dad are doing?” Warren wonders while tossing his suit case on one of the beds.

“Angel, they haven’t even contacted us since freshmen year,” I remind him. “The only thing they’ve done is financially support us and even that is over now,” I say sitting on my bed. “I try not to think about them because we don’t need them. We just need each other,” I say smiling at him.

“So, you’re saying I’m stuck with your ugly mug for the rest of my life?” Warren asks with a small smirk.

“Aren’t you a lucky duck?” I wink at him. Warren slowly shakes his head. “What happened?” I finally ask. “With that man that you let go?” My mind goes back to the day with the fire and how Warren had let a man fall to his death.

“I don’t even know his name,” Warren whispers. “Just some anti-mutant man,” He tells me. “He said our wings went against his religion and that we had to die,” I can feel my wings twitch but I don’t say anything. “I had him in my hands and I wanted to turn him into the police but then he went on and on about how he wasn’t just going to kill me but kill you as well... I just got so angry. He talked about how he was going to rip our wings off and rid the world of us. The thought of someone out there that wants to kill you as badly as he did made me so angry. Before I knew it I was letting him go and watching him fall.” Warren explains to me. I stand and walk over to him. Warren looks at me as I sit next to him. “I don’t regret killing him. I feel guilt about the fact that I’m not sad over his death,” He says. “But he threatened you, threatened us...” Warren sighs.

“You don’t have to justify your actions to me,” I tell him. “Warren, I would have done the same thing,” I told him. He glances towards me. “You think your need to protect me is one sided? I’d do anything for you. You’re all I have and I’m not going to let anyone hurt you,” I tell him. Warren smiles a bit.

“Don’t you dare leave me, Y/n Worthington,” Warren says quietly. I muster up a playful smirk.

“Never,”

2004 - Y/n POV - Reader is 24

“What do you mean they’re shutting the school down?” Warren snapped. “They can’t do that!”

“They can and they are,” Storm, one of the teachers, says calmly yet her eyes are raging in anger. “The students are to be sent back to there homes-”

“Where they’re going to be hunted down and slaughtered in front of their families,” Beast growls. I sigh rubbing my face tiredly.

Years of peace between mutants and mankind destroyed in one weekend. We tried to do damage control but our efforts were in vain. Almost every pro-mutant policy has been taken away. With the government turning their backs against us the radical anti-mutant organizations are rising against us in a dangerous fashion.

It didn’t take a genius to know that a war is on the horizon. This school is one of the only safe places for the students yet we’re being forced to send them away. We’re being forced to send them back to their families where they won’t be nearly as protected as they are now.

We all knew that with the war would come casualties. These extremists aren’t planning on taking prisoners. They see us as anti-human and a threat to the human race. They see us as monsters. They will kill us every chance they get.

“We have to protect them,” I speak up. “They’re children!” I practically shout. “We can’t just leave them to defend themselves,”

“We’re not going to do that,” Jean shakes her head. “We’ve fought for mutants this long, we’re not just going to give up now,”

“Jean’s right,” Storm nods. “There’s a war coming and it’s going to get ugly,” She warns everyone in the room. “But we’ve been through ugly times before. We can get through this if we work together,”

“We’re ready,” Bobby, one of my closest friends, assures her. “You guys have made sure of that. A lot of us are ready to fight,” Warren, me and the other alumni students nod in agreement.

“Professor?” I asks hesitantly. Charles continues to sit in his wheelchair as he goes over everything in his mind. It pained me to see the man who took my brother and I in in such a state of distress.

Warren and I share a nervous look. After years of living life just the two of us, we finally find out home. Not long after that, our home is threatened. It angers me to the core that people think they can threaten my home without retaliation. As far as I’m concerned everyone that lives under this roof is my family and I will do whatever is necessary to protect them, especially my idiotic twin.

“There here,” Charles whispers, his eyes widening. My head snaps to the side as an explosion shakes the Earth under our feet. Warren’s eyes meet mine and dread fills our hearts. The war’s begun.

@akshi8278​

[justasparkwritings]

Codename Cupid: Chapter 7

Previous: Another Shot at Love Pt. 1 

Pairing: Min Yoongi X OFC

Genre: Secret AgentAU, AgentAU, Light Strangers to Lovers AU, Light Fluff, First Date

Rating: PG13

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: Swearing

Summary: OT7 prepares for the next phase in their plan. Seokjin has drinks with an unlikely friend. 

Codename: Another Shot At Love Pt. 2

Fall After Graduation

         It had been a rude awakening when Euna realized Seokjin wasn’t in love with her and didn’t love her. She had been so sure he did that she hadn’t questioned why he never said it, or why she never let those three words slip from her lips. When Jin had broken up with her, devastating the image of their life she had created, she swore she would be more careful. She swore this time, with Yoongi, there would be no Pinterest boards, no texting friends, no romanticizing their relationship by thinking he might be the one, no playlists in his honor. This time, she wouldn’t get her heartbroken.

         Yoongi was everything Seokjin wasn’t and everything he swore he would be. He listened, he cared, he showed up when he said he would and when Euna said she loved him, he didn’t recoil. He leaned in almost as hard as she did, throwing caution to the wind.

         “Do you ever think of getting married?” Euna asked in mid-October, head resting against Yoongi’s bare chest as they snuggled under the blankets of her bed. An old episode of RuPaul’s Drag Race starting in the background, casting a pink and bright light into the darkness of Euna’s bedroom.

         “Uh, no not really,” Yoongi responded. “Why do you?”

         “Yeah, I think it might be nice, to someday get married, have a family,” Euna snuggled closer to Yoongi, ear pressed against his heart. He inhaled slowly, monitoring the rhythm.

         “Maybe, I don’t know,” Yoongi said again.

         “Mm, my parents are looking forward to meeting you on Sunday,” Euna’s delicate reminder sent Yoongi’s mind into overdrive.

         “Yeah, it’ll be great,” He answered.

         “My siblings are very excited; they’ve never met a boyfriend of mine.”

         “Can we turn this off? I’m getting tired.” Yoongi cut the conversation short, the list of things he had to do before Sunday ran through his mind unperturbed.

         “Yeah, of course,” Euna sat up and looked at him, his words had hinted at distress, but his eyes were calm.

         Leaning in to place a soft kiss on her lips, Yoongi muttered, “Goodnight,”

         “Goodnight, love you,” Euna said. Yoongi only nodded before laying down and closing his eyes. He was fucked.

~~~~~

         “She wants to marry you?” Seokjin nearly yelled as he looked over parts of the transcripts from last night.

         “No, she wants to get married, to someone, and have kids,” Yoongi corrected.

         “How many months has it been?” Hoseok asked, eyes moving from his documents.

         “Four,” Seokjin and Yoongi said at the same time.

         “You have to make it a few more months,” Namjoon reminded him.

         “She’s planning a wedding!” Yoongi yelled.

         “Have you bugged her computer?” Namjoon asked.

         “Yes, she has several Pinterest boards, but they have been inactive for nearly two years,” Yoongi had deep dived her accounts, scoured them for any sign of mistrust or malfeasance, all he’d found was Pinterest boards dedicated to the life she thought she was building, or could be building, with Seokjin. It was all wishful thinking, honest to god hope that Cupid had placed in their relationship. Yoongi felt remorseful that his intentions weren’t pure, all she wanted was to find love that was different from what her family had given her. He couldn’t fault her for that desire.

         “Okay, so she’s not planning your wedding yet, which is fine. You’re not going to marry her.” Hoseok was busy updating Yoongi’s driver’s license, the fake was near expiration and the mandates had changed.

         “How ethical is it to continue a relationship when you’re not in love, and don’t want to be with that person?” Seokjin looked from Yoongi to Namjoon, hoping one of them would have an answer.

         “Cupid isn’t a person, she’s part of an organization that is ruining the globe,” Yoongi snapped.

         Stepping in before the men could continue sparring, Namjoon spoke, “We have a plan, Yoongi just has to stick with it.”

         “Four more months?” Yoongi asked.

         “Give or take,” Namjoon said.

         “Fine, but if it gets any fucking weirder –

         “You can start becoming distant January 1, that’s the earliest phase 3 can be enacted,”

         “Fine,” Yoongi grit his teeth.

         “You’re meeting the family next week, are you ready?”

         “That also seems a bit much, right?” Seokjin asked.

         “Worldwide, shut up.” Yoongi wasn’t all bite, but when it came to work, there was no space for his gummy smile and penchant for random dancing.

         “Yoongi,” Namjoon warned.

         “I know the plan. Dinner, ask leading questions, hint at CEO, get a read on how Cuttlefish is doing, snoop,” Recited Yoongi, “And it wasn’t me who suggested the dinner, it was Cupid.”

         Seokjin nods, knowing he overstepped his bounds. Trust Yoongi, Namjoon’s voice rung in his ears. Trust Yoongi.

         “We’ve got Mochi set to go?” Namjoon asked Yoongi.

         “Yeah, he’s got a trainee running security while he’s with his mark,” Yoongi answered, still seething at Jin.

         “Where do these trainees come from?” Seokjin asked.

         “Did you wake up today and decide you wanted to be deeply annoying?” Yoongi’s eyes narrowed at Jin, daggers glaring into his hyung. “Because you’re fucking excelling.”

         “Yoongi, go to your office and prepare,” Namjoon snapped, tired of the bad attitude Yoongi had been sporting since Euna brought up marriage. “If you’re going to be a dick, be a dick alone.”

         “Fine,” Yoongi huffed.

         Namjoon turned his attention from Yoongi to Seokjin. “Yoongi isn’t always-

         “It’s been over a year, he still doesn’t like me,” Jin interrupted. “I’ve done exactly what he’s asked me, brought him coffee, tried to become his friend, and he continues to look at me as if I’m Dick Cheney, circa 2006.”

         “It’s not a you-thing, Jin,” Namjoon took his glasses off before placing his hands over his face. “Yoongi doesn’t like change. He’s usually easy going, and in his heart, he’s very soft and welcoming. But you’re the eldest now, you bring a new energy that in whatever way, plays up his, and brings out Hoseok. He wants to be your friend, he does, but he has a hard time crossing the line between colleagues and friends who hang out in their free time. He’s been through a lot, and this relationship with Cupid is bringing up every emotion he thought he’d worked through. He’s been working his ass off for four years on this case and wasn’t in any place to be in a relationship this intense. Yoongi doesn’t get close to people until they prove themselves to him. Don’t ask me what the test is, I don’t know, but please, be understanding and patient. He’ll come around.”  

         “If you say so,” Seokjin mumbled. Gathering his things, he stood to walk towards his office. Yoongi watched as he passed, knowing full well he owed Jin an apology.

         “You wanna get a beer after work?” Yoongi had followed Jin to his office and stood in the door frame, head covered in a black beanie, matching his black v-neck and dark wash jeans. He looked like he was ready to begin hibernating.

         “You’re speaking to me?” Jin didn’t look up from his monitor, his college behavior, one that Euna had worked so hard to get rid of, had come back in full force.

         “Yeah, and I’m sorry I was a dick. You wanna get a beer after work?”

         “Your apology sucks, but sure,” Jin responded.

         “Cool, wheels up at 7,” Yoongi shuffled back to his office, glancing at Namjoon through the glass and rolling his eyes at the smirk on his boss’ face.

~~~~~

         The bar wasn’t crowded when Seokjin and Yoongi walked in, and finding a table easily lent itself to an awkward few minutes waiting for the server. Yoongi moved through the space with ease, a telltale sign he’d been there before. In his year working with OT7, Jin had learned a lot about how to be perceptive and cunning, how to notice things he had once overlooked. He’d taken a page from Henry Spencer’s book, and mindlessly counted the hats in the room. It was too easy, with ten people in the bar, the only hat belonged to Yoongi.

         “Look, I don’t do well with change. I’m sure Namjoon has told you as much,” Yoongi started.

         “Yeah, he did.”

         “I have very few friends, I’m not great at relationships of any kind,” Yoongi explained. “I’ve never, I’m not good at it.”

         “Do you want to be?” Seokjin asked.

         “Yeah, I’ve been trying. Joonie and Hobi have been great.”

         “Joonie?” Seokjin giggled.

         “Yeah, when he lets you into his inner circle, you can call him Joonie,” Yoongi laughed. “I’m sure he’ll like, take you to a Bonsai garden and explain his life too,”

         “Why are you the first?”

         “I’m the most guarded, and the eldest until you,” Yoongi sipped his beer.

         “So how exactly did you –

         “You don’t join our group or go looking for us. We find you,”

         “Like how you found me?” Jin asked.

         “Like how they found all of us, except Joon. But that’s his story to tell.”

         “When did they find you?”

         “I started training when I was 17, but before that I was already coding,” Yoongi told him. “They showed up at my house, Namjoon in tow.”

         “Namjoon was there?”

         “He was so small, he looked so scared. He’s only a year younger than me but I could tell he’d seen some shit. Anyway, they talked to my parents who decided I could forgo my basic, subpar high school experience and work full time. Hobi joined shortly after and the three of us became brothers. They’ve been my best friends for what feels like decades. I’d bleed for them, and they’d do the same for me, no questions asked.” Yoongi told him.

           Jin nodded, he’d sensed the impenetrable bond between the men when he’d first arrived. Yoongi was right, Hobi and Namjoon had wanted to take him out, have a heart to heart, a melding of the minds, but Yoongi, as the eldest, was the first to follow through.

Sipping his beer, Seokjin spoke, “Have you always been on security?”

         “Yes,” Yoongi answered.

         “How did they find you?” It was a question he’d been wanting to ask for over a year, how did we all end up here, and who do we work for?

         Smirking, Yoongi answered with a shrug of his shoulders. “Allegedly I broke into too many government agencies across the globe,”

         “What?” The shock on his face couldn’t be erased.

         Shrugging again, “Allegedly,”

         “Allegedly, you figured out how to de-crypt and force your way into government systems to do what? Steal information?” Seokjin’s voice was a hushed whisper, eyes never leaving Yoongi’s but conscious of the loitering individuals around them.

         “Allegedly, it was just for fun,” Yoongi smiled as he laughed, gums on display, his antics proving to be humorous all these years later.

         “Allegedly, how old were you?”

         “Oh, like 16,” Yoongi sipped his beer.

         “16?”

         “They catch us young,” He answered.

         Pushing his way through his concern, Seokjin asked, “Which country was the easiest?”

         “Anyone in South America, Europe, US and Canada were allegedly, child’s play,”

         Seokjin sat with that for a moment, thinking through the countries and continents left. “Asia the hardest?”

         “Asia, Russia, some African countries, Iraq, Iran, Afghanistan, Saudi Arabia, UAE, very difficult, but allegedly, not impossible.” Yoongi wasn’t laughing anymore, a smirk replaced his joyous grin.

         “You’re a badass,” Seokjin spoke without thinking.

         “Yes,”

         “Do you like work?” Jin questioned.

         “I love it. Do you like it?”

         “I don’t know yet,” He shrugged.

         “Mm, you hate that I’m dating Cupid,” Yoongi offered.

         Pausing to acknowledge the feeling in his chest, he took a beat before answering. “I’m not jealous, I just, I wish we had had a better ending. It feels so unresolved, and tenuous. She deserved more than what I could give her.”

         “Yeah, but that’s the job,”

         “I don’t have to like it just because that’s the job,” Jin rolled his eyes.

         “True, but you have to get over it.”

         “Why did the marriage talk really freak you out?”

         “I have a fucking heart, Jin,” Yoongi exhaled slowly, “Just because it isn’t in this relationship, doesn’t mean I want to break hers. Now I have to deceive her? That’s fucking brutal, she’s barely recovered from you.”

         “Do you have feelings for her?” Jin wanted to know.

         “No,”

         “No?”

         “Cupid is nice, but, honestly, I threw a fit when Joon brought me the plan.”

         “He didn’t come up with the plan?”

         “What you have to understand,” Yoongi lowered his voice, “is that there’s always someone to answer to. Always.”

         “You don’t want to get married?” said Jin.

         “I might, someday, but like I said, I’m not good with relationships,” Yoongi was nothing but truthful and sincere.

         “That’s what you have to remember when you have dinner with the Valentine’s,” Seokjin said absentmindedly. “They’re all so desperate to be loved, that every relationship they’re in becomes overwhelmed by their desire to keep it afloat. Their worst relationships, though, without a doubt, are the ones they have with each other.”

Next: Codename Another Shot at Love Pt. 3

[sextonsharpwinhalstead]

@sarahreeese​ here’s your reesker prompt! merry christmas! 

She’s sitting on Sarah’s lounge chair. Her feet up casually on the end. Her long milky-colored legs are hypnotizing. She’s a painting, she’s a masterpiece. But who hung it? How the hell did she get in Sarah’s apartment? 

“The fruit really is better here,” Ava takes a deep bite into her peach.

Sarah’s peach.

“Dr. Bekker?...uh, what, how-what are you doing in my house?”

She went back to the peach, it was true, they really were better down here. The sweetness clean after each bite.

“I heard the weather was similar here as in Pretoria.”

Sarah casually threw her bag in her armchair, still not taking her eyes off the painting in front of her. She knew very little about Ava. A talented surgeon who often butted heads with Connor. Sarah could relate. His ego and sway in the hospital was one of many reasons Sarah had to go. Her fathers were the first. 

“That doesn’t answer why or how you got in here.”

Sarah’s moving to the kitchen. Ava rolls her eyes and goes back to her peach.

“I admire the move Dr. Reese, what an adventure! Oh, and the hair.”

Sarah puts a few curls behind her ears, the ones that always fall in front of her eyes. Her long curly bob makes sense for the hot Texas weather but the observation makes her blush. As does the perplexity of this uninvited visit. Ava’s so high on her ego she isn’t paying attention to Sarah, who’s in her kitchen plugging up her dead phone. She’s going to call the police. This behavior is a deviation of the norm. A social violation. She begins to make some iced tea. Ava is still enjoying her peach. Sarah walks to the living room and sits. Her long legs crossing under her flowing skirt. Her presence is enough for Ava to actually pay attention. Sarah isn’t the unsure resident anymore, the woman sitting across from Dr. Bekker feels formidable and her curiosity isn’t satiated by a so called “adventure” explanation. The rube she was hoping for doesn’t live in Texas. Ava rolls her eyes again.

“Fine, I had a bit of a falling out with Connor, I don’t think Gaffney is where I belong.”

Still not pleased. Fuck.

“Everyone is so loyal there, turns out Connor has a few more allies than I do...I know you left too, men can be so disappointing amirite?”

Ava giggles nervously at the end. Sarah’s gaze is unnerving, one she never gave much attention to. Obsession will do that, all Ava ever saw was Connor, Sarah was one of the only memories of anyone she could recall, someone who didn’t seem like a such a goody-goody...and then there was the subject of her parentage.

“Why are you here?”

Dammit.

“Haven’t you ever wanted to get away from a place where your name is sullied?”

Now Sarah is rolling her eyes. She goes to the kitchen and slices a few lemons. The tea has steep long enough. She fills two glasses full of ice, freshly brewed tea, and garnishes it with lemon. Her phone is at five percent, she’s left her good charger at work.

“Dr.Bekker-.”

“-Ava.”

“Ava, why are you here? In my apartment? How’d you get in here?”

Ava looks down at the nut from her peach.

“And don’t tell me it’s because ‘the froot is so much betta heyre.’”

Her mouth is agape at Sarah’s impression of her, but then she smiles and so does Sarah.

“You didn’t talk past me like Connor was the only one capable of surgery, everyone else did...I didn’t make very many friends when I was in Chicago.”

Sarah’s raises an eyebrow. Bitch.

“Fine, I didn’t make any friends other than Connor.”

“How did you get in here?”

“The building manager, I told him you were my girlfriend and if he just let me in I’d tape us and let him watch.”

Now they both are laughing. He’s fired. Between his butt-crack showing, his bad breath tainted with chew, and his constant unwanted advances, Sarah has had it. She’s pretty sure he messes with the hot water heater so she’ll have to deal with him.

“I admire what you did, I mean that, you left and didn’t look back and I want that too.”

Sarah knows it isn’t the entire truth but it’s enough, the details aren’t her business. Sarah’s phone is still too low to turn on and she’s getting hungry. She pulls a pot out to begin boiling water, her eyes periodically on Ava who is doing something strange. She hasn’t looked at her phone once. She wasn’t reading anything on it and she hasn’t checked to see if she’s missing any calls or texts. Sarah knows it’s the part of the details she hasn’t gotten. 

“Who are you avoiding?” Sarah asks as she sets a plate of pasta in front of Ava.

“People are so boring, is there really any other way to deal with them other than to avoid them?”

Fair enough. Sarah’s phone is at twenty-five percent. She could make the call but she keeps catching herself staring at Ava’s long neck, the way she licks her lips after slurping up her noodles, the lure of her hazel eyes which seem to have the same curious gaze as Sarah’s upon her.

“She did make that girl-on-girl joke.”

Sarah allows Ava to tag along on her plans. She was planning a walk along the lake and then grabbing a bottle of wine before tucking in a movie. Ava has other ideas. She tells Sarah to leave the bottle in the car and soon they are at Pegasus. Does Ava know? Sarah’s been visiting a few of these places lately. 

“I’ve decided I’m done with men, you with me?”

Ava’s invitation is more than enticing, it’s how Sarah’s been living her life here in Waco. They walk up and hand their I.D. to the doorman and Sarah gets an eyeful of Ava’s and realizes for the first time what seems different about her. Ava’s hair is brown but her I.D. is blond. Immediately the bartendar who looks too gay to function recognizes Sarah. He starts with her favorite mix drink and gives her a look at the woman to her side. Sarah blushes a little as Ava orders two shots and a glass of whiskey.

“Oh, no I’m good.”

Sarah is frowning at the drink,she isn’t a shot girl.

“Come now, don’t make me drink these alone.”

The shots go down easy and energize Sarah to the dance floor. She’s a better dancer than Ava would think. She can find a beat, and Ava can’t help but pull her towards her. Their thighs meet as they gyrate. Her stare is more intense than a minute ago. What does she want from her?

“I have to work in the morning!”

Sarah yells over the music so they grab a Lyft home leaving Sarah’s Prius at the bar.

When they open the door Ava is pulling Sarah in to kiss her. Her lips are so soft. Ava seems prickly but her skin, her lips, they’re soft. Sarah pulls away.

“You can take the couch if you need somewhere to crash.”

She’s not going to let Ava sleep her way to a bed. Besides, no matter how nice the day has been Sarah can’t shake those hidden details of Ava’s impromptu visit.

“Do you really want to end the night this way?”

Ava leans in for another kiss and Sarah kisses her back. But it is. She has trust issues.

“I can’t.”

Ava huffs as Sarah opens her linen closet and pulls out a couple of blankets. She tosses them Ava’s way. They lay awake on opposite walls. Sarah wondering how the energy of her little apartment has been thrown off by the stranger in the other room. Ava is wondering how long she can keep her secret.

Sarah is making coffee, her movements wake Ava who follows suit and is in the shower. There’s a loud shriek coming from the bathroom.

“Ah, it’s cold!”

“Oh, yeah give me a second!”

Sarah sets off down the hall to the building manager’s office. The knob twists but the door won’t open. Sarah pushes at it using minimal strength to no avail so she has to bust at it using her shoulder. 

“Damn! Tony, where are you, what’s going on with the door?” she started as she walks towards his office, “The wa-.”

She’s stopped in her tracks. Tony is sitting in his chair but he’s not moving, he’s so stiff. His eyes are still open, they are somewhat opaque. He’s not there. Her hand quickly goes to her mouth, poor Tony.

Sarah’s heads back to her apartment, she’s somewhat dazed. She’s seen dead bodies before but on her terf, her time. Not like this. She grabs her cell phone.

“Sarah?” 

Ava is out of the shower, obviously cut short because of the temperature. Sarah’s already dialed 911.

“I don’t know why I didn’t use the office phone,” she says to Ava, “-Yes, I’m here, there’s a man downstairs, my building super... he’s dead…-yeah, no-my name is Dr. Sarah Reese, trust me he’s dead.”

Sarah hangs up the phone and turns to talk to Ava, who is packing her things, quickly.

“-What are you doing?” Sarah asks, “You might need to stay to give them a timeline, he looks like he’s been dead a while.”

Ava isn’t listening she’s piling her things in.

“You have a medical background, between you and the coroner I don’t see how I’m going to be helpful.”

“You spoke with him earlier you may have been the last-.”

Sarah stops. Deviation from societal norms. Ava is zipping up her bag.

“Why did you dye your hair?”

Ava is putting on her shoes, she’s in flight mode. Sarah can hear the dispatch on the other line.

“I’m still here, send a patrol too.”

That stops Ava. She stands up.

“Just give me 20 minutes to get ahead.”

She plows past Sarah and is running down the hallway. Sarah is still too shell-shocked; confused. Ava doesn’t need twenty minutes, the police and EMT’s arrive in thirty. It’s not like it’s an emergency. 

“Just to confirm she’s about 5-7 or 5’8, 120lbs hazel eyes and blonde hair?”

“Yes, blonde.”

Why did she lie? She doesn’t know the cause of death for Tony and this is just stupid. But she holds to the statement, goes to work and goes back to her life. 

She takes her normal Thursday night stroll on the lake. She lets a few ashes go at a time. They are the ashes of the newspapers of her father’s case, the missing posters, and blurbs of his victims. She lets those pieces go here. 

“What do you drop in there?”

The unmistakable accent, her voice. Sarah’s heart is racing. What is she doing here? 

“What are you doing here Ava?”

Sarah is trying to hide her fear. She knows now what Ava’s done. To Cornelius and probably Tony too.

“I told you I like it here.”

She takes a step toward Sarah and Sarah takes a step backward.

“Dr. Reese, you’re not afraid of me are you?”

Sarah takes a step forward. She’s doing her best to hide her fear.

“No, you don’t scare me Ava.”

Ava takes a step closer, her face inches from Sarah as she smiles. She lets Ava kiss her, she wants to kiss her. She wants to remember her lips. Their night dancing and drinking. 

“Come with me,” Ava breathes.

“I can’t, you’re a fugitive Ava.”

Ava steps back, her brown hair makes her eye color sing, it’s a tune Sarah would gladly hum if she hadn’t already sang like a bird to the police.

“What is it about you?” Ava wonders as she studies Sarah’s face.

“I’m still finding that out,” Sarah answers.

Ava steps back again and is quickly gone. 

A postcard once every few months from Oklahoma, California, Alaska, London. Always the same message.

“Come with me.”

[greekowl87]

Kiss prompt: 3?

3. Kissing so desperately that their whole body curves into the other person

A/N: I love ‘Tithonus.’ I’ve written two post ep fics for it. Well, I did a third because I freaking love that episode. Sorry, this took so long @momdadimpoppunk ! I finally have time to get to this wonderful prompt and I hope you enjoy. Sorry for any typos. Tagging @today-in-fic

Mulder had been in the archives researching the lead for Scully when he knew something was wrong. He had felt the sharp stabbing pain in his gut like a knife carving out a piece of him. The pain had been so much that he had dropped the files to the ground. He knew then something was horribly wrong. He had only had felt something similar to this twice in his life: Scully’s abduction and cancer.

He wasn’t a big believer in fate despite being a believer in UFOs and little gray men. He learned to believe after Samantha’s abduction. He was open to any alternative to the truth; anything to keep a glimmer of hope alive. Ever since he met Scully, it gave him reason to hope but for a different reason. After Antarctica and everything that had conspired the past summer, she stuck with him. She was his reason he still went into the FBI every day even after they had lost everything. It was small things. A humorous smile for a sly joke slipped between background interviews. Companionable solidarity as they chased fertilizer leads across the country. He never asked why but he never took her for granted.

But right now, Mulder knew something wrong. Very wrong. He didn’t care if Kerch would chew his ass out or burn him at the stake. He needed to go to New York right now.

… …

The phone call came right before the jet left for Laguardia. 

Mulder drove his car to the airport, grabbed the backup overnight bag he kept in the trunk of his car, and paid with his own credit card for the quickest flight to New York. He picked the phone up on the first ring, somehow already knowing what the phone call was about. There was no greeting or anything. Straight to the point.

“Is this Fox Mulder?”

Mulder recognized that tone of voice. It came from a woman this time but it was just like all the others. Short and to the point. No friendly chit chat or scorning. Just getting the job done.

“This is.”

“Sir, I have you listed as the next of kin for a one Dana Scully? Is that correct.”

“It is.”

“Sir, Agent Scully was brought in earlier this afternoon with a gunshot wound to the abdomen. She’s currently in surgery.”

“What hospital is she staying at,” he demanded.

“Sir, it’s really too soon to tell or jump on a flight to New York.”

“I’m already here. What hospital is she at?”

“St. Catherine’s in Manhattan but as I told you there really is no need now.”

“I’ll be there in twenty.”

Mulder hung up and shoved his cellphone into his pocket without another thought. Taxi, taxi, taxi, Mulder thought desperately. Despite all their cases, his time at the FBI, and growing up on the Vineyard, he had only been to Manhattan a handful of times. He found the taxi zone and promptly ordered one straight to the hospital. As the cabbie drove, Mulder stared listlessly out the window as his brain went through countless scenarios on what could have gone wrong. Gunshot. Surgery. Was it serious? Life-threatening? Or just a scratch?

By the time he reached the hospital, Mulder was no less calm. 

He demanded information, made a scene, and almost got escorted from the hospital despite him waving his badge. Between this chaos, he was able to discern a few things: abdominal gunshot wound that should have killed her, and fired by Agent Ritter. Eventually, he was directed to the third floor, the surgery ward wherein the waiting area he found the little shit Agent Ritter. Mulder felt a burning rage. Rage against Them that orchestrated Scully’s abdication. Rage against the Smoking Man who could have cured her cancer. Rage against sonofabitch Agent Ritter for getting trigger happy and shooting Scully before even identifying the proper suspect. The difference was this time, Ritter was real and corporal in front of him. He had someone to work out his rage. He could do something.

Without the care of the consequences or what may happen, Mulder dropped his overnight bag and flew to Agent Ritter, slamming him against the wall as the picture shook. Ritter tried to struggle against him but Mulder had the element of surprise and physics on his side. Pushing his arm into Ritter’s neck, he barked, “How could you shoot another agent? Are you that stupid? Scully was right there and you shot her!”

Ritter gasped for breath. “Accident…it was…an accident.”

“Fuck that! You almost killed her!”

“Accident…”

He was so angry and desperate to do something. His rage withered and he through Ritter against the wall. “Fucking bastard,” he spat. “Get lost before I do something I regret.”

Mulder should have been reported or even arrested but Ritter bit his lip, nodded, and slouched away down the hall towards the elevator. Mulder ran his hands through his hair in anger. There wasn’t anything else to do but wait.

… … .

Seconds ticked away on the large white clock. 

The big hand inched around full circle as the little hand slowly slouched toward one a.m. How long had Mulder been here? How long had Scully been in surgery? He had pulled his tie loose and tossed his jacket over his bag.

There had been no news. He watched the hospital staff and random strangers walking the halls like ghosts. Mulder began to make up stories for everyone he saw. Skinny man was a magician that didn’t tell anyone. That nurse cross stitched cats on everything. He smiled sadly at the game he used to play with Scully. There was a doctor approaching him now. He was different from everyone else as he came towards Mulder a purpose. He looked tired and disheveled but smiled at the FBI agent. 

“Agent Mulder?”

“Yes. Is Scully all right?”

The old doctor smiled. “Agent Scully is very, very lucky to be alive.” He took a deep breath and took off his glasses. “The bullet entered right above the stomach. Hit the spleen. I’m not going to coat it lightly. She should have hemorrhaged on the apartment, in the ambulance, or on my table. She should have died but she never stopped breathing. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“What do you mean you’ve never seen anything like it?” Brief memories of an old man from the archived files flashed in his head. “She’s alive, right?”

“She should have died instantly.” The doctor snapped his fingers for emphasis. “But she wouldn’t give up. Just came out of surgery in the last hour. She’s in recovery and then we’ll be moving her to a room if nothing happens in the next hour.”

“I want to stay.”

“Agent Mulder, she could wake up now or 24 hours from now. I recommend you get some sleep.”

“I want to be the first thing that she sees when she wakes up.”

The exhausted doctor stared at Mulder for a moment before nodding. “I’ll have the nurse come get you when we move her.”

… … .

The staff moved Scully sometime around three a.m to a private room. The nurses must have taken pity on Mulder because they left him with a blanket and small pillow to use with the recliner that was in the private room. By four a.m, Scully was still passed out and Mulder made a vain attempt to get comfortable by turning the room’s tv on low and stretching his lanky body out in the chair next to her. He reached for her hand and simply held it.

Mulder turned onto his side slightly and watched as the early morning light began to show through the blinds. The rays danced across Scully’s face and mused red hair. He thought he could already seeing color coming back to her face. The steady beat of her heart on the monitor lulled his exhausted mind asleep.

… … . .

Mulder dreamed of kissing Scully.

He dreamed of her a lot ever since the first time he had almost lost her the first time. His own dreams began to grow more adventurous. He would kiss her so much that his own body would curve around her. He dreamed of kissing her like there was no tomorrow. She suffered so much and she deserved the world. She deserved everything. Mulder dreamed of showing Scully how much he cared for her, wanted her, and how much she deserved better. From him, from everyone. Of course, in his dreams, he was able to do it right and take care of her. But not in real life. A new image of Scully appeared in his dreams, bloody, crumpled, and starring lifelessly off into the distance.

No, no, no!

He dropped to his knees and pressed his hands to her abdominal wound. The blood leaked through his fingers. Her eyes looked for him and he saw fear. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “Scully, you hear me? We’re going to be okay.”

“Mulder,” she whispered. “I’m afraid. I��m afraid.”

“I know, I know.” His mind raced as he pulled her against him. “You don’t die though, Scully. The doctor said you are going to be fine.”

“Mulder, I saw him. I saw death.”

“Stop talking like that.”  He could feel his own tears running hot down his face. “You can’t leave like this. It isn’t fair to either of us.”

“Tell me. “Her weak bloody hand cupped his cheek and forced him to look at her. “Tell me, Mulder.”

“I love you,” he whispered and kissed her as if that was enough to save her.

… … .

Something was weakly squeezing Mulder’s hand as he awoke from his nightmare. He jumped awkwardly in the recliner but the weak hand grasp anchored him. He immediately remembered his bedridden partner who was likely still asleep and unconscious. He turned his bewildered gaze onto Scully who, beneath the hospital blankets and machinery, watched him sleepily.

“You were talking in your sleep.” Her voice sounded so small. “I would have woken you but you kept saying, ‘I love you.’ I thought you might have been dreaming about sunflower seeds.”

“No,” he said through his laughter. Tears were streaming down his cheeks again and he didn’t know why. “You’re awake.”

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Of course I am.” She tried to shift in the hospital bed and winced in pain. “Where am I?”

“Still New York.”

Mulder got up, never letting go of her hand. He could not contain himself anymore. He bowed over her and kissed her. Within the kiss, he poured ever possible emotion and feeling he had for her. Scully pulled him closer as much as her injuries would allow. “Wow,” she chuckled. “Talk about the breath of life.”

“I almost lost you,” he whispered. He sat on the edge of the bed. “I should have been there.”

Scully watched him as he tried to get comfortable next to her on the bed and shifted this way and that, left and right, until she stilled him with her other hand. “Just be here now, Mulder.” She looked down to her abdomen where under the blanket hid her hospital gown, the bandage, and her wound. “I imagine you have already given Ritter a piece of your mind.”

He gave a weak smile. “I’m surprised I’m still here.”

She nodded. “You were crying too in your sleep.”

“Just a bad dream. It’s better now.” Mulder did not care anymore and threw caution to the wind. He kissed her again and again. “I’m just glad you are going to be okay.”

Scully smiled weakly and encouraged him to lounge back beside her. He gave her an easy smile and nuzzled her hair. Both of them turned their gaze to the window and the morning light. “Do you want me to close the blinds for you, Scully so you can get some more sleep?”

“No, this is good. This is perfect.”

[thelastspeecher]

Stangie in 8 + 10 in the super hero au? Like, the thing that made Stan always hope it was Angie was the blonde hair poking out of the back of her mask? And Angie is just trying to not freak out over her close friend/crush being in life threatening situations every other day.

8. Oh, my God, I thought you were going to die. Please don’t ever scare me like that again.

10. Wait, my hero’s secret identity is… you? To be honest, I’d always kind of hoped…

Okay, so, I took some liberties with this.  First, I wasn’t sure what superhero AU to do because I have like a million and none of the ones I’ve posted about before seemed to fit your prompt very well.  So I sorta combined some of them, including the ones I haven’t posted about?  I think you can get context from the ficlet, though, so background isn’t needed.  Also, I switched who had which reaction.  It felt more organic that way.  And, something I’ve learned from this: if you send me a two-in-one prompt, it’s gonna be long.  This sucker’s almost 1.5k because I couldn’t shut up.

Send me a ship and a number and I’ll write a ficlet!

               Stan heard a small noise comefrom the couch, where he’d deposited Angie while she was unconscious.  He looked over at her.  She was beginning to stir.  After a few more minutes of acting like shewould wake up, she finally opened her eyes.

               “Hey, Sleeping Beauty,” Stansaid idly, closing his newspaper.  Angieturned her head to look at him in the armchair. She frowned.

               “Stan?”

               “Yeah,” Stan confirmed.  Angie’s gaze fell upon a small pile of foldedclothes on the chair next to Stan.

               “Why…do ya have some of myclothes?”

               “I told Fiddlesticks that youfell in some mud and needed a change of clothes, so he brought ‘em over.  Didn’t question it at all.  How often do you fall in mud?”

               “Change of clothes,” Angiemumbled to herself.  She turned her headagain to stare up at the ceiling, clearly thinking.  “Why am I on yer couch?”

               “I mean, I wasn’t just gonnadrop you on the floor, and if I put you in my bed, you’d have questions.  If I put you in Ford’s bed, you’d have evenmore questions.  Figured the couch wasthe best place.”

               “Hmm.”

               “Man, Fiddlesticks wasn’t jokingwhen he said you take forever to act like a human being after waking up,” Stansaid.  Angie let out a small, pinchedgasp and sat up abruptly, clutching the blanket to her chest.  She looked at Stan, her face pale.  “Finally figured out why you needed clothes?”  Angie nodded jerkily.  “Yeah, you can’t exactly walk back home inheroing duds.”  Angie closed her eyestightly.

               “Stan…”  She took a breath.  “Why- how- what happened?”

               “You got knocked out.  I tried to find that hero you run with, whichI’m now realizing is probably your roommate, but couldn’t get a hold of them.”  Stan looked down at his hands.  “I, uh, knew you needed to be patched up, youwere looking pretty rough.  But hospitalsare a no-go when you’re wearing a mask, and like I said, I couldn’t find yoursidekick.”

               “We’re partners in fightin’crime.  Neither of us is the sidekick.”

               “Whatever you say,” Stan saidwith a shrug.  “Anyways, I figured- Ifigured, better someone you know to take off your mask than some stranger.  And I did have to take off your mask.  You got a pretty nasty gash on your leftcheek.”  Angie’s hand went to her cheek,which had a large bandage on it.  Shefrowned at Stan.

               “How did ya know it was me?”

               “I didn’t know Jetstream wasAngie McGucket before taking off your mask, if that’s what you’re asking.”

               “But you just said that you knewyou wouldn’t be a stranger to me.”

               “Yeah, well…you’re not the onlyperson in the room with a…”  Stan tappedhis face, indicating where his red domino mask went.  Angie dropped the blanket in shock and staredat him.

               “Good Lord.”

               “Yeah.  It’s me, the superhero with the lamestcodename ever, Flamethrower.”

               “How did I not know?” Angiegroaned.  “Ugh, it’s so obvious, now Ithink ‘bout it.”

               “Eh.  I somehow didn’t know you wereJetstream.  Even though I could see yourhair peeking out from behind your mask every now and then.”

               “Sometimes I’m in a hurry.  And it ain’t a mask.  It’s a cowl.”

               “Same difference.”

               “No, it-”  Angie froze. “You- you didn’t tell Fiddleford, did ya?”

               “No.  I told you when you woke up, he just thinksyou were visiting me and fell outside.  Imean, Ford already knows, I didn’t wanna let anyone else find out about yoursecret identity.”

               “Ford knows?”

               “He helped me patch you up.  Man, was he pissed when I brought anunconscious, injured superhero into the house.”

               “Yeah,” Angie said quietly.  She ducked her head.  “Good Lord, yer Flamethrower.”

               “Are you happy or angry aboutit?  I can’t tell.”

               “Happy.”  Angie rubbed her nose.  “Makes things easier.”

               “…How?”

               “Now I don’t have to choosebetween the two of ya.”

               “Choose?  For what?”

               “Flirtin’,” Angie saidboldly.  She grinned crookedly at him.

               “Flirt- oh.”  Stan grinned back at Angie.  “I knew you had a thing for me.”

               “You knew nothin’.”

               “If that’s what you wanna think,I won’t stop you,” Stan said, still grinning. Angie shook her head, hiding a smile. “Man, if I knew you were gonna confess your love for me, I woulda takenJetstream to my house sooner.”

               “I didn’t ‘confess my love’,”Angie scoffed.

               “Pretty damn close.”

               “Pfft.”  Angie rolled her eyes.  She swung her legs to hang over the couch andgasped in pain.  Her face paledagain.  Stan started to get up from hischair.  Angie shook her head at him.  “I’m fine.” She winced visibly and hunched over, breathing rapidly andshallowly.  Dread filled Stan’schest.  He moved over to her.  

               “Hey,” Stan said quietly.  “What’s-” Angie shook her head again.  

               “Just- m’ healin’ factor ain’tkicked in yet.  The movement- must’vejostled some bruised bones or somethin’,” she said in a tight voice.  

               “You have a healing factor?”

               “A minor one.  It’s nothin’ special.  Ya can’t see my flesh stitch itself togetherlike with some folk.  But-”  She paused to wince in pain.  “I’ll be able to walk home to recuperatesoon.”

               “You’re not walking anywhere.”

               “I’ll be fine.”

               “I’ve got a car.  I’ll take you to your place.”

               “Okay.”  

               She never gives in that fast. Stan’s dread grew heavier.  She must really be hurt.  

               “What- what happened, in thefight?” Angie asked quietly.  Stanscratched the back of his neck.

               “I mean, from what I could see,up until you got knocked out, you were just getting the normal bumps andbruises.”

               “The ones that heal overnight,”Angie said with a nod.

               “If you’ve got a healing factor,yeah, they would.  But, uh, while youwere flying, the baddie swung for you and bonked you on the head.  I didn’t realize what had happened until Iheard you hit the ground.”  Angie movedslightly and let out a small whimper.  “Okay,we are getting really close tohospital territory here,” Stan said nervously. “I’m good at patching people up on the outside.  And that’s what I did with you.  But if you’ve got internal bleeding or brokenribs or a concussion-”  Stan froze.  

               She’s confused and can’t remember what happened recently.  What if it’s not from taking a while to wakeup?  Stan jumped up and raced to thekitchen.  He rummaged through somedrawers, searching for a flashlight.

               “Stan?” Angie said weakly.

               “I’m coming,” Stan calledback.  He ran back into the livingroom.  “Shoulda done this right away.”

               “What-”

               “I gotta check for a concussion.”  Stan shone the light in Angie’s eyes.  Her pupils contracted.  He let out a sigh of relief.  “Okay. All good on that front.”

               “Forgot how dangerous thiscareer can be,” Angie mumbled.  

               “I’m surprised you’re not morebeat up,” Stan said.  “You’re a twiggything like Fiddlesticks.  You should’vecrumpled like a popsicle stick house.”

               “‘m tougher ‘n I look.”

               “Yeah, but…I’ve seen you inaction.  You’re not careful.  Pretty sure every fight I’ve seen you in,your sidekick reminds you to think before jumping in.  And you ignore them.”

               “Like yer one to talk.”

               “I’ve got cushioning,” Stansaid, gesturing at his body.  “And I still get more bruises than I canexplain to concerned neighbors.”  Angierolled her eyes.

               “This is why I didn’t tellFidds.  He’d give me the same spiel.  But it’s worse from you, ya big hypocrite.”

               “Hey, normally I encourage hotheaded behavior.  You can ask Ford.  But- shit, Angie, this- this is really bad.”

               “I’m fast.  I don’t usually get hurt this much.”

               “‘Usually’,” Stan repeated.  Angie sighed.

               “Can’t we go back to goofin’ ‘round?  I didn’t even get to flirt on ya yet.”

               “After you take a shower andanother nap.”

               “Lord, ya sound like Fidds.”

               “Don’t insult me like that.”  Stan watched her, concerned.  “Can you get up on your own?”

               “Yes.  I’m not an invalid.”  Angie began to stand up, but cried out andfell back to the couch.

               “Okay, I’m taking you to the ER.”

               “No…”

               “You- We’ll just cut off yourcostume and cover you with a robe or something.”

               “Do ya have any clue how muchthis costume cost?” Angie asked.  “I’ll just-let me take another nap.  I heal fasterwhen I sleep.”

               “…Fine.”

               “And call my roommate.  They’re prob’ly worried sick ‘bout me.”

               “Got it.  On one condition.”

               “What?”

               “Don’t get hurt like this again.”

               “You know full well I can’tpromise that,” Angie said softly.  Shelaid back down on the couch.  “But…in thefuture, I’ll try to fall close enough to ya that you can catch me.  The news folks can snatch a Superman-LoisLane-style photo of us.”  Stan coveredher with the blanket.

               “Deal.”

[diaryofasmallghost-blog]

Background

OK so quick update: Landed a cool job on a TV show that was out of town for a week. It was amazing and I made some great connections, but I also got into a car accident on the way there (my dumbass fault) and can’t afford my deductible to fix my car. At least it is just cosmetic, but I feel like such a ghetto bitch driving around with a jacked up car. Between that job and another random gig I did for the marketing company I freelance for I have at least enough $ for my bills the next month, but I’m still trying to get more work so I can contribute to rent and fix my car and other things. 

Now, a little background on what I went through in the last year and a half for some perspective:

I was living a pretty good life in Southern CA. I had a dog (still have her), lived in a house with cool roommate, was going to film school, working full time at a job I didn’t really like but wasn’t terrible. Also did some freelance stuff for a marketing company. I had dealt with depression before but never got any sort of treatment and was feeling pretty good at this time. My mom has been sick for a long time and had gotten to the point where I felt like I should move back home to help with her and the house and to be able to spend time with my mom and family. Both my younger sister and dad told me that she wasn’t doing well and they thought I should move back which I really took to heart (my dad apparently doesn’t remember this). Anyways, I quit my job and moved home. I figured out how to enroll in school over there quickly because I really wanted to stick with that. So I ended up having to get a loan for out of state tuition. I knew I wanted to move back to Southern CA at some point and was trying not to lose my CA residency while I was out of town, so I avoided getting a job over there but luckily I had enough work with the marketing company that works with movie studios to pay my bills while I was there. I was actually making a LOT of money and getting everyone I liked in school cool jobs too. 

The situation at my house was very tense. My mom has either very severe Parkinsons disease or Multiple System Atrophy depending on what doctor you ask, apparently “there’s no way to know for sure until autopsy”. The main difference is people with MSA survive 10 years tops. She’s had a brain surgery that just made her condition worse. At this point, she couldn’t speak clear enough for anyone to understand her and couldn’t walk among other serious problems. So I would try to keep the house clean, help with any errands, keep my mom company and be patient trying to understand her and have conversations with her. She actually cried and said that I was the only one who listened to her once. I understand it can be really frustrating to try to understand her at all and it is easier to just walk away, but I also know how it must be a million times more frustrating to my mom to not be able to communicate. 

My dad was having a really hard time with my mom being sick as well and not dealing with it well. He’s also had his health issues (brain tumor and 2 brains surgeries, not cancerous but in a dangerous spot). He retired to be there and take care of my mom. Now my dad is an amazing person and a great father, incredibly smart and funny and just all around awesome. But he was very frustrated and angry with the whole situation,understandably. He would snap at me, my mom, and sister, go around yelling and cussing at the top of his lungs, and was just generally very unpleasant to be around. It was to the point where sometimes I’d go sleep in my car for a few days at a time to avoid being around him. 

So anyways, after a few month of living there I guess the stress really got to me and triggered something dormant in my brain (says my psychiatrist). I remember it starting with me reading some books like the secret and think and grow rich by Napoleon Hill. It was about the law of attraction and thinking positive thoughts. So I tried to control every single thought I had and make them all positive. I started looking at what successful people had in common and put those things into practice as well. These were things like exercising, drinking water constantly, eating healthy,waking up early, volunteering for charities. I for some reason decided to re-launch a clothing line that I had had that went out of business and started working on a new business plan. Then suddenly I was having trouble sleeping. I tried everything including medication but no matter what I just could not sleep. As the sleepless days went on, I started to have constant racing thoughts. At first I thought I was just excited about the business and I had so many ideas, I started carrying a notebook and constantly writing my ideas. I would lay down every night trying to sleep, but have to jot something down every couple of minutes and never get any sleep. But I felt great!! I was “healthier” than ever in my mind. I had so much energy despite not sleeping for days. I cleaned and organized EVERYTHING. I went out to eat at places by myself and sat at the bar and made friends with whoever was sitting next to me (normally I’m pretty shy) and they would even pay for my meals sometimes. I felt super confident, which is something I’ve always struggled with. I was incredibly happy, I thought “is this what it’s like to not be depressed?” Then the constant racing thoughts became more and more delusional. I got really into the Illuminati and wanting to join them because I thought they were the most successful people. I also did a lot of research on how to win the lottery and thought the two were connected. I thought that my dad was in the illuminati because I saw him as very successful. I thought that in order to join the Illuminati, you had to know someone from the illuminati and that they would give you ���tests” to pass, and if you pass them all then you’re in. I also thought it was VERY secret and that you weren’t supposed to know you were being tested or talk about it to ANYONE or else they would kill you or trick you into killing yourself. This is probably why no one noticed my mental illness for a little while, I was keeping all my crazy thoughts secret. Although I’m sure they noticed my weird behavior. So I thought that every stranger I saw was secretly a spy for the Illuminati and that I was constantly being watched and talked about, I thought my house and car were bugged and they were always listening. I had so many delusions I can’t even keep track of them all or list them all. I was completely detached from reality, had no idea what was real and what was in my mind. I remember thinking something was wrong with me because I didn’t know what was real but I didn’t know what. I thought maybe it was that my family and I were secretly vampires and my mom was sick from not drinking enough blood or getting enough sleep, because vampires don't NEED sleep but they're healthier if they do sleep ( I didn't sleep for 5 days straight). I sat my parents down and talked to them saying something was wrong with me, are we vampires, was I born a boy, did I have multiple personality disorder, are my thoughts my thoughts or am I actually hearing voices speaking to me, etc. They thought I was on drugs and I admitted I smoked weed to try to calm me down but this wasn’t like being high from weed, I smoked secretly for a year or so and could tell this wasn't from weed. Weed just made me sleepy and I just wanted some sleep. But anyways my dad is very against drugs and thought oh she’s just high and told me to go to sleep and I’d feel better in the morning. So in my mind, I took it as if he didn’t want to admit my illuminati theory was true and it must be real. I continued to have delusions for awhile in secret. I couldn’t leave the house unless I was wearing green to keep me safe from someone shooting me. I was trying to pass all these “tests” I made up in my mind. I texted my boss from the marketing company some very crazy stuff during this time as well. 

One day, I went to get lunch with my dad at my favorite pizza place. I became frustrated with trying to pass these tests and out of nowhere I just slammed my phone on the ground as hard as I could to prove I don’t care about money or material things. I threw my drink across the restaurant and walked into the kitchen, took off my shirt, and asked the worker if he thought I was crazy. I think I was really desperately reaching out for help in a way. The confused employee said “No, why would I think that?” and then my dad yelled at me to put my shirt on and dragged me out of there. He was yelling at me in the car and calling me stupid, asking if I realized what I had done. I was very confused and just answered “No??” I thought maybe I failed the test and now he had to kill me or something. He brought me to a psychiatrists office and I thought I was on the set of the Ellen show. I was hallucinating that all of the stuff on the walls was about me and my clothing line. I wandered around looking for the hair and makeup department until they told me to sit and wait for my private jet to take me to the Ellen show. They ended up telling my dad to take me to the hospital to make sure nothing was physically wrong with me. I still thought I was going through tests and that the hospital staff was in on it. They asked me to give a urine sample. One of the things going on in my head at the time was paying attention to signs, literal and figuratively, so I placed huge significance on any signs I saw. Well there was a sign in the bathroom that said something about throwing away the urine cups when you’re done in the red bin, so I thought I was supposed to pee in the cup and put it in the red bin. So I opened the door and theres like 4 nurses and my dad waiting for my urine sample. They asked for it and I told them I threw it in the red bin. So they made me do it again, and again I put it in the red bin. Then they got really mad at me and grabbed me and bent my wrist back really hard and dragged me to a room. I was laughing thinking it was ridiculous and asking why they were hurting me. Next they gave me a  shot in my leg of Ativan and I don’t remember anything after that until I woke up in a mental institution. I still had no clue what was going on or where I was. I thought that I was in Purgatory and had to figure out what I did wrong to get there and how to leave. In reality I could have left at any time by simply walking out the door as it was a voluntary place, I guess I agreed to go after all the drugs they gave me at the hospital. I did convince my dad to come get me after a few days even though looking back I shouldn’t have been able to leave that place yet. So anyways, thats how I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder. At first I was still confused and didn’t believe my diagnosis, but I was seeing a therapist and a psychiatrist once a week and through some trial and error got on proper medication. I was still unstable for a couple of months and even had a suicide attempt and another incident that ended with me getting a 5150. That means that police officers decided I was a danger to myself or others and took me in the back of a squad car to a hospital where I was placed on an involuntary 3 day hold. I’ll probably write more about what happened but this is getting too long.

My parents ended up selling their house and going to stay in their other house for 6 months that was in another far away state shortly after all of this. So I decided to take that opportunity and move back to Southern CA (wasn’t easy!). I’ve now been here for a year and 2 weeks and haven’t really had any other mental issues besides some minor depression. I pretty much think about everything that happened to me every day though. I almost feel traumatized by it, but at the same time I just find it extremely fascinating. I’m kind of working on making a documentary about bipolar disorder right now too, which is cool because I’ve been meeting other people who have bipolar disorder and interviewing them about their experiences which are similar to mine. I would really like to be an advocate and help end the negative stigma surrounding mental illness. I want to help people who are going through what I went through. 

[gyromitra-esculenta]

A disclaimer: I find the idea of ‘second gender’ quite… interesting. On the other hand, the way it’s most commonly treated makes me quite uncomfortable because it takes the agency – the consent – away from the characters in a very underhanded way and tries to justify it with a biological nature, which is a big warning sign for me personally (and this is about me – this is just not my thing in general – and I’m not condemning anyone who likes it, there is no talking about sexual fantasies as wrong or right as long as they stay exactly that). While the consent/agency thing can be fun to explore, the setting makes it often a foregone notion. As I’m a fickle thing thrumming with a lot of ideas, this is me trying to get rid of this one, putting it on the shelf to maybe use somewhere else, some other time, to focus on other things I should be writing (like finishing the next funny chapter of red eyes, putting together the ending to the old soldiers crack or crack sidestory of how they got together which is just hcs). This all to say there’s some main idea here and some other things going in the background. Oh, and I write like shit in English. Also, I’m not really tagging it here since this is a controversial theme - abo and alluded to mpreg.

 Sands of Remembrance

 It was really ironic if he thought more about it. Here he was, twenty-eight years old, with almost thirty years of his life missing – just gone and nowhere to be found – living a life he was not ready for, chasing ghosts he did not recognize, looking for answers to the questions he was not able to formulate.

Escaping. Always escaping from something, even if it weighed heavily on his conscience, but he was only twenty-eight years old, he was not prepared for the responsibilities of this kind – and he was not fucking prepared to fucking die right now, for fuck’s sake!

“Where the hell are you!?” Jack, cowering behind the broken down bus on the pier, growled into the receiver. “If you’re using me as bait I’m going to ventilate you a new one, you fucking…” There it was, the explosion, the otherworldly screech of the metal tearing, and a familiar roar of whatever the fuck those shotguns of his were. He sneered, counting down the shots and raising with his rifle hoisted up as the final one rung out silencing the last man screaming. The fucker in question was standing relaxed, with weapons dissolving in the wisps of black smoke, the burning barge behind him slowly sinking into the water covered with a rainbow slick of the oil spill.

The visor gave no indication of any other targets and Jack, slinging the rifle on his arm, cut through the blown out hole in the hull of the bus – what was a wrecked bus doing on a fucking pier was a mystery in the first place – and crossed the distance separating him from the mercenary while trying not to step too deep into the gore strewn around, because those fucking guns packed an unnatural punch.

“Do that again and I’ll make sure you’re going to breathe through a tube,” Jack growled, grabbing the bandolier in his fist to stress the point. “Unlike you, I have someone to come back to.”

Reaper chuckled, moving gray bangs out of his face with a claw, and, shit, Jack swore internally, he lost another rubber band and did not notice – which unnerved him even more considering how inconsequential it was in the whole situation. He was fucking royally pissed at the other mercenary. Their working relationship was tenuous – had its ups and downs – and there were some allowances he was willing to make, but this, this was too fucking much.

“Your copy of the mainframe,” Reaper put the data stick in the pocket of the varsity jacket Jack wore over the nano-padding, the other hand brushing the small of his back. “You make for a good distraction, Soldier.”

“This fucking shit ain’t funny!” Jack shoved him back with a snarl. “Angel, two hours to RV, pick me up.”

“Do you have it?” Reaper asked observing the retreating back of the vigilante.

“Only the new frequency, they’ve changed it.”

“Clever. Wouldn’t expect nothing less.”

“Gabe, why don’t you just fucking follow him,” Sombra murmured, “or just put a damn tracker on him?”

“That would spook him. How long till you crack it?”

“If I really get on it, two, three hours tops.”

“Get on it then.”

*

“I don’t think it’s a good idea to keep this up,” Angela started just as they were stepping off the small ship. “You’re very agitated, Jack.”

She was trying to sound reasonable, talk him down, and he knew it. It irritated him more, but not because of her – her intentions were good – but because of himself. Jack combed through his hair absentmindedly.

“No. That’s not it. The fucker’s hard to read. But it works, for now,” he glanced at the evening panorama of Oasis sprawling outside the private landing pad. “Angela, I have to… I need to do this thing.”

“I understand but it still doesn’t make me think it’s a good idea,” she put her hand on his shoulder. “They’re asleep, so change and rest. I’ll have the data looked at by friends.”

“You mean the AI.”

“Maybe.” Jack scoffed at that. Maybe. As far as he came to understand, it was the Oasis thing, to play with things that should be very well left alone, but on the other hand… Athena supposedly had worked with them for years, still did. Which did not make trusting former GOD-AI any easier. “I’m going to shower.”

Angela smiled and nodded gently, leaving him shortly as he stood still observing the lighting up city.

*

“Who the fuck are you?” Jack questioned his reflection – the little ritual of his – because the face that stared back at him was not his. He did not know that person, the lines on the forehead, the crow feet at corners of the eyes, the cut of the mouth, the gray hair, and the scars. This was a stranger he wanted to understand and failed, repeatedly, to do so.

His fingers slowly glided over the smooth now shoulder. It was one of the first things he asked of Angela, to remove it, to destroy the very presence of the scar that could have never belonged to him.

He remembered waking up on the operating table, not being able to even scream, not because of how his throat hurt but because he forgot how to scream, and merely whined and wheezed, with Angela cradling his head and trying to soothe his fear, pain, and confusion.

He remembered the months of rehabilitation and relearning how his body moved and worked, full of disappointments, anxiety, and breakdowns.

But the worst of it was learning that a half of his life just… stopped existing, wiped out, and he was left with Angela describing someone he didn’t understand, recognize nor know, someone she cared for – the person he certainly was not anymore in a world that was not his. This terrified him on a different level, the primal fear crawling along his spine and freezing the blood in his veins.

He had time to read. Too much time actually. Enough to learn that the thing he was was either considered an evolutionary dead end or the future evolution of human race – there was almost no middle ground.

Jack bit his lip and the person in the mirror made the same gesture. He had grown up with the notion that meeting one’s mate was that wonderful fairytale thing – all laughable in the face of the fact who that supposedly was for him – and even more importantly the reality everyone thought it was his own mate that did try to kill him.

Killed him in a sense.

“Stop thinking,” Jack barked at the reflection and slipped on the robe. He slicked back the wet hair – growing them out was a personal act of defiance towards ‘something’. And a way to help conceal his identity, even if Jack Morrison, Strike-Commander of Overwatch, was long dead and buried, and there would be no one looking for him.

He was only twenty-eight years old and felt the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Back in the room, he kneeled down by the bed, resting his head on the mattress, his hand reaching out towards the closer of the two shapes under the covers, but fingers staying just millimeters away. Jack stared at the only reason – two reasons – that kept him going, trying for anything at all, searching for answers to questions that did not make any sense at all.

“You shouldn’t stay like that, you will hurt in the morning,” Angela said from the doorway.

“No,” Jack smiled faintly, “this is okay, just like… this.”

“If you say so,” she huffed a bit. “Athena dealt with the encryption. We will look through it tomorrow.”

He closed his eyes. The answers could mean nothing to him, but his children deserved them.

“Thanks again.”

“Don’t mention it. Sleep well, Jack.”