#that life is furious about the chaos death left on earth but it's good that her sister has someone

[nelkcats]

Ghost Blood

Bad things happen to good people

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

The Justice League and the Justice League Dark had met to discuss something extremely important and confidential: the end of the world.

While this was something they faced on a weekly basis, this time it was different. It had started when the chaos lords found an ancient ritual to gain power, and multiple villains joined them to complete the requirements. Klarion, who had noticed that the spell was going to end the world sooner or later, informed the heroes.

The problem was that the spell was already underway, and it was a process that could not be stopped. They had a couple of hours left before all the known horrors in the universe would take an interest in Earth.

The Justice League Dark was overworked, all of them looked extremely exhausted. Even Deadman offered to help but there was little he could do. As they discussed how to proceed, Constantine grabbed an old spell book he was leafing through and angrily threw it to the ground, catching everyone's attention.

"Bloody hell" the Brit glared at the ground angrily "so fucking close".

His companions asked him what was going on, to which Constantine informed them that there was a solution to their current problem. Some sort of powerful cancelation spell that would solve their problems. He saw their hopeful faces and sighed, he supposed he should break their hopes sooner than later.

"We can't use it" the Hellbazer said wearily.

"Why not?" Wonder Woman looked at him frustrated "if it's the only option, surely we can-"

"We can't use it because one of the ingredients doesn't exist!" Constantine blurted out, furious. He had analyzed all the options and that was the only one that might work, but the essential ingredient was missing.

"The spell requires ghost blood" John commented after calming down, desperation could be heard in his voice "but ghosts don't have blood, their blood is ectoplasm, it's impossible!"

Deadman had suddenly gone silent.

"There would have to be a hybrid or something but clearly they don't exist, it's too unlikely."

The League, which had previously perked up at the possible solution, sank back in disappointment. Zatanna, however, noticed the ghost's reaction and watched him curiously.

"...What if it's possible?" Deadman's voice was heard in the silence. Constantine had made him visible to the others during the investigation but the ghost was not used to the attention.

"It's not, it's not possible to combine life and death, the balance would have been broken one way or another" Constantine denied.

"John, what if it's possible?" Deadman repeated "what if a hybrid exists?"

What if the hybrid is the balance?

"Are you saying what I think you're saying?" Constantine observed his friend. Ghost blood was a myth, mentioned in many books but never used.

"Don't get too excited" the ghost warned "there is a hybrid with that kind of blood but he's not-, he doesn't trust humans anymore, for a very good reason."

"However, he does exist" Wonder Woman said in disbelief "can you tell us more?"

Deadman looked around at the nearly destroyed dimension and begged the Ancients for forgiveness for what he was about to do.

"He was born by the Realms and for the Realms, he's a good boy" Deadman sighed, revealing the secret he was never supposed to mention "but as you well know, bad things happen to good people."

The ghost thought of the communique that had reached all the ghosts. On how the Ancients had taken in a child, how they had demanded that he needed to be left alone.

"It's not my place to say what happened" and he didn't have many details either, though gossip traveled fast "but he doesn't trust anyone beyond his guardians, he hates adults and he's scared of needles and other medical instruments, I don't think he'll be much help."

"We have to try, there's not much time left" Batman frowned. Something inside him stirred at the mention of an injured child "Can you tell us where he is?"

"The Infinite Realms" Constantine replied instantly, lighting a cigarette, his hands were shaking "But who are his guardians?"

"The Ancients" Deadman replied "and if you want their help, you really must come up with a plan."

It was obvious that only the Justice League Dark had understood the implications of all this, they were pale and looked scared. Even Dr. Fate and Marvel looked like the end of the world had been confirmed.

"I can take you there" the ghost said, nostalgic at the thought of visiting the dimension "time doesn't work the same there, so you won't spend much time even if it takes weeks to get close, but you can't all go, you'll scare him off"

"We'll go" Captain Marvel spoke up, overcoming his fear "if it's the only option, we'll go."

Little did they know that from the Infinite Realms the Master of Time was watching them with a raised eyebrow. The Ancient shook his head, knowing he should prepare for visitors before heading to the couch next to his screens. Danny was reclining there, sipping hot chocolate and bundled up in one of his cloaks.

The halfa greeted him looking relaxed but Clockwork wouldn't be fooled by that (he could still see the boy, his boy, with his chest wounded, crying for help), he reached over to stroke his protégé's hair affectionately, thinking of ways to get rid of his visitors. While Danny was likely to want to help, he couldn't care less about what happened to that dimension.

[plainlo-inthemorning]

A little written-in-the-middle-of-the-night Loki fic snippet that just grew another leg. TVA Loki + Lokane. Rating T.

(First part is here)

Shine a Light, part II

The tempad feels hot and slippery in his palm as he stalks down the hallway, quickly putting distance between himself and the hunter he left unconscious amidst overturned chairs and tables in the canteen.

The mess had already been there, leftovers from workers rushing panicked to man their stations. He had simply added one more touch.

Tiny droplets of sweat bead his brow and blood has started seeping though the tear in his crumbled shirt.

The fabric is clinging wetly to his bicep, but in the mayhem unfolding around him, nobody gives him a second glance.

For the first time, he is thankful at least to be wearing the anonymous uniform dictated by the oppressors.

He reaches the kill me kind of room again and shuts the door behind him.

You were meant to cause suffering and death.

You’re a cosmic mistake.

You were meant to die at the hands of the mad titan.

Lies.

All lies.

Still projected on the wall is the paused image of a lost memory of his unfulfilled fate.

He sees himself, Thor and her on the barren planet with the black soil. The man he never became is lying on the ground, Thor cradling him.

She watches them both in shock.

It resonates in his bones. He has to go there.

He has to reach his brother at this precise, excruciatingly rare moment of heroism. His act of heroism.

Before the scheming and deceit poison their bond once more in an endless loop of disappointment.

In this moment, all is forgiven. Thor will listen and help. A different path will branch.

And he has to go to her.

It is ludicrous, this riddle, yet the truth of it presses hard on his chest.

On the grainy roll of film, he saved her life and her eyes bore into his with such intensity, his acute need still reverberates like an echo between the walls of the kill me kind of room.

The smell of lilacs lingers.

What will happen when he faces his own self on the timeline, he can’t imagine. Also, he gives it little thought at this late stage with universal logic already suspended as it is. Hopefully he can reason with the man he was meant to be.

He has had quite enough of being his own past, present and future selves’ worst enemy.

And so he pushes the buttons on the tempad.

//

Something is very wrong.

The sky is too blue, the distant sound of waves lapping calmly at a shore is misplaced.

He has emerged from the door onto a quiet gravel road lined with tall grass and low pines. A single, white wooden house stands to his left, surrounded by a lawn dotted with wildflowers. The sun is warm on his back.

This is Midgard, he is sure of it.

How could he shoot past his destination so spectacularly?

He is about to scroll down the list of numbers and names on the tiny screen of the tempad when he notices a man approaching. Old, walking leisurely with a round, short-legged dog much the same white color as the mortal’s own wispy hair.

The latter starts a little when he spots Loki.

And then he does the most unexpected thing and speaks his name.

Loki’s name.

He almost drops the tempad (no! Not again) and the old one grins good-naturedly. “Hold on to your fancy phone there. Far away, were we?”

Loki only just about stops himself from shaking the man by his shoulders. His fists clench uncontrollably.

“What year is this?! How do you know my name?”

His voice sounds shrill, feverish, and unsurprisingly the eyes in the lined face before him go wide with puzzlement and … something else.

“Loki, what on Earth? Are you quite alright?”

Shock washing over him, Loki staggers back. H-how?

But the man is closing the gap between them, oozing concern. “Have you - are you drunk?” he asks incredulously.

He reaches out.

What is happening?

Loki shies away from the touch, his mind spinning.

Forcibly gathering his composure, he straightens and wills his words to come out steady. “No, I’m okay. Apologies. A bad joke”.

He smiles reassuringly. It takes more effort than parting an ocean.

The dog is sniffing insistently at his ankles.

The man looks him over with suspicion but the worry is subsiding. “Okay, then… no harm, no foul. You know, sometimes these peculiar ‘jokes’ of yours can make a neighbor all kinds of slightly worried”.

Neighbor?

“Most understandably, won’t happen again. Sorry to have bothered you”. Loki cuts him off smoothly. “Have a nice day”. He nods and turns before hysteria can creep into his voice.

“In case you need it for your punchline, the year is 2016”, the man calls over his shoulder as he shuffles away, pulling the reluctant dog after him.

Loki’s blood runs cold. 2016. Oh, this is so wrong. Three years wrong.

Did he hit another button at the last minute? He had been clutching the tempad so hard the edges cut into his fingers.

He curses his own impatience. Tech savvy indeed.

Holding up the blasted piece of TVA wizardry, he tries to enter a new series of numbers when his name rings out again.

And again, he almost jumps. But this time, his heart stays in his throat.

//

“Loki? What are you doing out here? I’ve been looking all over for you”.

Her voice reaches him from the porch of the white house. She is skipping lightly down the steps, the screen doors left open behind her. Music drifts into the garden from somewhere inside.

She is crossing the lawn. He is no longer breathing.

Her long auburn hair is tied back in a ponytail, and she is wearing a light blue summer dress. Her feet are bare.

Absurdly, he notes that she looks more tanned than the last time he saw her through the visor of the destroyer in the desert. A year and a lifetime ago. To him.

His grip on whatever reality he’s been clinging to since New York is seriously faltering.

She is beaming. He cannot move a muscle.

She comes all the way up to him and without pause wraps her slender arms around his neck. He can feel the warmth of her body through his shirt, smell the perfume of her skin. She smells of … -

“Where did you go, handsome?” She smiles playfully.

“Pepper called earlier to say that she actually got Tony out of the door on time, if you can believe it, so they’ll be here any minute. And her and I agreed that you two hotheads are going to play nice tonight, okay?”

She is teasing him but he hardly understands the words she’s saying. It makes no sense.

And then, before he can begin to form a response, she stands on tiptoes and kisses him and the world falls away.

Reflexively, he puts his arms around her, drawing her close to him. She moans happily. He leans into the kiss, not knowing what he’s doing other than that he never wants to stop.

Her mouth is soft and warm and new and familiar all at the same time, and the way her fingers curl in his hair sends electricity shooting down his spine.

It should be all anguish and tragic confusion, like before in the castle beyond time, but it is not.

It feels more right that anything he can remember since before his fall from the Bifrost, more real and yet more magical than his recent journeys into mystery.

Then it’s over all too soon and she draws away.

His arms are suddenly much too empty and he almost reaches for her again, craving her touch.

For a fleeting heartbeat, his soul had no longer felt torn apart to the point of forgetting he’d ever been whole.

The chaos had crumbled in on itself like a bad dream.

He is surprised he still knows what peace of mind feels like after what has happened to him since arriving at the TVA.

But now she looks at him with alarm in those beautiful brown eyes and he is crudely reminded that he is an intruder in her reality.

What she thought she saw, she clearly no longer recognizes.

It takes him all of three stupidly long seconds to remember that she said his name. That he’s wearing his own face and not a disguise.

That she knew him immediately, just like the old man.

She kissed him.

Too many impossible possibilities and the thunderous sound of his own heartbeat (surely she can hear it too) blur his vision.

He’s only vaguely aware that he is stepping towards her, trying to say something without the faintest idea of what’s going to come out of his mouth.

If it’ll even be words.

Her eyes dart over his clothes, his face.

“Loki, what - Why are you dressed like that? Have you been gone? Is that … blood?”

She retreats further, fear building.

“Jane, I-“

Her name rolls of his tongue with a sweet-tasting intimacy like he has said it a thousand times before.

But he doesn’t get to dwell on this, nor gather his thoughts to say anything else before something abruptly lifts him off the ground and hurls his body across the road.

“How dare you touch her, beast?!”

Immediately as his back connects with the rough gravel, someone is there, a knee pushing him down, fingers closing around his throat. A sharp object presses against his chin.

There is a dangerous, unhinged growl as his attacker breathes hotly in his ear. “You will die for this!”

The man is strong and somehow blocking Loki’s own magic, but he still manages to twist his head -

And looks right up into his own eyes, nearly black with rage.

//

“Speak! What are you??”

The man with a face exactly like his presses the tip of his blade closer to Loki’s left eye. “You will show yourself right now or -“

Gathering his magic tightly around him (focus!), Loki pushes back, hard.

With a surge of energy, their bodies are separated, and the other version of him lands heavily in the middle of the road some meters away.

Both of them are on their feet with the fluid movements of two panthers ready to pounce, the other now in full armor.

He has to leave, right now, even if means leaving her which is a catastrophe that might either kill him or make him try to kill his other self if he stays here another minute.

This timeline is clearly not his own.

It cannot be.

Arm outstretched to ward off his furious twin with a shield of magic, he tries to work the tempad with one hand.

“Well, well, what do we have here?”

A booming voice above their heads.

��You know, when Jane pressed the panic button just now, I thought we had an actual emergency. Not that you were preparing a little dinner show for us, Reindeer Games. Gotta be honest though, this doppelgänger stunt was never my favorite -“

“Stark!”

The variant - for he must be a variant - angrily interrupts the man in the metal suit hovering in the air.

Of course, Loki remembers him all too clearly.

What has it been, less than a week since he threw him, or a version of him, out the window of the glass tower?

“This is not my creation”, the variant hisses with venom dripping from every word. “I caught him assaulting Jane. Kissing her”.

“What?!”

Stark focuses all his attention (and one of his iron fists) on Loki. A metallic humming rises steadily from inside the suit.

“A man on a suicide mission then. Boy, did you smooch the wrong wizard’s baby-mama. He may look all domesticated and cute now, but I assure you he’s still all kinds of crazy. In fact-”.

“Hey!”

“What?”

“I know it’s asking a lot, of you in particular, Stark, but could we possibly save the personal insults till we have dealt with this right here?”

Wait, just wait.

Damn it, he can’t tap in the destination on the tempad without looking at it.

Green smoke is swirling around the hands of his other self. He knows what’s coming.

“This is your last warning, devil! I will not have you hiding behind my face as I -“

“This is my face! I’m you, you fool! Bigger things are at large here and-“ Loki falters, his silver tongue failing once more with rising predictability within what seems a disconcertingly short period of time.

Although he honestly can’t tell anymore.

“Please, take a minute -“

He can’t help but shout, sounding hopelessly desperate.

In another life, he might have felt humiliated, but letting pride dictate his emotions is no longer a luxury he can afford to indulge.

Still, the silence that follows his outburst is not nearly as long as he needs it to be.

The variant stares blankly at him, mouth slightly ajar, but Stark recovers easily, his voice now icy.

“Yeah, dude, that one might have worked better if you’d put on a clean shirt. Time to fess up real quick or we’ll have to-“

Drawing what might become his last breath, Loki looks away and down at the tempad. He presses the button. No more time to double check.

“What the?!”

Both Stark and the variant visibly flinch as the door appears.

He quickly makes for it. “I - I’m sorry. Truly, I am”. He looks to their stunned faces before turning to his exit.

Out of the corner of his eye, he registers the variant move (he has to be a variant). His mouth twists in an ugly snarl and two familiar daggers are appearing by his sides.

Before the door snaps completely shut, Loki sees Jane run up to the man and grab his arm.

“Love, no, don’t!”

He sees the slight bump under her dress that he didn’t notice before.

And then the scene disappears and he’s gone.

Part III

[mightynonagesimus]

15 Minutes (What If I Told You)

ANGST WITH AN UNHAPPY ENDING. DO NOT READ FOR A GOOD TIME. This is a supercorp oneshot I wrote after I hear the title song. Very Angsty, you are warned. Trigger Warning : Angst, mentions of suicidal thoughts, depression, MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH. Obiviously. This is pre-apocalypse.

11:27,

Monday, July 13th

Lena's Loft,

National City.

It was very unnoticeable at first. Solar flares from a nearby galaxy far enough that they didn't think much of it. A few explosions a couple galaxies down hardly warranted the DEO's involvement. Besides, Earth had different things to worry about. The Team had different things to worry about. Probably. Lena wouldn't know anymore, would she? After the Fortress, she had taken extra precautions to block every single one of them out of her life. She didn't need anyone. She just needed to save the world.

And to be honest? Lena was ashamed it took her that long to figure it out. It wasn't like her. The  Prodigy of her generation. The CEO of one of the biggest Tech Corporations in America. The sister of Earth's most infamous criminal mastermind.

If she had just gotten out of bed, checked any of her projects, called her secretary back. But she was too numb, too empty. Lying in bed, unable to move or think. Wishing to die. She couldn't even muster up the energy to lift a hand, it was just... pathetic.

After a week, Jess had had enough. It took Sam flying over from Metropolis to even get Lena out of bed. Sam had no idea about Kara, of course. But it didn't take long for her to march over to Alex's apartment and threaten her friend until the truth spilled. Lena had never seen that furious. Over Lena, of all people.

She didn't deserve Sam.

***

Sam had been pestering her all week. Bringing over food and staying with her every night. Lena felt like an asshole, taking up so much of her time. That was the main reason she returned to L-Corp after a week That was when she found out about the satellite malfunctions. Some radioactive signature was messing with their signals. That was fine, this was a problem Lena could fix, right? Easy.

Wrong. Turns out the signature was something her systems could recognize. Kryptonite. A giant chunky piece of Kryptonite and debris about the size of a small moon. A Krypto-Comet that was hurtling at half the speed of light from deep space, directly towards Earth.

Mondays, right?

Of course, she contacted the DEO immediately. They were horrified. For a Secret Government Agency handling the extraterrestrial, they had some shockingly bad tech. She wasn't really surprised.  Also, they might have been slightly distracted with Leviathan. Lena had spent the next three days cooped up in a lab with Brainiac 5 desperately trying to come up with a way to deflect it or destroy it, or anything really. Usually, an Anti-Kryptonite suit and Supergirl would have taken care of the problem real quick, but considering the size of the comet and the excessive amount of Kryptonite on it, it just wouldn't be possible. There was no time to call for back-up from Argo City either, with the satellites malfunctioning.

The last five days were utter chaos. Naturally, the news hit the public hard. It was pandemonium, but how could you keep a goddamn meteorite impact from them? The skies were already turning purple.

Lena however, was still in her lab. Over the course of three days, a complete whirlwind of people checked in and out of her lab. People she had never met before. People she had never even heard of. Cisco Ramon, Caitlin Snow. A scientist named Raymond Palmer with some very interesting ideas on molecular structure and shrinkage. Felicity Smoak. Alex pulled her aside during lunch to explain about the Multiverse.

What. Even. What.

Okay.

It felt like her brain was exploding, but she was their best chance of saving the planet. She had to pull it together. She can't show any weakness.

Alex called for another excruciating meeting the second day.

"Attention! I have some news." Alex exhaled slowly. "Sara?"

"I'm sorry guys, but it's bad. We were unable to prevent this event from not occurring. It happens rarely, but this can't be prevented by modifying the timeline. It's inevitable. We have to find other ways."

"What if we move your population to our Earth?" Harry? Larry? The guy in red spandex asked.

"More than half out Earth's population have doppelgangers in yours. It will mess with the balance of your universe. We can't move them. How about finding an empty universe?"

"Kara is out looking for one, but every Earth we found was either ruined or full. That's too long a shot, I don't think we'll find one in time."

"Well, theoretically-" Brainy hesitated - "My ancestors had a way of...dealing with planets that disagreed with them. They would shrink them down and have them as trophies."

"We can't shrink the planet, the gravitation of the solar system would collapse and we would fall into the sun." Lena muttered distractedly, fiddling with her pen.

"Let's not do that. Any luck contacting Superman?"

"Radio silence. The radiation is messing with communications."

"We could push it through a wormhole, or a portal, but-"

"The comet will be here before we could begin to build it. What if we transport our people to a different planet?"

"Seven billion people on a different planet without nearly enough food and water?"

"Or maybe into a space station?"

"We have four days. To transport seven billion people. And essential items."

"Yeah, that's not gonna work either."

"Okay, let's keep at it guys." Alex clapped her hands together. "There IS a way, we just don't know it yet."

***

Yeah, there was no other way. The days went by in a whirl. They came up with theory after theory, but it was too late. Their world was going to end. Nothing can stop it.

During the last day, Alex ordered every non-Earth-38 person off the universe. And even though there was some resistance, everyone sombrely agreed it was the best move.

A surprising lot of friendships were made that week. World-ending threats tend to do that, apparently. Lena personally never wanted to experience Nia and Zari Tarazi try to cook a pizza together ever again. They almost blasted the dough halfway across the DEO building and into the miniature Nuclear Reactor.

Lena would never, not in a million years, ever admit it; but she wanted what they had.

She couldn't fathom that comfort, that mutual understanding of trust that Nia shared with Zari. How did they build it? How could they rely on it, when they had been strangers only a week ago? How could you share your secrets, yourself, with someone who could potentially turn against you, someone who could be lying through their teeth like Eve was, someone who might hate you just because of a name that you can't change?

Not that anything could be done now. It was too late.

They were gathered at the DEO training facility off-city to say their final goodbyes, except Lena was at L-Corp. It took her a while to accept it, but this time it was real. There was no hail mary, no high stake final masterplan left in her. She was going to die, along with her planet.

So it was the perfect time to break out her finest bottle of scotch.

The L-Corp building was deadly silent. Any other day, Lena would have enjoyed it. The building was almost never fully empty, with the security team and the journalists and the interns who never sleep. Today it put her on edge.

Because she did this. Lena caused all this, it was Lena's fault. She was the reason-

'Alex.'

The tiny blue screen lit up on her desk, ringing insistently. The tech mogul was almost relieved that something interrupted.

The silence. Interrupted the silence.

Lena brought it to her ear.

"Hello?"

"Lena!? Where the hell are you?" For a second, Lena relished the panic in Alex's voice. Of course, it probably was over the world ending, but she wanted to pretend that it was over Lena. That Alex actually cared about her.

"What do need me to do, Director Danvers?" Her voice was meant to be posh and clipped as always, but it came out slightly more drunk than she wanted it to.

"Wha-Nothing! I just couldn't find you anywhere so I thought I'd check up on you." Aww, Alex. You don't need to pretend, everything is gonna go to shit anyway.

"Is Sam still there?"

"Uh- Yes. Yeah, she's here. Do you want to talk to her?"

"Nooo." Lena considered it. "No, definitely not."

"Lena, are you drunk?"

Lena exhaled loudly. "Why did you call me, Director?"

"Because the universe is ending!" Lena cringed away from the phone. That was too loud for her sleep-deprived brain.

"I don't see your point." She huffed back.

"Goddammit. Look, Kara and I will keep looking for a solution, you don't need to worry, okay? You know she never gives up. Nia and the others-"

"Please just stop." Lena begged.

"I-Stop?" Lena could picture Alex's face. She hated that she did.

"I don't care! About anything, anymore. Just leave me alone. Goodbye, Alex."Sorry I pulled so much shit.

Lena switched it off and chucked it across the room, onto her couch. It bounced over the cushions and fell over.

She was alone, now.

"Hope?"

"Greetings, miss Luthor. What can I do for you today?" Hope was always here. Lena's only constant companion through everything. Even if it did wear the face of her traitor friend.

"You understand that this will be the last day?"

"Yes, miss Luthor-"

"Lena. Call me Lena."

The robot cocked its head to the side. Why did Lena program it so life-like?

"Lena. Would you like for me to call anyone else?"

"No, thank you. How long is it now?"

"Seventeen minutes and three seconds."

Lena cradled her head. It felt like her brain was swimming in the alcohol. At least she won't have to feel this tomorrow.

"Execute terminal orders and shut down, please."

"Executed. Goodbye, Miss Luthor."

The hologram blinked off. Lena swirled the last of the scotch in her glass. It didn't taste nearly as good as she hoped. She set it down in distaste.

God, this was all her doing, wasn't it?

If only Lex could see her now, pushing everyone away, alone and lonely on top of the empire that was built by her psychopathic family. Everything he said that day was true.

And it was all Lena's fault. Because she chose to trust Kara. She chose her new family. She wanted that. She craved that. Even when she knew she could never have it. She's always craved that. This wonderful 'family' she could love with all her heart. They would have been her people, they would love her no matter her last name. They would support her through hell and back. She fucking fantasized about how they would be there for her every birthday, about how she would shower them with love and affection, about game nights and road trips. She didn't give a shit about romantic, platonic, she just wanted someone to be there at the airport when she comes back from month-long expeditions through Europe.

It all seems so naive now. She was still here, on top of an empty building, because of her choices. Because of her stupid, stubborn pride. She must have chosen this, right? This is what she wanted. To be alone. Sixteen minutes from the world ending. She had chosen to be alone, bitter, angry at herself for doing what she had done.

Fuck, no.

But it was too late. Too late to accept her family, too late to enjoy them. Too late to save the world. Too late to apologize.

Too-fucking-late.

Fuuuuuuck, she messed up. What she wouldn't give to go back in time, find her younger self and...eughh. Berate her? Explain? Mug her? Lena had no idea.

This scotch tastes like shit.

Why is time so slow?

Tick.

Tock.

Her life is shit. She would like a refund.

Tick.

The alcohol is really getting to her brain, cause she found that funny.

Toc-

The entire floor rattled when the door flies open behind her. *

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?!" Oh hey, Sam. You did come.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" She crossed her arms, raising one brow at her CFO.

"Lena, no." Sam stomped over and wretched the glass away from Lena.

"Goddammit, leave me alone, Sam!" Why I am so shitty all the time Sam?

"No." She repeated firmly.

"What?"

"No. I should have done this a long time ago when I first got back here. I'm not leaving you alone, I'm not letting you drink yourself to death. I'm not let you wallow in your misery when the world is fucking ending and you still stubbornly refuse to put down your pride. I'm not leaving!"

She walked over to Lena's hidden break room and poured the scotch down the sink.

"But I-"

"No. Listen, you dumbass. You've been through some horrible, messed-up shit. Your brother almost destroyed the world multiple times. Your mother was a narcissistic fucking psychopath. I cannot even begin to understand how you feel most of the time. Having every move scrutinized by the world, feeling like you can't trust anyone."

"I trust you."

Sam paused. "I-What?"

"I trust you, Sam. You may be the only person who I can be myself around right now. And-And I know that isn't fair to you, me having constant breakdowns. I keep you from your life and Ruby and I hate it-"

"Lena!" Sam takes her hand. "You can always tell me about it. Everything. And I won't lie, helping you through your trauma isn't easy, especially since you refuse to meet a therapist. But that doesn't mean you can keep everything to yourself. It means that your pain, it matters to me. It is a piece of you that you have shared with me, and it isn't going to fucking evaporate the second I know about it. You matter. Your trauma matters. To me, and to everyone at the DEO. I want to help you." She inhaled deeply.

"And I can't promise that everything is going to be fine, I don't even know if we'll exist an hour from now, but I can tell you this. You don't deserve all this pain. That doesn't mean you don't have it. You are not responsible for what your family did, and you are not responsible for your mother's death. You don't deserve to die alone and at odds with everyone you love."

"Sam, but I-"

"And I'm sorry, I know Kara and the others messed up. But they love you. They are your family now. And I can't watch you punish yourself over this. Lena, it's time to let go."

Tears lined Lena's eyes. "I can't do it, Sam!"

"You can."

"I can't! I trusted Kara with everything. I shared every piece of me with her. Love and family were supposed to cure me! I made myself completely powerless, I was vulnerable, and she threw it back at my face. I cannot make that mistake again!"

"It's not fucking magic, Lena! Love isn't a cure-all. It doesn't mean everything bad that ever happened disappears! It only means that you aren't alone in your fight. Family and friendship, it  takes work! You have to see them, and they have to see you. And Kara and the others, they love you!"

"If they fucking love me so much, why do they keep hurting me? Why am I the only one who gets lied to?!"

"It not that fucking simple! Everyone there has their own stuff. We're fucking terrified all the time. And now everything we ever feared is happening, and we can't even fucking be together!"

"What, now you're on their side?!" Lena heard the words spill out her head as messily as she felt, drenched in bitterness and insecurity. "Should've known that you would turn on me too."

Regret fills her immediately, but Lena drops Sam's hand like a searing pan.

Fuck.

"How can you think that?" Sam's voice was quiet now. Her eyes, Lena realized, were also filled with tears.

This is it. This is the moment I chase away the last person who's ever cared for me. One last screw over that will be wiped after the comet hits. One more mistake in my endless list.

Sam raised her arms. Lena reflexively leaned back, her heart hammering against her chest. Shit. She knew how this goes. She's seen enough fights between Lillian and Lionel end. She could hear the resonating crack from almost two decades ago. Lionel might have loved Lena, but he wasn't all that kind to Lillian.

You deserve this. You failed. You failed to protect yourself,  failed to protect the universe. You are never going to be enough. You failed both your families, you failed yourself.

Warmth burst around her. Sam wrapped her arms around Lena.

What in the world... why was Sam hugging her?

Shit, this feels nice.

"Sam?"

"There are no sides, Lena. That's the whole point. You are a part of this family, and we will fight like hell to keep it that way." Sam stroked her hair. "We aren't perfect, we are flawed, we hurt each other. But we aren't alone. We love fiercely, and we have each other's back. We take care of our own. And you are one of us. We love you. We are here if you accept us."

Lena sniffled against Sam's shirt. A fierce rush of gratitude rushed through her. Sam has always been her rock, her constant for almost six years now. She's had her back so many times. Her best friend.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Sam." Lena sobbed. "Shit, it's too late. I can't fix everything. I messed up. I messed the whole thing up-"

"Hey. There's still time." Sam drew back and swiped at her eyes. "You can still call Alex. We have... seven minutes left."

Lena nodded, biting her lip.

"Thank you, Sam."

She shakily dialed her phone.

"Alex?"

***

"Hi! Aunt Lena!" A little bundle of joy crawled into Lena's lap and gave her a hug.

Ruby.  She always meant a lot to Lena. Maybe because Lena never really had an aunt while she grew up. Maybe because her hugs were made of pure love; because Ruby is the most wonderful little human Lena ever met. Maybe because there was no tension, no tears involved. Ruby felt like hugging Lena, so she did.

It was the first time Lena cracked a smile in over a year.

"Hello, little monkey. Did you eavesdrop our whole fight?" She mussed her hair.

"Hey! I'm fourteen now. Not so little anymore." She carefully flattened her hair down. "And I know what swear words are, Auntie."

"Do you, now?"

"Yes!" She huffed. "Mom said she's making Mac and Cheese. She said your fridge was full of atrocious rabbit fodder and she hid about seventy percent of your kale." Ruby's voice dropped low and she whispered conspiratorially. "It's behind the eggs, don't tell her said that. Not that we'd be needing it anymore." She glanced sadly at the red skies.

"Are you okay, little monkey?"

"Aunt Lena, is there really no way to destroy the comet?" Ruby asked her.

Lena's heart broke. At that moment, she would've given anything to be back in her lab three weeks ago when they first found the comet. To have found a way out of this catastrophe.

She smiled sadly at Ruby. "I'm sorry, monkey. There's nothing we can do."

How do you tell a child that you failed her, that the entire world was gonna burn? That they were all going to die?

"It's okay, Aunt Lena. I love you." She kissed Lena on the cheek.

The elevator bell dinged and Lena could hear the doors open with a hiss. Her's mouth got just a little dry.

"I'm going to go help mom with the cheese. You should talk to them."

"Wait, Ruby-" she was gone. Great.

Lena exhaled shakily and got to her feet.

Here goes. Oh god. Why did I do this? This is a bad idea, shit. Shit, shit, shit. They still hate me why did I call them, they- Alex.

It was Alex. Suddenly, it wasn't the monsters that she was facing. It was Alex and Kelly and Nia and Brainy. Her family.

Alex stumbled forward first. "Lena, I-" She interrupted herself by crashing into Lena-"I'm so fucking sorry. I should've told you when the whole thing with Reign happened, but then Kara told me that she had to work things out between you and Supergirl, and then I lost my memories for a while-" Lena realized with a jerk that Alex was sobbing against her shoulder.

"-I feel like such an awful friend." Alex's voice cracked.

"Ale-Alex! Hey, it's okay." And for the first time, Lena really meant it. "I'm sorry too. I just felt-"

"Betrayed. I know. I'm sorry." She repeated, stepping away from Lena. She gave Lena a small smile. Smaller, but much like the one she gave Lena the first time they met in Kara's apartment. Tired, but it gives off so much warmth that Lena could feel it. It reminded Lena of all the times they spent together. All the days when they made small explosions in her lab and teamed up for game night.  When Alex took her to self-defense classes and showed her fancy tricks with her guns. She was Lena's best friend. She is.

"Brainy, Nia." God, it felt good to- Lena couldn't even describe it. She missed this. Her friendship with Brainy was one of the few things she treasured most in the world. He was the only one who could ever match her intellect, her best lab partner. Her friend. And to the lonely twelve-year-old genius from the Luthor family, that was everything. And Nia was one of the bravest people Lena knew, unafraid to be herself and face the world. Fighting every day for the greater good. And she was more than that, she was the one who taught Lena that she didn't have to hide who she was. Lena will be a Luthor her entire life. She just had to embrace it. Or as Nia had framed, quite eloquently; 'own it.'

Kelly, and her crazy therapy skills. Lena regretted not spending more time with her. She was such a wonderful person. Kelly was the silent rock of their group, Lena could see that now. She was always there and she knew exactly what to say. In Lena's eyes, she was magical. So determined in supporting her friends through everything. The sweetest, most bad-ass person out of them all.

Shit, Lena was crying now.

"No more little boxes, Lena." Brainy whispered in her ear, and she giggled. Even Lena was surprised by that.

He was right. No more boxes. She has three minutes left to live and she wasn't going to crush herself with the weight of her stupid boxes.

There was still one more person-

"Kara. I'm sorry Lena, she- couldn't make it." Alex squeezed her shoulder. "Barry's Earth- they don't have a Kara. She can live there and not disintegrate. I told her to go with him. I'm sorry, Lena."

Lena's lungs filled with lead.

"Yes, of course." Lena's voice sounded far away even to herself. "She deserves to live there, in peace. I'm sorry, excuse me."

Something akin to panic swelled over her. Anxiety? Sorrow? Feelings were not Lena's strong suit. Panic attacks, unfortunately, she's already dealt with. She backed away from the room, almost knocking Sam over in the process. "Uh- Bathroom."

The door slammed behind her, and Lena splashed her face with cold water.

She would never get to apologize, she would never even get to see Kara again. Her best friend. Her soulmate. And now, she would die without Kara knowing- knowing that-

Because Lena only ever hated herself. She could never,ever hate Kara.

She curled into a ball on the floor, trying to physically hold herself together so she didn't fall apart. She couldn't fall apart, not right now. Her heart was racing and her breathing was short and distressed.

"Lena? Open the door." Alex's voice, carried in through the door.

"I-I'll be right out!" Even Lena knew they won't buy it. She could hear her voice crack with emotion.

"Lena? You don't have to go through this alone, I just told you that." Her voice was soft, and Lena chose to listen.

"I know it's hard. I know you miss her, and I can't imagine what it must feel after everything that happened between you and Kara. It was difficult for me too. I'm leaving her alone, just like everyone else in her life. I'm leaving her and her world is ending again, and we can't do anything about it. I hate it. I broke my promise. She doesn't deserve this pain, and you don't either."

The door creaked open. Suddenly it was Alex surprised by the hug.

"Alex, I'm so sorry."

"Lena." Alex wrapped her arms around the small brunette. "Trust me, she knows. She knows that you love her."

Lena sniffed and pulled back.

"That's just it, Alex." Lena's voice grew softer. "She doesn't know that I'm in love with her."

"You're in love with me?" A small, hopeful voice echoed from the back of the room.

The blonde superhero stepped forward with the sunny smile Lena loved. "Sorry I'm late but, I bought emergency Potstickers." She waved a bag at the rest of them.

"Kara-" The word was out of her mouth before she realized it, but then it was Lena in Kara's arms and nothing else mattered. She buried her head in the Kryptonian's shoulders.

"Hey." Kara tucked a strand of hair behind Lena's mismatched eyes, and Lena fucking melted.  "You know, I've been doing some research." Her voice was low and breathy.

"Oh yeah?" Lena's eyes shined as bright as the red skies outside. Kara thought she could see the whole galaxy in her them.

"I think I finally know what Quantum Entanglement means." She rested her forehead against Lena's and smiled softly.

Lena's heart was racing. She reached up and caught Kara's lips in hers.

"I love you too, Lena."

***

"System error. Terminal order simulation failed."

Lena gasped and fell to her knees.

"Redirect operations to internal systems." She gasped, tears streaming down her face.

Just a few more, a few more minutes. Please. I need to hold her. I need to be held by her.

"Simulation failed."

"No! No, no, no. Please. Try again." Lena fumbled with her screen.

"Simulation failed."

"TRY AGAIN, GODDAMMIT." Lena cried, her voice full of raw emotion.

"Simulation failed. Shutting down. Thirty seconds left in final countdown."

"NO! I SAID FUCKING TRY AGAIN!"

"Twenty-five seconds."

The air was getting hotter. She could already see the streaks of green and red raining down from above outside Kara's window.

"Nooo." She sobbed. "Please, I need to see them. I need to hold her. Please." She crumpled on the floor, holding Kara's green hoodie in her hand. The last piece of her Lena had. The worst part is, Kara wasn't dead. Just lost forever, to Lena.

"Ten seconds."

"Please."

"Five seconds."

"I don't want to be alone." She whispered.

.

.

.

Here's my twitter, go yell at me. https://twitter.com/Keroessa24

[words-writ-in-starlight]

readera

replied to your

post

:

Sabbatical

This was ….. Amazing! Can we have more? * holds up bowl ala Oliver Twist

Sephie opens her eyes and the woman is still standing over her, but the asphalt is...cold.  And dry.  It’s dark, no rosy dawn colors fingerpainted across the sky, and the woman is dressed all in white--different white, not, thick swathes of cloth like burial shrouds draping down her arms and falling to puddle at her feet like water.  Sephie thinks something might be on fire to provide enough light to see, but the light is pale and wan rather than being warm and golden.  The woman is leaning on her scythe, and her eyes glint like the blade when the light catches them, metallic and sharpened to a cutting edge.

“You’re awake,” the woman says without looking down, and it doesn’t sound like she’s asking.

Sephie sits up and it’s easy, blissfully easy, no pain or tacky blood sticking to her skin.  She’s wearing something unfamiliar, a plain dress in the same white liquid cloth that the woman is wrapped in, leaving her arms bare, and when she presses a hand against the floor, she thinks it’s stone.  Marble, maybe, with only a trace of gloss, stretching away in all directions until it meets the walls, where it seems to merge seamlessly into the vertical climb to the cave-like ceiling, dripping with stalactites.  The throne at the far side of the room is plain, barely more than a chair with a table beside it, both apparently sculpted wholly out of the floor.  

“I’m not, though,” Sephie says, and it’s only by speaking that she realizes her voice works.  It’s strong and firm and not at all lifeless, and Sephie closes her mouth, gathers her will to stand.

“You know,” the woman muses as Sephie considers the matter.  The stone is very hard--if she tries to stand and falls, she might hurt herself.  Or, of course, she might not.  She doesn’t know if it’s currently possible to hurt herself.  “I expected a great many things when I went on my sabbatical, but you were not among them.”

“I’m sorry,” Sephie says as she pulls her legs beneath her and nudges the dress out of the way.  “I think.”

The woman looks down at her at last, startled, almost distressed, and says, “Oh, no, I didn’t mean that.  My sister may have some adjusting to do, but you wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t quite attached.”

“Your sister,” Sephie repeats as she rises cautiously to her feet.  She doesn’t know if it’s that her mind still expects her body to be broken or simply that it’s been a very long day already, but she wavers dangerously, and the woman puts out a hand that Sephie catches hold of at once.  The hand is long-fingered and delicately calloused and pale--unhealthily pale, deathly pale, Sephie had always thought, and she bites back a titter now.  Deathly pale!  The hand is also strong, and the arm attached to it equally so, and the smile on the woman’s face is warm enough to make up for the cold stone still chilling Sephie’s bare feet.  “I’ve met your sister.”

“Yes,” the woman says.  “We fought in your coffee shop.  Or, rather, my sister came to yell at me in your coffee shop.  She has some strong opinions about my sabbatical.”

Sephie nods, slowly, and realizes that she’s still clutching awkwardly at the woman’s free hand.  The long, strong fingers hold her own in a grip as firm as stone, though, and so instead of trying to let go, she holds on tightly and asks the obvious question.

“Am I dead, then?”

“That’s correct, Persephone,” the woman says, apparently delighted.

“And this place is?”

“The audience chamber.”

Sephie nods again, even more slowly than before, and looks up at the woman.  It was less noticeable with the counter between them, but the woman is a full head taller than she is, her masses of white curls storming down her back like a crashing wave.  The scythe does not reflect light, for all its perfect polished shine, and the letters on it are in a language Sephie has never seen and yet seems to be a textual equivalent of a long-forgotten tune.  She can read them anyway, for all that they try to skitter from under her eye, and thinks of a Latin phrase she heard once.

“And...”  Sephie takes a deep breath with lungs that do not breath and listens for her heart that does not beat and thinks to herself--with neurons that do not fire--that she is hardly even surprised.  “And who are you?”

The woman smiles at her, and gives a small twist of their hands so that the grip is less awkward, and raises the knuckles of Sephie’s hand to her lips.  The touch is electric--quite literally.  It kicks through Sephie’s chest like the time she let a finger rest on the prong of a plug as she touched it to the outlet, her vision flaring brightly for a moment until the woman’s lips leave her skin.  

“I have many names,” the woman says as she lowers their hands again.  “Many of them forgotten, some of them remembered.  You can call me Death.”

[hopeaterart]

Mario Odyssey: Paper Kingdom AU

Or: The AU where I adapt Paper Mario characters into a kingdom in Mario Odyssey because while my brain is small, it has a big mind that keeps thinking up new ideas. This tackles the kingdom’s backstory, it’s travel brochure, why Mario ends up going there, and the frankly ridiculous political context he stumbles into. I might tackle the characters in another post.

Backstory

A long time ago, a creature made out of shadows and thin as paper rose out of an island. Calling itself- or herself- the Shadow Queen, the malevolent spirit could wield the power of seven stars, and her heart was pitch-black and full of chaotic hatred. She reigned over the land with an iron fist, terrified painted shadows at her command.

Until one day, a small faction of her own people turned against, led by four heroes and eight mages. They studied her magic, and turned it against her, folding themselves like paper get close to her and stealing her stars to destroy her body, the eight mages using their magic to separate her heart from her spirit

Enraged, her spirit lashed out, cursing the four heroes into suffering the same fate as her, reduced to spirits enclosed in coffins just as she unleashed the full power of her heart. But before she could turn her wrath on the other rebels, the eight mages sacrificed themselves, turning their souls into pure energy and setting it on the Shadow Queen’s heart, ripping it out and sending both the heart and the soul of the Shadow Queen into a deep sleep.

The only thing left was a prophecy- a warning. If a cruel monster and a gentle maiden marry each other in a farce, the Chaos Heart will rise again. If this happens, the Shadow Queen’s rise is imminent, and she will take over the body of the maiden. The only way to stop her is to find her Seven Stars, and use them to destroy her soul once and for all.

The throne of the Paper Kingdom is left symbolically empty, and the country is ruled by a council.

-

Travel Brochure

Population: Sparse, but plentiful

Size: Wide

Locals: Shapeshifters

Currency: Paper fortune teller shaped

Industries: Construction, stories

Temperature: Average  73 °F

A craft for the ages

Multi-level: The Paper Kingdom is made of multiple levels carved within the plateau, and all of them have something to offer. From the charming beach town of Rogueport to the looming Castle of Chaos, this place is vibrant and full of carefully crafted layers.

Rich History: The Paper Kingdom’s history is something for the ages: A demon rising out of the earth, her own people standing up against her, a battle ending in tragedy, and a prophecy! And they know it too! Their own history is so rich and captivating, they transformed telling people about it into a spectacle. If you’re ever in the need of someone to give a grandiose speech, a Paper Kingdom storyteller is what you need!

Origami Festival: If you visit the Paper Kingdom during their fall season, you might bear witness to the Origami Festival! While considered unorthodox and dangerous, Shapeshifters recognize origami as an incredibly powerful type of magic, allowing one to become anything their heart wish. As such, they have festivities centered around this concept that lasts a week, where they put up tons of different and incredible origami displays celebrating the concept.

-

How it fits in the game

For it’s location, it would be a decently sized island between the Luncheon Kingdom and Snow Kingdom, and would be the last place you go to before Bowser’s castle. From above, it would look rectangular, and most of it would be very elevated (think of a plateau, but in the middle of the ocean.) While it would seem small at first glance, the truth is that most of the earth is hollowed out, and there’s a lot of communities that live underground. You would be able to visit the two surface ones (Rogueport at the base of the plateau, and Castle of Chaos (Equivalent to Castle Bleck) on top of it) from the start, and at least one additional area under Castle of Chaos would unlock after the main story.

As for it’s place in the story, a wedding needs an officiant, and Bowser decided to get a storyteller from the Paper Kingdom because they’re known to give quite touching speeches. Bowser was originally planning to make his announcement of his marriage to Peach, take someone by force if he got denied, and leave the kingdom in disarray as punishment for denying him.

So you can imagine his surprise when not one, but two storytellers volunteered to be his officiant: Dimentio, royal jester and local agent of chaos who’s starting to find the current situation in the Paper Kingdom boring because it’s stagnating (albeit because they want to stop the hostilities temporarily for the upcoming Origami Festival), and the Beldam, eldest of the shadow Sirens and actively trying to resurrect the Shadow Queen. 

Let’s be clear, here: Neither of them are really interested in Bowser’s marriage, but both are after the power of the Chaos Heart, which has the potential to arise from this union: Dimentio to create even more chaos, and Beldam to harness it’s power and bring the Queen back to life. He picked the storyteller who had actual experience with being an officiant: Dimentio, who officiated multiple noble weddings- and left a fuming Beldam behind. In her rage, she decided to make the King of Koopas not choosing her as an evil marriage officiant everyone else’s problem and promptly started freezing everything in sight.

And that’s where Mario and Cappy come in, looking for Power Moons...

-

What’s going on?

A few weeks before Bowser shows up, the wedding of Blumiere, the son of an important count, and his human girlfriend Timpani (I don’t know from where she could be, probably New Donk CIty), was happening. However, in part due to a sinister prophecy that foretold the rebirth of the Chaos Heart if a furious monster lord (Blumiere is not human, and he has quite the unstable temperament) and a fair and lovely maiden (Timpani is a bit shy, cares for everything around her, and is nothing but kind) got married, and in part due to being a racist fuck, Blumiere’s father tried to stop the marriage by lethally attacking the bride.

Big mistake.

Blumiere ended up flying into a rage, messily killing his father with his bare hands and the assistance of a surge of magic, and destroyed the wedding venue. He then took Timpani, who was dying, to the origami craftsman, who earned himself a reputation of defying nature’s law by creating Olly and Olivia for an Origami festival, which was. Not planned. He then more or less forced him to heal his bride. 

The craftsman was absolutely able to say no: Olly brought to life multiple office supplies and all of them are ready to attack on sight, but he still went and healed up Timpani, albeit altering her physical appearance permanently due to having to heal her up using Origami Magic. Olly does not take his father being threatened into helping someone well, and barges into Castle of Chaos two weeks later and self-proclaim himself king with the assistance of the office supplies, which he dubs his Legion of Stationery, because of a perceived disrespect toward his family.

He is twelve.

Blumiere- who renamed himself Count Bleck following his father’s death- is understandably outraged, and denounces Olly with the support of his companions. Said companions are: his wife lady Timpani whom he (and most of the kingdom) adores, a small bat-like woman and his spokesperson Nastasia, the strong but dimwitted warrior and champion O���Chunks, the robotic but emotional Mimi who works in banking, and local shit-bastard jester Dimentio. This is due to Bleck being a direct descendant of one of the eight mages that sacrificed themselves, and he’s forced to make a claim to the throne to be taken seriously in trying to stop Olly.

He does not want to take the throne.

So now, there’s a twelve years old and a pissed off count who murdered his father in a blind rage fighting over the throne of the Paper Kingdom, neither of them know what they’re going to do next, and no one is happy about this situation. The instability allows a third party to make an appearance and grab for the throne: The X-Nauts, a race of robotic aliens led by the tyrannical Sir Grodus. Their goal? Resurrect the Shadow Queen and use her power to remake the Paper Kingdom, and eventually the planet, in their image.

The good news is that neither Olly nor Bleck want the X-Nauts to succeed. Bleck because he knows they’re planning on resurrecting the Shadow Queen and he does not want that to happen, and Olly because Grodus’ second in command was mean to Olivia once. This means that they are able to put their difference aside, which means there’s still hope an all-out civil war can be avoided.

Speaking of Olivia, poor girl think her brother went evil and wants to reign over the Paper Kingdom like a tyrant. This is understandable, as he’s a irritable twelve years boy with six killing machine at his command and also starting his emo edge lord phase, and she’s a literal ray of sunshine. As such, Olivia decided to find other people willing to stop Olly, Bleck and Grodus from burning the country to the ground in their squabble, not realizing that, as the leader of this group, she is also making .a claim for the throne.

She is also twelve.

And now, there’s Beldam losing her shit over being turned down and freezing everything into unmoving sheets on the walls. Ironically, this common enemy might just be what’s needed to calm everyone down.

[anika-ann]

WINSoD - Pt.3

...from Here on Now

Type: series, soulmate AU series  (part 1, part 2, part 3)  

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader    Word count: 2810

Summary: In which Steve’s soulmate does something a bit risky that bites her in her ass. Almost. Matt Murdock loses his mind too. A bit.

Warnings: blood and violence, mention of death, brief flashback, language

Part 2

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

The second thought? Oh shit.

No, scratch that – your second thought was ‘Holy shit, Steve has very quick reflexes.’

The same moment the sound reached your ears and shook your very core, you were tackled to the ground and shielded by Steve’s impressive frame, a flash of panic in his bright eyes. He wasn’t losing any time gazing into yours though, assessing the sudden chaos and switching to his Avenger mode in a fraction of second.

Your mind was slower than his, but one thing wormed its way through your brain immediately; yes, it was in fact an army of fucking robots crashing the party, lined up and levitating two feet above the ground.

The fuck-

You suspected that the robots were mind-readers on top of everything, when one of them, bigger than the others, spoke up into the momentary stunned silence, his voice hoarse and rough as if he was smoking two packs of cigarettes a day: “Sorry to crash the party, folks.”

Another beat of silence and the robots rocketed off simultaneously with the first scream that set off a cacophony of horror.

Steve’s voice broke through the eardrum-tearing noise.

“Stay down and get the hell out of here,” he hissed, jumped to his feet in an impressive speed and took off to be the hero he was.

Why was he giving you opposite orders? That didn’t make any- it took you a moment to realize he didn’t mean for you to lie on the floor and make your escape at the same time, just wanted you not to run with your back straightened.

To be fair, you were too dumbstruck by the desperation stuffed into the simple order, carrying so much more meaning than the actual sentence, to have a clear mind.

Run. I don’t care how and where, I don’t care what you need to do to get out of here, but you run and don’t look back. Get to safety, no matter what.

As you crouched, your eyes flickering over the chaos of a room, you caught Tony’s calculating gaze and gave him an inconspicuous nod; a second later, his gaze fell on something else and you followed his line of sight to Pepper. You exchanged a silent conversation and sprang to action.

Here was a thing: Tony Stark was a technical genius.

His trust in his own technology and security systems was immense.

His trust in his own technology and security systems was not unconditional.

Tony Stark was a paranoid bastard of a man, which was something he could bond over with Steve; the Steve after your death that was.

Because of Steve’s paranoia and understandable fear, Natasha had been forced to teach you a bit of hand-to-hand combat. Jarvis had been forced to go over the plans of the Avengers Tower and escape routes for million times with you.

The part Steve was clearly forgetting now was that Tony hadn’t failed to inform you about the two different panic rooms, technology free; or maybe he was just forgetting the part in which he tended to inspire people around him.

In this case it meant there was no way you would park your ass in one of those panic rooms and let the hell that had broken loose rain on everyone else, on people who were as much of civilians as you were.

And Pepper was about to help you.

Steve was about to kill you later, but you would have to live long enough to let him, so that was the least of your concerns.

As the Captain had told you, you did run and tried to stay down. You just happened to pick everyone you could reach on your way and beg them to pass the information about the panic rooms over. You cursed Tony for his fondness of crowds. This would have been much easier if it was the Avengers and close circle only; mostly because nearly everyone would be able to protect themselves and wouldn’t be busy running while the Earth’s mightiest heroes tried to keep the fight away from civilians.

But life wasn’t always easy.

You spotted Tamara’s blond hair in the sea of faces and soon realized she joined you on your mission, clearly having been informed on the panic rooms as well. You saw several people you had barely become familiar with tonight, a pair of charming dorky lawyers among them; you were relieved when you saw the one with longer hair helping his very much blind friend.

Some women were losing their shoes on purpose, some due to being dragged away by the crowd. You fought your way forward, happy you weren’t wearing any killer heels, people following you like a herd; at least the individuals who hadn’t followed Pepper three floors lower.

“End of the hall, come on. Heavy door, no electronic locks. Just open it and squish as many inside as you can,” you urged a responsibly-looking man whose name you couldn’t recall at the moment, but he didn’t seem bothered by it, instantly following the instruction and speeding up to let the others in. You stayed on the corner, making sure everyone headed the right direction in their panic.

The screams were deafening, the influx of people seemingly never-ending and you silently prayed no one had been left behind. You tried very hard not to think about Steve and others fighting fucking robots.

Finally, the last guests ran past you; well, ran as much as they could. You joined the duo of lawyers (an occupancy that somehow got stuck in your mind), of whom one was an ironic representative of the justice being blind.

“You think that was everyone?” you asked, purposely not addressing one or the other. For one, you didn’t want to be rude, but to be honest, you managed to forget their actual names as well.

“Yeah, I hope so. This is insane,” the one with longer hair hurried and maybe it was only your imagination, but he appeared rather calm considering how insane the situation was.

Then again, some might say you were too. You felt like in some sort of a haze; your body was doing things you couldn’t remember ordering it, acting despite your insides clenching, heart so frantic you might as well go into a cardiac arrest. You were thankful for the autopilot mode; running side by side with the two men definitely looked like a good idea, even if you weren’t aware of coming up with it.

Until you were yanked back by your shoulder and the hem of your dress, sent flying and landing on your side.

“Shit,” you hissed as the sharp pain shot through your whole arm, your ribs crying out as well.

Fuck, fuck that hurt. How was Steve doing it, landing like that all the time and almost making it look like fun?!

Not relevant.

Really not relevant right now.

You scrambled away from the mechanical torso hovering above the ground, almost appearing to examine you. Perhaps it was wondering whether you were about to get up? You didn’t want to, FYI. The pain was coming in waves now, pulsating somewhere deep inside of your muscles. Or was it your bones?

The voices at the end of the hall fell silent and you guessed the last people made it to the room. The raging fight in the party space was still rumbling through the walls, vibrating in your chest. Or was it just your heart?

“Well, this is ironic,” the robotic voice you remembered from when the big robot crashed the party hummed.

How the hell did all the robots have the same voice?

NOT RELEVANT.

You pushed up to your feet, ready to either fight or flee, unsure which you had better chances succeeding at.

You doubted you had the slightest chance at either.

“You’re out of luck. Guess the Captain will have to deal with your loss once more.”

The two simple sentences froze you on spot, crushing something deep within you. A memory of a mad smile, of a desperate voice, of fire and agony coursing through your veins turned you into a statue.

‘With your loss.’

With your death. You were gonna die.

There was no fighting off this thing; certainly not with your simple human nature and lame skills.

You felt the uncontrollable tremor in your muscles, your throat closing off with surging panic. You couldn’t even breathe, let alone defend yourself when the mechanical monster with glowing red eyes raised its arm, the sound of charging nearly causing your ears to bleed.

You spotted Bucky with the corner of your eye, but you knew it was too late. He was too far away; no matter how much he sped up, horror having his face lose all colour, he wouldn’t make it, because he carried no long-distance weapon.

You squeezed your eyes shut, curled into yourself and thought of your soulmate, the way he held you when he found out you were alive and with your memories back.

Steve’s heart will break, for real this time, a small voice whispered in the back of your head, and he’s not gonna handle it. You sent a quick mental sorry.

Funny how you thought of him instead of yelling ‘I don’t want to fucking die!’

And the blast was still not coming.

Instead, there was a loud crash that had you snap your eyes open in an instant, only to come face to face with shocked Bucky; with Bucky, who was still several feet away, crossing the remaining distance in an impressive speed.

Another man was engaged in a furious battle of limbs, a punch there, a spin-jump-kick a second after, knocking the heap of components right onto Bucky’s metallic arm; the robot was cut in half, Bucky’s arm going through it like a knife through butter.

What was left of the machine hit the ground with a clatter, the glow in its eyes fading until it died completely.

A man in a cheap suit was standing with his bloody fists raised, facing a very cautious and panting Bucky. You wanted to say thank you to your saviours, but you couldn’t find your voice, still struggling to breathe in.

It wasn’t until a pair of warm brown eyes appeared in front of your face, blindly staring onto your mouth, until your brain rebooted and made the connection along with telling you to how to breathe in.

It was the lawyer. The very much blind lawyer, an incarnation of the famous saying, one of the dorky pair of defenders of justice.

He just saved your life. By fighting the robot like a Bruce freaking Lee.

“What the- the hell just- hap-happened?” you rasped, the palm of your unharmed arm pressed against your ribcage to feel your own heart, your chest expanding with every breath.

Still breathing. Heart still beating. Not dead. Just really fucking scared and confused.

“Yeah. I was wondering the same thing,” Bucky growled, but with an audible trace of gratitude towards the man. His worried gaze fell on you, searching your face as his intimidating fighting stance eased. “But now is not the time. Let’s get you to Steve before he loses his mind. He flipped out when he saw you helping others instead of running off.”

You took a shuddering breath, closing your eyes and letting the sudden absence of the roar of battle wash over you.

“Hey. You’re okay. It’s gone. Can I touch your shoulder? The one that’s not injured,” a voice coaxed you and you mentally catalogued it as the lawyer’s.

A low warning grumble sounded on your right, but you nodded. You tried not to think about how the hell a blind man, who was apparently moonlighting like a ninja, knew about your shoulder pulsing with agony, hence avoided it skilfully, his gentle touch grounding.

“Hmfg. Let’s go. You have a lot explaining to do, Murdock. But thanks.”

Right. Murdock. He had a nice alliteration in his name, you remembered now. Matt Murdock. His friend called himself Foggy Nelson.

“Yeah…” you whispered, fluttering your eyes open and letting the two men lead you towards where the horror had started. “Thank you, Mr. Murdock.”

“You’re welcome, miss.”

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

The previously fancy room was a complete mess; furniture in splinters, clothing torn to shreds, glass in shards, mechanics whirling and cracking with electricity, sometimes with sparks flying around. All of that rained with drops of blood.

Your stomach turned over, but you were able to swallow your nausea and fight the vertigo as your name was shouted from across the room, rapid strides of a huge man crossing the distance in seconds.

“Don’t touch-“ Murdock tried to warn Steve, but that man had already made up his mind, pulling you against his chest, arms winded tightly around your body.

You swallowed the cry of sharp pain in order to let him hug you and you breathed in deeply; freshly washed suit, his cologne, sweat, blood and him.

Your arm throbbed in agony, ribs crying out, but your heart was finding its peace despite still racing.

Now you were truly safe.

And Steve was alive and well. All would be good.

“Oh thank God, you’re okay,” he whispered to your mess of hair, his chest heaving. You could feel his heart hammering against your cheek, a prove of the fright you had given him.

“Punk, stop it, you’re going to smother her,” Bucky noted, sighing. “Plus, she was thrown around and did not land exactly gracefully.”

Steve released you in an instant, his face a mask of horror. Funny how Steve was much more expressive than Cap. You always loved it.

His attentive gaze was scanning you from head to toe, finally taking in your tense posture and stiff shoulders.

“What the hell are you talking about? Doll? What happened?!”

You opened your mouth uselessly, struggling to find words to break it to him gently and without freaking him out too much.

Unfortunately, Matt Murdock beat you to speaking. “A robot grabbed her-“

Steve’s eyes widened, assessing your state again, his choked inhale loud enough to hear. You shot Murdock a glare.

“Traitor,” you hissed at your saviour and then turned back to Steve, your uninjured hand laid on his shoulder.  “Mr. Lawyer here took care of it. But yeah, I’ll have a trip to hospital or medical voluntarily. It kinda hurts-“

Steve’s eyes narrowed and you corrected yourself when he wordlessly called out on your bullshit.

“-okay, kinda a lot, but it’s not as bad, considering…“

Steve closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath, only to slowly release it and giving the lawyer a look radiating immense gratitude despite him probably not being able to see it. Which, what the hell, by the way.

“Thank you.”

Matt Murdock only smiled humbly and nodded, at which Steve returned his attention to you. Taking him in, you only thought of four words.

Exhausted.

Serious.

Relieved.

Injured.

He didn’t sustain any life-threatening injuries as far as you could tell, but you did smell and see blood on him and since his opponents had been fucking robots, it was definitely his own blood. There was an angrily-looking gash on his forehead which was not bleeding anymore, few more scratches peeking through his sliced clothes.

Still. He was not unharmed.

“You’re hurt too,” you whispered. Your company clearly decided that it was the right moment to leave you some privacy and went to discuss other things. A game plan, perhaps. What happened in the first place. Oh, and who the hell Matt Murdock was anyway. You only had eyes for Steve now though. “How do you feel?”

His shoulders slumped, careful hand tenderly brushing your cheek, his eyebrow furrowing in concern and indignation.

“Like I can’t decide whether smothering you for not running like your life depended on it – which it did – is an option,” he said honestly, eyeing your injured shoulder.

“That’s fair,” you hummed, not surprised. If he could be sassy though, so could you. “But consider this: I have a great role-model for heroics in my soulmate, so there’s no wonder I tried to help, as pathetically as I did at least.”

His lips parted at the implication of your behaviour being even remotely his fault, but you could tell he was too relieved to be actually mad at you.

“Smothering it is.”

You chuckled, trying not to wince at the tiny motion of your body that sent a fresh wave of pain through you.

“…can I have my arm checked first though? Also, I think you have bigger problems than me coordinating the rescue…”

Steve unwillingly casted a glance to the group of his friends, who all glared at Tony Stark, before looking back at you.

“My biggest problem right now is to get you some medical attention. Then, yes, it does look like I have things to deal with. But remember, doll. You are not off the hook.”

You smiled at him sweetly and kissed his cheek.

“A troublemaker like me? Wouldn’t dream of it…”

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

Part 4

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

Well. This spiralled quickly, didn’t it? :D Also, I couldn’t resist little Matty in here since I introduced him to Bucky in the previous part of the series ;)

Thank you for reading and for your patience... I know I posted a lot of different stuff before getting to this chapter...

[pendragonsandbuckleys]

Oh it felt so easy then.

My @malexsanta​ fic for @manesguerin​​, Merry Christmas Sarah!! ✨

This is the first time I’ve ever been given a prompt so I really hope I’ve done it justice. I’ve gone with the prompt ‘lost decade’ and as you may notice by the length of it, it kind of got away from me… but I really hope you like it!

[Also on AO3]

Summary: Ten years of letters filed away with such love and care into a decade old shoebox and what was it all for? 

A look at the lost decade through Michael’s eyes.

Word Count: 21,499

❄️👽🎄💌

Ten years was a long time.

Five hundred and twenty-one weeks to be filled with laughter and tears, friends and family, old secrets and new opportunities. 

Three thousand, six hundred and fifty days to get over a stupid high school crush that was never going to last.

Michael closed the door behind him, furious at the sudden emotions raging inside him. He hadn’t heard from Alex in a long time, hadn’t see him in even longer. So why was his heart racing at the mere sight of the man he once loved.

Glancing at the many whiteboards and notepads filled with scientific scribble and spaceship blueprints reminded Michael that there was so much more than just the thin wall of the airstream keeping them apart. They’d been kidding themselves to even try to make it work. They were two different people with two different lives.

His eyes wandered to the other end of the trailer. He should have thrown out the box long ago, burnt it even.

He had been so proud of the fact that he hadn’t looked inside in months, hadn’t given in to the temptation to see Alex’s delicate penmanship and carefully chosen words. He had most of the letters committed to memory, but re-reading them after a difficult day used to help calm the chaos in his mind.

It had been a long time since he’d forced himself to forget about the box and all it contained but one look at Alex and all the feelings he’d spent months suppressing had come flooding back. The feelings of hope and happiness. Of love.

He slowly walked towards the closet and crouched down to rummage through his belongings. There were a few things piled inside but right at the bottom was what he wanted.

A simple shoebox. The writing on the front was long worn away and the lid was practically falling apart but the box itself wasn’t important. He lifted the lid and a stale scent of roses immediately filled the air. His hand brushed the dried petals to the side before hesitating above the first envelope. 

Ten years of letters filed away with such love and care into a decade old shoebox and what was it all for?

September 2008

It started with the hubcaps.

Well, really, it all started seventy years ago when one innocent eyeliner wearing, music loving boy’s ancestors began a lifelong mission to destroy Michael’s family.

But those goddamn hubcaps. I mean, if he was going to steal anything from Kyle Valenti’s car it could have been something useful. His truck needed a new battery after all.

The thrill of the theft hadn’t quite overpowered the pain in his heart and a night in a cell, alone with his thoughts, definitely hadn’t helped the way he thought it would.

Ever since Alex had told him that he was enlisting, Michael had been acting weird around him. Getting into more and more fights, drinking and smoking and doing all he could to cause trouble, regardless of how much he could see it was hurting Alex.

And every time Alex begged him to get it together, Michael was reminded of the fact that the only person he had ever had feelings for would soon be leaving him. That Alex was choosing to leave him to follow in his father’s footsteps.

So he pushed Alex away. He got himself arrested all for the sake of self preservation which should have felt like a win but really all he had done was waste the last day he could have had with Alex.

It had been a few weeks since Alex had left for Texas for Basic Training and Michael hadn’t heard a single thing from him. Though he couldn’t blame him. Michael had made it very clear that their short lived relationship was over.

And maybe that’s really all it was meant to be. Maybe it was just some summer fling that meant nothing in the long run. Simply a way for two broken people to just breathe for five seconds.

And maybe it was stupid for him to believe it could have been anything more.

As he stared up at the starry night sky from the back of his truck he felt his phone vibrate inside his trouser pocket.

Another text from Isobel no doubt.

She had been trying to get in touch with him all evening. All week in fact. And he couldn’t be bothered to deal with it today.

After graduation she had been adamant that Michael wasn’t going to drift away from them. Not seeing each other just because they were no longer forced to share a classroom was not an option.

So she had taken to texting him. A lot. Mainly mundane things, little updates about her life like a job interview she’d managed to secure or a new boy she was possibly seeing. She’d always try to ask about what he was up to or encourage him to come over for dinner, but that was usually his cue to stop replying. A dead battery or no credit was his go to excuse but there’s no way she really believed him.

He just couldn’t face seeing her or Max, not yet. The horror of Rosa, Kate and Jasmine’s deaths and their decision to cover it up was still so fresh in his mind and any opportunity to not remember it was preferable. 

It was strange, thinking about it. That night was one of the worst nights of his life for two wildly different reasons.

A very personal, homophobic attack that left his hand crushed beyond repair and a triple murder that no one would ever know the real truth about. Not even the person responsible.

And while he just wanted to take his mind off the people involved in one of these for a little while, he never wanted to forget the person involved in the other.

He had no idea if he would ever see Alex again, but just hoped that he was okay. That he was happy. That he was safe. 

And that would have to be good enough for now.

November 2008

Michael’s truck jolted to a stop in the Wild Pony parking lot. 

It was earlier than he’d usually be here but the day drinking was a new thing he was trying. 

He’d been having regrets lately about not taking up the UNM scholarship. He was fully aware that he was more than smart enough to continue with his studies and yeah maybe the courses would be far more mundane than he’d like, but at least he could do something worthy with this life. But then every time he considered re-thinking his decision, his hopes were brought crashing back down to earth with the reminder of why he didn’t go to university in the first place.

He had slowly begun letting Max and Isobel back into his life, a coffee date here and a shopping trip there, but sometimes all the friendly conversations in the world couldn’t stop his desire to just be numb every now and then.

The excessive alcohol consumption was a recent development, but hey, a town drunk has to start at some point, right?

There was a clerk at a gas station a few miles away that had no problems turning a blind eye to his clean shaven baby face and he’d managed to get a fake ID for the more difficult purchases. Such as the Wild Pony. A typical Roswell bar without the added green alien decor. Every local knew the Wild Pony and unfortunately the Wild Pony knew him - or more importantly, his age.

Maybe he’d get lucky today and it would be a new bar tender but if not, then he’d just slip some acetone into a soft drink. That would have to do the trick for now.

It was mid afternoon so there was a decent amount of people inside, but no sign of the rowdy drunks that tended to emerge after dark. The only person working behind the bar was currently wiping down the surfaces as a pair of customers walked away with their drinks.

Michael swaggered confidently past the men at the pool table and the group of girls in the booth that he vaguely recognised from school and perched on one of the stools at the bar. “I’ll have whatever’s cheapest.”

“You got ID?” The bar tender gave him a look that just screamed I don’t have time for your bullshit, but Michael was nothing if not persistent. She walked over, arms folded neatly across her chest, cloth still gripped in one hand, and came to a stop in front of him.

The badge pinned to her denim jacket spelled out her name in thick capital letters but Michael didn’t need to read it. Everyone knew who Maria Deluca was. With her beautiful curls and disarming smile, she was a friend to almost everyone at New Roswell High.

And though she was one of Alex’s oldest friends, Michael had barely said two words to her during their many years walking the same school halls but right now she was his best chance at scoring a drink.

“C’mon Deluca, we don’t have to bother with all that.” He mustered up as much charm as he could manage as he leant forward on the bar but Maria wasn’t swayed, her face set in a clear display of annoyance.

“I told you last time, I’m not getting fired just to help fuel these little angsty life choices you’ve been making recently.”

“Your mom’s not gonna fire you for helping a friend.”

“Oh wow,” Her eyes widened, feigning surprise, “Sorry I wasn’t aware we’d become friends.”

“Well,” Michael shrugged, “Every time I come in, it’s like you’re here waiting for me, so I just thought…” 

“I’m stuck this side of the bar Guerin. I have no choice but to put up with whatever you think is going on right now.”

Michael sniggered as he raised an eyebrow. The chances of him getting drunk anytime soon were dwindling by the second but he was enjoying the banter nonetheless.

“One day. One day I’ll get you to admit how much you love seeing me.”

Maria rolled her eyes as she flipped the cloth over one shoulder. “I am glad you’re here actually.”

“Really?” 

“Yes. It means I don’t have to spend my time trying to track you down.” She rummaged through a bag sitting behind the bar before pulling out an envelope. “Someone clearly knows you well.”

Michael took it from her with a frown. One quick glance at the front confirmed that it was indeed labelled to him, only with the Wild Pony’s address neatly scripted underneath his name.

Who would be sending him a letter? Who even sent letters anymore?

He looked up to ask Maria when it had arrived but she’d already made her way over to the customers at the other end of the bar.

Without hesitation he carefully ripped it open and pulled out the piece of paper inside. Impatient as ever, his eyes immediately darted to the end of the page to see who it was from and he almost fell off the chair at the name signed at the bottom.

It had been four months since he’d seen Alex. Four month since he’d heard his beautiful voice or seen his perfect face. And yet here, in his hands, was a letter from the one person he honestly thought he’d never hear from again.

Someone on a nearby table cheered loudly and Michael was suddenly reminded of where he was. It didn’t feel right, reading Alex’s first words to him in months under the harsh neon lights of the bar so without sparing a second glance at Maria, he practically sprinted all the way to the parking lot, yanking the door open as soon as he reached his truck.

Taking a deep breath, he unfolded the paper and began reading.

Dear Michael,

I’ve debated writing this letter for a while now, mainly because of how we left things. I wasn’t sure if you wanted to keep in contact but I’ve been missing some people back in Roswell and I think I just needed to get a few things out of my head. I might not even send this letter, but if you’re reading this then I guess it means my sentimentality won out.

I’ve been thinking about how peaceful the desert is back home. How quiet it would be when we’d park the truck in the middle of nowhere and just lie under the sun for hours. It’s surprising the things you notice yourself missing when you haven’t been somewhere in a while.

There’s so many people here it feels like school all over again. I tried to distance myself from everyone in some last act of defiance, but I’ve ended up making a few friends. Honestly I think it would be impossible to get through this alone.

I’ve finished basic training now. It was harder than I thought it was going to be but I got through it and I’m onto the next phase. We get to choose the specialism ourselves so at least that’s a positive and who knows, maybe I’ll be quite good at it.

I’m going to be here for a least a few months to complete my training before I find out where I’m being assigned so I’ve included my address incase you want to write back.

Whatever it is that you decided to do with your life, I hope you’re okay.

From,

Alex.

P.S. I’m sorry for sending this to the Wild Pony, I hope Maria got it to you okay. I would have addressed it to ‘Michael Guerin’s Truck’, but I had a feeling it wouldn’t quite reach you.

Michael re-read the letter another three times before he could bear to take his eyes off the page.

Alex had written to him. Amongst all the training and hard work and confusion over how they’d parted, Alex had taken the time to sit down and write to him. 

It was brief and simple and Michael couldn’t stop smiling.

He fumbled trying to get his keys in the ignition before putting the truck in gear, already planning his reply, all desire to get drunk suddenly forgotten.

February 2009

“I don’t pay you to sit around doodling.” Sanders called over gruffly from under the hood of the car he was working on.

“I’ve already finished with Campbell’s jeep.” Michael replied distractedly as he continued to scribble in the notepad.

The repair had needed longer than he had expected so he was taking what he deemed as a well earned break. If the old man had a problem with it then he could go ahead and find a better mechanic. Michael didn’t earn nearly enough to put up with his attitude anyway.

Sitting under the barely put together shelter that Sanders had the audacity to call his workshop, Michael started to scrawl a reply to Alex. Letter number four had arrived just under a week ago and he had yet to come up with a response.

Again addressed to the Wild Pony, Alex had talked about the latest shenanigans of his fellow airmen and how he’d been missing his guitar lately. He never went into detail about the work he was doing but he always made sure to mention that it was going well. Michael could practically visualise him picking out the words very carefully to make sure it didn’t sound like he was boasting, but sometimes it made writing a reply hard.

He was so pleased for Alex. Every letter he received had a more and more happier tone to it and honestly, he was glad that Alex was finding his place in the Air Force. He will always hate that he signed up, but considering he was going to be a part of it for a long time, Michael was just relieved that he had settled in. 

It did mean, however, that his life felt very boring in comparison. What was he supposed to say? Hey Alex, I fixed another car today. I’ll probably be hanging out with Isobel later to spend hours listening to her moan about something before going to sleep in my truck and doing it all again tomorrow.

He was just about to jot something down when something small and hard bounced off his forehead.

“Ow! What the hell was that for?” Michael rubbed his head and glared at the man.

“Are you listening to me?” Sanders waved the wrench in his hand as he tried to punctuate his point.

“Obviously.”

“What did I say?”

“…words?” Michael replied innocently, throwing his hands up in defeat when Sanders looked ready to throw something else. “Alright, alright sorry, what did you want?”

“The Johnson's SUV needs its engine looking at and when you’re done with that you can change the brake pads on that pickup that came in this morning.”

“On it.” Michael gave a halfhearted salute as he grabbed the closest toolbox and headed out into the sun.

He wasn’t really in the mood to be working in the heat today but at least this way the vehicles were far enough away from Sanders that he wouldn’t have any distractions from his real task.

He’d been grabbing odd shifts at the junkyard since he was fourteen, but last month he’d finally persuaded Sanders to hire him properly. If he was to have any hope of moving out of his truck, he needed to start earning some proper money doing something he was half decent at.

He’d been trying to find a way to work this news into his letter but he couldn’t quite find the words. He didn’t want to admit to himself that it was because he was ashamed, but that’s exactly what it was. Alex was at the start of a prestigious career that would take him across the world, learning new skills and earning decent money.

Michael was a mechanic. Barely.

And he knew that Alex wouldn’t care about the difference in their jobs, he’d just be happy that Michael was a step above wasting his life. It was just so hard to fit everything he really wanted to say into one letter.

Maybe he was struggling so much with the words because he’d much rather say it in person. He hadn’t seen Alex in forever and he missed the simple act of just being with him. Of sitting in the back of the truck, shoulders touching and hands intertwined. The amount of serotonin a short handwritten note could produce was ridiculous but it in no way replaced the feel of having the real thing in front of him.

Though if Alex was feeling anything near the way he was, then maybe it didn’t matter what he wrote. The mere fact that he had replied would hopefully be enough.

April 2009

Isobel looked at him disapprovingly, switching her many bags from one hand to the other. “Really Michael? Just because you live in the desert doesn’t mean you need to actually start dressing like a cowboy.”

A shopping trip with Isobel wasn’t Michael’s first choice for a Saturday afternoon, but he’d had no good excuse to refuse as she practically dragged him to the mall.

For someone who liked to try on almost everything in a single store, Isobel had chosen what she wanted to buy pretty quickly. Now it was Michael’s turn but he honestly wasn’t sure what she expected of him. He’d been living in the same clothes for years now, he didn’t know how to do the whole shopping spree thing.

“You’re the one who wanted to buy me new clothes.”

“Yeah, because I wanted to make you look cool. Not like a nineteen year old version of the Lone Ranger.”

Michael looked in the mirror again. The black cowboy hat resting atop his head was working well with the rancher aesthetic he had going on. It hid his curls and made him look slightly older, giving him more of an edge than his baseball cap could usually muster. 

It just felt right. 

Growing up, he’d never had the chance to really figure out his own identity besides angry, rebellious orphan and going full-on cowboy felt like a good place to start. 

Besides, he looked damn good.

“You’ve already chosen the rest of my wardrobe for me Isobel. You can’t let me make one big boy decision for myself?” Michael gave her a pointed looked as he took the hat off and ran a hand through his hair.

“Fine. Just don’t show Max, he’s already started a godawful belt buckle collection, I don’t want him getting any ideas.” She happily snatched it out of his hand and strutted elegantly to the till.

He had missed these moments with Isobel. The familial feeling of her bossing him around.

No one ever talked about how easy it was to drift apart from people after high school, how the close bonds you thought you’d formed over the lunch table could so quickly disappear once you’re all thrown into the real world.

But the three of them were different. Michael, Max and Isobel, the three children found wandering the desert all those years ago. He hadn’t been able to rid himself of them then and turns out he still couldn’t now. Despite his best efforts to distance himself, they had managed to completely worm their way back into his life over the past few months and honestly he was better off for it.

Today wasn’t the first weekend outing he’d endured and it definitely wouldn’t be the last, but his heart felt a little lighter from having spent it in good company. With the bags heavy in their hands, they grabbed some food at a nearby burger place before calling it a day. He dropped Isobel home and drove to his usual night-time parking spot.

Climbing effortlessly onto the back of the truck, he looked inside the singular bag Isobel had gifted him. He’d come away with a new pair of boots, a few t-shirts and the cowboy hat. Nowhere near enough in Isobel’s opinion but after the reminder that he didn’t exactly have a closet right now she had conceded.

He shoved the bag into the corner and leant forward to pulled out the letter that had been burning a hole in his back pocket all day. He grimaced at the sight of it, with its crease down the middle and its crumpled edges. Isobel had ambushed him coming out of the Wild Pony before he’d had a chance to read it - or put it away - which meant it had been hidden in the only place available at the time.

As much as he loved her, he wasn’t quite ready to share it with her yet.

He unrolled his blanket and threw it around his shoulders, settling back against the truck before opening the envelope. He’d finally told Alex about the junkyard in his last letter and he’d been waiting to hear back for a few weeks now.

Dear Michael,

That’s amazing news about the job! You really are the best mechanic in the whole of Roswell so Sanders is lucky to have you.

You shouldn’t put yourself down though. You used to always be fixing things when I was back home (annoyingly effortlessly from what I remember) so to get paid for doing something you enjoy is kind of the dream, right?

Plus I’m sure the drivers of Roswell will be very grateful to have someone with two eyes checking their brakes are working correctly. I mean, should Sanders even be fixing cars anymore? I swear he can’t even see three inches in front of his face!

Speaking of work, I was thinking about the Emporium yesterday. Have you been inside recently? I wonder if they ever noticed the alien with its head on backwards. Still definitely your fault by the way.

I kind of miss that uniform too, even the visor. I have to wear my uniform all the time now and it’s nowhere near as comfortable. I feel like it’s becoming a part of me, like I’m never going to be able to go home after a long day and forget about everything for a while, it’s just always going to be there.

I’m sure I’ll get used it.

I think we’re being moved in a couple of weeks so I’ll give you my new address when that happens. But for now, I hope you’re okay.

Speak to you soon,

Alex.

Michael leant his head back and watched as the sun slowly began to set behind the trees.

Alex always knew how to make him feel a million different emotions at once. He felt an unfamiliar sense of pride at the praise Alex had offered but reading the boy’s words about his own work made Michael long to have him back with him, away from all the regimented days and looming risk of danger.

He couldn’t stop himself from grinning though, thinking back to the alien statue standing in the corner of the crop circle exhibit. That had been a good day. And yeah, it was definitely his fault.

He was about to put this latest letter away with the rest when an idea came to him. He grabbed the bag that Isobel had lovingly handed over and pulled out the shoebox that had been squeezed inside amongst the various clothes.

He ran his nail across the tape keeping the box sealed, breaking it easily in a single movement, and took off the lid.

He pulled out the new boots, followed by the scrunched up tissue paper intended to keep them somewhat preserved, until he was left with an empty box. It was a decent size, not too big that it would be a pain to store under the passenger seat and not too small that he would run out of space anytime soon.

He’d been keeping the letters in his glove compartment for now but it didn’t quite feel safe enough for something so precious. But this shoebox was perfect. 

He placed the letter inside before heading to the front of the truck and retrieving the rest, slotting them in neatly and closing the lid to keep them secure.

Tonight he’d sleep thinking about the last day he and Alex had shared in the UFO Emporium and as soon as the sun was up, he’d write his reply.

July 2009

Dear Alex,

You’ll never guess what happened today.

I’ve been working every shift Sanders will give me just to save up some cash and like some crazy act of luck an old airstream got dumped at the junkyard last week. It took some convincing but Sanders actually let me buy it off him!

It’s small and pretty run down but I figured it could be a fun project. I am very good with my hands, as you know.

It’s not as glamorous as a house or anything like that, but at least this way I can move out of my truck and into a place with an actual sink. Plus, I reckon I’m the smart one here. No rent to pay? Less space to clean? It’s perfect.

Do you think you’ll be able to visit Roswell soon? You’re probably working hard, getting your geek on and saving the world, but it’s been a while. A year actually, next month.

No pressure, but I look forward to the day I get to officially invite you inside my new place.

Stay safe out there.

Michael

Michael careful wrote his new address on the back, then sealed the envelope and left it by the door as a reminder to post the next time he was in town.

He hadn’t even started to unpack yet, his first priority being to share his big news. He figured that’s what he would have wanted to do if Alex was in Roswell anyway.

The airstream had been dumped a few days ago and though Michael wasn’t aware how much Sanders had paid the guy for it, he was pretty sure it must have cost more for Sanders than it had for Michael. Which was strange.

Since spending almost every day with Sanders, they had definitely worked up some form of workplace bond to some extent. Although some days, it was a wonder Michael could be bothered to engage in the conversations that were mainly a mix of complaints or disinterested grunts.

He must be rubbing off on the old man though because he had given away the airstream at a bargain.

As soon as he’d agreed it with Old Man Simmons that he could park it at Foster Ranch - along with the offer of earning his keep by working the land - he had brought all of his belongings inside and now the next task was to find a place for everything. There may not be much in the three boxes currently sitting on the bed, but they were his. They were the few things that he had been able to actually buy for himself over the past few years and really call his own.

And now that he had a home to put them in, he wanted to do it perfectly.

It felt bizarre to think about. His home. A place he could finally call his own. A place to cook and wash and sleep, safe from the cold and desert dust. The group homes and fosters parents of the past had never let him decorate his own space but now he had the opportunity to make everything his own.

And he knew exactly where to start. The clothes would go in the closet and the limited toiletries would be given their place in the bathroom. That was all obvious, another decision made for him.

But something he could choose for himself?

He picked up the shoebox and peaked inside. It had gained a few more letters since he had started filling it and they were all piled neatly in order.

Looking around, there were several places it could sit.

On the desk would make it the first thing he’d see coming home. But would therefore be the first thing Isobel and Max would go snooping through when they visited.

The drawers next to the closet would keep it safe but they were just too small for the box.

The closet itself felt too impersonal. Like he was hiding it away from himself as well as everyone else.

His eyes were drawn to the bed - his mind instantly jumping to the thought of him and Alex sharing it together - and then to the overhead compartment above it.

Lifting the latch, it popped open with a click and when Michael slid the box in, it fit perfectly. Safe, sealed and close to him where he would sleep.

Feeling happy about the very important decision, he closed the compartment.

Now, onto the rest.

November 2009

It had been a very quiet morning.

Sanders was away for a few days and he’d banned Michael from working in the junkyard without supervision after a recent accident that had pissed him off. He hadn’t meant for the hammer to hit the window of the Davis’ land rover, honest. He’d been aiming for the toolbox.

He’d get the old man to change his mind soon enough, but in the meantime what better place to spend the morning than in bed.

The recently bought sheets were soft against his bare chest as he stared up at the ceiling. The box was still tucked away in the cupboard above him, taken out frequently with every new visit from the mailman. It’s not like anyone else ever sent him post.

Alex had been getting very sappy in his letters recently, reminiscing about the previous summer. Though compared to the past year of writing, the days they had actually spent in each other’s company were few and far between.

It was practically the end of the school year when Michael had borrowed Alex’s guitar from the music room. A decision which he would never regret. And though they had barely spoken during their many years at the same school, when Alex had offered him shelter it hadn’t really mattered. They had clicked so instantly that the few months that they did manage to share felt like they spanned an eternity.

A lot of bad things happened that summer, but he’d do anything to go back just to relieve those good days again.

A knock at the door interrupted his daydream. He sat up, confused, and tried to peak through the newspaper taped to the window. He wasn’t expecting visitors and he couldn’t quite make out enough of the shape to work out who it was.

He rolled sleepily out of bed and grabbed yesterday’s pants, hopping the short distance to the door as he tried to yank them up.

Pushing the door open revealed a sight that had Michael’s breath catching in his throat.

The boy in front of him looked different. Gone was the dark eyeliner that used to frame his eyes and the nail varnish that would stand out against his skin. No more septum piercing or earring, and the chain that Michael would play with as they kissed was missing from his neck.

His hair was much shorter and so not him.

But he was here.

Alex was here. Standing in front of him. And Michael hadn’t said anything. Why wasn’t he saying anything? It was like his brain had short-circuited at the mere sight of the one person he’d been longing to see.

“Hi.” Alex nervously broke the silence, playing with the zip of his hoodie between his thumb and forefinger. “I hope you don’t mind me showing up like this.”

Mind? Did Alex really just ask that? He’d been dreaming of this moment for months now.

He also didn’t really know how to put that into words in his current state of shock, so he did the next best thing. He stepped down onto the dry ground and immediately pulled Alex into his arms. 

Alex took all of a second to reciprocate the hug as he melted against Michael’s chest.

It was cold outside, winter drawing to its peak and showing its first signs of snow, but being in Alex’s arms was the warmest he had felt in a while.

“You’re here.” Michael mumbled against Alex’s shoulder and he felt him chuckle.

“Well, I have a few days leave and I was promised an invite.” Alex replied softly.

Oh god. This was it, the official house warming personally tailored to Alex. And everything was a mess. Turns out getting a new place doesn’t stop old habits from taking hold and barely a week after he moved in there was paperwork all over the desk and clothes strewn across the bathroom floor. It hadn’t exactly gotten better since then.

Michael reluctantly broke the hug, bringing his hands down to gently link with Alex’s.

“It’s a bit of a mess.” He muttered playfully causing Alex to giggle, the enormity of the moment getting too much for him.

“I don’t mind.” 

Nodding to himself, Michael turned and led Alex into the airstream, waiting for the boy to close the door behind him before he spoke. “So, what do you think?”

“It’s…” Alex hesitated, glancing around at the cluttered desk and the half opened drawers and Michael felt so embarrassed. It looked so much worse than he remembered it being before he opened the door two minutes ago.

“I know it’s not much.” He offered grudgingly.

“No it’s…very you.” Alex said, smiling widely as he stepped closer. “I really like it.”

Really? Michael was going to ask. But it only took one look to get lost in Alex’s eyes and all words were suddenly forgotten.

Alex took another step to close the gap between them and slowly leant forward, his eyes not leaving Michael’s lips. Talking could come later, this is what they had really been missing.

It’s their smiles that touched first, excitement rushing through them making them giddy. But then as Michael’s lips parted and Alex leaned closer, it was as though time stood still. They had been waiting for this moment, longing for it for months.

Michael’s stomach fluttered at the familiar feeling of Alex’s hair under his fingertips, the soft lips against his own. He could practically feel Alex reflecting back at him every feeling of want and desperation that had occurred with every new letter and he had to half open his eyes to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.

However long Alex was home for, Michael planned to make the most of every single second.

May 2010

Michael took another swig of beer as he watched the last rays of light disappear beyond the horizon. He had driven out into the desert hours ago with the strong desire to get so blackout drunk he wouldn’t be able to remember his own name.

He couldn’t do it at the Wild Pony with its many prying eyes and the airstream just felt too small tonight.  So instead, he had parked the truck at a spot that he and Alex used to frequent when they had wanted to be alone.

Alex had taken longer than usual to reply, but Michael understood - between the two of them, Alex’s duty to Uncle Sam would have to take precedence. It just made the warmth that each letter provided that much stronger.

But today’s letter was different and all the wrong feelings had taken root. Fear, sadness, loss. They were swirling around his mind and sitting on his chest and no amount of alcohol seemed to banish them.

Because for the first time since they had begun writing, the return address on the envelope had not read United States, but Afghanistan.

Michael had barely registered Alex’s words during the first read through with his imagination going into overdrive, but taking a deep breath he had sat on the bed and forced himself to focus.

I can’t really give you any details, Alex had said.

I’ll be okay, he was brave enough to promise.

But he couldn’t promise that. Not really. Michael had done his research over the past two years, frantically gathering every measly scrap of information that the search engine could offer. He had seen the number of deaths to come out of every combat zone, read the stories of those whose lives would never be the same again and had the nightmares of every worst possible outcome.

The Air Force doesn’t deploy as long as the Army, but every second that Alex was on war-torn soil increased the risk of him not making it home. It was going to happen at some point, Alex’s first overseas deployment. Michael had just really been hoping for Spain or Turkey. Not this.

He had convinced himself that he would be prepared. That he would be rational and calm and wouldn’t jump to conclusions or freak out. Clearly he was better at lying to himself than he realised.

He didn’t know why he was feeling so sorry for himself. He wasn’t the one being sent halfway across the world to dutifully serve his country. No, Michael was stuck at home, waiting for the outcome.

It was dark now, his mini camping lantern emitting the only glow of light, but he had plenty of beers to keep him going through the night. He’d reply tomorrow - or the day after once his head had cleared. But for now he just wanted to forget everything and let the world fall away.

And maybe if he was inebriated enough it would keep the nightmares at bay. 

August 2010

To anyone who asked, Michael was a stoic twenty year old who didn’t engage in something so pathetic as having emotions.

But to himself, he would reluctantly have to admit they often played a part in many of his life choices. 

Like the big choices that had been fuelled by pain and confusion, standing in the middle of the desert with his two remaining family members standing by. Or the smaller choices made in the dead of night encouraged by a sappy romantic notion he had witnessed in one of Isobel’s romcoms.

Small, but no less important.

Like the decision to fill a shoebox with dried petals to help rid it of the musty smell that often accompanied any container that had been closed for too long.

He dedicated an entire day to researching flowers, finding out how to preserve them and which ones gave off the best scent.

Hydrangeas were a strong contender. Their pastel hues of purple and blue would add a nice drop of colour to the box and they were one of the easiest flowers to preserve. But they would last less than a year and Michael didn’t want to run the risk of the petals flaking into a hundred pieces and ruining the box.

Chrysanthemums were next on the list. The drying method seemed simple enough and though the petals were fairly small, they came in a whole host of vibrant colours. They were also the official flower for mother’s day in Australia and though the country itself meant nothing to him, it would give the petals a bittersweet double meaning. A way of keeping two separate loves alive alongside each other. Everything about them seemed perfect and several nearby florists even had them in stock ready for him to collect that day but when he stumbled upon a website stating that they also symbolised death they were instantly scratched off the list.

Pansies or larkspurs or little cuttings of lavender were all possibilities but they just didn’t feel right.

He didn’t want to become a stereotypical old romantic but his mind kept wandering to the roses. The elegant petals would sit nicely atop the letters and the sweet, fresh scent would be a pleasant addition to the box. Their frequent association with all things love and romance fell alongside the lesser known connotation of secrecy and confidentiality, words that all seemed to sum up the box completely.

The drying process would take time but it would be time well spent. Not to mention the intricate symbolism linked with each soft colour would add an extra touch to the box.

Red was a given with its instant connection to love.

Pink meant grace and gratitude and though he most certainly lacked one, he was definitely filled with the other. Every letter that arrived at his door was further proof that Alex was still alive and as long as they kept coming he would be eternally grateful.

Oranges roses were the symbol of passion and enthusiasm and while you could definitely use both of those words in relation to the last time he had seen Alex, the letters felt more innocent than that.

That didn’t necessarily mean that white roses were the way to go though, with their implication of innocence and purity. Not even he could kid himself that much.

With his mind made up, he grabbed his hat and headed out to engage in a spot of criminal activity.

Was it technically a crime though to cut someone else’s flowers? I mean how could Mrs Wilson really own her rose bushes when they belonged to Mother Nature first.

He wouldn’t have even thought about taking someone else’s, but the internet had very clearly specified that home grown roses were much better than shop bought flowers and who was he to argue with that?

It was mid-morning on a Wednesday so no one was around to see him attack the hedge with some clippers. It would have been a lot easier to literally be a thief in the night, but roses were best picked before the midday sun had a chance to warm their delicate petals. Any later in the day and they would lose their fragrance, so daylight robbery was the way to go.

He snipped at the branches, grumbling as his fingers caught the sharp thorns protruding from the stems, and once he had retrieved the optimum amount of red and pink flowers he headed back to the airstream to begin the lengthy drying process.

It would take a few days but the outcome would be worth it.

February 2011

The sight of one man should not leave Michael freezing in his tracks. He was an alien for God's sake. A superior species with actual powers.

Who the hell was Jesse Manes compared to that? An old man with a limited wardrobe and receding hairline? A divorced father of four kids who hated him? A nameless soldier overshadowed by his peers?

No, Jesse Manes was a respected member of the community, known and loved by all. A loyal airman with several commendations under his belt. An intimidating man prepared to brutally disfigure the hand of a child and easily get away with it.

Why Alex would choose to follow in his footsteps he would never understand.

Michael hadn’t seen Alex’s father since the night in the toolshed. The night he ruined what, up until that point, had been a perfect day. And he destroyed so much more than Michael’s hand that night. He destroyed the memory of his and Alex’s first time together, the possibility of him using a guitar to quiet the world around him, the opportunity for a roof over his head.

He had destroyed the chance for Michael to heal and move on and gain some faith back in humanity.

And three years later, here he was across the street from Michael’s truck, sitting at the window of the Crashdown, keeping Michael frozen to his seat.

He was supposed to be meeting Max for lunch in ten minutes, but there was no way he could go inside now.

Maybe Alex’s father wouldn’t even remember him. He had only seen him one time, several years ago. He couldn’t possibly have committed Michael’s face to memory in the three minutes they had shared a space together. But then again, Michael couldn’t imagine he went around hitting kids with hammers all that often so maybe it had been a memorable night for him. 

Whether it had had impact on Jesse Manes or not, Michael still remembered it vividly.

The way the door slammed open and Alex flinched away from his touch. The quiver in Alex’s voice as Manes picked up the hammer. The sight of Alex whimpering as his father’s hand squeezed around his throat. The pain filled shout Michael could barely make out over the sound of his own bones cracking.

In shock and in agony, he vaguely recalls being thrown out of the shed and staggering to his truck, but admittedly that part was still blurry.

To this day though, he still didn’t know what happened to Alex once he’d gone. They had never really talked about that night, not properly at least. Alex had been very eager to check how his hand was healing or offer to take him to a doctor, but always reluctant to discuss what he’d endured.

In all honesty, Michael still didn’t know if Jesse had done anything to Alex but it was always his suspicion. He’d recognised the fury in the older man’s eyes to know that that anger needed an outlet and Michael’s hand probably hadn’t been enough.

His hand ached suddenly at the memory and he clenched it hard in a useless attempt to make it stop. It had been hurting a lot lately, seizing up and making it impossible to do anything.

Max had offered to heal it a number of times but he still refused. He’d tell himself that it was because of Alex. How would he explain a perfectly healed hand to the guy who had witnessed the brutality it had suffered?

But if he ever decided to admit the truth to himself, he’d accept that really it was all for self preservation. A constant reminder moulded under his skin of what humans were really like. A way of reminding him not to get too close to people, not to let them into his life.

Clearly, Alex was the exception to this rule and Michael honestly couldn’t explain why. Right from the start their connection had just been something else. Something unexplainable.

Feeling the panic starting to bubble in his chest, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

He could text Max. The I’m held up at the junkyard excuse would keep him busy long enough for the police officer’s lunch break to end. He could dodge the bullet completely that way and just make it up to him tomorrow.

Or would that be like letting Jesse Manes win? What would he even be winning? There was no way that man remembered who Michael was.

Looking over to the window again, he watched as Alex’s father handed something to the waitress.

Was he really going to let his past trauma dictate where he could have lunch?

At the moment? Yes.

Sliding his phone out of his front pocket, he unlocked it quickly and opened the messenger app, his thumb hovering over Max’s name but then he had an idea.

He clicked on the little notepad icon and began to type.

Alex’s latest letter arrived last week and was still awaiting a reply and what better time to write one than when you’re freaking out slightly at the sight of a man who had once attacked you.

He barely noticed the autocorrect working hard to fix his many mistakes, he just needed to get the words out.

He didn’t mention Jesse, deciding to steer clear of the man entirely and focus on the positives instead. Alex was free from his father’s harsh rules and strict parenting for the time being so there was no point wasting his words on a man he most likely didn’t want to hear about.

It was overly sentimental and he’d probably edit it massively before writing it up, but for now he impulsively typed up everything he wanted to say. Everything he would say if Alex was sitting next to him right now.

 Dear Alex,

Glad to see that you’re stateside again, it stressed me out every day you were overseas.

I’m really happy that you’ve settled in with the work you’re doing and I’ve almost come to terms with the fact that your job is going to be dangerous at times, but that still doesn’t stop me worrying about it. And even after all this time you’ve been away, it’s still weird to not have you here. 

Everything has been reminding me of you recently, which is both beautiful and horrible because at least you’re here when you’re not here. But you’re not here and I really wish you were. Like when a song by that band you like comes on the radio, or if I walk past the Emporium, or I order a milkshake at the Crashdown or even just seeing Maria at the Wild Pony.

Max was telling me the other day about this kid who reported his guitar stolen and I couldn’t help but think back to when I stole yours. Well, I say stole, I promise I really was just borrowing it. I knew it was yours though and part of me definitely wanted you to find out that I had taken it, anything to get you to notice me. The offer of somewhere to sleep was completely unexpected though and proves just what a good person you are. I took your belongings and in return you gave me shelter and I don’t think I thanked you enough for that.

You’re in every corner of this town for me Alex and I know we didn’t have long but the time that we spent together before you left were some of the best days of my life.

I miss you.

Come back soon.

Michael

As he reached the last sentence, a knock on the passenger side window made him jump.

Max, in his uniform and hat, lifted his hand in a halfhearted wave and tilted his head towards the Crashdown as if to say are you coming?

A quick final glance through the window showed no sign of Jesse Manes and Michael slowly let out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding.

September 2011

“This is a good look for you.” Michael whispered.

“What, naked?” Alex smiled softly, peering sleepily back at him. 

Michael began to lightly trail his hand down Alex’s chest, watching Alex close his eyes at the sensation. “Naked. In my bed.”

Alex had shown up at his doorstep late last night, this time with some warning in his latest letter, and they hadn’t wasted any time. So fuelled with longing and desire, Michael couldn’t remember a second of last night where their bodies hadn’t been touching.

Looking at Alex now, with his perfect bed head and sun kissed skin, Michael wasn’t sure he was going to be able to let him leave.

He did have something important to talk to Alex about though. Something they had never really discussed that had been leaving Michael feeling very confused lately. He was twenty-one years old having the awkward teenage thought of are we together or is this just a bit of fun? Is this guy my boyfriend? Can I even say the word boyfriend without freaking him out?

“There was something I meant to talk to you about last night-” He began, propping himself up on his elbow.

“Did we actually talk at all last night?”

“Are you complaining?”

“No.” Alex smiled, holding his lip between his teeth. “Go on, what did you want to say?”

“You know I do have a phone, right? An actual expensive one and everything thanks to Isobel buying it for me. So you can text me, instead of spending weeks waiting for a reply.”

Alex paused for a moment. How was it best to tell Michael without looking weak? How during Basic Training one nosy guy thought it would be fun to take his unlocked phone and look through his messages. How he was terrified of being outed that day and that fear had followed him through his few years of serving. How even though his letters are technically much easier to read, the lock on the box they were kept in is so thick you would need to have a bolt cutter handy to break it. Or the key, which was kept in a very secure location.

“There’s something more…personal, about writing a letter. ” He decided to go with. “Besides, phones can get hacked.” 

“Who the hell is gonna want to hack into your phone?”

Alex shrugged with a smirk, “I’m just saying, after learning what I have in training, hacking your phone right now would be a piece of cake.”

“Right, and these hackers would want to, what? Use all our discussions about broken alien statues and nights out in the desert against us.”

“There are some terrible people out there.” The fake sincerity in Alex’s eyes as he nodded his head made Michael chuckle.

Alex pushed himself up fully in the bed, letting the sheets pool around his naked hips. He leant forward and Michael didn’t need to be asked twice to drop the subject and meet him halfway. As much as he loved last night, their slow morning kisses were even better. Soft and all smiles, filled with the gratitude that they were still sharing this moment together.

“I’m sorry I was late last night, the move this week has been busier than I expected.” Alex whispered between pecks.

“It’s okay, I’m just glad you made it. Where are you based now?”

“Maryland. Probably just for a month or so though until I get more permanent orders.”

Leaning back, Michael could see the weariness in Alex’s eyes. He knew that being in the military was a hard job - even harder if you had been forced into it - and Michael hated just how much responsibility had been put on Alex’s young shoulders.

His eyes twinkled as he got an idea, a way of lightening Alex’s load for a few hours. “You fancy going out tonight?” 

Alex’s face dropped and Michael’s heart along with it. “Like, together?”

“No, I figured we’d go to different bars and get drunk separately.” Michael replied sarcastically. 

This is not what he had expected. Alex saying no to a night out? Fine, not a problem, wouldn’t have been that surprising of an answer. Maybe he doesn’t fancy a drink, maybe he’s just not into partying anymore.

But was Alex saying no to them going out together?

“Is it because of me?” Michael could hear the anger beginning to grow in his tone but he couldn’t help it. This conversation had flipped completely out of nowhere. “When I told you about the whole drunk cowboy reputation I’ve gained, it was meant to make you laugh. Not make you ashamed of me.”

“I’m not ashamed!” Alex defensively shook his head.

“Then what is it? Cos I like doing this Alex, but I need to know what it is that we’re actually doing, where we’re going with it. Are we going anywhere with it?”

“I don’t know what you want me to say Guerin! Things are complicated right now.”

I want you to say you want to be with me! I want you to tell me you love me as much as I love you! Michael hadn’t expected for this to turn into an argument, but he was prepared to cause one if it meant getting answers.

But as he took a breath, he looked at Alex. Like properly looked at him. He had grown up so much since they’d last seen each other. He’d changed so much. But for the first time he was the one who was looking unsure about what to say.

The defensive hunch of his shoulders, the nervous look in his eyes. It reminded Michael so much of when Alex had first told him he was leaving. And those goddamn hubcaps.

This was the second time he had caused that look in Alex’s eyes and if he never saw it again it would be too soon. He still had a few days before Alex was going to leave him again and he should be making the most of them instead of pushing him away.

If Alex was unsure of what they were doing then so be it. They would have to discuss it at some point this weekend, for Michael’s own sanity more than anything, but for now he would have to let it go if it meant keeping Alex happy.

January 2012

Earth wasn’t his home.

He knew that. He’s known that since he woke up in a glowing alien pod. But it’s only through life’s lessons over the years that he’s really learnt that.

He didn’t belong here, with an inferior species that enjoyed hurting others simply because of who they were. He’d seen it happen in shops and on the street. People targeted for being different. It was such a human response and he shuddered at the thought of what it meant for them if their secret ever came out.

And who was keeping him here? Max and Isobel? Alex?

Him and Isobel were close, but she had her own life. Parents that loved her, a boyfriend she was besotted with. She didn’t need Michael hanging around, bringing her down.

His feelings on Max were like a sliding scale of rage. The other man had been acting like his father for most of his life, telling him what to do and how to live. Max says they should cover up Rosa’s death. Max says they should keep what they are a secret. Max, with his fancy job and respected standing in society. Michael didn’t need his help anymore or his pity.

And then there was Alex. The boy who made him believe there was a place for him on Earth. But now, Michael wasn’t so sure.The last time he had seen Alex in person, things hadn’t ended that great and though they’ve still been writing to each other, something had definitely changed. They had changed.

Michael reminded himself of all this as he climbed down the stairs into the junkyard’s fallout shelter.

He had discovered the hidden bunker one day after slipping away from Sanders during work hours to hunt for some more copper wire. The opening had been covered by a beaten up truck that had been sitting in the junkyard for years, he wasn’t sure if the old man even knew it was down there.

From that day on he had claimed it as his own, making sure it was covered every time he left.

His collection had started off small. A few legit pieces of alien artefact that he had stolen from the Emporium and the odd dark web purchase, but after a few stealthy ventures to the UFO crash site he had begun to discover even more fragments. Considering the people of Roswell had been obsessing over the crash since 1947, Michael was honestly surprised that not every piece of the ship had been excavated already.

Luckily for him, his latest night time search in the desert had proven successful and he had made it back to the bunker with two small glowing pieces.

Building up the secret bunker’s workshop had taken time and a few stolen supplies, but now there were tools and shelves and bulbs in the mismatched lighting decor that had thankfully already been installed.

Littering the worktops were sketches and blueprints of the measurements and calculations he had spent months working on. There were spools of tubing and a portable generator sitting on the shelf. But his prized possession resting on one of the tables was his slowly forming alien spaceship. He was pretty sure what he was building was the console, but maybe one day it would turn into the entire spacecraft.

Covered in alien symbols and shimmering to the touch, it could be his way off of this stupid planet.

Michael gently took the pieces out of his pocket and held them close to the ship. One did nothing, staying stubbornly in his palm, but the other rose into the air and delicately travelled to one of the broken sides, a faint blue glistening the surface as the sharp edges knitted together like they had never been broken. 

Placing the remaining piece on the table, Michael sighed. One day he would find all the pieces and finish this. And when that day came, there would be nothing to keep him here.

October 2012

“You’re staying whether you like it or not.” Isobel gave him a pointed look as she rummaged through the crates of decorations piled on the table in front of her. 

“Yeah Michael, it’ll be fun.” Max said enthusiastically, holding a fist under his chin and batting his eyelids. A move they had both seen Isobel pull several times when mocking her mother. 

She smacked Max on the arm, furious that he would belittle all of her hard work, before shoving a large plastic box into his chest. “The crop circle exhibit needs more bats.”

Her brother took the box with an exaggerated sigh but obliged nevertheless. He had learnt long ago that when Isobel was running things you either got on with it or got the hell out of her way. 

With one brother now busy, she moved onto the next. “Right, there’s a few banners that need putting up and then you can go get changed.”

Her demand was met with silence which worried Isobel greatly and when she glanced up from her checklist, she didn’t appreciate the confused look in Michael’s eyes. “Please tell me you have a costume. It’s Halloween Michael!”

“I didn’t exactly plan on staying, Isobel!” he retaliated. He’d been asked to come and fix the glitchy projector in the knock-off Men In Black room, not spend all night with a bunch of people he didn’t know, surrounded by dumb gimmicky aliens. “Why did you choose to have it here anyway? Isn’t it a bit degrading to us as a species?” 

“I didn’t choose it. The Emporium wanted a Halloween event and I’m just part of the committee running it.” She ticked off another item on her list, not rising to his provocation. “Now, go help Max.”

Accepting an easy defeat, Michael took the closest pile of decorations and headed to the exhibit. There were several people milling around each room of the Emporium, all engaged in one task or another. A group of middle aged women were rigorously dusting the artefact cabinets and two guys he vaguely recognised from around town were fixing lighting rigs to the ceiling. 

His heart skipped a beat as he reached the UFO room, his eyes drawn immediately to the spot where he and Alex shared their first kiss. He had been so nervous that day, tentatively grabbing the other boy’s face before he could talk himself out of it, praying that Alex wouldn’t pull away.

Through the red fabric curtains at the back of the room was the crop circle exhibit. It was completely empty of people save for Max attempting to loop a small fuzzy bat around one of the hanging lights.

Taking pity on him, Michael willed the creature to float the extra few inches and fasten itself around the wire. It had been a while since he’d used his powers in a public setting and it gave him such a rush to get away with it unseen. It was quite embarrassing really. It’s not like he was committing a crime in the middle of a police station. Unless you were looking closely, the fact that some objects floated when he was nearby was actually surprisingly easy to miss.

Max’s head immediately whipped round, eyes wide with trepidation. “Dude, what if someone walks in?”

“Chill, Deputy. We’re safe.” Michael rolled his eyes as he began to stroll around the room. He hadn’t been in here since Alex’s last day and literally nothing had changed. I mean, fair enough, there hadn’t exactly been any more alien encounters since then to add to the exhibition. But they could have put some effort in and switched things up a bit.

As he turned to speak to Max his foot caught something, but without hesitation his telekinesis acted fast to catch the alien statue mid-fall. Settling it back on its two feet with his mind, Michael chuckled to himself as he realised exactly what it was that he had knocked over. Turns out the little guy did still have his head on backwards.

It had been four years since Alex’s last day working the ticket booth, when they had sneaked inside during his lunch break to passionately kiss in the dark corners of the museum. If Michael hadn’t been so distracted that day he would have caught the alien before it had a chance to decapitate itself and ruin his make out session.

They had frantically tried to re-attach it, getting their fingers covered in the glue. But alas, as an excitable eighteen year old, Michael had been too focused on the boy he was with to notice he was putting the head on backwards.

Four years and nobody had dealt with the owl impersonating alien. The Emporium really was going downhill.

“You know, if you don’t want to stay I’ll cover for you with her majesty.” Max interrupted his thoughts as he took a banner from the pile still bunched in Michael’s arms and surveyed the room to decide where best to hang it.

“Nah, it’s alright. Can’t leave you without a wingman, can I?” Michael playfully raised an eyebrow as he dumped the pile on the floor and grabbed the other end of the banner.

“I’m serious Michael. You don’t actually have to do as she says you know.” Max grinned at him, hooking his side onto one of the picture frames hanging on the wall and watching Michael do the same.

Michael looked over at his friend. When the day began he had planned to end it in the airstream, drunk on whiskey and in bed with a beautiful stranger. But standing in front of him was his chance to do something different for a change, to spend some time with the only family he had left and maybe even remember it all in the morning.

“I know. But maybe you’re right. It could be fun.”

March 2013

So it was letters like these that made Michael feel guilty about how he’d been spending his time. Or more specifically who he’d been spending his time with.

For the first time in years he could go entire weeks without thinking of Alex once and the odd drunken hookup definitely helped to keep his mind off the boy who barely wrote to him anymore.

It had become a recurring thing for him, much to the chagrin of Isobel who vehemently disapproved of his life choices. She couldn’t understand why Michael wouldn’t want to find someone special and settle down with them. But he wouldn’t expect any less from the girl who was so head over heels in love with her boyfriend.

Isobel had Noah, and Michael?

Michael had Vicky. Last night.

They met at the Pony, as these stories often started for him, and had enjoyed a very long, very sensual night together within the small confines of the airstream.

She made him coffee in the morning, engaged in an appropriate amount of small talk, then left. A perfect night by all accounts, so why couldn’t the rest of his day be perfect too?

When the mailman loudly interrupted his work on his latest batch of sketches he had been tempted not to answer. When he immediately recognised Alex’s handwriting on the front of the envelope he had been very tempted not to open it.

One day he would stop giving in to his feelings for Alex. Today was not that day.

Dear Michael,

I saw someone die today.

I feel kind of numb right now which doesn’t seem right to me, but it’s like I can’t tell what emotion I should be feeling, so I’m just hoping that getting the words onto paper might help get them out of my head.

I don’t know whether I’m supposed to have been prepared for it or not, I mean it’s an occupational hazard that I signed up for so I should be fine, right? I’ve been in Iraq for almost two months now, on my second deployment, and yet this is the first time I’ve actually seen someone get killed right in front of me. So does that make me lucky to have gone this long without it happening?

I could have saved him. If I had just been closer, if I had gotten there quicker, he probably wouldn’t have died. But then if I was closer I probably wouldn’t be writing this right now so I guess I am the lucky one.

I hadn’t known him long but he was a good kid, always hard at work, always looking out for everyone. He was younger than me.

The guys are so quiet. Nobody knows what to do with themselves and this bit I’m strangely used to. It’s not the first time someone I know has been killed and things can’t come to a stop while we’re out here no matter the circumstances. But for a short while after something like this happens it’s like the light inside of everyone just disappears. Like we’re reminded all over again of how quickly things can change here.

We’ll be okay though, we’ll pick each other up and move on. But we’ll never forget him.

They’ll never forget his service. And I’ll never forget what I saw.

I’m sorry, it’s selfish to burden you with this but I just really needed to tell someone.

Hope everything is okay in Roswell.

Stay safe,

Alex.

And just like that Michael was drawn back into the little Alex loving bubble he had been desperately trying to pop.

Stay safe. He writes an entire letter about seeing someone die and he tells Michael to stay safe. And if that didn’t sum up Alex he didn’t know what did. Always trying to look out for other people, even if it hurts him.

Michael re-read the line about being quicker, being closer and something tightens in his chest. He could still remember how guilty Alex had felt after the incident in the toolshed all those years ago, so Michael knew exactly how much Alex would be putting his colleague’s death on his shoulders right now. And if he had been close enough to help, Michael was well aware of how willingly he would have sacrificed himself to keep his teammates safe.

He didn’t even know that Alex was in Iraq. Their communication had slowed so much recently and this entire time Michael had chalked it up to him no longer wanting to keep in contact but maybe this was why he hadn’t been writing.

It reminded him yet again of how little he really knew about Alex’s job and the things he had to face. As much as he would love it, he could hardly expect constant letters with updates of every little part of Alex’s life.

But he could support him. From the safety of his airstream where there were no bullets flying and people dying around him, he could listen to what Alex had to say no matter how long it took to arrive.

His sleeping around had been a poor attempt of cleansing Alex and the war he was fighting from his mind, but Alex would never get that luxury. Not until he was out of the Air Force and back home at least.

The fear of Alex dying was at the forefront of his thoughts once more, but maybe it was a good thing - the kind of fear that propels you forward and gives you hope that things will change. Habits were hard to break but maybe he would take Isobel’s advice and wait for his someone special to make it home.

August 2013

Friday night at the Wild Pony brought out all manner of locals. Friends reuniting after being away for months, married couples taking the time to cool off after a long week at work, the happy drunks, the racist drunks, and already at the bar being served his first drink of the evening, the lonely cowboy.

Max’s shift didn’t end for another hour, but Michael figured there wouldn’t be any harm in getting to the Pony early. He had a higher tolerance than Max anyway so it was better to get a head start.

As he was lifting his first alcohol filled glass to his lips he heard the voice of someone he hadn’t seen in five years. He barely suppressed a groan as he sneaked a glimpse to his left.

“More tequila’s please, Maria.” The man’s voice dripped with confidence.

Michael watched as he placed a tray of empty shot glasses on the bar top before leaning forward, his forearms dropping heavily onto the wood.

Maria took the tray with a smile and got to work.

“Guerin. Still in Roswell, I see.” He said casually, turning to look at Michael. 

“Valenti. Still a dick, I see.” Michael replied, giving his best fake smile.

Kyle’s brow furrowed in surprise at the attitude being directed towards him. He must have remembered Michael’s reputation from school, but he clearly hadn’t expected to be on the receiving end of it half a decade later.

“How have you been?” He continued regardless, somewhat optimistic in the face of Michael’s pre-drunk demeanour. Maria unscrewed the bottle cap and Michael could see her watching them carefully as if they were the main feature of her Wild Pony nature documentary.

“Since when do you care?” Michael remarked tightly, smile still plastered on his face and when Kyle scoffed and looked away, Michael was almost disappointed. The guy from high school would have had him on his ass by now.

“Whatever.” Kyle muttered just as Maria filled the last glass. He slapped some money onto the bar, sliding it forward to meet Maria’s waiting hand and she took it gratefully, put it straight in the till.

“See you around.” He spoke to no-one in particular before leaving with the tray, though not fast enough in Michael’s opinion.

Maria rolled her eyes as she put the tequila bottle back on the shelf. “What did Kyle ever do to you?”

“Do you not remember him in high school?” Michael asked, glancing over his shoulder at where Kyle was handing out the shot glasses round the table. It wasn’t a surprise to see that he was still Mr Popular with the big group of friends.

“Oh no, I remember him. I just don’t remember you ever talking to him.”

“Didn’t have to talk to him to know he was an asshole.” Michael muttered as he downed the last of his drink.

He’d witness enough of his taunting to know exactly what kind of person Kyle Valenti was. He was the cliche jock surrounded by a constant posse of football players, using his popularity to get away with bullying innocent kids.

Nerdy kids whose fear of authority and eagerness to please everyone would be taken advantage of.

Poor kids whose worn down shoes and too small clothes would be an instant target on their backs.

Gay kids who did absolutely nothing to deserve the brunt of Kyle’s torment for so many years. Gay kids who could also pack a mean punch when it really came down to it. 

Kyle had made it his mission in high school to ruin Alex’s life and Michael would never forgive him for it. Simple as that.

“What is he even doing here anyway?”

Maria picked up the closest bottle of whiskey and refilled his glass. He didn’t know whether to be flattered or embarrassed at how well she knew his drinking habits.

“He’s been travelling to visit family but now he’s back for a few weeks to see some friends before his next year of med school starts.” Maria answered easily, letting out a huff of laughter as Michael narrowed his eyes in confusion. “When you’re this side of the bar, people tell you everything…like I’m sure you’ll be doing soon enough.”

Michael smirked as he took another swig of whiskey. It burned in his chest before settling uneasily in his stomach. “You love it Deluca, don’t try and deny it.”

Taking another look behind him, Michael watched as Kyle spoke, gesturing wildly with his arms as his words held the attention of everyone circled around him. He looked no different from high school, same dark quiff styled neatly with gel, same bulging muscles on show under his tight fitting top, same punchable face.

Watching Alex take a swing at Kyle during prom had been a very proud moment for Michael - and he had barely even known Alex by that point. If he hadn’t been worried that Alex would get hurt, Michael would have gladly watched him punch Kyle for the rest of the evening.

“I think he’s changed, you know.” Maria interrupted his thoughts as she wiped down the bar top in front of him. Her bracelets jangled noisily with every movement. “College has been good for him.”

Michael watched as she ran her necklace between her fingers and went about collecting the empty beer bottles sitting at the end of the bar. “Kyle Valenti will never change.” 

Deep down a tiny part of him would admit that Maria was right. Since leaving high school everyone he’s known has changed in some way or another - normally for the better as they grow out of their ignorant, childish ways. But he just couldn’t imagine golden boy Kyle Valenti turning his life around that much. And even though one day Alex, with his heart of gold, will probably end up forgiving Kyle, Michael never would.

June 2014

“I’m just saying, if Noah expects me to take it easy with this wedding organisation, he’s got another thing coming.” Isobel spoke animatedly as the three of them walked down the street. “I am practically the unofficial Roswell party planning committee after all.”

“Isn’t a committee normally a group of people?” Max quizzed, moving out of the way for a little boy on his bike that was riding towards them.

“Not what you’re supposed to be taking from this conversation, Max.” Isobel glared at him. “I got proposed to guys!”

“Yeah, we got that from the first fifty times you told us.” Michael remarked, righting the cowboy hat that had slipped down on his head.

“Well, I’m allowed to be excited!”

Max gave his sister a fond smile. “Of course you are. But I think any more wedding talk today will literally melt Michael’s brain.”

It had been over a week since Noah had gotten down on one knee and Max and Michael had heard every possible recounting of the evening along with every guest list suggestion, every wedding hairstyle idea, even every floral arrangement possibility. As a couple, they had barely had a chance to set a date, yet Isobel was now firmly stuck in wedding planner mode.

It was Max who had put forward that the three of them meet up. It was his first day off after a busy week of shifts and it was warm out, though the suggestion to make the most of the sun was also a ploy to force Isobel to take a break from her obsessing. But unfortunately the wedding seemed to have followed them.

It didn’t really bother them though as they strolled through town, soaking up the warmth of the rays and enjoying each other’s company. Isobel was happy and in love and it was exactly what she deserved.

As they neared the end of the road, they reached the Crashdown. The cafe was a hubbub of happy, smiling customers and servers in their uniforms and antennae, but it was hard to miss the derogatory, racist words spray painted across the windows. Michael didn’t envy the poor waiter who was desperately scrubbing at them with soapy water.

Every year on the anniversary of Rosa Ortecho’s death the Crashdown was vandalised and every year it hurt more and more to witness.

Arturo Ortecho didn’t deserve the hate he got because of what happened to his daughter. He didn’t deserve for his livelihood, his home to be wrecked every year because of a choice Isobel made. A choice they all made.

After the fateful night six years ago, they had sworn to each other they would not set foot in the Crashdown again, to separate themselves from the Ortecho’s completely. But over the years, whether it be from guilt or concern, they had never been able to keep that promise.

“Let’s go in,” Max said after a moment of staring inside.

“Max-” Michael warned. He was all for keeping up appearances but today of all days they ought to be keeping a low profile when it came to the Crashdown.

“We should show our support. It’s the least we can do.” Max turned to look at him pointedly. And as much as Michael hated it, he was right. They had managed to keep the events of that night a secret for so long now. Avoiding the place once a year wasn’t really going to have as big an impact as they liked to think it would.

And being the cause of Mr Ortecho’s suffering, it was the least they could do.

Entering with a smile, they found a booth in the corner and Michael was made designated ‘seat saver’ as Max and Isobel went up to the counter. They all knew each other’s orders off by heart, but neither sibling wanted to run the risk of potentially running into Arturo alone for fear of not knowing what to say.

Michael watched as the waiter outside finished with one window and moved onto the next.

He was lucky in a way. He could go months without thinking about what they chose to do to those three girls. How they covered up the murders and framed an innocent for it. He doubted Arturo ever had the pleasure of forgetting about the death of his eldest daughter.

And now, as he tried to forget once more about certain events of that night, his mind was drawn to the other life changing incident and his worry for Alex reignited all over again. He had been able to protect Alex from his father back then, but whilst they were on two separate continents, Michael was powerless.

Not that he thought Alex needed his protection. Michael knew just how strong he was, but the job of an airman was unpredictable.

In an attempt to calm his mind, he thought back to the letter he had received yesterday and tried to recall the words it contained.

Dear Michael,

I can’t believe you managed to find work on Mr Anderson’s ranch! Or more specifically, I can’t believe he willingly hired you after the amount of trouble you caused him. I’m guessing you didn’t tell him that it was you that drove straight through his crop field or let all those horses out when we were younger? Because you know as well as I do, that man holds a grudge.

I’m glad you’re finding all this work. I used to worry that you wouldn’t realise how skilled you were so it’s nice to hear that people are actually appreciating your hard work.

I’ve spent the past week updating security measures here and the all-nighters are reminding me of high school before a math test or something. I think I actually used to go days without sleeping sometimes if I was trying to cram in revision and I honestly don’t know how I managed it back then. Teenage me was obviously a lot stronger.

There’s rumours that we could be heading back to North Dakota next month, but I’m not getting my hopes up. Germany’s not too bad, the people have been great and the food is delicious. On our down days we’ve been going to this cafe just outside of base. They have this type of iced coffee that tastes amazing and I’ve definitely had it far too much judging by the amount of teasing I get from my team every time I order it.

As nice as it is here though, it would be good to be back on home soil. I feel like I’ve been away from America for so long.

I’ll let you know if we do end up moving bases and maybe I’ll visit Roswell again soon.

Hope you’re okay.

From,

Alex.

Michael was pulled out of his thoughts as Max and Isobel took their seats. They were bickering about something or other and the familiarity forced all his worries to the back of his mind.

Alex would be home soon and Michael would be able to hold him in his arms and everything would be alright. And for now, he would make the most of his time with the rest of his family.

October 2014

Michael was warming himself by the fire when a car pulled up by the airstream. He had managed to find the old burn barrel at the junkyard a few months ago along with some mismatched chairs and lighting the fire had become a calming night time occurrence for him.

He brought the beer bottle to his lips and took a sip, wordlessly watching as Alex stepped out of the car and wandered over to him. He wasn’t sure why Alex was even here. The letters had been getting infrequent again, the enthusiasm dwindling, and Michael had been starting to suspect that their hearts were just no longer in it.

Alex had informed him that he was on leave for a few days and Michael had been happy, excited even. But at some point between this morning - where he had been frantically trying to calm his nerves as he tided up the place - to this evening, something had changed. He’d managed to overthink everything he’d been wanting to say to Alex for a long time now.

“Hey.” Alex smiled politely as he came to a stop by the fire. If he thought it strange that Michael hadn’t greeted him he didn’t mention it, but he did pause, hands clasped behind his back, almost waiting for permission to take a seat.

Michael took another gulp of beer, watching Alex carefully. “You can sit down you know.”

Alex didn’t need to be told twice, dropping into the seat closest to him. He looked older, the years of service catching up on him, hardening him against all that he had seen. 

“How have you been?” He asked. His voice was calm but Michael could see the wariness in his eyes. So he had noticed Michael’s rather frosty welcoming.

“Same as always.” Michael muttered, looking off into the distance.

“Are you okay-”

“What are you doing here, Alex?” Michael blurted out before he lost the nerve.

Alex’s eyes widened at the outburst, “Sorry, I thought you said I could drop by when I got back.”

“Okay fine, what are we doing here?” Michael rolled his eyes with an exasperated sigh, “I mean this thing we’re doing, is it real or just some hookup for when you come home?”

Alex recoiled at the accusation and Michael could feel the guilt creeping in once more at the hurt in Alex’s eyes. Okay so maybe that was a bit harsh, but there was no point dragging out this conversation for the next three days. Plus, he suspected his veins were filled more of alcohol than blood right now and when he was on a roll there was no stopping him.

“Last time you were here I tried to have this conversation with you and we got nowhere. That was years ago and we’re still dancing around it.”

“You know it’s not like that. The sex I mean. I don’t come here just to sleep with you, I come to see you.” The fire crackled loudly, the flames casting an orange glow over Alex as he spoke. “I’m sorry I haven’t been writing much lately. Your letters mean everything to me and I like doing this with you, but I just…”

“Just what?” Michael demanded. He could see Alex take a breath as he tried to word the next sentence correctly in his head.

“Anything could happen while I’m in the Air Force and I just don’t think you should pin your hopes on this.”

If Michael could stop with the tunnel vision for two seconds he would realise that Alex was trying to protect him, but all he heard was that Alex didn’t want to be with him, not properly at least. Not as his boyfriend, his partner, his other half.

Michael didn’t have an answer and Alex had no more to add.

They had barely spent five minutes in each other’s company after years apart and they’d already been rendered quiet. It isn’t how either of them had expected it to go. They sat in the uncomfortable silence, their gazes fixed on the fire but barely registering the flames licking the air. Neither wanted to make the first move.

The beautiful boy he had been in love with since they were seventeen had practically just told him that they would never be together and instead of feeling sad or desperate, Michael fell back to his default emotion. He was filled with so much anger he could practically feel it burning under his skin.

The moment he kissed Alex in the museum all those years ago he had seen the future they could have together, but now, in the cool autumn evening as he watched the tips of the flames reaching up to the sky, that dream was crumbling.

“Do you want me to go?” Alex asked faintly after a few minutes.

Yes! If you walk away now then I’ll have my final answer and it will make all of this so much easier.

“No.”

Alex had only just gotten there and as pissed off as Michael felt, the thought of him leaving again suddenly hurt like hell. “I miss you.” He whispered, struggling to make eye contact at the admission.

In his peripheral vision he could see Alex pause uneasily, almost waiting for another outburst, and when none came the airman replied with a wary smile. “Me too.”

May 2015

Another soda can went flying into the air and Max shot it down with trained precision. It almost hit Isobel on the way down who couldn’t hold back a squeal as she moved out of the way.

“I can’t believe you dragged me out here for this.” She huffed at the boys as she righted herself in the chair. Her plans for the weekend had involved shopping, TV and sleeping. It had been a long week and it was what she deserved. Instead, she was getting sand in her shoes and cans flung towards her face.

“You’re the one who said we should practice using our powers more.” Michael smirked, concentrating on the unopened can sitting on the desk inside the airstream. With barely any effort, he watched as it floated through the doorway and over towards Isobel.

“That was an excuse to get into Old Man Simmons’ head and you know it.” She narrowed his eyes at him but grabbed the can anyway. “Besides, isn’t there a more productive way to train?”

“What are you talking about? We used to do this all the time.” Max lifted the gun and signalled for Michael to throw the next can into the air.

“Yeah, when we were like seventeen. Don’t know if you noticed but we’re not kids anymore.”

“Tell me about it. Did you know Sheriff Valenti let me assist on another murder case last week. She said I’m showing potential.” 

“Bit of a morbid thing to brag about there, Deputy.” Michael grinned as he used his power to send the next can flying, trying to catch Max off guard with its speed. Max was too slow to hit it during its ascent, but before it touched the ground he had sent a bullet clean through it.

Michael whistled in amazement and clapped Max on the back. They may be adults now but hitting a target was just as exciting as when they were kids.

Isobel was less than impressed if the furrowed brow was anything to go by. She honestly couldn’t understand the desire to shoot things. “Great, you hit it. Can I go now?”

She made a point of checking the time on her phone with a sigh and Max gave Michael such a sibling look. The kind of look that clearly conveyed annoyance, irritation and the simple question of will she ever stop complaining.

“Will you lighten up Iz, it’s just a bit of fun.” Michael rolled his eyes dramatically. “Now hurry up and drink that, we’re gonna need it soon.”

He was about the throw another can when he noticed a white van driving up the path, recognising it immediately. He felt bad for the guy, having to come out to the middle of nowhere every month or so just to drop off a single letter.

He walked over to meet the mailman as he parked in front of them and gratefully took the letter passed to him through the open window.

“Who the hell is sending you mail?” Isobel leaned forward in her chair as the van drove off and Michael was worried for a second that she would get up and take it from him before he could stop her. She never did have good impulse control.

“It’s probably just junk.” He said dismissively, staring down at his name and address. He didn’t need to open it to know who it was from. He had literally never received a single letter from anyone else in his life.

He tried to plaster on his best nonchalant face as he jogged over to the airstream and prayed that the others wouldn’t ask questions. “It’s fine, I’ll check it later.”

Bypassing every surface entirely, knowing full well that if Isobel saw it on the desk she would open it, he opened the compartment above his bed. The cupboard had gotten more crowded over the years, but the shoebox still had its special little place inside. He looked down at the letter in his hand one more time, debating whether to just rip it open then and there, before sliding it on top of the box.

He’d read it later when he wasn’t busy.

September 2015

“Ahh Deluca. It’s been while.” Michael grinned as he took a seat at the bar. It was early evening on a Friday so the place was pretty packed, but luckily for him there was always a stool empty.

Maria grabbed a glass from the rack and the bottle of whiskey from behind her and began pouring. There were other servers behind the bar so she could afford to take her time conversing with this particular regular.

“Yes, surprisingly I did notice your absence from my bar recently and honestly I’m not sure who that looks worse for.”

“You. Definitely you.” Michael said dryly as he picked up the nearest coaster and began to twirl it between his fingers. “Besides if you were that desperate to see my ruggedly handsome face you wouldn’t have skipped your shift last Friday.”

“The fact that you know my shift pattern is not a good look for you Guerin.” Maria raised her eyebrows with a smirk. “Besides, I’m allowed a night off every now and then.”

“Oh yeah? To do what? Paint your nails? Have a nice little bubble bath? Some other girl related activity?”

“To see a friend actually. Because I have those.”

“You keep telling yourself that.” He muttered playfully and she moved forward to dramatically knock the coaster out of his hand.

“We had a lovely time, thank you for asking. He hasn’t been back home in ages so we decided to make a weekend of it.”

Michael froze at her words. There was really only one person she could be talking about but he asked the question anyway. “What friend is this?”

“Alex? Manes? He went to school with us. Former emo kid turned airman.” 

Michael’s mouth suddenly felt very dry and he couldn’t get his words out. He grabbed the drink that Maria had poured and took a large gulp. “Alex was here?”

“Yeah he had a few days leave so he came to see me. It was really sweet of him, I mean he’s worked hard for that time off and he could literally do anything with it but he chose to come here. I think he was missing home a bit actually.”

Michael bit his lip, almost enough to draw blood. He was suddenly filled with so much hurt he didn’t know what to do with it. “Was he okay?”

“Yeah. I think his work has been a bit tough recently but he seemed happy.” Maria smiled gently.

Seemed happy? Did that mean Alex was happy because he was home? Or because he was spending his time with someone other than Michael?

Michael was glad he was happy, of course he was glad. Alex’s happiness is all he’s ever wanted. And of course, he has a right to visit other friends, it was never Michael’s place to tell him not to. Even when he had stayed with Michael in the past, he had always made time to say hello to other friends before he had to leave again.

But this time he hadn’t even mentioned to Michael that he was coming home. Not a single word in any of the intermittent letters.

And maybe Michael was to blame. The last time they had seen each other hadn’t exactly been perfect. And recently he’d been putting off replying for weeks which Alex must have noticed. But he still always replied in the end! So that must have meant something, right? It must have proven to Alex that he still cared, that he would still want to spend time with him.

There was no way Alex could have known that he would find out. Michael had never properly mentioned the little love-hate friendship he had struck up with Maria over the years, so really Alex could never have predicted this. And that’s probably what he had wanted, to spend time in Roswell under the radar, away from Michael.

Should he be angry about this? Was he angry? Yes. He was probably being overdramatic but this seemed like the final nail in the coffin of their unspoken relationship.

Suddenly, he had the desperate urge to take his mind off everything he’d just heard so without thinking he turned to what he did best. Paying Maria half of what he owed for the drink, he locked eyes with a cute girl at the other end of the bar and eagerly slid off the stool, ready to make a night of it.

January 2016

Isobel grabbed his face and kissed him on the cheek before he could stop her. The fireworks exploding into a hundred sparks above their heads were loud, but the cheering from the mass of people crowded outside of the Pony seemed louder.

“Happy New Year!!” Isobel practically screamed in his ear before turning to plant an overly enthusiastic kiss on Noah’s lips. This was probably the most drunk he had ever seen Isobel and every second of it was brilliant.

Max clapped a hand on Michael’s back and they tapped glasses in a less enthusiastic celebration. When Michael had suggested that the four of them go to the Wild Pony for New Year’s he had expected to be shot down instantly, but now that they were here he was glad they had actually agreed.

It had been a good night. There was plenty of alcohol, loud music and he’d won several games of pool - all without using his powers! Even Deluca had seemed almost happy to see him but he put that down to the Christmas spirit she’d been radiating for the past week.

Watching the fireworks felt like such a cliche way to end it. It was perfect. The colours lit up the sky, the bright blues and pinks of the explosions reminding him of the alien console that was slowly coming together beneath the earth of the junkyard and the booms were so powerful he could practically feel them reverberating in his chest.

He had drunk far too much to be able to quite remember how he made it home, but closing the door behind him, he noticed how lonely the airstream felt after spending the evening in a crowd of people. 

He threw his hat onto the desk and his shoes into the nearest corner and dropped onto the bed with a sigh. He clenched his left fist a few times as the ache became noticeable again. Even after all these years, the cold weather still wreaked havoc with his injury, making it cramp or stiffen up at the worst times.

As he stared up at the ceiling he had an idea. A truly terrible idea. And if he was sober he would have realised that, but sensible Michael had taken a break for the night.

He rolled off the bed and stumbled the short distance to his desk. For a messy person, his supplies were surprisingly organised with the paper stacked in one draw and a few envelopes scattered in another. He grabbed the closest pen to him and tested it worked on a scrap design that he hadn’t had the heart to throw away yet.

His uneven lettering would probably give away his drunken state but he didn’t care. This was probably the most honest he would ever be with Alex so why not take advantage of that.

Dear Alex,

I guess I should wish you a happy new year.

You know we’ve never spent a new years together? I know you’re really busy in your super important job but it would have been nice for you to celebrate it at home one year. Or maybe you did and you just didn’t tell me.

I’ve been thinking about leaving Roswell. 2016 has officially begun and I’m stuck doing the same thing I’ve been doing my entire life, living in some tiny metal box and getting paid a measly amount at a job I only half show up to.

So maybe I should just leave. Get out of the town that’s filled with heaps of bad memories. Like all the shit that happened with Max and Isobel, all the stuff with your dad. Everywhere I look in this town has been tainted by bad people and bad choices.

So you know what they say, new year, new start.

I might go to Vegas and try my luck there. Or Texas. It’s not as far but at least I’d fit in. Or maybe I’ll just leave America completely! Europe sounds nice and I bet it isn’t just miles of sand.

I used to wish we could leave together. I’d save up enough money and as soon as you got out of the Air Force we’d just leave. It wouldn’t matter where, just anywhere away from this town. And we’d probably run out of money and it would be an absolute disaster but that would be okay because at least we’d be together.

I don’t think you want that though Alex, I think you’ve already moved on and that really hurts. So maybe I should just move on too.

Enjoy the new year with your boys.

Michael

Without reading it over, he folded the paper into an envelope and sealed it before he could second guess anything.

In the morning he wouldn’t remember what the letter said, but he’d post it anyway.

November 2016

Roswell always did go all out for Veterans Day. There were banners hung in every building, flags flying proudly from every window and it was as though every Roswell born member of the Armed Forces - past and present - had returned for the annual celebration. All except one.

The evening’s event was held at the drive in, organised by the one and only Isobel Evans-Bracken and that was the only reason Michael was there. To support Isobel and that’s it.

This day was hard most years. The constant reminders of Alex everywhere he’d go, the odd sighting of Jesse Manes being thanked for his service when that man was the entire reason for Alex’s absence.

He had always believed that he would get used to it the longer Alex was away. The town was very pro-military and there always seemed to be some parade or other so the constant reminders should have made him accustomed to the feelings it brought up.

But wishful thinking strikes again.

And this year seemed to be the worst of the lot.

He and Alex had hardly spoken all year and the letters he did receive sounded like Alex was just checking if he was still in Roswell more than anything else. He never quite worked out what gave the airman the impression that he would be leaving anytime soon.

To be fair though, all of his replies had been short and vague with a rather blunt tone that he couldn’t help. A small part of him knew that he was pushing Alex away and it was screaming at him, begging him to stop, but he didn’t listen. Unfortunately, when he was hurt his self preservation kicked in big time.

Grabbing another beer from the cooler, he took a seat next to Max on the back of the truck and watched as Master Sergeant Jesse Manes took to the stage to give a speech about duty and sacrifice and how those who had lost their lives had done so proudly in the service of their country.

It made him wonder if Alex would feel proud in his last moments. If the worst happened, would he be glad to die for his country or would he be afraid? Would he be filled with fear as he lay in the dirt, cold and bleeding, waiting for help that wasn’t going to arrive on time? Would he be with his team, surrounded by love and friendship and people begging him to be okay or would he be alone? 

Or maybe it would be quick. A swift bullet to the head or heart. A nice clean shot and a point to the enemy. There one minute and gone the next.

Would Alex even feel it?

Would Michael?

As the townsfolk and various uniformed men and women began clapping loudly around him, his mind was brought back to the present. Manes gave a wave to the crowd as he ended his speech and passed the microphone over to Isobel to announce the evening’s agenda.

As she listed the live music and entertainment that was in store, he closed his eyes and tried to focus on her words instead of the thoughts circling his head. He didn’t know why he still cared so much. Alex wasn’t Michael’s to protect or worry about. Not anymore.

Michael had moved on and maybe if he drunk enough tonight, his heart would finally believe that and his mind would stop reciting the latest letter that had arrived at his door.

Dear Michael,

We were shipped off to Baghdad two months ago.

I wasn’t going to tell you because I don’t want you to worry and it’s not fair for me to force this onto you when you’re off living your own life now. It’s just a lot has happened on this tour already and I’ve been getting this feeling that I should probably let you know that I’m here.

All things considered, I’m actually quite lucky that this is only my third deployment bearing in mind how many years I’ve been serving. I’ve heard stories about some people who are on tour after tour and I don’t think I’d be able to handle the never ending missions.

It turns out I must be quite good at my job though because the team I’m with requested me. They needed someone with my specialist skillset so I guess its rather flattering but it makes me think that this job is going to be harder than the others.

It’s crazy to think about how much I’ve accomplished since I first joined. Seventeen year old Alex would hate that I’m still here but I guess he didn’t know the world like I do now. I still think about him sometimes though, the rebellious kid who wore too much eyeliner.

I know I don’t say it much but I’m really grateful for the time we spent together back then. And since then. They’re some of my favourite memories.

But I’m glad you’ve found your own path in life. You have a job that you love, a place to live that you can call your own and friends and family that you can always turn to.

I hope everyone is okay back home. I hope you’re okay. 

And more than anything, I hope that you’re happy. It’s what you deserve and I’m sure one day you’ll find someone who sees that and makes you even happier.

From, 

Alex.

He hated that Alex was back there.

And he hated that the letter sounded like a goodbye.

February 2017

Dear Alex,

I know it’s taken me a while to reply. It’s not that I didn’t want to, I’ve just been thinking about everything that’s happened and I didn’t want to say something I would regret. You’d probably tell me that I was overthinking and I’d dramatically disagree of course. But you would be right.

I’ve been thinking a lot about where you are right now and all of the bad things that could happen. I’m not going to go into how many soldiers have died over there because I’m sure you know more about it than me, just make sure you’re not added to that list, okay? I haven’t acted like it recently but it worries me that you’re somewhere so dangerous, so please be careful.

I know we’ve drifted but I still care about you Alex so I need you to be okay. I’ve been distancing myself from you these past few years and I’m sorry for that. I thought you were pushing me away so I did all I could to push you away first. I know I can’t change that now but maybe it can be different going forward.

It’s been almost three years since I last saw you in person and in a weird way it feels like yesterday. Three years sounds like a long time but looking back, it’s flown past way too quickly. So much has changed since then. I see Sanders occasionally but I haven’t worked at the junkyard in years, Isobel is married, the Wild Pony has starting having open mic nights and the Crashdown has gained about ten new milkshakes.

But I suppose the one constant is that you haven’t been here. You’ve been off being an American hero and that’s such an incredible achievement. You’ve travelled to places that I will never go, accomplished things I will probably never understand and been involved in so much that I can never know about. 

I’m sure it hasn’t always been the positive experience that people make it out to be, but I’m so happy you’ve been able to make something of your life.

You’re probably on some super secret mission right now with your little carefully selected team, but if you’ve got a minute, let me know that you’re okay.

Michael

July 2017

Alex hadn't answered. Five months and four goddamn letters and Alex hadn't answered a single one. And Michael was pissed. 

Well, first he was terrified. He had made up all manner of excuses. Maybe the letters got lost in the post. Maybe Alex was too busy to reply. But the never ending weeks of radio silence soon left Michael thinking the worst.

He had scoured the news headlines for any reports of American deaths in Iraq, he checked the obituary lists for any updates and he kept an ear out for any locals discussing the untimely death of Alex Manes.

He didn’t want to find out but he needed to know the truth.

Maria hadn’t mentioned anything in the many nights he had spent drowning his sorrows at the bar, so he took that as a good sign but then again she could just be as in the dark as he was.

After a while though, when no bad news had surfaced, he accepted the sad fact that Alex had chosen not to reply.

That the man he once loved had read his letters and hadn’t cared enough to respond. That he’d read the carefully selected words that conveyed Michael’s love and gratitude and worry. That he’d held the paper in his hands, each letter more honest than the last, and had decided to leave Michael hanging.

And if it proved one thing, it’s that he was right to stop waiting for Alex. 

He had woken up that morning missing Alex desperately. Missing his face, his voice, his laugh, his words. But when, once again, no letter arrived, his anger tore through as he finally decided to face the cold hard truth that had been waiting in the back of his mind for weeks.

Their relationship had been going downhill for a long time and now the airman had clearly made the choice for the both of them. Alex had ended whatever it was they had going on and so now Michael would do the same.

That night he went to sleep, vowing to never think of Alex again, so painfully unaware that Alex, now with half a limb cruelly taken from him, had read the letters. In fact he'd read over every letter in his metal box, mourning the end of their relationship with each one. 

Waking up in the hospital bed five months ago he'd seen his future. The future filled with therapy, physio, phantom pains, decreased mobility, the constant awkwardness from other people. And he refused to burden Michael with that. His beautiful cowboy deserved so much better.

Soon the letters would stop completely and Alex would accept that because why would Michael keep trying when he was receiving nothing in return? And maybe they’ll never see each other again and maybe they’ll never reconcile, but that would be okay because at least this way, Michael would be free.

December 2017

It was two weeks until Christmas and Isobel was on his case about a present. Why do you have to make my life difficult, Michael? You’re the only person I haven’t bought for, Michael. Can you find some actual hobbies so that I know what to get you, Michael?

The queen of organisation was getting very stressed at the mere thought of having to do any last minute shopping but how would Michael tell her what he really wanted for Christmas when obtaining it was impossible?

And yeah, yeah, he said he was going to stop thinking about him. But let’s be real, that was never going to happen.

Instead he drank. A lot. And gambled and hooked up with pretty girls and committed enough petty crime to make Max consider a very early retirement.  

Anything to get his mind off Alex. But as blissful as the forgetting was in the night, it always came flooding back in the morning. Because every morning he woke up and stared at the compartment where the box was stored and every morning it reminded him of Alex. Well, no more.

Sitting on the edge of the bed as he tried to ignore the cold winter wind raging outside, he made the decision to move it. If he hid it away and promised himself that he would never look inside again then maybe, just maybe, he would finally move on.

Standing up was a choice he instantly regretted as the room spun slightly and the sun blaring in through the newspaper covered window immediately fuelled the hangover burning behind his eyes. But as soon as everything settled he wasted no time in opening the compartment and taking out the box.

His fingers were itching to lift up the lid and peek inside but that would only make it harder. Instead he clamped the sides tightly in his grip and headed straight for the closet.

It was ironic really, hiding Alex in the closet - a thought that only came to him as he was opening the door - but it was the only place in the tiny hamster cage of a home where it would be safe from prying eyes, Michael’s included. 

There were a pair of boots at the bottom alongside some old clothes Max had given him years ago and a cardboard box of blueprints, photos and spaceship pieces he had yet to take to the junkyard.

He lifted them out easily and dumped them unceremoniously on the floor next to where he was kneeling - they had been shoved in the bottom of a closet for god knows how long, they could manage a bit of manhandling.

With the space now empty, the shoebox went in first, being pushed as far into the corner as possible before he gave himself the chance to change his mind. The larger box went back in next, taking up the remaining floor space, then the boots and bag of clothes were thrown in afterwards. As long as they didn’t fall out, he didn’t care where they landed.

As he closed the door his phone rang and looking at the caller ID the timing couldn’t have been more perfect as he’d finally thought of an idea for what Isobel could buy him.

Because why spend your own money to fuel your drinking habit when someone else could do it for you.

March 2018

Michael was shocked awake by a loud thump. Sitting up too quickly, scrambling to get his brain in gear, he noticed Max standing on the other side of the cage with a large pile of files on the desk in front of him. That explains what caused the rude awakening then.

“Thanks.” He groaned, lying back down on the metal bench. His head was thumping and he was not in the mood for the conversation that was bound to follow.

“Is this gonna be a regular thing with you?” Max asked as he took a seat at the desk. The chair scraped horribly on the floor and it made Michael wince.

He stared up at the ceiling and took a few breaths before talking. He didn’t normally feel this bad after drinking but he’d forgotten to grab a bottle of acetone before heading to the Pony and it had been a long night.

“I thought you wanted to spend more time together.” He replied impudently after a moment. 

He heard Max sigh and could practically see him rolling his eyes.

“It’s not funny, Michael.”

“It’s a little funny.” He smirked, attempting to sit up again, groaning as it became clear how much his back hadn’t appreciated his drunk tank sleeping arrangements. Max didn’t even glance up at him from the file he was reading. “Right, are you gonna let me out or not?”

“Nope. Valenti’s just outside and she’ll know if I go easy on you.” 

Michael scoffed and debated just lifting the keys from the desk with his powers. Why did Max have to be such a rule-following little Deputy? It was as if Max was the mind reader of the trio though as he grabbed the keys without looking and put them straight into his pocket.

“I’m just trying to help you.” Max gave him a pointed look that Michael just wanted to punch right off his face sometimes.

“Like always…” Michael muttered under his breath.

“I’m surprised Maria hasn’t barred you yet. You cause her more trouble than it’s worth.”

“The fight wasn’t even that bad, everyone just overreacted. Besides, the other guy totally started it.”

Max shook his head as he got back to his work. Michael wasn’t lying, he hadn’t started the fight, he had just been rather eager to join in. Sometimes punching things felt good.

Max was clearly not letting him out anytime soon and it was well before noon so no-one was expecting him to be at work for a good couple of hours. He could try to negotiate his freedom but Max had this whole save Michael from himself agenda going on recently so it would probably just be a waste of breath.

Instead he could take the easy route and catch up with a bit more sleep.

June 2018

“Quick Alex, run and tell your daddy.”

Michael instantly regretted his words the second the door had closed behind him.

But he hadn’t seen Alex in four years, hadn’t heard from him in months. He had every right to be angry. Right?

Except he wasn’t angry, not really, that was just a façade he was forcing forward to help protect himself from the heartache threatening to break through. He never could stay angry at Alex for long.

Looking through the shoebox filled him with a cautious kind of hope. Just because Alex was back didn’t mean anything was going to change between them but Michael just couldn’t help it.

He sat on the floor for a while as he read over some of the letters, his legs getting cramped in the small gap between the bed and the closet. He had forgotten how happy the earlier letters were, the ones sent before Alex had had a chance to experience combat. They had both been so young back then, so unaware of how life would turn out.

Once he was finished, he left the shoebox on his desk, feeling too nostalgic to put it back in the closet but not yet ready to commit to the overhead compartment again. Thoughts of Alex followed him well into the afternoon of the next day and they didn’t seem to be leaving anytime soon. Twenty-four hours since Alex had been standing right in front of him and he had completely fallen for the airman all over again.

But that couldn’t happen. He couldn’t let Alex in again. Not if it was just going to end the same way.

So when Alex approached him at the reunion, suggesting that he had turned his trailer into a meth lab, Michael did all he could to put the wall back up again. He was sarcastic and aggrieved and did his best to rile Alex up. You trying to hold my hand, Private?

And when he shoved past Alex he pretended to himself that it felt good.

But the heart wants what the hearts wants and all evening his eyes kept being drawn back to Alex. He barely noticed the girl at his side as he watched Alex smile politely and engage in conversation with people they had both gone to school with and when Alex ducked into a side room, he couldn’t stop his feet from following.

Watching Alex check his prosthetic broke Michael’s heart. He wanted to ask a million questions, how did it happen? When did it happen? Does it hurt? Are you okay? Alex was walking on it, albeit with a crutch, so it must have been at least a year since he was injured and Michael had been oblivious to it all. Although an entire year of unanswered letters were suddenly provided with a devastating explanation.

To lose a limb must be unimaginable, but whatever had caused it, Michael was just so glad that it hadn’t taken all of him.

He leaned against the doorway as his eyes roamed over every part of the man in front of him, taking him in completely. His beautiful face that Michael was desperate to put a smile on, his soft hair that had grown since he had last been home, the checkered shirt that looked so much more Alex than the uniform, the way he glowed under the coloured lights.

They had both been through so much this past decade but Alex was back, potentially for good this time, and Michael was about to dive headfirst into the possibility of them rekindling whatever it was they once had.

“Nostalgia’s a bitch, huh?” He spoke up, hoping beyond anything that Alex wouldn’t walk away. He allowed a gentle smile and when Alex dropped his leg to the floor and faced him properly, he felt his heartbeat quicken.

Alex took a moment to reply and when he did his face gave no hints as to whether he was happy to see Michael or not. “I thought for sure when I got back from Iraq you would be long gone.” 

“Is that what you want?” Michael avoided eye contact, suddenly not wanting to witness the moment Alex turned him away but still, he walked closer.

“We’re not kids anymore.” Alex whispered, the words catching in his throat, and still Michael kept walking. “What I want doesn’t matter.”

They were so close to each other now, barely an arm’s length away from touching and the close proximity gave Michael all the courage he needed. He drew his longing gaze away from Alex’s eyes to his soft lips and he couldn’t hold back any longer.

One moment they were two separate people and the next they were crashing together like waves that had been parted for an eternity.

Michael’s entire body tingled, the feeling of Alex’s palm on his back, Alex’s lips against his own. He was hardly aware of what his hands were doing, cupping Alex’s face and pulling him closer, hungry and intense and desperate to reclaim what they had lost. He barely breathed as the rest of the world fell away until it was just them in their intimate, almost forbidden, moment.

His anger at Alex and his year long desire to banish any thought of him was long forgotten. He was back, he was here and Michael didn’t ever want to let go. 

As they parted, foreheads still touching, Michael couldn’t bear to take his eyes off the man in front of him, convinced that if he closed his eyes for even a second it would all disappear. The moment was so perfect, part of him felt like he was dreaming.

Their relationship over the past decade had been a complete rollercoaster but now, feeling Alex pressed against him, Michael was convinced that things would be different now.

And maybe, just maybe, there was hope.

The End.

Thank you for reading ❤️✨

[lananiscorner]

No Good Nephilim

Summary: There are few things strong enough to kill a Horseman. Much to Strife’s dismay, a Destroyer powered by the Well of Souls is one of them.

Notes: @imagine-darksiders asked for a sad fic about Strife dying at the end of Ds3, so here we are. Trigger warnings for major character death, graphic descriptions of violence and all the sad feels. You have been warned. Dead dove, do not eat.

***

Sometimes it was the smallest, silliest mistakes in the world that led someone into the foul, relentless jaws of death. A tiny miscalculation in battle. A split-second loss of attention in the middle of a dangerous situation. Or just plain old lack of common sense.

If Strife could say one thing about his mistake, it was that it had been a very... Strife-y mistake. The strifiest of strify mistakes that had ever strifed:

He had, quite literally and figuratively, chosen to bully a dragon. Twice.

'The Destroyer' is what he had called himself, as he had torched the crown of Haven's tree, set it ablaze as the Council had once done to Earth's Tree of Life, as he had swept Elanya up into the air, carrying her over to the field of ash far beyond the tree and dropping her into the jaws of something that had sounded far too big to have originated on Earth. In the span of seconds it had taken Ulthane to join the fight and take her place, Yarin had been swarmed by the Destroyer's legions. Strife had watched him go under, a screaming mass of flailing limbs that were torn from his body one by one, until there were only shreds left of him.

Strife had taken the anger that had filled him over the deaths of two makers he had come to value as brothers in arms, if not even friends, and had channeled it straight into his Anarchy form. The hail of angry bullets he had unleashed had pattered off the dragon's skin like rain on a sturdy roof and so he had chosen against all logic to go in for a brawl. It hadn't even taken him two seconds to realize that War himself, in all his flaming Chaos glory could not have made a dent in the bastard's hide.

Whatever had given the Destroyer his power—maybe a Bloodmantle, maybe some other unknown artifact—it was beyond the powers the Council had granted Strife.

He should have given up at that point, and yet, when his magic wore off, shrinking him back to his normal size and giving him the chance to slip from the Destroyer's grasp, he had looked him dead in the eyes—well, singular EYE—instead and said: "Man, where were you the last fifty times your goons attacked us? The ugly mofo spa?"

Strife had dodged the blast of flame that had followed. And the angry swish of the tail. And the furious swiping of claws. And the truly disgusting, very definitely uncleaned teeth.

And then, the dragon had launched himself forward, spinning in a helix that was easily evaded... and unfolding his wings just in those few moments during Strife's dodge that his feet had not been touching the ground. They expanded with such force and velocity, it had knocked him right back into infernal death trap the maker tree had become.

It was a maneuver Strife had seen many times before. From angels. Never from demons. Never from Hell.

The implications of that were truly horrifying.

He had landed in the reflecting pool, breaking its rune-covered rim in the process, and if there had ever been a silver-lining to getting thrown through solid stone, "I messed up every last chance of using this magical gateway to follow Fury and the humans" was certainly it. The pool would have been useless to the Destroyer before. Now it was damaged beyond repair by anyone except its creator perhaps, and if the noise from outside was anything to go by, Ulthane was sooner looking to die here than aid the forces of Hell.

Judging by the heavy paw that landed on Strife's chest, slowly crushing his rib cage as the dragon loomed over him, the Destroyer was very, very much aware of this fact.

"You have lost, horseman," the dragon sneered as he brought his face close enough to heat up Strife's mask like a grill in summer. Something about it was painfully familiar. The face, not the heat. Was it the one scarred eye? "But you do not need to die, as the Council desires. Join me and I will grant you unimaginable power. Together we can reshape the very universe."

Internally, Strife cursed his mercurially forgetful brain. He had met way too many one-eyed bastards in his time.

Externally, Strife laughed. "Only if you drop the ridiculous title. My brothers and I were not even a day old when we chose the edgiest names in the world for ourselves. What's your excuse?"

The Destroyer roared in anger, as expected.

His jaws came for Strife's head, as expected.

Strife's left saber, Silence, and his right saber, Shade, all but melted as they struck the dragon's eye and gullet respectively, as very much not expected.

Well, fuck.

The jaws tore through and shredded his saber. Then his bracer. Then his arm. They came to rest around his head, teeth pushing into his skull and visor alike, removing what little barrier he had had from the fire burning in the Destroyer's throat. One of the fangs pierced his left eye and for the first time in a long, long time, Strife howled in pain as he was flung across the shattered remains of Haven, into even more fire. The tail hit him next, throwing him back into the center of the tree, where his scorched face was met by the floor and his back was met by the heel of a foot that carried several tons of dragon. The sound his spine made as it ran out of room to bend echoed through his skull like a scream in a gorge.

Strife's remaining good hand curled around Redemption. No proper nephilim ever died without a weapon in their hand, as Death used to say.

To his left, the ground parted as Mayhem weasled her way out of void—had enough of Haven's crown burned yet to make his grave be technically 'under the open sky'?—and charged at the Destroyer, dodging his angry snap by the width of her reins, before disappearing back into the ether. It was only a few seconds of distraction, but that was all it took for the elegantly carved bridge stone that had been flung at Strife to land underneath his chin. For a moment, his body felt light as a feather as the trinket worked its magic and whisked him away into the void.

His fall through space ended not in another flash of light, as it should have, but in a tangle of what felt like roots. Living, sentient, evil roots that did not agree with Ulthane on his destination. Strife growled as they wrestled the pistol from his grasp and pushed him back into the void.

Back to the Destroyer. Back to the fire. Lovely.

Strife tumbled, fell... and landed in water. It seared his broken body no less than the fire had, adding a thousand knives of ice to the grinder that had been the Destroyer's fire and blurring what little his right eye could still perceive of the world, as he sank deeper and deeper. And dear god he was tired. Perhaps the bottom of whatever fucking body of water he had landed in wasn't such a bad place to stop breathing.

Except the universe, of course, had other plans. It had always been a mercurial bitch to him and probably always would be. And right now the bitch had decided that what he really needed was someone to pull him back up and drag his broken body onto the shore.

On a scale of mild spice to stinger venom, the air was a wasp in his lungs. A swarm of wasps. Air, Strife decided as he coughed out what felt like a good tenth of the blood in his body, could go and get fucked.

Only when whoever dragged him along stopped, did the searing pain stop long enough to let him take in his surroundings.

There was grass under him. He could feel it where his armor had been damaged, tickling what little of his skin had not been burned yet. He could hear the sound of water, falling and running, but not splashing. A lake then. He had been inside a lake. He could hear birds, crows. Dust?

Of course not.

Strife wanted to shake his head, but every little movement felt like he was hammering roofing nails into his bones. Death wouldn't be here. And thank the fucking Creator for that, because Strife could just imagine what he would have to say about this disaster and he was not in a mood to hear it.

He could also hear the dying snarls of Hell's minions and the unmistakable, heavy thump of a hammer. He could smell blood and sweat and scorched meat. To be fair, at least two of those were probably his own.

And, fuck, but he felt cold. He had never felt cold before. He had made his damn home on a world with long, freezing winters, for crying out loud.

"Ul—" Strife coughed up more blood and would have shuddered at how weak his voice sounded, if his body had had any strength left for that. But in spite of what Death always liked to believe, he did actually have a brain. And a sense of priority and urgency.

It didn't get much more prioritizable and urgent than bleeding to death.

"Ulthane?" He hoped that was Ulthane's hammer he was hearing. "Ulthane..."

What if it wasn't? The thought sent an even colder chill through his already freezing flesh. What if he was going to die alone here in fuck-knew-where, a feast for the crows? Had he already been this cold two minutes ago?

"Ulthane?"

There was another heavy thud and at last the snarling around him stopped. The Earth shook with heavy steps and a few moments later, a familiar shadow fell over him. Strife had never been so happy to see a face so ugly.

"I'm here lad. Save yer breath."

"Little too late for that. My guns..." He tried to reach for them, only to find that he could barely bend the fingers of his right hand and had lost all feeling in his left. When had he—?

Oh. Right. Dragon. Snap! Literally.

"Save. Yer. Breath!" Ulthane's brow knitted into a tight frown. "I can heal you—"

"Oh really..." The wretched sound that crawled from Strife's throat was shakier than a zombie escaping its grave. So much for laughing. "With what shards? Cause mine were in my left gauntlet."

Strife counted the seconds of silence that followed. Five. Ten. Twenty. He wanted to laugh, but dear uptight Heaven, everything in between his lungs and his lips was on fire.

"Ulthane, I need my guns."

"Can't see a sign of 'em," Ulthane said as he surveyed their surroundings. "Must have gotten lost in the damn portal. We were supposed to go to the Forgelands."

"We still on Earth?" It was a vague guess of course, given that neither his eyes nor his head worked well enough let him scan the environment for the ruins of human civilization, but it was the best one we had.

"'Fraid so."

"Fuck." Strife winced. Perhaps the crows were going to be the least of his worries. He had seen what the Destroyer's army had been capable of. Undead humans. Undead angels. Undead demons.

And what was a nephilim if not half-angel, half-demon?

Think fast, Strife. Think fast. He wanted to scream. At this useless, broken body that refused to move anymore. At the arm and the eye he no longer had. At what he could only hope was blood and not brains leaking from the puncture wounds around his head. The noise that came out of his mouth instead was more of a desperate whine.

"No Redemption or Mercy for the wicked..."

And there was the mostly useless and to many people utterly infuriating habit of that brain of his to turn anything into a joke. How nice that at least one thing in his body still worked as usual. Ulthane, understandably, was not impressed. Or at least, Strife could only assume so. He could no longer hear or see clearly enough to make out Ulthane's reaction, but it hardly mattered.

"Promise... you'll burn me... They bri... bring me back—"

The darkness came swiftly. So swiftly even, half of him was sure he had only imagined it. The other half felt it had lasted an eternity, and that he had clawed his way back to the land of the living out of sheer spite. "I kill you. They bring... me back... I kill you. Burn me."

"Strife—"

"My. Guns." He was too weak to shout, but Strife hoped his voice remained sharp enough to convey the necessary urgency, even as the rest of his world went fuzzy around the edges. Cool. Now he only needed to see a bright light and have his entire life flash before his eyes to complete the death experience hattrick.

At last, Ulthane conceded. As the maker disappeared from his field of vision, Strife took what pathetically little breath his lungs still agreed to hold.

"May'em... May'em..." Goddamn, when had the letter H become so difficult? Strife frowned as he tried to focus through the dull, drumming ache in his brain. Mayhem, come to me. Goddamn it, Mayhem, come.

He could hear her whinny, even if he could not see her spawn from the void. Somehow that thought made him irrationally angry. He had seen it a thousand times, so why did he feel robbed of the experience now?

He could also feel her nuzzling his remaining hand long before he could see her shadow, her armor hanging off of her in a sad, half-molten farce of its former glory. Her mane had been burn to the roots, but the mist around her hooves still shone purple. She was alive and in contrast to him, she was likely to stay that way too. That was all that mattered.

"Find... Fury..." Mayhem stomped and whined, like a child who did not want to be sent to bed yet. Strife groaned. He had no time for this. He could already feel the bond to her weaken as his mind shut down. "Don' argue wimme. Find... Fury... May'em. She needs you... more'an I. Find'er. Please."

And please, for the love of all that is good in this world, just do it now. He could no longer articulate it to her in as many words. Every time his brain tried to form the thought, the fragments of it slipped from his mind, like fish from a broken net that only kept on breaking and breaking and breaking. Do it now, before change my mind. Please, girl.

Mayhem stepped back and forth and shook her head. For a moment that felt like eternity, she glared at him as if to question his very existence, as if he had just asked her to stop being a horse and turn into a frog.

Then, she nuzzled his hand once more, turned, and disappeared back into the nothingness.

Strife sighed. He had never felt so relieved. And so alone.

"Horseman..." Was it only his imagination or his fading senses, or had Ulthane's voice grown softer too? "I found one of yer guns. Mercy."

No proper nephilim ever died without a weapon in their hand.

Well... Strife took the shallowest breath that had ever meant to be deep.

When had he ever been a good nepilim? When he had been born weak... delicate? When he had questioned Absalom and the Firstborn at every turn? When he had deserted his kin before Eden and gone to the Council? When he had slaughtered them? When he had helped save humanity rather than destroy them? When they had taught him compassion and kindness and humility?

Strife discarded the heavy adamantine that rested on his hand and closed his fist. Death would just have to live with the fact that Strife had been a disappointment from start to finish. Even in the hour of his demise.

"Keep it."

"Horseman—"

"Keep..." Was that vague shadow to his right Ulthane? Were they still alone? Strife could only assume so. It was hard to tell. He could no longer feel his hand. Or the grass. The sound of water was almost gone.

And to think he had been planning to infiltrate the Council's dungeons and free War. Him! Alone! How ridiculous!

The Council... War...

"War... you e'er see War..."

"I'll give him yer gun and help him any way I can," the shadow all but whispered. "I promise."

I promise. Strife clung to those words and the warmth and comfort they projected as the walls of reality dissolved around him and the last shadows faded.

The humans had been right once again.

"...ere really is... a light..."

[how-masterful]

In Sickness And In Health

Dhawan!master x reader

Summary: when faced with the possibility of your death, the Master reflects on how much you've changed him, and just how unready he is to be alone.

Notes: here's some good old hurt/comfort for you all. There's some angst, but mostly just fluffy confessions of love and flirting. Lots of fluff and flirting ❤ feedback is always appreciated!

Warnings: mentions of blood and bodily harm

You'd learnt early on the Master despised seeing you hurt. The moment he saw you injured or upset, planets would be burnt, lives would be taken, and you'd wind up in his arms deep within the TARDIS walls, his lips trailing over your skin as an unspoken promise to never see you hurt again.

Which made the current situation you'd found yourself in really, really inconvenient.

You'd been ambushed by creatures aboard shuttle Alpha 9, viscious creatures who'd unluckily caught you just before before you could make your quick escape. They'd clawed at your arm, leaving a nasty gash on your bicep that burnt like hot acid. You'd howled in pain, pinned to the floor as the leader strangled you against the metal platform, weight kneeling on your hip and making you shriek- the strangled sound ripping against your throat.

You'd managed to get the upper hand, breathlessly shooting the creatures with one of the Masters weapons, scrambling to your feet as you raced through the corridors to find quadrant 35, as per his instructions. He'd set the whole place to blow in 4 minutes, and you'd sprinted towards the entrance, the sound of oncoming footsteps making your heart race.

"Master!"

"Darling, right on time!"

His eyes were alit with murderous frenzy, a laugh perched on his lips. You practically threw yourself against him, stealing a desperate kiss as the distant roar of the creatures pulled you from your mania. "Missed you too, dear" he grinned, before gripping your gashed bicep in a flurry and dragging you towards the TARDIS. You yelped in agony, noise lost over the thunderous screech of the creatures, the Master snapping his fingers as the TARDIS doors flew open in a flourish.

He let go of your arm as he twirled around the central console, the TARDIS raring to life as you closed the front doors behind you. You leant against the wood panneling, desperate for breath- your whole body ached, arm pulsating as blood soaked your jacket sleeve. You groaned lowly. The wound was deep, your throat and hip tender to touch. You felt truly battered, and had to fight back the pain as you lowered yourself down against the wall.

The Master was flipping levers and flicking switches, manic laugh encompassing the console room as he moved in a blur of tartan purple.

"Where next, love? Ooh, how about we crash an alien auction and find you some lovely new jewels, hmm?" He grinned dangerously, his back to you as he typed something onto a pannel.

"So many dynasties out there to overthrow! Planets to burn, chaos to cause!"

You bit your lip as you pulled off your jacket, holding back a whine as you inspected your arm. Your blouse was gashed, exposing your skin and the copius amounts of blood that stained the material. Your breath was thin as your throat ached raw.

The Master laughed giddily as he fiddled with a dial, eyes wide with malice, gaze focused on the controls. "That plan's really got me going Y/N, theres so much more we can do! Now I dont know about you, but on days like this theres nothing better after blowing up a colony than hearing a good scream and shedding a little-" the Master reached towards the scanner, and suddenly stopped.

He tilted his head and inspected his palm, merriment falling from his expression as his eyes rapidly looked down to follow the sticky red trail he'd unknowingly left over the TARDIS controls.

"Blood..."

The timelords hand was wet with warm blood, the controls smeared with leftover crimson. His eyebrows furrowed as he brought the hand closer to his face, inspecting it curiously. He furiously thought back to where it could've come from, mind racing at warp speed. He hadnt killed anyone earlier, unless with the TCE- and it certainly wasn't his blood, he hadn't been hurt. He hummed in confusion, until it suddenly hit him.

The inhabitants of Alpha 9 bled a frozen green.

The only creature aboard that ship that bled hot red was you.

"Y/N?" The Master span around to face you. Your body was slumped against the doors of the TARDIS, chest heaving as the blood pooled down your arm onto the floor. Your eyes fluttered in half consciousness as your coat lay strewn at your side. His gaze shot wide. "Oh no, no no no!" He sprinted across the TARDIS floor and crouched at your side, hearts racing in his chest as he scrabbled for your face. "Its ok, you're gonna be ok love, hold on."

The Master didn't often openly panic. Even when his life was threatened in the most dangerous of ways, he'd face death with a smile and a giddy wave of whimsy. Fear was for weak, petty little humans, not for powerful beings like himself. He shut off his emotions like a tap, only showing the world his glorious joy or furious anger: The basics the universe needed to fear him. But per usual, you'd come along and shook up his routine- and as you bled out on the TARDIS floor, his hearts raced beyond comprehension.

"Stay awake for me, hey, c'mon don't fall asleep." His grasp had left a bloody handprint on your cheek, your head limp in his hold as he desperately scooped you up into his arms. "C'mon Y/N, stay with me." The TARDIS hummed in distress as he carried you through the corridors. She seemed as upset as he did, having taken a strong liking to you the moment you stepped through her doors.

"Master..." You croaked out, struggling to meet his gaze. He weakly smiled down at you.

"Good girl, i'm here, everythings going to be fine" you returned a pained grin, lips parted as your eyes fluttered shut. "M' Masters good girl" you hummed, exhaustion taking over as you fully went limp.

The Master clutched you tighter to his chest, a desperate snarl ripping from his throat. Even in near death you still devoted yourself to him, a sick irony in truth- it was because of your devotion to him you were hurt in the first place. The TARDIS hummed again, pulling the Master from his thoughts, the hallway lights indicating the way to the distressed timelord.

She moved the medical bay closer to the the console room, the Master racing through the doors and tenderly laying you down on the bed, silently thanking her.

"You're not dying on me little madam, don't you dare try dying on me today." His trembling hands fought to unbutton your bloodsoaked blouse, your bare skin exposing the extent of your injury. Under normal circumstance, you being shirtless would stimulate something inherently primal in the timelord, your body drowned in lustful kisses. But now, it was a race against time to halt your excessive bleeding: and the Master was never known for his patience.

Shaking hands pressed hard on your wound, bandaging tight around the bleed as a drip was firmly placed into the crook of your arm. Coat tossed aside, the Master rolled the dark sleeves of his shirt to his elbows, a sight he knew you'd be drooling over were you not close to death. Your face was ghostly pale, a stark comparison to the dripping crimson. The master gently tilted your head, eyes fixating on the dark blotches blooming on your throat- if he wasnt so fearful for your life, he'd be furious. But now, the timelord decided, wasn't the time for theatrics.

Tender fingers smoothed a balm over your bruise covered hip and throat, a healing concoction he'd stolen from the Sisters of Plenitude after a thrilling turn on New Earth. It was sure to deal with the bruises quickly. He smirked weakly, a laugh lost in his throat. You normally loved the bruises he gave you, wearing them with pride under your clothes, a mark of the Master owning every part of you- much to your delight. His bruises told a story on your skin, littered over your collarbone and thighs like a devotion of love- But these bruises were angry, mocking the timelord with vengeance. He supposed this was the creatures' revenge for the destruction of Alpha 9. The thought of it made him sick.

Your stillness was agonising, the mystery of the unknown rivalling the maddening pound of the incessant drumming in his head.

He grabbed hold of an intricately shaped tool, scanning over your body with shallow breath. Your vitals soon appeared on the dark wall, graphs and statistics plastered across the space. With a huff, the Master turned to you, hand caressing over your cheek. He placed a tender kiss to your forehead, lips soft against your damp skin, before sitting down at your side.

You lay there for what seemed like centuries for the timelord. The wait was pure agony.

A warm washcloth had been taken to your skin, all traces of the blood disappearing from your skin. The Master furiously scrubbed at his hands and forearms, the red staining his skin like a vicious reminder of your injury. The TARDIS luckily cleared the pool of blood in the console room, the Master gently patting the wall in thanks and recieving a warm hum in return. His hands were red raw by time he was sure no blood was left, trembling fingers brushing the hair from your face as he tenderly cleared the blood from your cheek.

For hours on end he sat, holding your hand in his own. You were far too still for his liking. He was used to you reaching out for his touch constantly, always a tacticle creature. He sighed and placed a kiss on your knuckles, brushing over them with his thumb.

"You humans...you're all so delicate." He mused. "I never could understand why the doctor kept a troupe of your kind around. Typical- now I do, and the one I actually take a fancy to is knocked out cold." The Master sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. You still didnt move.

"What've you done to me, love? You've turned the universe's big bad Master into a sentimental, lovesick schoolboy. I hope you're proud of yourself."

He leant back in the chair, gently patting your hand. He sighed again. "You managed to make me fall for a human, you beautiful creature. If I didnt know you better i'd call you a fool, running into the arms of a being known for the destruction of everything in its path. But that wouldnt change anything, would it? You always were beautifully stubborn."

Silence. The master bit his lip.

"I took you in because I was bored, wanted something to tease and prod and play with. Maybe I was secretly lonely. God knows why you stayed." He let out a weak laugh, rubbing at his chin. "You put up with me all that time. You saw something, I still for the life of me can't figure out what you managed to find inside all the cruelty I sent your way. But you stayed, and now i'm the one begging you to stay with me. Strangely poetic, isn't it love?"

He would never admit it to anyone outside the TARDIS walls, but he was terrified- instinctively he knew at one point you'd be hurt. Humans just werent as durable, he knew that. But the pain of seeing you hurt? Now he certainly didnt expect it in as full force as it came to him.

"I can't lose you. Its supposed to be you and me, travelling the stars and causing chaos together- you're mine. Finally, something I care more about than myself-and the universe tries to take it from me."

He took your hand he refused to release in both of his own, placing his forehead on your knuckles and taking in a shaky breath.

"Despite my, and i'm directly quoting you here Y/N, 'devilishly handsome' new face - Im old, really old, i've been around for a while. I've seen things, things you wouldn't believe. Done things you couldn't begin to imagine. I've ran for prime minister and became the dictator of the world, explored a planet of cheetah people, turned the whole of planet earth's dead into cybermen- and i even did that one in a corset and heels."

The Master laughed, but it fell on deaf ears.

"It was all 'been there, done that, killed their people.' It got boring fast. But with you, its like the universe is this new, incredible thing- the look in your eye when we step out this tardis makes me feel like im doing all this for the first time again."

The master shakily laughed, kissing your fingertips. He'd blame it on the exhaustion, but tears began to well in his eyes.

"But this time... i'm happy. Sure, the anger never leaves, the need to destroy is still incessant and those god damn drums still plague my mind every single day: but now i'm happy. You make me so happy, love. You, with your wonder and excitement and cheeky little darkside, your willingness to see the world for whats real and not just whats good."

The Master sniffed, placing your knuckles against his lips as he looked at your unmoving form. He knew you'd normally squirm and blush at the sensation, your stillness hurting him even more.

"You kneel at my feet, stand by my side, lay in my arms and you call me your Master- and every time, you say it like a god damn prayer. You looked into the eyes of the universe's most messed up soul and said 'I love you'- and I thought I was the mad one. " The Master laughed weakly again, placing a kiss on your knuckles. He let out a breathy sigh and pondered for a moment.

"When you wake up, i'll show you the stars. Not like before, no. I'll take you anywhere your heart desires, show you the universe you want to see, and hold you in my arms. This TARDIS, my TARDIS, is your home. You belong next to me, not in a bed close to death but past that console room, out those doors, exploring space and time and making you as happy as you make me. Anything you want, you'll get. I'll even teach you to fly the TARDIS, eh?" He gave a pained smile, tapping your hand. "You've always wanted to know how to fly the old girl, havent you love?"

The master interlaced his fingers with your own, holding your hand like it was the most precious thing in the world.

"So you just wake up now, darling. Save this old mans hearts from breaking. I cant be alone anymore, I can't walk the stars without you next to me. I need to share this life with you." The master paused, breath caught in his throat.

"I love you too much to let you go."

He'd said it before, in secret moments and late night confessions, but it still felt strange on his tongue. The Master didnt love, that was the Doctors job. The master was the cruel one, the monster that sought destruction across the universe, while the doctor dragged their bunch of tagalong pets behind him to pick up the pieces. It was an old game, a legendary one. But he couldnt do it alone, not any more.

Thats when he felt it- The gentle twitch of your fingertips against his hand. The timelord held his breath, straightening in his chair. You slowly began to stir. You were mumbling under your breath, eyelashes fluttering as the room slowly crept into view. Your lips were dry, voice hoarse, and as you pulled yourself from slumber you weakly called out his name.

"Master?"

The hand holding yours squeezed lovingly, brown eyes soon coming into your hazy field of vision. "I'm here, love. Im always here."

You smiled at that, tenderly pulling his hand towards your face and sighing into his touch. The master gently held your face, thumb brushing over your cheek. "Now what time do you call this, young lady?"

You laughed weakly, the force on your throat causing you to wince. The master shook his head, moving closer. "You're just a little trouble magnet, arent you?" He teased. A small smirk played on your lips as you leant closer into his touch. "Well, I learnt from the best."

It was the Masters turn to laugh now. "That was beautiful, what you said." You quietly murmured, gaze meeting his own. The Master paused for a moment, the internal debate going on in his mind evident on his face. You could see in his eyes he was raring to downplay his confession. "Don't try and deny it, pretty boy. I heard every word."

The Master finally relented, standing up from his chair and pulling his hand away from your face. You whined at the loss of contact, hand weakly reaching out towards the timelords arm. You felt a lump build in your throat- had he gotten annoyed at that? "No, Master i'm sorry, please don't leave." You whimpered out. He raised an eyebrow and gently shushed you.

"Hey hey, down girl. Give us a second." he smirked, pulling off his shoes and shedding himself of his waistcoat. You watched, transfixed, the Masters shirt and pants soon following, leaving him stood in his socks and underwear. The timelord returned to your side, pulling up the covers of the bed and signalling for you to shuffle over.

You limply moved to the side as the Master slipped under the covers, his arm curling around your shoulders. You instinctively nestled into his arms, head resting on his bare chest, your legs tangling together in a jumble of limbs. The Masters arms felt like safety, his fingertips trailing over your back, rhythmic heartbeat against your temple. You hummed contently. "What was that for?"

The master smirked cockily. "I said i'd hold you in my arms when you woke up, love. I thought you said you heard everything. Or did you just get distracted by the thought of me in a corset and heels?"

"Shut up." You weakly gave a playful push his chest with a groan, a low rumbling laugh following from the timelord. The Masters lips ghosted over your forehead, hot breath a sharp contrast to your cold skin as he placed a slow, gentle peck. You sighed contently into his hold, eyes fluttering shut with bliss.

"Thank you Master, for being there for me." you murmured lowly, your fingertips drawing circles over his warm skin. The Master hummed, head resting atop of yours.

"Always, love" he replied, thumb caressing over your shoulder. "As you humans say, 'in sickness and in health'."

You let out a soft giggle, the sensation making the Master shiver, goosebumps forming on his skin. "Normally, that's said during wedding vows." You supplied, biting your lip. "Its something reserved for a married couple."

The timelord brought you tighter to his chest, a smile playing on his lips. "Well then, if we're ever going to get to that point Y/N, you're going to have to stop trying to bleed out in the console room. I'm not cleaning up blood on our honeymoon." He jibed, smirking as he felt your heartrate quicken. The notion of you being wed seemed to excite you. He filed that thought away for later.

You craned your neck to face the Master, a tired smile gracing your lips. "So no 'til death do us part?'." Warm browns turned to meet your lazy gaze, a tender expression on his face as he shook his head. "Lets just focus on the sickness and health bit first, hm?"

You nodded gently, satisfied, the Masters hand gingerly taking hold of your cheek. The distance between you both soon closed, your lips meeting his. You quickly sank further into his hold, letting him guide your mouth, his touch soft and considerate. A soft smile spread across your face as you let him take control- even in his most gentle moments, he was still certainly your Master.

Time melted away, you had no clue just how long you'd submitted yourself to his kiss, the Master letting you break for air when you needed to before diving right back in and taking ownership back of your mouth. Eventually you parted, both of your lips red and glossy. You sank back into his chest, nestling deep into his arms as exhaustion took hold once more.

"I love you, Master" you mumbled into his skin as you began to fall back into slumber.

The Master smiled almost proudly, before letting his own eyes flutter shut. He didn't need sleep as much as you did, timelord biology never requiring them to rest. But he decided he'd make an exception for you- another one to add to the ever growing list.

"In sickness and in health" he purred in reply, before letting the coaxing lull of sleep pull him down into the comforting dark.

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

[parvismaxima]

Ragnarok references in Attack on Titan

Ragnarok is a series of apocalyptic events that will define the end of the world, where gods will band together to fight against the giants in a final battle that will ultimately destroy the planet, submerging it under water. According to the legend, the world will resurface, the surviving gods will meet, and the world will be repopulated by two human survivors.

The following major battles will be fought:

·       Odin vs Fenrir

·       Vidar vs Fenrir

·       Thor vs Jormungandr

·       Heimdall vs Loki

Major warriors during Ragnarok:

Odin

Odin is the chief of the Æsir and king of Asgard. He will lead the battle against giants during the Ragnarok

(Hange and Odin both sacrificed their left eye in exchange for knowledge)

Heimdall

is the guardian of the gods and the personification of order. He will blow a horn, called the Gjallarhorn if Asgard is in danger. His senses are so good that he can hear the grass grow and he can see to the end of the world. Heimdall could hear a leaf fall. He does not need any sleep at all.

Loki

The god of trickery and mistrust, Loki has a complicated relationship with the  Æsir, oftentimes assisting them or hindering them in bringing their goals to fruition. He is the personification of chaos

Tyr

He is the God of war, and the bravest of all the Gods in Norse mythology. Tyr is interested in justice and with fair treaties, which makes him a God of law as well.

The reason why Tyr is the bravest of all the Gods is because of his most written story:

He once put his hand into the jaws of the gigantic evil wolf Fenrir. He did this while the other Gods bound Fenrir to a rock. When Fenrir saw this, he became suspicious, and declared that he would only allow the gods to put it around him if one of them would stick an arm in his mouth as a pledge of good faith. At last,  when the wolf noticed that he could not get free from the chains, he became furious and ripped Tyr’s right hand

And there in that chain, the giant wolf remained in that sordid state until Ragnarok.

Freyr

the central god of peace, prosperity, sunshine and with good harvest. Freyr is in particular associated with the horse cult, and in the Hrafnkels saga, a noble Gothi once killed a man for riding a horse that he had dedicated to the god.

Thor

The champion of Asgard, Thor’s job is to protect both it and Midgard from the likes of the Jotnar, the giants of Jötunheimr.

He has two children: Modi and Magni

Vidar

is the god of vengeance. A member of the Æsir, he is the son of Odin and the giantess Gríðr. To be honest, Vidar isn’t really an important God. Virtually all of the references to him Norse mythology are concerned with his role in Ragnarok; we know little to nothing about his origin or function outside of his one particular role at the end.

Personally, I only saw two things for Connie’s role in this story — Sasha’s comedic counterpart and someone who will justice for Ragako (however that justice might look like). Given that Sasha is gone and the series has taken a serious route, there is only one role left for him to finish

Eren’s soul: Fenrir

Is the half-giant wolf of Norse mythology. The Æsir gods raised Fenrir themselves in order to keep him under their control and prevent him from wreaking havoc throughout the Nine Worlds. Fenrir however, grew at an astonishingly fast pace, and eventually the troubled gods decided to chain him up. 

Eren’s titan: Jormungandr

The biggest beast in Norse mythology, he's a sea serpent who was imprisoned into the sea by Odin and is fated to rise during Ragnarok. In literature and prayers,  he symbolizes the destructive forces of nature, with everything from hurricanes, tornadoes, vulcanism, earthquakes, etc... His greatest foe is Thor

Before Ragnarok:

In Norse mythology, gods belong to either one of two tribes: the Æsir and the Vanir. And these tribes fought a lot. They fought so much that Prose Edda had poems entirely dedicated to the War of the Gods.

On the other hand, the Giants (Jotun) came before these two tribes and lived in in Jötunheimr, one of the nine worlds of Norse cosmology. They were banished there by the Gods, who refused them entry to their world, Asgard. In the ancient Norse stories, the Giants frequently interact with the Æsir and the Vanir, but they are usually in opposition with them.

The Æsir fought by the rules of plain combat, with weapons and brute force, while the Vanir used the subtler means of magic.

Loki is the mixed-blood son of a goddess and a male Jotun. His role in Norse mythology is unique and controversial since he appears to both help the gods and hinder them. According to the story, Loki tricked the blind god of winter Hod, an action that resulted in the death of the god Baldr, the shining god beloved by everyone.

Because of this, he was punished and cast into a cliff where he was to remain bound to a rock until Ragnarok, the end of the world.

Baldr’s death is one of the many signs that will fortell Ragnarok. First, there will come a great Winter “Fimbulvetr” which will last for years. Brothers will slay brother, father will slay son, and son will slay father. It will be an age of war

Next, the wolves Skoll and Hati (Fenrir’s sons) who have hunted the sun and the moon for a very long time, will at last catch their prey.

Loki will escape his prison to join the other Giants.

the chains that has been holding back the monstrous wolf Fenrir will snap, and the beast will run free. 

Jormungandr, the mighty serpent who dwells at the bottom of the ocean and encircles the land, will rise from the depths, spilling the seas over all the earth as he makes landfall.

These convulsions will shake the ship Naglfar (“Nail Ship”) free from its moorings. This ship, which is made from the fingernails and toenails of dead men and women, will sail easily over the flooded earth. Its crew will be an army of giants, the forces of chaos and destruction. 

Fenrir, with fire blazing from his eyes and nostrils, will run across the earth, with his lower jaw on the ground and his upper jaw against the top of the sky, devouring everything in his path. Jormungand will spit his venom over all the world, poisoning land, water, and air alike.

The gods who have been warring all these time, will decide to join arms and go to battle, even though they know what the prophecies have foretold concerning the outcome of this clash.

They will meet their enemies on a battlefield called Vigrid (Old Norse Vígríðr, “Plain Where Battle Surges”

An ominous horn blast will ring out; this will be Heimdall, the divine sentry, blowing the Gjallarhorn to announce the arrival of the moment the gods have feared. He will be the first one to stop the giants

Odin will anxiously consult the head of Mimir, the wisest of all beings, for counsel. Odin will face Fenrir, and by his side will be the Einherjar, the host of his chosen dead human warriors whom has preserved in Valhalla for just this moment.

During Ragnarok:

Odin and the champions of men will fight more valiantly than anyone has ever fought before. But it will not be enough. Fenrir will swallow Odin and his men.

Then one of Odin’s sons, Vidar, burning with rage, will charge the beast to avenge his father. He will stab his sword through the wolf’s throat, killing him.

Heimdall and his archenemy Loki will do the same, putting a final end to the trickster’s treachery. Both will inflict fatal wounds on each other, but Loki refuses to die until he sees the destruction of the worlds which happened soon after. They both died next to each other

Tyr will perish fighting Fenrir. The wolf will bite his remaining hand and he will bleed out, but not before he gives the beast a mortal wound

The god Freyr and a fire giant will also be the end of each other. 

Thor and Jormungand, those age-old foes, will both finally have their chance to kill the other. Thor will succeed in felling the great snake with the blows of his hammer. But the serpent will have covered him in so much venom that he will not be able to stand for much longer; he will take nine paces before falling dead himself and adding his blood to the already-saturated soil of Vigrid

After all these, these gods will die, the giants will alight the world in flame, until a flood finally covers the world.

After Ragnarok:

Several of the Gods will survive, among them is Odin’s sons Vidar. Thor’s sons Modi and Magni will also survive, inheriting their father’s hammer Mjölnir.

While most of the Gods will die in the mutual destruction with the Giants, it is predetermined that a new world will rise up from the water, beautiful and green. Before the battle of Ragnarok, a woman and a man, Lif “life” and Liftraser “lover of life”, will find shelter from the cataclysm in a place called the “Wood of Hoddmimir” (Hoddmímis holt).

They will now come out and populate the lush land in which they will find themselves. A new sun, the daughter of the previous one, will rise in the sky. And all of this will be presided over by a new, almighty ruler.

After Ragnarok” by Emil Doepler (1905)

 The significance of Ravens in Norse mythology

Ravens are found everywhere in Prose Edda, a collection of poems detailing the legends of Old Norse. It is the holy bird circling around Odin

In Norse mythology, Huginn ( "thought") and Muninn ("memory") are a pair of ravens that fly all over the world and relay information to him, causing Odin to become very wise.

Now I know I just said that Hange is supposed to play Odin during Ragnarok, but given the bird’s role in the Norse story, and all the perspectives being dropped, I think it’s safe to say that Eren’s been hearing his enemies pretty well, as well as seeing the literal bird’s eye perspective of the entire war

Anyway, these are all the Norse references I saw during the Marley arc onwards. What do you think? How do you foresee the final battle ending?

[dhwty-writes]

Curses

Part 2 of my entry of @thewitchersecretsanta for @heyabooboo. Have fun reading!

Summary: Jaskier, panicked and unsure what else to do upon finding an unconscious Geralt, brought him to Yennefer's current residence. There, the sorceress has some bad news for him.

Moodboard by the amazing @petrificustotaluss

Warnings: none

Read on AO3

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7

"How is he?" Jaskier leapt to his feet and rushed towards Yennefer, though the expression on her face was the only answer he needed.

She raised a finger to her lips as the door behind her shut with a quiet creak. As if Geralt was just sleeping in the next room and not- "He's alive," she answered with an air exhaustion he had never seen on her.

"That's- That's good." He wet his lips with the tip of his tongue as he nervously started fidgeting with the strap of his lute that was still uselessly slung over his shoulder. Hadn't he put it down? He could have sworn he'd put it down. "That's good, right?" he asked, suddenly unsure.

She closed her eyes and breathed heavily. "It is," she breathed. Was that a tremor to her voice? It couldn't be, surely. 

He frowned. "Is that all you've got to say?" fear made his voice sound shrill. "Please tell me that's not the only good news you've got, there has to be more, there-"

"Jaskier." Her violet eyes blinked open again. "I won't lie to you to make you feel better. It's bad."

"What- but there's something you can do, right? There has to be something you can do."

"Maybe," she conceded. "But for that I need you to tell me exactly what happened before-" She waved her hand at the situation at hand. "-this. In as much detail and little words as possible."

Jaskier wanted to scoff in offence and tell her what exactly he thought of posing such a request to a master raconteur such as he was. In any other situation he would have. But even as the fool he was, he was well aware of the severity of the situation.

"Right," he whispered and finally set his lute down. With trembling hands, he tried to work the clasps of the front compartment open. "Give me a moment, I've documented this quite thoroughly; my notes must be here somewhe- oh, bollocks."

His notebook had slipped out, scattering loose pages everywhere. "Oh, Yennefer, I'm so sorry, I'm such a mess, let me-"

He crouched down to gather them up again, but a firm hand on his shoulder stopped him. "Jaskier," the sorceress implored and pushed him to sit down on the bench again, "breathe." She bent down to gather them up herself, her hands trembling just as much as his. "You're not much of a use if you lose your head."

"Right," he gasped. "Right." He closed his eyes and focused on breathing like Geralt had shown him. Slowly he felt the panic receding.

When he looked up again, he saw Yennefer offering him his notebook. "Try again," she ordered.

His hands trembled still, but he didn't drop his journal again when he began leafing through it. "There was a contract, a two-day ride from here," he began. "Spectral apparitions in an old ruin it seems. Nothing strange, as far as I can tell. Not until we started gathering information, at least. It seemed there were wildly different accounts; the more we asked, the more they differed.

"Some talked about a beast of nightmares stalking the abandoned keep, griffins and wyverns and trolls. I believe there was talk of basilisks, as well.

"Others told tales of virgin maidens to tend to their every need, and beautiful orchards, their branches so heavy with the sweetest fruits they grazed the ground with so much as the barest breeze. There was talk of powerful mages and mighty warriors defeating a thousand foes up there. The blind could see, the cripples walk; it was paradise on earth for them.

"And others still saw nothing but a ruin."

He flipped his page over and frowned. "Then there were the apparitions, of course. A deceased beau, a beloved mother, a pair of twins that had died in the cradle. A husband who had beaten his wife, as well; bandits, soldiers, the former alderman who had a preference for the young men of the village. There was no pattern to it. It was- strange."

Yennefer scoffed. "Why on earth didn't you turn around and got as far away as you could?" He shot her an incredulous look, and she nodded in understanding. "Right. Geralt."

He huffed the semblance of a laugh. "He prepared well," he continued. "I never saw him so thoroughly armed for a scouting mission. I had offered to go ahead; so far as we could tell nobody had gotten hurt, but-"

"But he would have none of it," she concluded correctly. "So, he went into the ruin, you followed him, stupid as you are, and found him in there?"

"Not quite," he disagreed. "Geralt was gone for nearly a day when I decided that I had waited long enough. I walked to the ruin, but I didn't even have a chance to scale the hill, because there he was; lying at the foot of it, unmoving and unconscious. Roach was next to him, grazing peacefully, her reins untethered. I heaved him onto her back and came as fast as I could."

The sorceress frowned and closed her eyes. After a few moments she said: "What was the last thing he said to you?"

"I-" Jaskier faltered. "I don't remember," he breathed.

"What do you mean, you don't remember?" Her eyes snapped open, violet pools of sparking anger. "You have to remember, come on, Jaskier, he doesn't talk that much."

He shook his head helplessly. "I'm sorry, Yennefer, I don't." He gulped his tears down, passing his trembling hand through his hair. "It was- it was something mundane, something he told me so many times before. 'Don't eat any berries' or something. 'Don't pee on an ant hill.'"

She glared at him for a moment and he felt himself cower under her stare. She turned away with a quiet: "Fuck."

"What?" He leapt up again. "What is it?"

"I don't know, that's what it is!" she snapped. "The only thing I do know is that whatever Geralt encountered in that ruin was no mere spirit."

"But he wasn't in the ruin, Yennefer, I just told you! He was at the foot of the hill, with not so much as a scratch, no sign of a fight around him. Just... out cold."

"I know, which makes me think whoever put that... curse on him wanted us to find him. Else there would've been nothing left at all."

"A curse," Jaskier repeated. "There's a curse."

Her fingers drummed out a furious rhythm on the wall. "There's something that appears to be a curse. There is no chaos, though, so it was no magical being."

He looked at her in pure unadulterated confusion.

With a heavy sigh she sat down beside him. "Geralt's body is sleeping," she began explaining after a very long time, "but it's... completely empty. His soul appears to have been sent somewhere else. A netherworld, if you will; between life and death."

"A netherworld?" he gasped. He had heard tales of such places when he was a child, but so he had of devils and winged horses, and Geralt had disproven those quickly enough. So, he had never paid them any heed. "What on earth could send him there?"

"Nothing," Yennefer answered with a wry laugh. "Nothing I know of, at least. Not like this. Not against his will." She made another pause before continuing: "I think whatever he found there was... divine. It's a sliver of hope, at least; even the White Wolf shouldn't be able to kill a god. That means, he has only trespassed and after serving his penance, he'll likely be allowed to go again."

Jaskier took a while to process the words, but then his face lit up. "He will?" He leapt to his feet, barely containing the urge to weep of joy. "He'll return to us."

A pained expression crossed her face. "No, Jaskier," she murmured softly. "Gods don't think as we do. They cannot grasp the meaning of a year; it passes in less than a moment for them. They think in eternities, ages, millennia."

Jaskier slowly turned to her in horror. "A thousand years?" he whispered.

"Or five or ten or fifty," her voice was scarcely more than a whisper. "No-one knows."

"But-" He frowned as the true meaning of the words slowly settled into his consciousness. "I'll be long dead by then..."

Yennefer averted her gaze.

"You- you coward!" he accused her. "How dare you think of giving up? How dare you suggest to leave him to his fate?"

"There's nothing to be done!" she retorted. "He's gone, and we don't even know where!"

He threw up his hands. "How many netherworlds can there be?"

"Just the one, but-"

"Just one?" he interrupted her. "So, you know where he is."

"I know enough to see that he is far beyond my reach." She scoffed and shook her head. "Go home, Jaskier. There's nothing here for you."

He couldn't help but gape at her. "No," he croaked weakly. "Geralt's here. I- I can't." He took a shuddering breath. "I refuse. I refuse to spend the rest of my life wasting away at his bedside-"

Her touch was too soft, her eyes too gentle when she said: "You don't have to stay. I'll keep him safe." As if he was a child. As if he was an idiot.

"Of course, I'd stay!" he howled. "He's my- my- my Geralt! Half my life I spent at his side. Without him there's... nothing left."

"Jaskier-" she tried again.

"Please," he begged. "Please, you love him, too, do you not? This can't be what you want. There must be something- Anything-!"

Her eyes hardened. "There might be," she whispered. "But I do not know enough of the netherworld to know for sure." Abruptly, she stood. "Give me a week." With that a portal opened behind her and swallowed her whole.

Jaskier didn't know how long he just sat there, staring at the place where she had vanished. "Fuck," he whispered after what felt like an eternity. And finally, he let the tears flow freely.

  ~*~

  It was exactly as Yennefer said; a week went by with just the two of them. Jaskier barely left his witcher's side; only when he feared he might succumb to hunger or thirst he took his eyes off him to run down to the kitchen that was mercifully well-stocked. He supposed he had passed out from exhaustion a few times as well, though he wasn't quite so sure about that.

He was nibbling on a bit of stale bread when the medallion on Geralt's chest started humming and a portal opened on his other side. He barely recognised the woman who stepped through; with her hair in disarray and the dark rings under her eyes, Yennefer looked just as horrible as he felt.

"Jaskier," she croaked, her throat raw from days of not speaking, or speaking too much, who was he to say. The sorceress stumbled, but before he could even get to his feet, another woman stepped through and caught her by the arm.

She was a mage as well, he guessed; she was just as otherworldly beautiful as Yennefer with thick auburn curls and unsettling dark glinting eyes. “Bard,” she greeted him.

"Umm...," he said in lack of a better answer. “Do we… know each other?”

“I am Triss Merigold,” Triss Merigold answered as she guided Yennefer to sit down. “I know of you. I met Geralt quite some time ago.”

“Ah.” That name rang a bell, although he didn’t quite know what to make of that statement. What did that even mean, ‘I know of you’? Had Geralt talked about him? Yennefer maybe? Both options sounded equally absurd. “And, umm, forgive me for asking, but you are here because…? Not that I am ungrateful, mind you, but-”

“She’s my friend,” Yennefer interrupted him sharply. 

“And a healer,” Triss added with a kinder voice. “I am fairly familiar with…” She waved her hand vaguely in Geralt’s direction. “...similar situations.”

Yennefer snorted. “Overstatement of the century,” she muttered. 

“Yenna.”

“Triss.”

Triss sighed and shook her head. “I’ll go… make tea.” With that she strode over to the door and disappeared downstairs, leaving Jaskier to glance awkwardly between where she had just vanished and the crumpled pile of sorceress next to Geralt’s bed. 

“Umm,” he spluttered clumsily, “are you alright?”

She barked a laugh, barely looking up from her fingernails. “Do I look alright to you?”

“No,” he blurted before his survival instinct had a chance to kick in, “you look a bloody mess.

"I guess that’s fairly accurate," she answered with a wavering voice. Was that a sob he hea- oh, yeah, that was definitely a sob, for now wet tears glistened on her cheeks.

‘Fuck.’ Yennefer of Vengerberg was crying. Jaskier was entirely unsure how to react to that impossibility. Yennefer of Vengerberg didn’t cry. On principle. She was the most terrifying and powerful person he knew, and that included several witchers, a Child of Elder Blood and Queen Calanthe herself! He was in no way equipped to deal with her crying of all things. Not on top of all that… Geralt stuff. Besides, that was his thing, not hers.

But shit, she didn’t stop. ‘I have to do something,’ he decided. There were few things as shitty as crying on your own. He spoke from—rather recent—experience. He took a first tentative step into her direction. She barely dignified that with raising her gaze. Only when he was less than an arm’s length away did she look up. “What are you—?”

“I’m going to hug you now,” he warned her and without further ado he pulled her against his chest. Yennefer stiffened and— ‘This is it,’ he thought, ‘this is how I die.’ 

To his surprise, nothing happened. Well, nothing bad at least. Instead of transforming him into a toad or reducing him to a heap of ash or something, she relaxed against him. She even raised her hands to cling to his doublet. 

Violent sobs still shook her as he gently stroked her hair and babbled some nonsense. He was good at that. Babbling nonsense. After a while the sobs subsided and she loosened the death grip on his torso.

Only after a minute of controlled breathing he allowed her to pull away, but not before giving her one last tight squeeze and saying: “Don’t lose your head, Yennefer. Breathe.” 

"I'm sorry," she whispered as she wiped at the string of snot connecting her nose and his shoulder.

“Don’t be,” he answered as reassuringly as he could. Which wasn’t a whole lot, to be fair. “We all have bad days.”

“Your doublet—” she protested weakly, but he just waved his hand.

“Believe me, it’s seen worse than a bit of snot and tears.” 

“Do I even want to know?”

He couldn’t help but chuckle. “Probably not.” To his relief, she chortled as well.

“Well, it’s certainly been a week.” They both whipped around to Triss Merigold who was standing in the door with a tray of tea and biscuits. 

“Triss,” Yennefer sighed. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough.” She set the tray down and thrust tea cups into their hands. “Don’t be embarrassed, Yenna, I’ve seen you in worse states.”

She made an undignified noise and Triss laughed. “Oh, the bard’s the problem, then? Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. Feel free to keep up your play at enmity.”

“Excuse me?” Jaskier gasped. “There’s no ‘play’ at anything going on here. I despise Yennefer just as much as she does me-”

“Do you really think now is the time for such nonsensical theatrics?” Triss asked with raised eyebrows and it was enough to shut him up. No, he supposed it wasn’t. 

That, however, plunged the three of them into an awkward silence. Not because they had nothing to talk about, of course. It was just that there appeared to be no incentive of the two sorceresses to start the conversation, and while he certainly had a lot of questions, asking them seemed awfully rude, considering the state of exhaustion Yennefer was in. 

In the end, the burn of the tea did nothing to alleviate the burn of the questions on his tongue. “You mentioned similar situations?” he blurted out as soon as he had drained his cup.

Triss winced. “Well. Yes. Similar. Not quite the same. I’m a healer, after all.”

“I fear I don’t understand.”

“Coram Agh Tera,” Yennefer answered darkly. 

Jaskier frowned. “What has the god of fate to do with all of this?”

“God of fate, death, and destiny,” she began listing, “who is also known for his powerful curses.”

“And nightmares,” Triss added. “The only deity known to meddle with mortal affairs to this blasphemous degree.”

Jaskier snorted. “A blasphemous god?” he asked doubtfully. “Really?”

The two sorceresses regarded him with equally terrifying glares. “Shut up, bard,” Yennefer hissed and he immediately raised his hands innocently.

“I’m just saying, I’m sure there could be a better expre-- Yeah, shutting up. You were talking about Coram Agh Tera,” he prompted. 

“I was,” Triss agreed. “Theirs is the netherworld of those neither dead nor alive." 

“And Geralt got trapped there? How?”

They exchanged a wary glance. “We don’t know,” Yennefer said finally. “Our best guess is that Geralt disturbed Coram Agh Tera’s residence in those ruins. And now they have retreated and taken Geralt with them.”

"So Geralt is trapped in there until they take up residence somewhere else?" They really had to give him a bit more to work with if they wanted him to connect the dots.

"No, Jaskier,” Triss answered almost patiently. “Have you ever- When someone is badly injured, they tend to be unconscious for a long time, yes? Until their body finally withers and they die. Or they wake up with their mind torn to shreds. Those are the denizens of the netherworld. Though there are no known cases of a soul just vanishing completely. Our best guess is that he is staying with them there and likely, that’s where he’ll stay until they inevitably grow bored of him."

“I see.” He fiddled nervously with his teacup. “Well. That makes a lot of things easier, I suppose. I really would have hated dying to go look for him.”

Triss choked on her tea and stared at him in bewilderment as Yennefer made vague ‘I told you so’-gesture. “You can’t be serious,” the healer scoffed. “Jaskier, you could die; we’re not sending you there.”

“I’m well aware of that,” he replied, as calm as possible. “And I am rather relieved for the modality in this statement.” He looked back and forth between them. “Or do you have a better plan?”

“I will go,” Yennefer volunteered. “It’s why Triss came with me.”

“Yeah, that’s stupid,” Jaskier scoffed. He didn’t wait for the outrage that would surely follow and continued: “Look, I recognise that both of you are very… powerful and downright terrifying women, however, I do not see how that will help you over there. I might not be as learned in the supernatural as you are, but I do know how to open a book. Your nice little library here, Yennefer, is really adamant about the point that there is no magic in a netherworld.”

“There isn’t,” Triss agreed.

“Forgive my bluntness, but in that case both of you are rather useless. You are used to getting what you want. And if you don’t you’re used to taking it. I, on the other hand, am well-versed in the art of talking people into parting with all kinds of things they do not want to part with.”

“People, yes,” Yennefer hissed. “What on earth makes you think you could win over a god?”

“Nothing,” he answered nonchalantly. “What on earth makes you think you’d do a better job?”

“Listen, bard,” Triss chimed in, “this is madness. Did you miss the ‘mind torn to shreds’-part?”

“My hearing is impeccable, thank you very much.” He set down his teacup with a lot more force than strictly necessary. “You might have heard of me, Triss Merigold, but clearly not enough. Else you’d know that I’m as stupid as a turd and as stubborn as a mule with no sense of self-preservation. I have trailed after Geralt since I was eighteen years old. If there is any way for me to follow him into this nefarious netherworld, I will find it.”

“If we don’t agree, he’ll just find the next best brute to pummel him into the netherworld,” Yennefer said with a heavy sigh. 

“That is completely correct. In our shared interest, I suppose it is much preferable for you to do your magick-y stuff and supervise my stay. You can do that, right? Protect my body while my soul’s away. For a while at least.”

“We can induce that dream,” Triss admitted reluctantly. “But we won’t be able to tell if anything goes wrong. We might not be quick enough to pull you back.”

Jaskier nodded. If he was quite honest, this was already so much more than he had expected. "One month. That's all I ask. Pull me back once the time is up."

Yennefer gave a curt nod; evidently, she had expected something of that sort. After a moment, Triss spoke up as well:  "Alright," she whispered. "Alright, you crazy son of a whore, we'll do it."

[moon-in-daylight]

Like the old days / Dhawan!Master x reader

Summary: Adapting back to a normal human life isn’t easy after having travelled the universe, but the thought of facing The Master again is somehow even harder. 

Words: 3565

Warnings: Mild blood

The first weeks without The Master had been hard.

It was normal, you supposed, if you took into consideration all the time you had spent together and everything the two of you had been through.

While being with him, you had seen the most impossible events take place right in front of your eyes. Things deep down you knew you could have never witness if you had stayed with The Doctor instead: The blinding light of an exploding star, the ruins of countless civilizations turned to ash and dust under your feet… One morning he had taken you to see the birth of the universe just to show you the death of it that very same evening. He had offered you the entirety of space and time with no restrictions, no obligations. Only one rule for you to follow, a rule that you had eventually disobeyed: Not to get in the way of his plans.

For the first days after parting ways you couldn’t help but to feel angry at him.

How could he condemn you back to your boring human life that easily? Did you mean so little to him after all those adventures, after all the times you had helped him work through his evil plans and schemes? It had only been once that you had refused to follow his commands. The first and only time you couldn’t bring yourself to do as you were told was when you found yourself incapable of killing some bratty alien teen that was heir to their planet’s throne.

You tried to, you really did, but you simply didn’t have that in you. Looking at the brat in the eye, you immediately felt incapable of taking a step forward and dig your knife in his chest. As The Master telepathically commanded you over and over to perform your task from across the room, you panicked and decided to back away. You knew you were disappointing him, especially hearing his thoughts echoing inside your own mind, but you were no killer. You had never killed someone before and you preferred to back away before someone caught you plotting against that planet’s monarchy. Unluckily for you, one of the guards noticed the weapon you tried to hide under your sleeve as you were about to walk outside the throne room.

Because of your cowardice, according to what the Time Lord screamed at you after barely escaping the planet alive, his plan had been turned apart. No one else to blame but you for the failure. Of course you did everything you could to explain yourself, to make him understand you, but he refused to listen to anything you said. He simply landed his TARDIS back on Earth and gestured you to abandon his ship, shouting at you to do so when you begged him repeatedly to let you stay with tears filling your eyes.

What a tool.

You didn’t need him, and you definitely weren’t going to miss his volatile temper and his sarcastic, uncalled for and sometimes sadistic comments.

Then why did you feel so upset? You told yourself it was because with him flew your chance of exploring the universe, knowing very well that you couldn’t crawl back to The Doctor after all the chaos you had helped spread around. You were stuck on Earth now and the only reason you would ever want him back was your desire to travel the stars. If only you had your own TARDIS…

But after the first week you started to notice his absence everywhere. You did anything and everything to distract yourself, but you couldn’t prevent your mind to wander back to him every few minutes. Questions clouded your mind as you wondered what could he possibly be doing, what planet would he be tearing to pieces at the moment or whether if you had crossed his mind at least once since he had kicked you out. It was pointless to keep thinking about it, but for some time you couldn’t help yourself from looking numbly out of the window, daydreaming about his TARDIS materializing in your backyard and him taking you back to live your next adventure, like he used to do during the old days.

Deep in your heart you had the hope that maybe your daydream could one day become a reality again. You and The Master had lived so many things together… You had been by Missy’s side after her past incarnation had shot her in the back, you had held her hand moments before she regenerated in who she was now, and you had looked after her new body during the days after her regeneration. It was after that that he – you assumed she was a he now when he asked you to refer to him as The Master instead of Missy – decided it could be useful, or at least entertaining, to keep you around.

It had been almost 3 years travelling time and space side by side, causing trouble and escaping death day after day. Having fun as you let hell break lose whenever you landed and healing each other wounds when needed. He couldn’t turn his back on everything that you had been through together now, could he?

Well, apparently he could.

It took you a few months to get used to life on Earth again, to push yourself back into a normal routine and be in a good enough mood to complete normal earthly tasks like getting a job or spend your time into anything productive.

It wasn’t in any way easy for you, and it wasn’t a linear progression either. Sometimes when you thought you had definitely gotten over it, you looked up at the sky and all the memories brought you back to square one. You even blamed yourself at times, thinking that if you had had the guts to do what you were told to do, he would have never left you.

But eventually, you got to the point where you finally could stop constantly thinking about the maniac that had put the universe in the palms of your hands just to suddenly take it away from your reach. You got to the point where you could accept that there were far worse things than living a normal human life, that you could and you would live without him.

You had finally gotten that idea inside that stubborn head of yours when one night you thought you heard the smooth landing of his TARDIS right outside your house.

No way. It had been over a year since the last time you had heard that subtle whistle the ship made when it materialized, so much more quiet and unperceived than the one The Doctor’s time machine emitted, but still recognizable to you, who had lived whiting its walls for so long. Your heart instantly raced just by hearing that sound, the feeling that getting reunited with The Master was possible once again clouding your better judgement for barely a second.

You shook your head as you tried to push those thoughts away. Most likely, you were imagining things. He wasn’t coming back. He had had plenty of time to do so, he was clearly not changing his mind all of a sudden. Probably what you thought you heard was caused by your exhausted mind playing tricks on you as you were about to fall asleep.

Convincing yourself that it was all in your head, you rolled on your side under the sheets as you tried to quiet down your nerves and attempted to fall asleep to put an end to yet another ordinary day.

But when you heard a loud noise coming from outside of your room all your suspicions aroused again.

Once again, you tried to calm yourself and think logically. Maybe it wasn’t The Master, maybe some burglar had entered your house in the middle of the night, or maybe one of the cats that roamed around your neighborhood had found its way in through the window you sometimes forgot to close. There was countless possibilities to what the source of that noise could have been, but you feared that the only way of actually finding out was to go check it out.

As you slowly crawled out of bed and walked through the darkened hallway, you hoped and prayed that the cat theory was the one to become a reality, the burglar one a close second favorite. You literally would rather have any random person breaking into your house than finding yourself face to face with him again.

That’s why you physically felt your chest aching when you discerned his unmistakable silhouette standing in the middle of your living room.

Turning on the lights, you faced his cold stare gazing back at you but you weren’t able to hold it back for more than a few seconds. Your attention wandered to his appearance instead. It had been a while since the last time you had seen him, but in your memories he didn’t look as rough as he seemed right now. The locks of hair fell untidily in front of his face, his clothes were covered in dirt and dry blood and some scratches covered the visible skin of his knuckles.  

Truth was, you had pictured what being reunited with him would have been like since the first moment you stepped a foot out of his TARDIS. Inside your head, he came back full of regret and after apologizing, he begged you to get back with him. You had gone through what that conversation would be like thousands of times. Sometimes you simply forgave him and accepted his proposal, other times you played hard to get and made him implore for you to come back… And your more recent version, you threw him a speech about how good your life had been without him and how you didn’t need him anymore. Either way, you had been over that hypothetical conversation so many times that you always thought you would knew exactly what to say if the situation took place.

Now, looking at him, you couldn’t find anything to say. And judging by the silence that had filled the room, he couldn’t either.

“Master…” His name felt strange rolling out of your tongue for the first time in so long. “Is everything alright?”

He didn’t answer your question, but you could see inside those big brown eyes of his that it had been kind of stupid of you to ask that in the first place. Since the very first time you had met Missy you had been well aware of the unstable state of the Time Lord. You had seen him snap countless times over the course of years, you had seen what he was capable of when he got furious… Yet you had never seen him this shattered, this… Broken.

“What happened?” Your voice was soft as you carefully approached him, in fear that if you moved too fast or spoke too loud you would scare him off. With extreme tenderness you grabbed one of his hands and examined the wounds of it, your thumb gently brushing his fingers. “What have you done?”

“What needed to be done.” You looked up at him when you heard his words, looking for further explanation. “I’ve destroyed Gallifrey.”

During the time you had spent with him, you had learned that The Master wasn’t the biggest fan of his home planet. He didn’t exactly cherish his memories of it, often refusing to tell you about the place that had made him who he was and only talking about his times at the Academy when he was in a particularly good mood. It was no secret that he hated Gallifrey, but he had never expressed any wish to burn it down. Not until now. You always thought that his nostalgia of the times when he and The Doctor had been friends was the thing that kept him from nuking his own planet. Apparently that didn’t mean a thing anymore. He had actually razed it, and it looked like a part of him had died in that massacre.

“Why?”

The Master took a step back, getting free of your grip on his hand and turning around to leave.

“Forget that I’ve ever been here.”

It was easy to forget how overly dramatic he could sometimes be after all your time apart. But seeing him walk away like that immediately brought you back to the days when he fiercely avoided telling you what was going on inside his head, when you got too curious and in response he disappeared into the library of his TARDIS for the following days. The only difference was that, if he left now, you wouldn't be seeing him again in a couple of days. This would be your final goodbye. Your last glimpse of him being the one of a broken man.

Considering that you had been without him for so long, you would suppose that you were ready to let him go once and for all. Yet, as soon as he crossed the doorframe, you found yourself following him outside of your house, barefoot and wearing only your pajamas. You called his name repeatedly as you somehow tried to make him see reason. You couldn’t let him go that easily, not after seeing the state he was in. You were worried about him.

Seeing him get inside his TARDIS, you rushed yourself through the time machine’s doors after him, hoping that you were making the right decision.

As soon as you found yourself standing in the console room, you couldn’t help but to feel momentarily shocked as all the memories attached to that place filled your mind. It looked bigger than what you remembered, but nothing had changed since your departure. It was still the same place that appeared in your dreams every few nights.

“Get out.” The Master ordered you as he set the controls for his next destination. In an act of bravery – or stupidity –, you stood still. “Didn’t you hear me? GET OUT!”

“Master.” You pronounced his name again, your heart hammering against your chest. “Why have you come here?”

He turned to you again, his eyes piercing right through you. “I don’t owe you any explanations.”

You and him had gotten into arguments countless times before. How could you not? That was the obvious result of mixing his temper with your stubbornness. But you had never seen him that angry at you. He looked at you in the same way that he would look at any other human, as if you were nothing but an annoyance to him. It broke your heart to realize that, but you weren’t going to give up just because of that. You were there to try and find out what had made him upset to the point of blowing up his own planet, you weren’t leaving unless you found the answers you were looking for.

“You don’t have to tell me about Gallifrey if you don’t want to.” You assured him, keeping a considerable distance between the two of you. “I’m just worried about you.”

Looking at him, you thought you saw him break for a second, the look in his eyes softening for a moment and making him seem vulnerable, afraid. You barely could notice it since he immediately put on his usual front up again.

“Don’t lie to me.” He spat, anger poisoning his words. He tried to mask his emotions by smirking sarcastically at you. “Why would you care about me?”

“Because I do. I always have.” You reminded him. Did he seriously not remember how you had been there for him after Missy died, how you had taken care of him during his regeneration sickness? “That’s why I abandoned The Doctor to be with you.”

When The Master heard his best enemy’s name his façade fell once again. You weren’t sure what had happened, but now you were sure it had something to do with the other Time Lord.

“That’s bullshit.” He insisted. “You’ve always judged me. You’ve always tried to change me. You always thought that you could ‘fix me’.”

“What are you talking about?” You asked in confusion, your eyes on his as you tried to understand what he was really trying to say.

“You never understood me. Not really.” The Master took a step towards you. “You just followed me around like a lost puppy, judging silently everything I did. Thinking you knew better. Do you think I didn’t notice that look of disgust in your face whenever you watched me kill someone, love?” His eyes were burning as he spoke. “I thought that maybe, if you knew what it felt like to take a life you would finally understand… But you think you’re so superior, don’t you? Just like The Doctor. You didn’t understand any of it then, and you won’t do it now.”

Hearing his words you felt tears starting to form in your eyes. That was the real reason why he had abandoned you? Because he thought you wouldn’t understand him unless you killed someone too? You felt your heart breaking inside your chest. How could he think any of that? You had always admired him for his brilliance, his persistence. Why in the world would he think that you would ever consider yourself better than him?

“I’ve never judged you.” You claimed, doing your best to prevent your voice from breaking. “I’ve never asked you to change. I knew who you were before I ever set a foot on this TARDIS and if I had been in any way disgusted by you, I would have never started travelling with you in the first place.” As tears finally started to run through your cheeks, you watched the look on his face softening. “I may not always understand your motives or why you do some of the things you do, but I’ve always been on your side. And if you didn’t believe that, you wouldn’t have come here looking for me.”

The Master cupped your face in between the palms of his hands, cleaning away your tears with the gentle touch of his thumbs. Grabbing both of his hands, you put them away from your face to examine the wounds on them. Even if he was a Time Lord and his biological healing process was faster than yours, he would still need some kind of treatment.

“Let me clean that for you.” You softly offered yourself to help him.

You made your way to the medical bay of the TARDIS to grab some medical supplies before going back to the console room. It was funny how even though the corridors constantly changed and turned themselves into an impossible maze, you always found your way to get where you wanted. This had been your home after all, and The Master’s TARDIS had always liked you for some reason. Yet, on your way back to the console room you found that the TARDIS was guiding you somewhere else: To The Master’s bedroom.

Standing right in front of the closed door you weren’t sure if you should get inside, but you finally made your mind with a reassuring hum of the TARDIS. Inside of the room was The Master, taking off his purple coat. Watching you get in, he sat on the foot of the bed, leaving you some space for you to sit beside him. Taking the place he had made for you, you silently started to wash the blood of his hands and disinfect the wounds of his knuckles. For a second it almost felt as if nothing had ever changed. As if this was just the end of another day of travelling space and living adventures.

“They lied to us.” The Master hissed, clenching his jaw at the burning sensation on his skin. “Everything we were told as children was a lie.”

You didn’t need to ask to know he was talking about Gallifrey. While you kept taking care of his wounds, you heard his explanation about what he had found. About the lie of the Timeless Child and everything the Time Lords had done, why he had decided to destroy his home planet and every living being on it.

Hearing his story, you finally understood why he seemed so broken, why he had felt the need to come back for you after all the time apart. It was too much to bear on his own, but he didn’t have to because he had you. You had spent so much time convincing yourself that you didn’t need The Master when in reality it was him the one who had needed you all along.

“And what are you going to do now?” You asked him after hearing his whole explanation, your body curled up by his side on the bed, your head lying on his chest as you listened the rhythmic beating of his hearts.

“The Doctor needs to know about this.” He mumbled as he caressed the exposed skin of your arm. He interlocked his stare with yours as the thoughts rambled though his head “I have a plan. And there’s a part for you in it, if you want to help.”

Caressing the growing stubble on his cheek, you placed a gentle kiss on his lips before showing him a playful smile.

“Just like the old days.”

[hitbythunder]

The Roll of Thunder -2

A Thor x Reader and later some Loki x Reader story

Summary: After Frigga’s and Loki’s deaths, Thor struggles with his grief and blames himself for the loss. Barely able to manage his emotions, the god helps the other heros on Earth so that he can stay away from Asgard - a place which only reminds him of his pain. When the team acquires a golden sphere from a mission, however, Thor is forced to deal with his past. She has black hair, pale skin and a pair of emerald eyes which haunt the god in his dreams. Could she be Loki?

Warnings: non-con in later chapters

~º*º*º~

Loki? No, this is impossible. Loki died in my arms over a year ago!

But the woman in front of him looked very similar to the God of Mischief and Thor furrowed his brows while he tried to make sense of all that, of the chaos in his mind. Maybe it was one of Loki's tricks? One that had survived it's creator, or someone else entirely had set this up to inflict the pain in his chest. This woman, this creature, should not exist, being an abomination in his eyes and above all it reeked of mischief and deceit. Suddenly, Thor's rage was boiling inside him again, stronger than before and in his blind fury he quickly strode forward, the floor vibrating at his heavy footfall.

“Can you speak?” Bruce asked her but received no answer because when she saw the Thunderer approaching her with large steps, her eyes stayed glued to him and she shrank back in fear. But Thor did not halt despite her reaction and thus she frantically crawled backwards until she hit the metal table at the end of the room. With her knees drawn close to her chest she stared up at the giant of a man looming above her. Thor warily eyed the small shivering form at his feet, how her green eyes showed nothing but horror and fear, the black pupils merely tiny dots, and he was pleased by the sight.

Yes, fear me as I am the last thing you shall ever behold! Thor thought to himself and lifted Mjolnir to end this miserable creature's life. Her pale face became white as the wall behind her and she raised her arms in defense but she didn't avert her gaze from the furious Thunderer, emerald green eyes staring into his piercing blue orbs which unnerved him even more. Enough! I won't bare it any longer!

Thor's grip on the hammer tightened and he was about to summon his lightning when Natasha launched herself in front of him, covering the smaller woman protectively.

“Stop this insanity at once!” she hissed and glared at the god, ready to face his wrath if need be. But Thor would never hurt one of his friends, especially not Natasha whom he respected for her honed skills. “Get out of my way.” Thor's voice was merely a low rumble in his chest, but the Black Widow was unimpressed by his threatening. When she realized what the Thunderer had in mind she just acted without much thinking. It was crystal clear to her that she needed to protect the other woman because Natasha had experienced a similar deadly terror herself when she was trained to be an assassin. Most of the memories of that particular time were locked away by her mind because they are to painful and horrible to recall. But the helpless small woman had reminded her exactly of that period of Natasha's life and so there was no way she would let Thor pass.

“If you want to proceed you will have to kill me first. So don't you dare to try to harm her again.” she hissed and Thor knew she was deadly serious about it. Thus he slowly brought the hammer down and narrowed his eyes slightly at the red-head. Being still angry he did not step away from the two females and hesitantly Natasha turned and knelt down beside the frightened woman. “It's ok now, he won't hurt you.” she whispered sweetly and quickly took off her long dark-brown cardigan to wrap the smaller female up and cover her nakedness in front of the men present. The strange woman seemed surprised at the gesture and looked at her savior in confusion. “Come!” Natasha urged her to stand up and held her from both sides to steady her because her whole body was trembling in fear. “What are you doing?” Steve asked, earning himself a 'stupid question' -look from the red-head while she led the woman towards the elevator, her emerald eyes warily watching Thor as they passed him. “I'm going to tend to her, like we should have from the start and see that she feels better. You have any free guest room left, Tony?” “Two floors up, right next to yours. But don't get that slime onto my furniture!” Tony's retort caused the Widow to turn her head and give him the most horrid death-glare he had ever received. The cold shiver running down his spine made Tony freeze in place momentarily and only when the elevator's doors were closed did he move again.

“Guess I know why she's been called the 'Black Widow'... “ he murmured while Steve walked over to Thor who glared intently at the remnants of the sphere.

“Uhm, Thor? … What was that about? You wouldn't have killed her, would you?” Steve asked but again the god maintained his silence. “Well, I think it's for the best if we all get some sleep. She doesn't seem to be dangerous and Natasha is keeping an eye on that woman. Besides, there's nothing we can do right now and tomorrow we will make a fresh start.” Bruce finally replied and gestured for the others to follow him to the elevator, which they all did willingly. “Yeah, maybe she will talk to us and explain herself.” Steve added while Clint and Tony yawned behind him.

“Time to get my beauty-sleep!” Tony said and noted that the big blonde was missing, then his gaze fell upon the open balcony door. Whenever Thor was angered or simply pissed off, he left the tower for several hours, flying around and bringing rain. Tony understood that a man needed some space but this time he wondered what Thor would have done if Natasha hadn't stopped him. Honestly, the thought that Thor would kill her had never crossed Tony's mind, even when he saw how the god raised his mighty hammer.

No, he wouldn't have done that, he's a good guy... After the shower, Natasha guided the female towards her room but then decided it would be wiser to share a room for the first night. So she arranged some pillows and blankets on the cozy couch in her own room and was content to see the small woman smile slightly when she lay down and nuzzled into the pillow. “Like a little kitten.” Natasha chuckled and tucked her up, the sparkling emerald eyes watching her every move. Of course she was wary, Natasha knew all to well that trust is something to be earned but given some time she was sure that the woman would warm up to her. Yawning Natasha walked over to her bed and put the black gun out of her nightstand and under her pillow, just in case. When she heard the faint noise of slow breathing she turned and beheld the female sleeping calmly, her chest heaving steadily and her expressions relaxed. Curled up like that she truly looked like an innocent kitten and Natasha doubted that she could be a danger to someone. Don't worry, kitten, I will protect you. *** The next day, every one rose rather late because of the night's endeavor and Thor had no intentions to meet any of the Avengers or the strange creature soon. Additionally, his little late night flight around the blocks to soothe his temper had drained him too. Thus he rolled over in bed and pulled the blanket over his head when he heard some talking outside his room. But even in his sleep he was haunted by a pair of emerald green eyes.

“Good morning, kitten.” Natasha said to her new roommate, who sat up and rubbed her eyes lazily while Natasha got dressed – black jeans combined with a ruby woolen pullover. Then she rummaged in her wardrobe in search for some fitting clothes for her guest and decided that she would need to buy some new ones. “Here, they will probably be a little too large but they should do it for now.” she finally said, holding up some grey sweatpants and a black shirt. and walked over to the woman to help dressing her. Luckily the silent female complied without a struggle but insisted on wearing the dark-brown cardigan on top. When they were finished Natasha took her by the hand and led the smaller one outside towards the kitchen area. The other members of the team were already up and about, Bruce made his famous pancakes while Tony managed the coffee and Steve chatted with Clint at the dining table. They all paused and looked over when the two women emerged from the hallway.

“Good morning guys!” Natasha cheered to successfully break the uncomfortable silence and led the female over to the table. “Morning. Any troubles during the night?” Steve asked when the two women sat down between him and Clint. Clad in this loose fitting clothes, her black hair combed and hanging loosely down her shoulders, the strange woman looked quite normal and one could easily forget that she came out of a golden metal sphere, covered in slime. Actually, the longer Steve observed their guest, the less he thought of her as a danger and decided to show his best manners. She was a lady after all. “Everything was fine, she slept like a baby.” Natasha replied while Tony put a cup of coffee in front of her and Bruce brought the pancakes. They smelled delicious and the female leaned cautiously closer to inhale their sweet rich scent, observed amazed yet amused by the Avengers. “Did you two snuggle up under the blanket?” Tony asked, a wicked smirk plastered across his face and Clint chuckled at this dirty indication, Steve just rolled his eyes. “Shut up, Tony.” Natasha retorted and divided the pancakes among them. “I suppose she hasn't said anything yet, am I right?” Bruce was curious to know more about the woman but was wise enough not to push the matter too much. “Not a word, but that will come in time, right kitten?” The red-head replied and gently put her hand on the other woman's shoulder who smiled shyly in return. “'Kitten', is she your pet now?” Tony quipped, not believing his ears. “I mean, not that I'm surprised, you two surely look great in bed.” he added and winked at the Widow, imagining the two woman rubbing against each other nakedly until a slap on the back of his head from Clint woke him from his daydream.

“This whole situation must be handled with great care as we don't know what she is capable of. We shouldn't rush things but keep an eye on her. Maybe we can run some simple health-tests later, just to check the basics.” Bruce was very diplomatic and tried not to sound too eager to analyze the female but he doubted that she was all human. Natasha pondered over the scientist's words and finally nodded slowly, accepting that they had to gather information somehow. “Ok, but not without me.”

Breakfast – or rather brunch as it was almost midday – continued peacefully and while the Avengers chatted casually, the female seemed to relax and accommodate to their presence, her vivid eyes scanning the room and observing each of the team members curiously. That was until the Norse god joined them, stumping loudly into the room with a grim and tired face. The Kitten shrank back on her chair, trying to become as small and invisible as possible when Thor's gaze roamed over her but luckily he just grabbed a large cup of coffee and leaned against the kitchen counter, far away from the strange creature. Although he avoided looking at her and mostly talked to Steve and Tony at the other end of the table, Thor could feel the green eyes watching him and he played with the thought of moving abruptly just to scare her again. But that would enrage the over-protective Widow and the blonde was too tired to deal with that now.

*** “Ok, this should be enough for today. Now we have to wait for the results.” Bruce exclaimed happily and removed the sensors from the Kitten's arms and forehead while Tony managed the new data with his AI. “She's very calm, I think she realized that we mean her no harm.” “Tell that our Norse meathead.” Natasha was still furious with the god and his behavior. “Yeah, he frightened the living daylights out of her and I doubt they will ever warm up to each other after that fiasco.” Tony walked over to the others and stood right in front of the female who sat on the large metal table. “But she does look like Reindeer Games...except for the hairstyle.” In contrast to the Trickster, the Kitten's black hair wasn't combed back, instead several thin strands framed her pretty face. But she had the same mesmerizing green eyes and a pale complexion. “Maybe she's the good twin no one knows about?” Tony added and Bruce chuckled in amusement. “Then hopefully we find yours too!”

“Very funny...” “Alright, if we're done here I will take her shopping. She's in dire need for clothes.” Natasha said and motioned for the Kitten to follow her. “Wait, you wanna go outside with her?” The scientists didn't approve of this idea. “I won't leave her to you guys.” “I could go and buy some stuff, after I have ascertained her measurements with my hands of course.” The billionaire smirked while his friends gave him a disgusted look. “No way, you pervert. I'll ask Steve to baby-sit her while I'm gone.” Natasha replied before the two women entered the elevator.

*** Thor walked down the corridor to get some food as his stomach was screaming for nourishment by now and was surprised to see Natasha grab her car-keys and head for the elevator – alone. “Where are you going?” he asked wondering why she was in such a rush and Natasha gave him a small but earnest smile before she vanished inside the elevator. “I'm going to buy our guest some clothes and other stuff. I won't be gone for long so don't try anything stupid!”

After allaying his hunger, the god chose to spend some time in the living room, maybe watch some TV, but he regretted his decision the very moment he exited the elevator one floor above. Sitting on the large cream couch of the living room suite, the Captain flipped through some magazines while the black-haired woman beside him froze when she saw the god. Steve noted and looked up to behold the reason for her fear, then he frowned silently. “Thor... I didn't expect you to leave your room today.” Slowly Thor walked over to them and sat down on the armchair next to his friend, as far away from her as possible before he replied in a low voice. “Believe me, it was a mistake.”

Great, now I need to baby-sit them both... Steve thought to himself, praying that Natasha would return soon while Thor and the Kitten stared at each other. His condescending gaze travelled across her slim body, which was hidden under the loosely fitting clothes, her hair combed and shiny. Thor couldn't understand why everybody was so friendly to her, accepting her as if she was one of their own and even spoiling her with new garments and all this kindness. She came out of a magical golden ball with ancient Asgardian engravings, by the Nine's sake! How can his friends be so calm around her? Does the fact that she looks awfully familiar bother only him? Which it did quite a lot actually, because he was sure of his brother's death and it pained his already wounded heart to be reminded of his loss, of how much he missed his sibling. Every fiber of his body wanted to scream at her, to torment her as much as her mere presence tormented him and he could not stand to look upon her beautiful yet disgusting face. Thor's face didn't give away his boiling fury but his fingers dug deep into the armrest. It was the most inappropriate moment for his bladder to demand release and Steve shifted on the couch to delay the inevitable but he had no chance against 'nature's call'. “I'll be right back.” Reluctantly he rose and left the two glaring at each other, hoping that both would be still alive when he returned. The woman watched with shock how the nice man vanished out of her sight, leaving her alone with the other man, the big gruesome giant who had hurt her badly when she was still in her shell, sending pure stinging pain through her entire body. Physically he hadn't hurt her but he had inflicted such agony on her, imprinting a lesson into her mind: Fear him! Run from him!

Yes, she was sure it was him because she remembered his aura and she had noted the tiny sparks of lightning surrounding his hammer when he loomed above her later. Oh how she dreaded him, she didn't even dare to move an inch because that could unleash another wave of this terrible pain. Frantically she tried to stay calm, to soothe her nerves but in vain. Then he rose.

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are Space Orcs “The Slime”

Hello everyone, sorry I have been busy and haven’t posted as much as normal, but it’s been busy and will be for another week. However, I wanted to give Krill a little screen-time after Sunny became so popular. So this one takes place before she joined the crew. I hope you like it :) Fell free to question message, comment ask, give ideas and prompts. 

The conference hall for the Galactic Assembly hall was awash in chaos. Captain Vir sat wide eyed next to krill (temporary representative of earth while the ambassador was away). The Assembly members argued over each other raised voices becoming even more agitated than the ones before.

“ORDER, ORDER I SAY” A loud hammering broke through the noise, and the gathered assembly took to their seats eyes wide with fright.

The chairwoman folded her posterior appendages to the front, “I will have order. Panic will do nothing for us. As it seems, the Gromm’s home world has been overrun by a virulent plague. Unfortunately, we are not sure of the exact nature of the disease. Before their scientists could come to us with their discovery all communications had gone dark….. We fear we may have lost them.”

“That’s not right.” The entire assembly hall turned to look at the human. Krill sunk behind the desk in embarrassment.

“You have something to say, human?”

Captain Vir looked awkwardly down at the desk for a moment before taking a deep breath and standing up, “Well aren’t you going to send someone. The CDC or a hazmat team, you can’t just leave them to die out there, can you? Not if there is soemthing that can be done.” The entire hall rumbled with assent to the human’s words.

The chairwoman leaned back eyeing the human, “Tell me than, what makes you qualified to make such suggestions.” The hall grumbled again

“Well, I come from a world that has had a ton of plagues and diseases as you know, the black plague, Spanish influenza, smallpox, bird flu to name a few. And every time that happened, someone came in to help. Take Ebola as an example, a hemorrhagic fever originating near the Ebola River that, as the name suggests, causes massive internal bleeding with fever. It is so contagious that you can catch it through contact with bodily fluids, from dead bodies, and (After a particular mutation) through contact with the air. It has somewhere between a 50-90% fatality rate without treatment. And despite that, when outbreaks happen we don’t just leave those people to die. Volunteer doctors and nurses went in with hazmat suits to take care of those people. Some of them died, some of them caught the disease, and others saved a lot of lives.”

The room was surprisingly quiet. Krill was surprised too, they knew humans to be a warlike species, but they hadn’t known them to be so…. Caring. To risk death to help those who may not be saved?

“A touching story, Captain, but how does that help us?”

Captain Vir crossed his arms, “If I can contact Earth, and find someone who is willing to help, I will personally fly them in myself to provide security.”

***

“Why did you agree to this?” Krill wondered uneasily watching as the captain and the rest of the volunteer medical team began strapping on their hazmat uniforms. Behind his clear plastic mask, the captain grinned fogging up the glass face, “Because, someone’s gotta do it, and besides, humans have the best immune systems this side of the galaxy.”

Krill grumbled slightly, “Maybe to earth diseases, which are disgusting, but not to alien diseases.”

“I thought you were a surgeon, not an infectious disease specialist.”

“I still went to medical school.” Krill grumbled, “Now remember captain, stay safe, and keep clean. Make sure to follow any and all decontamination procedures. Don’t touch anything if you don’t have to. Keep your feed on, so that I can see what’s going on. Maybe I can help. Also, remember to keep you-“

“Respirator on and gloves on at all times, yes Krill, I’m not stupid. I don’t want to die either.” Next to him, the other volunteers from his crew were strapping on their weapons making ready for entry.

Krill was still nervous watching them board the shuttle, and, through the cameras, their descent towards the Gromm homeworld. All around the world other crews would be doing the same thing.

***

“Approaching the first settlement at about 23% west. There seems to be no signs of life thus far.” Krill watched as the captain stepped around a strange plant and continued walking as he narrated for them. The feed wasn’t great, so it would be a help. “No movement, no alarms, nothing.” They moved over a rise and made their way down another hill reaching the settlement in about twenty minutes, having parked themselves at a good distance from the settlement. “Looks like we have our first body.” The captain said grimly crouching down and peering with his helmet cam at the shriveled corps dried into a husk under the sun. “This thing looks F***ing mummified.” The captain mumbled walking in a wide circle around the body to get it from all angles.

Krill had to agree with the captain’s assessment. The average Gromm was about three times the size of that body, with considerable mucus tissue covering most of its body. If it had died out in the sun, It was likely it had just dehydrated there.

One of the medical team began taking samples from the corpse as the rest moved closer to one of the buildings. Captain Vir took point next to the rest of his team protecting the medical staff as they softly shoved the door open.

Every human within sight left of a collective gasp.

“Ewwww f***ing disgusting.” One of them muttered. The captain made a noise in the back of his throat before, “Oh shit, I… Don’t know if you can all see, but the room is, absolutely….. Covered in slime.” With the medical team, they ventured into the room. It was dark enough Krill had trouble seeing, but the captain’s narration kept him aware, “There are at least 10, maybe 12 bodies in here all resting in pools of slime. It looks like it’s splattered the walls, there is even some on the ceiling. I can feel it through my boots.” He crouched down next to one of the bodies and ran a quick scan, “This one appears to be dead.” Krill squirmed a little in his seat at the disgusting sight, bulging eyes and a flaccid expression like the creature had just been deflated somehow.

“I GOT A LIVE ONE” Someone called.

The captain turned his helmet to look, and they all rushed over to a body in the corner. The creature was barely alive, eyes rolling against its chapped skin, “Water.” It pleaded. Someone, heading the plea left the room and came in with a bucket filled to the brim with water. The creature had no real mouth to drink like a human, so, instead, they dumped the bucket of water over the creature’s deflated form. Immediately, it began to look better, perking up and swelling to a proper size. It took a gasping breath, but seemed to sick to do much more than that. Immediately it began oozing at a furious pace.

“What the hell.” The captain muttered. Krill pressed closer to the screen. He had never seen anything like it. The average Gromm didn’t produce more than a quart of slime per day, but it was quickly loosing water even as they watched.

The humans began immediate procedure in helping the creature filling another tub full of water, and then dumping the Gromm into it covering themselves in slime during the process. The idea seemed to be working, though it would only be a temporary solution.

They continued on from there going from house to house, finding many dead, some still clinging to life, and all in need of water. Captain Vir kept track of everything he saw and everything the medical professionals pointed out. He went into most of the houses first and cleared each room before allowing others to follow him.

They were taking a look at one of the bodies when it happened. It was dark, and eerie, the house appeared to have been painted in the slime. No lights were on, and there were few windows. Captain Vir was scanning one of the subjects when it happened. The Gromm sat up and made a horrible screeching noise.

Vir leaped back, and tipped over something.

Krill heard the tearing. And then the cursing. “F**k, it’s inside my suit f**K.” The feed cut out.”

***

Krill sat at the consul shaking, body racked with panic. It was sure the captain’s suit had been breached, and he had been exposed to the pathogen. Second hands reported that he had been quarantined and was being observed….. Symptoms had already begun to appear, though the specifics were kept to a minimum.

Just then the camera turned on, and the captain appeared in the feed. He was smiling, but looked shaky. The plastic of the tent around him revealed a single entrance, a bed, a bucket, and a few other supplies, “Well….. I’ve been exposed to whatever this thing is. Whatever it is its fast acting.” He reached up to wipe his eyes, “About three hours after exposure, my nose started to run, and my eyes started to water.” He swallowed and wiped his mouth, “I’m not feeling anything else, no fever, no nausea, no sore throat, so perhaps it won’t be that bad. I’ll keep you updated.

***

Krill sat, furiously examining the samples that he had been given trying to figure out what exactly the pathogen’s purpose was. He wasn’t an expert in this area, but he knew enough that he thought it might help.

Behind him, the feed clicked on. The captain sat there looking an absolute mess. He was sniffling and wiping at his face every few seconds. His hair was disheveled, and his clothes were damp, “So…. It’s getting worse. Uh,” he wiped at his face, arm coming away covered in stringy slime. “It’s like, I was sprayed with CS gas, or ate a ghost pepper without the burning….” Tears trickled down his face in a steady stream, and as he spoke, it sounded like he was trying to speak past a mouthful of water, “I’m covered in my own.” He swallowed, “Slime. The medical team has been using me for its samples. The rest of the Gromm appear to be stabilizing. As long as you keep them in water, they seem alright, but we keep having to refill the water because they use it so fast. A few others are showing signs of improvement, thousands more have died.” He wiped at his face again, “And I have run out of tissues for the tenth time now…..”

***

The captain leaned against the edge of the frame. His cheeks were sunken his eyes were ringed with bags. He was no longer wearing his soaked shirt. He wiped at his face in vein, “Well, we have a name for it Viral Hyperactive Ectomucsacytosis, I just call it ‘The Slime.” He leaned over and spit into the bucket, “Which means that it’s a virus that causes hyperactivity in the exterior mucus membranes. So on the Gromm, who have mucus membranes covering their bodies, it’s almost a death sentence. They produce mucus until they have no water left to do so, and then they dry up. For humans it also attacks exterior mucus membranes.” He wiped at his head, “Luckily it doesn’t seem to affect the lugs or the intestines, but” He motioned to himself, “As you can see, it attacks the eyes, the nose, the mouth and…… well there are a few other places, but I’ll let you use whatever medical knowledge you have to guess those…..” He sighed, “I’ve stopped wearing clothes, because I have nothing dry left.”

He held up his arm, “As you might know, saliva and other mucus is about 90% water, so I am excessively dehydrated. They’ve started a wide boar IV on me just to keep up with the water loss.” He sighed, “I haven’t peed in almost 24 hours. I’m dizzy, and keep forgetting what I’m supposed to say. Since they gave me the IV I’ve been feeling a little better.” He sighed again, “My skin is dry, I feel cold, and they are worried about organ failure if I continue to loose water. Oh, also I have a massive headache.”

***

Captain Vir stepped aboard the ship two weeks later wearing dry clothes and looking relatively chipper. The planetary crisis for the Gromm had been reduced by the brave humans who had volunteered to come and aid those that were left alive. Millions had died in the plague, but with excessive amounts of water, the Virus had run its course. Anyone and everyone who received sufficient care during that time survived and recovered including Captain VIr.

Certain settlements had figured this trick out before their brethren and had taken to the water as soon as the outbreak had shown the symptoms that it did. They found other settlements that had not been touched by the plague, but they were often far outside city limits and had no real way to contact anyone. Many of the Gromm would remain permanently affected by the disease causing a dysregulation of their usual slime production.

Disease free, Vir was back to his normal self, and had decided that your average runny nose was nothing compared to “The slime”. A runny nose didn’t usually cause dehydration, organ failure, headache, and muscle cramps.

Krill, to himself, was very impressed with the humans. It hadn’t taken very long for Vir to find his volunteers, and no one had through twice about helping an entirely different race. They had come in on the hundreds, and had saved an entire planet from the brink of extinction risking their own lives in the process. At least 25 humans out of the hundreds sent had been infected, and all had survived without continuing issue.

Humans are a strange race, bred in war and shaped by pain, and so they fear nothing. They don’t fear sickness, or death, but they believe in survival. This idea is engrained so deeply that, even against logic, they will risk their own lives to lift up the lives of others.

No other race sent volunteer envoys onto the face of the Gromm planet, no other species suffered the sickness. It was humans, and humans aloe willing to risk death to save a species not their own.

[sparklyjojos]

CARNIVAL DAY recaps [7/13]

Today’s recap: The first few of many ‘character testimonies’, the obligatory Kodansha Editor Characters, and Dokuson’s confession.

[tw: suicide]

--

[BOOK V—CARNIVAL EVE]

--

FORTY

10 May 1997 — 16 May 1997

THE POLES

--

(And in the latest news report…)

On May 10th, satellite pictures show that a cylindrical hole 800 meters in diameter and 350 meters in depth has suddenly shown up at the South Pole, while a mass of frozen earth of that same shape and size has appeared at the North Pole, as if it was teleported. The Billion Killer’s skull is found in the frozen mass.

--

(Diana Hosey is the daughter of Theodore Hosey, the serial killer known as Deep Cut. After her father fled jail, she helped investigate his escape, and after many strange events was invited to the Sanctuary by RISE.

Below is Diana Hosey’s testimony.)

Diana didn’t expect to see her father under the mask of Yellow Bishop. He said he’d been living as RISE’s Dog for decades, their inn’s name Two-Headed Dog now sounding quite ironic. He was eventually chosen to become one of the Rainbow Sophists. While the rainbow had seven colors, there could be less than seven Sophists appointed at a time—though technically there were seven of them right now, as he and Tanna Sazen doubled as Yellow Bishop.

According to Theodore, a necessary requirement to be chosen as one of the Sophists was the ability to look and act like one of the S-detectives when masked. They also needed to be able to act out the corresponding S-detective’s reasoning method. Fabian as a lover of a cartel boss knew well how to use a fake identity to her advantage, sort of like Meiru. Tanna Sazen gathered information on Ajiro’s behavior through Maimu and was himself able to “intensely focus” as a bank clerk. Pacha Palermo just like Frau D could process large amounts of data at a time, although she was an interpreter of many languages rather than a statistician. Aleksandr Uryakov had a similarly mysterious and supernatural reasoning method as Zerofini Roi’s Zero Reasoning. Theodore Hosey personally knew Ronely Queen and used similar logical thinking.

Theodore talked about how his “world chaos theory” pertained to the Crime Olympics. (Diana doesn’t really understand the theory, but she knows it’s a bit like meteorology—forecasting future events from seemingly chaotic data). He said that the case Ronely Queen had solved at their inn had been just a test to see if she could pose a threat in the future. RISE decided that her determination could hurt their cause and so she had to disappear.

Ronely Queen and Ushiwaka Gigolo both died in the Statue of Liberty case while covering Diana. Then Diana and Kakuusan Kanke gathered (intentionally provided) clues about Theodore and went to the Earth House, from where Diana was taken to the Sanctuary. Everything according to the plan. Just like the world chaos theory predicted.

Diana felt furious and sad that her father would manipulate her and lead to her friends’ death. Theodore assured her that Ronely Queen had to die; if she survived, RISE’s plan would be eventually stopped, and as a result the Cosmic Bomb would destroy humanity.

The Cosmic Bomb in question can be also called “shinrui” (“God’s tear”) or a more straightforward name Lunatic Bomb, which makes it easy to guess what it really is.

At the end of the Crime Olympics, the Comic Bomb—the Earth’s own Moon—would fall and destroy the human race.

--

FORTY-ONE

17 May 1997 — 23 May 1997

CARNIVAL IN RIO

--

(Kirika Mai knew nothing about her origins. The strong desire to find her family made her a detective. Not given love, she was instead gifted with insight and logic. Many times she attempted to eliminate that uncertain and inexplicable being that was herself, but was saved by her desire to learn the truth before death; she feared that if she died without knowing anything about herself, her entire life would be worthless in hindsight. Giving up on eliminating herself caused her elimination reasoning method to blossom instead.

The only place that ever felt like home to her was JDC, but then it exploded, leaving her gravely injured. Her life partner Hazama Kuroo died in the Three Monkeys Case. JDC was taken over by a suspicious man called Yuiga Dokuson, and Kirika spent a lot of time investigating him, even visiting his parents in Hiroshima. They seemed like perfectly normal people and didn’t know much about their son’s life after he had graduated high-school. “He was born with a bitter smile,” they just said. Kirika tried to contact Dokuson’s school colleagues, but no one knew a lot about him either, though a lot of tales about his youth still circulated.

Below is Kirika Mai’s testimony.)

Whenever Kirika spoke to someone who knew Dokuson, including his own parents, it seemed to her like all those people were afraid of him, felt uneasy when talking about him, and generally preferred to regard him from afar. Perhaps that rumor about how Dokuson had talked someone into suicide in high-school had some basis. Kirika got the feeling that maybe it wasn’t just people’s fear that hindered the investigation, but that Dokuson had taken measures to hide his past.

Before Ushiwaka left for North America, she warned Kirika against digging too deep. Now that Ushiwaka died and Hyouma was missing, there was no one left who could tell her more about Dokuson—perhaps it was him who quietly eliminated uncomfortable witnesses.

Dokuson was simply too suspicious to ignore. People at JDC told stories about a woman in black (a secret lover? a ninja? a ghost?) who was sometimes heard talking with him in the office, but not many have seen her. Rumors claimed that it was the new detective using the D-name Manji Tawawa, who was about as self-conceited and devilishly beautiful as Dokuson, wore rich pink dresses, and had a bunch of jewelry all in the shape of her D-name. [Manji is written 卍, which is not exactly That symbol, but it’s still about as subtle as a sledgehammer, which is probably why everyone in JDC is calling her Lady Hitler]. JDC quickly split into two cliques based on which local narcissist they preferred, and some wanted Tawawa to become the new representative.

While investigating Tawawa, Kirika found a private detective called Tanegashima Cafe. Her reasoning method was called “happou vision”, happou refering to both “all directions” and “shooting”, as she was firing all her ideas in rapid succession. Tanegashima Cafe had apparently been working together with Kirika when they were both private detectives (which Kirika couldn’t quite remember, as the JDC explosion left her with partial memory loss). She had two young children and often took them to Kyoto’s park Tsukigime, a popular spot for parents and kids. When hanging around there, Kirika was surprised to meet families of JDC detectives.

There was Mizuno Reito (father of Christmas Mizuno), who took care of the household while his wife Chiyoko worked, and often went to the park with his young daughter JDC [yes, that is her first name]. In a funny coincidence, “Chiyoko” and “Reito” together sounded like “chocolate”, and they were born on respectively February 14th and March 14th, which together earned them the nicknames “Valentine Mizuno” and “White Day Mizuno”. [So basically, we have the family of Valentine, White Day, Pyramid, Christmas, and JDC Mizuno. Dear God.]

Another family group in the park were Shiranui Zenzou’s daughter and granddaughter, named Zenzouko and Zenzounene [effectively “Zenzou-kid” and “Zenzou-kid-kid”]. They were given these names to respect the dying wish of Shiranui’s father Taizen to pass his name on in some form. Both also inherited reasoning methods somewhat similar to Zenzou’s own.

Kirika learned about a very lively detective “lady network” made of all those women who constantly sit and talk in parks and always seem to know everything. It turned out they even knew about Tawawa and Dokuson, and told Kirika a bit more. Dokuson apparently was getting his secret info through the ninja detective Sarutobi Shinobu, while Tawawa would buy data from Tanegashima. It was their ability to gather secret data that made them seem geniuses of reasoning.

Realizing that the “lady network” really knew everything, Kirika asked about herself—and finally got the answer.

But now that she solved the mystery of her life, the pressure to eliminate herself returned.

[...and at the end of this testimony that turns out to have been a letter all along, for no obvious reasons there are a few mentions of “Georgia” at the end.]

--

(And in the latest news report…)

On May 17th, during an important soccer match in Maracanã Stadium in Rio de Janeiro, the ball suddenly explodes. No one is hurt, but the match is suspended, agitating the fans and causing an outburst of hooliganism that kills close to a hundred people. The Billion Killer's skull is found in a ditch by the sports grounds.

Earlier that year, an incident of mass suicide took place during the Carnival in Rio de Janeiro. Investigation found a worldwide suicide cult calling themselves Carnival Dice (or just DICE). It has been confirmed that JDC's Kirika Mai, who disappeared leaving only a suicide note, had been in contact with DICE. JDC announced they would search for Kirika and attempt to stop the cult.

--

FORTY-TWO

24 May 1997 — 30 May 1997

AYERS ROCK

--

XX would never guess he’d become a JDC detective so quickly, but it wasn’t that hard with the entrance exam abolished. XX’s job interview was led by a detective nicknamed Cappuccino Knob Suzuki (actually Suzuki Nobuyuki), who had previously worked as a Kodansha editor and even took part in publishing Cosmic and Joker. [Suzuki Nobuyuki is an actual Kodansha employee.]

Ever since the Crime Olympics began, a lot of “description detectives” or “writer detectives” started to pour in, their reasoning based on describing an incident as a book narration. Since every writer needs a good editor, that’s how “editor detective” Suzuki got his new job overseeing MAT (“Mystery Attack Team”). There are also “reader detectives” responsible for careful analysis of the stories.

In the world where new mysteries and incidents constantly surround everyone, more people than usual start to awaken their detective instincts. People have a need to solve mysteries. They also need to make stories; living in itself is writing a story about themselves.

--

(And in the latest news…)

...on May 24th, an earthquake caused Uluru / Ayers Rock in Australia to split, a part of it breaking off and killing a few tourists. The Billion Killer’s skull fell out of the newly made crevice during the earthquake.

...the JDC representative Yuiga Dokuson disappeared on June 6th, incidentally the day of his 27th birthday. In his office he had left a video tape with a confession:

“To tell you the truth, the Billion Killer is me. For various reasons I have been causing all the incidents until now, but there’s no further need for them. The Billion Killer cases end today. Humanity, rejoice.”

--

FORTY-THREE

31 May 1997 — 06 Jun 1997

CRYSTAL MOUNTAIN

--

(Below is Inugami Yasha’s testimony. [Originally in first person.])

If only Yasha had paid more attention to his surroundings, maybe the tragedy wouldn’t have happened. But it’s too late for regrets; the past can’t be undone.

At that time, Sayo was away from Gensoukan. When Yasha went outside to search for Kanaihidetaka, a person put a blade to his neck from behind, drawing blood, and ordered him to stay quiet in a muffled voice. Yasha wasn’t able to tell the stranger’s gender or age from the voice. When Juku opened the door to go outside, the assassin pushed Yasha away and charged, but Juku managed to jump away. The assassin wore silver clothes and a bull mask. Juku asked the enemy if they were Tsukumo Jaki / Yakuma Suzume, but was ignored. The assassin instead leapt at Juku, piercing his chest with a sword and forcing him to the ground.

Something unexpected happened right afterwards. When the assassin raised the sword again to deliver the final blow, they suddenly stopped moving, and Yasha heard their muffled voice saying something like “Godust… Alive… sh…”. The sword fell from their grasp and they collapsed on top of Juku, both the attacker and the victim now completely still on the ground.

Yasha couldn’t move both from shock and from blood loss, but thankfully Sayo returned right at that moment. Yasha heard her yell right before he lost consciousness. When he woke up in a hospital bed, he was told that Sayo had called an ambulance, but the help came too late and Juku passed away.

When the ambulance got to the scene, Sayo, Kanaihidetaka, and even Gensoukan were no longer there and couldn’t be found later, as if they had never existed.

The masked assassin was discovered to be not Yakuma Suzume, but the writer Minase Nagisa (real name Tamei Madoka). She had apparently died of Alive with strangely perfect timing just before she could deliver the final blow.

Yasha realized what Jaki had meant warning them about “sankaku, shikaku, maru”. It didn’t mean “triangle, square, circle”. Sankaku could mean someone taking part in a plan. Shikaku was an assassin. Tamei Madoka’s first name was written 円, this kanji having an alternate reading of maru.

After Juku’s death, Yasha became Dokuson’s helper as JDC’s first vice-representative. This unexpectedly led to him becoming the actual representative after Dokuson left his confession and fled. Leading JDC wasn’t in Yasha’s plans at all, but he decided to help everyone as he could.

[End of testimony.]

--

The writer detective XX stumbles upon files about “the phantom case of the Seppuku Detective”, which was solved by Suzukaze Unomaru.

Once upon a time, a woman wandered into a forest known for suicides and found a house called Gensoukan, where she met two men. One was the seppuku detective, another was a genius surgeon dressed in white. The detective would repeatedly attempt seppuku—the state between life and death sharpening his reasoning—and the surgeon would then piece him back together.

The woman got into a romantic triangle with both men. However, one night the detective actually killed himself in secret, and the other two fell apart and went their own ways away from Gensoukan. When the woman returned to the forest later, the house was no longer there.

The woman asked JDC to help her find the house and the surgeon. The tale was clearly absurd, but Unomaru wanted to check if it had any basis in reality.

The woman indeed had been in a triangle relationship with two brothers, but then the older one (Endou Naoto) disappeared, and the abandoned pair split. The woman attempted to contact the younger brother (Endou Masato) a few years later, but found that he had mysteriously fled. This entire “Gensoukan” must have been just a metaphor for lost love and happiness.

While the case was technically solved, XX thinks there has to be more to it, especially since the recent case of Juku’s murder also involved a disappearing Gensoukan. Additionally, that short story Another Joker was set in Gensoukan, and its alleged author was the brother of the masked assassin.

XX asks Yasha for a testimony about everything that happened [the one we just read]. He learns about “Seiryoin Ryusui” being the suspected “third writer”, about the Yakuma Suzume hypothesis, and about the two Endou brothers. Everything is starting to come together.

--

FORTY-FOUR

07 Jun 1997 — 13 Jun 1997

NUCLEAR WEAPON TEST

--

(And in the news…)

...On May 31st, a giant fire broke out on Mount Roraima in South America and had been raging on for a week. The Billion Killer’s skull was found in an extinguished part of the slope.

...the investigation of Mount Roraima revealed the existence of a group called F4C (Fire 4 Card), also suspected of bombing buildings and setting fires during the Crystal Nightmare. The name comes from the group always leaving four playing cards the size of an adult on the crime scene, always the four different colors of the same number, starting from twos during the Crystal Nightmare, up to aces on Mount Roraima. As the usual skull was found in the Mount Roraima fire, it points to the group’s possible connection with the Billion Killer.

...tensions between India and Pakistan heightened with both countries announcing multiple underground nuclear tests.

--

The writer detective XX decides to try solving the “seppuku detective’s phantom case” by writing about it.

Books about real cases sell unusually well in the new society of the Crime Olympics. Way back in February, Kodansha even sent over their editor called Katsushi Outa to scout for good stories from the writer detectives. [The real Kodansha editor Katsushi Outa just had to appear eventually, didn’t he.] He later became an editor detective with the D-name Strong J Outa.

The (by that time) vice-representative Yasha asked XX and Outa a strange favor: to start writing and publishing more books under the pen name Seiryoin Ryusui, as that would somehow help end the Crime Olympics.

--

[>>>NEXT PART>>>]

[bookofjin]

Biography of Su Jun

[From JS100]

Su Jun, courtesy name Zigao, was a native of Ye in Changguang. His father Mo was Chancellor of Anle. Jun as young was of bookish character and had a talent for studying, he served the commandery as Master of Accounts. At the age of eighteen he was recommended as Filial and Incorrupt.

During the chaos of Yongjia [307 – 313], the hundred families drifted and absconded were gathering in defence. Jun brought together and gathered, obtaining several thousand families, and organized ramparts in the home county. At the time prominent and outstanding were gathering for defence, yet Jun was the strongest. He dispatched the Senior Clerk Xu Wei to circulate a call to arms to the various defended places, showing thereby the kingly persuasion. He also collected withered bones and withered him. Distant and near perceived his kindness and righteousness, and pushed forward Jun as the master. Thereupon he shot and hunted on the border of the sea and inside the mountains of Qing. Emperor Yuan heard about him, and made use of Jun as General who Calms and Collects.

At the time Cao Ni acted as Inspector of Qing province. He petitioned for Jun to be Prefect of Ye, Jun declined due to illness and did not accept. Ni loathed him obtaining the multitudes, and feared he would certainly be troublesome, he wanted to chastise him. Jun was afraid, and led several hundred families of his sections to sail the sea and cross south.

When he had come to Guangling, the Imperial Court praised his arrival from afar, and moved him to Hawk Rising General. It happened that Zhou Jian rebelled at Pengcheng. Jun assisted in chastising him and had merit. He was appointed Interior Clerk of Huailing, then moved to Chancellor of Lanling.

When Wang Dun commenced his rebellion, decreed Jun to chastise Dun. He divined it and found it inauspicious, he delayed, turned around, and did not advance. When the kingly host achieved defeat, Jun withdrew to guard Xuchi. Former magistrates of Huailing, Xu Shen and Ai Yi, empathically requested Jun to be Interior Clerk. A decree listened to them, and added General who Exerts Power. At the beginning of Taining [323 – 326], changed his appointment to Interior Clerk of Linhuai.

Wang Dun repeatedly indulged in rebellion. The Prefect of the Masters of Writing, Xi Jian, discussed summoning Jun and Liu Xia to aid the Imperial Capital. Dun dispatched Jun's older brother to persuade Jun, saying:

Wealth and honour is possible [by] sitting by and taking. Why come yourself and court death?

Jun did not follow. Thereupon he led the multitudes to hasten to the Imperial City, pausing at the Minister over the Masses' old office. The road had been long and the travel quick, the people of the army were tired and exhausted. Shen Chong and Qian Feng planned, saying:

The Northern Army is newly arrived, and is not yet capable of attacking and fighting, [if we] strike it, we will surely vanquish. If [we] are timid and wavering, later the difficulties will overflow.

The thieves at that night crossed over Zhuge Isle, they overcame the palisades and were about to fight. Jun led his general Han Huang to cut across them at the Southern Dike, and greatly routed them. He again accompanied Yu Liang to pursue and rout Shen Chong.

He was advanced to Envoy Holding the Tally, General of the Best of the Army, Interior Clerk of Liyang, concurrently Cavalier Regular Attendant, and was ennobled Duke of Shaoling with a revenue estate of 1 800 households.

Jun originally used a single family to collect the multitudes at a juncture of tumult and turmoil. After he had reverted to obedience, his aspirations was to establish merit. When he had merit in the sate, his hopes for authority gradually became visible. Arriving at this point he had ten thousand keen soldiers, and his implements and arms were to great extent the finest. The Imperial Court relied on him for [the territory] outside the Jiang.

But Jun was quite overflowing with haughtiness in his breast. He himself depended on his multitudes, and secretly had disloyal aspirations. He consoled and admitted [those who had] absconded from the instructions. When he obtained the families of criminals who had escaped death, Jun every time sheltered and hid them. His multitudes' strength multiplied daily, everyone relied on food from the county officials, the transport ships gathered each other. [On those who] in the slightest were not of the same opinion, he readily let loose furious words.

At the time Emperor Ming had just then collapsed, entrusting government affairs to the stewards and assistants. The [General who] Protects the Army, Yu Liang, wished to campaign against him. Jun heard there was about to be a campaigned, and dispatched Marshal He Reng to go to Liang and say:

An outer appointment of chastising the thieves, distant and near [I will] follow the instructions. [But] when it comes to interior assistance, [I am] truly not capable of it.

He did not follow, and thereupon sent down a gracious decree summoning Jun to be Great Minister of Agriculture, concurrently Cavalier in Regular Attendance, ranking as Specially Advanced, and used his younger brother Yi to replace him to lead the private troops. Jun habitually suspected the Emperor wished to murder him, and petitioned, saying:

Formerly August Emperor Ming held Your Subject's hand, and sent Your Subject north to chastise the Hu bandits. Now the Central Plains are not yet stable, there is no use in being at home. [I] beg to repair a single desolate commandery on the border of Qing province, so as to show the employment of hawks and dogs.

It again was not allowed. Jun made ready and prepared for the journey, and was about to hasten to the summons, but was hesitating and holding off, and had not yet decided. The Army Advisor Ren Rang spoke to Jun, saying:

The General sought to stay in a desolate commandery, and yet it was not allowed. With affairs and circumstances like this, [I] fear there is no life on the road. It is not as good as directing the troops and defend yourself.

Jun followed him, and thereupon did not obey the instructions. The Imperial Court dispatched envoys to criticize and explain to him. Jun said:

When the Tribunal sends down words that I wish to rebel, how will I survive? I would rather gaze at the Commandant of Justice from the mountain top, than be unable to gaze at the mountain top from the Commandant of Justice. In the past when the state was imperilled like a stack of eggs, it was not that I did not aid. When the cunning hare is dead, the hunting dog arranges for himself to be boiled in response. However when [I am] dead [I will] report to those who made the plans, that is all.

Hence he dispatched the Army Advisor Xu Hui to join with Zu Yue, and plan to make chaos, and use chastising Liang as their fame. Yue dispatched Zu Huan and Xu Liu to lead the multitudes and help Jun. Jun dispatched generals Han Huang, Zhang Jian, and others to assault Gushu. They advanced to pressure Ci Lake, and killed the Prefect of Yuhu, Tao Fu, and the General who Exerts Power, Sima Liu.

Jun himself led Huan and Liu's multitudes, ten thousand people, exploited the wind to cross from Hengjiang, and stayed at Lingkou. He fought with the kingly host, won again and again, and thereupon occupied Jiang Mound and Fuzhou Mountain. He led the multitudes to rely on the wind and release fire. The tribunals, bureau, and the various encampments, courtyards and offices in a single moment were swept away and gone.

Thereupon he captured the palace city, and let loose the troops to great plunder. They intruded and pressured the six palaces, were thoroughly heinous and extremely violent, ruthless and cruel without principles. They chased away the serving hundred officials, the Superintendent of the Brilliantly Blessed, Wang Bin, and others were all beaten and flogged, and forced and ordered them to carry and bear up Jiang Mountain. They stripped naked the scholars and women, everyone used destroyed mats, rushes and grass to screen themselves, those who had no grass sat on the ground and used earth to cover themselves. The sound of their pitiful shouts shook and moved inside and outside.

At the time the officials had 200 000 bolts of cloth, 5 000 jin of gold and silver, an immeasurable amount of cash, several ten thousand bolts of tabby silk, and others things like those. Jun fully expended them. He fabricated a decree for a great amnesty, only Yu Liang and his brothers were not pardoned. He used himself as General of Agile Cavalry that Leads the Army, Recording the Affairs of Masters of Writing. Xu Liu [as] Intendant of Danyang, promoted the General of the Van, Ma Xiong to General of Guards of the Left, Zu Huan [as] General of Valiant Cavalry, restored the King of Yiyang, Yang, to King of Xiyang, Grand Steward, Recording the Affairs of the Masters of Writing. Yang's child Bo likewise was restored to his original office.

Hence he changed and altered the officials and ministers, and set up his friends and partisans. The government affairs of the Imperial Court one and all were carried out by them. He also dispatched Han Huang to enter Yixing, and Zhang Jian, Guan Shang, Hong Hui and others to enter Jinling.

At the time Wen Jiao and Tao Kan were already advocating righteousness at Wuchang. Jun heard troops were rising up. He employed Army Advisor Jia Ning's plan, and turned back to occupy Shitou. He moreover divided up the troops to resist the various righteous army, nowhere they passed through were not ruthlessly exterminated.

When Jiao and others were about to arrive, Jun thereupon moved the Son of Heaven to Shitou, he pressured and coerced the resident people and completely gathered them in the rear park, and made the Prefect of Huaide, Kuang Shu, to defend Yuancheng.

When Jiao and others had come, they then built ramparts at Baishi. Jun led the multitudes to attack them, and almost managed to capture and take [them]. East and west he seized and plundered, and many were captured and imprisoned. The troops' power were thriving daily, and in none of the battles he did not vanquish, Because of that, the righteous multitudes were dispirited and frustrated. Those court gentlemen who ran to the Righteous Army all stated:

Jun is crafty and sly, and has wisdom and vigour, his followers and partisans are gallant are brave, [they can point] in a direction and have no enemies. Only if it is so that Heaven chastises criminals, his execution and exterminating will not be before long. If it is people's affairs to speak of it, he will not be easily removed.

Wen Jiao angrily said:

You Lords are timid cowards, and therefore actually praise the thieves.

When afterwards, he amassed battles without victory, Jiao likewise deeply dreaded him.

Guan Shang and others advanced to attack Wu commandery, they burnt Wu county, Haiyan, and Jiaxing, and defeated the various righteous armies. Han Huang also attacked Xuancheng, and murdered the Grand Warden, Huan Yi. Shang and others also also burnt Yuhang, but was greatly defeated at Wukang. They withdrew and turned back to Yixing.

Jiao and Zhao Yin led 10 000 foot troops, and followed Baishi to go up south, wishing to approach him in this way. Jun and Kuang Xiao commanded 8 000 people to confront them in battle. Jun dispatched his son Shuo together with Xiao and several tens of cavalry to first press against Zhao Yin, they defeated him. Jun looked and saw Yin running, and said:

Xiao was able to rout the thieves, I then will be less [than him].

Following that, he set aside his multitudes, and together with several cavalry went down north to charge the columns, but did not manage to enter. He was about to turn around and hurry to Baimu Slope. The Serrated Gates Peng Shi, Li Qian, and others threw at him with their lances, and he fell off the horse. They cut off his head, minced and cut him, and burnt his bones. The Three Armies all called out “ten thousand years”.

Jun's Marshal Ren Rang and others together installed Jun's younger brother Yi as their master. They demanded Jun's corpse, but did not obtain it. Shuo therefore opened up the graves of Yu Liang father and mother, sliced in two the coffins, and burnt the corpses.

Yi closed the walls and defended himself. Han Huang heard Jun was dead, and guided the troops to hasten to Shitou. Guan Shang and Hong Hui advanced to attack Chengting Ramparts. The Protector-Controller Li Hong and the Senior Clerk of Light Chariots Teng Han struck and routed them, the cut off heads tallied a thousand. Shang led the multitudes to run to Yanling. Li Hong and the various armies at Chengting pursued him. The beheaded and captives tallied several thousand. Shang went to Yu Liang and surrendered. Kuang Shu offered Yuancheng in surrender. Han Huang, Su Yi, and others combined forces to attack Shu, but were unable to capture him.

Wen Jiao and others selected finest and keenest, and wanted to attack the thieves' encampment. Shuo led several hundreds of the gallant and brave to cross the Huai and fight. At the columns they beheaded Shuo. Huang and others shook in fear, and ran with their multitudes to Zhang Jian at Qu'e. The gates were narrow and they did not manage to get through, they moreover stamped and trampled each other. The dead numbered ten thousand. Yi was apprehended by Li Tang, and beheaded him at the Chariots and Cavalry Office.

At the surrender of Guan Shang, his remaining multitudes together returned to Zhang Jian. Jian also suspected Hong Hui and others were not in agreement with him, and thoroughly killed them. Furthermore, he used the navy to go from Yanling towards Changtang, great and small they were more than 20 000 people, the gold, silver, and precious things could not possibly be counted. The General who Spreads Zealousness, Wang Yunzhi and the various armies of Wuxing struck Jian, and greatly routed hi, the captured men and women were more than 10 000 people.

Jian then, together with Ma Xiong, Han Huang, and others fled with a light army. Hong led keen troops to pursue them, caught up with them at Yan Mountain, and attacked him with considerably urgency. Jian and others did not dare to come down from the mountain, only Huang alone set out. He belted on a pair of quivers with arrows. He stepped back to lean on a barbarian couch, bent his bow and shot at them, wounding and killing a considerable multitude. When the arrows were spent, they then beheaded him. Jian and others thereupon surrendered, everyone had their heads put on display.