#the moment i stop doing small chunks a day and start doing large bursts separated by larger breaks…

[cynicalmusings]

unfortunately, i didn’t have time to write that much of hmc today, but i still made a few hundred words’ progress, which is decent enough.

[its-warm-in-here]

Playing Pretend

I’m sorry I didn't get this up sooner. I gutted the end but here’s the first part of the first chapter of a Heisenberg x reader fic that will probably go on too long. This is more of a prolog. No smut yet! Written with a female reader in mind, but I may have versions for both m and f when the final product goes up. Gonna start out kinda fluffy before we get darker. Comments and constructive criticism are always appreciated!

Summary: This summer trip to Romania was supposed to be momentous, life changing, and the bases for your master’s thesis. Too bad the villagers want you gone and this ‘Mother Miranda’ won't even see you. Luckily, you run into a greasy engineer who says he can help.

Or

Karl tries to take a day off from being ‘Lord Heisenberg’ with the cute stranger who wandered into the village. Things only spiral from there.

~2080 words

Miranda loved the yearly festivals. She always made a big show of the village, flowers and banners everywhere. The townsfolk would bring out their best clothing, even if their best was still black and brown. The dreary village would come alive with drinking, dancing and merry making. Even some of the neighboring villages would join in the festivities. The town would be near bustling, the local tavern would be full, laughter and song would echo from the church to the castle.

He hated it. All of it. Heisenberg avoided the celebrations, instead opting to stay holed up in his factory as much as possible. And it wasn't just because of the excess of people, while that didn't help. No, it was an insidious purpose for these gatherings. He exhaled a ring of cigar smoke.

First, boost morale through the village and reaffirm the people's faith in Mother Miranda. Second, and far more insidious, was to widen the flock, to expand her influence and bring in new blood for her experiments. The surrounding towns were just as small and removed from the rest of the world as Miranda's village. Made it easy to bring new blood under her wing. Youth would meet and marry, a drunk or four would go missing, and some of the visitors would become new members of Miranda's community. More meat for her Cadou grinder.

Heisenberg flicked the ash from his cigar and watched it float down before the wind caught it. The early morning view from the top of his factory wasn't bad. It was his own part of the world: no view of the village, the stench of the reservoir was nonexistent, and the most he could see of Castle Dimitrescu was a massive wall keeping their territory separated. Just him and his machines. He took another puff. As much as he planned to avoid today, Heisenberg knew that he would have to make at least some appearance. All the Lords did, even if it was just for a moment. Just another way to show her power; having all of her ‘children’ before the townsfolk. He grimaced at the thought. Târgul de Fete was set to start soon. At least that gave him the morning to get shit done. Heisenberg kicked a bit of metal scrap off the roof and it bounced off the scrap heap below with a ping! before landing in the dirt. He rolled his shoulder. Time to get to work.

---

"Well fuck you too!" You slammed the door behind you.  Why even bother going through the proper channels? No matter what, they turn you down, tell you to leave and treat you like an outcast. You spoke to towns folk, to village leaders, hell, you even wanted an audience with their 'Mother Miranda,' but she refused to even see you! You stormed along the path and the few people that had not made their way to the Târgul de Fete celebration steered clear of you, opting to give you a side eye and shuffle to their destination. All you wanted was to observe their festival, and maybe take a few pictures, but even that was negotiable. You had even offered to leave your camera behind with them for the day. Why hadn't you gone to Sweden with the rest of your class? No, instead you went to some culty, backwater town in Romania!

You kicked a rock, hard, sending it flying into the tall grass. "God Damnit!" This was supposed to have been your thesis! Supposed to be life changing! No, now you were just stuck, miles from any true civilization and being kicked out of some stupid, ramshackle heap, whose plants can't even grow right in a Romanian summer. Some of the plants were barely green, most appeared dry or yellowing. The flowers were either wilted and falling apart or hadn't even bloomed. You were no botanist, but you were certain that wasn't healthy.

You kicked another rock, it soared through the grass, but it struck something metal this time before landing with a thud. They didn't want you here, didn't want you at Târgul de Fete? Fine, but they didn't take your camera. Without thinking, you dug the old DSLR out of your bag and snapped a picture of the church.

And immediately deleted it.

You signed. Even if the villagers were a bunch of jackasses, this was their culture and they made it very clear that you were not welcome. Even if they had agreed to all this three months ago. And even if they had called you a bad omen, a poison and a danger to the whole village.  You weren't about to infringe. Crestfallen, you huffed your bag over your shoulder and began the trek back out of town. It was at least a four hour walk to your rental car and a good chunk of that walk was more of a hike. Not like there was much you could do other than leave after cussing out the town speakers and nearly slamming the door off its hinges.

The village had felt abandoned when you walked in, and now that everyone had headed off to a celebration, the village was positively desolate. No traditional brightly-colored dresses or intricate belts to be seen. And no wary or hostile glares from the inhabitants either. It was... quiet. Aside from the occasional crow, you might as well have been in a ghost town. It took you a bit to find the correct path out of the grave yard, but after spinning in circles for a good moment, you pushed past a red door and were back on your way. The village wasn't large, most of the paths were poorly maintained and the whole place was enveloped in a strange fish smell.

You bit the inside of your cheek. This was a good thing, really. Who would've wanted to stay in the ramshackle place for more than a few hours, let alone a few days? You groaned and kicked at the ground again. While not lacking in repellent attributes, the pagan worship of the place fascinated you.  They had their own religion but had incorporated traditional Romania holidays into their culture. Where else in Europe could you see that happen in real time? Of course, you could think of a couple of places, but you had picked here in the Carpathian mountains in particular! While you did have a second choice, you couldn't stop the self pity from setting in.

Ugh.

The village was relatively small and was quickly fading to forest, the castle that overlooked the town vanished behind you as you shuffled down a particularly steep part of the path. The trees here looked more normal, less sickly. While it was only marginally, you felt a bit better, a bit less mad. Stepping away from that place was a breath of fresh air.

Your boots skid a bit as you reach a flat spot. With a huff, you grip both backpack straps to center yourself.  If this couldn't be your thesis, that didn't mean you had to hate the walk. This was Romania afterall, when was the next time you were going to be here? The sky may be overcast, but it sort of added to the eerie charm of this place. You sidestepped your way down another steep incline, using one hand to grip overgrown branches for balance. The last step is a bit further, but you find your footing easily.

And the rock gave way under you, tilting forward with an abrupt grinding sound. A burst of panicked adrenaline rushed through as you struggled to stop. You pitch forward, stumbling over branches and underbrush, your eyes forcibly losing focus.

"The fuck?"

That wasn't your voice. You slammed full force into something, another body? And it gives under you. The other person takes the brunt of the fall, landing on their back with a distinct, "oof."

For a moment, you don't speak, too focused on catching the breath. Finally, your vision swims back and you find your voice, "Damnit... are you ok?"

The man under you goans, sitting half way up to look you over. His hair is grey, and a bit too long, but he couldn't be any older than forty, possibly younger. "Get off." Your eyes go wide and that panicked beat fills your chest. "Ya deaf? Off."

"Er, right," you scramble to your feet and, without thinking, extend a hand to the stranger, "Sorry about... that." You gestured vaguely to the path. "Lost my balance."

He lets out an exasperated huff, and knocks your hand away. For a moment, he doesn't acknowledge you, instead retrieving something from the grass behind him. He's wearing a loose linen shirt, sleeves rolled halfway up with black leather gloves. You force yourself to look somewhere, anywhere else, nervously bouncing from foot to foot. When he turns back to you, he has a tattered, wide brim hat in place and is looking over a pair of broken sunglasses. One of the lenses was clearly shattered, but he hooked them over his shirt collar, his attention finally turning to you. "You're not from around here, huh?”

You couldn't help but snort, "What gave it away, the wind breaker? Don't worry, I'm leaving."

"Leaving?" He repeats.

You start moving back to the path. "Yup, your village speaker has made that very clear."

"They were clear? Not all back and forth on it?" He chuckles, "That's impressive, they must really not like you."

You stare at him, was this a friendly face? It was certainly a handsome face, even with scarring and stubble. But a trustworthy one? "You sure you're ok? Didn't scramble that brain when I ran into you? The rest of the town was pretty dead set on driving me out."

" 'Cause they're a bunch of morons, sweetheart," he insisted, "All part of Mother Miranda's big, idiot mob."

"Huh," you are walking ahead on the path, and he's not but a footfall behind you.

"But they don't matter."

"No?"

"What matters is, why didn't they want you here?"

You stop, turning to face this stranger. He was gruff, and more than a little rude, but in comparison to the townsfolk, he was downright friendly. Hell, you were surprised he was so forward with you.  "Masters thesis," you put plainly, hoping he'll leave it at that.

"On what?"

"Anthropology."

He leaned in close. He wasn't that much taller than you, but you couldn't help but move away from his imposing figure. From this distance, you could smell motor oil and some kind of smoke on his clothes. "That's it?" You scoff, the sooner you are back in your car the better. "I just mean, it's surprising they'd want you gone. You sure there's nothing else? Didn't kick over any goat statues?"

"Not that I noticed," you started back down the path. You'd wasted too much time talking to this weirdo anyway. Just based on his demeanor and dislike of the rest of the village, you wonder if you'd maybe tripped over the town pariah. He certainly wasn't dressed like anyone else from the village.

"I could get you back in."

You stopped, not fifteen feet from him. "You're assuming I want to go back in." And didn’t you? You just risk getting yelled at again. But if there was a chance to write your thesis...

“Well, if you're not interested,” he turned to leave. You grit your teeth, your nails digging deep into your backpack straps.

“Hold up!" It doesn't take much to catch up to him. "How exactly are we going to do this?"

"My word carries a certain amount of weight," he carried on, "Though,  the village doesn't meet on these matters till next week."

"But what good does that-"

He isn't listening, "For today, I know a place you can watch the town. Besides, you're an Archeologist, you probably want an interview, right?" Of course he gestures to himself with a sort of half bow.

You roll your eyes, but still follow, "Anthropologist." He gives you a blank look. "I'm studying Anthropology, not Archeology."

He doesn't seem to care, instead pulling a cigar and lighter from his pants pocket. "Got a name?"

"Oh, (y/n). You?"

The stranger is part way up on the path you had tripped down. "Karl," he had extended you a gloved hand. You look from him to his hand, before brushing past him, pulling yourself up next to him without the offered aid.

[knjoodles]

learn to love; jungkook | 04

pairing: teacher!jungkook x singleparent!reader

genre: angst, fluff

word count: 3.5K

summary: raising your daughter alone while simultaneously watching your ex-husband live the life of his dreams away from the two of you hurts. badly. it hurts a little less, though, when you find an unlikely friend while looking for help.

lowercase intended.

psst! this chapter is a game-changer AND has a character named after one of my followers! i hope she sees it and enjoys it. 💞

01 | 02 | 03 

   your alarm clock woke you, it’s piercing siren startling your eyes wide. groaning and fluttering your eyes to adjust to the sudden morning rays warming your somnolent face, you glared at the flashing red numbers across from you, reading a proud eight a.m. “fuck,” you mumbled, sinking your head into your pillow. your head pounded sparingly as you buried your head further, your attempt at drowning out the gentle pain failing.

    what had happened last night? nothing devastating. you're not one to irrationally act out; you always think about seyoung first. the last thing you can recall is throwing your shoes off and bag to the floor and essentially passing out on your bed after attending a team dinner. your days never seem to end, it just feels as though you have small pockets of time to breathe in between your busy schedule. when your five-minute break is up, though, it's back to work.

    you slowly arose from your cozy, welcoming bed and stared at the pillow sitting next to you, one that you'd clung to all night judging from its evident crumpled form in comparison to the other pillows sprawled across your bed. ouch. it sits where hoseok would lay.

    shaking your head to ensure you wouldn't have any regressive thoughts at eight in the morning, you pulled your comforter back, swinging your legs across the bed and perching comfortably on its edge. gazing at your feet, you sighed quietly, thanking the heavens it was saturday but dually cursing it for your support group session being today. you hadn't told anyone about it, not even sooyoung. this was for you, and you alone. you trudged from your bed to the master bathroom, scrubbing your teeth.

   it was at this moment that the sweet aroma of a saturday morning breakfast wafted from your kitchen to your bedroom. you inhaled it peacefully, the fragrance calming you and clearing your mind. you finally left your bedroom, shuffling towards your kitchen and living room. you silently apologized to the heavens for scolding it about the support group and thanked it once more, being reminded that you wouldn't know what to do half the time without sooyoung.

    "morning!" a voice sang from your kitchen. "i see the zombie finally decided to rise from sleep?" it chuckled, the sound of what seemed like waffles sizzling. your stomach growled at the thought of biting into one and you returned sooyoung's laugh, the patter of your daughter's feet against the tiled floor growing louder as she ran towards you. "seyoung, be careful! i don't want you slipping!"

    "it's okay, sooyoung auntie!" your daughter assured, her smaller frame finally finding you. "mom!" she giggled excitedly as she wrapped her arms around your waist, tugging affectionately. "you're finally awake!" she moaned, pulling on your large cotton shirt. "you know, i thought you died! so i called sooyoung auntie, and she told me you were alive. but i didn't believe her, so i asked her to prove it! and she told me she couldn't prove it this early in the morning. it wasn't even that early!"

    "seyoung-ah, what part of four in the morning isn't early to you?" sooyoung complained, her voice ringing through your home, body still not in view. peeking her head past a pillar separating the three of you, she scowled, annoyed, slapping another waffle onto a stack on a plate. "i was busy dreaming my dreams and this little one wakes me from my beauty sleep! at four in the morning! seyoung, if i didn't love you so much, who knows what i'd do!" she groaned. you and your daughter chuckled in unison, her small hand dragging you to the table to sit with her and sooyoung.

    "this is the first time i've made blueberry waffles, so don't expect a master chef level plate," sooyoung grinned as she placed the large pile of waffles in the middle of the table. "seyoung was okay with normal waffles up until she spotted the blueberries in the fridge. after that, she wouldn't stop tormenting me to add them in!" she joked, sitting down across from you.

    "torment?!" seyoung squealed, eyes wide, a smile cracking across her cheeks. "all i wanted was some pancakes, auntie!" she pat the table playfully, sooyoung pinching her cheek lovingly. "and, you said yes!"

    "and, i said yes," sooyoung repeated, looking over at you. "you both know i can't say no to seyoung! it's like refusing to eat a feast in front of you after you haven't eaten for days. what do you expect me to do? starve?" she jested, earning an eye roll and a grin from you. no one failed to make you laugh like your very dramatic sooyoung.

    "yeah, yeah." you bantered, serving yourself two warm pancakes. "gosh, sooyoung, these smell incredible," you gushed as you cut a piece swiftly, wanting to savor it immediately. it instantly melted in your mouth, the flavor of the warm fruit bursting into your mouth. you smiled brightly, chewing vigorously and holding up a cheerful thumbs-up. your daughter did the same, earning a giggle from sooyoung as she studied the two of you.

    "you guys look exactly alike," she murmured as she took a portion of waffle into her mouth, nibbling contentedly. swallowing, she continued, "just the same. it's like someone copy-paste in real life."

    seyoung turned to you, her face crinkled into a joyous grin. she placed her petite hand on top of yours, squeezing it tenderly. "i'm pretty, just like her! my mom is the prettiest lady in the world."

    "that she is!" sooyoung chimed in agreement, pointing her fork with a half-eaten chunk of waffle on it at seyoung. "no one can compare, except for me. i humbly accept second place, madam (y/n)." she bowed teasingly.

    "no, seyoung, you're the prettiest! and what about yebin? she's pretty too, right?" as much as you hated mentioning yebin, you knew you had to encourage seyoung to form a relationship with her 'step-mom'. you had to be the bigger person and you have to ignore the urge to scream at her every time you see her face. that's what being an adult is. hiding your feelings and pretending that you're generally okay.

    "eh," seyoung dragged, filling her mouth with a large piece of waffle. "not as pretty as you," she assured between chews. "yebin's scary when she takes off her makeup." her unintentional attack on yebin prompted sooyoung to sputter in amusement, bursting into laughter.

    "you're even starting to talk like your mom!" sooyoung exclaimed, resting her head on the table to mask her cackling. "i can't," she gasped, throwing her head back and covering her mouth. "you guys are getting more and more alike every day!"

    you smiled at your excited daughter, who was now drawing a large smiley face using maple syrup on her plate. admiring your best friend cackling in front of you and your daughter being undeniably herself, you sat contempt, knowing life was good for the time being.

    "next time?" sooyoung started as she slipped on her shoes, her purse dangling from her shoulder. "call me. if you ever need an extra hand around here, i'll come as soon as i can. promise you'll call?"

    "promise." you reassured, nodding politely. seyoung hovered behind you waving to her beloved aunt as she departed. "thanks for the breakfast and lunch, soo. you know i couldn't have done it without you." you dart your head around to spot your daughter, finding her peering behind your leg. "seyoung, say bye to sooyoung!"

    "bye, sooyoung auntie! come back soon! i want to make chocolate pancakes next!" seyoung called as sooyoung walked to her uber. "please come back!" seyoung repeated hesitantly, "i won't wake you up early again!"

    "good." sooyoung nodded, climbing into the passenger seat. "i'll see you monday, (y/n)! enjoy your weekend." sooyoung closed the door of the car and the uber sped off, you and your daughter lingering in your front lawn until she was out of sight.

    "what are we gonna do today, mommy?" seyoung turned to you, eyes full of curiosity.

    "well, i wanted to keep it a surprise, but i may or may not have scheduled a sleepover for you and ailee!" you exclaimed, grabbing your daughter's hands excitedly.

    "a sleepover?!" she squeaked, ecstatic as ever. "a sleepover with ailee!" seyoung jumped up and down, her pigtails swaying. "thank you, mommy, thank you!" she followed you inside, slipping off her sandals. you glanced at the clock, noting that it was currently around two o'clock.

    "ailee's mom expects us at four, so go and get ready! i'll drop you off." you smiled, leading her towards her bathroom.

    "you're not staying? even for a little bit?" seyoung turned, pouting. "why? are you not friends with ailee's mom?"

    "no, no, ailee's mom and i are still friends! mommy just has a lot of work to do." you reasoned, crouching down to eye-level with your daughter. "i wish i could stay, baby, but duty calls!"

    "okay," she replied half-dejectedly, waddling into her room to fetch her clothes to shower. you felt relieved your daughter hadn't tried to pry. you were just getting help for the two of you.

    seyoung, excited as ever to finally have reached ailee's house, practically leaped out of her car seat and beelined towards the door. you dashed after her, finding it difficult to keep track of locking your car and your wild daughter all at once. "seyoung-ah!" you called sternly, making her almost immediately stop and apologize profusely. after assuring her that she didn't make any large mistake, you took her by the hand and led her to the front door, making sure she walked confidently next to you — a tip you'd read in a parenting journal.

    the door swung open as excited squeals sounded from either side, ailee and seyoung basically grabbing each other to hug tightly. chuckling at the two running off to play, seyoung's backpack still in your hand, you glanced at ailee's mother, mai. "they're really excited, huh?" she exclaimed, watching them clamber up the stairs. "here, let me take that," she offered.

    "of course!" you replied, placing the bag in her hand. "i can't thank you enough for taking seyoung in today. i would've called her nanny, but today was so busy, and —"

    "it's no issue," mai interrupted, smiling assuringly. "we all know how hard you work. and after you alone juggled both of our kids after my husband's accident, well," she turned, making sure your kids weren't there. "it's the least i could do. do you want to come in? i can get some coffee going,"

    "i'd love to, but i can't," you explained. "i've got a meeting of sorts to get to soon. i'll pick seyoung up around ten tomorrow?" you asked, adjusting the sleeve of your sweater.

    "that works perfectly. call me if there's anything important!" she called, waving to you as you departed towards your car.

    "likewise!" you responded, waving politely and climbing into your car, waiting until their front door shut. why did you always find yourself on the verge of losing it in this exact position? in front of mai's house, in your car, right in front of the wheel. and, mimicking the way you always react to these situations, you rubbed the leather of your steering wheel, stopping yourself from resting your forehead against the horn and letting it ring until you felt satisfied. it was time to go to that potential shitshow of a support group, and you didn't know how to feel. pain? fear?

    you thought your divorce from hoseok would be the worst you've ever felt. and granted, it partially was, but at least you were sure of yourself. sure that you didn't want anything to do with this anymore, regardless of how much you loved him. but now? you didn't even know if you wanted this. the worst feeling to you was clear now; it was uncertainty, because uncertainty can corrode you and all your confidence in ways nothing else can.

    and, again mimicking the way you always react to these situations, you pressed the gas and drove, preparing yourself for both the worst and the best.

    the community center was cold. that was your first thought.

    dozens of people filed into the large auditorium, all trying to catch a glimpse of the one directory they offered to guide attendees to their respective support groups. after standing on your toes for what felt like hours, you finally read, 'divorcees and widow(er)s support group, room 613'. you found your place to go, but did you really want to walk into that room?

    there that uncertainty went again, eating away at your confidence like a parasite.

    you have to go, you reasoned to yourself it's not just for you, it's for seyoung. she'll catch on to what's going on eventually, you can't let her see you weak! with the reminder of seyoung fresh in your mind, you took the elevator to the sixth floor and searched thoroughly for room 613.

    "excuse me?" a voice asked from behind you, startling you. "are you lost? 'cause i am, too."

    you snorted at their comment, turning around to face them fully. a tall, muscular man stood in front of you, voice deep, hair slicked back handsomely. "oh," you muttered, stepping back to make eye contact more comfortably. "yeah, you could say i'm lost," you nodded, darting your head to either side of the hallway. "i'm looking for room 613. do you know where that is?"

    "613? i'm headed there myself," he replied awkwardly. the two of you stood together silently, both not knowing what to say in panicked silence. "i, uh, i'm park chanyeol." he introduced himself bluntly, offering his hand.

    hesitating, you finally took his hand, shaking it firmly, the way you do with customers or partners. "i'm (y/n) (l/n)." you responded.

    "(y/n) (l/n)," he repeated, looking towards the ceiling. "that sounds familiar, do i know you?"

    you cringed internally. one of the reasons you became a producer was to avoid being recognized in public, to avoid the constant attention, to avoid the all-eyes-on-you treatment artists are forced to undergo. so, as a result, when someone does recognize your name, you get a sudden urge to become a hermit. "long story short, i'm a producer."

    "ah, i see." chanyeol replied, hearing the hint of apprehension in your voice. "well, (y/n) (l/n), we're in the same boat, so let's find the room together." thankful he understood your tone, you set off with chanyeol, trekking across the hallway to find the infamous room 613. to your annoyance and surprise, the room seemed to be hidden away from the rest of the hallway, and out of numerical order.

    chanyeol opened the door for you and let the both of you in. room 613 was larger than what you expected; the room seemed to be at least three times as big as the other rooms, with many people filling up seats and talking amongst themselves. you didn't expect this many people to ever show up to a support group, but you stood corrected. not knowing where to go, you glanced at chanyeol, who motioned for the two of you to head over to the tables supervisors had set up, which were lined with water and general snacks.

    pouring two plastic cups of water for the both of you, you looked again at chanyeol, who was tapping his foot on the floor, glancing at the clock restlessly. "hey," you started, immediately getting his full attention. "tell me about yourself, chanyeol."

        a small silence between the two of you.

    "but, only if you're comfortable!" you stammered, hoping, praying that you didn't push any buttons within the first hour of meeting someone.

    he laughed at your uneasiness, dimples revealing themselves. "it's no big deal. uh, my wife and i recently divorced after i caught her cheating on me. is this it? is this the sharing thing they wanted us to do?"

    you chuckled, amused. "yeah, i think it is. and, it's a small world; the exact thing happened to me, but with my husband. do you have any kids? i have a daughter."

    "thankfully no," chanyeol answered, now visibly more comfortable. "we were planning on it, but that was before she cheated on me,"

    you nodded, understanding where he's coming from. you never told hoseok, but you'd always wanted to have a son with him alongside seyoung. and, like chanyeol, you never got there because of someone else's mistake. "i'm sorry you had to go through that." you sympathized.

    "i just need this to finally get over everything. i'm sorry you had to go through that too, especially because you have a daughter," he stated, caressing the back of his neck. "hey, if you can do it, so can i, right?"

    "yeah. and if you can do it, so can i." you repeated, smiling at him. the two of you shared a laugh at your new paired saying as the facilitator called everyone to the circle of chairs in the middle of the room, asking everyone to take a seat. you and chanyeol sat side-by-side, the both of you somewhat relieved that you weren't in this completely alone. at least there was someone who gets how you're feeling and just how painful it can be.

    "hi, everyone!" the facilitator's voice echoed through the room, loud, clear, and confident. "my name is lee chaerin, and i'll be the 'leader', if you will, of today's support group! a reminder, in case some of you are unsure, this is the divorcee, widow, and widower support group. if you're in the wrong room, please consult the new directory outside!" she announced. as a few people shuffled quietly out of the room to find their place elsewhere, she clasped her hands together. "again, my name is lee chaerin. i'm a trained psychologist and have been studying psychology for nearly twelve years at this point. cool, huh? my hope for this support group is that i help all of you heal, even if it's just a little. i want to make sure that all of you are okay, and can help each other while helping yourself!" she rested her hands on her hips and smiled, sighing contentedly. "i know that no one really wants to do this, but it's important. let's all go around the room and introduce ourselves, what we do, what happened, and what you hope to gain from this support group! after this, we'll split into groups to share our in detail stories and learn from each other. sounds like a plan? great."

    that type of introduction was a nightmare in reality. ever since you were ten you despised introducing yourself that way, and today, once married with a daughter, you feel the same way. some things never change.

    you weren't allowed to reach for your phone for the next two hours. they say that phones ruin the human experience because they allow an escape from awkward or undesirable situations. whoever 'they' are, they sure as hell are right.

    you tried your best to pay attention to everyone's name and goals for the group. you wanted to, but with the number of people surrounding you and how much was on your mind, it was tiring to listen past their occupation.

    "hi everyone, i'm youngjae," the conventional 'hi, youngjae' sounded from the group in a monotone state, defining the core of everyone's mood at this point of the support group. "i'm a songwriter for jyp entertainment, and my goal is to heal so i can focus on my job. my wife and i divorced after some internal issues." youngjae motioned to the man sitting next to him, nodding in his direction.

    not that you'd know, though. you were staring at your feet.

    "hi, everyone, my name is jeon jungkook." a man's voice stated, making your head shoot up from the ground. the sudden movement made his eyes dart towards yours, and the two of you sat frozen, only seeing each other, eyes locked. "i'm a teacher, and my goal is to stop thinking about her every day so i can move on." his voice became audibly quieter, but it didn't matter. the room was dead silent, anyway.

    you couldn't even hold your mouth open. your jaw and chest tightened. you didn't expect him to be here.

    you broke eye contact to eye his hands, his index finger and thumb of his right hand seemingly toying with a ring that was no longer there.

    a ring that was no longer there.

    your eyes met again. the air was tense and suffocating; the panic that filled only the two of you created an atmosphere only you and jungkook could feel.

    he broke eye contact, his glance now on his lap. his voice now barely a whisper, he spoke, still loud enough for you to hear. "i lost my wife in a car accident about a year ago. she was hit by a truck while she was coming home to me."

—

tag list:

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[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, happyjuicyfruit!

For @happyjuicyfruit. I'm not going to lie, I saw your request and an idea was born and aside from sleep and work I wrote non-stop until this was done because it felt so good to write it. So cathartic. I hope you enjoy reading as much as I did writing.

Read On AO3

*****

Falling into Place

“The best feeling in the whole world is watching things finally fall into place after watching them fall apart for so long.”

Unknown

The warm hum of the TV mingled with the sound of the running shower through the small studio apartment Stiles rented in Sacramento. He scrambled on his small double bed (tucked into the corner alcove opposite the bathroom door) to try and get his sweats on without applying any pressure to his injured foot. He awkwardly half-hopped on one leg, falling back on his ass on the mattress as he held the cuff carefully open to maneuver his bandaged foot inside. Mission successful, he star-fished on the bed, fully clothed at last, damp hair mussing the sheets and his foot throbbing.

He stared at the ceiling for a long moment, listening to the sounds of the shower, then forcing his eyes shut tightly to try and banish the image of exactly what body parts the less than average water-pressure might be crashing down on. Swallowing thickly, he hopped awkwardly along the narrow space, around the bookshelf he’d used as a divider at the end of his ‘sleeping area’ and into his roughly eighteen feet of living/kitchen space.

Careful not to clip his injured foot on anything, he managed to get the leftover lasagne out of the fridge and into the microwave with minimal disaster. He then frantically searched through the pile of unwashed dishes and cutlery to find enough for two people to eat with.

For some reason, it bothered him, the idea of Derek seeing his dirty dishes. He froze then, wondering if he’d left his laundry hamper spilling over. He didn’t have much time to panic, because the second he thought it, the shower shut off.

A few moments later, Derek stepped out into the room, steam billowing behind him, hair damp and…wearing Stiles’s t-shirt and sweats which looked a little tight in the shoulder and chest and across Derek’s thighs but mostly fit him just fine. Luckily Stiles preferred baggy. He didn’t realise he was staring until Derek started talking.

“I took them off the clothes dryer in the bathroom. I hope that’s alright? I washed mine in the sink. They had blood on.”

Stiles blinked, struck mute for a moment, still not really over the way his sweats clung across Derek’s hip area to form words. “Ah, no, sure, all good,” he managed at last, using the washing up to distract himself. “At least I’ve filled out a bit since the last time you had to borrow my clothes, right? And you’re lucky I had some spare. Laundry day is well overdue, to be honest. I’ve just been working on my assignments, which I got in on time, but then I found out about this case, the one with you in it and I had to find a way to convince them to let me in on it, to try and get you out, you know? So I’ve been so busy I just haven’t had time to–”

“Stiles,” Derek said, cutting his rambling off. “It’s fine. Really. This is hardly the worst place I’ve stayed.”

Stiles laughed. “Wow, ringing endorsement. Better than an abandoned bus station. Well, I’ll have you know this is a steal so close to HQ and it may be small but it’s just been done up. I am the first tenant to tarnish this kitchen. And because it’s one of the many investment properties Natalie Martin got out of the divorce, and of course Lydia is using emotional blackmail to my advantage, I can actually afford to live here without bankrupting my dad even further. Plus the roof-terrace, it’s amazing. I mean, I never actually go up there but some residents have this communal allotment and the view is amazing. Or, you know, it would be if I went there.”

Derek had crossed his arms, had rolled his eyes with that sigh, all of which weretelling signs Stiles was annoying him. And yet there was a little twist at the corners of his mouth that made Stiles’s stomach flip.

The microwave pinged then and Stiles came back to himself, prodding at the centre of the two chunks of lasagne to check they were heated properly before decanting them onto two plates. He went to offer one to Derek, complete with cutlery, before hesitating. He winced.

“Uh, would you mind carrying mine over to the ol’ dining area there? It’s a second hand couch but it’s in pretty good shape and I don’t wanna get lasagne all over it by hopping over there with my plate.”

Derek frowned at him for a moment, then down at his foot, as if he’d forgotten Stiles didn’t magically heal like he did from gunshot wounds – or, you know, splintered fragments of cement that had ricocheted off the wall from the gunshot that had largely missed him, but still. He’d been on the run again, Stiles knew, and before that likely just with Cora since he and Braeden had gone their separate ways. If their texts over the last few months or so were anything to go by, that is. He’d probably not spent much time with humans since last Stiles had seen him, except the ones trying to trap or shoot him.

Eventually, Derek took both plates and stepped back a little into the makeshift doorway between the wall and the shelf that stood as a screen at the end of the bed. It held his books, nicknacks and a TV that swivelled to face either the living area or the bed because Lydia was a goddess and a genius. Stiles hopped awkwardly passed him, supporting himself on the arm of the couch as he eased down onto it. Derek offered his plate to his sturdier lap rather than his hands, likely a survival skill taught after years of observing how erratic Stiles’s hands could be, before settling next to him on the couch.

The late night news was reporting the raid on the warehouse as a drug bust but they knew the truth. Thankfully, the FBI didn’t seem to know the truth, that the guy they’d been pursuing, namely Derek, was a werewolf. He thought they’d managed to get out of it without exposing that and hopefully, if Scott’s dad came through for them, Derek would be out of the spotlight soon enough.

Stiles had set it all in motion the second he’d seen Derek’s face on a slideshow of live suspects, but when he’d discovered they were planning on raiding a possible location of Derek’s, he hadn’t been able to wait for Rafael McCall. He’d made many contingency plans, but the one that’d ended up going into motion had been such a cliché he was almost disappointed in himself and the institution he was interning with.

He’d snuck in a spare FBI jacket and in the chaos, had managed to get Derek into it and offered up his cap and they’d literally walked out of there. Well, Stiles had been carried really, but semantics.

He hadn’t planned for there to be hunters there, who had happily started shooting the second the FBI had burst in looking for Derek. Derek, who had only been there because somehow those hunters were connected to the murders the FBI had linked Derek too. Stiles hadn’t gotten the full story out of him yet. But anyway, he hadn’t planned for there to be idiots there wanting to go on a shoot-out with the FBI, for bullets to be flying everywhere. He hadn’t planned for getting injured by exploding concrete, which was pretty much a bullet wound anyway.

That’s what his bosses were classing it as anyway – wounded in action pretty much. They were so pleased an intern that shouldn’t have really been there hadn’t been killed and that he was pretty much taking near-death in his stride that he thought maybe his reputation might have gained a few more points if anything.

And once Scott’s dad finished subtly helping Stiles’s team to connect the hunters to the murder instead of Derek, exoneration hopefully shouldn’t be too far behind.

“Where did you get this from?” Derek asked as he gulped down another mouthful of lasagne like a starving animal. Really, Stiles wondered when his last decent meal had been.

“Uh, I made it,” Stiles said with a mostly empty mouth. “I can’t afford to live off take-out, dude. I gotta live smart while I’m still an intern.” Even with the FBI an internship didn’t pay a luxurious dividend. “I can make a few things that can keep in the fridge for a few days. This is the last of the lasagne though, buddy, so if you want seconds the take-out menus are on the fridge.”

Derek blinked at him, looking almost owlishly startled which was sort of adorable on him really. He looked tired and confused and a few stray droplets of water trickled down his neck from his damp hair. “No, this is good. I was just surprised, that’s all.”

“Well, they haven’t given me my Michelin stars yet but I can eat a lot better than some of the other interns by being smart about it and thinking ahead.” Stiles finished the last few bites of his own and set the plate on the floor by his feet. “If I hadn’t learned to cook and make food stretch a little more, dad and I would’ve had to sell the house to keep us in take-out.”

Derek had gotten the larger portion, Stiles was a good host, so he was still eating and seemed to consider Stiles’s words for a long time before saying between mouthfuls, “Your mom taught you?”

Stiles offered a wistful smile.

“Yeah. Not gourmet or anything but cooking was our thing. I wasn’t the kind of kid that could sit down and watch TV while their mom cooked. I was always under her feet so she made me help, made me useful. Some things stuck, I guess. I learned enough.”

He thought that was going to be the end of it. They fell quiet and the late news bulletins had long-since finished and returned to some late-night comedy talk show. But then Derek spoke, quiet and distant, like he was somewhere far away, in a tone way Stiles wasn’t sure he’d ever heard from him before.

“My dad was the cook. He didn’t really teach me meals, Laura always used to help him in the kitchen. But he did teach me to make his salted caramel brownies.”

Stiles wasn’t sure what to do with that.

It’d been a long day, a long few weeks for Derek, really. He looked both world-weary and yet less troubled than he had since Stiles had last seen him. He sounded at peace with a part of himself Stiles had only ever glimpsed in their two years or so of chasing monsters together around Beacon Hills.

“Those sound amazing,” Stiles offered with a little smile, because it was the truth. Derek’s face turned to him then, empty plate still in hand, the glow of the TV and kitchen light making his features soft and warm.

He studied Stiles for a long time, eyes roving his face as if he were relearning him, before he said quietly, “it’s really good to see you, Stiles.”

Stiles smiled and chuckled a little self-consciously, “well, you know, likewise. And hey, I’m always willing to put you up when you’re a wanted fugitive, you know this from experience.”

Derek raised a brow, lips twitching. “Did you mention that in your interview for your internship with the FBI?”

“Oh, we got a sense of humour since we last met, huh?” Stiles laughed, but as he put his foot down to rise, he winced, remembering his injury. “Holy shit,” he hissed, grasping his ankle in lieu of his throbbing foot, thinking of the medication the hospital had sent him away with, sitting on the kitchen counter.

When they’d made their initial getaway, Derek had literally skulked around in the shadows while Stiles reported to the field leader, before taking himself to the hospital. In matter of fact, Derek had taken him to the hospital, giving him sideways looks like he was equal parts pissed off and concerned. And he hadn’t left Stiles’s side until they’d come back to Stiles’s apartment and they’d taken their respective showers.

To be honest, sitting in Derek’s rental car while he picked up Stiles’s prescription was a bizarre feat he kept coming back to. Not an unpleasant one though. He was definitely more than capable of looking after himself, had proven that a hundred times over, really. But it felt nice, having someone there who looked worried, who took the dinner plates and set them in the sink, who brought his medication and water to take them with in the only clean glass and…oh god…

“Dude, you don’t have to clean my dirty dishes, you’re a guest–”

“Technically, I’m a fugitive in hiding,” Derek cut across him neatly, running more hot water into the sink, the last of it until the tank filled up again after two showers, Stiles thought. “Besides, you need to stay off your foot and if you leave these dishes another night they might run off on their own.”

Stiles glared at him as he drank from his glass and then downed his pills. “This is a small apartment, buddy, there’s only room in here for one wise-ass.”

Derek ducked his head as he started the dishes, but Stiles caught his smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

*

Stiles woke up with a little start, the kind you got when you caught yourself drifting off on the couch in front the TV. Except it didn’t look as if he’d caught himself. It looked like he’d fallen asleep in front of the TV and Derek had carried him to bed. The medicine must’ve knocked him out, Stiles thought, blinking blearily at the narrow strips of pre-dawn light peeking around his blind to the side of the bed.

He could hear soft breathing in the quiet from beyond the wall that the double-sided bookshelf made and it felt comforting. Even now, nearly a year-on from the event, he still had trouble with the feeling of waking up too quickly. He wondered why his initial panic hadn’t woken Derek, but then, he supposed Derek had been on the run for so long, again, it was no wonder he was dead to the world.

The fact that he felt safe enough to crash in Stiles’s place was another thing to think about all on its own. The insinuations and repercussions swirled around in Stiles’s brain as he fully came aware of himself, cursing the pain in his foot before sliding tentatively out of bed. He used the bathroom as quietly as he could, then realised if he wanted to take more medication, he’d have to eat something first and to do that he’d have to turn the light on in the kitchen to find something.

The sounds of Derek sleeping sounded so peaceful that he felt like a dick for contemplating it. In the end he crawled quietly back into bed, careful to keep the leg attached to his wounded foot out of the blankets and tried to ignore the pain.

It didn’t work. He fidgeted uncomfortably, the discomfort making him uneasy, letting his mind stretch to strange places, to worries that apparently simply had to be solved at 3am. It was cold in the apartment too which didn’t help, but Stiles was one of those defiant people that waited until he was cold enough to be wearing a beanie indoors before he would put the heating on – more blankets before heating.

He’d worked himself into a state wondering if maybe the nurse he’d seen earlier hadn’t managed to get all the fragments out of his toe and that was why it hurt so much, when he heard Derek shifting around on the sofa. On instinct, he squeezed his eyes shut, guessing he just wanted to take a leak, but his brow furrowed when he heard a click-clack sounds on his wooden floor. It reminded him of Scott’s old dog loping across the kitchen floor and it took him a moment to register what that noise meant until he felt a cold, damp nose snuffling around his foot.

An image came to Stiles behind his closed lids and he remembered the black wolf darting into the fray in the desert, eyes glowing blue.

He twitched at the contact, but Derek either thought that was an instinctive motion out of sleep or didn’t care if he was awake because he hopped carefully up onto the bed and draped his front legs over Stiles’s. One of his heavy, warm paws just rested over the place where Stiles’s sweats had ridden to expose his ankle and it was as if Stiles could feel all of the pain draining away from his throbbing foot through the place where Derek’s warmth rested.

Opening his eyes at the sheer relief, he of course found the same black wolf sprawled half over him, warm and soft and staring right back at him with piercing blue eyes that glowed in the dimness. Stiles could just make out his shape and without really thinking about it, he reached out to touch. It just occurred to him that maybe Derek didn’t want to be petted like a dog and that maybe he might give him a reproving nip when he felt soft, fine fur under his fingers and the pressure of Derek leaning into his touch.

Stiles stroked one downy ear and then, emboldened, scratched his fingers over the wolf’s head. It felt cathartic and he wondered absently about those therapy animals, before the flick of Derek’s tongue against his wrist.

A low, tired chuckle rippled out of Stiles, hoarse and sleepy. He thought in the pre-dawn dimness, in the little alcove the bookshelves created around his bed, that maybe anything was possible without complications. There were no rules, no posturing or pride or uncertainty. Derek had sensed his discomfort, his pain, maybe even his loneliness – maybe because it mirrored his own. The low, grumbling sound Derek made when Stiles stroked the side of his head and scruff told him Derek was as happy for it as he was.

Then Derek, still the wolf, laid his head down on Stiles’s torso, breathing evenly and Stiles fell asleep stroking his fingers over his fur. Fell into a slumber that was light and painless and full of dreams.

*

Derek was already gone from his bed when he awoke well into the morning. When he sat up and hobbled out of bed, Stiles found him doing push-ups in the space between his couch and the TV. He stared at him dumbfounded for a moment, still finding it surreal, a half-naked Derek Hale exercising in his tiny apartment with sweat beading between the muscles of his shoulders and down to the small of his back.

He had the terrible feeling that he was staring and that his lips were parted, as if ready to spill something embarrassingly appreciative so he quickly turned into the kitchen area – only to stop dead. It was spotless. The dishes were cleaned and stored away, the units were practically gleaming and to make it worse, there was a laundry basket in front of the fridge piled high with clean, neatly folded laundry.

Holy shit.

“Dude, please tell me you did not do my laundry?” he pleaded, dismayed.

Derek seemingly ignored him for a moment, pushing up from the floor, the tight line of muscles in his back drawing Stiles’s unwitting gaze until he eventually rose. He snagged the glass of water off the side and drank it down greedily.

Stiles couldn’t help but wonder how many push-ups a werewolf had to do before getting all sweaty. But then the thought drifted off on a tangent about how long a werewolf might have to do other things to get that sweaty. How long, how hard…

Oh god, his face was burning.

Green-hazel eyes considered him for a long time, bright with the sunlight streaking through the window and Stiles had the horrible feeling Derek could tell his thoughts by smell or something. Whether he did or not though, all he said was, “I had to wash the blood out of my clothes. It just made sense to take yours at the same time. It’s no big deal.”

“Even my dad doesn’t wash my dirty underwear, Derek!”

Derek snorted, rolling his eyes. “I didn’t roll around in them, Stiles, I tossed everything into two washers.”

Stiles spluttered at the idea of Derek rolling around in his laundry and his hands flailed. “You’re a wanted fugitive until further notice, you could’ve been caught!”

Rinsing the glass in the sink and setting it on the draining board to dry, Derek turned back to face him, leaning slightly against the units. “I went to the utility room downstairs. No one was going to be looking for me there. I don’t get what the problem is.”

Well no, Derek wouldn’t, would he? Because he’d always been awful at looking after himself. Because he hadn’t had to share space with a human since…forever and Stiles was hyperaware that Derek could probably tell his every activity for the last few weeks on his dirty clothes, that he could probably read Stiles’s mind from chemo-signals or whatever and Stiles was only just realising exactly how much he had to hide.

Clearing his throat awkwardly, Stiles scrubbed at his hair and the back of his neck. “Ummm, you’re right, it’s nothing it’s…I still haven’t really woken up yet. Thank you, for…basically sorting my life out while I slept the morning away. You didn’t have to do that though, you’ve probably been under more stress, being on the run than I have doing an internship.”

“An internship with the FBI who have no idea about werewolves when you know pretty much everything there is to know about the supernatural sounds pretty stressful to me,” Derek offered lightly, glancing out the window and down at the city thoughtfully for a moment. He seemed to be struggling for the best way to phrase whatever it was that was on his mind, but then, Stiles supposed he hadn’t had much in the way of company the last few weeks.

He knew Derek had been with Braeden briefly, then Cora, then on his own when his life had turned upside down again. And there was a lightness to Derek’s face this morning that Stiles thought mirrored his own. Like last night had been the first time he’d slept well in a long time too. He looked more at ease than Stiles had ever seen him in his entire life and he was technically still a wanted fugitive.

Dragging his hand through his hair again to distract from his wandering thoughts as best he could, Stiles hobbled into the kitchen area properly and shoved the last two slices of bread into the toaster. Hmmm. He’d have to get some groceries. His foot was throbbing though.

“I have to report to work via video conference later, since I can’t really walk much.” He glanced to the crutches the hospital had given him on loan for a couple of weeks and tried to imagine scaling the insane amount of stairs he had to climb everyday. He’d probably end up with a broken neck. Luckily he had loads of paperwork, which he was good at and didn’t mind doing. They’d probably let him do it from home for a few days, if only so they didn’t have to do it.

His efficiency with the paperwork was probably a big part of why they liked him so much, since most of his classmates tried to beg out of it. But his single-minded concentration that came with his ADHD, as much as it was easing as he got older, was a godsend apparently. When it was a subject he had interest in, i.e. his job, he was like a machine.

“Can I stay?”

Stiles turned slightly to look at Derek, still staring out the window at the grey sky. “Until things are sorted out with the FBI. Can I stay?”

He sounded warm and awkward and almost longing, voice a little husky and Stiles swallowed tightly.

“Dude, stay as long as you want. You’re always welcome. Mi casa, es su casa, always. You don’t have to ask.”

Derek looked at him at last, lips slightly parted as if he were going to say more. In the end, his mouth closed and he nodded determinedly.

*

Work was pretty gracious about his request to work from home. He had reports to type up and some other paperwork to keep him busy for the rest of the week at least. Plus he was entitled to some medical leave if he couldn’t walk easily. Besides that, they were thrilled that one of their unsolved cases seemed to be coming to a close because of ‘his help’.

Rafael McCall had apparently planted the necessary evidence into the system to connect the guys they caught at the raid the other day to the murders Derek (although the FBI didn’t know his identity) was accused of. One of them with similar build to Derek had even sustained serious burns to his back during the raid, which Stiles had reasoned could be where the suspected tattoo was that they’d used to identify the unsub they were looking for. It was the idiot’s own fault really, for being an immortal hunter who murdered countless people, for packing a flamethrower and trying to turn it on the FBI.

Stiles had zero sympathy for people who wielded fire. Maybe it was just because he had seen what fire could do in the Hale house, on Peter Hale’s face before he’d healed himself. It was a dick move. Even if he’d technically done it himself once, he supposed.

So it all tidied up nicely, really and by the time the video call had ended, Stiles was sure Rafael had managed to erase any evidence with anything similar to Derek’s face or body. He should’ve felt bad using the guy, he supposed. But he’d never claimed to have scrupulous morals and besides which, it was Scott’s idea to ask for his help in the first place.

Daddy McCall had infinite favours to do before he could make it up to Scott, Stiles supposed. But in the mean time, as long as Scotty approved, he would use Rafael McCall’s powers for good and maybe the guy would get his head out of his ass along the way.

He’d shot a text to both McCalls, one a curt message of thanks, the other assuring Derek should be safe as soon as they were sure the guys they caught were going to stay caught. The only problem was, Derek had snuck out while he’d been on his conference call. He’d noticed mid-conversation with his boss and so hadn’t been able to act on it. The second the call came to a close, however, he shut the laptop and sprang up. Snatching his phone up, he dialled.

The phone rang and rang. Stiles was already toeing a shoe onto his good foot and reaching for his crutches when he heard the jingling of keys outside his door. He stopped dead at the sound, looking up just as the door opened. Derek stepped inside, arms loaded with brown paper grocery bags. He blinked at Stiles’s proximity to the door, as if surprised and neatly side-stepped him to set the grocery bags down on the kitchen floor.

“Where the hell have you been?” Stiles demanded.

Derek raised a brow, pausing in loading fresh fruit and vegetables into the fridge drawer. His expression said it all.

With a scowl, Stiles gestured to the front door. “For the next few hours you’re still potentially on their system as most wanted, Derek. You can’t just go for a walk around Sacramento.”

“Stiles, you have a grocery store around the corner – literally. I was in there for ten minutes. I wore your Mets cap. I kept a low profile – I know how to do that, I’m very practiced at it.”

Stiles hesitated. “You went to the rich people supermarket?” That was the only grocery store on his block. Sometimes Stiles hit it up on payday for their luxury cookie range when Lydia came to visit.

Rolling his eyes, Derek continued to load the groceries into the fridge and cupboards. It was all so domestic, the scene, the bickering and it made Stiles feel sort of funny.

“Nobody noticed me. There was no way you could manage the groceries on your own and you hopping around on crutches and fighting me over who was going to foot the bill would’ve made more of a scene that me going in alone.”

“Dude, I can be stealthy and I don’t need you to fill my fridge–”

“You do if I’m going to eat all your food,” Derek interrupted, tossing the paper bags into the recycling bin before turning to face him. His nostrils flared and he stared Stiles down for a long moment before shaking his head. “Sometimes you need help too, Stiles,” he breathed, exasperated and fond all at once.

Stiles swallowed thickly, darting his gaze to the side. He didn’t even like accepting his dad’s help at the best of times. With Lydia and Scott, loved them though he did, they had their own stuff going on and he couldn’t ask for their help either. Or he could but he didn’t want to. It was easier just to struggle through. And yet Derek was standing there, watching him expectantly, with that mixture of softness and annoyance on his face and Stiles didn’t want to reject the symbolic hand he’d been trying to grasp since he was sixteen. That had often come close but had never felt within his reach until now.

A sudden buzz on his intercom for the front door made Stiles jump.

“I also ordered Chinese,” Derek smirked, “think you can manage to get the door?”

Stiles muttered under his breath at the indignation of it, but still buzzed the delivery guy in.

“You don’t have to bribe me with food to let you stay,” Stiles said as they set the take-out boxes on the minute counter space a few minutes later. It smelled so good that the argument Stiles had been forming in his mind dissipated in the delicious smelling steam rising from the boxes. “You’re welcome here, even after your name is cleared for a bit, if you want.”

Derek huffed as he split the contents of each dish out equally. Because Stiles may have been human but he had the appetite of a wolf. “Nice to know, but this isn’t a bribe. It’s just something I want to do. Don’t make a big deal out of it, okay?”

Feeling like he was getting some of his equilibrium back, Stiles grinned. “Isn’t this like…a courting ritual, a wolf sharing food or providing food?”

“Shut up, Stiles,” Derek barked, ears flaming. He snatched the bowls out of Stiles’s hand and carried all of them over to the sofa so Stiles couldn’t hop across with them and, most likely, risk sending it all to the floor.

Some old movie was on with Humphrey Bogart – Stiles’s mom and dad had liked watching his movies together so he left it on and they ate and Derek half-watched with a wistful little look on his face that made Stiles wonder if someone in his family had liked the movie too.

Stiles talked about Katherine Hepburn and how his mom had loved her, how she’d watched her movies with her mother. He talked about World War One’s impact on Africa and how he’d drifted off on a tangent about it in the middle of one of his papers about World War Two, and how his dad had just smiled quietly through the whole meeting with the teacher when he called his dad in about Stiles’s attention span. And through it all, Derek smiled slightly, that private little half-smile as he sucked noodles into his mouth and toed off his shoes in the middle of Stiles’s apartment. The apartment that Derek had cleaned and it just made Stiles feel so…warm. Comfortable. He’d never felt comfortable with someone and yet hyperaware of their every little movement at the same time.

Derek had polished off most of his chow mein and shifted back on the sofa a little as Hepburn dumped Bogart’s gin into the river, relaxing with Stiles until their knees touched.

Heat swelled in Stiles’s stomach and he covered up the little splutter he gave and distracted himself by chugging down some more noodles.

“I haven’t had good Chinese take-out since I moved up here,” he sighed happily, licking the sauce from his lips. He turned to Derek more fully then and swore he caught those eyes dropping to the movement of his tongue and back again. Huh. “I’ll sleep on the couch tonight. We can alternate–”

“You’re injured–”

“And you’re a guest,” Stiles protested but Derek just shrugged, looking back to the TV.

“The couch is comfortable enough when I shift, and plenty warm. It’s fine, I’m not turfing you out of your own bed Stiles and that’s the end of it.”

Stiles’s tenacity was sidetracked by curiosity. He set his now empty plate down, sitting back a little to let his leg stretch out and relieve any pressure on his throbbing foot. He’d had medication with his food and it was starting to kick in. “Do you always shift when you sleep or is my couch just that uncomfortable?”

“It’s fine, Stiles,” Derek half-groaned, polishing off his rice now, thumb tracing the edge of the plate distractedly. He stared at the screen without really seeing it. His silence only lasted a moment longer than it should have, but Stiles noticed. He noticed everything, he noticed the way Derek was still relaxed next to him, not uncomfortable at their proximity, the way his mouth had a slight shine from his tongue and the way the light struggling to peak through the clouds touched his cheekbones.

“I don’t shift in my sleep a lot. But it’s…it’s like letting go, I guess. A release of tension.”

Stiles nodded. “It feels good. Like sinking into a hot bath or eating really good food. It lets you process stuff?” he suggested and when Derek nodded his own lips twitched. He couldn’t help himself. “So that’s why you’re so zen now, huh? You’re one with the wolf and the wolf is one with you?”

But Derek didn’t laugh, didn’t really seem to register the joke, he looked hesitant, oddly vulnerable even as he was obviously trying to guard himself. “I can control it. If it bothers you.”

“Nah, you do you. Just don’t shed on my sheets or anything.”

With a scowl, Derek watched as Stiles snatched the last prawn cracker out of the complimentary bag between them. “I do not shed. I’m a werewolf, not a dog.” But there was that fond exasperation again that made Stiles a bit giddy. It made him feel stupid and hungry and happy and brave and scared all at once.

He drummed his fingers nervously along his thighs as he chewed and swallowed, and then of course his mouth moved of its own volition.

“Thanks, by the way. For…you know, last night. Taking the pain? And, well…you know, I…” He looked at Derek for some sort of clue, because Derek hadn’t mentioned last night and Stiles was almost half-convinced it’d been a dream. That was until he saw the way Derek’s eyes were molten and so, so close.

Stiles gave a nervous, breathy little laugh. “You’re better than that crap the hospital gave me.”

Considering him for a beat, Derek seemed to scan every inch of Stiles’s face. “Probably not half as addictive anyway.”

Stiles wasn’t entirely sure about that.

He spent the rest of the day doing his paperwork while Derek seemed quite content to alternate between reading one of Stiles’s books, flicking through the TV and messaging Cora on his phone.

It felt like they’d always shared this, comfortable and easy and gravitating around each other. When Stiles finally went to turn in, he found himself hesitating. His hand rested lightly on the bookshelf as he turned back to look at Derek, who was curled up under Stiles’s blanket that he snuggled up under on the couch on the colder evenings. For once in his life though, words failed him and after too long staring at Derek on the couch, all he could say was “goodnight Derek,” before heading into the bathroom.

His head was buzzing as he watched his reflection scrub his teeth, eyes too bright and face a little pink. Because it felt like everything he’d thought he’d imagined between them, once Derek had left them in Mexico, had just picked right back up where they’d left off. The easiness, those little half smiles that made something twist deep in his belly. He spat into the sink and splashed his face and throat with cool water to try and compose himself. Then he turned on the extractor, just in case there was some whiff of Stiles’s emotions or whatever in there.

*

It took another forty-eight hours before he got the short, not quite curt phone call from Rafael McCall saying Derek’s appearance was officially off the FBI’s radar (and unofficially off their records completely, as if it’d never been). But Derek stayed. He watched Stiles as he finished the call and then as he hung up, he held his gaze as he asked simply, voice warm and almost husky, “can I stay?”

Stiles wasn’t even thinking about the way Derek kept his apartment clean and his laundry done as he said, “as long as you want.” He thought about the fact that they liked the same cheesy old movies, that Derek liked to curl up with Stiles on his modest couch in the evening to read, while their feet pretty much touched under the blanket because the apartment was still a touch too cold, but not cold enough to turn the heating on yet.

He thought about their bickering and the way he liked to listen to Derek breathing as he drifted off. But mostly he thought about the way Derek had looked at him in Mexico, as he’d gotten into that car.

Now he was as safe as he was going to be, Derek used his modest little rental car to give Stiles a ride to work, saving him from struggling on the crutches all the way there. There were lifts in the actual building so it wasn’t so bad and Stiles’s life returned to a new sort of normal, but one where Derek picked him up after work. Where, when Stiles was poring over something for work on his laptop, Derek went out for a run and came back sweaty and breathless, or brought home the fresh doughnuts from the bakery a few blocks away until Stiles sang his praises through a mouthful of delicious warm sugar and cinnamon.

Stiles’s toe was healed enough that he could walk without the crutches in record time (if he was careful), so he soon started walking to work. But his heart still skipped a little when he walked out of his work building one evening to see Derek leaning against one of the fountains, just across from the glass doors.

“Hey,” Stiles breathed, feeling warm at the sight of him. He stayed late, he always did and Derek knew that but he’d still waited. Only a few of his fellow interns walk passed, looking interested. Stiles watched as Derek cleared his throat, ducking his head a little as if embarrassed and wondered what they were whispering to put that look on his face. Stiles had to know, but Derek gave no clues of course.

“So there’s a sale on at the furniture place just on the edge of town. I was thinking, you know, if you wanted to stay for a while longer, we could pick up a decent sofa bed? Give you a bit more space to sleep? Because honestly, there’s barely enough room on that thing for me to sleep on and you’re just a tad broader in the shoulders.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Derek assured him as they walked and Stiles knew a little prickle of disappointment. Because of course Derek wouldn’t be staying forever.

“Yeah,” he offered, running a hand through his hair, eyes on the sidewalk. “You’re probably so ready for a bit more space. I mean my apartment is a bit small for a werewolf–”

“It’s not too small,” Derek cut across him, sounding as confused as he looked when Stiles glanced at his face. “There’s nothing wrong with it, Stiles. I only meant that I’m fine where I am. My family spent half our time sleeping out on the porch in the summer, or camping out in the living room in front of the fire. I don’t need a fancy bed or a bigger apartment. I asked you if I could stay because it felt right.” He looked as if that was a bit more than he wanted to say and quickly looked back to the path ahead, waiting at the crosswalk in silence.

Derek was pretty poor at self-care, always had been, worse than Stiles’s dad, really, but outside of the life or death situations that came with Beacon Hills, he’d never gone along with anything he didn’t want to do. If he wasn’t happy where he was, he’d tell Stiles so, or leave.

It wasn’t until they’d crossed the road and started round the corner that Stiles spoke again, mind grasping at the tangent he was spinning onto. “You’ve never really mentioned your family much, except for the essential stuff,” he couldn’t stop himself from saying.

“It’s easier to talk about the little things,” he shrugged, “I guess I’ve gotten used to talking about some things. When I spent time with Cora, she’d like to hear about them all the time. Everything I could remember. She was younger, didn’t really remember some of it. Not the good things.”

Stiles nodded, wondering how much of the good stuff he would’ve remembered about his mom if his dad hadn’t been there to refresh those memories.

“Is that like…your new anchor now or something?” When Derek looked confused, he continued, “just…your anchor was anger, wasn’t it? Only you’re not angry anymore, you seem…well you seem pretty amazing, if you ask me.”

He hated how fast his heart beat. The way Derek’s eyes flicked to him as if he’d heard. He probably had. Probably knew it wasn’t because Stiles had lied either.

“Not really. It hasn’t been anger for a long time. I can’t really pinpoint when, it’s not something that happens suddenly. It’s a gradual thing.”

Like grieving, like healing, like fighting beside someone everyday and missing them and only realising after they barrelled back into your life that you were falling in love.

It took Stiles a beat to realise his mind was drifting and Derek was still talking.

“…suppose I found myself in a situation, where someone was talking to me, maybe something I didn’t like, and I’d think…what would Stiles do?” Derek looked at him then, pausing on the sidewalk outside Stiles’s building and staring into his eyes with that wistful look.

Stiles’s stomach swooped and his head spun, even as Derek continued to talk.

“Of course, you’d always say something stupid or random–”

“Dude, you know me so well,” Stiles interjected, a little breathlessly, but Derek continued.

“–but whatever it was I felt…more focussed.”

 The chilly evening air whipped around them, picking up a little now and Stiles exhaled shakily, breath coming out in the lightest of mists between them.

Unbidden, the memory of being in the back of that van, with Derek and Liam came to him. Derek, trying to teach Liam to control his shift, both of them trying to tell him about anchors, about his focus. Back then, Derek had given him a look that Stiles had assumed was surprise at Stiles’s keen observations about werewolves and their anchors. Now he thought it had been a betrayal of a much more personal secret.

He tried to think back further, tried to think about their random text message thread over the last year, where Stiles had annoyed Derek as much as ever but Derek had always replied back. He thought about Scott and Allison, about Malia and him, the friendship their once-relationship had blossomed into. He thought about Jackson and Lydia and then he just stared at Derek as his scrambled thoughts fizzed out into quiet realisation. Like water rising up the bank where he’d camped with his assumptions of the world, until the flame he’d resigned himself to nurture there was swallowed up by the tide.

For just a moment, he felt like he was treading water again, only this time Derek was kickingback alongside him.

“You…you never said,” Stiles managed at last.

Derek stepped closer, the traffic going by, the glow of the streetlights and those of the business signs and windows all around blurred and inconsequential. It all wrapped around them in a flurry of sound and movement that fell away, as if they stood in the eye of the rush hour traffic’s storm, serene and untouched by the world as it passed on by. Stiles could feel the warmth radiating off of Derek and thought longingly of the solitude of the apartment above.

His tiny apartment that he loved but had also been a bit self-concious of. But now he supposed he knew why Derek loved it so much.

“It wasn’t…I didn’t…” Derek set his jaw, looking annoyed with himself. “I didn’t want you to expect anything from it. You were seventeen and I was…I was messed up, Stiles.”

Stiles glared. “I’m messed up. We’re all messed up, Derek, anyone who the Argents or the Nemeton or that goddamn town touched is messed up. What did you think I would like…jump you or demand a promise ring or something?!”

Exhaling impatiently, Derek shook his head. “I’d been on the run my whole life, Stiles and by the time I realised what was letting me keep my control, it’d all caught up with me at once.”

At that moment, Stiles thought of that Dire Straits song his dad loved, and that line, ‘When you gonna realise it was just that the time was wrong’ and he thought about what had happened. Probably happened anyway, if he could trust Peter’s story about Derek’s first love, and then his knowledge of what had happened not long after with Kate Argent. He thought about what that would mean for Derek, and how even a diminutive age gap with someone not quite of age would matter more to him than a lot of people. He thought about how angry and scared Derek had been when they’d seen him in the woods that day, when they’d been looking for Scott’s inhaler, and the man who stood before him now. He thought about the journey Derek had taken himself on after Mexico to get here.

Suddenly, the door to the apartment building opened and one of Stiles’s neighbours smiled apologetically as she stepped out onto the street between them and headed off down the sidewalk. The moment broken, Stiles shuddered as the chill crept down his neck and Derek tilted his head slightly, assessing him for an extended moment, before urging him inside.

They ate carbonara in front of the TV with Derek’s choice of a British series called Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell, which Stiles felt a bit lost with, mostly because he wasn’t paying attention. He kept finding himself humming Romeo and Juliet without meaning to. This was so domestic. He couldn’t help but notice just how domestic it was and at the same time revel in it. Revel in the comfort of it and the tiny hope that maybe, if Derek had told him all this now, then that might mean this time he intended to stay.

Derek washed the dishes and Stiles dried, before excusing himself to the shower, if only for some space to process everything. Washing off the office was always cathartic too though, even if you did love your job. He dragged his hand across the surface of the steamy mirror as he roughly towelled his hair dry.

He couldn’t begrudge Derek his need for space or to process shit by himself after everything he’d been through after Mexico. He’d not exactly vanished off the face of the earth, except for the weeks he was on the run and understandably too busy for their usual text message sparring. There were so many things he wanted to ask, so many things he wanted to tell Derek and he wasn’t sure where to begin.

But amongst all that, among the repeated verses of Romeo and Juliet that just would not get out of his head now, he couldn’t help but keep coming back to the same question. If Derek had told him now, was that because it was okay for Stiles to expect something? Or…maybe not expect but…to want? Did Derek want?

Everything was still a blur when he opened the bathroom door, steam furling out around him – around Derek, who was standing right outside the door, in the narrow walkway between Stiles’s bed and the bathroom wall. There was nowhere to hide. Stiles was wearing his sweats and t-shirt and Derek was barefoot right next to his bed and the narrow space brought them so close Stiles could feel his heat. He was so perilously close and there were so many things he wanted to say.

He had plenty of time to say them.

Later.

Suddenly, there was nothing more important than showing this imperfect, verbally challenged man exactly how he felt. He stepped forward, effectively closing the minute space between them, exhaling in an unsteady breath as his eyes traced the shape of Derek’s mouth. His hands slid up Derek’s neck. As he cupped his jaw, as he traced his thumbs across the soft bristles on Derek’s cheekbones, Derek’s eyes slid closed as if the pleasure in it was almost unbearable.

It was like Derek shuddered without the movement of it and his hands, broad and so warm and gentle, slid up Stiles’s back, chasing the damp chill from his shower and leaving prickling bursts of heat in his wake. Derek tipped his head to press his forehead to Stiles’s, breathing deeply as he held Stiles close.

Stiles’s hands cupped the back of Derek’s neck, fingers threading through his short hair and Derek made a low sound like a groan deep in his chest.

“When I watched you get into that car, I felt like I lost something I never even really had,” Stiles murmured into the scant inch between their mouths. Derek’s hands slid warm up over the goosebumps on his back. He dragged his nose down the side of Stiles’s, across his cheek and jaw and chin, all without opening his eyes.

Even with his heart screaming in negation, Stiles drew back, just enough to turn them, so Derek’s back was to the bathroom and Stiles was standing in the gap beside the bed, using the shift in positions and minute space between them to say what he needed to. Derek’s eyes looked glossy and dark, considering Stiles with confusion, hands gripping his waist as he watched Stiles tried to find his words.

“I know why you had to go, then. But I really want you to stay now.”

Derek’s smile grew slowly, tentatively, but it dazzled him with its authenticity. He was still smiling when he started to lean in. Stiles wrapped his arms around his shoulders, the two of them pulling each other in close in tandem until their mouths slid together.

It was so sweet he felt himself sink into Derek at the same time that Derek pushed back. His bed had storage drawers underneath for his clothes so it was pretty high, high enough to scoot back onto and have Derek stand between his legs and just plaster the heat of his body against Stiles’s – all without their mouths separating. The slow press and caress of lips was like a question, like a request, like the shy affection of two people who had done this dance without even realising exactly what it meant until now and god, he didn’t expect Derek to be so soft.

They tilted their heads to press deeper and Derek dipped to nudge his jaw with his nose, graze the corner of his mouth with his lips until Stiles’s skin tingled pleasantly from his beard. It was like werewolf scenting and human kissing mixed up in a way that was purely just Derek until Stiles panted against his lips. He parted his lips slightly, shifting back and cupping Derek’s neck to take him with him until they were sprawled on the bed. The soft, warm shadowy place illuminated only by the glow from the lamp in the living area beyond the bookshelves.

The warmth they created between them lit Stiles up from the inside out. Derek rolled him on his double bed, tussling with him in his sheets. Stiles couldn’t help but think they must smell of them and that was maybe what was driving Derek crazy most of all. He tugged his shirt off between kisses, Derek catching his mouth the moment it passed over his head, pinning Stiles’s arms so they were still all caught up in the sleeves. He was ridiculous and perfect and making Stiles laugh at the awkwardness that felt so right. Derek’s answering chuckle against his lips and tongue was the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted.

“I’ve never heard you go this long without talking,” Derek mused as Stiles lifted his head to nip at his jaw, to scrape his lips across soft, scratchy hair and relishing in the slight burn.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Stiles mock-chided, struggling, flailing out of his t-shirt at last and smoothing his hands up Derek’s back, all tight smooth muscle. “Just your shirt?”

“Mmm.” It was nonsensical but Stiles only had a moment to wonder what it meant before Derek kissed him with bruising force and drew back. He tugged his shirt off and dropping it somewhere near the end of the bed.

There wasn’t a moment of worship or godlike awe. Stiles didn’t doubt Derek had had his fair share of experiences like that. Stiles was too desperate for him to gape and gawk. He caught Derek’s shoulders and tugged him back down to him the moment his shirt was off, holding him close, bare skin sliding together hotly. Stiles’s hands gripped at his impossible shoulders and the small of his back in little spasms, wanting him everywhere, dipping between their bodies to stroke over his chest and stomach until Derek’s abs shuddered against his fingers. He groaned against Stiles’s mouth, bracing himself over Stiles’s head with his forearms, letting him touch everywhere and hold him close.

Stiles grinned against him, before nuzzling back into his cheek and wrapping his arms around him again completely.

He squeezed, pushing a little to roll them again until they were on their sides. Derek’s hands slid down his back so slowly, holding him, one hand sliding into his hair to cup his head so, so gently. Stiles nuzzled him again, just under his jaw and Derek pressed his nose into Stiles’s hair. They were both mostly hard and that was fine for now. This was what they both needed.

At some point as they lay tangled together, Stiles started to drift. He found himself half-over Derek, still wrapped in his arms in a messy sprawl but with the blankets over him now, warm and close and breathing only Derek in.

“You smell amazing,” Stiles mumbled, half-asleep. Derek’s chest jumped slightly under his hand with mostly silent laughter. He felt him press into his hairline sleepily, not as chaste as a kiss to his forehead, somehow more intimate in a way that sent little tendrils down Stiles’s spine.

“You feel amazing.”

Stiles muttered something about them not even being started yet but it was mostly smothered by his mouth smooshed against Derek’s shoulder and he definitely heard Derek say something about Stiles drooling. Stiles thought he fell asleep before he’d even finished laughing.

*

He was in that blissful place that wasn’t quite sleeping, just drifting pleasantly in relaxed consciousness. The calm tranquillity of someone just awoken, slowly drifting down to reality like a feather on a soft, warm breeze. There was something tickly nuzzling into the hollow of his neck. He groaned, stretching his limbs under the heavy blanket of heat, his arms coming up instinctively to wrap around broad shoulders and stroke clumsily until he cupped the back of Derek’s neck.

Derek was half-kissing, half burrowing into his neck and shoulder. He was only half awake himself, it seemed, and urging them both out of slumber in what Stiles thought was actually just the most fantastic way imaginable. Actually, he wasn’t sure even his imagination could come up with something this good. He felt his neck throb, as if Derek had been at it for a while and he squirmed. He tugged gently on Derek’s hair until Derek nosed across his adam’s apple and down to the opposite side of his neck to worry him there, just beneath where his collar would sit – if he ever put a shirt on again.

After a blissful eternity just lying warm and content under soft caresses, under Derek’s weight, held off him just enough by Derek’s arms either side of his head, he started to roll his hips into Derek’s soft, diminutive motions like a question again.

Derek lifted his head then, eyes glazed and dark and beautiful, hair sleep-mussed. Stiles was struck with how beautiful and soft he looked, asking for his silent consent. In answer, Stiles tilted his head and slanted their mouths together and rocked up against him until they were pressed together where they were both hard. They moved like that for a while, unhurried and lazy and perfect.

It was early morning and Stiles thought distractedly that he was going to be Derek’s workout that morning. He chuckled into Derek’s mouth and gripped Derek’s ass to pull their hips tighter together. It was firm and perfect and Derek went with it, with a little almost-growl, rutting into him even as Stiles clumsily tugged their sweats down, only just enough to bring their cocks together. He panted, tearing his mouth away from Derek’s to look down and watch them grinding together, both straining and hard and sticky.

Derek pushed up on one arm, the other coming down to hold them both together. The flat of his thumb danced under Stiles’s head as he stroked and Stiles shuddered, stomach quivering. He gripped Derek’s wrist, but not to stop him. He pressed his head back hard into the pillows as he fucked up into his hand.

He blinked bleary-eyed up at Derek, who was watching him through lust-blown eyes, half-lidded with thick lashes. Stiles grunted as he wrapped his arms around his shoulders again, holding onto him, rolling up into him even as Derek pushed back. They were just carried off fast and hard, as sudden and swift as Stiles’s heart beat and Stiles came in thick stripes between them. Hungry and shocked, he reached down to stroke them both as well, clumsy and urgent until Derek’s heat splashed over his own release before he’d even recovered himself.

He was shaking, he was pretty sure, still rocking as if he couldn’t help himself, even though he was sensitive. Derek kissed him everywhere like he was the most precious thing he’d ever seen – sweaty and mussed up and completely gone, drunk on Derek.

Derek had nice arms, Stiles thought dazedly, not for the first or last time. Those oh so nice arms scooped him up and held him close, sheets still tangled around them. Together, they fall into that soft, dreamy place that Stiles just realised only lazy morning sex could bring.

“Did you love me before I was your anchor?” he asked sleepily against Derek’s mouth sometime later. Derek liked to touch his nose to Stiles’s a lot, to drag it over his cheek and the corner of his lips so they lay at the same level mostly, on Stiles’s favourite pillow he’d brought from home that he couldn’t sleep without.

Derek opened his eyes then, hand warm on Stiles’s hip and he looked freer than Stiles had ever seen him.

“I think there was always something, an understanding or–”

“A spark?” Stiles mused.

Derek rolled his eyes but his lips were quirked in a little smile as well. “If you like. I can’t pinpoint when it changed exactly, it just…I started to change. And when I was stuck in that desert, I dreamed about you – I only dreamed about you, Stiles, and that’s when I knew.”

Stiles studied him closely in the muted light. “That I was your anchor?”

“Yes,” Derek said softly, so openly. “And I was messed up then, we both were and the timing wasn’t right, and you were seventeen and part of me felt like I’d never really stopped being sixteen but I knew that somewhere along the way, you’d become the most important thing to me.”

Stiles stroked his face. Derek was getting laugh lines around his eyes, and they were the most perfect thing he’d ever seen.

“I think I fell in love with you when you were hiding out in my room all that time from the sheriff’s department, even if I didn’t really understand what it meant.”

He still wasn’t sure he understood it entirely now, but they had plenty of time to figure it out.

He leaned in this time, bringing their mouths together just a split-second before his phone buzzed. No, Derek’s phone buzzed in the living room. They ignored it at first, then it started vibrating frantically, signalling a phone call in silent mode and Derek huffed in annoyance before hopping out of bed. He pulled up his sweats as he went, but not before Stiles got a glorious glimpse of that perfect ass. He couldn’t wait to see more of it.

As Derek answered, he stumbled into the bathroom and ran a washcloth under warm water, sponging himself down and wringing it out to take out to Derek, but as he turned, he found Derek in the doorway, phone still to his ear, a worried look on his face. Or a worried scowl at any rate.

“What sort of trouble?” Derek said to the person on the phone.

Stiles didn’t have super-hearing, but the apartment was quiet and Derek’s phone was loud enough that he heard a woman’s voice on the phone. Cora?

“You’re telling me that their whole pack was destroyed?” His tone was difficult to read and Stiles wasn’t sure if Derek was summarising Cora’s words for Stiles’s benefit, or just simply floundering in disbelief. Because Derek had just been on the run for months because hunters, the ones they’d helped the FBI catch, had annihilated an entire pack and somehow pinned the blame on Derek, who had stopped by to check it out at exactly the wrong time.

The second hit on a werewolf pack in less than six months was a bit of coincidence and usually hunters were a bit more circumspect about their attacks, even the crazy ones.

Genocide on a wider scale was harder to ignore.

Stiles glanced at his own phone through the doorway, sitting currently silent on his side table. His work may not be aware of it yet, or maybe they were, but interns weren’t privy to this sort of dangerous information – the kind of information that could start a wider scale of panic. There were people like Rafael all over the FBI and CIA, trying to keep the secrets of the supernatural world secret. They were either doing a really good job of it or the officials were being pretty secretive themselves.

Stiles wouldn’t have time to find out which it was. He just knew. Stepping closer, he pressed his ear close and Derek held the phone away from his ear slightly so they could both listen.

“They weren’t even careful about it Derek,” Cora’s voice said, sounding fast and afraid. “The pack I’m staying with are in contact with this one in Brazil everyday because they’re the alpha’s in-laws and communication completely stopped. When they sent some people to check it out, they were just…everyone is gone. It was a blood bath. A scale of attack no one could’ve defended against. We’re working on other packs, telling them to go underground, get into hiding so I can’t – I wouldn’t ask you, but you know there are kids in this pack I’m staying with, Derek, in some of these other packs we’re trying to get to safety and something huge is going on here and I need to know someone I trust is looking into it.”

Stiles swallowed thickly, hands shaking and Derek held his gaze, as still as stone. In the short time Stiles had known Cora, he’d never heard her this shaken and desperate. This was bad. They both seemed agreed on that.

“I’ll check it out. Send me the location,” Derek said.

“Just for reconnaissance,” Cora insisted, voice shaken but determined now. “You promise me, Derek. This isn’t a battle you can win alone. You stay out of sight, find information and get out.” When Derek didn’t reply she persisted more firmly, “you promise me.”

It was not a question.

Derek sighed and though his expression was tinged with worry, his eyes were soft and affectionate. Stiles had heard him talk about his time with Cora and the pack she was staying with fondly, so he thought they’d gone some ways to mend the fractures in their relationship. He couldn’t wait to find out more – once they got out of whatever mess was headed their way, because there was no question they were heading straight for it.

“I promise, Cora. I can be careful.”

Stiles swore he heard something like “yeah, now you can” muttered down the phone from Cora and he smirked in spite of himself.

“Don’t go alone. Are you still in contact with Chris Argent or Braedan? Or can Isaac meet you?”

“Isaac’s still in France, he’s…” Derek looked thoughtful. “He’s happy there, Cora. He’s got a whole life.”

“Argent or Braeden then,” Cora said impatiently, more like a mother than a sister. “You can’t go alone.”

Derek straightened a little then, staring directly into Stiles’s eyes without any reservations and with meaning so much more significant than his simple words suggested. “Don’t worry, I’ve got back up.”

*

They had to get a flight to Brazil. Luckily there was space on the next flight out with only one stop over and Stiles was thrumming with nerves the whole time.

On the last leg, Derek laid a hand over his on the arm rest to still his twitching fingers when it looked like the woman in the window seat next to them was about to kill Stiles.

He wondered if it were possible that Derek could anchor him as well as the other way around, because after that he did actually manage to get some sleep. He didn’t know then just how much he would need it.

*

The next seventy-odd hours of Stiles’s life were non-stop. He wasn’t even sure he could process it correctly for days, weeks, months after, but somehow, while they were checking the wide area the murdered pack had claimed as territory, he and Derek had gotten split up. The ‘hunting party’ that’d attacked the pack had disbanded but some were still in the nearby town and some, Derek had apparently found at the scene of the crime. All of course, while Stiles got into trouble with the former.

Stiles wasn’t even sure how but by the time Derek had met him back at their hotel, Stiles had already had most of the hunters he’d encountered taken in by local law enforcement as suspects and Derek…Derek had parked up out front in what Stiles was pretty sure was a stolen car.

“Oh my god!” Stiles declared more than gasped as he scrambled into the passenger seat. “Are you insane! There are Brazilian police all over this town now and you park up in a stolen car!”

Derek rolled his eyes. “It’s not reported as stolen, they didn’t live long enough to make the call.”

Stiles scowled, scanning the street anxiously but the police that’d made the arrests were gone with their charges now and those that’d been left to clear the scene still seemed to be inside.

“Dude, where have you been?! You were meant to be back hours ago!”

Pulling back out into the street with all the calmness of a man out on a morning stroll, Derek made the turn at the junction toward the airport. “I was a bit caught up. I text you as soon as I could.” Before Stiles could do much more than process that the fact that he himself had also not really had time to check his phone, Derek added wryly, “Looks like you’ve been pretty busy too.” His eyes followed the three police vans they passed, currently transporting their suspects to the local jail.

They might not stay there, Stiles’s dad had been brief and distracted when he’d put Stiles in contact with someone trustworthy in Brazil. He was probably working on a big case himself as he was very hasty to get Stiles off the phone, so Stiles still wasn’t sure exactly how much Detective Silvos, who’d helped Stiles get these guys nailed down, knew about the supernatural. He hadn’t really blinked at Stiles’s vague and suspicious story though. Not when Stiles’s dad had spoken to him on the phone.

He also hadn’t asked Stiles to give him his address or contact details or to stay in town while the investigation continued, which was standard even in another country, of that he was sure.

He had the nagging suspicion somehow his dad was involved in this, which was impossible, surely? How could he be involved in a hit on werewolves in Brazil and Mexico that were somehow linked?

And why weren’t Lydia or Scott answering their damn phones?!

He stared at Derek then and the sight he made. “Is that your blood? Dude,” he hurriedly stripped off his outer shirt for Derek to put on when they reached the airport. They did not need that kind of attention.

Derek set his teeth. “Get your phone out and book us on the next flight out of Brazil.”

Stiles studied him carefully for a moment before digging in his pocket for his phone. “Sacramento flights are–”

“Not Sacramento,” Derek cut across him, focussed solely on the road ahead, as if he dared not let his mind drift back to whatever he’d left behind.

Watching his face in profile carefully, Stiles waited for Derek to explain or clarify what he meant exactly. But the haunted look in Derek’s eyes as the street lights flashed by made the uneasiness at the back of his mind settle heavily in the pit of his stomach. “Derek?”

“Book the fastest route to Beacon County airport,” he said at last, casting Stiles a little sideways glance.

Of course whatever crap was going on here was leading them back to Beacon Hills, the place they’d both tried so hard to escape. Stiles was so getting his dad a job somewhere in Sacramento because his life expectancy was definitely going to go up with that move. He shot his dad a text to check in as he pulled up the flights options.

*

It was night when they landed in Beacon County Airport after a long two stop flight and the taxi they took from there dropped them off at the Stiles’s house. An uncomfortable sense of foreboding filled him when they found that his dad wasn’t there. Even as Stiles felt his panic sky-rocketing, even as he dialled his dad’s cell and the line rang and rang, Derek stood poised on the threshold of the front door, listening to the cool, quiet night.

Stiles watched him, knowing, just knowing somehow that he was picking up on something Stiles couldn’t have a hope of sensing.

“They’re in trouble – we’ve got to go,” Derek said quickly. Stiles snatched the Jeep’s keys off the rack in the hall. He hoped that the fact that Scott had left the Jeep here meant his dad was with him, or at least protected somehow.

“Your driving will get us pulled over in five seconds, we want to avoid attention not get shot off the road by the anti-werewolf militia,” Stiles said as he shut the front door behind them and darted for the Jeep. Because his brain had been working overtime on both flights and he was starting to put it all together now.

He thought as he pulled his seatbelt on and Derek wrenched open the passenger door with distaste, that Derek was about to argue, but then he stiffened as if he’d heard something, eyes going wide and he jumped in.

“Drive,” he barked, before he’d even closed his door.

Stiles floored it, going five over the speed limit the whole way despite the way Derek was braced forward in his seat and scowling at the rate of movement.

“Look, if they see us speeding down the street it’s going to draw even more attention than a werewolf running down it,” Stiles snapped, heart pounding, mind racing as he thought of his dad, of Scott and Lydia and everyone else.

Scott hadn’t had time for specifics it seemed, hadn’t even had time to finish the phone call properly or reply to Stiles’s messages. Stiles wondered if his phone had been caught in the crossfire again, it wouldn’t be the first time.

Derek rolled down the passenger window roughly using the lever and glared at Stiles as if daring him to make a dog comment as he inhaled the sharp night air.

“Turn right,” he barked and the Jeep protested loudly as Stiles jerked the steering hard.

“Put your seatbelt on,” Stiles snapped and Derek turned his head to level him with a withering look. Stiles wasn’t deterred. “It still hurts if you fly through the windshield doesn’t it? Now don’t lean too far out of the window or a streetlamp will take your head clean off, fido.”

He had the brief, glancing thought that it was good their bickering banter hadn’t changed. That, and that they made a pretty good team. He only hoped their success of the last few days, weeks really, was going to hold true for whatever they were getting themselves into now. It was Beacon Hills, after all.

Derek helped him follow Scott’s trail toward an industrial site and as Stiles pressed harder on the gas, even he heard the sounds of gunfire. His stomach dropped and he and Derek locked gazes briefly. He saw his own worry etched into Derek’s expression and swallowed the bile rising in his throat.

“Blood?” he breathed, not wanting to know.

“Not Scott’s. Not the pack’s, I don’t think but…” he frowned then and stiffened in his seat, grabbing for the door handle. “Keep going. Put your foot down.” With that, he leapt out of the door, landing easily on his feet.

Stiles swore, glancing repetitively in the wing mirror only to see Derek quickly keep speed alongside the passenger window, pushing the door shut hard.

A stream of gunfire pinged down from one of the rooftops to their left.

“Snipers!” Stiles shouted and Derek snarled, leaping onto the nearest structure and scaling the concrete, up and out of sight.

Ahead of him, Stiles could see the conflict now, a force of guns flashing in the dark, aiming for a barely covered alcove with wide open arches and he knew, just knew this was them. The militia that were trying to kill everyone he cared about. Maybe they even had? One man side-stepped out of the shadow of the building they were targeting, position prime for fire and Stiles knew without thinking the guy was preparing a kill-shot.

He floored the gas and slammed into him, sending the guy skidding forward with a crunch. Panting hard, Stiles turned out the still open window and saw Scott staring at him from his crouched position behind a pillar.

“You didn’t think you were doing this without me, did ya?” Stiles called out, a little breathless but with a wave of relief filling him at seeing Scott alive.

“Without us?” Derek added as he came up alongside the Jeep once more, evidently having disposed of the snipers that had sidetracked him. Movement just ahead, of more gunmen rounding the corner caught his eye though and his eyes flashed, fangs extending as he leapt forward.

If Stiles hadn’t been head over heels for him before, he sure would’ve been then. Because Derek wasn’t the same erratic, scared little kid in a man’s body. He was focussed, more dangerous and stronger now because of it. He may not have been an alpha but he was unstoppable. Maybe the others felt it too or perhaps their arrival had simply rallied their morale because he saw Malia move, saw Peter and for probably the first time, Stiles appreciated that they were wolves – a pack of wolves acting as one, all of them. He stood struck still as stone at the sight of them working together like a single force and didn’t really come back to himself until what was left of their enemy tore away with a screech of tyres.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about any of this, not a word not a single word,” he rounded on Lydia as the others moved toward…toward Deucalion, broken and limp on the floor.

“We had reasons, really good reasons,” Lydia muttered sheepishly, and as they moved, as Scott and the others focussed on Deucalion, she levelled him with a shrewd glare. “Why didn’t you tell me about Derek?” She challenged under her breath and Stiles wasn’t even sure how she’d known from just a glance, or if it’d only been a hunch that he’d confirmed with the full-facial flush he had absolutely no control over.

“Well that’s a…fairly recent development. Like…sort of shiny new…”

“Please, there’s nothing new about that,” Lydia scoffed under her breath.

He felt Derek tense as he came up behind them, Peter close by, Malia too and he wondered how much they had heard or if they’d been focussed on Deucalion’s last words.

“It’s already started, hasn’t it?” Malia asked.

Stiles frowned. How much had they missed here? “What’s started?”

“It’s an all out war,” Scott breathed, lifting his gaze from Deucalion to each of them in turn, as if confirming each and every member of his pack were unharmed after such a close call. An instinctive motion, Stiles thought, after years of running with wolves.

Stiles’s head was still spinning as Scott embraced Derek, relieved and glad to see him and so well, Stiles thought. Scott was the alpha but Derek represented a force of strength for Scott, a big brother figure and support that Scott didn’t have from anyone else. As they spoke, as Derek explained what had brought them there, Stiles suddenly found himself among all the conflicting feelings that had gripped him since they’d started heading back toward Beacon Hills.

Because their connection, this thing he and Derek had found together, their little den back in Sacramento felt so fresh, new and delicate like a bubble and whatever Beacon Hills touched, it fucked up. But standing there, watching Derek, watching Derek watch him with those soft eyes, he realised every inch of Derek was calm and collected. He was focussed because Stiles was there, anchoring him and whatever else happened, they were going to be okay.

“We found a pack slaughtered in Brazil, there were two words written on the wall, Beacon Hills.”

“You came back for Beacon Hills?” Scott asked, bemused.

“No,” Derek replied simply. “I came back for you.”

“We came back for you,” Stiles corrected.

Malia gave him a wry look. “Yeah, are ‘we’ going to explain that anytime soon?” Stiles honestly forgot how much she loved to tease him. He’d missed her, he’d missed all of them really and he felt a little giddy at the thought of sharing this happiness he’d found, this inner strength he’d cultivated, the person he’d become.

Derek moved to his side then, a subtle but distinctive movement. His eyes searching his, a smile touching the corners of his mouth as Stiles’s gaze dropped to it. It was like Derek felt invincible with Stiles beside him, and that knowledge was heady. The backs of Derek’s fingers brushed his where they hung limp at his side with such subtle, shy tenderness and yet Stiles’s stomach fluttered and he gave a nervous little laugh.

“Sure, we’ve got…stuff and you guys have stuff – a lot of stuff, actually. Huge stuff. But can we go somewhere with heat and light because I haven’t slept properly in like literal days and I’m freezing my ass off out here.”

Derek’s soft little burst of laughter, almost too quiet to hear, was a beautiful sound, a moment of calming clarity, like the last gulp of fresh air before diving into deep water. They had a war to win.

*

When the smoke cleared, when they had defeated the militia that had tried to wipe out anyone with supernatural blood, they stood together in the darkness.

Stiles watched Scott bring a freshly turned, freshly afraid werewolf into their protection, if not their fold. Watched the beginnings of their future unfold before them and for once he didn’t feel afraid. He glanced to Derek, who gave him that little quirk of a smile, saw his own future, as well as his pack and he couldn’t wait for the rest of his life to begin.

The Jeep couldn’t make the drive to Sacramento, so he left her back in Scott’s loving hands to drive the newbie back to the loft. Derek’s old apartment had been renovated by the pack into ‘pack ground zero’ and now housed quite a few of their newest recruits slash recues. Scott had only looked a little bit annoyed, mostly indulgent, when Stiles had called it ‘Scotty’s School for Gifted Youngsters’.

He climbed into the passenger seat of Derek’s Camaro, a new model, not the old classic that apparently Derek had left with Cora. Derek looked so good and Stiles wondered how much begging it’d take to get Derek to stop for a milkshake on the way home. He was guessing not much, Derek was pretty good at taking care of him. He’d even looked ready to take on their friends when they’d effectively outed themselves to everyone in Deaton’s clinic before the final showdown. It had been unnecessary though, as nobody seemed very surprised, except Scott, who bless his heart was oblivious about most things.

“Your dad gave me ‘the speech’ when you were loading the car earlier,” Derek mused as he pulled out onto the quiet main road. “It wasn’t exactly the ‘shotgun’ speech…”

Stiles cringed. “It wasn’t the safe sex speech either was it?”

Derek smirked. “It was more along the lines of, I’m glad it’s you and good luck you’re gonna need it.”

Stiles made a sound that was a mixture of outrage and amusement. “Oh my god, traitor! You guys are gonna gang up on me at Sunday dinners aren’t you?”

Derek’s quiet laughter caressed his ears as Beacon Hills fell away in a blur of twinkling lights into the darkness behind them. He reached out, stretching fingers across Derek’s denim-clad thigh and relaxed back into the seat, staring out at the road ahead where the headlights greeted the tarmac.

Derek’s fingers came down to cover his as he drove.

“Do you think another militia will pop up like that again?” Stiles asked after the lights of Beacon Hills had long since vanished behind them.

“I think it’s always possible. Hunters are still out there. People like Monroe are still out there,” Derek said thoughtfully. “But rumour is spreading, about the Beacon Hills pack, about the safety they provide, their strength. It makes anyone think twice about making an attack like that again, but it also means newly turned werewolves and people like them have somewhere to go instead of getting into trouble, instead of causing mayhem with powers they can’t control.”

Stiles nodded, “it actually helps to have so many people in the town in on the secret too, I guess. They’re like an extension of the pack.” Plus his dad had been elected sheriff again and he had never been more respected by the community. While that kept him rooted in Beacon Hills too for the foreseeable future, Stiles didn’t worry as much as he had before. The bitterness that had once tainted his connection to that town had dissipated somewhat, his bond with his hometown, with the pack stronger than before.

It was funny how it’d taken him and Derek finding each other, really finding each other to enable them to reconnect with the pack and the town the way they were meant to. They would always belong to Beacon Hills and the pack there, it would always be theirs, but what they had with each other was home. Home was wherever Stiles curled up next to Derek at night and the rest of the world was a better place outside because of that.

Stiles couldn’t even put his finger on why, exactly. He thought though, perhaps, that they’d both been two very capable but misguided kids. Two strangers that, for their own reasons, had been forced to learn to take care of themselves. And while they’d both managed fine, they hadn’t necessarily been good at it. They’d been drawn to each other from the start, had always known how to push each other’s buttons but also known that they were both missing something.

Now they were whole. Cracked, a little chipped here and there and definitely dented, but for all those flaws, they were together and complete.

They’d looked out for each other as allies in war, but now they looked after each other as partners, as equals. As the other’s most important thing, the anchor that held them tight, steady and sure no matter how rough the seas around them grew.

“You’re totally gonna rip my throat out if I open this bag of Doritos in your new shiny baby aren’t you?” Stiles mused as he tugged the aforementioned bag out from his backpack that sat between his legs in the footwell.

“With my teeth,” Derek agreed automatically, completely deadpan. But his hand squeezed Stiles’s gently where they were still connected.

Stiles grinned.

There was also the fact that no one quite enjoyed Stiles’s own special brand of crazy like Derek did. That sort of unconditional love was something more powerful than anything, supernatural or otherwise. It was hard not to feel invincible knowing that. And when Derek looked at him sometimes, even then when it was just a quick peek between keeping his eyes on the road, like he couldn’t help himself, he could see Derek felt the exact same way.

“So at the end of the month, my boss is holding this sort of…I guess the term would be a dinner,” he began as he gently wriggled his hand free from Derek’s to open the dreaded Doritos. “It’s like this unofficial thing he does, to sort of congratulate us all for our hard work. Like a work’s Christmas party except it’s way too early for Christmas. But anyway, we’re allowed to bring significant others.”

When Derek glanced at him again, Stiles waggled his eyebrows and stuffed some Doritos in his mouth. “How significant do you wanna be, Derek?”

Derek flushed but turned back to the road. Honestly he rocked the angry-embarrassed thing, Stiles was so gone for him.

“Is he going to recognise me?” Derek replied eventually, but as he did so, Stiles leaned over to poke a Dorito into his mouth, forcing him to partake in the desecration of the Camaro’s spotless interior and lingering new car smell.

“Only one way to find out hubby-wolf.”

“Oh my god, Stiles, no pet names.”

“I’m also thinking we can probably fit a queen bed in the apartment,” Stiles continued as if he hadn’t spoken. We should stop at Ikea tomorrow. Just something with a little more room for you to, you know, have at me with all your wolfie desires. The full moons are gonna rock.”

Derek made a noise that was torn between dismay and adoration and annoyance all at once and Stiles grinned, stuffing his mouth full again before poking another chip between Derek’s lips. He prodded it until it was almost fully in Derek’s mouth, but when Derek resignedly sucked it in fully, he nipped at the end of Stiles’s fingertip, looking both irritated and pleased with himself.

Stiles beamed and dusted his fingers off before starting to mess with the radio.

Derek had to know what he was in for, after all.

[singtotheskiies]

the best medicine // thor x reader

request: Hello can you write a thor x reader fluff and he is just sick but thinks he is dying since he is a god and thinks gods don’t get sick and the r takes care of him all day 🙃😍

summary: poor thor has never contracted a human sickness in his life—good thing you’re here to help him through it.

words: 1632

warnings: it’s a sickfic, but there’s no v*miting or anything like that; just sore throats n coughs (it’s basically all fluff man)

a/n: PLEASE keep requesting, guys!!! this is so fun for me to do during quarantine, and i’ve got a lot of pent-up affection from being home all the time!! keep ‘em comin:)))

✖✖✖

Most people wake up naturally on the weekends, or are coaxed into consciousness by a phone alarm. Most people spend their weekend mornings at their leisure, preparing coffee and lounging in their pajamas until they decide to change clothes and move on with their day.

Most people, however, are not dating the god of thunder. And it is times like this when you envy those people.

It’s 7:00 in the morning, and you should be asleep in your warm little bed in your warm little house, not worrying about the Iron Man suit banging on your window and shouting your name at the top of its lungs.

You start and scramble clumsily out of bed, tumbling to open the window. “Tony, is that you? Jesus, I’m gonna get so many noise complaints! What the hell is going on? Couldn’t it have wai—“

“Mornin’, sunshine,” Stark quips, his armor drawing back to reveal his smirking and altogether-too-awake face. “Sorry to wake you, but Sparky wants you at the tower. Like, now.”

“Thor—is he—okay? What’s wrong, Tony, oh my god—“ you ramble, frightened.

“Shhh, keep it down—you have neighbors, you know.”

“Oh, I am extremely aware of that fact, and I’m sure every single one of them would love to know why you, sir, are causing a ruckus at seven o’clock in the morning,” you hiss.

“Don’t sweat it, sweetheart. Let’s just go now so you won’t have to deal with it.”

“Tony, I just want to know what’s going on.”

“You’ll see. Just—buckle up, ‘kay?”

“I am nOT RIDING WITH YOU!” you scream.

Unfortunately, the man in the billion-dollar suit thinks otherwise.

✖✖✖

Tony deposits you less than gracefully on the kitchen floor of the Avengers complex, your heartbeat even more of a mess than your hair. “We are never,” you say between heavy, erratic breaths, “ever doing that that again.”

“Aw, c’mon, sweetheart, it was fun. Just admit it,” Tony grins.

“Absolutely not,” you say, trying to maintain some sense of dignity by frantically carding your hands through your now-knotted hair. You manage to subdue it somewhat.

“I’ll take you to good ol’ General Electric,” Tony says, walking with you to the nearest elevator and holding it open for you. “He’s—well, he thinks he’s dying.”

“Is he?” you cry, worried.

“‘Course not. He’s just sick. I don’t think he’s ever caught anything from Earth before, so naturally he thinks every breath is his last. He won’t let any of the medical staff touch him, though—says he only wants you.”

“Poor baby,” you murmur. Your heart goes out to your boyfriend, but you can’t help but feel a small burst of pride at his insistence upon seeing you.  He’ll recover quickly with his godly immune system, you hope. You’ll just have to comfort him until it blows over.

“Well, off you go, now,” Tony says, making shooing motions as the elevator dings to a stop. “Don’t break anything.”

“You say that like you didn’t just crack all my bones,” you quip, but the doors have already closed in front of a smirking Tony. Turning around, you face the door in front of you. Knocking softly, you say “Thor, honey? It’s me.”

You hear a vague murmur from inside and take that as your cue to push the door open as quietly as you can. Stepping inside, you close it behind you and turn to see your boyfriend.

The curtains have been drawn tight save for a small slit that falls across the bedsheets, illuminating the large form huddled in them. The lines of his body are indistinct until he groans and lifts up his head. “My love,” he says. “My heart rejoices at the sight of you. You look as st—“ His raspy voice (which you would definitely find sexy in other circumstances) is cut off by a dry cough. You wince at the sound and hurry over to his bed, sitting gingerly on the edge so as not to disturb him.

“What feels bad?” you ask, wrinkling your brow.

“Everything. My head, my body, my throat—even my eyes ache,” Thor replies, sniffling. “Do not get too close—I do not wish for you to also die.”

“Thor, honey, you’re not going to die,” you say, trying your hardest to bite back a smile. “You’re just sick—if I got a bug like this, it would only take me a few days to get over it. With you being a god, I doubt you’ll be out for more than two.”

“So it is a bug—an insect—which has given me this illness?” Thor asks. “I have not seen such a creature anywhere near me.”

“No, silly. Bug is just another word for sickness,” you say, finally abandoning your attempt at a straight face.

“I see,” Thor says, looking very much like he does not. “It is a relief to know that my end is not near—although it does feel like that is so.”

“I’m right here to help you,” you say, taking your hand and brushing his slightly damp hair away from his forehead. You let your fingers linger for a moment, scratching his scalp softly. He hums quietly at the sensation, and you brush the back of your hand along his stubbled cheek. Now smiling, he captures your hand in his and kisses it lovingly, looking into your eyes as he does so. Your heart melts—even when sick, he’s a perfect gentleman.

“I love y—“ he tries to choke out, coughing too hard by the end of the sentence to finish it.

“Aw, let’s get you something for that, huh?” you say, rubbing his arm soothingly. “I’ll make you some soup and bring you some medicine.”

“Please do not leave me, my love,” he manages, and you smile down at him.

“I’ll only be gone a few minutes. Just rest until then.” Kissing his forehead, you exit the room softly, leaving Thor with a lovesick grin as he watches you go.

✖✖✖

“I’m back,” you say as you close the door with your foot. A bowl of soup, a glass of water, and a container of cold medicine are balanced on a tray in your hands. You make your way over to the bedside table and place your load on it, smiling when you see that Thor has fallen asleep in the few minutes you were gone. “Wake up, love,” you say gently, brushing the pad of your thumb over his cheek. His eyelashes flutter open, and he hums hoarsely but happily as he realizes you are there.

“Hello again,” he says, his words overtaken again with a coughing fit.

“Let’s get you sat up so you can eat a little bit,” you say. Your hands help prop his back against his pillow. His normally strong body feels weak and tired under your touch.

“What have you brought me?” he asks, eyeing the soup with curiosity.

“Chicken noodle soup. People on Earth eat this when they’re sick. It’s supposed to have healing properties,” you explain.

“So you have made pasta out of a bird?” Thor cocks his head to the side and you laugh.

“No, silly. There’s chunks of meat in the soup that are separate from the noodles. I also added carrots and celery to give you a little something more. Now open up and tell me how you like it.” Thor reluctantly opens his mouth and you feed him a spoonful, watching as his face lights up with delight after tasting it.

“This is amazing, my love!” he cries with as much surprise as his throat can muster. “I never knew Earth could contain soup this wonderful!”

“Now you’re just flattering me,” you grin.

“Indeed I am. Normally, I would find it insulting to be fed by a mortal, but I must confess that you are, as always, the exception.”

“Such a flirt,” you chide him, smacking his arm gently with the spoon. “Now eat the rest—not so fast, though, or you’ll have trouble keeping it down.”

Thor finishes the soup without incident, but balks when it comes to the cold medicine. “It smells like—false fruit and chemicals,” he says, wrinkling his nose.

“That’s basically what it is,” you concede, “but it’ll help you. I promise.”

Thor still doesn’t seem convinced.

“Please?” you say, resorting to puppy dog eyes. “For me? So the horror of seeing you sick doesn’t weigh on my soul any longer than it has to?”

“Fine,” he says, caving. “But only for my lady.”

“Good boy,” you say, patting his head as he grimaces the medicine down.

“Now that I have done as you have asked, may I request something of you, now?” he asks, turning your puppy dog eyes back on you.

“Of course. What is it?”

“Lay with me?” he asks, spreading his arms wide. He looks so helpless and needy that you immediately curl up next to him, kissing his jaw lightly. His arms wrap around you, and you move your cool hands to his forehead and then to cup his face.

“My love?” he whispers. “I know that I am ill, but I cannot resist. Please, may I kiss you?” Heart full, you answer by tilting your head and meeting his lips. They are soft as ever as they rest against yours, barely moving—a ghost of a kiss made gentle by the pure love you both feel. When you finally pull apart, you rest your forehead on his, feeling him sigh in utter comfort. You press your lips to his cheek before snuggling into his arms.

When you wake up to both a perfectly healthy Thor and a killer headache, you can’t help but almost welcome the latter. The look in his eyes tells you that he’s about to take even better care of you than you did of him.

[stefciastark]

Metal Arm ~ Webpril Day 7

A/N: Here is Part 1 of what will be a 2 part mini-story. Doombots threaten Manhattan, but with a significantly reduced team and some bad luck, things don't go so smoothly for Peter. It only briefly touches on the 'metal arm' prompt, but this is also inspired by a request from Hannah on AO3 to write a bit of 'post-battle injured Peter hides his injury and won't admit anything is wrong.' I'm really excited to write Part 2 tomorrow, had a lot of fun writing this first part!

~Read on AO3

~Read on FFN

Peter had never really been strangled, yet today it had happened not twice, not thrice, but it was bordering on his fourth time being on the receiving end of a chokehold. The Doombot cutting off his air circulation ended up being at the wrong place at the wrong time however, as three out of its four limbs were obliterated and sent to mecha-heaven. All except the one heavily bicep-ed metal arm that clung to his throat like shit to a shovel.

“Get. OFF,” he gritted through his teeth, tearing the appendage off of his throat and tossing what was now just a torso, head and forelimb onto the growing pile of Doom scrap metal.

He had to take a breather for a moment and remind himself that these were robots and not real people. Despite how convinced their A.Is were that they were in fact the real Doctor Doom, their suicide missions were nothing more than a result of malevolent - albeit skilled - programming.

“You good, kid?” The Ironman suit hovered a few feet away from Peter, appearing to dance slightly in the air as Peter’s brain started playing ‘catchup’ with oxygen. He felt himself nodding in response, muting his comms momentarily so that what was present of the Avengers wouldn’t hear his breathing; he was pretty sure the exhaust pipe on the old Vauxhall Cavalier his uncle used to own sounded healthier.

The team was small today; Thor was offworld, Bruce didn’t feel like having another near miss after almost levelling another city during an incident the week prior near Seattle, and Clint was - as Tony put it - too busy ‘playing house’ in the country. That left Tony, Peter, and Natasha Romanoff on the mission. Peter was unsure whether to call her Nat, Romanoff, or use her Black Widow alias, and instead anxiously settled for using none of the above and simply avoided using any moniker to address her whatsoever. It had worked out for him well so far.

While it was by no means a three person job, they would have to make do, and so far, they were making...something happen. The showdown had initially begun in Hell’s Kitchen and was progressively and concerningly migrating towards the Lower East Side. The closer the action got to the east side of Manhattan, the closer it got to Brooklyn, and the closer it got to Brooklyn, the more there was a chance of the threat moving to Queens, and Peter wanted to keep the rough and tumble away from his neck of the woods if he could. So far they had left in their wake twelve office buildings turned to rubble, eleven burst sewer pipes, and at least ten separate fires that he was pretty sure were still burning. All they needed now were nine civilian casualties and they were almost halfway to rewriting ‘The Twelve Days of Christmas’.

Tony didn’t have time to follow up with Peter’s uncharacteristic lack of a verbal response as two Doombots that had split from the herd attached themselves to the red and gold armour, their green capes combining with the suit to make a metallic caricature of a Christmas tree. Tony had a whole three seconds of warning before their self-destruct protocols were activated, and everything within a 300-foot radius erupted in a shower of rubble, flames, and smoke.

The suit - for the most part - diminished Tony’s impact with the building adjacent to the Tenement Museum. Peter didn’t quite have the luxury of inches-thick armour, and as he sailed diagonally across Delancey St through the glass window of Double Chicken Please, he made a personal vow to make them his new go-to fried chicken joint as a form of apology.

“Stark, was that you?” Nat (Peter decided that was the name he felt most comfortable with) queried over the comms, the distant sound of shots being fired and the purring motorcycle beneath her leaking into the background.

A stream of expletives from the man in question poured in through his suit’s speakers. Peter found it funny that if it were anyone but Tony in any other situation other than their current predicament, the frankly obscene amounts of swearing would be concerning.

“How many left on your end, Rushman?” There was a groan and the uncomfortably familiar sound of shifting rubble. “I think we’ve just about wrapped up here.”

Peter had been working on gently extricating himself from where he lay in a supine position behind the bar, struggling to hold onto consciousness through a haze of pain. The wall between Double Chicken Please and Subway had collapsed, half of it inconsiderately laying across his chest. He noted wryly that he didn’t expect himself to be battling unconsciousness behind a bar until he was at least twenty-one, yet here he was, five years too early.

A large bang went off from what sounded like only a block away, which was then followed by a moment of complete and utter stillness.

“I think our last guests just left the party,” offered as an explanation from Nat, finally breaking the silence.

“Don’t you hate it when you have company and they don’t even offer to help clean up? I am sickened by the youth of today.” Tony had managed to disentangle himself from what could now barely be called a building. The engineer was able to identify the date of manufacture on the most recent wave of Doombots - they were only three months old. “Speaking of, Spiderling, let’s get this cleaned up. I have a date with takeaway and my favourite sweatpants waiting for me at home.”

“Try not to wreck any more buildings while I’m gone, boys,” Nat said, immediately beginning her commute to the Avengers facility.

Natasha had become the face of the Avengers during the inevitable PR followups that seemed to accompany any and every brush with threat since the Chitauri attack on New York. She was level-headed and presented well, and so far had the least amount of tallies on the “PR Fuck-ups” chart that hung in the communal kitchen in place of a calendar. It was the team’s personal inside joke that S.H.I.E.L.D didn’t approve of, which of course made them double down their efforts if it meant ruffling Nick Fury’s feathers.

“Try not to wreck my public image, it’s what funds those luxury bath bombs you keep ordering,” Tony shot back, no venom in his teasing words.

Peter was otherwise occupied during his teammates’ little exchange. He had his arms arranged in an upside down tricep pushup position, palms pressing against the sizable concrete slab that occupied the space from his waist to his sternum. As he lifted the offending cement off of him, he very nearly dropped it back down as the air rushed out of his lungs. Something in his chest shifted sickeningly, followed by a stabbing pain that burned everything from his ribs to his airways. Failure never an option, he persevered, relieved when the hunk of wall finally slid gracelessly down the pile of debris.

He thought having a literal chunk of concrete off his chest would feel better.

“Pete?” His name was said with such a mixture of impatience, exhaustion, and concern that Peter found his nerves standing on red alert. This would be the first hour of many on cleanup duties

Taking a wavering breath, afraid to breathe too deeply, he steadied his voice and activated his comms. “Sure thing Mr Stark, on my way!”

Peter winced; he definitely overdid it on the enthusiasm. With every step he took his discomfort grew until the pain from his chest radiated down to his hips and he had to stop himself from hunching over and limping his way back to the Delancey St intersection. There were only two of them now, a whole lot of city to tidy up, and not a whole lot of time to spend fussing over what was probably just some deep tissue bruising. Plus, this was his first call to action since July, and it was now approaching the end of November.

Bracing himself for the amount of suckthe next few hours would entail, he gritted his teeth against the throbbing that rolled like waves from deep within his chest, and prepared to put on his best Oscar-worthy performance he’d titled: “I’m Fine - A Teenager’s Pledge”.

There was no way he was going to let Tony down.

A/N: There we have it! Things didn't go so smoothly for Peter, and I know he has superior healing and all but this poor boy needs some more safety built into his suit. Tomorrow will be the Part 2 fill for this mini-story, so check back in for the concluding part :) Thank you for all your continued support, kudos, and comments. Please feel free to send any fic requests into my Asks! Sending hugs to you all <3

[musesofolive]

For the soft asks!!! @scars-in-the-starlight

Torin: cuddling in a blanket fort (because insomia)

Isla: patching up a wound

Waterdad: He finds her wearing his clothes, (like she steals his shirt and uses it as a blanket)

Earth mom: having their hair brushed by your muse.

Rowan: Reading a book together

Yeah, you got just a bunch of lil ficlets. I couldn’t help myself lol. And this is a little later down the line when she’s more comfortable with them and knows how to sign.

Blanket fort with Torin:

Torin yawned as he sat up at Lyra’s prodding. He was growing used to it with her constant nightmares, but it still took him a couple moments to really wake up. “Hey, shrimp. Can’t sleep?” He asked, already knowing the answer as he gave a stretch. Seeing her nod, he gave a sympathetic smile.

She looked a little apologetic now, hunched over herself as she looked at the floor. He put a hand on her shoulder in comfort. “Don’t look so sad, I don’t mind staying up a bit longer. Besides, the knight in shining armor has to protect the princess at all times, right?” His tone was joking, other hand tickling her side lightly. He laughed as she giggled, stepping to the side to escape him. Then, an idea struck him and he hummed, a playful glint appearing in his emerald eyes. “And seeing as you are a princess, you should have a castle fitting of your status.”

Lyra looked at him, a little confused as he stood up from the bed, grabbing his blankets and pillows off it. “Come on, we’re going to build you a castle,” he announced. He marched out of the room with her trailing behind him, still looking lost as they went down to the living room.

From there, Torin sat her down and explained that he was making a blanket fort for the two of them. It took a few minutes for him to push the chairs in the right position and to set the blankets up so they wouldn’t fall. But soon enough, it was complete, and Torin opened the entry way for Lyra to step inside with a grin. The inside was very cozy, lined with blankets and pillows.

He crawled in once she looked comfortable, having to adjust himself for his large frame to fit properly. “There, no one will dare get you now! Safely protected by your knight and a castle.” He seemed very satisfied with himself as he pulled the little girl close to him. She clutched onto him tightly, resting her head right above where his heart was, and started purring as he ran his hands through her hair.

Isla healing a wound:

Isla’s ear twitched hearing a pained gasp behind her, and she turned around from where she was in the garden. Behind her was Lyra, who was clutching her hand tightly as small droplets of blood welled on her hand. Immediately, the older elf was at her side, kneeling down next to her as she looked at her hand. “What happened?” She asked, signing the question with her hands as well. While the child was getting better with signing, Isla found it helped better her understanding seeing someone else sign as well.

Touched the roses, sharp, cut, Lyra signed a bit shakily. Her eyes were misting over slightly.

The Earthbound furrowed her brows in concern. “You’re gonna be alright. Can you let me see your hand? I need to check if you have any thorns.” She explained, still signing to go with her words. The little girl extended her palm to her and she focused on it, looking over the purple, starlit skin for any black spots. She found a couple, pointing them out to her. “We need to get those out to heal it. It’s going to sting a little though.” She told her gently, already digging through her mind for the healing spell her mother taught her.

Lyra nodded in understanding, flinching slightly as Isla worked to remove the thorns.

When she had disposed of them carefully, she moved onto creating a small rune, green and luminous and as big as the child’s palm. “Curatio,” she spoke the word gently, touching her palm to Lyra’s. She held it there, letting the magic mend the skin. When she removed it, the injuries were gone. “There, all better. Ah, wait, to remove all the pain…” Isla trailed off, bringing the Startouch’s palm to her lips and giving it a light kiss. “A kiss to make the pain go away, an ancient Earthblood technique.” She laughed, her hands moving to Lyra’s shoulders. “Are you okay?”

The child nodded, a small smile on her face.

Isla returned the smile. “Good, now how about I show you some flowers that won’t hurt you?”

Bruinen finding her with his clothes:

Bruinen scratched his head, confusion taking over his face. He had been looking for his blue satin jacket. While it wasn’t typical for Tidebounds to wear layered clothing, as too much material would slow them down in the water, he usually wore it for formal occasions. And considering he was going to an annual meeting with some other merchants tomorrow...he kind of needed it. But, no matter where he looked, he just couldn’t seem to find it.

He closed the doors to his closet with a sigh. “Elskan mín,” he called out, turning to his wife who was mending some clothing on their bed. “Have you seen my jacket? The blue satin one, it seems to be missing, and I can’t find it for the life of me…”

“Is that so? That is very strange, I’m sure it’ll turn up though.” She responded, tone even with just the smallest hint of mischief to it.

He had been married to her long enough to pick up on that mischief. “You know something I don’t know. What is it? Did Torin spill something on it while he was doing laundry?” He raised a nonexistent eyebrow as he came closer to her, smiling in confusion seeing her amused expression.

“Oh, no, it’s fine. Why don’t you check on Lyra? Last I saw, she was in your study, and already missing you, the poor thing.” She tutted, a smile on her face as she paused in her mending to look up at her husband.

Taking that as a clue, Bruinen nodded. “I suppose I’ll be doing that.” Kissing her on the forehead tenderly, he stepped out the door, travelling down the hallway and opening the door to his study.

He peered around, walking in when he couldn’t find the Startouch child. He paused when he found her, curled up on his chair and sleeping soundly, his blue satin jacket wrapped around her like a blanket. His heart melted at the sight, walking around his desk to reach her. He hadn’t realized she was going to miss him so much, he would only be gone a couple days. Shaking his head good naturedly, he picked her up, careful not to wake her, and settled her back down on his lap when he sat on the chair. She curled up to him instantly, clutching onto both the jacket and his shirt tightly.

Bruinen thought his heart was going to burst at how cute the scene was. Petting her hair, he let out a sigh. “You can keep the jacket, my little Lyra. I can always find another…” he murmured. The elf was really going to have to hasten home after that meeting was over with.

Aerin brushing her hair:

Aerin winced as the cold air from outside blew through the window, and she closed it to block it out. The winds had really picked up today it seemed, it was making the whole house creak by how strong it was.

Her eyes flicked to the door hearing it slam open, and not much later, Torin waltzed in, holding Lyra. The Startouch girl’s hair was a mess, the silver strands tangled, and there appeared to be twigs and leaves stuck in there as well. Surprise and amusement overtook her face as she came closer, leaning against the doorway. “Had a bit too much fun out there in the trees, did we?” She asked, lightly laughing seeing Torin’s sheepish expression.

“We thought it was fine...until that last gust knocked her out of the tree.” He explained, rubbing the back of his neck once he set Lyra down.

Her eyes were wild and bright. It was fun, she signed happily.

Aerin knelt down with a smile. “Well, I’m glad you had fun, dear. I don’t know if the same can be said for your hair though.” Her wooden fingers ghosted over the knots lightly, before standing up. “Come with me, I believe Isla has a brush in her room we can use to sort that out.” She started walking up the stairs, making a stop in Isla’s room to grab the brush before going to Lyra’s room and having the child sit down on her bed.

Aerin sat behind her, pulling out the twigs and leaves from her hair carefully before brushing, only to stop seeing Lyra flinch. Hurts, she explained.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’ll be extra gentle this time.” She promised her, starting again. There was no flinching this time around, and she continued, watching the bristles smooth out the strands. There was silence for a little, before the Earthblood began singing quietly. It was one of the songs played at the celebration they had last month, still stuck in her mind with its catchy lyrics and tune. She continued singing softly, getting lost in her task. She didn’t stop at brushing though. When the strands of silver had been smoothed out, her fingers glided through her hair, separating them in chunks, and then leaving delicate braids in them. When she was satisfied, she stopped singing and removed her hands from Lyra’s head.

The child started when she stopped, having dozed during the relaxing process. Thank you, she signed, her hands still a little sluggish.

She smiled, turning Lyra around and kissing her on the forehead before bringing her into a hug. “Think nothing of it, my bright star.”

Rowan reading with her:

Rowan’s brow wrinkled as they looked over the papers in front of them. There had been an error in the data they had been working on, the paper said they received ten tons of silk, instead of one, and the number mistranslation was seriously messing with their calculations. A groan rose from their throat, another all nighter was definitely in their future.

They were brought out of their thoughts upon feeling a small hand on their leg, and they looked over to see Lyra with an apprehensive look on her face.

They smiled at her, as much as they could with their incoming headache anyways. “What did you need?” They asked softly.

She lifted a book up in their view before placing it down. Trying to read, but I don’t know some of the words, she told them. Her eyes looked at how tensed their posture was and the papers scattered about their desk, and she hunched over herself slightly. Not a good time?

“No, no,” they reassured her with a shake of their head. “I probably need the break. Maybe coming back to it will help actually. Thank you for helping me.” Their smile became a bit less forced seeing her own smile. They took the book in their hands, studying it. It was a new one for her, and a little above her reading level, it was no wonder she was having trouble understanding some words. “This is a good one,” they commented before standing up. “So, where do you want to read?”

She took their hand, leading them to the couch in the living room, and they chuckled as they sat down on it, getting comfy before helping Lyra into their lap. “Point out the words, I’ll help you understand them.” They hummed lightly, watching her starry hands open the book.

The two spent an hour going over the words she had already read but didn’t know. Then, three more hours of reading the story aloud with her, pausing whenever she made a sign that she didn’t know the word. They loved watching her reactions to the story, and the way her eyes grew bright when she guessed a word right.

The story had just come to an end, when Lyra slumped against them, fast asleep. They were a bit surprised at the sudden occurrence, before smiling softly, closing the book and setting it aside. They could spend another hour or so like this, it was worth it, anyways.

[peacefulrevivalteen]

Round 2: Electric boogaloo original title edition.

@taiyuu-high-oct @sapphireknight30 @snoopdoggkun 

         The second round was about to begin, students starting to make their way through the faux-city Taiyuu raised. A student whose height was only second to their home room teacher’s, manages to stop a much shorter girl from the opposing class

         Vai lets out a squeak as she is caught off guard, her eyes land on the hand gripping her shoulder, gaze slowly crawling up the arm to her round one opponent, Ozen 

         “O-oh h-hey Ozen, w-what’s up?” Vai squawks

         Ozen stares down at the shorter girl, the same girl nicknamed “Bondage-san” by her class; the compromising position they put Ozen in securing them both victory and the nickname pops briefly into her head. Ozen manages to shake it away, returning to the moment at hand. “You better win” she states, letting go of the girl’s shoulder.

          Vai just sputters, face growing flushed as she tries to get out a coherent response, one Ozen decided not to stay for, continuing past the smaller girl. A sharp inhale, followed by “I’ll do my best” has Ozen smirking to herself, soon after passing into the city.

         After being directed by her teacher appointed earpiece, Ozen finds herself dawdling at her starting position. As she waited for other students to find their positions, she took note of her urban surroundings, the dotted lights denoting her area, of particular interest to her.

         She doesn’t have to wait long, the crackle of her earpiece was followed by confirmation of everyone’s position. Ozen readied her body, just like she was used to from all those years she spent in track. Soon enough a “start!” is released through her earpiece and she bursts into a sprint.

         “This city is certainly large” Ozen thought, easily keeping to her initial speed, her body void of any heavy breathing, and miraculously enough sweat despite the brutal pace she set.

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

         Bringing the water bottle to her lips Ozen manages a couple sips as she exits the changing room, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “Kyaa!! Ozen-Senpai!” greets her as she doesn’t make it far before she is crowded by the usual group of second year girls.

          “You were so great out there!” one of them says. “Yeah! You didn’t even break a sweat out there!” another one says. “I wish I was as athletic as you! You make track look so easy!” a third says, or was it the first girl? Ozen didn’t particularly care enough to pay attention to their faces, this was hardly the first time something like this has happened.

          Today though Ozen doesn’t have time to dawdle and starts to make their way through the small crowd. “Thanks, I do have a doctor’s appointment to get to-“ is all Ozen has to say before the crowd parts before her like Moses and the red sea.

          A chorus of “Good luck senpai!”’s ring out from the crowd. “That doctors appointment is a waste of time, Ozen-senpai has to be the healthiest student at our school” is the last conversation she is able to make out before rounding the corner. -------------------------------------------------------

         The ringing in her ears was deafening but slowly it subsided and Ozen began to lift her gaze from the floor, eventually resting on the shouting form of her Mom. “What do you mean she’s the ‘unhealthiest person still standing you’ve ever seen?!’ my daughter is the captain of her school’s track team! Get your shit straight!” her mother fumes.

         “Fujinuma-San, I’m saying that your daughter’s muscles are reminiscent of a bed ridden coma patient” the doctor in front of them responds bluntly, drawing their attention to the results they pin up. “Your daughter’s ‘stamina’ is just her quirk negating physical stress on her body.” -------------------------------------------------------

         Ozen skids to a halt, catching sight of an alleyway, more importantly the fire escape within. Not one to miss a beat she starts off again, running into the alleyway jumping and easily reaching the ladder with her height bolstering her.

          Ozen ascends the steep emergency staircase like it was nothing, and really it might as well have been. She shakes those memories from her mind refocusing on the match.

         Her newfound height provides her a tactical view of her area, quickly she scans the urban environment around her, constructing a mental map before directing herself to where she believed the center to be.

         Having wasted enough time Ozen starts off into another sprint, not hesitating to vault off the edge, feet landing firmly on the adjacent building. She keeps her pace, building from building and while not the most direct approach to the center, she would rather have the visual advantage.  Yet Ozen still furrows her brow, hoping she didn’t lose too much time.

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

         “Wow, tall girl must have gotten lost, guess street smarts isn’t her thing.” Kutou states to the crowd of only herself. Looking around the courtyard she makes her way down the steps of the raised dais, orb in hand.

         Kutou can clearly hear battles kicking off in the distance and yet there is no sight of her opponent, even on the stupid radio bunny girl made her be a part of. Being on edge she starts to exit the way she came, approaching the underpass connecting two buildings lining the alleyway. However, she doesn’t make it far before a blue blur crashes down in front of her. -------------------------------------------------------

         Ozen slams down in front of her opponent, still crouched she wastes no time grabbing at kutou’s ankles, violently jerking them up and flipping them into trash can behind her. Kutou only manages a surprised “Kya!” as her body uncomfortably crumples into the trash receptacle.

         Ozen manages to catch the orb midair, leaving her opponent behind as she runs back into the courtyard, having already seen this area from above she knows where to go and turns the corner exiting the alleyway, heading for the smaller one across the way. Aggravated yelling sounds off behind her as she enters the alleyway that exits to her street, managing to turn the left corner just in time to miss the chunk of trash can rocketing out of it.

          Making her way down the main street connecting to her goal she catches sight of a spotted boy staring straight at her, peculiarly hand to their ear. Ozen isn’t able to give it much though before a loud ear grating crunching noises throughout the street and despite her better judgment turns towards the source, a large chunk of Building careening towards her, colliding with her in a thunderous-- -------------------------------------------------------

          -Ping- Usually kids her age would have having rocks thrown at them but Ozen just lets out a beaming smile. “Wow Ozzie-chan! Your quirk is so cool!” her friend, who were they again? H̵̨̛͢҉a̴̡͢͝n̶̴á̡́͞? Said to her. “Do you know how much it can take?” the excited H̵̨̛͢҉a̴̡͢͝n̶̴á̡́͞ lets out. “N-no, not yet.” Ozen replies with a nervous scratch to the back of her neck. “ H̵̨̛͢҉a̴̡͢͝n̶̴á̡́͞! Ozen! Come on! You two are the only ones not on the bus!” their teacher calls out to them. H̵̨̛͢҉a̴̡͢͝n̶̴á̡́͞ eagerly grabs their friend’s hand and they quickly make their way to the school bus, they don’t want to miss out on the heroic history museum, today is going to be a good day, they can already tell. -------------------------------------------------------

          -CRACK- goes the boulder of debris, having slammed into Ozen full force, she never yields even an inch of ground causing the boulder split two, continuing past to crash violently into the building behind her.

          Ozen lets out an unimpressed “hmmph” at the realization that her opponent must know her quirk already, if she were to try such a stunt. She is unable to continue this thought however, the grinding and twisting of metal blare behind her. Ozen turns around in time to bear witness to the destruction the boulder has wrought. The fake storefront was thoroughly caved in. She manages to catch sight of someone fleeing the top levels before her attention is ripped back to the building buckling under its own weight. Her eyes widen as the building plummets towards her, taking a deep breath as if by instinct she drops the orb and braces for impact. She has to hold it up she has to she can’t drop it- -------------------------------------------------------                     “Please don’t drop it Ozen!” and for those moments she is there again, The Museum of Heroic history, dust coating her lungs, crying, so much crying around her, her class huddled around her, the only thing separating them from the roof crashing down and crushing them all; pleading, begging her to not falter. There she stood, surrounded by sobs and pleas, in the exact same spot for what she would later would learn to be hours but it felt like an eternity to her. She never left that spot did she? She’s the only one left, no one came for them, this is her tomb and she’s never getting out

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

         Ozen doesn’t even realize when the building finally topples over her, only being brought out of her nightmare by a low whistle. Looking around frantically she finds she isn’t back in that museum and there appears to be a way out, her gaze following the slope up to the mouth of the debris cave, the same location her opponent now stood.

         “You seem a little stuck” Kutou lets outs sarcastically, chuckling to herself she starts carefully making her way down to the taller girl.

         “I can drop this whenever I want” Ozen retorts with a narrow of her eyes.

         “Yeah but you won’t, not with me in here, you wouldn’t risk it.” Kutou responds, mockingly patting Ozen’s cheek for emphasis.

         Kutou picks up the orb by her opponents feet, being intact but looking quite worse the wear. Ozen just grits her teeth in frustration as her opponent makes her way back up and out. Kutou stops at the entrance however, having decided to rub her victory in one last time she turns to back to Ozen, spinning the orb on her finger with ease.

         “Well, looks li-kyaa!” is all kutou manages to get out before something or someone interrupts her, causing them to topple backwards outside.

         Ozen is surprised by the display, waiting patiently in her alcove, wondering to herself what just occurred. After what seems like forever a face pops its way into view, however the bright light of the entrance blinds Ozen from distinguishing any features. “Yo Ozen, you down there?” Is what she hears from the figure and with that, recognition quickly clicks in her mind.

         “Popi? Is that you?” she asks rhetorically, she knows it’s her. “Yeah, cotton candy is here too,”

Ozen blinks at the descriptor. “Takakutou?” she has to ask, “yeah, whatever” her friend replies almost bored.

          “Mind moving them so I can get out without hurting them?” her inquiry is met with the sight of Popi checking for dirt under her nails.

         “I do… but fine, for you, give me a minute.” Popi manages to say before popping out of sight.

          Ozen gives it two minutes just in case, after which she starts making her way up and out of the debris cave, having to bend her arms awkwardly to accommodate the ceiling. Slowly but surely the building collapses behind her, culminating in a final grand cave in as Ozen squeezes herself out.

          Taking a deep breath of fresh air she catches sight of her best friend, looking bored down at the bottom of the mountain of debris, a twitching Takakutou lying thankfully safe by her feet.

         Ozen makes her way down the slope and is met with Popi handing over a pretty banged up orb, Her orb. Ozen graciously accepts it from her and holds it under her arm. “Thank you for the help” Ozen says, hoisting kutou up into a more comfortable sitting position, an angry glare from her opponent is all she got in response, unless you count twitching limbs and talking in tongues, which frankly Ozen didn’t.

          “Yeah well, that building stunt distracted Manspell enough for me to get a hit on her, so we’re even.” Popi emphasizes with a nod to the orb under her arm.

          Ozen doesn’t believe that’s the only reason but she leaves it for another time. They part ways soon after, Ozen keeping her guard up after being told by her friend that “1-A has been communicating with radios.” Her thoughts going straight to the boy she saw earlier.

          Despite radio communication Ozen doesn’t come into contact with anyone else, quietly making her way through her goal and securing victory

[tomeandflickcorner]

Umbrella Academy Recap 2x01

1x01 1x02 1x03 1x04 1x05 1x06 1x07 1x08 1x09 1x10

Season 2 is finally here.  And I’ve decided to continue on with my viewing of this series, with a new episode recap being posted each Sunday (unless RL stuff gets in the way, of course.)

Of course, we start off with a reminder of how, on April 1st, 2019, Vanya’s uncontrolled power burst out of her and collided with the moon, causing it to break apart.  The large chunks of moon debris then rained down towards the earth, which resulted in a planet-wide conflagration that quickly incinerated everyone in its path.  However, the Hargeeeves Siblings, who pretty much all played a role in causing the apocalypse to occur in the first place, attempted to go back in time with Number 5′s ability to time jump in the hopes that they could figure out how to prevent this disaster from happening.

But somehow, during the time jump, the Hargreeves Siblings all got separated.  While they all ended up in the same alleyway in Dallas, Texas, they got dropped off in completely different times.  Klaus and Ben end up in 1960.  Allison comes out in 1961, and is met by a less than warm welcome as she tries to enter a ‘Whites Only’ diner.  (Because racial segregation was commonplace in 1961).  Luther emerges in 1962, and he briefly has to deal with some homeless guy latching onto him, with the homeless guy joining in when Luther tries to call out to his missing siblings.  Diego and Vanya both arrive in 1963, but on completely different dates  Diego arrives on September 1st (where he immediately comes to the defense of a woman getting mugged before witnessing a television broadcast of President Kennedy’s famous ‘ask not what your country can do for you’ speech), and Vanya appears on October 12, where she ends up stumbling out into traffic and gets hit by a car a la Marty McFly in Back to the Future.  It’s also important to note that some mysterious man had managed to observe each arrival, as he secretly takes pictures of the Hargreeves Siblings from the shadows.  

Finally, Number 5 arrives on November 25, 1963.  However, he isn’t greeted by the same peacefully idealistic street that his brothers and sisters witnessed when they emerged from the time vortex.  Instead, it’s a completely war-torn area with tanks rolling down the street and a group of soldiers all speaking Russian.  After a moment, Number 5 catches a glimpse of a discarded newspaper, with the headline announcing that the Soviet army have invaded the United States.  Number 5 looks around in shock as U.S. troops arrive to try and fight the Soviets, and he verbally wonders what they’ve done now, realizing that the staggered arrival of the Hargreeves Siblings in the 1960s must have somehow caused this to happen.  

No sooner does he ask this, the other Hargreeves Siblings appear on the scene, joining the fight against the Soviet army.  And it seems that, during their separation, they’ve all managed to further develop their individual powers.  For instance, Vanya is able to stop and destroy a missile fired from a Soviet tank in midair.  Klaus has managed to master his new ability to make ghosts solid by summoning up a small group of dead soldiers (and a few civilians) to attack the Soviet soldiers, with Ghost Ben also joining the fight by taking out a few more Soviets with his power.  And Allison, who clearly got her voice back, uses her power to cause three enemy soldiers’ heads to explode.  Luther and Diego are also there, but they don’t really do much, as Luther is only shown protecting Klaus from getting shot by blocking the projectiles with his own body and Diego manages to dodge a bunch of flying bullets.  Upon seeing Number 5 standing there, Diego yells at him, asking where he’s been.  Before Number 5 could respond, however, someone else suddenly appears on the scene.  It’s Hazel!  Only he’s now an old man.  The now elderly Hazel tells Number 5 that he can’t explain what happened now, as they have to get out of that time quickly.  To emphasize his point, Hazel points overhead at a group of missile smoke trails in the sky.  Hazel tells Number 5 that the smoke trails are from nuclear warheads, which will go off in a few moments.  Number 5 hesitates out of concern for his family, as they’ll all surely die in the imminent explosion.  To this, Hazel states ‘you can’t help them if you’re dead.’  At this logic, Number 5 accepts Hazel’s hand, and they teleport off to some other time, leaving the other Hargreeves Siblings behind to watch as the nuclear explosion overtakes them and the mushroom cloud begins to form.

Hazel brings Number 5 back in time to November 15, 1963, stating that 10 days should give them plenty of time to restore the timeline and prevent this other apocalypse from taking place.  Number 5 asks what they’re supposed to do, though Hazel informs him that he’s on his own.  After all, he’d quit The Commission.  Hazel states he only came back to give Number 5 a hand this one time, out of respect for Agnes.  Here, we’re sadly informed that Hazel’s life with her was tragically brief as Agnes ended up dying from cancer.  (Well, that’s a huge kick in the teeth!  At least they had a good 20 years together..  Suppose we should be grateful for that, at least.)

Unfortunately, Hazel’s conversation with Number 5 doesn’t get much further than that.  As they were talking, three white-haired men, all wearing trench coats and backpacks, emerged from a bus parked across the street.  The moment Number 5 notices them walking towards them, the three men pull out machine guns from beneath their coats.  Hazel quickly shoves his time-traveling briefcase into Number 5′s hands and pushes him out of the way, instructing him to run.  At the same time, Hazel also discretely shoves an object into Number 5′s pocket.  Number 5, heeding Hazel’s final instruction, teleports away to safety as Hazel is unceremoniously gunned down by the white-haired men.  Number 5 manages to get away, but he has to abandon the briefcase, as it got pelted by the gunfire.  The time-traveling briefcases aren’t bulletproof, it seems.

Interestingly, as the white-haired men walk off, one of them makes eye contact with a milkman who just happened to be passing by.  Wasn’t sure what that was about at first, but it’ll be important later on.

As Number 5 makes good his escape by leaving the scene down an alleyway, he notices the curtains in a nearby window moving, as if someone had just closed them in a hurry.  This, along with the sight of a camera tripod set up on the roof of the building (among other things), arouses Number 5′s attention and he immediately decides to investigate.  This leads to him encountering a man called Elliot, who freaks out a bit when Number 5 teleports himself directly into Elliot’s apartment.  Elliot seems like a bit of a conspiracy nut as he doesn’t hesitate to ask Number 5 if he’s from the Pentagon or the CIA.  Number 5 doesn’t acknowledge these questions, simply helping himself to Elliot’s coffee.  (Because as the show has well established, Number 5 is a coffee addict.)

As their interactions continue, it’s made pretty clear that Elliot believes Number 5 is an extraterrestrial alien.  Number 5 doesn’t contradict this and decides to simply go along with it.  Which leads to Elliot revealing that he was that mysterious cameraman who took pictures of the other Hargreeves Siblings appearing in that Dallas alleyway throughout the past few years.   With this information, Number 5 is able to confirm his brothers and sisters are all alive, but realizes that he pretty much stranded them there, however unintentional that was.  He turns to Elliot demanding his help in finding them, as he only has 10 days to reunite with the Hargreeves Siblings and prevent the turn of events that would lead to the nuclear holocaust he’d previously witnessed.  So Elliot gives Number 5 an excerpt from a newspaper, which features Diego’s mugshot.  Because Diego went and got himself arrested.  (Typical.)

With the information he got from Elliot, Number 5 is able to track Diego down to a mental hospital.  He wound up there because he was trying to prevent the Kennedy Assassination, which was scheduled to occur pretty soon.  Naturally, nobody believed his declarations.  He finally got locked up when he got caught trying to break into Lee Harvey Oswald’s house in order to kill him before he got the chance to assassinate President Kennedy.  When Number 5 meets with Diego, he informs him of this new apocalypse that is set to occur in 10 days.  At first, Diego seems to be on board with Number 5, but he really has a one track mind, believing that he absolutely has to prevent the Kennedy Assassination, and that succeeding in that would save the world.  Diego admits he is also thinking about going back in time to kill Hitler as well.  As you might expect, Number 5 is not impressed with Diego’s intentions, informing his brother that he has a hero complex.  He then decides to leave Diego where he was, also informing the mental hospital orderlies nearby of Diego’s plan to escape by cutting through the bars on his cell window.  With that, Number 5 leaves Diego behind as the nurses sedate him.

As Number 5 leaves the mental hospital, whispering to Diego that he’ll be back for him later, we see where the other Hargreeves Siblings are.  Vanya now has amnesia and has been living on a farm with a small nuclear family that consists of a businessman named Carl, his wife, Sissy, and their son, Harlan.  Harlan, it seems, doesn’t talk.  I think the implication is that he has some form of autism, but I could be wrong.  As he leaves to go back to the office, Carl tells Vanya that he placed another missing person notice in the paper, stating someone must be missing her enough to come looking for her. 

Klaus, it seems, has been living in San Francisco for the past three years, but has now decided to return to Dallas.  Ben isn’t happy about this as he wants to go back to San Francisco.  Ben eventually admits he has some unfinished business he wanted to take care of back in California and he asks Klaus if he really expects him to continue following him everywhere.  An argument breaks out between them, with Klaus pointing out that Ben doesn’t even have a physical body without him.  Therefore, Klaus clams that, while he doesn’t need Ben, Ben needs him.  To this, Ben states nobody needs Klaus’ crap, and that is why he’s always alone.  Immediately, the two brothers began a physical fight.  (Which leads to an amusing moment when some random guy drives by and sees Klaus seemingly wrestling with nobody.)  Eventually, they tire themselves out and proceed to start walking, as their car engine overheated and therefore had to be abandoned on the side of the road.  An undetermined amount of time later, they make it to this roadside bar.  Klaus asks when the next bus to Dallas will arrive, with the bartender telling him it’ll come tomorrow at 3:00 sharp.   While he settles down to wait, Klaus gets invited by some other bar patrons to join in a game of poker.  Of course, Klaus believes he has the advantage as Ben could let him know when someone is bluffing, and he therefore coerces one of the men to use the keys to his pickup truck as a gambling chip.  But it turns out Ben was deliberately lying so Klaus would lose the game. (He was still angry at Klaus for earlier and wanted to prove a point to him.)  Klaus, however, tries to make off with the keys to the pickup truck anyway, but failed to be sneaky enough as the pickup truck’s owner noticed.  But in the end, Klaus is able to make a getaway in the stolen pickup truck.  (Though the police end up catching up to Klaus en route to Dallas and arrest him.)

Meanwhile, Allison has ended up getting married to a Black man named Raymond, who is clearly excited about President Kennedy’s plans to make a stand for the rights of Blacks in America.  Allison is unable to completely join in with his excitement, knowing that President Kennedy will be assassinated in a few days time, though she obviously can’t tell Raymond what she knows.   We can see she also is feeling a bit melancholy when her husband gives her a pre-anniversary gift- a copy of Jules Verne’s From the Earth to the Moon.  Which obviously reminds Allison of Luther.

And speaking of Luther, he’s now working in some sort of underground boxing ring.  You know, the type where the winner of the fight gets prize money. Although, most of his proceeds from winning the fight end up going to a man that I guess is supposed to be Luther’s manager, Mr. Ruby.  Anyway, they seem to have set up this whole ploy where Luther pretends to be losing his fights, only to turn things around at the right moment. Not sure how Luther got involved with this, but it makes sense given his obvious amount of brute strength. 

Anyway, as the episode continues, we see Allison and Raymond are involved with a group of other Black people who are fighting against segregation and racism, with them holding their meetings at a hair salon that Allison now runs.  At present, their group is planning a sit-in five days before President Kennedy is to arrive in Dallas.  Although, the leader of their group makes it clear that it is imperative that nobody behave violently in any way during the sit-in.  Whatever happens, they all must maintain dignity and honor.  Otherwise, the media will have an excuse to dismiss them as a group of thugs.  Of course, the meeting is interrupted when some racist jerk called Mr. Mason pokes his nose into their business, interrogating them on what they’re all doing there after hours.  Allison and Raymond are initially able to handle things as civilly as possible.  Until Raymond moves to shut the door.  Mr. Mason, seemingly deliberately, moves his foot into the way.  Which gives him the excuse he needs to accuse Raymond of assault.  But when Mr. Mason makes a threatening move towards him, Allison steps in, utilizing the fighting skills she’d developed during her time in the Umbrella Academy in defense of her husband.  Mr. Mason then slinks off with his tail between his legs, but you’re left with the feeling that he’s not going to just let this go.

Back at the farmhouse, Vanya can’t sleep and ends up heading down to the kitchen, where she catches Sissy smoking.  However, she doesn’t seem bothered by this in the slightest, and Sissy asks her if she wants a cigarette as well.  They then head out to the barn to smoke.  Which doesn’t seem like the smartest place to smoke, especially with all the hay lying around.  As they sit and talk, Sissy confides in Vanya that she has a secret stash of money hidden in a coffee can that Carl doesn’t know about.  It seems that, while Sissy thinks Carl is a good man, she knows he’ll eventually leave or die.  And when that happens, she’ll need to be able to fend for herself.  Sissy also confesses that, before she married Carl, she wanted to work as a counter girl at some big department store, as she always had viewed those counter girls as the height of elegance and she’d wanted to be that elegant, too.  Vanya responds by telling Sissy that she’s plenty elegant.  Which is a rather sweet thing for Vanya to say to her new friend.

Elsewhere, Diego has woken up from being sedated and finds himself trapped in a padded room.  However, he manages to get out of his straitjacket and picks the lock with a pen the orderlies had neglected to confiscate from him.  However, his escape attempt his interrupted when those white-haired men show up in a milk truck.  Apparently the same one the hapless milkman we saw earlier had been driving.  It seems that there WAS some significance to the milkman and one of the white-haired men meeting each other’s eyes in that earlier scene.  The white-haired men must have killed the milkman and stole his uniform, like in The Terminator.  The white-haired men, who we can now conclude were sent by The Commission, proceed to make their way through the mental hospital, killing the hospital’s administrator and two security guards in the process.  They manage to locate Diego as he’s trying to escape with the help of Lila, another patient at the mental hospital that he’d interacted with a few times.  After a prolonged chase scene, Diego and Lila manage to escape and give the white-haired men the slip.

We then wrap the episode up with Luther, who is at some nightclub.  He’s now filling the role of Mr. Ruby’s bodyguard, I guess.  While there, he strikes up a conversation with some cigarette girl called Autumn.  Through this conversation, Luther learns that Number 5 was also at the nightclub, having tracked down Luther there somehow.  So Luther heads over to where Number 5 was sitting, not hesitating to voice his anger at his brother, as he was stuck in time for a year and had believed everyone else was dead.  At this point, Luther notices that it looks as if somebody is going to start something with Mr. Ruby, so he starts to head over to fulfill his duty as Mr. Ruby’s bodyguard.  Number 5 stops him, telling him that he understands how hard it is to be stuck in time, not knowing if they’d ever see the people they loved again.  Which makes sense, as we know that’s the situation Number 5 was in for a number of years.   But right now, Number 5 says they have to focus on finding the others, as another apocalypse is coming.  Unfortunately, Luther isn’t swayed, stating that he doesn’t care.  He then walks off, leaving Number 5 sitting there.

Closing thoughts/questions:

I wonder if we’ll see Elliot again.  Is he going to play a larger role in this season?

Same with Lila.  She’s clearly nuts, but is still sane enough to possibly be an ally.  Also, I kinda like the dynamic she has with Diego

I wonder what Ben had been up to in San Francisco to make him want to stay.

Vanya seems a lot happier with Carl and Sissy’s family than she did before.  I can’t help wondering if it would be kinder to her for her to remain with them.

Does Harlan have autism?  If so, I hope they present it in a respectful way.

I feel so bad for Hazel!  He deserved so much better than he got!  I guess it’s good that he’s with Agnes again, but still!

Luther’s still a little snot.  Guess that hasn’t changed much.

Diego is kinda dumb.  I realize his intentions are good. But come on!  Did it occur to him that stopping Kennedy's assassination might lead to a lot of negative consequences he’d never be able to predict? Maybe he should watch some Doctor Who sometime.

Which reminds me, nice Star Wars reference from Diego. Too bad nobody will get it for a while yet, as the original movie won’t come out for another 14 years, and would be another 3 years before moviegoers will learn who Darth Vader is.

I’m really interested in what Allison’s going to do.  Obviously, she can’t stay with Raymond as she’ll have to go back to her own time.  Especially since she has Claire to think about.  But she seems to have something good going on with him.  And if it gets her away from her incestuous relationship with Luther, I’m 100% for it!

[l-egionaire]

Fire and Ice: Chapter 5

"Queen Elsa, is everything alright?"

Elsa looked up at King Faraj, his face showing obvious concern.

"You seem somewhat distracted." The king pointed out.

Elsa set down the spoon she'd been using to listfully push around the breakfast on her plate. Next to her Olaf was enjoying his own meal, twig arms rapidly shoveling food into his mouth.

"I'm just not that hungry." Elsa muttered mindlessly.

The king didn't seem convinced, but before he could say anything else, Urooj entered the dining room, shooting a glare at Elsa and Olaf before adressing king Faraj.

"Your Highness, my men and I will be starting our rounds in the village." Urooj said.

The King clapped his hands excitedly. "Excellent! Why don't you take Queen Elsa with you?"

Before Elsa could even think of a way to get out of that, Urooj almost immediately yelled. "NO!" Then in a more even tone, said. "No. the demon may get suspicious if we bring the queen along. It would be better for her to remain here in the palace. If we have need of her, we'll come and get her."

The young king gripped his chin in thought. "I suppose you do have a point." He looked to the queen. "What do you think?"

Elsa was torn. On one hand, she wanted to go out and try to meet with that fire woman again, but on the other, the idea of willingly going and taking orders from Urooj made her skin crawl.

"I think I'll stay here." Elsa answered.

"Very well." Urooj bowed to Faraj. "You're majesty." He gave a slightly stiffer bow to Elsa, then exited the dining room.

Faraj gave them an apologetic look. "I'm sorry about Urooj. I know he must seem a bit, um, ..."

"Crass, rude, arrogant?" Elsa suggested.

"A jerk?" Olaf provided, wiping the dregs of his meal off his face

"Displeased." Faraj said pointedly. "But you have to understand, our country doesn't receive many visitors. Most outsiders who aren't turned away on the spot are regarded with extreme scrutiny and suspicion. Urooj is just cautious about any kind of threat to the kingdom."

Elsa sighed. She couldn't fault the man for doing his job. Most countries might be suspicious if a snow witch was staying in the palace with the king. "I suppose you have a point."

The king gave a small chuckle. "Urooj may be bit harsh, but believe me, he only wants what's best for Arbia. He has watched over the kingdom since I was a boy. One of the last things my father ever said to me was to trust in him."

"He must have had a great deal of faith in him."

"They butted heads at times." Faraj admitted. "My father had the dream of opening Arbia's borders and allowing people from all over the world to see how great our country was. But Urooj feared that allowing in so many outside forces would cause more crime and weaken us. They argued about it a lot. In fact, they argued about the issue until the day he died. I think it's part of why he's so protective. He feels he needs to shield me so he does not lose me as he did my father. I'm sure you can understand."

Trying to shield someone from danger so that they didn't lose them? As much as she hated to admit it, Elsa understood that very well.

"I do." Elsa begrudgingly admitted. "I'll try to get along with him as well as I can." Elsa placed a hand over her mouth to stifle a yawn.

Faraj raised a brow in concern. "Are you sure your OK?"

"Yes. I just had a bit of trouble sleeping. I haven't traveled much since my coronation, so I'm still a bit unused to sleeping in a new place." Elsa lied.

The king gave an understanding smile. "Why don't you go back to your room and get some rest? Once you've woken up we can discuss some of the new trade that will take place between Arbia and Arendelle."

"That would be great." Elsa said.

She and Olaf walked back to their room, but instead of laying down for a nap, Elsa sat on the edge of her bed, absentmindedly staring at the ground.

Olaf watched her stare at the floor for a few seconds before hopping onto the bed next to her. "Elsa?"

Hearing him pulled her from her daze. "Hm?"

"Are you okay?" Olaf asked.

"I'm fine Olaf." She assured him, though she still sounded partially distracted. "Just thinking about...things."

Olaf gave her a knowing grin. "You're thinking about her, aren't you?"

He didn't need to specify who her was.

Elsa's unfocused expression soon morphed into a sincere smile.

"How could I not be?"

Elsa got up off the bed and began pacing back and forth with excitement.

"I mean, did you see her? She could set her fist on fire without burning it, and could jump super high using flames, and she had a fire cat-reindeer-bird thing! Uh, it's just so amazing Olaf! She. Has. POWERS! I'm not the only one! I'm..." Her voice cracked with joy, and some slight tears built up in her eyes. "I'm not the only one."

All her life, Elsa had always felt so different from everyone else. As if her powers separated her from other people in a way. Even with the love of her sister and her newfound family, Elsa still couldn't help but have moments where she felt somewhat alone due to being the only person with powers.

But now? Now she knew wasn't alone in having powers. Even though she had no evidence, she could somehow feel that the woman's abilities sprung from the same source as hers. Knowing there was someone who shared her abilities made her heart feel like it would burst with joy.

"That's great Elsa. I'm really happy for you. Except for the whole "her being a wanted fire demon thing ." Olaf said.

That made Elsa pause. In her excitement about her discovery, she'd completely forgotten about the woman being considered a criminal and a monster.

But now more than ever she was sure that wasn't right. From what she'd seen this person wasn't the monster everyone had described her as. Yes, she'd seen the assault on those guards but that didn't match up with her giving money and food to others or the look of undeniable excitement she'd shown when she saw Elsa's powers. Even when she told Elsa to leave she seemed to be just as upset about the idea as Elsa. When she roared at her to go, her angered expression and tone bore an unmistakable tinge of sadness.

"I SAID GO AWAY!"

"You shouldn't be here."

Hadn't that been her not even that long ago? Pushing people away, presenting herself as something she wasn't? She knew there had to be more to this women then first appeared.

"I have to see her again." Elsa declared. "If she is like me, than maybe I can figure out why she's attacking people. Get her to stop."

"Well I say go for it. After all, you do have experience with this kind of thing. I mean, it's from the other side, but Anna managed to help you."

"I didn't go with Anna, when she found me remember? Besides..." Elsa shuddered, still able to perfectly recall the feeling of holding her sisters frozen body. "That didn't really go so well."

Olaf grimaced, no doubt also remembering the incident. "Okay, yeah that didn't really go so well. But hey, at least you know what not to do. So first, make sure you don't get your heart set on fire."

Elsa gave a small amused grin. "I'll watch out for that."

Olaf had a point. She needed to be careful. Even if this fire woman wasn't what people proclaimed her to be, she'd seen that she could still be dangerous if made an enemy. She needed to think this through.

A part of her wished she'd brought Anna along. She had experience getting withdrawn magic people to come out of their shells. She'd probably know what to do.

But then again maybe not. Anna hadn't managed to convince her to leave the Northern Mountains. And she had been Elsa's sister. Someone she'd had a history and strong connection with. How could she get close to this fire woman when she was just some random stranger?

Olaf let out a groan and rubbed his stomach. "Well I don't know about you but I'm going to take a nap. I'm stuffed from breakfast."

Elsa suddenly looked at Olaf. "What did you just say?"

"Eh, I, just ate too much food. It really made me tired."

"Ate too much..." Elsa whispered. Like a bolt of lightning it hit her. "That's it!"

Once night fell, Elsa and Olaf once again snuck out of the palace and donned their disguises. They went to the same route that they'd taken before to the stone arch and this time, Elsa noticed Ifrit up on the stone cliff side. Ifrit pounded down to meet them and viciously sniffed both of them, being extra sure to examine the bundle in Elsa's arms covered by an orange cloth.

Elsa stayed completely still during Ifrit's smell-search and after she finished and curiously eyed the both of them, calmly said. "We didn't come here to hurt her. We just want to talk."

She wasn't entirely sure if Ifrit could understand her words, but she gave a slight nod and shrunk to her smaller form. Elsa and Olaf followed her until they arrived at the burnt out house. Elsa immediately saw the woman sitting crouched in front of the fire. Ifrit rushed ahead of them and laid beside her. She began stroking down Ifrit's back.

Elsa took in a breath and cautiously stepped forward. "Um, Hello?"

The figure immediately shot up to her full intimidating height and glared down at them. She tore off he cloth on her head. Despite her eyes not being filled with flames, due to their luminescence they still seemed to resemble raging flames. Her gaze seemed to scan over the both of them, taking in every detail she could. Elsa thought she somewhat resembled a cornered animal, her posture tense and slightly fearful. Almost seconds away from pouncing.

"What are you doing here?" The woman asked. "I told you to leave."

"You did. But I have questions and your the only person who might be able to answer them."

The woman raised an eyebrow at her. "And what makes you think I will?"

"This." Elsa whipped the cloth off the bundle revealing a large plate covered in heavily seasoned rice and large chunks of chicken meat. The king had called the dish Kabsa and had been more than happy to allow Elsa to take it and several others up to her room after she claimed to be more comfortable eating in her room.

Immediately the woman's expression swapped from a predator about to pounce to a starved puppy seeing a bone. The flame like effect of her eyes somewhat dimmed making them seem more like soft candle light than a raging wildfire. Her entire body seemed to unclench and the hungry look on her face was so intense that Elsa almost thought she'd start drooling.

She reached a hand out towards the platter but Elsa pulled away from her.

"Ah, ah, ah. I'll give you this, if you answer my questions. Unless you'd rather go back to eating garbage?"

The woman's eyes swung repeatedly from Elsa to the platter in her hands, her expression switching from fearful caution to intense hunger.

Finally hunger won out. She reluctantly said. "Fine, I'll tell you whatever you want."

Elsa walked forward and held out the Kabsa to her. The woman snatched it away and returned to her spot in front of the fire and sat down, her knees bent in front of her and her large feet poking out from the bottom of her outfit. Elsa came over and sat next to her. Olaf also came over and sat on Ifrits other side, lovingly stroking the kitty.

The woman grabbed a mound of rice and meat with her bare hands off the platter and shoved it into her mouth. She moaned with joy and began chewing voraciously. As she did, she looked over to Elsa and managed to say. "Go ahead and ask your questions." Before gulping down her mountainous mouthful and scooping up more Kabsa.

Elsa's mind raced. There were so many things she wanted to ask, yet she had trouble deciding which question to pick first. But she knew she had to hurry. At the rate the woman was digging into the platter of food, she doubted she had much time.

Finally she managed to settle on a simple question. And one she honestly should've asked from the start. "What's your name?"

Through a gargantuan amount of chicken and rice crammed into her mouth, the woman replied. "Núria."

"Núria." Elsa repeated, hoping she had pronounced it right. Now that she was able to hear her speak, she realized that she had a bit of an accent. It was different from the ones she'd heard from Faraj or any of the other people in town.

Okay that wasn't a bad start. She decided to ask the question she'd been dying to know the answer to. "How did you get your powers?"

Núria suddenly stopped eating, a fistful of Kabsa inches from her mouth. Her face got a bitter expression and she shrugged.

"I don't know." She admitted painfully. "I was just born with them."

"Oh." Despite knowing that that was a strong possibility, Elsa's heart still sank. She'd somewhat hoped that maybe if she met another person with powers, they'd be able to she'd some light on the origin of her abilities. Núria being just as in the dark on where their powers came from was depressing to say the least, but she powered on. "So you've had them since you were little?"

"Since the day I was born. I'm guessing it was the same for you?"

"Yep." Elsa looked away from her, struggling to think of what to ask next. She knew that she should ask about the attacks on the town but she knew that might be a touchy subject and the last thing she needed to do was make her unwilling to talk.

She was pulled from her thoughts by Ifrit letting out a loud whine. Núria rolled her eyes and said. "I know girl. "

She released her handful of food and wiped her hand on her clothes before standing back up, walking over to the trunk, delicately picking up the photos on top, pulling the top open, and removing a book the size of her palm. She then opened the book, tore out about several pages, and returned it to the trunk. After that, She went over to Ifrit and Olaf, balled up the pages and then dropped the wad of paper in front of Ifrit,

Ifrit sniffed the paper ball before licking her lips and biting into it, tearing off a chunk, and enthusiastically chewed it, before swallowing and ripping off another piece.

Elsa and Olaf both watched her eat curiously while Núria came back to her spot in front of the fire.

"Why didn't you just give her some of the kabsa?" Elsa asked.

"Ifrit doesn't eat people food. She only eats stuff like paper, oil, wicker. If it's flammable she'll gobble it up."

"Really? Wow that's so intere-Oww! Aww, she's nibbling on my fingers. Isn't that cu-ouch!" Olaf yelped.

Elsa looked at him and Ifrit with slight worry before turning back to Núria.

"Does she need to eat?" Elsa asked.

Núria brow furrowed in thought, clearly never having thought of this before. "I don't know if she needs to, but if she doesn't she gets all moody and starts nibbling on things. Plus, she can't grow any bigger."

"Oh." As Núria returned to devouring her food, she tried to consider what to ask next. "So, you made her?"

"Yeah. When I was really little."

Elsa was a bit shocked. She'd never known she could create life until making Olaf and then Marshmallow. Then again, it was clear Núria's experience with her powers was vastly different then her own.

"Why exactly does she look so...unusual?" Elsa asked, unsure whether Núria might be upset by that description.

However, instead of seeming offended, Núria gave a small grin at her question.

"Well, when I made her, I wanted her to have the best parts of my most favorite animals. A bird, a kitten, and a reindeer."

That piqued Elsa's interest. "A reindeer?"

"Yeah." Núria's smile grew wider. "I heard stories about them all the time. They were amazing creatures with incredible powers. They had razor sharp antlers that could chop down trees, iron hard hooves that could shatter rocks with a single strike, and they were strong and swift enough to carry over a hundred men!"

From her experience with Sven, Elsa was fairly certain Reindeer weren't capable of doing any of those things, but seeing the unbridled joy and happiness on Núria's face made her decide not to say anything.

"So that's why you picked a reindeer?" Elsa said.

"Yeah. And I picked the bird because I wanted her to be able to soar through the clouds the way they did.

"And why the kitten?"

"Kittens are adorable." Núria said, as if it was obvious.

"Ah."

They sat in silence for a few seconds until Núria said. "I know they aren't really real."

"What?"

"Reindeer. I know they aren't actually real." Núria said, with a completely serious face.

Elsa blinked. "W-what do you mean they aren't real?"

"Reindeer don't actually exist. They're just some myth that was made up by people who come from the north where it's cold. A magical creature like a fairy, or a giant."

Elsa stared at her with utter disbelief. She wondered for a moment if she was playing some sort of joke, but she could tell Núria believed what she said.

"Reindeer aren't real? Oh man, Kristoff and Sven are going to be so disappointed when they hear that." Olaf said.

Núria frowned and pointed at Olaf. "What exactly is he?"

"Who Olaf?" Elsa asked, still slightly stuck on Núria's disbelief in Reindeer.

"Yeah. What is he?"

"He's my snowman." Elsa explained.

"What is that?"

"Well, he's a man. But made of snow."

"And what is snow?"

Elsa gave a slight laugh of incredulity. "Wha- you don't know what snow is? How can you no-." It was then that Elsa realized she was speaking to someone who'd grown up in a desert where rain would most likely be seen as rare. Snow was probably non-existant there. Núria stared at her expectantly.

"Um, okay, uh, snow is created when water particles get caught in the upper atmosphere above the clouds and then the temperature goes below freezing, causing the particles to freeze, so when they fall to the earth as precipitation, instead of coming down as rain they come down as ice crystals called snowflakes that then accumulate on the ground and become snow."

Núria looked at her like she'd just grown a second head. "What?"

Elsa racked her mind trying to figure out how to explain it. "Snow is, it's, well it's, this." Elsa flicked her fingers upward, causing a flurry of snowflakes to appear in the air and flutter to the ground.

Núria looked in wonder at the descending cascade of ice crystals. She held out a hand to catch one and watched as a single snowflake descended into her hand. Her face fell as it melted into her hand.

"What happened?"

"It melts when it's too hot." Elsa explained.

That clearly wasn't the best thing for her to hear. Núria scowled at her hand and shoveled the rest of the Kabsa into her mouth until the platter was empty.

"There. I'm done and I answered your questions. Now go."

"I have more questions." But Elsa knew she most likely wouldn't get anything else out of Nuria tonight, so she said. "I'll come back tomorrow. And I'll bring more food."

Núria gave her a somewhat cautious stare, but she just sighed and said. "Fine."

The next night Elsa returned, this time bearing several kebabs covered in spiced lamb meat and vegetables. She hoped that bringing more food meant that she'd be able to talk longer. She'd also brought a bowl she filled with lamp oil for Ifrit.

Once they arrived at the arch, Ifrit appeared. But rather than than the aggressive sniff down from yesterday, Ifrit's pupils widened and she excitedly trotted to Elsa. She kept trying to get closer to the oil, but Elsa kept it away.

They once again went to the burnt out house where Núria sat in front of the fire. When she saw them, her eyes widened in surprise.

"You came back?"

"Of course I did, I said I would, didn't I?"

Núria went silent and took the kebabs. Elsa sat down the bowl of of oil for Ifrit and then sat next to Núria again. Strangely, while Ifrit lapped up her oil, Núria just stared at the kebabs.

"What's wrong? You don't like lamb?" Elsa asked.

Núria shot her a suspicious look. "Who are you?"

"What? What do you mean?"

"I mean, who are you and why are you here? I know your not one of the people in town. I've seen all of them. And you certainly look like a foreigner. Plus,you have powers that are like mine and you just happen to show up here ? Why? Who are you?"

Elsa began to panic. She knew that if she admitted that she'd been summoned by the king and his guards, Núria would be much less likely to trust her. She struggled to think of an answer before she grew more suspicious of her.

"I'm...an ice merchant." Elsa blurted out.

Núria narrowed her eyes at her. "An ice merchant?"

"Yep!, Just out, here, you know, selling ice, because it's really hot out here and this seemed like such a swell place to do business and when I heard about the whole "being with fire powers thing" I just thought, "that sounds so much like me. I should check that out" and here I am!" Elsa said rapidly, hoping Núria wouldn't notice how nervous she was.

Unfortunately, it only took one look at her face to tell she clearly didn't buy her story.

"You are a really terrible liar." Núria said bluntly. "Tell me why you're really out here!"

Elsa sighed. She knew she had to tell the truth, at least partially.

"I came out here...because of you." Elsa admitted.

Núria frowned. "Because of me?"

"Yes. I heard that there was some being with fire powers out here attacking people. I wanted to come down and see it for myself."

Núria huffed. "And do what exactly?"

Elsa shrugged. "I don't know. I suppose I just wanted a first person view. Everyone I'd talked to said that you were some kind of demon."

Hearing that, Núria glowered at the ground. "Maybe I am."

"I don't think you are."

Núria looked up in shock. "What makes you say something like that? You were there when I fought those guards. You saw what I did."

"I also saw you later. With those kids and the bartender. You gave them food, money. You could have kept it for yourself. But instead you gave it to someone who no doubt needed it."

Núria seemed lost for a response, then simply asked "What do you want from me?"

"Just a chance to get to know you." Elsa said. "I've never met another person like me before. I'll bring you more food or whatever you want. I just want to be able to talk. Get to know more about you."

"You might not like what you find out about me." Núria warned.

"I'll be the judge of that." Elsa slowly reached one of her hands over and held her palm above Núria's hand. "So, what do you say?"

Núria's looked nervously at where Elsa's hand hovered above her own before slowly opening it and and wrapping her hand around Elsa's. She looked her in the eyes with clear anxiety and yet the slightest glimmer of hope.

"Okay."

[scruffyhappaboreherder]

Coming Home

This is for @doptimous, inspired by the prompt “What could be worse than losing you?"  I was going to write something else but it went sideways and I wrote the prequel instead.Happy New Year, and Happy Amnesty Day, which it still is in the Pacific time zone!  (My original posting day was the 30th.  Oops.  And sorry.)

Warnings / tags: Everybody from Rogue One is still dead except Jyn and Cassian.  Bodhi briefly survived Scarif but then I killed him again because I’m a jerk.

Past polyamory (Cassian/Jyn/Bodhi, mostly Jyn/Bodhi), ace spectrum Cassian, use of content from the Aftermath trilogy (mostly an appearance by Conder Kyl and mentions of other characters), trauma, swearing, gratuitous amateur geology, nothing more physical than snuggling/kissing/holding hands, vague allusion to assisted reproductive technologies (but no actual pregnancy)

As the others filed out of the briefing room, tactfully leaving the two of them alone, Cassian stood and crossed the few meters that separated them.  "Come on, Lieutenant Erso.  On your feet."

She rolled her eyes as she took his extended hands and levered herself out of the chair.  "So I missed a lot."

"A little," he agreed, dropping one of her hands.  "Where do you want to go first?"

"'Fresher."  The door sealed itself behind them.  "No, my quarters, then the 'fresher."

Home One was a large ship, and they were entirely likely to be seen by other crew; but under the circumstances he didn't think that anyone would object to their holding hands in the corridors.

Space was tight, but there was enough for the officers to have a room to themselves, however small.  Jyn opened the door and tugged him inside impatiently; then her arms were around him and her mouth was on his.  He kissed her back, gladly and eagerly, because knowing that the Empire had been reduced to scattered fragments while she was away on a mission had torn at the part of him that burned for her.  Even more than usual.

When they separated, he reached for the cord around his neck, lifted it, and held it out to her.  She smiled the small soft smile she always smiled at these moments, and lowered it over her head. The cord settled between her breasts, and she lifted the crystal and tucked it under her shirt.

"Thank you for keeping it safe."  She leaned in and kissed him again, gently, and pulled him closer.  "I'm going to get clean.  Wait for me?"

"Always."

When she came back they stretched out shoulder to shoulder on her narrow bed.  His "I've been thinking—" collided with her "What about?"  She laughed and rested her head on his shoulder.  "Go on, Cass."

He took a deep breath.  "The best analyses are that it's all over now for the Empire but the mopping up.  And I think I want out."

"Out?" Jyn echoed, as if she'd never heard the word before.

He nodded.  "We found out that the second Death Star was destroyed, and I spent every moment since then worrying that you might not come back."  His chest felt tight.  "I was sure that would happen as soon as it was all over."

"But I did come back."  She touched his cheek.  "I'm here, Cass."

"Yes."  He curled up against her, and she turned to face him and wrapped her arms around him.  "I spent a lot of time thinking about what I would do if you didn't make it back," he mumbled to her shoulder.

"What did you think about?"

He shifted to rest his chin on her shoulder, so she could hear him clearly.  "Fest."  He took a deep breath.  "I want to go back there.  I hope you'll go with me."

"Would you have gone without me?  If I didn't make it back?"

"Yes."

"Good."  She kissed his forehead.  "Then I will go with you."

"Just like that?"

"Were you expecting an argument, Major Andor?"

"Most people wouldn't instantly agree to live on economically ravaged cold planet they didn't have any connection to."

She raised her eyebrows.  "I think you count as a connection, Major Andor.  Besides, I was born on a cold planet, even if I don't remember it.  And," Jyn sighed gustily "—too many planets are economically ravaged.  And ecologically."

"I didn't even think of that last part," Cassian admitted.  Fest was a cold planet; that hadn't stopped the Empire from turning huge chunks of land into industrial sites, stripping the planet of as many resources as it could carry away, and leaving the industrial sites polluted.

"How bad is it?"

"I don't really know," Cassian admitted.  "I haven't looked."

"Then it's time to."  She grabbed the datapad on her nightstand, unlocked it, and started searching.

***

Later, when they were satisfied with the shell of their plan, they signed up for discharge counseling right from Jyn's datapad.  Unfortunately, the hierarchy was disinclined to let him go quickly.  It doesn't take long for him to become rapidly tired of the bland conference room, or the bland human man who was assigned as his discharge couselor.

"Major Andor, the Republic has a great need of counterintelligence operatives at this time.  We expect that the remains of the Empire, as well as other groups, will attempt to penetrate and influence our organization."

"The Republic needs to develop operatives and planners who are better suited to the restoration of civil order," Cassian countered.  I might stay on for a short time, in an advisory capacity.  But not for long."

"A year, perhaps."

"I think three months would be enough," Cassian countered.

"Six months, with the possibility an of extension."

"If you can't get by with six months I question your ability to do it at all. Or your sincerity in making that offer."  Cassian crossed his arms and leaned forwward, resting his arms on the table.  "You aren't giving me much of an incentive to stay."

"We'll see what you can do in six months."  The official made a note.  "I believe you'll want to stay and strengthen the Republic's security apparatus.  But perhaps you'll surprise me, one way or another."

Cassian took the datapad and read each clause carefully, and then he signed.

"You wouldn't be the first," he informed the official, and left the room and went to find Jyn.

***

She looked pensive.  Before he could ask what was wrong, she handed him her datapad.

It's not a separation document. It's not a contract. It's an acceptance of responsibility for a gamete sample.

"Did you ever ... talk about that?"

Jyn shook her head.  "It wasn't like that."  Her voice was heavy.  He knew this loss weighed on her, and always would, and wished she hadn't been compelled to remember it.

She had come to him a few weeks after the destruction of the first Death Star.  They had seized whatever moments they could find to spend curled around eachother.  They had wept, raged, confided, kissed gently, and held each other as tightly as they could.  But neither of them had made a move to remove any clothing, their own or the other's.

One day she sat next to him, and said  "I think Bodhi wants me."  Her voice was calm, as if she were reporting that weather conditions were mild.

"And?"  His own tone suggested that he wasn't in charge of launch control or scheduled for takeoff, and wondered why she was telling him.

She looked up at him.  The look in her eyes was not pleading, exactly, but vulnerable and asking for understanding.  "I don't know if I want him in the same way," she said slowly.  "But I think it could be something I need right now. And that maybe he does too."

He was silent.  She continued speaking, haltingly.

"I just need ... to burn something off.  And I don't want ... to make you be part of that.  But I don't want to alienate you because I feel ... adrift and looking for a harbor.  Tou've been my harbor since the council meeting.  And this is meaningful to me.  I hope you know that.

"We're comrades.  I hope we always will be.  But I want us all to be friends, too.  And if you can't work with that..." she shrugged. "Then things stay the way they are."

Finally there was a space for his voice in this flood of words.  "Jyn. I'm not arguing."

"But are you agreeing?"  She flushed and looked at the floor.  "I'm sorry.  I'm not trying to pressure you. I just ... this has been itching at me."

"I can tell," he said, dry as the sands of Jedha, and put his arm around her. "Give me some time to mull it over."  He knows that what she and Bodhi really share—not to discount their friendship—is grief for Galen Erso and Jedha and the rest of Rogue One.  But it doesn't seem necesary to point that out.

He'll never stop being glad that he said yes.  After Jyn's first overnight with Bodhi, he asked "Well?" and Jyn made a pretend-thoughtful face and said "He's teachable."  Then she burst into giggles and pounced on him, giving him a long glorious kiss.

Bodhi seemed to expect things to be awkward, and to think that Cassian would rather not see him.  But one day, when Cassian was having a post-briefing snack with Jyn after a meeting, Bodhi came in and veered toward them, and then away, having apparently seen Jyn first and then Cassian.  

"Hey, Ells!"  Cassian had called, using Bodhi's new name, and waved, beckoning.  It wasn't much of a secret among those who were there when Bodhi Rook arrived on Yavin that he and Ells Risken are the same man, but it was meant to provide some measure of security for Bodhi, who is still wanted by the Empire.  He had a new hairstyle, and the repairs to his injuries necessitated some small anatomical differences.  Bodhi had decided it was the best of a limited number of options.

After that, things aren't so awkward.  They go back to spending time together, and sometimes Bodhi joins them for what Cassian secretly thinks of as snuggling sessions.  Everyone's clothes stay on, just like when it's only him and Jyn.  "One of the mechanics asked which of you was my between-lover," Jyn grumbled one day.  "I told her—"

"I think the entire base has heard what you told her," Cassian informed her.

"I didn't," said Bodhi, and winced and laughed at the same time when Jyn repeated it.

Jyn and Bodhi's trysts gradually petered out.  They were all closer together as friends, or more than friends really when it comes to him and Jyn.  

Things ran along those routes for weeks, until one day Bodhi didn't return from the cargo convoy he was part of when they expected him.  Hours later, Shara Bey had knocked on the door of Cassian's quarters.  "I'm sorry," she said simply, and handed them a data stick.  She hesitated, then said "Risken—Rook was good.  He almost got out of range.  I'm sorry we couldn't save him."

The data stick contained a dump from the recorders of Bey's A-wing.  Bodhi had yelled for the rest of the convoy to hyper out, that they only wanted him.  The other cargo pilots had mostly done so; the escort had stayed until Bodhi repeated his demand and added "Tell them I'm sorry."  One of the escort had been destroyed; the others had attempted to defend Bodhi until the overwhelming attacking force had destroyed his ship.

One of Bodhi's squadron-mates had brought Bodhi's small array of possessions to Jyn, including his old Imperial uniform.  She had said thank you and then thrown herself down on her bunk to weep.  Cassian didn't find this out until hours later.  Alliance Intelligence had decided that counterintelligence would be his new assignment; there had been a great deal of uncertainty what do to with him since the Scarif raid.  It had succeeded, but at a great cost, and he had disobeyed orders and the will of the Council.  The first order of any substance he'd received since then was to determine how the Empire had located Bodhi.

Finding the answer had given him no pleasure, but he'd done it, and succeeded well enough in that assignment and others like it to be promoted.  Jyn had been commissioned and sent on infiltration missions that took advantage of her codebreaking and forgery skills.  And all of this had brought them here, frowning at a document that suggested something spurious and dredged up a grief that was usually quiescent, like the scar from an old injury.

***

"I went and bothered one of the med-droids," she said listlessly.  She was pale and her shoulders were slumped; he sat next to her on the bed and took her hand gently.  "It said that it was possible for the donor to opt not to reveal the recipient until the conclusion of hostilities, or their separation from the service.  Or it said that the notification could have slipped through the cracks.  It didn't have clearance to access the database, and it couldn't tell me anything more than that."

Cassian looked at her and raised his eyebrows.

She shook her head.  "I don't have clearance to access it either.  And this isn't my kind of slicing.  If I tried ... well.  Odds are good that I'd just destroy any evidence.  And I'm not going to figure it out in two weeks.  Even if I got access."

"Two weeks?!"

"Yes."  She frowned, with her whole face; her eyes narrowed and her lips pursed and her nose crinkled.  "How long are you in for?"

"Six months.  With an option for extension."

"Kriff.  You really have been conscripted all over again."  Her voice is lively and fierce now.  "I guess we won't be going to Fest anytime soon."

"Not together, anyway."

She sighed.  "I have to chase this down.  I owe him."

"We both do.  We all do," Cassian agreed.  "Where are you going to start?"

"Where the sample is, if it exists.  In an underground vault on Hoth.  Right climate, wrong planet.  There's a periodic run that drops off a maintenance droid to do checks and retrieve samples, or answer any emergency signals.  I'm going to get clearance to go along, and see what there is to see.  I'll call in a favor if I have to."

Cassian knows she means Mon Mothma, who regards Jyn as someone who sacrified for the Alliance even though it failed her over and over.  "Are you sure that's how you want to use it?"

Jyn shrugged.  "What else?  Unless you want me to get you released from that contract."

"No.  There was enough pressure on me to stay that the request probably came from her.  Or from someone that it would be hard for her to negotiate with.  Besides, I signed, and I'm going to keep my word."

"I know."  A small smile lit her eyes and tugged at the corners of her mouth.  She leaned closer and kissed him.  "I hope I'll see you before I leave.  The next routine run leaves in twelve hours, and I want to be on it.  I have to find the Senator, and getting a few minutes of her time could take a while."

"Ah."  He took her other hand and tugged her to her feet, and pulled her close.  "I'm being sent to Chandrila," he told her.  "Look for me there, if I'm not here when you get back."

"I will."  She hugged him back.  "Love you, Cass."

"Love you too, Jyn."

***

She found him on Chandrila two weeks later.

"The sample is in the most secure storage I could arrange," she said without prompting.  "I don't know if it's real; I want to minimize forensic disturbance."

He smiled tiredly at her.  "Hello, Jyn, it's good to see you too."

"You know and I know that 'What did you find out?' would have been the first thing you asked."  She sat down on the sofa in his small front room, and he joined her.  "It is good to see you."  She leaned against him, and he put an arm around her shoulder.  

"I monitored the droid on Hoth.  Everything seems secure back at the vault, and the droid handed the sample I had paperwork for to me as a routine matter, and it agreed to report for additional diagnostics without any objections."

"That's good."

"It's a start.  I think we're back to needing a slicer.  Well, I am."

"We are."  He squeezed her hand.  "I'd do it for you, but if there is a problem with the integrity of the database or the vault, we need to find it.  For the sake of everyone who used it."

"Yes," Jyn agreed, with a small sigh.  "So are we doing this officially or unofficially?"

"Officially but quietly, I think."  He handed over his datapad.  "Here.  Write a report for the Chancellor, but don't send it yet."

Jyn rolled her eyes.  "Yes, Major."  She typed a few paragraphs and handed the datapad back to him, and watched with interest as he added a few lines of his own.  

"Kyl has passed a security screening, and is working with us on a few projects," he told her.  "I'll set up a meeting with him tomorrow, and we can add this to his list of tasks."

"It's been two weeks, and you've already turned into a bureaucrat on me," Jyn grumbled.

"It's been two weeks, and you're well on your way to regressing into the loose-cannon space rat you were when you landed on Yavin!"  He knew he shouldn't have said that as soon as the words were out of his mouth.  But she struck a nerve, because she's not wrong.

She's staring at him, astonished.  "Well, I guess I'll be sleeping on this couch tonight.  Or possibly in a hotel room on the other side of the planet."  She pulled away from him.

"Wait," he asked, finding his voice when she was a step away from the door.  "Please."

She turned to look at him.

"I am a bureaucrat," he said with a sigh.  "I write memos, I read memos, I go to meetings where people speak to hear themselves talk, and it's eating me alive.  I'm not sure how I'm going to last the first six months, much less any extension.  I almost hope they find that my performance is unsatisfactory and let me go early.

"The Republic was always too big to govern or help all the planets in the territory it claimed.  That's where the Separatist movement came from, you know.  And it's going to happen all over again, and there's nothing anyone can do to stop it.  And I can't stand watching it happen over again."  He rose and paced in a circle a few times; this is how he spends at least a portion of his nominal off-shift time.  When he could make himself stop, he turned to face her.  "But I shouldn't have said that to you.  You're free, and that's not the same thing as undisciplined, and you were never a space rat.  And I'm sorry."

A corner of her mouth twitched.  "I still am a space rat."  Then the almost-smile fell away, and she looked at him somberly.  "Cass—you know you can't go on like this.  You need a medical leave, or something."

"The longer I spend on leave, the longer it will be until they let me go."

"I'll kidnap you if I have to," Jyn said flatly.

"Don't do that."  He barely managed to keep from saying that the last thing she needed was a real criminal record in the Republic's files.

"You're not doing anything to convince me that I shouldn't sleep somewhere else."

"If you stick around you can go with me to meet Conder Kyl," he offered.  "He won't talk about security matters without someone he hasn't already met present."

Jyn arched her eyebrows.  "Could be interesting to test."

"There's already a schedule for that.  I wrote it."  He shook his head grimly.  "Please, Jyn.  Stay.  Sleep on my couch.  You would be anyway.  I haven't bothered to get a bed yet."

She groaned.  "Cassian Andor."  And she swooped down on him, grabbed his arm, and marched him out the door.  "I'm getting a hotel room, and we're both staying in it.  For tonight at least."  

He leaned against her, and she relinquished the tight grip and put her arm around his waist.

***

In the morning, after Jyn had condescended to let him go out to buy clean underwear and clothes that more or less satisfied the official dress code, they met Conder Kyl at a café.  

"Is this official or personal?" Kyl asked, looking between them with some interest.

Cassian suppressed a sigh.  He knew he was a bit rumpled, even though Jyn had let him borrow her hairbrush.  Somehow the first comfortable sleep he's had since he got here has left him feeling more tired, and frayed around the edges.

"A bit of both, but not necessarily personal in the way you mean," said Jyn.

Cassian jumped into the conversation then, introduced Jyn, and let her explain the problem.

"I need you to look at this database for signs of tampering."  She set a plastic crate on the table; its walls are cloudy but Cassian can see racks of data sticks inside.  "The master copy is in here, and so are all the offsite backups."

"What priority is this, compared to the other things?" Conder wanted to know.

He and Jyn had hashed this out on the way here.    "Top.  It's very time-sensitive."  Hundreds of personnel are mustering out every day, and some percentage of them will be requesting their stored gametes.  He's told the process of distribution has already started.

"It would help if I had some idea what to look for."

"Isn't it better if you go in with no preconceptions?"

Kyl smiled politely.  "In theory, yes.  In practice, not always.  Especially if time is a factor."

Jyn sighed and glanced at Cassian.  He made an open-handed gesture, signaling that it was her decision.  She took a deep breath and said, "Roughly two weeks ago I was told that a sample had been designated for me.  I—the Republic needs to know if any entries concerning that sample are fraudulent or have been altered in any way.  That's the only real lead we have.  But we need to know about the integrity of the entire database."  She handed her datapad to Kyl.  "This is the information about my sample, and a report concerning my visit to the vault."

Kyl glanced at her datapad.  "Is this because the guy was an ex-Imperial?"

Jyn lifted her chin.  "I've known several ex-Imperials.  Bodhi Rook was a fine person and a loyal member of the Alliance.  If he wanted his children to exist in the galaxy, he deserves for that to happen.  I wouldn't necessarily volunteer myself, nor do I believe he would have volunteered me without at least leaving a note, or asking me in advance.  That's part of what's caused some personal and official concern.  We don't even know if the sample is genuine.  It hasn't been examined.  Whether it's genuine or falsified in some way, it needs to be disturbed as little as possible."

"I see."  Kyl made some notes on his own datapad.  "I'll be in touch as soon as possible."

"Thank you," said Jyn.  Cassian barely had time to nod agreement before Jyn was hauling him out the door after tossing some credits on the table to cover the tab.

"You'll never get that back, you know," said Cassian.

"That's not what I'm worried about losing."  She muscled him into her vehicle, waiting impatiently for him to secure the restraints, and took off.

"Are you kidnapping me?" Cassian asked.

"There's a walk-in clinic for former Alliance personnel.  I can take you to it.  Can't make you go, but I hope you will."

Silence fell until Jyn pulled up beside a plain unmarked building.  "Here we are."  She pointed.  "I'll walk inside with you if you want, or wait here, or take you back to that sad excuse for a living space if you want.  Or I will kidnap you, if that's what you want.  The Alliance had me kidnapped, after all.  Seems like a fair trade."

"We broke you out of prison," Cassian protested.  Jyn tilted her head.  "Is this a threat, Jyn?  Do this, or I lose you?"

Jyn shook her head.  "I'm worried that if you don't get some help you'll lose yourself, Cass.  You're tearing yourself to pieces.  And it's for politics, not for the cause.  It isn't worth it."

More silence.  Cassian undid the restraints, because they were uncomfortable, but didn't move.

"Tell me a way to serve the cause without the politics," he said finally, "and I'll do it."

Jyn made a face.  "I'm afraid at this stage it's all politics.  I'm not surprised you let yourself be talked into it.  I'm also not surprised that it's driving you insane, and that you're awful at it.  It's okay to have a breaking point.  You showed me that."  She leaned over and touched his cheek.  He leaned into the touch.

"Walk me inside," he said finally.  He sent a message to the office, letting them know he was going to the clinic, and climbed out of the car.  Jyn walked up the ramp with him, took a chair while he spoke to the intake droid, and waited for his name to be called.

***

It took weeks, but eventually Cassian began to feel more like himself again.  He slapped on the medpatch he was prescribed, and complied with his therapist's suggestions as much as he could.  Jyn accepted a short-term contract with the Alliance that she doesn't talk about much, but he suspected that it involves visiting Alliance data storage repositories, collecting copies, and bringing them back to Kyl to examine.

Cassian's workload was lessened.  He wrote policy papers and compiled old reports, but he doesn't end up in nearly as many meetings.  It's much more like what was in the contract he signed.

Finally, he heard through Jyn that Kyl has a report.  "I got permission to share it with you," she said, over dinner.  "And some other relevant information."

He set his chopsticks down and focused on her.  "Tell me."

"The data record corresponding to the sample that was ostensibly Bodhi's was inserted into the database at some point after his death."  She sighed wearily.  "It's been analyzed.  It's from a human male with some genetic markers consistent with Jedhan origin, but it isn't Bodhi's.  No other falsified records were found in the database, and data integrity concerning other samples was apparently unaffected."

Cassian nodded, and reached over to squeeze her hand.

She squeezed back, and continued, "The sample has gone back into secure storage, in case we can ever find its origin, but that will be like trying to find one specific seed in a pile of bantha shit.  Nothing can be proven, at least not yet, but Conder says the data alteration methodology is consistent with a couple of specific criminal syndicates.  And that your separation contract was altered after you signed it.  I was told to mention a couple of names to you: Tolwar Wartol, and Sinjir Rath Velus."

Cassian closed his eyes, then opened them again.  "Tolwar Wartol is a political rival of the Chancellor.  Sinjir is a member of a ... problem-solving team, you might say.  Not that kind of problem-solving," he added.  "But if Wartol was involved, and Sinjir's team is working on it, you can rest assured the problem will be handled in a way that makes the Chancellor happy.  Legally and maybe even justly."  He knew he sounded a little bitter.  "Eventually."

He watched Jyn unclench her jaw.

"I cannot wait," she said finally, "to permanently leave this planet."

"Me neither, love.  Me neither."

***

The day Cassian's contract ended, he handed over his security access tokens, signed what felt like 20 copies of slight variations on the same form, and handed the keys to his apartment over to the management agency.  He was assured in advance that his contract wouldn't be extended, and given a minor commendation, a certificate stating he was honorably separated from the ranks of the Alliance, and the agreed-upon discharge compensation.  Jyn was doing some last-minute shopping, and will meet him at the spaceport to board a liner that will take them toward Fest.

"Did you find what you were shopping for?" he asked, settling into a seat across the table from her.  She's in a little lounge near their gate.  All their luggage is aboard, except for a small crossbody-strap carryall she's wearing.

She poked his shoulder.  "More or less.  I was desperately looking for an excuse to avoid going to the political heart of the Republic ever again."  She set a small box on the table.  "I did get you something, though."

He opens it.  A lightly polished cream-colored stone of some sort is resting on a bed of dried Chandrilan balmgrass.  "What is it?" he asked, curious, picking up the silver chain the stone hung on.

She flushed a little; her hand went to the place where her kyber crystal necklace rested under her shirt.  "My mother was a geologist, you know.  She told me about this kind of stone once.  It's shocked quartz.  You find it at places where meteors have hit.  If you look at it under a microscope it's got this amazing rainbow iridescence.  Anyway—I have a necklace, you have a necklace, we can match now, or whatever."

He raised his eyebrows.  "Jyn, are you saying your mother would approve of me?"

She laughed a little.  "Yeah.  Yeah, I guess I am."

He smiled at her.  "I'm glad."  He slipped the necklace over his head, adjusted it so that the pendant was under his shirt, and leaned across the table to kiss her.

[ms3ox]

So...about that new archon quest...

Khaenri’ah Theory

Before Present Storyline

> Archon War

~circa 2000 yrs. BP (bp = before present)

> Celestial Thrones determined by the Archons created

~circa 2000-1500 yrs. BP, original Gods include: Zhongli (Morax), Decarabian (Old Anemo God), Baal, Hydro Archon, Cryo Archon (NOT Tsaritsa yet), Dendro Archon (old one, I think the new one came 500 yrs. BP)

WARNING! THIS WILL CONTAIN MAJOR SPOILERS FOR THE NEW (1.4) ARCHON QUEST AS WELL AS CHARACTER STORIES!

___________________________________________________________

We begin with:

The nation of Khaenri’ah, the only nation in Teyvat WITHOUT a presiding God/Archon

Khaenri’ah, because of its godlessness, became known as a nation of human excellence

It can be deduced—also in part to the fact that many citizens of Teyvat do not know what a missile is— that Khaenri’ah, ESPECIALLY existing 500 yrs ago, was a very technologically advanced nation

It would also seem that much technology has been lost to Khaenri’ah’s destruction

I.E. ALBEDO. ← he has smth to do with it, he does not breathe (as seen in dragonspine, he is the only model that does not produce visible air), he has a star on his neck, he is not a human

Albedo may be a homonculus, made of chalk, a product of this human excellence !

Going off of historical analysis, Khaenri’ah may very well be modeled after Ancient Rome and the return of antiquity during the Renaissance

In Florence—500 years ago in our world— the ending of the plague brought a new wave of the ideas of Humanism, the celebration of the accomplishments of man; focused on the idea of human greatness

As we also know, historically, the Ancient Romans were also very technologically advanced for their time, building waterways, roads, and buildings that have been able to stand the tests of time for hundreds and hundreds of years

With humanism, however, came the idea that people would put themselves BEFORE God, an idea that had been previously deemed sacrilege

Seeing as many nations in Teyvat are modeled after real nations (i.e. Mondstadt → Germany, Snezhnaya → Russia, Liyue → China, Inazuma → Japan, etc.), it would make sense if Khaenri’ah is modeled after Italy, specifically during the formative ages of the Renaissance

It would also make sense that these people, seeing as they could achieve so many great things, would not see the need for a god or even denounce the gods as a whole, therefore representing that humanist line-of-thinking

This, understandably, would have angered the gods in Celestia because they might have felt that their authority was being questioned, therefore they had to eliminate the “threat”

The Destruction:

500 years before the beginning of the storyline, the Gods of Celestia strike down Khaenri’ah turning it into The Abyss.

✒️ Important Characters: Kaeya, Childe, the Tsaritsa, Dainsleif, and Lumine (written from perspective of an Aether player)

Overview:

Khaenri’ah, as a nation built and governed by its people, had become a target for the gods

The government—from what we know— was guarded by the 7 Protectors, strong, chosen warriors who dedicated their lives to fight for Khaenri’ah

The gods (presumably) did not like the humans having autonomy like the people of Khaenri’ah did

In a coordinated attack, the divine thrones destroyed Khaenri’ah, turning it into the abyss and cursing its people, either killing them or turning them into abyss monsters

There are a few Khaenri’ahn individuals who are separately affected by the curse however, including BUT NOT LIMITED TO: the Protectors and royalty

These individuals are most commonly cursed with immortality, but that may not be the only reprecussion

Characters:

Now, lets go over the most important characters who may have been directly or otherwise involved in the destruction.

Kaeya

-Kaeya’s personal story talks about how his father told him about the land of Khaenri’ah, where they were both from

-In his profile it states that he is also 22 years old.

-There are multiple ways to explain this but I am going to use the theory that he and his family were Khaenri’ahn royals (or a part of the Eclipse Dynasty family) who were cryogenically frozen for safekeeping during the destruction

-500~ years later, they woke up, and upon seeing the destruction cause around them, the family—including Kaeya— saw fit to leave

-Under normal circumstances, this theory would have no backing, but Kaeya says a line quite frequently in battle that may elude to the validity of this theory:

“This moment will be frozen in time!”

-Another user also pointed out that Kaeya’s elemental burst looks very similar to the cryo abyss mage’s shield reformation sequence wherein a bunch of diamond-shaped ice chunks rotate around it periodically until the shield is regenerated

-This further supports that Kaeya is involved with the Abyss, and by proxy, Khaenri’ah

-It has become common speculation that Kaeya is a spy, which makes sense seeing as everything about his demeanor screams “shady”

-From this standpoint, Logically, we can speculate that Kaeya may be a spy of some sort looking to restore the Khaenri’ahn monarchy

Lumine

-She and Aether canonically travel to Teyvat ~500 years ago where they witness firsthand the destruction of Khaenri’ah

-It is likely that the god who stopped them—the Sustainer of Heavenly Principles, I believe her title was— was a god who was involved in the destruction, and did not want humans meddling in Celestian territory at that time

-While the god’s motive for fighting the twins is still largely up to debate, the cubic cage that Aether gets sucked into may have put him to sleep, only for him to wake up 500 years later, thus leaving Lumine to face the destruction alone

-In the various game trailers, we see Lumine running through decrepit areas which sometimes look like Celestia, and another territory that is unfamilair

-If my thoughts are correct, this never-before-seen land may very well be a snapshot from Khaenri’ah itself during the destruction (edit: I’m pretty sure its Old Mondstadt)

-In these small scenes we see a block-like magic slowly chaining the world in very large pillars, which look much the same to the blocky magic the Sustainer used in the introductory scene

-Reasonably, after witnessing such destruction and conjuring a hatred of the gods, Lumine started the Abyss Order and became its princess, an order whose motives are still largely unknown at this point but seemingly want to interfere in the path of the traveler

-Though we still do not know the extent of the Abyssal hierarchy, because of the points of contingency in the goals of the Tsarista and Lumine, it may be logical that they are working together or are somehow related

-Lumine may have also been directly involved in dealing with the downfall of the Eclipse Dynasty and the destruction of Khaenri'ah because she seems to also have been cursed with immortality

-Due to the polarizing goals between Aether and Lumine up until this point, there may come a time during the game where Aether must choose between his sister and Teyvat

-A choice of this magnitude has already partially been revealed in leaks—if these leaks are to be correct, a lot hinges on them— and it would not be out of MiHoyo's wheelhouse to force us into such heavy situations (Honkai players I am looking at you)

-More about this decision theory will be explained under the Tsarista theory

Dainsleif

-Dainsleif, as revealed by Lumine, was a Royal Guard of the Eclipse Dynasty and was cursed with immortality upon the fall of Khaenri'ah

-Lumine also says that during the Destruction, Dainsleif failed whatever duty he had

-Logically, this would mean that Dainsleif failed to protect Khaenri'ah

-For reasons still unknown, Dainsleif hates the Abyss Order/The Abyss in general, and does not side with Lumine

-Though it is speculated that they were once traveling partners, and whatever happened to Lumine led Dainsleif to leave her side

Childe (godammit)

-Jesus Christ, where do I start with this magnet of chaos

-Childe—or Ajax at the time— left his home in Snezhnaya when he was 13-14

-On his journey, he fell into a crack in the ground, and fell into the Abyss

-He states in one of his quotes:

"I once ventured deep into the abyss and came face to face with an enormous beast. I don't know its name, all I know is the sight of it chilled me to the bone. But mark my words, one day I will march back in there and behead that beast, and you, comrade, will be my witness!"

-I believe at some point we will actually be fighting this beast, whether it be one of the final bosses of the Snezhnaya Chapter or one from the Khaenri'ah Chapter, I believe this beast will have something to do with either getting us to Khaenri'ah or it's somehow related to the Tsaritsa

-As he ventured further into the Abyss, he came across a brilliant swordswoman who taught him everything about fighting for 3 months

-However, when he came back from the Abyss, it had only been 3 days (MORE ABOUT THIS WILL BE EXPLAINED IN THE ABYSSAL THEORY SECTION)

-As we can see in his boss fight and in the fights with the Abyss Herald, a lot of Childe's fighting techniques seem alarmingly similar to the ones used by the Abyss Herald

-This leads me to believe that the swordswoman he trained with as a child was either an Abyss Herald herself or a Royal Guard from Khaenri'ah

-From what we also know, Childe is the only Harbinger who is able to wield BOTH a Vision and a Delusion simultaneously

The Tsaritsa

-Though the Tsaritsa was in power in Snezhnaya when the Destruction happened, it is very likely that she is related to Khaenri'ah based on the fact that she "was traumatized by it [The Destruction of Khaenri'ah]"

-Since she, herself, is seemingly still a human, it is reasonable to infer that the Tsaritsa was either: Eclipse Dynasty royalty or one of the Khaenri'ahn Royal Guards

-There is one line Dainsleif says where he tells the audience that she has no love for her people, neither to they harbor any for her

-Which makes sense since she is not originally from Snezhnaya

-While he is an incredibly biased source, Childe says something interesting about her:

"Her Royal Highness the Tsaritsa is actually a gentle soul. Too gentle, in fact, and that's why she had to harden herself. Likewise, she declared war against the whole world only because she dreams of peace. And because she made an enemy of the world, I had the chance to become acquainted with you."

-What is interesting here is that Childe uses the phrase "Her Royal Highness" to describe the Tsaritsa

-In common royal etiquette, based on our world, you address a queen or the highest monarchical power as "His/Her Majesty" whereas other members like princes and princesses are addressed as "His/Her Royal Highness"

-This would imply that the Tsaritsa is not the one in ultimate control, and that there may be someone above her

-Of course this is very reachy-y but Childe's wording here is interesting

-Additionally, the Tsaritsa, as described by this quote, has waged war against the world because she dreams of peace

-We can see her ambitions in action by her confiscating the gnoses of the current Archons of Teyvat

-The Tsaritsa is most likely siding with Lumine under the same goal; they wish to dismantle the divine thrones in Celestia

-Ultimately, this leads me to believe that a heavy decision will happen toward the end of the Sneznhaya Chapter, likely in the final boss fight (possibly against the Tsaritsa herself)

-And if Aether does have to fight her, that would mean that he is also fighting against his sister since they seemingly share the same goal

-The Tsaritsa wielding the power of the Abyss to create Delusions somehow fits in here somewhere I just don't know how

-But the Tsaritsa is another example of a person(?) who can wield both an elemental power (cryo) and the power of Delusions

Abyssal Theory

In this section, I will be discussing my theories about the Abyss, about how time works there and its relation to Teyvat.

Concerning Time:

So as we know, Childe fell into the Abyss and stayed there for three months, however, in the over world only three days had passed

This means that every 12 days in the over world = 1 year in the Abyss

That means that every year in Teyvat = appx. 30 years in the Abyss

Time moves much faster in the Abyss, which can explain why Lumine is so old, yet may not have been cursed with immortality

Rather, she’s just been spending a lot of time in the Abyss

Concerning Teyvat:

This is where it gets interesting

There is a theory circulating that the Teyvat we are exploring right now is an alternate dimension, or a “flipped” Teyvat

Where it gets interesting is—CONCERNING CHILDE AGAIN— he falls into the Abyss through a crack in the ground

...

He falls.

How is that possible? Isn’t it reasonable to assume that Childe, only having left home for a few hours, was still in Snezhnaya?

Isn’t the only known location of the Abyss in the fallen Kingdom of Khaenri’ah?

How could the Abyss be under Snezhnaya if the Abyss is in Khaenri’ah?

This leads me to believe that underneath our Teyvat is the ruins of Old Teyvat

The Old Teyvat that was ruined by the Destruction of Khaenri’ah

This would also make sense in the context of the directions not being accurate in-game

For example, the wolf of the north, located on the map, is most definitely NOT towards the north, and rather, located in the WEST

The gods, after destroying Khaenri’ah, expanded their destruction to the rest of the continent, and to start over, they created an alternate dimension underneath/on top of Old Teyvat and New Teyvat

New Teyvat being the world we are currently exploring

So, in conclusion, underneath OUR world is an alternate Teyvat that was destroyed by the gods, and the world that we originally came to in the opening scene

This may explain a lot of the places Lumine runs through in those cutscenes, she is running through Old Teyvat

Maybe the people of Teyvat had their memories wiped? This would make sense in the context of the 1.1 event with Scaramouche where he says that “the stars are a lie”, and people may be seeing the “real” Teyvat, or having their memories re-awakened

Concerning the Final Archon Quests:

I believe that the beginning of the Khaenri’ah Chapter will be the end of the Snezhnaya Chapter

By which I mean that whatever final boss we fight in the Snezhnaya Chapter is will ultimately be the one to take us to Khaenri’ah or the Abyss

How this happens, I’m not sure, maybe there is a device in the beast Childe saw that could take us to Khaenri’ah, like the eye of the First Field Tiller, but I believe that the S Chapter and the K Chapter are intertwined

This also makes sense since the Tsaritsa and Khaenri’ah have such strong ties

Maybe we, too, fall into a crack in the ground...?

__________________________________________________________________________________

New Timeline

> Archon War

~2000 yrs. BP; War over the Divine Thrones

> Divine Thrones Established

~2000-1500 yrs. BP; The gods establish Archonhood

> The Destruction of Khaenri’ah/Old Teyvat

~500 yrs. BP; The gods did not like the people of Khaenri'ah and destroyed the land

> The Creation of New Teyvat/Alternate Teyvat

~500 yrs. BP; The gods involved in the Destruction create a new Teyvat since the Old Teyvat has been completely destroyed

> Lumine Creates the Abyss Order

~500 yrs. BP; Abyss Order created to fight against the unfair treatment of the Archons; “Do not trust the gods”

> Fight Against the Archons

~500 yrs. BP → Present; The Tsaritsa and Lumine work together to dismantle the Divine Thrones of Celestia

> Aether Wakes Up

~3 mo. BP; Aether wakes up from his—presumably— 500 year slumber, this is the catalyst to the Archon Quests

Thank you for reading! If you’d like to expand on these theories or point out inconsistencies with the actual lore, please let me know!

-devilscasserole

[bluepenguinstories]

Happiness Overload Chapter Eighteen

My hands were shaking, both of them still gripped to the gun.

Marco looked down at the fallen figure that belonged to someone once known as ″Conrad″.

″Oh. Good job,″ he commented, then shrugged. His dull expression was not one I was used to seeing.

″N-Now what?″ I asked, finding it hard to speak, let alone breathe.

″Now we go our separate ways,″ he explained. ″With Conrad out of the way, that's one less roadblock. You did your part and alas, are no longer needed.″

He went back to walking away, but I wasn't having any of that. My blood was boiling. Really? That's it. I just killed someone and all you have to say is 'you are no longer needed'?

I shot at him. Multiple times. Not one of them seemed to leave a mark or even register.

″How could you just walk away? After you propped me up, made me feel like I was worth something? I thought I mattered! I thought for once in my life, I was important!″

I shot once more, he looked back just once, and smiled a half-smile.

″Oh, Kelly Roger. Don't you know? You were never important.″

Then he walked away, disappearing from view.

I tried shooting more, with all I had, but it all came up blank.

Why? Why was I firing a gun? Why did I have it in the first place? It makes no sense. None of this makes any sense. I thought I would be loaded with answers to these questions, but all I was drawing were blanks.

I tossed the gun aside, but to no avail. It was still there. Not in my hands, but looking down, I knew it was still there.

Why? Why did I shoot Conrad? What purpose did that serve? This was all set up, but I wasn't the type to shoot someone, so why? Yes, I was upset, but that was no reason to do something like that...was it?

Tears filled my cheeks. I dropped to the floor. That was so unlike me.

I shot someone.

This is so unlike me.

Yes, I shot someone. Blood filled my cheeks. Blood on my clothes, blood soaked on the floor. Blood or tears. One of the two. It was so hard to tell. That was okay. There was something beautiful about it all. Yes, I shot someone.

This is so unlike me.

Yes, I was never important but for the first time...I felt okay with that. I served a purpose. Or I served no purpose at all. I existed or I didn't. Something VERY unlike me gave way and I welcomed it. I...smiled.

″I'm so happy...″ I muttered.

My thoughts and my words were mingling into one. Everything mattered. Nothing mattered. Everything was such bliss. I felt his face...I felt like finger paints. I painted my face. I pulled at my hair, no longer needing such a solid red. I was laughing, grinning, all the while, I knew what I was at last: happy.

I'm so happy. I'm so happy. I'm so happy.

I'M SO HAPPY. I'M SO HAPPY.

I'M. SO. HAPPY.

″Clap along if you feel like a room without a roof,″ I heard along the corridors of these darkened halls.

How's there music playing if all the electricity's gone out? I wondered, until I took a few more steps and found the answer: the MP3 player of a fallen soldier blaring out through headphones. Seems whoever or whatever had been behind this massacre didn't even have the decency to turn the music off.

This may not really be the right time, but...

I went ahead and picked up the MP3 player, prying it off the hands of the fallen soldier. Seems it had a decent battery, and if lady luck was on my side, I saw no problem with listening to music while traversing this military industrial wasteland.

There was a hint of blood on the headphones, but after wiping it off with my shirt, I figured it was safe to use. Hey, I never said I was the most sanitary person!

″Let's see...ABBA...Earth, Wind and Fire...Arctic Monkeys...where's all the bangers?″ I pondered aloud as I scrolled through the player. Finally, I found something more fitting for the environment.

″Ah! Here we go! The Chrono Trigger soundtrack!″

In spite of the darkness, I was in total bliss, dancing and rocking out to the tunes. All was well until a booming sound could be heard, overtaking the noise from the headphones. I unlatched one headphone and looked up.

″Hey! What gives?″

The roaring sound grew louder and putting two and two together, I realized that it must have been the stomps of something huge.

Well, this is it. It's probably something fearsome, like a giant robot. Like a mecha of alien technology. Finally, this area will start to get cool. Maybe it's a metal gear.

Whatever was just around the corner, I wasn't planning on being in its way. Cool or not, death was death and I wasn't ready to die until I was sure Velvet was still alive. I looked around and found a door just a few feet away.

I ran in, surprised to find it unlocked, and slammed the door shut. The booming stomps grew louder and I could tell whatever that thing was was just outside the door.

″Chili churros!″ Is what I thought I heard, roared out in a low, thunderous bellow.

″Did I hear that right...?″ I whispered, and through the blinds I could see the shape of something massive, reminiscent of a Quagsire, which happened to be the evolved form of my favorite Pokemon. I shuddered. I couldn't look away, in spite of the fearsome sight my eyes beheld. This thing was rummaging through the corpses, chewing on limbs. My stomach turned, and so did the rest of me when I heard the cock of a gun behind me.

″What are you doing here?″ The voice snarled, hands firm on the trigger.

″Hey, do what ya gotta do!″ I reassured whoever was pointing the gun at me, even though I was sure said person didn't need reassurance.

I wasn't looking to get shot, but lemme weigh my options here: frog monster versus gun.

″Just great,″ the one who held the trigger spoke up. ″Now that the gate's destroyed, there's gonna be more tourists like you just barging in here.″

I sighed. ″This just ain't my day. There's some freaky thing right outside and I run in here to take cover only to have a gun pointed at me.″

″Tell me about it,″ the gun-owner replied. I noticed their hand was shaking.

″Say, why haven't you shot me yet?″ I pointed my right thumb out. ″Doesn't it say 'trespassers will be shot' or something?″

″I...″ Stalled my preferred cause of death. ″...I'm not good with guns.″

I burst out laughing, but I covered my mouth, as I knew what was just outside.

″Do you want to be shot so badly?″

Before I could answer, the walls beside me crumbled and crashing through was the large amphibious abomination.

I bolted across the room. The soldier [citation needed?] opened a hatch and motioned me to get in. I dived in, and soon the one who ought have shot me did as well. My companion [again, citation needed] sealed the hatch and started piling things (my guess would have been boxes and crates).

Encased in further darkness, I let out a sigh of relief, just before jumping where I stood from hearing the creature stomp and pound at the hatch from just above me.

″Shit!″ I seethed.

The one beside me struck a match, and although I still couldn't see worth a damn, I could tell that the free hand was motioning for me to follow.

″So...think we're safe?″ I asked, trying to break the ice.

″Fuck no!″ Yelled the response. Even if the ice was broken, there was a large enough chunk of it to sink a metaphorical Titanic.

″By the way, I'm not a tourist, I'm just...″

″Passing through?″

″...Looking for a friend,″ I finished.

″God, do you know how stupid that sounds? You're just looking for a friend in one of the most top secret areas in the world?″

″Wait. One of? There are areas more top secret than this?″

″Oh, buddy.″

″For real, though. I've got a friend who ran off saying she was planning on visiting Area 51.″

″She's probably dead, then.″

I gulped. ″You don't know that!″

″Top secret area? Yeah, I do.″

″I managed to sneak in pretty well.″

″In that case, one of those creatures killed her.″

I groaned. Ever the optimist, I see...

″You know, it would make me real happy if I knew your name. It beats thinking of you as 'that soldier who didn't shoot me', y'know?″

″Andrew Dobrev.″ He stopped for a second. ″...I wasn't supposed to tell you that. Call me Private Goodwill.″

″Eh, think nothing of it. People do all sorts of things in the heat of the moment. Goodwill's a good a name as any.″

He grunted and pressed on. I had no idea where we were going, but it felt nice to have a companion.

″Here, just past this door,″ he motioned. He opened the door, which happened to be an ordinary, wooden door. This whole tunnel was rather ordinary considering all that lied above.

Inside was a small room, filled with posters and a map of the facility. Save for a toaster and a coffee maker, nothing electronic could be found.

″This is where I hide when I want to get away from my boss!″ He declared, rather proud of himself and the little hideout. He took the match he was holding and lit an oil lamp in the corner of the room. The room reminded me of Conrad's crib that I never got to visit in this form and could only picture in my head.

″Was your boss a jerk or something?″ I quizzed.

He shrugged. ″Eh, not any more or less than any other sergeant. Just real annoying. Would talk on and on. Not to mention he sure loved to bring up his mustache no matter what the topic was about. Shame, really. Wasn't always such a weirdo.″

″What happened?″

″Don't really know, but I suspect it had something to do with those annual check-ups that are sponsored by the ETNA Corporation. I hear common side effects include memory alteration and mild delirium. I'd always lie and say I already had my check up. Didn't want to start telling people what an amazing forehead I had or some shit like that.″

″I feel ya,″ I nodded. ″I don't think a single part of me's amazing.″

He laughed a bit. ″Same here! All's I do is look at a bunch of monitors all day and point out if something looks out of the ordinary. Most of the time, it doesn't even matter! Guards around the whole perimeter, turrets, alarms, lasers, tanks, mechs, missiles, drone strikes. The whole gamut. Furthermore, you know who else watches monitors all day? Mavis Beacon. Not only that, but Mavis is good with computers. Me? I don't know shit. No matter how you look at it, I'm fairly worthless.″

″Hey, that's not true!″ I tried to comfort. ″I'm sure you're good for something!″

I sat down in a chair next to him. I swiveled around a bit, but he wasn't looking the least bit amused.

″Man, it is SO true. I'm such a coward, too. I mean, as soon as the power went out, my first thought was 'I better find the closest place to hide'. I guess that's what I'm good at,″ he snickered. ″Hiding.″

″Hey!″ I snapped my fingers. ″You're still alive, plus you saved my life when you could have killed me. Maybe being a coward isn't so bad!″

His eyes lit up. ″You may have a point there...″

I never knew I could be so good at the whole pep talk thing, but it made me feel all warm and fuzzy.

″So what's your story?″ Goodwill asked, to which I couldn't help but notice how he was actually engaging in conversation with me. He gave me the impression that he wasn't much for conversation, so I felt honored that he would take any interest in me at all. Then again, it could be that we were two survivors stuck in a room together. In any case...

″What do you mean?″ I asked in reply.

″About your friend and such.″

″Oh!″ I sat up. ″We were going along the Nevada highway when our ride broke down. She was all 'hey! Isn't Area 51 nearby? We should check that out!' and I was like 'Uhh...that sounds like a bad idea', but she didn't listen. While we made our trek, I met the love of my life and I settled down. However, my friend was still determined to go visit this place and I was too absorbed in the love I was receiving and how happy I felt for it to set in that she could seriously get herself killed, and I didn't want her to die. So I parted ways with my lover and set off to find my friend.″

″...How long was all this?″

I placed my finger on my chin.

″Hm...just today, I think?″

″Just today?″ He repeated.

″Yeah!″

He shook his head. ″So you gave up your happiness for the sake of a friend's happiness?″

My mind went back to what Euphoria asked.

WOULD YOU OPPOSE HER HAPPINESS IF IT MEANS SHE LIVES?

Maybe it would make Velvet happy if she died, but it wouldn't make me happy. So, if that was the case, I was still being selfish.

″Yeah...″ I smiled, though worried he would see through me.

″That's rather brave of you.″

I scoffed and smiled. ″That's not necessarily a good thing.″

″I mean, you probably knew you'd die before you even got to her, and there was a good chance she'd be dead before you even got to the gates. Well, you're alive and you made it here, so that's worth something. Though she could still be dead, and if that's the case, it could have been all for nothing.″

We sat there in silence for a long second.

″...Sorry to be such a downer.″

″It's all good! But even if she's dead, I want to know for sure. I don't want to do nothing, y'know? I found you, after all.″

″Too true. I don't know who survived and who didn't. It just hit us out of nowhere.″

″Well, how did it start?″

″I was watching someone try to climb the fence and got shot. Sgt. Michaels was droning on about his 'Jo-Ann' stories, and just after, the power goes out. He blames it on 'Jo-Ann' and goes to investigate.″

″So it wasn't Jo-Ann after all, but these frog things?″ I didn't even know who Jo-Ann was but I figured she must have existed in some capacity.

He shook his head.

″No, the power went back on. Just turns out a fuse was blown. Someone must've been using a lot of energy in one of the sections. The outage only lasted a second.″

I tilted my head. ″So...?″

″Well, I went back to looking at the outside monitors, and get this, there were three oddly shaped people. One of them, I was positive it was the one we ran into, ran right into the gate. Or fence. Whatever you wanna call it. Should've electrocuted the dude, but nope. Kept running through. I saw guards shooting, but no avail; fucking thing ate the guards, and the guns! Like, what the fuck, dude? I can get people, but weapons?″

″You can get eating people?″

″No, but, like, people are organic...give or take some mutagens, nanotechnology, yadda yadda. But a gun? That's not people. That's like eating an ax! Axes aren't people!″

I pondered the logic. It seemed to check out.

″So, then what?″

″Well next comes the tanks. Whoosh! Frog dude runs into the tanks and just beats on them as if they were nothing. Missiles get launched, smoke clears, the three are standing at one of the doors. One of them's wearing a trench coat and has some kind of pad. Turrets spring up, but they fire at the soldiers instead of the three. It's as if the one in the trench coat hacked into the turrets or something! Anyway, the trench coat one points to each of them and the three split up.″

″So there's more than one of those things?!″ My eyes lit up, disbelief overtaking me.

″Indeed. I have no idea what the other two are capable of, but I believe the one in the trench coat has intelligent thought, enough so to shut off the power to our facility.″

″That's what happened next?″

He nodded. ″I ran off as soon as it got dark. I didn't look back. Through the halls I heard screams, but I went off searching for a place to hide. I remembered my hiding place, but stayed on the surface just in case any of my colleagues came running in.″

″And the gun?″

″...Just in case one of those mutant things came running in. Or an intruder. Both in the case of those mutant things.″

I laughed a little, in spite of the seriousness of the tale. ″You had to know bullets wouldn't work on one of those things, though? You saw them survive through missiles on your monitor, after all.″

″What's your point? Why are you questioning my logic? It was a dire situation. People do stupid things in dire situations.″

″Yeah, maybe. I just figured if I didn't question it, who would? We're the only people down here.″

″Don't remind me...″ He groaned.

We sat in silence. The thought of the other two creatures similar to that thing I saw up there was enough to send shivers down my spine. It was clear that those three arrived here with something in mind and so far their plan was working. No need to be sneaky, just trash the place...that was probably their mindset. But what was the end goal?

Never worry about it. It's too much. Far, far too much, a voice told me. My own. I had no Ecstasy. My thoughts were my thoughts.

″Say, wanna play checkers or something? I would suggest chess, but I was never good at that game. Queen, pawn, what's the difference? Now checkers, that's the real shit.″

Oh. That was the situation. Private Goodwill was talking to me.

″I'm sorry. I just realized I should probably head back up.″

″You serious?″

″I ought to try to find my friend. Can't search while I'm cooped up down here.″

″Girl, you're nuts!″

″Well, I'm not a girl...″

″Oh, sorry. You're one crazy guy, in any case,″ he backpedaled.

″I'm not a guy...ugh, it doesn't matter.″

″Hey, it's okay! It's the current year! I remember just the other week I was in the break room standing in front of the fridge and Mavis just shoves past me all 'move, I'm gay!' and I was just like 'yep,' and let her through. 'Don't Ask, Don't Tell'? That was years ago, y'know?″

″Whoa! I just meant that who I am doesn't matter!″ I waved my hands about, also doing damage control. ″I'm a tourist, after all.″

I got up. My hands were shaking, which to him could be misconstrued as anger, when in truth, it was fear.

″You taking off?″ He asked.

I nodded. I couldn't bear to turn my head.

″I think I can help you find your friend, but it'll also lead to this place blowing to bits.″

″What do you mean?″

″It's simple, really: right now we're fine for the time being because the government could just chalk this up to a power outage, although they'll investigate sooner or later. Like, we shouldn't have an outage for very long, maybe a few minutes tops. An hour, two hours...that'll lead to some kind of investigation. But if all satellites and such have gone offline, then it might take them longer. I'd say a day, tops. That said, if the power were to come back on...″

He coughed.

″The government, or whoever is watching, would see all these dead bodies and take immediate action. I'm talking drones, missiles, nukes, bombs, the like.″

I gulped.

″At the same time, if the power comes back on, the central computer could show you where your friend was, if said friend was still moving about.″

I turned my head toward him, though shaking, managed to smile.

″Well, what are you waiting for? Gonna tell me how to turn the power back on or what?″

″You serious?″

I started walking out the room. Even without a light source, I figured it was a linear enough path. Just like Final Fantasy XIII.

″Fuck it!″ He called, and I heard his footsteps darting toward me. ″I'll go with you! You don't even know where it's at!″

I shrugged. ″Here I figured I'd just stumble upon it and it would magically turn on by itself. I may fail my perception checks, but always seem to roll high when it comes to luck.″

″I don't get it, but okay. Say, what's your name?″

″Just call me Cadet Value Village,″ I teased.

No reply. I thought I was being clever.

″Ugh, fine. Name's Blanc.″

That was my name, wasn't it?

Did they give it to me, though, or was it given at all?

Sharp pains could be felt where my arm was supposed to be. Something happened to it, but that still wasn't clear. Nothing was. Whenever I felt onto something, I got lightheaded.

I must have been some zombie, yet again, I wandered those apartment halls, and in that instance, entered the chambers of Juniper's workshop.

She was banging on something, to the right of her was a soldering iron, the left, a whole toolbox. Bolts scattered about, scrap metal hanging around. Not my environment.

I went to tap her on her shoulder. She turned around, arm raised in the air, ready to strike me with a wrench. When I entered, I must not have made a sound. Still in my trance, I tried to catch the wrench before it hit my head, not realizing I was using the arm I didn't have.

It went through the air, yet I still felt the pain. Somehow, things became clear.

″It's me!″ I shouted.

″Oh snap! Shit, dude! Sorry!″ Juniper snapped to her senses as well. ″What's up?″

″I don't know. I feel strange,″ I gestured to my body and placed emphasis on my missing arm. ″I don't feel well.″

She grinned. ″I'm sure it'll be all better once I finish making your new arm!″

I leaned my head over and saw what she was building: some metal frame in the shape of an arm.

″You really don't have to do that...″ I muttered.

She placed her hand on my shoulder. ″I know, but I've never made prosthetic limbs before and I love a challenge! Trent's all like 'we should just ask a professional to issue one. I'm sure I can find someone' but what does he know?″

″I don't know. But I think he has a point...″

″Bah! What do you know? You'd like having two arms, right?″

″Yeah...but really, you don't have to...you don't even know me.″

″Do you know you?″

That question took me aback, but I shook my head.

″People don't just wind up in a park with their arm missing! For all you know, I could've been a neo-nazi! Would you have helped me then?″

″Do you remember being a neo-nazi?″

″No...but I don't remember much of anything.″

″Don't sweat it, kiddo! Trent, Vesuvius, and I are just like that! We saw someone hurt, we wanted to help them.″

″It just feels weird...″ I trembled as I spoke. ″There must have been some reason I ended up the way I did.″

″Blanc, this isn't like you. You're so serious right now. You're usually so carefree.″

″Why can't I be both?″ I flared up. I shouldn't lash out at the one who's giving me a new arm. I couldn't help it, though. ″How do you know what is and isn't like me?″ My hands were shaking now. I looked down. There was only one hand shaking. ″I want to know what's like me! I want to know who I am, who I was! I hate not knowing!″

Ignorance isn't always bliss. It was only a matter of time before the facade dissolved.

Through tears and gritted teeth, I had to accept my position. I apologized for my outburst and returned to the room.

We made our exit, back to back. Although aware of the fates of the soldiers at our feet, we still believed it we had a better chance at survival if we looked to both sides of us.

″Hey, how much further?″ I whispered.

He shushed me and I grimaced. How rude. Why was he allowed to talk my ear off down there but once we got to sneaking around I had to be quiet?

″First of all, how dare you?″ I murmured, and just as I did so, from just down the hall, an explosion occurred. The walls crumbled and out from the newly formed hole was our good friend, Big Frog Man (I didn't know what else to call that thing). The two of us ran for it.

″See what you did?!″ Goodwill chewed me out. ″If you had just kept your mouth shut...″

″Dude, wasn't me! I swear that thing can smell us!″

Private Goodwill took out his gun and for a second, I thought he was going to play soldier. That was, in spite of the fact that I was pretty sure Big Frog Man was immune to bullets, or just ate them. No, instead, he threw his gun at the creature.

″What the fuck? We could have used that!″ It was my turn to give the lecture.

″We've already established I'm no good with guns! Keep running, we're almost there!″

That thing was hot on our tail; the stomping drowning out our own banter and quaking through the halls. Crashing into walls could be heard, reckless abandon and caution to the wind. Metal and concrete meant nothing and these halls were crumbling before us.

″CRONCH!″ Roared Big Frog Man and charged right into us. I felt the mass of the slimy and smooth belly press against me as I fell to the floor. My falling, in turn, caused Private Goodwill to fall.

Looking up at the beast, I realized it now: I wasn't looking at a Big Frog Man, no. Neither man nor frog, but rather a giant toad, mutated to the point of having a marginal humanoid appearance.

The toad raised its webbed bulging fists, and I knew I was about to be smashed. I had no reaction, no response. For so much more I wanted to do, I didn't even try to resist.

Could this be what it means to be happy? To be at peace in spite of being short of realizing a goal?

The fists slammed down, but instead of being crushed, Private Goodwill pulled me away.

″You're not allowed to die until I tell you how to turn the power back on!″ He barked, raising his fist and dragging me to my feet. ″Now let's get a move on!″

I nodded, and we made our best attempt to escape. Of course, Toadie (my new nickname for the thing) over here was enraged, just as one would imagine a toad to be.

″What was the deal back there?!″ Goodwill, too, was enraged. ″It's like you were in some kind of a trance!″

I opened my mouth, but before I could say what I wanted to say, I felt something huge and wet wrap itself around my waist and lift me into the air.

That's right; I forgot toads have tongues. I was going to be eaten, wasn't I?

What I wanted to tell Goodwill was, ″look at that frog!″ But I knew it would have been wrong, for it was a toad, and not a frog.

As the frog gazed at us, we gazed back. Surrounding us was an abyss, although probably real bummed out that no one was paying attention to it.

The frog's head tilted. I still felt sick.

″Come on! Let's get going!″ Mavis yelled.

I nodded, and started to walk away. Mavis ran up to me and held her hand to my back, which prompted me to run with her. The frog humanoid continued to watch and I thought we would get away scot-free.

In response to my thoughts, came a thud as Mavis fell to the floor. I looked down to see something wrapped around her ankle and Mavis screaming.

″IT BURNS!″

I traced my eyes down her, then traced what was attached to her ankle all the way back to the frog humanoid that sat before us; its tongue was wrapped around Mavis and from the looks of it, was squeezing tighter.

I had no weapons on hand. I didn't know what to do. I was still weak and my mind was scrambling.

I should have checked to see if that pistol was loaded. Oh, what good would it have done? What would I do? Shoot through this tongue? Then what? Blood gushing from her ankle, blood everywhere. Then I'd just throw up right on her. Would I really want to do that? Hell no. But I just don't know what to do. Furthermore, and I really considering trying to help out someone I considered an enemy? Well, she did save my life, too, so maybe it's quid pro quo. Except it's not because I've no fuckin' clue how I'm supposed to help her at all and yet here she is wailing and it's not a pretty sight.

I tried pulling Mavis, but she yelped even further.

″STOP! IT'S GETTING TIGHTER!″

In another context, I wouldn't have minded hearing that. Instead, I looked over and faced the freak with the tongue and charged at her, bringing my heel to her face. The frog humanoid reeled back, unlatching its tongue from Mavis and I added another swift kick to the face for good measure.

″Aw, yeah! I've regained my will to live!″ I ran back over to Mavis, who looked like she was working up a sweat.

″C'mon, we're better off running while we still can!″ I picked Mavis up. I was still in a limp, but I was willing to ignore that little detail just so long as we evaded that creature.

″It itches...″ she bemoaned.

″What does?″

I looked down, but couldn't see very well. She was seething, however. Behind me, I noticed the creature, still staring at us, not making a move.

″What does it want?″ I whispered.

Mavis leaned over and lifted her leg. I had my hand on her back, still dragging each other out of harm's way. She scratched at her ankle, meanwhile, and muttering.

″It still burns...″ I heard her say, and scratched harder.

I grabbed her hand. I couldn't believe what I was doing, but it was too late to stop myself.

″Hey!″ I snapped. ″If I have to hold your hand to keep you from tearing yourself up, so be it!″

She shook her head. ″I can't believe even with the sorry state you're in, you still have to show me up.″

I looked away. ″Let's not do this now,″ I scoffed.

Behind us, I could hear ribbit-like sounds.

″Polo...Polo...Polo...″

That's right. Just stay right there. We'll make it one way or another.

There was no making it. I tried to struggle, but all it did was leave me exhausted. I was stuck in place, about to be vored by a toad man.

″Hey! Buddy! Let go of the tourist!″ Demanded a voice I could welcome with open arms, as I felt a pounding against toadie.

I fell, my back taking in the cold and unkind embrace of the steel floor.

When I looked up, Private Goodwill was the one being grabbed by the toad man.

″What are you doing? How am I supposed to turn the central computer on?!″

He smiled and winked. ″Don't worry about it, kid! All you gotta do...″

I heard the words, but they didn't register. All that was being processed is someone I got to know in such a short span was sacrificing themselves before my eyes so that I could do something that would get this whole place destroyed.

″Now run!″ He roared, and I snapped to my senses, sprinting away from the sight. Far off behind me, I could hear a distinct crunching sound. Private Goodwill didn't make it, did he?

Which probably means that wherever Velvet was, she was dead too, wasn't she? God damn it, why am I even doing this?

In spite of those thoughts, I continued running until I reached a large, open room. In the center of the room was a platform with a series of monitors overhead. I ran to the platform and looked all around at the series of buttons and the computer systems that surrounded me.

This must be it. Now, what did Goodwill tell me?

Just a series of muffled noise. None of it did me any good.

Come on, brain! I pleaded. But my brain refused to listen. What good was having a brain if it didn't do its job?

Frustrated, I kicked one of the computers, and while it wasn't the smartest decision, I leaned over, and noticed a little switch off to the side. I pressed it, and all at once, a pulsating blue light illuminated the surrounding walls and ran its way across each hall.

I blinked, dumbfounded.

″I...I did it.″ Then I blinked once more. I grinned. ″Oh my god! That's all it took?″

I was about to jump for joy before noticing a translucent tall figure with silver hair standing off to the side, outside the platform.

″What a pleasant surprise. Hello, mistake,″ the figure uttered a hollow voice.

″Etna! It's been a while!″ I waved. I'd recognize that voice anywhere. ″What's up?″

″Enjoying an age of happiness thanks to my corporation,″ was her reply, lifeless as ever. She closed her false eyes and all was still. Then, she smiled. ″Unfortunately, our reunion must be short lived. Such a mess has been made of this place.″

She spread her arms out, and the next thing I heard was an echoing throughout.

″THIS FACILITY WILL SELF-DESTRUCT IN THREE MINUTES.″

I gave the wall a series of kicks. Mavis was standing just behind me, watching. I had let go of her as soon as the lights went on, thinking I could trust her not to have to hold her all the time.

″Great! What was the point in me even coming here if the whole place is going to be destroyed anyway?!″ After gaining some hope, the lights just had to come on and I just HAD to get that message proving that I really am just a reckless fool.

″I still don't know why you came here in the first place,″ Mavis replied, her delivery deadpan.

I laughed.

″You wanna know? You really wanna know? The whole reason I came here was so I could get fuel for the ship I stole from you guys in the first place! Happy now?″

″All that for jet fuel?″ She looked taken aback. ″You risked your life for...you know what? I can't believe you! I should just kill you right here.″ She said, before wincing.

I looked down. There was a deep, red rash spread around her ankle and it looked like the skin on her lower leg had just been torn off. She reached down to itch, and I snapped my fingers and pointed at her.

″Don't you even dare!″

″What does it matter? We're going to be obliterated anyway. Let me itch.″

″No!″ Then something clicked. ″I think that frog thing's tongue is poisonous...″

″Don't you mean venomous?″ She corrected.

″Why are we arguing when we're about to die?″ I shot right back.

She groaned. There was no sign of that frog thing on either end of the hall. I breathed a sigh of relief before remembering that where I stood would soon be a pile of rubble. My attention reverted to Mavis Beacon, who was scratching at herself.

″Hey! If you keep doing that you'll only have one foot to walk on!″

″What does it matter? We'll both die before then!″

Here we were again with the 'we're just going to die anyway' talk. It seemed like we kept passing each other a determination ball and whoever didn't hold the ball at the time had to hold the other one. It looked to be my turn to hold the ball.

I grabbed her hand. ″Because we're getting out of here!″ She stared, the look she was giving me one of confusion; in response, I had no choice but to look away. Whatever was going through her head,  together we ran for it. It has been said that you can do plenty of things given enough confidence.

I'm pretty sure there's no path that can get us out of here in under three minutes, but let's see where this fake confidence takes us.

″Since I'm probably not getting out of here alive, can I at least ask you a few questions?″

Etna looked annoyed, like I wasn't taking the situation seriously, but the opposite was true.

″First, this has been on my mind for a while: what did you mean when I met you three years ago when you said 'there should never exist more than one of someone'? Didn't you kill the previous me right before I got there? So wouldn't that have meant there was no need to kill me?″

″Still, you had seen too much, you knew too much. You were somewhere you shouldn't and --″

″That doesn't change what you said!″ I interrupted. ″And what about me being a mistake?″

She shrugged and smiled. ″No matter. The world has changed in three years' time, just as it should. When we had that encounter, my company was still in its early stages, confined for the moment, to a single city. Even if your creation was a success, it was a mistake to allow your previous self to live as long as they did, let alone interact with you. Now, with our influence spread across the globe and our products expanding, whether you live or die is of little consequence.″

″Expanding? Expanding how?″

″We have entire rail systems dedicated to replacing people with more subservient and emotionally stable versions of themselves. In addition, it is mostly bloodless. With the elevators that are available, multiple people can ride and each get transported to their desired destination. No interference occurs with multiple people riding these subways and elevators and those who arrive at the desired destination are reported to be in better spirits than the ones who went in.″

Her rhetoric made it sound less invasive and evil than before, but there was still the implication that everyone was under her corporation's control at all times.

″So if whether I live or die doesn't affect you, can't you shut off the self-destruct sequence?″

Etna's expression changed from pride to a look of disgust.

″You aren't the problem. It's the other intruders.″

″Hey!″ My eyes lit up and I realized something. ″We have a common enemy, then! We can work together!″

″No.″ She shot me down fast. ″It would be much more efficient to demolish the facility than leave it as is. We have technology which can replicate entire buildings within seconds. Soldiers are easy enough to produce. It will be as if nothing  As I said, whether you live or die is of little consequence. But make no mistake: you will die.″

The certainty of it all, the inevitability, her apathy. I had no words. I let out a sigh, knowing that unless I brought forth Euphy, there would be little I could do.

″Fine,″ I relented. ″At least let me ask one last thing.″

″Very well.″

″Is Velvet still alive? Is she safe? That's all I want to know!″

″That second-rate hacker?″

I gulped. ″Y-Yes?″

″She is alive. However, time is just about up.″

″Don't you think it's been more than three minutes?″

I didn't want to think about that. So that's exactly what I did. Not think about it.

″Shouldn't we dead?″

Still wasn't thinking about it. Nope.

Ahead were bodies of soldiers, still no end to the maze. I turned to Mavis who was trying to get me to admit how lucky we were to be alive.

″Do you know where we are?″

She shrugged. ″Sure, if I was at a computer, I could pull something up.″

″We don't have time to go back!″ I snarled. ″Any second, this place will blow!″

″You think I don't know that? I'm the one who's been reminding you.″

Constantly.

I shook my head. ″As long as we're still alive, we need to keep moving.″

She crouched down, short on breath. ″I don't get you,″ She huffed. ″What's the point? It's going to explode and we're both going to --″

″Because,″ I cut her off. I would have yelled, chewed her out, except I was a little tired out as well. ″I hate sitting around and waiting for death!″

″But it's hopeless!″

″Who cares if it's hopeless?! I'd rather die in the midst of trying than die doing nothing at all! Maybe it's not the right way to go but it's what I know best! If I'm not on my toes, I'm not happy!″

Mavis stared, wide-eyed, but not at me. Her gaze shifted above me. I thought she would be moved by my words, but nope. I frowned, crossed my arms, and looked up. Hanging from the ceiling was our good ol' frog friend.

We really should have died by now.

″Where's the earth-shattering kaboom?″ Etna wondered. ″There was supposed to be an earth-shattering kaboom.″

Indeed, I was still standing, and so was the facility.

″I can answer that,″ entered a muffled voice, something like Bane from Christopher Nolan's Batman, only a little higher on the register.

I looked in the direction of the voice and out from the shadows stepped a tall figure in a trench coat, wearing a salamander mask and a top hat so as to obscure their face. In their hands was a tablet.

″My friends and I would not appreciate it if this area were to cease so soon. Thus, I halted your sequence.″

Etna growled. There was a hint of fang being bared, and the idea of her showing any kind of emotion put me at further unease than I otherwise would have.

″Very well. I have business elsewhere,″ she started walking away, before exchanging looks with both the figure in the trench coat and I. ″There are explosives placed within the walls throughout. While the damage output of each explosive is small, and not as immediate as I would have liked, I think you will find the results most satisfactory.″

She disappeared, off to wherever AI CEOs go when they need to take a chill pill. My guess was virtual golf.

″She took the bait...″ The figure observed.

″Bait?″ I tilted my head.

I wasn't sure about this trench coated figure, nor the situation I was entrenched in. With Etna gone, I thought a weight would have been lifted, but then there was the thing about the explosives, and I wasn't yet sure what my next move should have been.

″I want to talk,″ they explained. I guess. Seemed to be dodging the subject.

″Fuck you! I've been talking to people all day!″ I cupped my hands and yelled. It should have ended with that, but apparently that wasn't good enough. The large figure set down their tablet and ran toward me. I tried to get out of the way; I jumped over the console, but the figure caught my right arm before I could get to the other side.

″You don't understand,″ the figure whispered, leaning against me, the cold mask a mere inch from my own face. ″I want to talk about happiness.″

″Yeah? What do you want to know?″ I tried breaking free, but the grip was too tight.

″I want to know happiness.″

″Shit, dude, me too!″

I tried kicking them in the crotch, but they backed away, still holding onto my arm.

″The fact of the matter is, I can keep pulling and dislocate your arm. Or, even better, rip it off. On top of that, the surrounding area is set to explode.″

Now here's Mark with the weather.

″However, it doesn't have to be this way.″

″Yeah, I know! You could let go for one!″

″My leader, Marco, has told me a lot about you. He tells me you have a way of getting through anything through a being called 'Euphoria'.″

″I don't even know who Marco is!″

Whoever this Marco person was, I could feel a sensation across every portion of my skin akin to someone dropping thousands of pins and needles. The idea that someone I didn't know would know about Euphoria and my connection to her was one I didn't want to think about, yet here the idea was in my face.

I used my free hand and punched the threat in the face with enough force to crack the mask. They reeled back and loosened their grip just enough to give me the opportunity to jump over and run out of the way. I kept running until I reached the corner next to one of the hallways, and just as I did so, an explosion went off and the shock wave sent me flying forward, burns across my back. I fell on my face and struggled to get up, the pain a force much like a brick being dropped on me. Except I was the brick. I screamed, but managed to pick myself up.

″Ah, it's starting...″ My delegated opponent observed.

I looked over, still standing in the center, with the consoles.

Right next to me was an iron rod. How convenient. I picked it up and stood tall, or in as serious of a stance as I could manage with my weak knees.

″How amusing. You wish to make a spectacle of yourself?″ They bellowed, before making an uproarious laughter, which seemed to grow just as the room around us was catching fire.

I huffed. ″I wish to see the face of my enemy!″

″As you wish,″ they chuckled, then took off their top hat and tossed it aside. Next came the mask, which as it lifted, I could see a smile creep its way along, spreading across the entirety of their face.

That's when I remembered Private Goodwill. Trench coat, tablet, toad...

″You're...″ I was about to burst into laughter as well. ″You're a Wooper!″

Just about my favorite pokemon ever, was staring me in the face. Well, minus the face antennae thing. Still, this was like a dream come true. It was too bad a wooper in a trench coat wanted to torture me for whatever reason.

″...I'm...what?″ The wooper was dumbfounded.

″No...that's not right. Pokemon aren't real. You must be one of those frogs!″

Frog-girl leaped down, but I jumped out of the way just in time.

″Polo! Polo!″ Her tongue was flapping about, but seemed to make no attempt to use it.

Mavis gave the frog-girl a swift kick to the face. ″This is for my ankle!″

Mavis swerved around as the frog held both hands up to her face.

″Po...lo...″

We ran off together. Just behind us, a blast tore into my eardrums. I looked back to see the walls behind us tear apart, one by one, and closing in on us. Flashes of light and heat great brighter and burned with greater intensity.

I see now. This is what should have killed us.

″Think the frog lived?″

I shook my head as we ran. ″The explosion must have boiled the frog.″

Oh, but I stood corrected. Above us sprang forward something pink, like a string. I didn't have to speculate on what it was, for our pursuer flew forward, propelled by her tongue.

″No. More than a frog,″ I gasped. ″Something else entirely.″

″I'm an axolotl!″

″Which is...?″

″An amphibian of sorts. Though it would be a disservice to say that's what I am truly. I was a human once, a scientist. My brethren started as frogs, toads, newts, you name it. I am an exception. I conducted experiments on the ones who would become my brothers and sisters, marveling at such results, I wanted to be a part of it. I took the blood of a salamander and --″

″Did I ask for your backstory?″ I groaned.

They shook their adorable, yet sinister head. ″I suppose not.″

The ceiling above was crumbling. Pillars dropping from above. The consoles got smashed by the falling pillars and I watched in awe as the axolotl person jumped out of the way and barreled toward me, arms stretched out.

I swung the rod overhand, but the axolotl caught it, held it tight, lifted the rod, along with me, into the air, and flipped me over. I landed on my back, and I thought I could feel my ribcage shatter, though it could have just been the pain telling me 'hey you've got some, um, broken bones'.

The axolotl leaned over, its sinister cute smile staring me down.

″Mr. Periwinkle, the toad, killed Private Goodwill, who died in order to bring you here. Polo, the frog, is confronting Velvet as we speak. Velvet, the one you came back here to save, when you could have stayed behind with Euphoria. You would have been fine. You can still be fine. All you see before you can be saved.″

″How do you know any of this?!″ I demanded, my voice wheezing.

″Marco told me all about you.″

″I don't know who that is! I already told you!″

The axolotl person planted one of their feet right on my chest.

″Don't you have any desires? Any goals of your own? Anything that makes you happy?″

I didn't even think I could bring Euphoria here if I wanted to. It wasn't like I wanted all this to happen before me, but I didn't know how to tell her that I needed her.

That's because you told her you didn't want her help. Now look what you did.

Their heel dug in further. I was being toyed with. Slowly squished like a bug, if I was even given that opportunity.

″What about you?″ I shot right back.

″Me? Why I desire happiness, just as everyone does. I wish to meet Euphoria, devour her, and gain her abilities. I wish to see a world in which a new species flourishes – neither human nor amphibian, but something between the two, something greater. Once that species takes over, that's when this world will be a better place.″

″Devour?″ I gulped, and asked.

″Marco told me it's possible. I have no reason to disbelieve him, not when he's given the amphibian people a home they otherwise wouldn't have.″

None of those things mattered to me and saying so didn't seem to register to this creature. Saying so at this point wouldn't matter either, but I knew now that there was no way I could bring Euphoria here, again, even if I could. I wasn't sure if it was truly possible to devour a formless angel, but I couldn't risk it.

I didn't know what to do, but if I could do anything, if there was some kind of miracle that could be performed, I wanted to fight back. I wanted Velvet to fight back as well. I wanted her to survive, even if I didn't.

First I was afraid, I was petrified. I thought things would end for us then and there. Explosions behind us, frog-girl in front of us. Mavis leaned over, however.

″Mind if I split?″ She turned to me and asked.

″What?″

″Just hold off froggy, 'kay?″

I growled before restraining myself. I had to remember I was looking a younger version of myself.

As Mavis ran off, the frog-girl hopped after her, but I ran up to give that frog a good kick in the face. That time, luck was not on my side (though the times it was I could count on one hand). Frog-girl wrapped her tongue around my shoe. Fuck this, I'm not sharing the same fate as Mavis Beacon over there.

I took off my other shoe and whacked the frog humanoid's tongue.

″Get out of the way!″ I heard Mavis' smug voice come back into view.

″I'm trying!″ I yelled back.

I decided to take off my shoe in an act of desperation and bolted for it.

In front of me was Mavis, holding a machine gun, and standing next to the corpse of a fallen soldier.

″What do you know? This thing still has bullets!″ She winked. I stood beside her and she pulled the trigger, unloading on the frog humanoid.

I wiped sweat from my forehead and smiled.

That should have been the end of it, but frog-girl over there still stood, having caught each clip with her tongue, and tossed them all aside. She then hopped after us.

″What. The. Fuck.″ I mouthed. There was nothing else I could say. No other emotions I could convey. Mavis and I looked at each other, and ran for it once again. Every so often she would look back and try firing a bit. All the while, more explosions tore apart the walls.

Fires erupted further and all the while, the surrounding walls were torn apart. This room, the size of a warehouse, was becoming a wasteland. I was positioned on the floor, being trampled on. However, I had my hands free.

Using what strength I could, I grabbed the iron rod and jammed it through the axolotl's leg. I pulled it out, as well as pulled their leg off me, and picked myself up. Blood and pus covered my shirt, having trickled down from the pierced leg.

Aside from a faint yelp, the axolotl gave no sign of pain and instead smiled wider.

″Ah, what a wonderful feeling.″

The consoles themselves caught fire and I dipped the tip of the iron rod in the fire, and just in time. As the axolotl reached toward me, I stabbed their arm, just below their shoulder, and pushed through, then pulled the rod up, and watched as the arm hung down, by just a thread of skin.

The axolotl roared and bellowed and I was huffing and puffing, marveling at what I had done and what I felt I had to do to defend myself. What I heard, what I saw, as blood sprinkled out from the socked where the arm should have been, indicated true pain.

″I...I did it...″ I didn't have powers like my other self. I didn't have Ecstasy or whatever else, but I still managed to hold my own.

The axolotl reeled their head back and seethed before leaning it forward and flashing a toothy, menacing grin.

Another arm sprang forth, growing out from the wound inflicted, and now there were two arms where there should have been one. Now I was dealing with a three-armed beast. Not only that, it seemed to be that the axolotl's leg wound already healed up.

″Don't you know anything about salamanders?″

″No. Marine biology wasn't my major. What the fuck?″

″Allow me to return the favor,″ the creature cackled before snatching the iron rod that I held with one hand, and pulling on the arm that held it with the other, both of the arms being on one side of the creature's body.

I screamed, as the socket was pulled, and dislocated.

″STOP!″ I screeched.

″Show me Euphoria. You don't have to endure this pain,″ was all the creature said.

I tried. I tried thinking that if all this went away, the axolotl, the explosions, everything, I would be happy. I thought that if my arm was still intact and I wasn't in any pain, surely then I would be happy. But nothing came of such thoughts.

″I can't...″ I sobbed.

″Then you're no good to me,″ was all the reply I got before my arm tore off and blood sprayed out from me in every direction. My screams were endless and all I could do was watch my severed arm being held onto by this creature. My vision became blurred, and I grew weak and weary.

″If you wanted to, all you have to say is 'having both arms again would make me happy' and it would be done. Think about it.″

I couldn't think about it. I couldn't think at all. It was all too much.

In a rather unconscious motion, I turned to my side and grabbed the rod with my remaining arm, not paying mind to the blood loss or its dizzying effects.

″You would rather keep fighting with no goal or purpose in mind than allow yourself to be happy? Why?″

″Because!″ I seethed. ″I don't know how to be happy!″

I could never figure out who I was, even after being saved by Conrad and Velvet three years ago, but I sure as hell would fight until my last breath to return the favor.

Sure. Maybe I won't get my arm back. Maybe I'll never be happy. But I don't really matter anyway.

″There!″ She announced. ″You now have a new arm!″

The pain was indescribable...something foreign pressing against me and making a new home within my body. It didn't seem like I could even move it around all that much; it was all loose and clunky. Still, I looked at Juniper.

″Thank you,″ I winced. The pain was enough to bring me to tears, but I think I would get used to it in time. I had to endure. I was on my way to a better life, whatever that meant.

Trent, Vesuvius, and Juniper were all standing there in her shop. I looked at each of them. Trent with his trepidation, Vesuvius inspecting my reaction, and Juniper, excited with her creation.

″I still think we should find someone to make them a legitimate prosthetic,″ Trent pointed out.

″I admit it's not perfect,″ Juniper tried saving face. ″What do you think, though, Blanc?″

I looked down on it. I wasn't sure if I could move these metallic 'fingers' yet, but I think it had its charms.

″It's great!″ I looked up and cheered. ″I'm really glad to have it!″ I waved it around and it felt like it would come apart any minute.

″Oh, but Blanc,″ Vesuvius inquired. ″Aren't you worried about your memories? Now that you're a little more healed up, don't you want to go back to your life before?″

That was right. I still didn't remember much, if anything at all. There came another sharp pain, but this one not seemed to have been inflicted by my new arm. This one was entirely on my face. Tears welled up, but I didn't know why.

″Blanc! Why are you crying?″

I wiped my face. I didn't know why I was trying, truth be told.

″Guys,″ I told them. ″I'm really happy living like this.″

″DYING IS OKAY IF YOU'RE HAPPY!″

That was what Euphoria told me when I asked about Velvet. But here I was, swinging an iron rod around, flailing around and missing this creature with every attempt at a strike. They grabbed the rod once more and kicked me down.

I fell once more and once again the creature stepped on me. I thought I could have kept going just a little longer, but I was mistaken.

DYING IS OKAY IF YOU'RE HAPPY.

But I wasn't happy and yet here I was, dying. Euphoria, you were supposed to be my guardian angel, and yet you weren't showing up.

″I don't want to die...″ I tried to say. The creature pressed their foot down so tight, though, that I couldn't find enough air.

Sure, I didn't want to die, but what did I want?

My eyes closed.

I couldn't ever figure that out. I wanted to know who I was for a while, but then after a while I think I realized that it never really mattered who I was. What mattered were the others who had goals in mind. Velvet wasn't too sure, but she wanted to make a difference in her own way. She was finding her happiness. I already found mine and still wasn't satisfied.

Conrad, my other self, they had The Flashbulb, but I never cared about any of that. My life was short and if anything could make me happy, it would be knowing that I could have done something to make someone else's life better than my own. But I wasn't even sure at this point if it was possible.

The air around me started to leave. I could feel the bones in me crack, and although the heel of my opponent let go, by then, everything was already fading. My eyes were open, as open as I could get them and I could make out the faint image of the axolotl, who I never even learned the name of, walking away, down some chamber through the floor that I never noticed. I thought that if I focused enough, I could see my severed arm being carried down with the figure.

I coughed up blood.

Can't say for sure...think a bone pierced my heart...a lot's leaking out. Maybe other organs too. Everything is failing me. I failed everyone.

I turned my head, my mouth, chin and neck covered in blood, and saw the shadow of two people running into the fiery room where I lay.

Are they running toward me?

It didn't seem to matter. I was going to miss everyone. I think I would miss Euphy most of all, the one who never came. It was hard to say whether that was a good thing or a bad thing. It was hard to say what anything was at all. More blood coughed up. Heavy gasp. I couldn't even say a word.

[creacherkeeper]

Caroline 'verse prompt: Caroline asks for a pet fish for her birthday, so they decide to surprise her with an aquarium, cue Jemma's research mode

anon asked: “taking Caroline to the zoo to see the monkeys for the first time” 

Just Keep Swimming 

A/N: not quite what the prompt was but it follows the spirit of it 

for aosficnet’s disability december 

~1500 words 

read on AO3

Fitz shifts so the young girl is in between he and Jemma,head on his shoulder and legs wrapped around his waist. She’s still a tinything. Fitz isn’t the most muscular person, but lifting her is like barelylifting anything. And he loves holding his little Caroline. It still astoundshim that she’s even real, that he and Jemma actually created another person. Heknows it’s the most natural thing in the world, but it feels straight out of ascience fiction (but what in their life doesn’t, really?).

“Caroline,” Jemma says, grinning as they walk through theticket booth and into the main area. “Do you know why we’re here today?”

Caroline keeps her head on Fitz’s shoulder, and beginsabsentmindedly chewing on her fingers. Fitz holds up the chew necklace she hason, and she takes that and puts it in her mouth instead.

Jemma continues, unfazed, “Today’s your birthday,sweetheart. You’re five today. Do you know how many that is?”

Caroline pulls the chew out of her mouth, looking pensive. “Thedwarf seahorse can move five feet in an hour.”

“That’s right,” Jemma confirms, “you’ve lived as many yearsas the seahorse has moved in feet.”

Jemma isn’t sure Caroline can comprehend that analogy, but thegirl gives a thoughtful hum. She seems to take pleasure in the sound andcontinues to hum, loudly, then quietly, then loudly again, a tuneless song,just enjoying the feeling. Fitz and Jemma smile.

“We’re gonna make a quick stop first,” Fitz says. “Then we’llget to the main event.”

The ‘quick stop’ is, Fitz has no problem admitting, acompletely selfish endeavor. A little part of him wants to share this with her.He wants them to have this in common.

Once they get there, he waits with bated breath for herreaction. She considers it deeply, staring into the enclosure. One of theorangutans walks right up to the glass before her, and presses it’s nose ontothe pane to inspect her more closely.

Fitz bites his lip to keep from squealing in excitement.Jemma snaps a picture behind them.

Caroline sniffs, and scratches a nail through a dirty spoton the glass (Jemma gives a discontented hum at the sight). She twists her lipsas she ducks her head to look at her fish-shaped chew.

“Is there fish here?” she asks eventually, and Fitz’s heartbreaks, just a little.

He lets his head fall softly against the glass. “Oh, it hurts,”he chokes out dramatically. “Jem, I might be dying. I’m wounded, Jemma.”

Jemma smacks his arm, and puts her phone back in her pocketso she can pick up Caroline. “Yes, darling, there are fish here. That’s wherewe’re going next.”

Caroline doesn’t smile, but she starts wiggling back andforth quickly. Jemma places her back on the ground so she can finish herwiggling without the chance of Jemma dropping her. She continues for a minute,and then raises her hands.

“Got your wiggles out?” Jemma asks, and Caroline nods. Shepicks her back up. “Alright, let’s go see the fish.”

Jemma walks away, and then turns around. Fitz hasn’tfollowed them, he’s still leaning against the orangutan enclosure, clutchinghis chest. Jemma rolls her eyes.

“If you need some time alone, we’re going to go to theaquarium.”

Fitz lets out a shaky sigh, and shakes his head. “No, no. I’lllive, I think. Just give me a moment.”

“Daddy’s so dramatic, isn’t he?” Jemma whispers, andCaroline makes a snorting-type noise.

“Hey,” Fitz whines, offended.

“Sorry,” Jemma says, lips curling in a playful smile. “Ididn’t mean for you to hear that.”

They loop around back toward the aquarium, and Jemma setsdown Caroline and grabs her hand as they walk in. Caroline is quiet as theyenter, adjusting to the low, ambient lighting. There are bubbles and fishpainted on the walls of the entrance, and Caroline stops to stare at them.

Jemma and Fitz stop as well. Caroline stares for a longtime.

“You know, there are real fish we can look at around the corner,”Jemma tells her.

Caroline is in a trance.

“What kind of fish are those?” Fitz asks.

That seems to break her out of it. “Cetoscarus bicolor,” she says, “bicolor parrotfish.” She taps onher front teeth.

They make their way around the corner. There are sixaquariums in this room, two on each wall, and two cylindrical ones in themiddle of the room. There are all sorts of colorful fish in the aquariums,which seem to have a tropical theme. They swim around large chunks of equallycolorful coral, a dizzying swarm of hues. Though the room is dark, the aquariumsare lit well, the water a deep aquamarine.

Fitz and Jemma wait for her reaction.

Caroline bursts into tears.

“Oh no,” Jemma says, quickly crouching and putting her handon the small girl’s back. “Darling, what’s wrong?”

Caroline sobs harder, landing hard on her butt as her legsgive out under her.

Getting a few dirty looks, Fitz scoops the girl up anddashes outside.

Once back in the sunlight, he adjusts so he can wrap her ina tight hug, and rocks with her back and forth. Jemma looks on, worried, handspressed against her neck.

“It’s alright, monkey,” Fitz says in a low, hopefully calmvoice. “It’s alright, you’re okay. You’re just fine.”

He continues to mumble to her, and she clings to him fiercely,burying her sobs into his neck.

It takes about ten minutes for her to cry herself out. She hiccupsas the tears fade, breath wet and shaking. Fitz presses his lips to her hair,and gives her another squeeze.

“That was a little overwhelming, wasn’t it, monkey?”

Caroline nods.

“Do you want to try again? We don’t have to.”

After a moment of consideration, Caroline nods again. Shesquirms to be put down, and Fitz sets her on the ground, wiping away her teartracks with his thumbs.

She takes his hand as they walk back inside. Just as they’reabout to turn the corner, she squirms, and Fitz’s arm jerks as she plants herbutt on the ground.

“Do you not want to go in?” Jemma asks, her thumbs sweepingover her fists.

Caroline points back at the mural.

“Okay,” Jemma says, “We can go look at that some more.”

Eventually, they all end up sat on the floor before it, whenFitz and Jemma’s feet begin to ache. Caroline crawls into Jemma’s lap, sittingbetween her crossed legs. They stay for almost an hour, as Caroline stares atthe mural. Fitz and Jemma chat about their latest projects in low voices. Theyget some looks, but that’s fine. As long as Caroline is happy.

They leave when she starts to doze off.

She falls asleep fully in her car seat, and Fitz checks she’sasleep multiple times before he murmurs, “I thought this day would go a littledifferently.”

“Me too,” Jemma admits. “But that’s alright, we’re stilllearning.”

Fitz nods in agreement.

“I have an idea, though.”

Fitz gives a nervous smile at the mischievous twinkle inJemma’s eye.

-

Caroline drops Fitz���s hand as they lead her into thekitchen, and she bypasses the counter as she wanders into the living room,staring hard at the blank TV.

“Caroline,” Fitz calls, trying to wave her back in.

Caroline picks up the TV remote, and starts clicking to turnthe volume up.

“What are you doing, sweetheart?” Jemma asks.

“Bubbles,” Caroline says.

Jemma hides her grin. “That’s not coming from the TV. It’scoming from in here. Come see.”

The young girl sets down the remote on the floor in front ofthe TV and strolls back into the kitchen, looking around for the source of thenoise. She twirls her brown curls absentmindedly as she searches.

“Come here, monkey,” Fitz says, holding his hands out.

Caroline continues her search.

“Do you want to see where the bubbles are coming from?”

Caroline nods.

“Then come here.”

Finally relenting, the girl walks over and allows herself tobe lifted. Fitz settles her on the broad countertop, which separates thekitchen from the living room.  

Caroline stares.

Pressed against the wall is an aquarium. It’s large, with vegetation,multi-colored rocks, stickers on the glass, and a few hideouts. As they allwatch, a purple fish pushes out from between the vegetation and flares itsfins.

“Betta splendens,”Caroline breathes.

Fitz and Jemma share a glance, biting back smiles.

“You can name her whatever you want,” Jemma says quietly. “She’syours.”

Caroline stares in open-mouthed astonishment. For a while,they think she’s not going to say anything, or even react besides her gapedstare. But eventually, she glances toward Fitz, then points at the fish. “Monkey,”she says.

“Is that her name?” Jemma asks.

Caroline nods, and waggles her finger in the direction ofthe tank. “Monkey,” she says again.

Fitz beams.

[spotlightsaga]

Kevin Cage of @spotlightsaga reviews... Orange is the New Black (S05E13) Storm-y Weather Airdate: June 9, 2017 @oitnb Ratings: @netflix original Score: 8/10 **********SPOILERS BELOW********** What now? Watching an OITNB finale is a bit like the next day after a great roll... You had a great time, and emotionally you're drained, there's a bit of magic still floating around in the air, you wonder will happen next... But in a way, you're kind of sad that it's all over. And of course, you're too stunned to do much of anything except furrow your brow like James Franco attempting to show any simple range of emotion beyond 'stoned'. Until next time, right? The best thing about the end of OITNB5 is the fact that we know it's going to come back for a 6th & 7th season, but with the massively radical shakeup we saw happen here in S5... There's never been a time in the series' history that we have been in such a place where we don't even have a slight inkling of an idea as to what is coming next. Over the course of 4 years and 5 seasons, we've seen characters come, go, pass, come back again, disappear into MAX, and some that have more of a final ending. It's safe to say that as tragic as the S5 ending was, as we saw best friends, lovers, and feelings as safe & simple as familiarity being separated and hauled off into different vans, going god knows where, at least we don't have to deal with another loss like the magnitude we dealt with at the end of S4. It took hours of sobbing and patting my back just to come back to reality and stop crying after that one. We have praised S5 for featuring new characters, as well old characters in a different way... As well as experimentation with new types of storytelling and even head-first dives into different genres just to give the series a fresh beat. It's hard to believe that all this happened in just a 3-Day timespan... Technically we've spent years with some of these women, but never has the series reached such heights in tension as it did here. One again, I feel it pertinent to mention that I'm just glad they decided to not put me in a situation where I could possibly cry like a baby for hours on end. I always knew that this riot would never end well for any of the women, and by E12 when everyone was having their personal revelations and epiphanies as to where they stood in life and with each other, I immediately sensed that they'd all be ripped apart from one another. No way things could be this harmonious with such an ugly consequences hanging above like dark pulpy rain clouds just waiting to burst over all of their heads. I'm not going to lie, there was a part of me that thought someone was going to die (as there usually is a major death in every season), but I was relieved when we were delivered the death of Piscatella instead of a beloved inmate. With Piscatella dead and Angie (Julie Lake) & Leanne (Emma Myles) redeeming their 'bad girl' ways... A majority of which was spent reeking havoc throughout Litchfield, torturing Pensatucky (Taryn Manning), putting on 'Litchfield's Got Talent', and raping CO Stratman (Evan Hall), all by wiping everyone's slate clean in a fire burning everyone's records... It looks like maybe Maria's (Jessica Pimentel) attempt at stealing all the hard work Gloria (Selenis Leyva) put in to moving the guards from 'Spanish Harlem' to 'Poo', by way of cutting a hole in the fence, actually payed off. The additional time Piscatella recommended will most likely never be added on to her sentence and she actually got to hold her baby. As mad as I was at Ruiz in that moment, I couldn't help but shed a tear or two. She made a snap decision, did what she had to do, and actually achieved something from it... Whether this will be only for a short term prize or even as something as big as a sentence reduction, we'll have to wait and see... But even though MCC isn't exactly the keepers of words or showers of good faith, Nita (Gita Reddy) did show that she was appreciate of Maria's sacrifice. That little hint of empathy that Nita let us all see had to count for something, at least I hope for Maria's sake that it does. Just as Pensatucky was once a fearless leader of many and fell to the 'Litchfield Pariah', Maria's decisions will land her in a similar path. I have absolutely zero doubts about that. And now... 'The 10 Count' and other wild inconsistencies of the 5th season of OITNB... Because as great as OITNB can be, it's never without its faults. There were powerul performances throughout this season... Uzo Adbua, Danielle Brooks, Selenis Leyva, Adrienne C Moore, Beth Dover, Miriam Morales, Rosal Colon, Dale Soules, Vicky Jeudy, Julie Lake & Emmy Myles... And some breakout performances by Francesca Curran, Daniella De Jesus, Asia Kate Dillon, and Kelly Karbacz... While Kimiko Glenn, Laura Gomez, Amanda Stephen, Kate Mulgrew, Natasha Lyonne, Lea DeLaria, Diane Guerrero and Jackie Cruz felt wildly under utilized and other extremely talented women were either lost in the shuffle or given small or subplots that won't see greatness born from them until further into the series. Alas, at least the seeds were planted. Even the incredibly talented Taryn Manning went massively underused, but it feels like that they are setting her up for a proper story arc in S6, so at least she'll have her moment soon. Ending her arc in S5 in the Guard House with Coates, snuggled up with her rapist under a blanket, makes for endless possibilities to spiral a psychologist's wet dream of a character study. Obviously the cast of OITNB is massive and not everyone can have large chunks of time devoted to complete character arcs that tie in heavily to the main narrative, but then again women like Uzo Aduba & Beth Dover were still able to take the time and scenes they were given and steal the spotlight, making the most of a short amount of time. It's up to these women, as character actresses, to really take it all the way... But it's also up the writers to give them something worthwhile to chew on and hang onto. And while there is plenty to discuss at the end of S5, not all of it is good. Like many other writers, bloggers, reviewers, and fans... We did the math and we are a bit confused on the '10 count' of missing ladies the men who violently and haphazardly stormed the women's prison turned temporary castle shouted out when attempting to tell Caputo and MCC the progress of the raid. Even with Linda being accounted for, we're not sure where that number came from... Just a small example of short-sighted missteps we occasionally see from an otherwise talented writing team. Also, as a Drug & Harm Reduction activist, I'm not sure why Cindy giving Suzanne a few Lithium pills (which I was under the impression she was prescribed anyway) would ever result in a coma like state needing as something as extreme as an EpiPen. It was just a short stick that wasn't thought through that was inserted into the finale for some additional drama and to get Taystee, Cindy and Suzanne in Frieda's abandoned pool turned bunker. It was sloppy and we at Spotlight Saga condemn any storylines that promote ignorance or false information about chemicals and drugs. Simply put, OITNB is better than that. However, it's hard to deny how beautiful that end result was... Seeing these women who once were so stuck in a pattern of self-segregation stand together, holding each other's hands with grace and dignity brings tears to my eyes as I merely picture the scene writing about it. That picture was worth far more than a thousand words, carried a beautiful message, but could have been achieved without compromising any artistic or factual integrity. I don't aim to cheapen the moment, it was beautiful, and I anxiously await the outcome with a heavy heart. Unfortunately I must steer the conversation back to inconsistencies because I truly believe that OITNB is also better than to not have MCC know that Linda from Purchasing was there at the time of the riots or had at least gone missing around the starting time of these riots. This is the type of woman who'd show up for work, even on the weekends. Maybe this was to give characters and fans satisfaction at the end when they all claimed to work for MCC to make Linda look crazy... But honestly, even though I understand their feelings of betrayal, you would think at least Boo would buy what she was selling. I did. Maybe I'm wrong, but I feel like Linda grew copious amounts during the short time that S5 took place and actually meant what she said when she promised she would do her part to incite change amongst the prison system. If they treated her right at the end, they could have had a great ally. Now... I'm thinking not so much. If I was Linda, I wouldn't be too pleased with any of those women. I feel like another potential beautiful moment, future or otherwise, was compromised for comedy and unnecessary comeuppance. If it's any consolation, Beth Dover, you were absolutely amazing this season and we have our eye on you and Danielle Brooks for any end of the year awards, such as one we've already locked in favor of Uzo Aduba's incredibly nuance performance throughout the entirety of S5. Regardless of any short sighted plot stick, surely the events of S5 will bring about change to more than just where inmates are shipped after the riot. While OITNB is fictional, New York law states that 'Riot in the First Degree' is a Class E Felony, which doesn't carry much weight, but will still ensure that most of these women, especially those that were public symbols during the riot, will have a few years tacked on to their sentence. I'm actually hoping the plan is to clear the prison, clean it, and then ship most of the important women and characters back to Litchfield to carry on their storylines in a similar fashion under new circumstances. Whatever happens, things are going to be different... But as the series ended on the women left inside Litchfield in the pool as the rest of the prison had been swept and cleared, fading to orange, leaving their fates hanging in the air... I think the main thing we are left hoping for is that none of our favorite women that remain in that lineup are hurt or killed and taken away from us forever. Overall, S5 was a mostly successful season of OITNB... But baby, this doesn't have anything on S4 and the epic rise and fall of one of the greatest characters of Litchfield Women's Prison... The woman whose demise started this whole thing... Poussey Washington. We miss you, Samira Wiley. You were so incredible, so inspirational, your unjust and untimely exit caused a series to be turned upside down on its head. Until S6, guys. You know we'll be there!

[duskwalkertfp]

Detour

“Are you sure it’s a clean signal?” Duskwalker asked, her paws flying over the ground as she ran full-tilt towards the point Naomi was directing her to.

“There is no telling if it is entirely clean, but there are no identifying signatures to suggest it is a pirate, or rogue, group,” Naomi responded and Duskwalker admitted she was right; there was no way to know if it was a ‘clean’ or safe distress signal. Pirates and rogue groups often used them to lure in would-be do-gooders, like herself evidently, to help anyone in need. Duskwalker had nearly been caught this way on two occasions and only Naomi’s fast processor had gotten them out of trouble. That and thankfully most groups aren’t used to a single-manned ship.

Duskwalker’s run ate up the distance between where she had been and the distress signal at a steady rate. The storm was still roiling overhead, but it had stopped raining for a moment. Lightning burst across the sky, lighting up the distance in front of her in start contrast. It almost didn’t seem real how jagged edges and crumbling sides could look even sharper in the harsh lighting. The remaining puddles of rain only helped to reflect it back at the metal walls and seemed to light up the ground with pools of white plasma. It made her paws itch to run through them, knowing she’d have to clean the joints out later to prevent any further discomfort. She wouldn’t suffer any ill effects as long as she didn’t let the acid sit on her armor longer than necessary. Rather it was the lining in-between her armor plates, the stretchy material allowing her such extreme flexibility, which worried her. Duskwalker didn’t know how well it held up to the rain.

“I’ll need to come back after this, or have you pick me up,” she said, some-what sullen. “It’d be best for me to take a full decontamination bath and clean out my joints. Do any of your files list whether or not my inner-linkage is able to hold up against Cybertron’s acid rain?”

“Inconclusive,” Naomi said, “he makes no reference directly to Cybertron’s weather, but it’s highly doubtful he would build your armor to be of a lesser standard than another Cybertronian’s, however caution dictates we not take a chance. A decontamination bath and examination of your linkages will be in order.”

“Then you might as well prep for take-off and come pick me up, if there’s anyone injured I’ll need my medical kit,” Duskwalker acknowledged, swerving around a chunk of metal much too large for her to simply jump over, using her tail as a rudder to keep up her speed without losing her balance, “unless you think the storms will be a problem?” It could be, though Duskwalker didn’t think so. Everything was starting to clear up and now only the occasional bout of lightning crackled in the sky. Mostly it was all distant rumbles of thunder.

“No,” Naomi responded, Duskwalker puffed hot air out of her vents, pulling in new cooler air to keep her actuators in her legs from over heating, “the storm is only a category one now. Low wind velocities, the lightning itself even at a direct hit would do little to disturb my circuits, and in any event low altitude flight is recommended to keep my frame off the radar.”

“Why’s that?” Duskwalker asked, approaching one of the many energon lines that crossed the ground. She increased her speed as much as she could and once she was at the edge she drove her front paws down, swiftly followed by her back paws, and put as much force into her legs as she calculated was required, but just in case she added a flick of her tail in an upwards motion to put to use all her forward momentum.

Duskwalker leaped over the glowing crack in the ground, elongating her body by stretching her legs out in front of her. Plates shifted on her frame, stretching out to reveal the linkage-material in-between them. Others first overlapped and then separated to allow her maximum length. Her tail remained curled up over her back and as she came to land she angled her front paws down, drawing her back legs up, and took the majority of the force into her shoulders. The force rolled up into her shoulders and she allowed her elbows to bend, rolling her back legs forward and planting her paws down. Duskwalker felt a bit of a jolt in her frame, but otherwise she continued to run forward without missing a beat.

“While it is most likely the Autobots have an array set up for any large craft, they will also be scanning for mid and small craft. The Decepticons, should there be any on the surface, will be doing the same. Cybertron may be restored, but the possibilities of the war being completely over without any ‘after shocks’ is unlikely.”

“In other words you don’t want to be spotted,” Duskwalker said, smiling a little, “you could have just said you don’t want to be noticed and I would have gotten it, but you don’t need to fly low-altitude to do that, or otherwise Renegade’s losing his touch.”

“Perhaps I merely wish to practice my low altitude flight capabilities,” Naomi said, sounding a little peevish. “You’re coming up on the signal now, I suggest you slow and scout the situation at hand first.”

“Agreed,” Duskwalker said, slowing down until she was able to crouch, slinking along the ground towards the wreck she now had in her visual range.

In all it looked rather old; there was no smoke coming from the wreckage, no fire, but of course it had just rained. Still it smelled as though it had been here for a few days. So why had the distress signal come online now? It was possible, she theorized, that whoever had crashed had been knocked offline for a while only regaining consciousness now. Or perhaps the acid rain had caused a short circuit in the wiring. There were any number of reasons the distress signal could inexplicably come online, but regardless Duskwalker intended to investigate.

Moving in a counter-clockwise direction Duskwalker creeped closer and closer to the wreck, pulling air in through her vents and testing the samples she collected in her olfactory array. So far the acid rain had wiped away a lot of the information scent could tell her, but she could pick out a tang of old energon. Whether it was blood energon, or energon from the ship’s engine, was difficult to tell at this point.

“I am currently enroute to your position, Duskwalker,” Naomi sent a short comm. Duskwalker acknowledged with a ping on the frequency and started her forward stalk towards an opening she noticed in the small, one man, ship. Her back paw replaced the front paw, her body remained low with her belly almost touching the ground, and for once her tail remained quite still trailing along behind her as she moved forward to sniff the opening.

A faint whiff of blood energon slithered its way out to her and Duskwalker wrinkled her nose in disgust. It smelled foul, tainted, but not necessarily by sickness. Rather it smelled like an old injury, encrusted with rust. She’d need to be cautions, then, because it was nearly impossible to tell the difference between cosmic rust and the normal rust one formed around a wound if it was allowed to oxidize. The danger was that there existed only two ways to know for certain you were dealing with cosmic rust: If you safely collected a sample and analyzed the microbes involved within the rust, or the person who made first contact begins to rust at an accelerated rate. Of course this was in cases where the rust was relatively new, and Duskwalker was fairly certain this rust smelled old.

“Attention,” she said, her voice level and calm, “my designation is Duskwalker, field medic, I am entering your ship. Please refrain from firing your weapons. My only intention is to help,” she could not say she was unarmed, in her feline form alone she could cause a good bit of damage with fang and claw, then there was the club-like mechanism at the end of her tail, not to mention her batons and bow-staff in robotic mode.

“Slagging pit-spawn, about time someone showed up,” the mech inside growled. Duskwalker flicked her ears back and forth, listening intently for a second voice. This could still be a trap, but she detected no other sounds. No spark beats, no thrumming of engines outside of the one mech, and no impatient shuffling or gears whirring. “Are you going to help or am I going to rust to death before you get in here?”

“A moment,” Duskwalker commented, “is your rust covering a percentage larger than your wound?”

“What? Slagging think I have cosmic rust? Ha-” the mech’s laughter quickly broke down into rough coughing; he wasn’t trying to ‘clear’ his throat rather it was possible energon, lubricant, or coolant, could be flooding his vocoder. “Would have blasted myself days ago, it’s taken me this fragging long to get the distress signal going with only one good arm that ain’t pinned under the fuselage.”

Duskwalker creeped further into the ship, dipping her head under a tangle of cables that were still sparking a little despite the damp air and made her way to where she heard the mech speaking. He lay on, what used to be, the wall. His arm pinned under a chunk of the ship which had caved in on top of him. His other arm rested across his broad chest plate, energon dribbling out of several wounds and his mouth, proving Duskwalker’s theory about his vocoder being flooded, and rust coated a severe looking wound in his leg. Easing closer, finding it rather daunting to be close to the big bruiser, Duskwalker finally came out where she could be seen by the mech and he let out a cry of remorse.

“Ya’ain’t no where big enough to get my arm out of this scrapheap,” he growled, coughing and sputtering up more energon. Duskwalker ignored his outburst for a moment and eased closer, carefully sniffing the air around him and taking any number of measurements, scans, and cataloging what she was seeing. His arm was badly crushed, she wouldn’t be able to save it even if she had someone else here to help her move the metal pinning it. His leg, too, she thought he might lose, but more troubling was how bad the rust had gotten. Had it gotten into his lines? He’d need a full systems clean if that was the case.

“I have my ship coming to pick us up,” Duskwalker said calmly, transforming and pulling her scanner out; that at least she kept on her regardless of where she was, “and together we’ll get you out of here,” then she looked at him steadily, measuring him for  a moment and sighing.

“Ain’t going to keep th’ arm am I?” he asked, “slag-it, I ain’t got the creds to replace it,” he looked down at his mangled leg, and seemed to deflate. “Or that.”

“Don’t worry about that right now, I have some spare limbs that should be about your size we can install until we can figure out proper replacements,” Duskwalker told him, easing closer to take a better scan of his arm. She needed to know which connections; energon lines, etc. were simply pinned shut or had actually fused shut due to a leak and his self-repair system tending to the wounds.

“Right, and how much’ll that cost me?” “Probably about nothing,” Duskwalker said, distracted now as she probed deeper with her scanner, the primary energon line was pinned shut, it had been protected by a number of other lines; coolant and lubricant as examples. She’d need to see to that first, the mech didn’t need to ‘bleed’ out. Her ears flicked and she pulled air in through the vents on either side of her helm, a more dedicated system to her olfactory array, and sampled a few of the particles that were coming off the wound. Analysis began immediately, but she turned to take a look at his leg.

Here his self-repair had done a fair job of fusing shut the damaged lines, but again the primary energon line would need to be seen to manually. Duskwalker noticed that the frame of his leg was unsalvageable. Something had taken his leg and twisted it harshly, though it was difficult to tell. The lower leg, too, was badly crushed and the rust had already started flaking the edge of the wound.

“Nothing? You’re not one of those slagging pirates out to make a piece on a wounded mech, are you?” He asked her suspiciously, pulling his good hand forward to transform it into his blaster. Duskwalker brought her head up sharply and looked him in the optics.

“You shoot that thing off and you’re draining away what little life you have left,” she stated matter-of-fact, “you’ve got barely enough energon in you to stay online. Are you trying to drain yourself dry until your spark shrivels up?”

“Hmph,” the mech grunted, “trust a medic to know how much energon a mech’s got left,” he disengaged his weapon, laying his arm over his chest plate. “What’s yer name?”

“Duskwalker,” she repeated for him, there wasn’t much she could do just yet except keep him occupied and online. If he went into stasis lock, most likely for the second time, he probably wouldn’t come out of it. “How about you?”

“DT1007-85M,” he replied, “working class foreman of work-group 11C-901J. Got left fer dead on a mining expedition, then news come ‘round that the Quints have been hauled offa the planet, but ain’t got no way to get back home. Finally got this hunk of junk runnin some few million years later and came back only t’find the place is in ruins.”

Quints? Quintessons? Duskwalker’s ears flicked back and then forward, curling her tail a bit closer to her frame. Renegade had told her there was a time before the first Golden Age when the Quintessons had reigned over their people, but other then that she knew very little of them. Renegade didn’t speak much about things before the first Age. She wasn’t sure other then he claimed it ‘made him feel old’.

“You realize how long the Quintessons have been gone, correct?” she asked, her tail flipping back and forth nervously.

“Aye, I do, though I couldn’t really believe it. Of course one of the reasons I got left for dead was ‘cause they were using stasis pods to transport us, only my pod fell off the back of the transport and down into the old mine shaft, was in stasis for quite a period of time before I came to. Lucky the pod wasn’t damaged. It kept a log of all Cybertronian transmissions all this time.”

“Stasis pods?” Duskwalker asked, her ears flicking, “why Stasis pods?”

“'Bout that time folks were starting to get suspicious about why the Quints were 'helping' us,” he told her, “course my unit was mostly made up of non-personality units. Not many of us identified ourselves as more than our unit numbers, but the Quints weren't taking no chances so when they brought a large group of us worker units out to a mine they wanted to cultivate they put us in stasis pods, so we couldn't revolt and steal the ship we used as transport.”

Talking was obviously helping the mech stay awake and Naomi, according to the latest ping, was almost there. Duskwalker watched him as he continued on to explain various things about his last mission and wondered at how much he was willing to tell her.

Here was a mech who had not experienced the horrors their own kind had inflicted on the planet.

It made Duskwalker smile and it made her sad. He'd left the planet when it was healthy and returned to a world that was still recovering from its own death. She'd help him get better and bring him to one of the new settlements the Autobots had set up. Maybe they had as much to learn from him as he did from them.

Naomi was still several clicks out and without her medical kit Duskwalker could do very little except disconnect the pain receptors in the mech's arm and leg. She moved forward and gently traced her finger tips over the armor of his upper arm until she found the necessary seam and opened it, but the stink of rust wafted up to her even inside of the wound. She'd have to move up to the shoulder joint and disconnect everything there, including the arm; would the leg be just as bad?

“So, how did you learn to talk in this manner?” Duskwalker asked, looking up at him, honestly curious, but also wanting to keep him talking. He made it sound as though he and the others didn't have much for personalities upon emergence from the Well.

“Picked it up when I was close enough to Cybertron,” he told her, “still trying to figure out which style of speech is 'me'.”

That would explain the altering accents and mannerisms, Duskwalker thought.

“I'm glad you have a chance to remake yourself,” she told him truthfully.

“So am I,” he agreed, quite polite now. Maybe he was trying to figure out whether he was the kind to be grouchy at everything, or accepting of situations outside of his control.

“Of course this pit spawned ship wasn't properly armored for reentry and fragging fell to scrap the moment it hit the atmosphere,” and it was back to swearing, Duskwalker tried to keep herself from laughing, but it was actually quite charming how he was trying out so many different speech patterns.

“What's so slagging funny?” he demanded as Duskwalker moved to check the connecting mechanisms between his leg and hip, glancing up at him and smiling.

“I'm sorry, I don't mean to laugh,” she apologized and then her features returned to a more serious expression. Even without opening up the necessary ports to disconnect pain receptors she could smell the rust. The entire leg, and arm, would have to go and he'd need a system flush. His energon lines would have to be cleaned and several of them replaced. This on top of the replacement of his limbs and refitting with ones that properly suited his needs... it was going to be a long procedure. Thankfully Renegade had the necessary equipment back at his workshop for constructing limbs. Not necessarily the right equipment, but Duskwalker could work around that with a few modifications.

“My ship is just a click out now, so once I disconnect these pain receptors I'm going to go out and make sure there's a clear enough landing space. I'll give you a link to my comm channel so we can keep in contact,” she slid her small fingers into the necessary port and did as she had described. His leg went completely limp and for a moment the mech's optics flickered. Duskwalker immediately pulled out her small light, forcing the optical lid open, and checked for a response. The illumination returned to his optics a moment later, but Duskwalker was worried. The pain of his arm and leg could be covering other symptoms yet she couldn't move him without first eliminating the pain and removing his arm and leg.

“Tha' felt weird,” he muttered, his words slurring a little bit, uncertain if he was trying out a new vocal pattern or not Duskwalker preformed another scan, this time she connected her scanner directly to a port at the back of his helm in order to start a full systems diagnostic. She had wanted to wait until she had access to the more powerful, and therefore faster, computer system on board Naomi, but obviously that wasn't an option now.

And it may not be an option at all.