#tired of being charitable toward her. tired of the pained looks i get when i tell people i haven't spoken to her in years. tired tired tired

[theoldaeroplane]

nothing quite as vindicating as hearing a mostly unbiased third party describe my mother as "petty and immature" after meeting her only three times

[queen-scribbles]

Touch prompts: giving them a piggy-back ride

Have some SPY NERDS for Theron Thursday! :D

---

It was a testament to how tired Jaaide was that she didn’t notice the hole in time to avoid it. Normally she would have been paying better attention. Normally she would have caught herself. But as it stood, she was already in motion to step where there wasn’t ground by the time the absence registered. Too late to check herself or redirect her stride or anything other than step--heavily--in the hole. It was deep enough to send her pitching sideways with a yelp.

“Jaaide-!” Theron’s fingers brushed her sleeve, just a hair too slow to avert disaster.

She hit the ground hard, her shoulder and her pride both stinging when she regained her feet. “I’m alright,” she said reflexively, even as her ankle twinged hard at standing.

“You sure?” Theron asked, brow furrowing as he looked her over, picked dead grass out of her hair.

“Only thing bruised was my dignity.” She brushed dirt off, smoothed her hair, and resumed course--

Only to almost eat dirt again as her ankle nearly buckled at the weight.

Theron was fast enough to catch her this time. “Okay, you’re not fine.”

Jaaide tugged her arm free. She didn’t feel charitable toward coddling right now. “I’m fine enough to reach the ship. Not like it’s that much further.”

“Maybe not, but the terrain’s not exactly pleasant, either,” he said with a snort.

“I can manage,” she insisted grumpily, resuming course and doing her best to minimize the limp in her stride. Theron muttered something as he fell in behind her, but Jaaide ignored it. Her ankle wasn’t broken--she knew what that felt like--at worst a sprain, and she could tolerate that long enough to get to the ship. She’d toughed out much worse and didn’t need him fussing--

A sharp ache shot up her leg and Jaaide let out a quiet growl as she tried to keep her balance without being obvious about it. Alright, maybe it was a bad sprain. Still nothing she couldn’t handle until they reached the ship.

“Jaaide.” Theron’s tone was more neutral, his hand gentle as it rested on her arm. “You don’t have to tough things out, y’know.” A teasing glint flickered in his eyes. “I’ve already fallen for you, stubbornness and all, there’s no need to further impress me.”

She snorted. He was one to talk about stubbornness, anyway. “It really isn’t that bad,” she said, patting his hand even as she subtly leaned into the support. “Just a sprain, most likely.”

“You say that like I’m not familiar with how much they can screw things up if you let ‘em go,” Theron countered. He caught her eye with a meaningful look. “Or the body language of someone who’s in more pain than they’re admitting.”

“Yes, I suppose you would be intimately, personally familiar with that, wouldn’t you?” Jaaide needled lightly. 

“You say that like it doesn’t come in handy with making sure my girlfriend takes care of herself,” he drawled. “Let me help you, sweetheart. There’s no one you need to impress, no need to save face. Just me.”

She sighed, too tired to argue. “Alright, fine. What form did you see this help taking? Plan to carry me to the ship piggyback?”

“Actually, yeah,” Theron chuckled. “Figured that would be smartest with the terrain. Got a better idea?”

“Not even an iota. No objections, either, just curious.” Jaaide raked hair out of her face and slid her arms around Theron’s neck when he crouched. This would be better than farther injuring herself for the sake of pride. She couldn’t resist teasing as she settled in, “Good thing we had to dress for stealth; I dunno how comfortable this would be with your usual jacket.”

“On second thought, maybe I’ll just leave you here,” Theron groused, but given he still hauled her up, hands under her thighs for support, there wasn’t much weight to the threat.

“Good luck explaining that to Lana,” Jaaide said with a grin. “Sure you’ll be alright with the extra weight?” He’d been the one to point out the troublesome terrain.

“I’ll manage.” Still, his attention was more than half on his steps as they started off.

Jaaide did her best to support her own weight so he wouldn’t feel a need to hold her up. Let him have his hands free for balance. But the last few days had been a drain on her energy, topped off with this mission, and between the rolling cadence of footsteps and Theron’s warmth soaking though her jacket, she was getting drowsy. 

She jolted fully awake as he shifted her, realized she’d been sliding.  “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. Was trying not to wake you, actually.” A pause as he skirted another hole like the one she’d stepped in. “If you’re this tired, maybe after you patch up your ankle you should nap for the flight back?”

“Worried about my sleep habits, Agent Shan?” Jaaide asked with a light chuckle.

“Rich, I know,” he deadpanned. “But yeah. Considering you’re the boss, you should probably be well-rested. For your sake as well as the Alliance. Not to mention mine,” he muttered under his breath, but at her proximity she still caught it.

“Lingering occupational habit,” she said, shifting her grip. “Which I suspect you know.”

Theron snorted. “All too well. Which is part of why I feel like I need to help you break it.”

“I will when you will.” Jaaide’s fingers curled into the leather of his jacket. “My authority might be higher, but you’re just as vital to the Alliance. And moreso to me.”

“...Thanks, sweetheart.”

She silently arched a brow in surprise when he didn’t further argue the point.

They arrived at the ship shortly after, Jaaide once again nodding off against Theron’s shoulder. He nudged her, jostling one leg a little so she’d rouse as he headed for the medbay.

“I’ll get the ship warmed up,” he said, letting her down on the bed and brushing a kiss to her forehead before he left the room. “You take care of you.”

Jaaide nodded and started working off her boot. She retrieved the diagnostic scanner and quickly confirmed her suspicions. Middling serious sprain, but nothing was broken, which was a relief. She reached for painkillers--deliberately bypassing the adrenals that would take care of her exhaustion, just not in the way Theron was advocating. She’d been planning to do datawork on the way home, maybe get ahead of the pile for once.

But Theron had a point. She needed sleep. Real sleep, not dozing over an after-action report or fleet patrol roster. Jaaide let out a small sigh of relief as the painkillers kicked in, then checked the rest of herself for any other injuries. There was nothing worse than bruises--even the shoulder that took the brunt of impact didn’t have anything lingering.

Theron returned just as she finished.

“Excellent timing,” Jaaide said. “Pass me an ankle brace? So I don’t have to hobble across the room.”

He chuckled. “Sure.” Rather than simply hand it to her, he stepped close and gently tugged the brace on her leg. “So, just a sprain, huh?”

“A decent one, but yes. Thank you.” She caught his hand and tugged him in for a kiss. “For everything.”

“Welcome.” Theron’s fingers slid into her hair and he briefly deepened the kiss. “For everything. How decent is decent?”

“Few weeks’ recovery,” Jaaide said with a shrug. “Not bedrest, but taking it easy on what I try to do.”

“This a way of hinting I need to carry you to your cabin...?”

She smirked. “I wouldn’t be opposed,” she murmured. No sooner had she uttered the words than Theron scooped her up and headed for her quarters.

“I got the coordinates punched in and all, by the way,” he commented as they went. “So you can sleep and let the autopilot get us home.”

“If you’ve done all that, you can nap with me,” Jaaide pointed out, tracing a zigzag between his jacket clasps.

“You don’t think one of us should keep an eye on things?” he asked, bumping the cabin door controls with his elbow.

“We’re both light sleepers,” she countered. “Anything serious to be a problem would wake us anyway.”

“Good point.” Theron set her on the bed, then joined her he started undoing his jacket clasps.

Jaaide arched a brow. “Though I’d have to twist your arm a little more.”

He smirked and shucked the jacket, letting it fall on the floor. “Maybe I just want an excuse to cuddle.”

She rolled her eyes, tossing her own jacket toward the desk chair.  “You don’t need an excuse for that.” Bet you he doesn’t actually go to sleep.

“Good to know,” Theron said with a grin as they both kicked off their boots and settled back against the pillows. (One of hers was still in the medbay, she remembered. She'd have to get it later.)

“Thank you again. For everything,” Jaaide murmured as she tucked herself close.

Theron wrapped an arm around her shoulders and kissed the top of her head. “Always,” he promised, and Jaaide smiled against his shirt as she settled in to rest.

----

Timeline wise this is in that gap between KotET and War for Iokath sooooo crazy reckless Idiot Spy Boyfriend has indeed started trying to figure a way to stop the Order of Zildrog. :3

[drarrily-we-row-along]

Veritaserum Prompt Part 2

(Alrighty, friends! Here's part two of the Veritaserum prompt ficlet! I hope you enjoy.)

Harry had no idea what he was doing.

And to be fair, this was not an uncommon occurrence in his life. After everything that he'd done, everything that he'd been through, you'd think that he would be used to flying by the seat of his pants by now.

But this, Harry thought to himself as he stared at Draco Malfoy devouring a salad with chicken and fresh strawberries across from him at the island in the kitchen, was really not the plan.

The plan had been to find out where they were keeping Malfoy. The plan had been to find out how he was being treated and document it. The plan had been to put together a report demanding his release, demanding that Draco Malfoy be pardoned.

One look at him in that blasted cage and Harry's resolve to go through the correct channels was obliterated.

Hermione was going to kill him.

"I'm having trouble believing this is real," Malfoy confessed and frankly, Harry could sympathize. "I'm not sure if the way you're staring at me like you can't believe this is real either is helping or making it worse."

"This was not the plan," Harry finally said.

"Sorry?"

"I think I've made things worse," Harry confessed.

(Read more below the cut)

"Trust me, Potter, this is definitely not worse."

Harry winced, "In the short term, I agree with you," he said. "I agree completely. In the long term," he rubbed his hands over his face, "There was a plan. With lawyers and trials, with an actual fair trial, with you being tried as a minor because you were. A plan with a demand for your pardon and release."

"It wouldn't have made a difference," Malfoy said, glancing longingly at the salad bowl.

"Please have more if you're hungry," Harry said, nudging the bowl toward him and wasn't this all a bit surreal. "What do you mean it wouldn't have made a difference?"

Malfoy huffed as he scooped more salad onto his plate. "They never would have let me go."

"But Hermione says-"

"Yes," he interrupted, "Granger is brilliant, the brightest witch of our generation, but she also is on the side that won. You lot can have hope because what you wanted happened."

"So what you wanted didn't?"

Malfoy shook his head, "I mean obviously I wanted you to defeat Voldemort. What kind of idiot would I have to be to want him to stay in power? Even the people who followed him were miserable. But I was never under any delusions that my life would turn out fine."

"But we won," Harry said, "You shouldn't be punished unjustly."

"What do you think a just punishment would be?" Malfoy asked, popping a strawberry into his mouth.

"Community service," Harry replied readily, he'd thought this through already. "Maybe a few years of probation with wand monitoring."

"People died because of me, Potter," Malfoy said incredulously.

"You didn't kill them," he said.

"Semantics," Malfoy said, waving his hand.

"You didn't want anyone to get hurt. Dumbledore said-"

"Dumbledore was a fool!" he exploded. "Of course I didn't want to hurt anyone! Of course I didn't want to get the bloody dark mark! But I had to or he would have killed me and my mother. And I know you think the right choice would have been to sacrifice myself, to sacrifice my mother-"

"I didn't say that!" Harry protested.

Malfoy shook his head, "You don't have to because you lived it. You literally died, Potter."

"I mean, fine," Harry conceded. "If you're asking me to die myself, fine. It's literally what I was raised to do, it's literally the point of me. But if you'd asked me to sacrifice a single person I love," he shook his head. "I don't know what I would have done to save myself the pain of loss, to save my friends and family from the pain of that loss."

The other man stared at him for a long moment, "There is so much to unpack in that statement that I honestly don't know where to start." He shook his head, "Look, I'm grateful. Really. I didn't think I'd ever see the sun again, or taste fresh fruit, or drink clean water-"

Something clenched in Harry's stomach, "It's not fair."

Malfoy laughed, it wasn't mean or judgmental, but it was sad, "Potter, when has life ever been fair to you?"

Harry was a bit taken aback by that statement.

Before he could find the words to reply, "I'm just trying to say thank you for bringing me here. And to say I'll understand when you tell me I have to go back."

"It's not happening," Harry said fiercely.

"You've made yourself a criminal, Potter. You can't go back until you give me back to them."

"We'll clear your name," he said stubbornly.

Malfoy gave him a pitying glance, then seemingly decided to give it up. "Can I go outside?" he asked.

"Yeah," Harry said, "Of course. There's a ward set up around the property, but it's about half a mile in any direction. It won't let anyone in or out," he added.

"I won't go far," Malfoy promised.

"Oh, one more thing," Harry said, "One second." He ran back to his bedroom and fetched Malfoy's wand. "Here," he said, thrusting it out to the other man.

Malfoy stared at him, "You're giving me my wand?" he asked as though Harry was doing something inconceivable.

"Yeah," Harry said. "Yeah, of course I am."

"I could kill you in your sleep."

Harry cocked his head at him, "But why would you?"

"You're not very good at having enemies," Malfoy responded.

"You're not very good at being my enemy," Harry replied. "And honestly? I'm tired of having enemies, so if you want to off me just," he shrugged, "Do it."

Malfoy cautiously reached out and accepted his wand, tension draining from his shoulders the moment he touched it, "Circe, that feels good," he murmured. "I won't," he added, looking up at Harry then. "I won't hurt you."

"I know," Harry replied as he stepped back and headed over to start cleaning up the table.

"You're stranger than I remember."

Harry snorted, "Having an extra soul removed from your body will do that to you."

Malfoy was quiet for a long moment, probably trying to process that weird little tidbit that Harry didn't even always understand. "Do you want help cleaning up?" he finally asked.

"No," Harry said, shaking his head and glancing up at the other man, "Go outside. Enjoy the sun."

Malfoy stared at him for another moment like he couldn't believe this was actually happening before turning and heading out into the sand. Harry watched through the window as Malfoy spread his arms and tilted his head back to the sunlight, a smile on his face. It made him want to cry.

After another moment, he turned and made his way to the writing desk to pen a letter to send to Hermione that she could deliver to Kingsley.

Dear Kingsley, The conditions in which I found Draco Malfoy were so appallingly unacceptable that I deemed it necessary to remove him immediately. I'm sending along my findings on his living conditions in an official report with this letter along with any of the records that I managed to obtain from the unspeakables regarding the illegal activities, bordering on torture, that were performed. I will not be returning him to the unspeakables under any circumstances. Draco Malfoy will remain in my custody until he is granted an official Ministry Pardon. His time served in inhumane living conditions ought to make up for any lack of official punishment. I will also be remaining off the grid until Draco Malfoy has been granted the Ministry's Pardon. We both know that fundraiser season is approaching, so I hope you are able to sort this out as soon as possible so I can return to my work. Helping charitable organizations to function and serve those still suffering is important to me. You may send any correspondence to me via Ron Weasley or Hermione Granger. I look forward to hearing from you soon. Sincerely, Harry Potter

Harry read through the letter once more, making sure he'd been clear enough. Then he attached the letter to the official reports he'd written up and attached it to Mel's leg. She was a lovely parrot and they assured him that she would do just as well as any owl could. "Off you go," he murmured. "Take these to Hermione but be sure to rest on the way, yes?"

She nibbled his finger and he gave her a treat before she flew off.

He glanced out the window at Malfoy who was laying in the sand, soaking up the sun, and hoped that Kingsley would get back to him with a pardon before Malfoy realized that he was just as much a prisoner here as he was in the Department of Mysteries.

---------

Veritaserum Part 1 | Veritaserum Part 3 | Veritaserum Part 4 | Veritaserum Part 5 |

Are you guys interested in reading another part of this fic? Drop me a comment or send me an ask, if you'd like to read more. (or if you'd like to be tagged in the next part.)

I'm tagging anyone who said they wanted to read a part two below!

@gaygirldrarryblog, @londonthunderr, @tardis-221b, @nv-md, @chinike, @somevelvetmorniing, @drarrywritar, @rheya1864

@ellietheslytherin, @wistfulwonders, @textrovert-01, @thegirlwiththelibrarybag, @april-thelightfury115, @ottersmallpaws, @kittycargo @wheezykat, @missdrarrydawn, @dewitty1, @flightytemptress27, @wunderseltsam, @malicioussheep, @curlyy-hair-dont-care, @moonstruckwitch, @buttered-baguette

[minor-solemnity]

Invention and Intrigue pt.2

Tag List: @jinxqsu​ @cakesarecute @naps-and-lemons​ @mainlynonsense @riddles-wifey​ 

He’s looking at you as though he knows you, as though he sees something familiar in you. The thought makes the hairs on the back of your arms stand on end. He reaches out, cups your cheek gently and then lets his hand drop to his side. “Show me the spell.”

You spend the next week swinging wildly between panic and resignation. You can’t figure out why Riddle wouldn’t go to the Headmaster - he’s Head Boy. As far as you’re aware, he’s never broken a rule in his entire academic career and it’s no secret the kind of company he keeps. So why on earth would he allow you to get away with what you’ve done? It’s this question that sends you half-mad with paranoia and anxiety. You see Lestrange glowering at you whenever you pass him and there’s a large part of you that’s beginning to suspect that Riddle hasn’t told any of the professors because he and Lestrange are planning something far worse than expulsion for you. Revenge is the only explanation you can think of.

 Melanie, bless her, remains blissfully unaware of the fact that you’re spiralling into a vortex of paranoia and worry. She chats happily to you over breakfast on Thursday morning about George Warrington, about how he’s been a perfect gentleman so far. He pulls her chair out for her in the lessons they share together, offers her his cloak when she complains about the cold, laughs at her jokes even when they’re not funny. You smile and nod and hum your happiness for her in all the right places but your eyes remain fixed on the Slytherin table across from you. 

You absently take a sip of your tea and almost spit it back out when Riddle suddenly looks up from his breakfast and meets your eye, as though he knew you’d been watching him this whole time. He cocks his head to the side and even from this distance you can see the amused smirk playing on his lips. He raises his glass up and inclines his head slightly in a mock toast. A toast to what? Your idiocy for cursing Lestrange in public? The knowledge he has over you? Your impending demise? He takes a long sip of his drink and you don’t want to notice (but do anyway) the elegant column of his neck, the shift in his throat as he swallows. He maintains eye contact and smirks, a thumb rising to dab at his mouth. You’re gaze snaps to your porridge in front of you and ignore the way your cheeks feel suddenly hot.

“Are you alright? You look rather flushed,” Melanie asks, finally halting her increasingly giddy descriptions of George’s skill with his broom to look at you quizzically.  

“Mmm, fine. Just, you know tired. Dreading Herbology. The usual.” She purses her lips in a way that suggests she doesn’t quite believe you but you’re saved from having to answer any of her questions when George makes an appearance next to him. She beams up at him and you watch with mild nausea as he kisses her on the mouth. You’re no prude by any means, but watching your best friend and her new beau learn the crevices of each others’ mouths before nine o’clock is a little much. You cough a little pointedly but Melanie is evidently too distracted to notice so, with a roll of your eyes, you grab your satchel and head for the exit. 

You’ve still got another half an hour before Herbology starts but it’s a nice day so you settle down on one of the stone benches by the greenhouses and pull out the book you’ve been reading. It’s a deceptively thin, nondescript text and you’ve read it cover-to-cover at least three times already. Still, it’s one of the most useful books you’ve found on breaking down spell components to their most fundamental parts. You’re so engrossed in your reading that you don’t acknowledge the person who has just sat down beside you. 

A flash of gold and onyx obscures the print and Riddle is plucking the book from your hands. “Excuse me, I was reading that,” You squawk, making a grabbing motion to retrieve your book. Riddle looks entirely unperturbed, he’s lounging out on the stone bench, long legs stretched out in front of him. He looks positively regal. He ignores you as his eyes flick rapidly over the page you’d just been reading. “Do you mind?” And maybe it isn’t particularly smart of you to snap at him the way you are. He has more than enough ammunition against you to ruin your life and the fact that he hasn’t yet only serves to make you warier of him. But you hate people touching your things. It reminds you too much of all the times in your first few years at Hogwarts when little snot-nosed purebloods had taunted you by messing with your things. 

“Not particularly, no,” He says at last and you don’t like the amusement that laces his voice. You don’t like it one bit. It reminds you that when you peel back the layers of good manners and cultivated gentility, Tom Riddle is just as snakelike as the rest of his house. “This is an interesting choice,” He continues as if he’s oblivious to your less than charitable feelings towards him. “Though perhaps less surprising considering your, ah, extracurricular pursuits, no?” He hums in amusement at the shuddering sigh that escapes you. 

“Speaking of those pursuits, I’d like it if you would meet me after dinner tonight. Eight o’clock by the statue of Artemisia Lufkin.” The way he says it, you can tell it’s more of a demand than anything else, but something that looks suspiciously like uncertainty flickers across his expression before he can hide it. Despite yourself, you find yourself oddly endeared.

Part of you (the sensible part of you that you should really start listening to more often) wants to protest and make an excuse but you remember the position you’re in - the position you only have yourself to blame for - and are forced to swallow your reservations. At your very small, very reluctant nod, Riddle smiles widely, eyes gleaming with unspoken triumph. “Lovely, I look forward to it.” 

When he hands your book back to you, his fingers brush yours and linger for just a moment too long.

***

“What? No. No, absolutely not.” You’re staring in horror at the cage that Riddle has placed on the desk in front of you. Inside the cage, there’s a large fluffy cottontail rabbit. It’s nose twitches. It’s very cute. From somewhere behind you, Riddle sighs in exasperation.

“You realise that to demonstrate your spell for me, there will have to be a living target?” You wrinkle your nose at the patronising tone he uses. “And whilst I appreciate you might favour practising on Slytherins, I cannot in good conscience allow a repeat performance.”

“That was different,” You say and wince internally at the slight whine audible in your voice. “I’m not a sadist-”

“No, you’re not. That’s hardly what I was trying to say,” He cuts in, still amused, still pleasant, still utterly in control. He moves to your side, close enough that your arm brushes his, close enough to tell that despite the deceptive pleasantness, there's an undeniable air of excitement clinging to him. “Forgive me, but I’m finding it difficult to understand why you, a muggleborn, would spend time inventing such a spell and then test it out on a pureblood unless it was because there is a part of you that really does wish to inflict pain on those you deem worthy of it. Tell me, what got you interested in such dark magic to begin with? It’s hardly an interest commonly pursued by people of your status.”

You feel decidedly out of sorts at his appraisal of you. You don’t like to think of yourself as a violent person and you certainly don’t like that other people might see you as one. But it’s difficult to deny the obvious logic behind his questioning: you’d known exactly what that spell would do to Lestrange and you’d known that there would be a chance that it would do more damage than you’d intended. You just… hadn’t cared. You’d wanted him to suffer, to hurt, to feel fear as intimately as you have for years. You’d wanted him to look at you and know that he was lucky to be alive. “An interest in dark magic is hardly a statement of intent.” You say, at last, determinedly ignoring the fact that almost draining a man of all their blood in an abandoned dungeon probably is. He raises an eyebrow to let you know that the irony is hardly lost on him either and you sigh. 

“Magic is… You know the first time I performed accidental magic it was to smash my teacher’s favourite paperweight?” You can’t help but laugh at the memory. At the time you had been so angry over some perceived injustice that you can’t even remember anymore. She’d been so upset and seven year old you had been so pleased with yourself. “I think the second time I did the opposite - fixed a vase my mother had dropped. My point being, magic is about-”

“Intent,” He summarises softly, watching you with unabashed interest. “You don’t think there’s a distinction between light and dark magic.”

It’s not a question. You nod slowly in agreement anyway.“That spell could easily be used in conjunction with a blood replenishing potion as cure for blood diseases. And...” You trail off uncertainty setting in as you regard the boy in front of you. Riddle hasn’t shown you any animosity, on the contrary, he acts as though he wants to know you, as though he’s seen something in you that he likes. You feel like you could maybe trust him. “And I don’t feel guilty for defending myself against someone who’s told me that they want me dead just because of my heritage.”

You’re not sure what you’re expecting from Riddle, but it certainly isn’t the glint of recognition that sparks in his eyes. He’s looking at you as though he knows you, as though he sees something familiar in you. The thought makes the hairs on the back of your arms stand on end. Riddle fixes you with a look of such intensity that you can’t bare to look away. His eyes never leave yours as he reaches out and cups your cheek gently and you have to fight to keep your breathing steady. “You should never feel guilty for demonstrating your power against those weaker than you.”

He drops his hand and moves to stand behind you, closer than is strictly necessary. Leaning forward slightly, he murmurs in your ear, “Please, show me the spell.”

And this time, god help you, you do.

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 4)

[waitimcomingtoo]

Where We Start Again - 1

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Synopsis: how do you fake date someone you have real feelings for?

Series Masterlist and regular Masterlist

Playlist by the amazing @tiny-friggin-human

“Did Y/n get a new skirt?” Ned mumbled as he rested his head on his hand. He and Peter watched you as you hung a banner for the school dance, a common lunchtime activity for them. You laughed loud enough for Peters heightened senses to pick up and he smiled to himself.

“No. She’s worn that skirt before. She just usually wears it with tights.” Peter answered as he matched Ned’s position of leaning on his hand.

“Another reason why I love spring.” Ned sighed as you reached towards the other end of the banner.

“You guys are losers.” MJ stated as she glanced up from her book. Peter jumped out of the daze you put him in and looked at her.

“Hey.” He said in defense before returning his attention to you. Even after four years of pining, he never got tired of looking at you.

“I wasn’t being mean. I’m just telling it like it is. In case you forgot, you guys are losers.” She said matter of factly. “Y/n is the most popular girl in school and I’ve watched you drool over her for the better part of four years. While you may think staring at her with a lovestruck expression will magically will her into falling in love with you like the plot of a bad Katherine Heigle movie, you’re only going to give her the feeling that she’s being watched. And girls like that hate being watched.”

“How would you know?” Ned came to his friends defense.

“I’m very observant. She’s also my bio partner and told me she hates being watched.” MJ shrugged and shifted her eyes back to her book.

“Did you hear that, Peter? She hates being watched. That’s so adorable of her.” Ned gushed and let out a sigh.

“Do you talk to her a lot in bio? Is she nice?” Peter asked, curious to know something personal about you.

“She brings me a granola bar every day because she noticed that I forget to eat during lunch if I’m reading. Do you know what that means?” MJ cocked her head.

“She’s charitable.” Peter smiled dreamily and sunk back into his hands.

“I heard she gave a dollar to a homeless person once and he used it to found a company that like, cured eczema or something.” Ned nodded in excitement and Peter hung on to every fabricated word.

“It means you don’t have a chance.” MJ deadpanned. “She’s basically the most perfect human being I’ve ever met. She’s not gonna fall in love with you. You guys are at the bottom of the food chain.”

“I know.” Peter said softly, trying to mask the hurt in his voice. “I just like looking at her.”

“Well quit staring. You look like a stalker.” MJ smirked as she turned her page.

“Dudes, is she coming closer or am I hallucinating again?” Ned patted Peters arm repeatedly until he looked your way. His mouth went dry as you approached his table with a clipboard in your hand.

“She’s coming closer.” MJ confirmed. “Try not to embarrass yourself too much, his royal shyness.”

“Hey, guys. How’s your lunch going?” You asked once you got to the table. Peter and Ned’s jaws dropped as their shared brain cell struggled to find words to say.

“Food good.” Ned grunted out and you let out a laugh.

“Yeah, food is good.” You nodded and looked over at Peter. “Is that a gogurt, Peter?”

“Uh, my aunt packed it. I usually eat big boy yogurt. I mean” he cleared his throat and deepened his voice, “man yogurt.”

“Man yogurt?” MJ grimaced.

“I remember seeing gogurt commercials as a kid and wishing I could dye my hair to look like the pink and blue one.” You smiled softly and touched the end of your hair. “That’s sweet that your aunt still packs your lunch.”

“Well I - - she, sometimes, um - and then she, yeah.” Peter stuttered and shook his head to collect himself. He took a second gogurt out of his lunch box and held it out to you. “Here. She packed me an extra today.”

Your eyes widened like a child as you took the tube from him. He smiled softly at the sight of your excitement and wondered why a random nerd giving you gogurt made you so happy.

“Thank you.” You smiled widely and checked the flavor. “And it’s my favorite kind.”

You and Peter looked at each other for a moment and he felt himself relax. It wasn’t often he got to look at you up close. A lot of his staring was done from afar when you couldn’t see him. Now you were close enough for him to smell your perfume and he didn’t know how to act. He just gazed at you until he heard a chuckled from MJ.

“Hey Michelle. Are you eating or reading over there?” You teased her as you lightly smacked the back of her head.

“I was reading but now I’m watching two dorks struggle to talk to a pretty girl.” She said as she nodded towards Peter and Ned.

“Well I just wanted to ask if you guys were coming to the dance next Friday. I’m head of the planning committee so it’s kinda like my baby. All the details are on that banner over there.” You said as you pointed to the banner behind you.

“Banner good.” Ned nodded eagerly and you laughed again.

“Thank you! I painted it myself.” You told him. “I wasn’t sure about the red and blue but I think it looks all right.”

“I like red and blue, too.” Peter spoke up and you shot him a wink.

“Peter knows his colors!” MJ said in a baby voice. “Do you like trucks and chu chu trains too?”

“Leave him alone, Michelle.” You emphasized her name to taunt her and she stuck her tongue out at you. “Ignore her. She’s not her when she’s hungry.”

Not knowing what to say, Peter nodded and softened his eyes. This was the most he had ever spoken to you, and it was better than all of the conversations with you he had made up in his head. He opened his mouth a few times, but nothing came out. He was finally talking to his long time crush and all he had given you was a gogurt.

“I know Michelle isn’t much of a dancer, but what about you guys? Do you think you’ll come?” You brought the conversation back to the dance when you saw Peter struggling.

“Me like dance. Skirt look good today.” Ned gave you a thumbs up and you looked down at your skirt in amusement.

“Dude, you’re talking like a caveman.” Peter whispered harshly.

“Is he okay?” You asked Peter. You pointed to Ned, who was locked in a trance as he stared at you. Drool was begging to form on his lip.

“I think he’s having a stroke.” Peter said honestly.

“I think he might be dead.” MJ added. “Guess he can’t go to the dance either.

“Okay, um, well I hope you can come then, Peter. It should be a lot of fun.” You smiled at him and tapped the gogurt tube against your head. “See you around.”

“Bye.” Peter squeaked as you walked away, keeping his eyes on you until you were out of view.

“Did you hear that Peter?” Ned shook his arm. “She hopes you come! Wait…”

“That was painful to watch. That, that made me itchy.” MJ concluded.

“Did she just ask me out?” Peter whispered to himself.

“Not at all.” MJ tilted her head in confusion.

“But she said she hopes to see me there. She wants me at her dance. And by correlation, she wants me.” Peters eyes widened as he connected the dots.

“This is like watching the scene where the misunderstood character becomes the villain.” MJ feared for Peters sanity.

“I have to go to that dance. I have to see her.” Peter realized as he turned towards Ned. Ned was already staring off in your direction, watching you give your clipboard out for people to sign.

“Look at her. She looks so cute when she’s asking people to come to the dance she planned.” Ned gushed.

“I bet she planned it better than any dance has ever been planned.” Peter fell back into his trance upon seeing your smile as you passed around the clipboard.

“My original statement stands.” MJ sighed and went back to her book. “You guys are losers.”

~

Peter kept a smile on his face as he carried his science fair project to his locker, the warm feeling inside still lingering from your conversation. It only faltered when he sensed Flash coming up behind him, cocky smirk already prevalent on his face. He smacked the books out of Peters hands and let out a snarky laugh.

“What’s up, Penis Parker? Is this your nerd-vention for the science fair? I heard you have a real shot this year since they’re giving extra points to virgins. Let me see how it works.” Flash poker at the lego lamp Peter was holding and tried to press the on button.

“Leave me alone, Flash. Get your raccoon hands away from it.” Peter sharply moved his project away from Flash, shielding it with his hands as he went.

“Come on. I just want to see how your little project works. Don’t I get a sneak peak?” Flash whined as he reached for the lamp again, managed to knock a few bricks off.

“No. You don’t.” Peter snapped, regretting his words when Flash got an amused look in his eyes.

“Did Penis Parker just tell me no? I don’t know how I feel about that. I think I should do something about it.” Flash said through gritted teeth as he took a step closer to Peter.

“Peter!” You came from behind and wrapped your arms around Peters shoulders, making his and Flash’s eyes widen. “I’ve missed you all day. Why haven’t you been texting me back?”

“What?” Peter asked in exasperation as he turned around. You let your hand slide down his arm and took his hand, all while giving him a sweet smile.

“I sent you like a million texts, baby. Did you not get them?” You tilted your head and silently told Peter to go along with it.

“No way. Not possible.” Flash laughed abruptly. “You’re dating Penis Parker?”

“After I practically had to beg him to give me a chance, yeah.” You nodded and rested your head on Peters shoulder. “I still can’t believe we’re together. I can totally see why you guys call him Penis Parker.” You winked at Flash and he started to gag. It took Peter a minute to get the joke but when he did, it made the situation that much better.

“There is no way a girl as hot as Y/n is dating a loser like Freddie Benson over here.” Flash folded his arms and shook his head. “Am I being pranked? Is there a camera around here? Holy shit, am I gonna be on TV?”

“It’s not a prank, Flash. Peter and I really together. Right, baby?” You turned to Peter and brushed some hair off his forehead, something you’d been wanting to do all day.

“Right.” Peter said confidently and you smiled at him for taking the hint. He adjusted his grip on your hand to be more natural, taking notice of the way it fit in his like it was made just for him.

“So you guys are going to the dance together, I assume?” Flash tested. Peter looked to you in a panic but you were unfazed.

“Yep. Peter asked me last night after surprising me with a bouquet of daisies.” You gushed and rubbed Peters arm, pulling away a little in surprise when you felt his incredibly firm bicep. “Isn’t that cute? It’s because he calls me his daisy.”

“Then I guess I’ll see you guys there. Together.” Flash tried to test you but you didn’t back down.

“Yes you will. Bye Flash.” You waved goodbye to him and he scoffed before leaving. As soon as he was out of earshot, you turned to Peter and assessed the damage on his LEGO lamp.

“Did he break it?” You asked as you put your hands over Peters shaking ones to help him steady the board he was carrying the lamp on.

“I’m Peter.” He blurted and you laughed softly.

“We had a conversation an hour ago where I used your name several times. I know your name is Peter.” You told him as you picked up the books Flash had knocked down.

“My last name is Parker.” He nodded, knowing he was blowing it with you but not knowing how to stop it.

“I know that too.” You assured him. “This is really cool, by the way. Did you make this all by yourself?”

“Well, I, yeah.” Peter kept his eyes on his project, finding it easier to talk when he wasn’t looking at you.

“Looks like he knocked this part off. He’s such an idiot some- all of the time.” You corrected yourself. “Is it gonna be hard to fix? I know the science fair is this Friday.”

“No. It’s just legos, see?” Peter put a few red bricks back in their place. “I just have to get Ned to help me glue the pieces down.”

“I never had legos as a kid. My mom thought it would make me a tomboy.” You laughed shortly and Peter noticed a sadness in your eyes. “I uh, I heard you and Ned talking about the Death Star the other day. It sounded pretty cool. Do you have a lot of sets?”

“Not that many. Only 12.” He told you, wondering why you were interested in something like that. He always assumed a girl of your popularity and status would find a LEGO Death Star completely lame.

“12?” You were impressed. “Which ones your favorite?”

“The Ferris wheel.” He answered without thinking. “It has a motor so it really turns.”

“Can I see it?” You asked and he laughed nervously.

“It’s at my house, so…” He trailed off when you nodded like you already understood where it was.

“Do you want to come over?” He asked as more of a question than an offer. He couldn’t think of a single reason that you would want to go to his apartment.

“Would that be all right? I’ve always wanted to play with legos.” You said sheepishly and he opened his mouth in pleasant surprise.

“People are gonna talk if they see us walking home together.” He reminded you and you furrowed your eyebrows.

“Who cares?” You handed him his back back and took his hand. “You’re my boyfriend now, aren’t you?”

“I-“ Peter tensed and felt every word he knew leave his brain as he struggled to string together a sentence.

“Hey, relax. I’m only kidding.” You squeezed his hand and he calmed down. “Fake boyfriend, remember? I do want to play with legos, though.”

“I can help you out with that.” He said stiffly and you tugged him towards the doors.

“Come on, then.” You pulled him outside and the warm air hit his face, reminding him that he wasn’t sleeping.

“Okay.” He smiled to himself as he lead you towards his apartment as he held your hand. If you clocked the stunned looks from other students as you passed by, you didn’t show it. Peter was living out his greatest fantasy and you were acting like nothing was out of the ordinary. Determined not to blow this once in a lifetime chance with you, he kept his pace up and fell into an easy stride beside you. You did most of the talking as you walked towards his apartment, which Peter was grateful for. He was able to sneak you past May and braced himself for what could possibly happen next as he opened the door to his bedroom.

Tag List 🏷

@a-villain-vying-for-attention @wendaiii @dorbiksbitch @t-monosapiens-h @badhollandfluff @silteplaittais-toi @thisisthebiplace​ @seasidecrowbar​

[miss-choco-chips]

Umm... I was wondering if you could Maybe do a follow up on your mini fic Last Line from dicks pov? It gave me alot of feelings and i would love to see the fallout?

Your work is really good! Its so cool how your brave enough to put pieces of yourself out there for other people!

Hey babe! Thank you for your kind words! It made me smile getting this, you are very sweet <3

I totally forgot about Last Line lol, but when I saw it reminded me that I actually wrote a bit more of it, both before and after the scene I posted. So, this isn’t exactly what you asked, but here’s some backstory and then the fallout!

---.---

Four years old, and he watches the red string on his finger pulled taunt towards the crying boy, the color of the thread well disguised among the red blood of the murdered acrobats.

Nine, and he watches from the shadows as it swings right and left, following Robin’s pirouettes from building to building. The thread, that usually goes a few feet before ‘vanishing’ from sight, was almost completely visible now, at such a short distance from the person holding onto its other end.

He’s on his twelve when he tries to explain to Dick the importance of him going back home. He wasn’t sure of his success, even though the older hero took him to the manor, because during his whole speech, Nightwing hadn’t looked up from the red joining them together. It wasn’t exactly how Tim wanted him to find out, but… Batman needed a Robin, and he was out of options.

At fourteen, he feels Kon’s hand clenching on his shoulder, as they both watch from the side how Nightwing swept Barbara off her feet and twisted her around, laughter falling from both their lips even as Dick thread’s end was pointing towards Tim. The third Robin didn’t turn to look at his best friend, didn’t meet Bart’s eyes or react to Cassie taking his hand on hers. He just made sure his face was perfectly devoid of any emotion when he muttered, low enough only a kryptonian would hear, ‘I wish it was any of you’. 

(A few nights later, when he and Conner were sitting quietly on the Tower’s roof, the clone took Tim’s hand with his own, his lack of red string blatantly obvious as he said ‘If I had any, I wish it could be you’. To this day, it’s the sweetest thing anyone ever said to him)

He is so, so tired, and he’s only sixteen. But keeping up with the shitfest that was the Battle for the Cowl, helping Dick while ignoring his red string (pulling him towards Nightwing, now Batman, stark contrast against the dark of his suit, with distracting insistency), dealing with Damian’s abuse as expected of him as the ‘mature, older brother’, coping with Bruce’s death, the shock of Dick throwing him, his soulmate, away so so easily…

(Shouldn't be surprising; Dick had been discarding him in favor of others since they met, shamelessly displaying his various relationships in front of him with an attitude that might be called cruel from anyone else but that just earned him playful shoves from other Leaguers while Tim was expected to swallow his pain, because a red string isn’t a promise, Dick is free… and yes, he knows that, but it doesn’t mean shit to his dying heart)

(Maybe, when he left for proof of Bruce being alive, it wasn’t so much for his old mentor than it was for himself)

----.----

Tim is seventeen and halfway across the world, looking at the string attached to his hand that never truly meant anything to any other than him (not to Bruce, who never took Dick aside and talked to him about consideration with his soul mate; not Dick's conquers, who never gave a fuck  about the red string in the hands that touched their skin, even when a lot of them knew who was on the other end of it; not Dick himself, who after asking every thing out of Tim and having it, forcefully took the one thing Tim wouldn't give by choice and claimed Tim was his equal, his soulmate, so he never could be his sidekick... even if it was the first time ever that Dick even mentioned the string tying them both together), when he thinks 'you were always free; now, I'm freeing myself’.

He gingerly bites on the string, and with his other hand takes a handful of it and pulls.

The pain piercing his heart is expected, but not new. He had been feeling it since the first time he saw Dick's back as he walked away with someone else.

He times it carefully, too. He doesn't think Dick would care, but just in case, Tim waits until it's morning in Gotham, when he's sure Dick is probably sleeping after patrol.

Maybe he would wake up without noticing

---.---

In Gotham, Dick is carried by Alfred and Damian to the cave, when the new Batman's screams of pain woke everyone in the Manor up. They are suspecting cardiac arrest, and then Dick looks down to his hand and notices the string, always tense, signaling him where his north is, where Tim is, laying loose and lifeless.

He panics, asks Superman to track Tim down or something, and when the man confirms Tim is still alive somewhere in the Middle East, he knows.

And like a freight train, the parting words Kori told him the last time they saw each other hit him right in the chest.

"He isn't going to wait for you forever"

----.-----

When Tim does come back, at nineteen, it’s a quiet thing. 

He spent the last how many days carefully setting his systems up, making sure his mainframe would outstand Oracle’s scrutiny when she realized he was back in town and tried to hack her way into his life.

(He didn’t blame her, of course not. Dick was charming enough, good enough, anyone he set his eyes into would be helpless to nothing but fall in his arms.

And, wasn’t Tim the one who would have been intruding, had he tried to chase after the first Robin? Everyone knew he and the original Batgirl were a perfect match, thousands of times better than Tim, whom Fate just wanted to screw over.

But not anymore)

The first thing he did, once the safe houses were chosen and his programs up and running, was to ruthlessly hack into the Batcomputer and take a look at patrol routes. 

He would need to keep clear of Diamond District and Old Gotham, least he risked crossing paths with B and R. The Financial and City Hall Districts were apparently Batgirl’s playground for the night, and if he wanted to drop by and let Cass know he was back, he could always search for her by the Upper West Side down to Chinatown.

He would avoid the Upper East Side like the plague, though. Maybe Coventry too, just to be safe. Lots of skintight blue in that direction.

Which left… Crime Alley, the Bowery and Burnley, mainly. He needn't check to know who’s house that was.

And that’s how he ended, on his very first night back on the streets, dragging Red Hood’s bleeding ass away from a blowing up building.

-----.-----

Apparently, saving a recently rehabilitated murderous vigilante was a bonding experience, because Jason didn’t kick him out of his side of town, nor tell on him. 

He couldn't, however, do anything to prevent the criminal gossip mile from spreading, and before a week had passed, half the city was aware of the new player on the board.

-----.------

Jason was taking a breather, smoking while sitting on his favorite rooftop, when the rustling sound of fabric told him his peace and quiet was over.

“I thought you were back at being N”, he greeted, not bothering to turn around or get up. 

“B was out of town, and Robin needed someone to watch over him during patrol.”

A quick glance around had Hood snorting, “Then y’re doing a shitty job. Don’t see the midget anywhere.”

It would never NOT be weird to hear a strangled laugh coming out of the Bat suit, as tight and humorless as it was now. It seemed big ol Dick wasn’t doing so great tonight.

“Batgirl took him to a party in Diamond District. Gang war.”

He humms in response, not bothering to keep on the smalltalk. N, no, B was here for something, and it wasn’t Jason’s job to ask it out of him; if it was important, he would do it himself.

“Where is him, Hood?”, he finally went to the heart of the matter. 

Jason tilted his head, still looking over his city, unmindful of the steps coming closer to his position, “Robin? Ya just said it, B. Going senile? Gang war, wasn’t it?”

“Don’t play around. You know I mean…”

Oh, yeah, Dickie still wasn’t sure what to call Timbo. Criminal gossip only went so far, for someone who didn’t bother to shout his hero name to everyone he beat up. It was very possible only  Jason was aware of his new monicker. All gothamites knew was a young vigilante showed up recently, wearing red and black and hanging out with the Hood, which immediately upped his street rep to ‘not to be fucked with’.

“Lil red?”, he completed for his older brother, feeling both charitable and petty. Batman’s wince was more evident by the rustling sound of his cape; he had hit a sore spot, hadn’t he? 

“Where? I’m not asking again.”

“Good, ‘cause I’m not answering. Must be ‘roundere somewhere, the little creep.”

“Hood, I’m running out of patience.”

“And I’m out of cigarettes, your point? I don’t have him on a leash asshole. We just share the same hunting space, it’s not like we go home together and do face masks while we talk about feelings.”

They did go to a safespot, though, and share beer and pizza while cursing their relatives and Fate as a whole, but it wasn’t necessary information for the fucker. He just breathed in the last of his smoke before dropping the cigarette butt and stepping on it, stretching as he did.

“Now, any more of this riveting conversation, or can I go? No, wait, it was a rhetorical question; get out of my part of town, ass. I’ve been plenty generous by letting you come this far, but our truce lasts as long as the lot of you don’t build any sandcastles on my playground and you know it. Now, scram.”

He could feel Dick’s reticence at leaving without what he came here for, but Oracle must be talking him into letting it be for tonight, because he didn't push. Jason turned just in the right moment to catch the way Dick looked down to his gloved hand, as if expecting the lifeless red string to be pulled taunt in Tim’s direction by some miracle. Jason felt the smallest ping of pity, quickly washed away by the memory of the younger hero’s haunted eyes as he told Jason the story of his severed soul bond and how he came to do it.

Thirty seconds after the bat vanished into the night, a little red bird landed softly on the spot next to him.

“Thanks, Hood”, he muttered, just as tired and hurting as he’d been ever since he saved Jason’s ass and they became partners, but with the smallest hint of lightness that made him prouder of driving Dick away than he’d ever been.

“Don’t mention it, but fair warning, the big B scomin back home in a few days, and he’s harder to kick out than a hurting, annoying bluebird.”

“I know”, Tim sighed, well aware of both facts. “I’ll play it by ear. For tonight, what about bashing some skulls and ruining Two Face’s new op? Good intel says it’s just a few blocks from here, and shattering bones always makes you smile.”

“Babybird, you speak the language of love.”

“Wasn’t that french?”

“I’m trying to compliment you, don’t be a smart ass about it.”

“I am smart, and I do have a good ass. That seems like an impossible request.”

----.----

[c-optimistic]

stay

or, dani has a chronic illness (alternatively: tried getting a friend to write this but she said no—I know, cruel right?—so I wrote it and am posting it even though absolutely no one asked for it)

Jamie notices it first.

(At first, it’s surprising to Dani, that Jamie is paying just as much attention to her as she is to Jamie. It makes her cheeks flush with warmth, leaves her unable to look away from Jamie’s soft eyes, has her aching to reach out and take Jamie’s hand and—

Dani breathes in, shoving those thoughts aside.)

Flora’s raced off into the garden, Miles chasing after her, and Dani leans against the entrance to Bly Manor, hands on hips, trying to manage her breathing. Her heart is pounding away in her chest, her head spinning, vision spotty. For a moment, she’s worried she’ll collapse—she’s been so careful for so long and she hasn’t felt quite this bad since well….

She’s not sure. She doesn’t think it’s ever been this bad.

Just as she straightens, feeling a bit more certain on her wobbly legs, she feels a hand on her shoulder, a gentle tug pulling on the back of her sweater.

“I’ve nothing to do right now,” Jamie tells her, grinning at her as she releases Dani’s shoulder and steps up next to her. “Why don’t I watch the goblins for a bit?”

“You really shouldn’t call them that,” Dani protests, but it’s weak and she doesn’t actually care, knowing that Jamie doesn’t mean it and much more interested in the way Jamie’s fingers brush against the back of her hand as she releases her sweater and walks backwards just past her. “And only Miles is really the goblin. Flora’s an angel.”

Jamie’s eyes rove over her face, clearly looking for something, and she ignores Dani’s comment. “Why don’t you take a break? Owen and Hannah are having tea—the real kind, not whatever it is you make. You should join them.”

“Oh, I don’t know—”

“—c’mon, Poppins. Everyone can use a break.”

Dani swallows, pretending she doesn’t hear the knowing undercurrent in Jamie’s assertion, and she nods, tearing her eyes away from Jamie’s and focusing on her shoes. “Yeah. Yeah, of course. You’re right. I’ll go...get some tea.”

Jamie waits, clearly intending to watch Dani turn and go back inside, one eyebrow raised, as if daring Dani to do what she wants to do—sneak past Jamie and get to the kids. “The tea will be getting cold then, and despite what you think it’s not supposed to be cold,” Jamie prods, gesturing with her chin towards the Manor, and Dani caves.

“I’m going, I’m going,” she says, holding her hands up in surrender. She doesn’t need Jamie’s huff of laughter to know that she’s still being watched as she turns back around and heads towards the kitchen (though all she really wants is to go up to her room, to sink into her bed, to drift off into an undisturbed slumber), accepting that she has no choice but to take a break.

(And when she sits down with Owen and Hannah, they’re all smiles, not questioning why Jamie took over for her, Owen pulling out the cookies—or were they called biscuits?—Dani likes that he makes sure to keep on hand for ‘special occasions,’ Hannah telling her about her latest foray into town, and Dani wonders if Jamie was the first to notice after all.

She wonders if maybe Jamie was just the first to call her out on it.)

x

“Miss Clayton?” Flora begins, dropping her doll and turning to look at Dani with an oddly mature expression of worry. “Are you all right?”

Dani stops picking up Flora’s clothes and frowns, confused at the question. “Yeah, of course. Why do you ask?”

Flora doesn’t seem to want to say. She gets to her feet, abandoning her massive dollhouse, and slides into bed without prompting, pulling her covers up to her chin. “Do you promise not to tell anyone I told you?” she asks, waiting for Dani to nod and sit down on the edge of the bed before she continues. “Miles and I played hide and seek the other day, and I hid in the stairwell near the kitchen. Mrs. Grose spoke to Jamie about you. They said they were worried about how you’re doing.”

(Dani is conflicted. On one hand, she appreciates the obvious concern everyone in this house has for her, the affection that leads them to notice she needs a break or to worry about how she’s doing. But a less charitable part of her is annoyed.

She’s not some weak damsel in need of saving, and she doesn’t appreciate the others talking behind her back and treating her as if she is.)

“You don’t need to worry about what they said,” Dani tells her, reaching out to smooth back her hair. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sick?” Flora asks, her concern not dissipating.

“No, Flora, I’m not sick.”

Flora doesn’t seem very convinced, but she nods into her blankets and shifts to her side. When Dani is halfway across the room, ready for bed herself, Flora speaks up once more. “Is it something that gets better?” she asks, sounding far older and wiser than a child had any right to. Dani turns around and gives Flora her best smile.

“Good night, sweet girl,” she says, and she thinks that her non-answer is answer enough.

x

She didn’t know about it until after Eddie. After what happened to him.

(She’d see his face, his illuminated glasses, and she’d think—for a heart-stopping moment—that her fiancé was haunting her. But then, as she regained control over her lungs, she’d notice it was a trick of the light, a glare off a window.

Eventually, she’d see a doctor. Eventually, he’d tell her there was something very wrong.

Eventually, she’d packed up and just...left, tired of all the looks from everyone back at home, at the whispers of ‘isn’t it just tragic?’ and ‘first him, now her.’)

Sometimes, she doesn’t think anything is wrong at all.

Sure, she’s more tired than usual. And sure, sometimes she wakes up in the dead of night, clutching at her chest, trying to ignore her heart’s abnormal stuttering, wincing at the ache in her head. But usually, usually her heart beats slow and steady, usually her breathing is even and measured, usually her head is filled with nothing but the day’s plans for the children and how the shirt Jamie is wearing suits her.

Each reminder that something is wrong, each time she’s forced to confront the truth that her own body is failing her, betraying her, it feels like the first time—sitting in that doctor’s office, listening to him talk but not really hearing, the words washing over her as her heart began an irregular beat with which she’d soon become quite familiar.

Dani has always been very good at hiding things. She hid how she only felt friendship for Eddie for years, only breaking at the prospect of life in a loveless marriage. And now, she hides this, the headaches, the seeing things, the exhaustion, the stuttering heart soldiering on despite every agonizing beat.

She hides, but Jamie’s watchful, tender eyes are on her, ready to rush forward at a moment’s notice; Hannah’s soothing presence is always just within reach; Owen’s thoughtful care has him anticipating her needs before she knows what they even are.

(She’s not used to this. People who see her, who love her, who stay even when things get hard.

And it breaks her heart that once they learn the truth—when they discover that her faltering heart is sending defective blood to her every extremity, that her rattling lungs struggle to fill with air, that each step is a step closer to the point of no return—they will want nothing to do with her.

More than that, she wouldn’t want them to.)

x

One afternoon, as Jamie, Hannah, and Owen watch Dani force the kids to work in the garden, looking terribly amused by the turn of events, she finds herself thinking that it’s unfair she only got to meet Jamie now.

Jamie is like...a breath of fresh air. Or, perhaps more accurately, that first inhale after being submerged underwater for a touch too long. It’s as if her chest was bursting from the pressure and then—

—then came Jamie, then came release.

(She looks like second chances and Dani would swear she tastes like possibility and there’s a part of her that’s desperate to find out.

Desperate to know if her touch would feel like home.)

But Dani doesn’t know how to put those feelings—feelings she’s never had for anyone else—into words. So she settles for long stares, for wistful looks, for furtive glances—hoping against hope Jamie hasn’t noticed how many times Dani looks her way throughout the day.

(She rather wishes it hadn’t happened at all, instead of happening now. Meeting Jamie, getting drawn into those eyes, gravitating to her presence.

Because now...well, now it’s all moot. Now it doesn’t matter. She’s marked, she’s damaged, she’s broken.

She has timer ticking down to an uncertain but looming date, and she can’t afford to allow anyone to be in the vicinity when that last second arrives, doesn’t want anyone to be hit by her leftover shrapnel in the resulting explosion.

But Jamie looks at her like she’d brave it anyway, and sometimes Dani wants so much to cave.)

“I think you missed a section,” Jamie says from where she sits, gesturing to an untouched plot of the garden, giving Miles a grin. She doesn’t even try to hide her enjoyment when he looks to Dani for help and doesn’t get it, when he crawls over to where Jamie pointed out and begins to tug on weeds. “Y’know, Poppins,” Jamie says conversationally when Dani gets up to go sit next to her, feeling the beginnings of a headache forming, “this wasn’t a half bad idea. There are plenty of plants that need watering too, spare me waking up before sunrise every morning.”

Dani looks at her, wanting so much—so much—to cave (to reach out, to touch, to—). But she just smiles and shakes her head, forces herself to focus. “I think they learned their lesson.”

Jamie shrugs, turns her attention back to Hannah and Owen, and it feels like Dani’s been submerged again.

x

She has a really good week—no aches, no pains, no exhaustion, her lungs expanding without any effort on her part.

One week, and it’s like maybe she’s fine. Maybe it had all been in her head.

(A week to hope, a week to think about everything she’d stopped allowing herself to think about—like hopes and plans and endless tomorrows.

A week to feel normal, to feel excited, to look forward to what the future would bring.

She got one week.)

One week, and then she collapses on the stairs as she’s chasing after the kids.

(Flora screams, at least she thinks so. She hears something, but her vision is spotty and her head feels full of cotton, and she’s unsure for a moment where she is. A part of her expects to open her eyes and see Eddie standing over her, his expression hard and set.)

The next thing she knows, she’s being looked over by the sole doctor in town as she lays on the couch in the sitting room, everyone (Hannah, Owen, Flora, Miles, and Jamie) gathered around her, a fire roaring in the fireplace.

The doctor pockets his stethoscope and gives her a sad smile when he notices she’s awake. “I told you when you first came to me, Miss Clayton,” he begins softly, everyone listening in with rapt attention, “your health—”

“—I know, I know,” Dani interrupts, and he seems to take the hint, pulling back and nodding slowly. (When she got this job, she’d sought the kind doctor out, telling him about her diagnosis, telling him about exactly what she’d need from him. And she remembers the way he had looked at her, the way he hadn’t questioned her, just looking over all the records she’d brought with her and nodding slowly in silent acceptance.)

“Rest, won’t you?” he says, patting her shoulder before taking his leave, Owen and Hannah following him, as if intent on getting him alone to get some answers. But Dani only has eyes for the kids and for Jamie, the three of whom are looking at her worriedly, Flora going as far as coming around to take Dani’s hand.

“I’ve an idea,” Jamie says before Dani can think of an explanation, an excuse, some way to make her collapsing less serious than she knows it is. “Why don’t we all hang out with Miss Clayton a bit?” she asks, looking at Flora, then Miles. “Keep her company?”

“Like a slumber party?” Miles asks, a smile appearing on his face.

“Oh, that would be perfectly splendid!” says Flora, releasing Dani’s hand in order to clap. “Can we, Miss Clayton? I’ll stay up all night!”

Dani shifts on the couch, noticing Owen and Hannah making their way back and then catching Jamie’s eye, and she decides that caving a little—just a touch—couldn’t possibly hurt. “That sounds like a good idea,” she finds herself saying.

“Excellent,” Owen laughs, making a face at Flora that has her giggling. “How about some hot chocolate for the kids, and some adult hot chocolate for the rest of us?”

“Can I have adult hot chocolate?” Miles asks, looking to Dani and Hannah for permission, shoulders slumping when he gets two unequivocal no’s.

(And much, much later, long after Jamie helps Dani carry the kids to their beds, long after she finds Jamie sleeping on the couch in the morning, long after Owen and Hannah disappeared to who knows where, Dani finds herself caving once more.

She finds herself reaching out and squeezing Jamie’s hand, holding on for just a touch too long, finds herself memorizing the look on Jamie’s face in response, finds herself smiling at Jamie’s quiet who the hell knew?, and finds herself thinking that yes, Jamie does feel like home.

And she finds herself wanting it even more.)

x

She confesses nearly everything to Jamie in her greenhouse, surrounded by the plants Jamie loves so much, feeling remarkably safe in the dark and pressed up against Jamie’s warmth.

(Later, she thinks it was the influence of the alcohol, the fact that Owen’s mother just passed, the fact that she hadn’t slept well in what felt like decades.

But the truth—something she thinks she’s only able to admit to herself in the dead of night, when exhaustion has seeped in, leaving her vulnerable to honesty—is that she’s been desperate to tell Jamie. She’s wanted to, needed to, felt absolutely driven to, from the first moment she laid eyes on the gardener and knew—somewhere deep in her stuttering heart—that she’s something special.)

“You must think I’m crazy,” she mumbles after she’s finished, unsure which part she’s referring to. The fact that she’d thought she could see Eddie after he died? That she ran to the other side of the world to get away from pitying eyes? That she took a job in the middle of nowhere, with children who’d dealt with more than their fair share of grief, because it offered an escape she was too weak to resist?

Jamie’s eyes don’t stray from Dani’s. “No, you’re actually surprisingly sane, considering,” she says lightly, surprising a laugh out of Dani. “So is that your big, dark secret, then?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you’re a bit of a weirdo, Poppins. And I would’ve thought it’s because your ex-fiancé is haunting you, not something normal like this.”

Dani’s heart stutters, but not in the way she’s used to. It’s a swooping feeling, like your breath has been knocked out of you by a surprise, not because your lungs can’t fill with air. “Normal?” she repeats, knowing—knowing—she’s looking too intensely at Jamie, but not able to stop.

“Well, yeah,” Jamie says, shrugging a little awkwardly. “Something in your body is shit at its job. People are shit at their jobs all the time. It’s—”

And Dani caves.

She cuts Jamie off with a kiss, does the one thing she’s wanted to do since she first met the gardener, pulls her closer by the collar of her jacket, fingers snaking into Jamie’s hair, and—

—and her head swims, dizziness sets in, and she knows if her eyes had been open, her vision would be spotty.

Dani pulls back with a start, at the stark reminder of the ‘shit’ job her body is doing, and her heart resumes its irregular, erratic beat.

“It’s okay, Dani,” Jamie tells her repeatedly, “we’re good.”

But even as Jamie smiles at her reassuringly, Dani can’t help but feel she’s let home slip between her fingers.

x

She caves again (and again).

She caves and goes to Jamie (replaying the words ‘Poppins, you flirt’ over and over again in her head), caves when Jamie shows her the moonflower, caves that night as Jamie is fast asleep and Dani is wide awake, tracing her fingers lightly over the scar on Jamie’s back. She caves when she asks Jamie to come back and Jamie tells her there will be other nights and she can do nothing but ask ‘promise?’ and try not sway on her feet as she feels a rush of warmth when Jamie answers back with a nod and ‘promise.’

She caves again and again (and again).

And somewhere in between all that, she stops noticing her heart’s erratic beat, stops associating breathlessness with anything other than Jamie’s kisses, stops focusing on the pain that Jamie’s touch somehow manages to dull.

Dani caves and somewhere along the way she thinks, maybe. She thinks yes, I can have this too. She thinks it’s okay to do this.

She caves, forgetting what’s lurking in her own heart and lungs and veins, forgetting she’s making a mistake.

x

Hannah is lighting candles again when Dani goes looking for her, wanting to ask her to watch the kids later in the week. She doesn’t look up when Dani sits at the second pew, but she does let out a soft sigh as she finishes lighting the last candle and then moves to come over and sit next to Dani.

There’s silence for a moment, Dani wanting to be respectful, but then Hannah turns to her, looking a little curious. “It’s none of my business, but I just wanted to say, Jamie’s the happiest I’ve ever seen her. I’d wager that’s got a lot to do with you.” She doesn’t sound anything but pleased, so Dani meets her eyes, feeling a little flushed.

“She makes me happy, too,” she says, ducking her head. “But I just…” She trails off, not quite sure how to word her thoughts, how to admit that in the depths of her heart she’s got no doubt she’s known Jamie her whole life, that she’s meant to have found Jamie, to be with her. She doesn’t know how to say that she’s terrified out of her mind because even if Jamie is happy now, the only thing Dani can promise her is a great deal of pain.

(She is intimately familiar with how loss can hollow you out, how it can leave you feeling helpless and hopeless in the face of a vast, cold universe.

She doesn’t know how to condemn someone she’s pretty sure she’s falling for to that sort of pain. She doesn’t want to.)

Hannah reaches out and pats her hand gently, then leans back against the pew.

“Love is funny,” she begins, seemingly reading Dani’s mind. “It’s sweet and freeing, but just as much as you don’t have a choice in who you fall in love with, I don’t think you can choose what someone is willing to endure for you.”

“But it’s not fair, it wouldn’t be fair,” Dani protests, drawing Hannah’s eyes.

“Well, whoever said love was fair?” she asks with a laugh. “All any of us can do, really, is love with our whole heart with whatever time we have. That has to be enough.”

x

The second time her health takes a turn for the worse, it’s not as dramatic as collapsing on the stairs. Instead, she just can’t get out of bed.

It’s painfully embarrassing, the way Hannah brings her breakfast, helps her sit up in bed, even steadies her shaking hand as she tries to sip her tea. It’s somehow worse when Owen drops by with lunch later, telling her he’d ‘gone full American’ and made some of her favorites.

But when Jamie arrives, not covered in dirt for once, Dani feels a bit of panic set in at the very thought of what she has to do—how she has to convince this woman to move on, find someone who isn’t tainted like she is.

(This is what Dani knows without a doubt: Jamie is the ‘spend forever with you’ sort of person for her, the only one who has ever made her feel safe in the storm, heard in the silence, seen in the dark.

This is what Dani knows without a single doubt: Jamie already expects everyone she meets to in someway disappoint her, and it would break Dani’s heart if she was one of those people too.)

So she decides on telling the truth.

“I’m sick you know,” Dani says just as Jamie sits down at the edge of the bed, hand resting remarkably close to Dani’s.

She raises an eyebrow. “I gathered that much, yeah.”

“No, Jamie. I’m sick,” Dani tries, the words getting stuck to the roof of her mouth, suddenly unwilling to say more. “I won’t get better, I’ll never get better. It’ll just get worse and then—” She cuts herself off, blinking rapidly, trying to prevent the onset of tears.

Jamie doesn’t say anything for a beat, just stares, before she pulls her hand back. It’s just an inch, barely even that, but it feels like miles, and Dani wishes she could take it all back. “Oh,” Jamie says eventually, her previous wry amusement fading entirely to be replaced by a soft frown.

“It’s just,” Dani starts, “you don’t get it. I have this feeling, you know? Like I’m walking through this dense, overgrown jungle and I can’t see anything. Nothing but for the path immediately ahead of me. But I know there’s this thing hidden, this angry, empty, lonely beast. And one day, who knows when, that’ll be it. I’ll be devoured.” Her tears finally escape, rolling down her cheek and onto her covers. She thinks Jamie follows the path with her eyes, but she’s not sure, can’t tell when her vision is blurred by tears. After a second, she more feels than sees Jamie shift on the bed.

“Do you want some company?” Jamie asks, and when Dani blinks her vision clear, she can see that Jamie’s holding up her hand, pinky sticking out.

“What?”

“While you’re in that jungle, waiting for the beast, do you want some company?”

(She thinks about what Hannah said, about not being able to choose what someone is willing to endure for you. She thinks about how Jamie has offered this in light of the entire, complete truth.

She thinks about how Jamie is still here, still wanting to be present, even as Dani confesses the thing she’s run from since Eddie died.)

Dani hooks their pinkies together, nodding, and she’s pretty sure—if miracles or magic or the fantastic truly existed—her body would have repaired its damaged cells when Jamie presses a kiss to Dani’s hand.

And yet, she finds Jamie's presence—her warmth, her smile, her choice—to be miracle enough.

x

They decide to leave Bly.

(Flora hugs her tightly, makes her promise she’ll visit soon; Hannah and Owen tell her to take care of herself, that they’ll keep in touch; and as Jamie helps Dani put the last of their things in her truck, as she pulls away from the Manor, Dani looks back once, idly wondering if she’ll ever be able to make her way back here.)

At first, they choose to just travel. They make a list of things they always wanted to see, then systematically go through it, hopping from place to place with no real intent—no real idea of what tomorrow will hold.

But then one day, Jamie starts to plan.

She hands a cup of tea over to Dani, raising her eyebrows as if to say this is how it’s done, then tugs out the journal where they’ve listed all their travel destinations. “I think we can skip over seeing the south, I’m not too keen on going anyway, but I hear the fall here,” she points at one of the places Dani has listed, “is quite nice. So we could start heading that way.”

“Fall is months away,” Dani says, setting her tea aside.

Jamie doesn’t notice, just sips at her own tea and hums. “That’s how the seasons work, yeah,” she says absentmindedly, clearly trying to map out their next few months in her head. She seems to finally register Dani’s stiffness and her tone, because she looks up after a beat, giving Dani the softest of smiles. “Don’t worry that pretty little head of yours,” she says, holding out a hand. “The beast’s not come yet and I want to stay, here with you. All you have to do is let me.”

(Stay.

On Jamie’s lips it sounds like more, like a confession neither of them have been brave enough to utter yet. And Dani’s heart stutters at the thought, but not because it’s struggling to beat, not because it’s working too hard.

No, her heart stutters because she’s excited.

For so long, she never thought past today. But now, with Jamie, she’s looking forward to countless tomorrows.)

Jamie looks at her, chooses her, stays with her, and once again (because it’s Jamie, because she’s starting to think maybe she’s not so broken after all) Dani caves and takes Jamie’s hand.

“Actually,” she says with a small smile, her eyes on the future, “what do you think about starting a business together? Maybe a flower shop?”

Jamie smiles brilliantly, taking the idea and running with it, flipping to a new page in the journal and jotting down ideas as she speaks, and all Dani can do is soak it all in. And she thinks, when they finally go visit Owen and Hannah in Paris, she’ll tell Hannah that loving someone with your whole heart with whatever time you’ve got is more than just enough—it’s everything.

[charlettebffxiv]

Prompt #7 Speculate

Moons had passed since Charlette had seen the faces making their way down the path that led into their village. Willow’s Heart was small, quaint in some descriptions, despite what it hid. It never looked like much more than the simplest stopover on your way to bigger places, better things. Gridania, Ul’dah, the greater Shroud or even towards Ala Mhigo now it had been freed from the Empire. But this was home, and this is where they all came back once the work was done and the Order was satisfied. It was a little strange for her, to be the one waiting to welcome home the brave souls that had ventured out. It felt wrong in so many ways, most of all the envy that was bubbling in the pit of her stomach. Nearly powerful enough to make her forget what it felt like to be returning from the work they did. But not quite that strong, and it never will be, she hoped. Once they were close enough, looking tired, their gear worn almost as much as their bodies, she stood from the bench she often saw her father or sister sitting at when she was the one returning, and opened her arms wide to her friends. “Welcome home.”

A’nidreah was the first, the small Miqo’te saying nothing in return but easily buried herself in the Elezen’s embrace. She hugged tight, her tail swinging around in a slow, fatigued manner as it curled over the pleats in Charlette’s ankle-length skirt. A’ndreah’s Order robes were no longer the bright white of a fresh set, Ul’dah’s dust having stained it an almost off-white or eggshell hue. Looking down at the top of her head, the blond locks where frizzled, knots apparent from just a glance. But it was the notches, the new ones, that had appeared in her ears which brought Charlette’s fingers up. She stroked along the rim of the Miqo’te’s ear, feeling each skip. Places where A’nidreah should have been, but had been stolen away. Bits of her that would never come back. “Is it obvious?” She had finally pulled herself from Charlette, the warmth of her head against the Duskwight’s belly leaving it feeling cold. “Only when you’re close, and someone whose been counting since you had only two.” A’nidreah slipped a palm over each ear, a gentle sigh leaving her in the moment. “Stop fiddling with it Annie, you’ll get used to it! Like calluses, or burns from a forge!” Alistair came up behind her, leaving Ogi Nogi to lead the chocobos by long leads. Bobocufu would be relieved to see her cousin returned. His light, almost white shock of hair was unmistakable even from the several wraps of scarves he always wore around his neck, covering most of his face save his eyes. No words, just a quick wave, it’s all she needed to know the man was as exhausted as the others. “I will. But I still don’t like it. I used to have such pretty ears. Now they’re all ragged, like a bullied tia’s.” Alistair clanked up next to her, the heavy armour on his shoulders holding tight to his thick stature. “I like them just fine. Scratches and scrapes just map out your story, yeah? Isn’t that what Harriet always said?” Charlette nodded, then leaned in as Alistair wrapped his burly arms around her. She didn’t have much choice really, the man was known for pulling people into hugs by force if he had to. She welcomed it. “Thanks for meeting us out here. I hate it when they’re all sitting out here, looking worried and all for us. You didn’t tell anyone we were coming back this sun?” Charlette shook her head, taking one of the leads from Ogi and helping him lead the bos the rest of the way up the path, walking in step with the others. “No. I know it’s a little much, to see all that when you get back. How did it go?” Ogi Nogi let out an irritated grunt, A’nidreah clicked her tongue, her tail swiping through the air in frustration. “We could have used you out there Charlette. It’s all just getting worse, every time we go back out it just seems like any good we do is swept away, as soon as we’ve left.” Alistair was quiet, he just stared ahead, the grey beneath his eyes looked too dark to Charlette. “I’m sorry.” Was all she could offer. The guilt she felt then was painful. She felt rested, clean, fed, and so much more herself than she had in twelvemoons. It seemed so deeply unfair when placed next to her friends, people she had trained next to, for the same trials. “For what? It’s them that have you sitting here all this time. And why? Because you didn’t fetch some books soon enough? Far as I’m concerned, Aemeric can answer for my missing bits.” Charlette was unsure if it was just a Sun Seeker’s nature to be so challenging towards the leaders of their homes, or if it was just A’nidreah. But it was a relief to hear that part of her sounding as unbeaten as it was. “Hmh, well, when you place the tab in front of him, please invite the rest of us to watch. I’d love to see his reaction.” Ogi Nogi’s voice was partly muffled, but clear as the sun above. Despite it’s boyish tone, it had a gravely texture to it. Like he was rolling stones in the back of his throat as he spoke. “Meh, he’s probably got some quotes ready. Some fancy wordsmanship that’s going to make too much sense and be irritatingly correct in how fair it is. Gods, I hate how fair he is. Just once I want him to say ‘No! Shut up, peon!’ like some Ishgardian noble. Just something I can feel good about rebelling against.” A’nidreah’s cheeks had gone a rosy colour, and she’d scuffed her heel against the dirt path, kicking up a puff of dust that blew back into Ogi’s face, making him cough. “Oi! Watch it.” “Sorry. It’s weird not being the smallest in the group anymore.” “Well, adapt before you feckin’ choke me to death with your fuming.” While Ogi wiped the dust from his face, Alistair finally spoke-up, glancing at Charlette “Any word yet on your hearing?” “None. But I’m feeling good about it. Harriet and Emille have both been nice so far. Well, nice as Emille can be. I think it means they are feeling a little more charitable towards me.” Alistair brightened at that. If Charlette was more arrogant, she would note that all three of them did. “Well that’s good! Any sun now you’ll be back out there with us. And you can contend with Aemeric instead of A’nidreah, it’d probably go much better for all of us. Especially her.” A small, boney fist banged against Alistair’s breast plate. “I’d do just fine! Not like they can do worse than they already have. I’ve polished everything in Vault Sixty-two enough times to get it done in two bells. Probably less.” No one argued with her, it was just true. “Bet you just like doing it. Miqo’te and their shinies.” Ogi dodged the hand looking to cuff him on the back of the head, then chuckled like a rogue at A’nidreah. “Just kidding! I know it’s not a Miqo’te thing. Just a you thing. Thief.” the Miqo’te’s nose went up, and her lips pouted. “You’ve no proof I took your pearl dagger. Besides, you found it again, didn’t you?” “Yeah, right where I normally leave it. As if it had been put back by someone who’d borrowed it without permission.” “Huh, such a mystery. Guess we can speculate all we want, but with no proof it’ll just have to remain one.” Charlette had said nothing more. Soon all three would be swept-up in the hugs and welcomes of their surprised and relieved family. A’nidreah would have to hear the natter of her fives sisters, talking more about their suns than wanting to hear about her time away, but It always seemed like she preferred it that way. Bobocufu would give Ogi an earful for not telling her he was on his way home, then she would probably throttle him with a tight hug, and feed him something with a lot of mushrooms in it, his favourite. Alistair’s whole family would just be delighted, his mother would cry and then his father would, and all of his siblings would tease him and them for it. Then all the reunited would probably end-up having dinner at the Nilsen’s or be threatened with crushing hugs from the burly Highlander pack. But for now, this was Charlette’s time. The same time everyone else needed with them. The time her family would need with her again, soon she hoped. She could now just watch them chat, and banter, and ask her things too. See them come down, come back. See the horrors fade from their minds as the comfort of home comes closer and closer into view. She envied them that moment, and she didn’t even know why. Because right now, she was just so glad they were all back, and in one piece. Ears not withstanding. If one of them were lost, if they had to fill another grave while she was forced to sit here. That was the horror, now sitting in the back of her mind, being quiet as Alistair was teased by his friends. Gods above, let it remain that way.

[cockasinthebird]

Spending time beneath the stars - Best Friends AU Part 1

06:08am

The sun sits grinning in the early morning sky, shining brightly down at the drowsy and utterly listless flock of students, as they stagger about with their suitcases in tow, standing in long lines to whichever bus they've been assigned to for this mandatory little adventure.

A "fun start of the year" senior trip to Hoffman Lake, to sleep in tents for 3 nights and really "rough it out" as a last hurrah before embarking on their last year in Hawkins High. Or so the guidance counselors and teachers and the principal said last Monday at the first school assembly of the year.

Yet somehow one Billy Hargrove manages to stand with a straight back, head held high, and a wide grin with perfect teeth, as he helps some poor, exhausted girls with their luggage.

They giggle at how his exposed biceps flex as he lifts up the baggage and throws it into the storage compartment, then lowers their sunglasses a bit to bash their long lashes at him and chime out a blithe, 

"Thank you, Billy." 

"No problem, ladies," his response near chivalrous as he gives them that panty-dropping smile he's so famous for. 

And as they reluctantly step aside to keep the line moving, Tommy H shoves his way past some other poor student to get all up in Billy's face with two suitcases - his own and Carol's. 

"Hey if you need any condoms on this trip, or maybe the tent alone for a bit, just say the word and I'll drag Steve off to somewhere," Tommy says with barely any discreet insinuation, nodding in the direction of the two girls who nearly trip over themselves as they stare back. 

Billy chuckles and gives them a light wave, "If Harrington even shows up." 

The bus leaves at 6:30, and at 6:11 there's still no sign of the aforementioned trust fund kid. 

"Maybe his daddy bought him a ticket out of this trip," Tommy groans, and if Billy didn't know any better, he'd have guessed there was a hint of jealousy to those words. "Who the fuck even decides to go camping for a senior trip? In goddamn tents!" 

"If you're gonna bitch and whine like this the entire trip, I'm gonna kick you out of the tent to go sleep with the mosquitoes and bears," Billy grunts out with irritation and exertion as he helps with more bags.

He's usually not known for being charitable, but getting to show off like this in front of all his lethargic peers is a bit of a rush.

Billy gets up at 5 every morning to go for a jog, preferably also a swim during summer, lift a bit of weights, take a scalding hot shower, then spend far too long on his hair, picking out the right shirt and deciding on rings. So really this is no issue at all, and by God if he doesn't flaunt that with a blindingly fresh show of teeth. 

"You… You don't think there's actual bears out there, do you?" Tommy seems more awake now than ever, rubbing the back of his neck and brown eyes wide open. 

"Tommy," Billy says with a stern and oh so serious tone, "Either you become useful and help me here, or you can go fuck off to your girlfriend." 

"Alright geez!" Tommy takes a tone of great offense, but keeps a smile to hopefully stay friendly with Billy, then vanishes into the crowd to probably find Carol and save them all some seats on the bus, Billy doesn't care.

It takes 9 more bags stuffed underneath the bus when Billy grows too impatient and finally checks his watch - the one Steve gave him a few months ago for his birthday - and it reads 6:23.

When it ticks into 6:24, the all too familiar brown BMW drives through the parking lot, and Billy has to restrain himself from appearing too eager as he pushes through the crowd of yawning classmates, and stops up perfectly in front of the passenger seat to Steve’s ride.

In one spirited move, he opens up the car door and leans down with the most irritating, shit-eating grin, as he looks at the barely alive Steve Harrington. “Good morning, princess.”

Steve’s stare is cutting, the bags under his eyes heavy and dark, and he can’t even respond with more than a drowsy grunt; his head lolls against the seat as he sinks lower down, oh so defeated. 

Out the driver’s seat jumps Ms Henderson, fresh and beaming with joy as always, no matter the hour of the day. “Oh good morning, Billy!” she chimes and walks briskly to the trunk.

“Morning Ms Claudia,” Billy responds with his undeniable charm. “Stevie here staying up too late again?”

“It’s terrible, really! Him and Dusty stayed up all night playing some new game on that Nintendo box thing!” she sighs with feigned irritation and rolls her eyes, but with a smile that definitely means boys will be boys.

“Why are you so… awake,” Steve asks rhetorically and his feet land with loud thuds onto the pavement.

With what little energy he possesses, Steve hauls his ass out of the car and stands slumped forward in front of Billy’s energetic pose, hands on his hips and a teasing smile that only adds to the irritation of the far more fatigued boy, whom frowns beneath his unkempt mane.

“You know I’m up by 5 every morning; gotta keep fit for all my admirers,” Billy laughs all too loud, and enjoys the way Steve winces at it.

Who then promptly crashes his forehead against Billy’s broad shoulder, groaning out a long, “Ssssssshut up, fuck.”

Which shocks Billy more than it probably should - they’ve been best friends for what feels like all their lives, and in those years they’ve definitely touched each other a fair share, but still, whenever Steve is the one to initiate it, there’s a pang of heartache deep in Billy’s very core, igniting something all too hopeful.

Yet he braves on, slings an arm around Steve and brings him to the back of the beemer.

Where Billy helps Claudia lift up the heavy weekend bag from the trunk, undoubtedly filled with all those thousands of products that Steve uses daily; he even carries an extra bag to PE and practice because of it all. 

She thanks him breathlessly, then steers toward Steve, cups his depleted expression in her hands, and softly says, “Be safe, ok? Wear sunscreen, drink plenty of water, don’t go out too deep in the lake, and if you see a bear, pee your pants! The smell will deter it from mauling you!”

Steve nods and smiles, mumbling out a row of yes’s.

“Good, I’ll be right here to pick you up on Monday, 2pm, alright?” And with the most gracious show of maternal love, she guides him lower till she can reach his forehead, and plants a kiss there.

And Billy has to look away at that - pretends to scan the crowd for someone or something, and pushes his sunglasses further up in hopes it’ll disguise his painful jealousy of having someone love you like that, of having such a kind hearted mother figure in your life.

“Take good care of him!” she says, directed at Billy, who flashes a convincing smile, and responds cheerfully with a,

“Will do, Ms Henderson!” And he reaches out to pull Steve along. “Come on, pretty boy, or they’ll leave without us!”

“Would that really be so bad?” Steve whines and relies too heavily on Billy’s ability to keep them both upright.

“What, King Steve too good to sleep in the woods?” Billy chuckles as he drags along the suitcase, really doing all the work between them, but for Steve he doesn’t mind.

They’re the last two to board the bus, every single seat filled except for somewhere near the back, where Tommy Hagan waves one hand to ensure that the popular kids stick together, his other arm around Carol whose make-up makes her seem more awake than the way she smiles.

Billy pushes past Steve to walk in front, ready to fight even him for the window seat, and he throws himself onto the bench - scoots all the way up to make sure there’s plenty of room for Steve.

“Hey, Harrington, nice bags,” Tommy mocks like a ‘friend’ would, and points to his eyes.

“Yeah, what are those, Gucci?” Carol quips and laughs at how completely drained Steve is, as he tips his head to the side to look at them both across the way.

“Har har,” he says dryly and is quick to turn away from their jesting ridicule, only to be faced by Billy who laughs all the same. “Don’t even.”

“What?” Billy’s voice incredulous, grinning all mean, “I wasn’t gonna say anything.”

“Uh-huh,” Steve hums out in disbelief.

From the backpack he carried on for the long trip to Hoffman Lake, an hour and a half drive from Hawkins, Steve pulls out a walkman and headset. And he keeps staring straight into Billy’s wonderfully blue eyes, as he lifts up the headset and places it firmly on his ears.

“You really gonna do this to me?” Billy feigns offense as he watches how Steve’s pink lips spread in a smirk. “Just leaving me alone for the ride there?”

And without looking away, Steve turns on the walkman, the mixtape inside whirring into action, and Karma Chameleon starts playing just loud enough for Billy to hear at this short distance from where he leans against the window.

He moves his lips without words, pretending to talk.

“I can’t hear you,” Steve says, not realizing that there’s nothing being said, but notices how Billy’s chest shakes with a chuckle.

He then tilts his head backwards, eyes slipping closed, unaware - or perhaps just oblivious to the fact - that Billy keeps looking at him, admiring the view, whose heavenly gaze smooths down his seatmates weary form, to where there’s barely any space between them, thighs only inches apart from touching.

Perhaps Billy moves his leg; guiding his knee till it’s met with Steve’s own, and when the other doesn’t jerk away at the contact, they stay like that. And maybe Billy is a bit disappointed, or some semblance of it, that Steve is too tired to sit and talk with him on the ride to the camping grounds, but there’s no doubting that the two of them will be sharing a tent together for the next three nights, so they’ll find time to hang out.

Although it’s not as if they haven’t just spent nearly every hour available together during summer break, when neither of them had work or family matters to attend to, that is. Steve had spent three weeks visiting family in Italy, and Billy spent two in California, where all he thought of was Steve Steve Steve. Wonders if Steve thought about him, too.

Billy remains far off in his own thoughts as the bus starts moving, the trees outside passing by quickly, minutes ticking into eternity, songs blasting out Steve’s headset, when he feels an unexpected heat to his right.

He looks to find Steve’s head resting on his shoulder, asleep, drool threatening to drip from his slack mouth onto Billy’s naked arm. And there's an uncomfortable fluttering in his chest, all too familiar, paired horribly with an aching in his hand to hold the other's, the fresh scent of expensive shampoo intoxicating; inviting him to lean in and get a good whiff. And Billy would have, were it not for the fact that they're surrounded by loud mouthed peers, and the way Steve leans against him is already a dangerous affair. 

And Steve’s cheek burns against Billy’s bare shoulder, sweaty skin on skin, making him hyper aware of every breath he feels tickle down his arm hairs. 8 years and he’s still just as sensitive to it all. It’s pathetic and embarrassing, but no one seems to notice, so maybe it’s also ok.

In the row next to them, Carol and Tommy sit just as close as Billy and Steve, albeit a bit more intimately so with their fingers laced together and Tommy occasionally pressing kisses into the ginger hair. And Billy feels jealous at that, at being able to be affectionate with the person you love so openly without fear or shame, but that’s just not meant for him.

Which he’ll hopefully someday come to terms with. Until then though, he’ll allow himself to enjoy what little he can. Like the way Steve leans against him now. With a lovelorn sigh, Billy tears his eyes from that mess of a hair and moled skin, to instead stare out into the blur of green and brown that flies by, and hopefully time will do just the same.

[velveetacrackncheese]

I remember you talking about Angel a little bit ago and how you didn't think he was as bad as everybody else was saying. What makes him appeal to you, I can't really get behind him in all honesty.

So I keep getting asks regarding to clarify my stance on Angel, and while I don’t mind this despite getting asks about it even now from HH fans and non-fans alike, receiving charitable and uncharitable asks and takes simultaneously from both, I might as well answer because I’m getting a bit tired of it. Not on here that often and every time there’s a new ask regarding it and I don’t understand why people want my take on this, despite me having already given one, or the clarification. That being said, my mind has changed a bit on the subject, and I kind of wanna give a small analysis on Angel and how I feel about him now, so here we are.

 Firstly, the debate surrounding Angel Dust is off-putting to me because while I seemingly see both sentiments, I also feel as though they’re both simultaneously wrong. The positions are usually “Angel Dust represents a harmful stereotype that contributes to our marginalization and is a literal walking sex joke and nothing else.” and “Angel Dust is a hooker. A sex worker, prostitute. He’s supposed to be in hell. He’s supposed to be bad and awful. Moron” and really, I dislike both of these takes for rather similar reasons. Reason being is that I feel that it’s addressing the wrong thing here, which is the characterization of Angel, and not really what the over-arching narrative and well, show itself has to say about Angel, and I also feel that the issue here isn’t homophobia as much as it involves vilifying sex work potentially.

My issue with the first take is that obviously, we’ve barely scratched the surface with this character. I will say that the way he was introduced in the pilot was left to be desired. Not that he was offensive or meant to be a major middle finger to the gay community, but simply because we typically see big, larger, main traits of a character in a pilot. In Angel, we primarily see him embodying those things that many of the “HH hate crowd” disliked about him. Upon first introduction, he genuinely does come off as a stereotype, something that was written solely for the purpose of being “the gay” and nothing else admittedly. While said analysis is probably inaccurate, I don’t blame anyone for initially feeling that way, and coming to their own conclusions. Recognize that everybody’s opinion on Angel is all pretty much based on first impressions, because we only have so much to say about him at the moment. There isn’t even a show. It’s the pilot. Things even now can still change greatly. However, Angel in the show, being a prostitute, and a sex worker, seem very much rooted in his character primarily because many of his own personal struggles also lie in the fact that he’s someone who’s also victim to sexual assault, exploitation, which obviously has connections to his occupation. We can say that many of his actions are rooted in not only his job, and experiences, but also the mask he wears to hide his pain. I feel like to simply look at that and say “Fuck Angel Dust, he’s harmful.” is simultaneously neglecting a silent minority in the gay community that genuinely deals with the hardships of sex work in real life. You don’t see that type of humanity brought to the forefront in regards to gay sex workers in media. They’re usually there to be mocked at, and while you could say Angel comes off that way initially, additional context in the comics and Addict suggests otherwise. He’s not Alastor. He doesn’t have all these special abilities aside from being able to manifest guns and bombs, and probably shoot webs out of his anus or something. Angel is in pain, and in a situation where he feels stuck. He feels like he’s on a leash and only copes in the way he knows how, that being hedonistic actions and such. As to what the general narrative and world of Hazbin might have to say? We don’t know, and that could vary. We don’t have a conclusion as to what the world of Hazbin has to say about Angel, and whether or not he needs to be “redeemed” which is an issue I take on its own. I will get into that shortly.

I take issue with the second take for similar reasons as previously stated, but it has less to do with the analysis coming from the people who say this sort of thing, and more about what it reveals about the people saying “He’s a prostitute. He’s supposed to be in hell. He’s baaaaad.” Because it shows a type of reactionary sentiment that justifies the villainizing of sex workers, and also goes to show that they probably appreciate Angel’s character for the same reason those who despise Angel, are critical of. They find him funny potentially because in their mind, Angel is something to be mocked. Because he’s a “freak” in the sense that he’s this awful, slutty monster, seemingly missing the intentions behind writing Angel the way he is, as a way of potentially showing a sign of sympathy towards the livelihoods of real life sex workers. Instead these people probably don’t think too highly of people who work in that industry and view them as a circus act, the same way they might view Angel as the funny token gay man, and it shows that people appreciate this character for very different reasons. Not to mention, this take is not a very good defense. Does someone being in hell necessarily necessitate them to be “offensive?” A very non-offensive, non-confrontational, seemingly polite person could be the most awful person when the optics of civility are stripped away... Like a politician.

However, I end up pondering about what the narrative itself has to say about Angel needing to be redeemed. Because of the pilot’s highlight on his hypersexual manner, I end up asking myself what he needs to be redeemed from. His sex work and sexual nature certainly doesn’t make him a bad person. His violence probably does, but there’s so much emphasis on the sexual side of him and not the “gangster” side of him, and suggesting that people who are exploited by the industry they work in need to be “redeemed” almost insinuates like they’re doing something wrong. As if it potentially shares the same reactionary sentiment about sex workers that those who view Angel as a laughing stock do. Now, if “redemption” is a euphemism for “rehabilitation” then I would view this differently. However, in the pilot, the term “rehabilitation” and “redemption” are both used, seemingly interchangeably, despite both of these terms having different meanings. In terms of Hazbin, since we’re in hell, which is based on the Christian mythos (most likely also inspired by other cultural interpretations of a bad afterlife) “redemption” here is probably referring to the absolving of sins and what have you, although we don’t really know what Hazbin’s criteria for being worthy of Hell is, and said criteria is also never questioned. We just know that everybody there in hell is supposed to be bad as the latter say, and that’s that. They’re all “sinful”, all worthy of being considered bad people despite some clearly not being so... awful. Vaggie isn’t so awful. She’s a bit angry, but for a good reason. Why is she in hell with literal murderers, homophobes, gangsters, etc? Of course we don’t know much about her yet, but she seems substantially more innocent than say Alastor, who’s a literal serial killer. But according to fans, she’s in hell. So she’s bad. Bad people go to hell, and hell is where the bad people reside in, and all are in need of rehabilitation or “redemption” in order to achieve/attain heaven. (obligatory jojo reference heehee) Issue being that what’s good and bad is subjective, and despite nobody being morally perfect, they’re just in this place together with no real chance of redemption, while being told by the dominant structure and culture in hell that nobody really even wants to be “redeemed”, despite nobody wanting to be there, and probably housing some regret, only to be chained down by a culture of doubt, and many of these inhabitants probably not even really needing to be “redeemed.” There are people who are there for probably very irrational reasons, like stealing some stuff from a grocery store or something. Hell, even if someone is a murderer, what if they murdered in self-defense? Or trying to protect their family? Are they, a sinner, in need of being absolved, and to confess their sin of wanting to survive? Many “sinners” are probably people who come from unfortunate circumstances, and are forced to adapt to certain conditions that force them to do things that are considered “sinful.”

Of course, this is all very assumptive. For all we know, Hazbin could very well go into detail about this type of thing, and I’d be all for it. I feel like a lot of the former critique I’ve mentioned would be cleared away and people would be able to actually make a formed opinion on characters like Angel instead of the typical surface level takes I usually see. I’d be highly disappointed if the writers of Hazbin didn’t go down this route and question the very nature of this Heaven and Hell dichotomy and the moral code and structure presented. I have to clarify though. I’m not “behind” Angel. I acknowledge his character and how he’s written, and honestly thought the way he was shown initially was sub-par, and still believe that. My irritation revolves around fans and non-fans alike thinking they have a finalized idea of what Angel is, when they don’t, and then you have Youtubers making videos pretending it’s flawless while making statements about how stereotypes are apparently not harmful at all while making the assumption that every harsh criticism is a result of people wanting to ALL destroy Vivienne’s career when that’s just as reductive as saying that Viv is evil for shit she did years ago.

Aside from this, there’s still other things about Hazbin too. Vaggie even now I still can’t really see how she’s in anyway offensive or purposely off-putting. She’s angry because she has to react to a world who wants to take advantage of her, and her girlfriend. I’d be pissed too. She isn’t angry because she’s written to be the angry latina (despite Viv’s dumb tweet about “I’M A FIERY LATINA TOO WEE”). Alastor is a subject of discussion too because of the whole voodoo thing despite him passing as very, very caucasian and white, while also claims of cultural appropriation due to the certain iconography used when Alastor exhibits his power while playing into that “spooky voodoo” stereotype. I don’t have much to say on this because I’m simply not that familiar the religious practice aside from it having origins in Western Africa, and the Caribbean. Some say Alastor is biracial but that isn’t confirmed I don’t think. Some people say Hazbin is bad because of a Jeffery Dahmer joke, and saying that Katie Killjoy is proof of homophobia despite her being pointed out as an actual piece of shit with zero standards.

It’s all crazy. I look forward to what the Hazbin crew do with Hazbin, Helluva Boss, and especially Zoophobia. My mind is still open.

[rosaetae]

tce | epilogue

[this chapter is apart of the chrysanthemum effect]

☇ “Keeping your flowers, keeping your pain— it’s already everything you need to move on. How do you move on from things if you’re not willing to accept them?“

➣  pairing: taehyung x reader 

➣  genre: hanahaki!au, model!taehyung, weddingplanner(ish)!au  

➣  word count: 4.2k

➣  a/n: it still hasn’t hit me that this series is over :( i love this series with all my heart. what started off originally as a note from one of dreams became to a series that made me very vulnerable for some reason but i really hope u enjoyed this series. thank you again for all your love. enjoy the epilogue.

➣  summary: the hanahaki disease has become a stigma in this world where if you had it, you are looked down upon. her flowers were white chrysanthemums and they have been for the past two years. she was in love with someone who obviously didn’t feel the same way, and this was her way of moving on— along with the people in her life who had to conform around the hanahaki disease.

To say the least, blue poppies weren't flowers you felt much sympathy for anymore. In fact, it brought you an odd sense of happiness and thrill seeing it as accents for decorations placed here and there.

Jungkook explained to you (after you had to ask) that Blue Poppies was originally a song he wrote for Minji, describing how the vibrant blue matched with her happy-go-lucky persona, but Annie happened to help compose it. Blue poppies was Annie's favorite flowers and to compare a rare and bright persona to a flower, she offered the only flowers that popped to mind— blue poppies.

Annie and Jungkook encouraged that you come to their wedding as a guest, but as the wedding planner's assistant being paid on the hour, you stood beside Eunmi in your usual black blazer and pencil skirt, scanning over the wedding, making sure it was going exactly as planned as Annie and Jungkook deserved it to be.

The wedding ceremony was filled with teary eyes and applause of happiness, Eunmi and you letting out a breath of relief when they finally said "I do" to each other without anyone, not even the universe, opposing it.

You stand near the back of the reception, watching as the caterers provide early dinner to the guests as Jungkook spoke into a microphone, thanking everyone for coming and plopping some jokes here and there, and so on.

In the midst of it all, you find one of the caterers, talking to them about the course change in which you subconsciously scanned the entire reception. As you briefly scan across the long table of where Jungkook and Annie sat in the middle, Taehyung just had to peer up from the third seat down from Jungkook he sat at at the same time, a smirk on his face as you look away quickly and back to the caterer, resuming your conversation.

That was the only interaction you let yourself notice with Taehyung before some more shedding of tears and laughter in the air followed by many more of the speeches that were made.

And suddenly, it was just like that that the wedding reception came to its happy end and people were leaving in a trickling one by one.

When usual weddings are over, you help to gather the centerpieces of the tables, along with the leftover gift bags of some who did not take with them. As you were packing up Eunmi's car with the charitable leftovers, you were about to go in for another round before you spot Annie walking towards you, noticeably finished talking to the last guest.

She was in her simple gown, the one that made you see her in a brighter light, hair all natural down her shoulders, and dark brown eyes lit as she walks towards you.

"___," she calls your name, approaching you with a smile. "I wanted to give you something."

You stop to smile at her, confused as to what she could possibly give you.

"I know that you have been through a lot the past year and I really am thankful that you still managed to push through with this stressful wedding," she laughs sheepishly.

Arching an eyebrow, you give her a soft smile, your heart warming at her sweet words. And just then, she raises her blue poppies bouquet and holds it in front of her with a smile.

"It is said that the person who catches the bouquet would receive a lifetime full of happiness," she starts. "I wanted to give it to the person who deserves it the most."

"Annie," you gape, blinking multiple times at her.

She lets out a light hearted chuckle, grabbing your hands to grasp the bouquet yourself.

"You deserve all the happiness in the world, ___," Annie genuinely states.

There was this bright light that Annie elicited, as if a halo on top of her head, or wings that were attached to her back, but even then, an angel or not, she still manages to surprise you. Knowing that a billion thank you's weren't enough, you pull her into a hug, embracing her tightly before you look at her once more.

"Really. Thank you."

When you say that you took time for yourself, you took time for yourself— if holding true to your morals for two years wasn't convincing enough.

After being discharged from the hospital, you went back into your apartment and the first thing you did was walk up to your body mirror to lift up your shirt. And immediately, the two surgical incisions made on your abdominal and on your right side was evident. Doctor Wren informed you that the incisions would take awhile to heal, reminding you to treat it with care as much as possible.

Some may look at their surgical incisions with disgust, but when you look at them, you're oddly glad that it was there. It was nearly peculiar, seeing how an incision could mean so much to you.

Taehyung understood your wishes, respectively, giving enough time for yourself as he began to focus more on his career as a model while you came back and continued to work side by side with Eunmi.

Eunmi was a little discouraged though, after she was told the news about your removal and immediately gave you a paid leave, but when you were ready to come back, she was very dubious about that decision. However, knowing how persuasive you can be, she let you in, and in time, you caught up with Annie and Jungkook's wedding.

Taehyung and you still kept in touch. You saw him on magazines and bigger platforms a whole bunch, a good reminder to your conscience that he was there. He was also busy traveling and modeling that sometimes he'd call you without calculating the time difference and though you may be too tired at 3 AM, hearing his voiced at an ungodly time of day seems like something you needed. But that would be the most he would do, knowing that space was what you asked and he will give.

A lot has flew by in that time stance of two years. From being able to just breathe again to graduating university with a fresh job as promised by Eunmi, everything you've done has led you up to now— and you don't regret a single thing.

"You look ravishing tonight— okay, ouch."

Walking outside into the living room, you're letting out a laugh at the look Hoseok gave to Somin as he rubs his head, both of them sat comfortably on the sofa.

"You look pretty," Somin acknowledges after she lets out a giggle at Hoseok, sticking her tongue out at her. You give a glance down at your dress, a pretty red one that you had always double guessed on buying, but ended up buying it, only for it to stay in your closet for awhile— until tonight. "Where you going, hm?"

Giving her a look at the insinuation forming in her voice, you grab your bag that you had laid on the counter table. "Out."

"Ah, with Mr. Heartbreaker?" Hoseok inquires, eyes staring glued onto the laptop set-up on the coffee table, presumably continuing their Harry Potter marathon.

"Exactly the one."

"What's the plan that made you pull out the red dress?" Somin asks, a tongue poking out of her cheek. "It's like that Me Before You scene. Are you both going to an orchestra, by chance?"

"Just dinner."

"Dinner?" She repeats.

"Have fun, but not too much fun," Hoseok says with a smirk on his lips. He didn't even need to look up to see the look on your face you shot at him.

"If you need me, I'll be here all night with this loser."

"Until she kicks me out," Hoseok playfully adds in.

"Until I kick him out," she repeats, looking at him with a this look that almost made your heart warm.

It was this unexpected progress that Somin made. It wasn't just you who had an eventful year, a lot has changed around you, as well. From someone who hated the sound of commitment to someone who had finally embraced it, Somin had underwent another revelation and decided that running away was never the answer— a big thank you to Taehyung for that.

"Okay, lovebirds," you throw your bag over your shoulder. "I'll see you guys later."

Somin and Hoseok (if it weren't so obvious) finally made it— growing comfortably in each other's skins to the point where they were official to the public eye.

Before the soiree event that took place almost three years ago, Somin and Hoseok got into a fight, being why Hoseok wanted to surprise her the night you unexpectedly had to get surgery. The fight originated from Somin's original revelation where she learned that life is too short and after awhile, she realizes that any day she could lose him— and with all the strength she could muster, she asked to make the relationship work.

Hoseok, despising and loathing such romantic labels due to his big name as a CEO, inevitably got scared, and hesitated, which eventually angered Somin because after all this time, she thought he had felt the same, but his hesitation said otherwise.

And after the conflicts and your whole Hanahaki ordeal that semi-ruined the soiree (guilty), they finally met a consensus and realized that they do love each other, both with the same love and desire and made it work on a down low in the beginning.

After awhile, Somin told her mother first, as she felt that she owed it to her, as her mother was on her ass to get into a healthy relationship when she moved away. On the bright side, the reaction from her mother was pleasant— especially when she found out it was Jung Hoseok. Her own mother even called you to begin planning the wedding.

As Hoseok saw that, he took a step towards getting rid of his fear of labels and publicly told the world in an interview nonchalantly, where the interviewer showed candid pictures of him and Somin together at a cafe, going to the gym together, both of them in a car, and so on, in which he confirmed the news with ease.

"Yeah, that's my girlfriend."

To see Hoseok stay in the AM and come over just to be with Somin was peculiar to begin with. You're used to him sneaking out in the morning or him coming over just to pick Somin up, but when you see him in the kitchen, brewing coffee for two,  or he's watching movies on Somin's laptop with her, it's a sight for sore eyes— to say the least.

Looking at Jungkook and Annie, the newlyweds took their honeymoon to Cabo, spending a week with each other with lots of love. When they came back, Annie randomly called you to grab something to eat, and during that lunch date with the two of you, she told you all of the embarrassing stories she could think of about Jungkook and ever-so-gratefully, you made another friend.

Seeing Jungkook and Annie and getting closer to Annie personally, you learn that those two really do love each other. Maybe you were close-minded to think that Jungkook couldn't have been in love with one girl and another, but when you see how he looks at Annie— it's so beautifully tragic to the point where it hurts.

You have no doubt that he thinks about Minji— even if it's just a small thought about her, you knew that there was no absolute way he didn't think about her.

Him looking at Annie, it begins with adoration.

The way his eyes draw lines from her lips to her eyes, it's as if it's poetic. You could see the stars in his eyes by the way it twinkles even when Annie isn't even noticing his gawking. Then it morphs when a single blink changes his thought process and you don't even need to guess that he's thinking about Minji by the way he physically zones out. He's probably thinking about her and how she made it possible for him to finally sit comfortably in public and to stare at the person he loves with all the love and fervor he had for her. It was always something he could never do with Minji. And with several blinks, he's back to reminding himself that his future is with Annie.

But his always will forever be with Minji.

As for her, Minji has been exploring Europe as her art has been showcased in multiple countries (thanks to certain someone), burgeoning as you speak. You didn't keep up with Minji as much as you'd like to, but noticing from the magazine headlines and her trending art portfolios, she's doing just fine with the success she's paved her way for.

Though her unrequited love with Jungkook has left more of an impact on you, you could say that this unrequited love wasn't as terrible at all. Albeit bittersweet, but as you notice that Minji and Jungkook both reached a level of happiness of and on their own, you think that it isn't so bad. After all, you thought the biggest misconception of the Hanahaki Disease is that people believe that getting the surgery finally means moving on, but you guess everyone moves on in their own way.

To add on top of that, Doctor Wren finally published his book about the Hanahaki Disease.

All his research and other people's stories were compiled into one big giant book and oddly enough, by a spur of chances, he received the noble piece prize for his research.

In his book, In and Out of Hanahaki, composed of interesting chapters and in each chapter, he writes about the origins of Hanahaki along with alternating stories of patients he gathered from who experienced Hanahaki either with their loved one or themselves. Even Jungkook had a single chapter dedicated for Minji, but the names were changed.

One of the stories you liked so much was about a boy who had Hanahaki from a girl he never dated, his best friend. He had it at such a young age that he didn't realize what it was and assumed it was a side effect for a cold. After a few months of having it, his parents found him in the bathroom, throwing up pink tulips. And what happened was that he got the surgery, not knowing that he would forget about the girl he loved. After that, his best friend went up to him when he went back to school, but as if amnesia, he introduced himself, completely unsure of who this girl was.

You liked it so much because in the end, the girl understood that she gave him Hanahaki and grew closer to him, creating new memories with him and even reliving the old ones that they shared that she eventually fell in love, too.

Doctor Wren never finished the story in that chapter and left it with an open ending. But curiosity got the best of you and when you asked him about it out of pure curiosity, he tells you that the boy with pink tulips fell in love again after some time.  

As for your story— the one with a story that still makes you laugh today and that just so happens to have a 'special case', Doctor Wren had kept you as a main story for most of his research as they were new observations and evidence. He compared his acquired knowledge to new research to you. From suppressing your flowers, to your morals, to finding flowers in your lungs, your name became a huge impact on the book.

You were considered the girl with her flowers becoming the reason as to the verge of her death— but she always saw them as the reason for her living.

Because as you have gone through all of the side effects, the emotions, and the rollercoaster the universe implanted in you, Doctor Wren created a new side effect dedicated to you and your flowers.

When one wakes up from their Hanahaki removal surgery and can remember the person who caused the implant of the flowers clearly, the patient has experienced The Chrysanthemum Effect.

You get to the restaurant at a reasonable time, walking up to the hostess with a smile. And with a nod, she knew which table you were going to say because she immediately leads you to the one set up next to the window that gave a glamorous overview of the city below.

"Hope I'm not late," you greet with a grandiose smile on your face, pulling out the chair and sitting down gracefully.

Your date of the night shows no dread as he is seemingly astonished by your sudden appearance. "Almost thought you weren't going to show up," he says, bringing his forearms to rest on the table.

"Was running a little. Couldn't figure out what to wear," you semi-lie. You were late because of an annoying client who took forever at a meeting— you knew you were going to show up in the red dress no matter what. "Did you order already?"

He lets out a sarcastic gasp, as if offended you would ask such a thing. "What kind of gentleman would I be if I had not waited for you?"

The subtle of chivalry in which he had waited for you to order was sweet that you give him a sheer smile, grabbing the menu and scanning whatever catches your eye.

The restaurant was busy, but busy in an elegant way— if that was remotely possible. The chatters were poise and you were almost sure by such finesse that this was definitely going to take a large amount out of your bank account.

"What meal entices you?" He speaks up, eyes not leaving the menu.

A good question that you have yet to answer, but telling by how your eyes keep roaming down the pasta portion over and over again, "Pasta," you respond hungrily. "Mainly gnocchi."

"Can't say no to gnocchi."

As if on cue, the waitress walks by, greeting herself as she pours a bottle of wine into both of your glasses and swiftly takes both of your orders. Watching her leave, you look back at your date who just took a sip of the wine.

"You look stunning tonight."

"Don't I always?" You muse, grabbing the glass carefully.

"Of course," he laughs, shaking his head. "But I was talking about that dress on you. I remember you bought it but never wore it."

Arching an eyebrow about a small observation that he somehow remembered, you spin the wine in the glass. "That's because I never found a reason to wear it. Until now."

You don't miss the smirk on his lips. "Who are you trying to impress?"

"No one in particular." Your riposte was quick and the minute it rolled off your tongue smoothly, you smile into your glass, taking a sip of the bittersweet drink. 

"You're a piece of work, ___," he chuckles, straightening his posture in the chair. And the minute he meets your eyes across the table, you could point out the city lights that reflected from his eyes. "Always have been."

"Sounds like you missed me," you teasingly observe, setting down the glass carefully. "Or you could be practicing that on another girl."  

He scoffs light-heartedly. "This again?"

You shrug, giving him a teasing look.

"You, out of all people," he speaks lowly. "Should know by now that there's no other than you."

Impressed by his quick responses of words, you arch an eyebrow. "Good," you nod, cheeks growing hot. "That's good. Because you don't have to wait for me anymore, Taehyung."

Your words seems to catch his ears just by the way they perked in response. He clears his throat, an evident cocky smirk appearing on his structured face that probably formed by the way you were turning red. "I'm sorry can you say that one more time for my poor old hearing?"

Narrowing your eyes at him, you take a quick breath. "I think I've had enough time for myself and I'm sure we've had enough time with each other in this confusing gray area—"

"In my defense, you made it gray. It was such a nice black and white picture and all of a sudden you're at my door and you're drunk— not that I was complaining—"

"Taehyung," you hush him, scowling. You cringe at the situation he was referring to— but that was only because you were really missing him that you showed up to his door and... well, the rest is history. "You're ruining a perfectly good moment for me to tell you that I want to try being with you again."

"Oh, really now? Is that what it was?" He overconfidently grins. "Continue."

You let out a sigh, the thought of giving up swiping through your mind as you shoot him a look. "I asked you to go on this date with me because... because I think we've done enough waiting for each other. And I just want to tell you that... I'm ready. And I want to try to be with you again, only if you're okay with that."

Maybe it was that inherent fear in you that your heart was beating fast when he hesitates. "And if I said I wasn't?"

"That's funny because I remember you telling me that you wanted me to make a decision soon?" Challenging look being sent his way, he takes it as a reason to laugh sonorously, a sound you genuinely liked hearing. "Or did you want me to remind you again, Taehyung?"

"No need," Taehyung grins. "Like I said, I'd wait for you." He brings his fingers to graze yours that laid on top of the table. His touch sparks a feeling in your heart. "And when you would be ready for me, I'd be ready for you."

The way he looked at you was a look that reminded you that the stars above realigned themselves for this very moment— and you wouldn't have it any other way. Him, here, this. "Good. I did not just spend nearly two years bettering myself and my mentality just for you to say you didn't want to even try to be with me again."

You were being a tad bit sarcastic, but it makes him scoff lightly.

"I've missed you," he sighs, taking his hand away to run it through his hair. "A whole fucking lot actually."

Rolling your eyes teasingly, you snicker. "It wasn't like I was entirely gone."

"No," he says, matter-of-factly. "But I did miss our walks to Planetarium."

"You're the one who stopped showing up in front of my apartment building."

"You said space, I gave you space!"

"You did give me space." Nodding, you smirk. "But it wasn't like I was entirely opposed to you walking with me in the morning to get a coffee fix."

"Ah, you drink coffee again?"

You hum in response. "And French roast will always be top tier."

He chuckles at that. "I missed you."

And maybe relationships aren't made to be completely perfect. There is such thing as right person, wrong time. But it's true that it wouldn't be the wrong time unless they tried, because hell, life happens. You don't realize who you really need until they're gone and luckily in this instance, Taehyung wasn't too late.  

The universe may not believe in being in love with someone who doesn't feel the same way, but fortunately for you, the universe does believe in second chances.

And here lies The Chrysanthemum Effect in full effect— with the stars realigning and your patched up heart ready to love the same person again.

"I missed you, too."

[Below is an excerpt from Dr. Wren's In and Out of Hanahaki.]

___ knew of this book I was attempting to work on.

Of course, I'm a doctor who specializes in a disease that was simply created by the gods, or the universe, or some sort of higher power, so I needed to share my new acquired knowledge of this disease that I collected and share it with the world.

But I didn't want to share just facts and research— I wanted to add stories of real life people who experienced with this disease one on one, knowing that this is a very peculiar disease that involves the emotional feelings of love. And having ___ as a patient of mine with the disease for two years, I deem it to be necessary (after getting her consent, of course) to explain as to what was going on in her goddamn head to think it was okay to attempt to suppress her flowers for awhile. (However, it wasn't like I discouraged her, knowing that no research has been discovered that having Hanahaki for more than a couple of months would cause significant harm.)

She had sat down with me, post-Hanahaki and The Chrysanthemum Effect, and told me this in exact words:

I believed that the biggest misconception was that people need to get their flowers removed to move on. Though, it may be the only way for others, it didn't resonate well for me. In my head, moving on was accepting your flowers for what they are— you know, to represent trivial love and the whole 'being a fool' idea, so I suppressed it.

And the point is: move on and grow. Accept the pain and suffering you've encountered and turn that into soil of your seed where you can be able to grow in the sunlight and reach for the sky. And once you are able to love yourself, then you can be able to love someone else.

[zitkaplushie]

nightwing secret files liveblog:

this is gonna be a long one so it’s under a cut!

taking wing-

is that jason??

i like this 'a christmas carol' type exposition i'm ngl

i'm not sure if 'jason''s dismissal of the circus is dixon using an unreliable narrator, or if dixon actually believes that

god i hate this art so much

how dare u insult the teen titans in any way 😤 i like the name

also titans cameo!!

more awful jason characterisation (pls dixon just stay 8732894738 feet away from jason)

"without robin i have no family" i guess the titans are just chopped liver huh

"i always thought that one day i'd be batman" nope nope nope nope you have 0 understanding of dick's character if that's what you think mr dixon

i love clark having a part in dick becoming nightwing - i adore it - but the way dixon retcons the importance of the titans, and especially kory, in dick becoming nightwing rubs me the complete wrong way. i'm choosing to read this as a between the scenes moment, but i 100% dixon intended this to replace the titans' importance. and the way ppl just swallow it up w/o thinking about the reasons behind why dixon would want to erase the titans - and kory - pisses me off lmao

"i didn't mean to stay so long [with the titans]" *eternal screaming* he really wants to undermine the titans at every possible turn wow

at least the next page acknowledges the importance of kory in dick's life, but right afterwards we have "lmao she must've liked your costume. all the girls did. you're a chick magnet" (paraphrased) and i'm just back to sighing

also hi i'm mad at the framing of babs being the endgame bc of course they'd do that. and also at kory being shorter than dick. thanks! i hate it! i'm willing to bet that dixon asked for that specifically.

"this is where i came in" i'm confused at this part but tbh i don't care enough to think abt it any more

i'm also ughhhh at the way they're trying to give bludhaven importance. i don't care, i don't like it, he should've never moved there

ok i do really like that last page

the fact files things are good enough, i love the art for the haly's circus one! the pt barnum ref is 😬 though (ik ik it's the 90s but fjskdh why)

lost pages: teen titans-

ok so, i don't like devin grayson. i don't like her writing at all, i don't think she gets the characters at all, and hot take: if you dislike a character who's super important part of dick's life, and helped him come into his own and be who he is, you shouldn't be writing that character. (i'm talking about kory here, but tbh if you dislike any of the characters who dick interacts with frequently and are a huge part of his life - especially his love interests, and his family - you shouldn't be writing dick.) so i'm not going into this story with high hopes. however i've seen ppl talk about this story as being really good so i hope i'll like it too

you can tell she mostly cares about the fab five, which wouldn't be a problem if she treated the ntt characters better but alas ://

kory and vic both say 1 thing the entire page lmao

ALSO KORY NOT KNOWING WHAT DAY IT IS IS ABSOLUTE BULLSHIT I CANNOT BELIEVE

i loooove the parallel between dick grasping wally's hand and young!dick holding his dad's hand 🥺🥺🥺🥺

vic legit says one thing the entire story lmaoooooooo 🙃🙃🙃

i love garth and roy being brought to the tower 🥺

this is def some of grayson's better work, but it suffers from the same thing all of her stories do. she doesn't fully understand all the characters. if one character is off it affects the whole story. a lot of her stories have good ideas and poor execution, and this one definitely doesn't have awful execution but there's still something missing and as someone who loves the titans it's just sad. i get why people like this story - it made me tear up at the end ngl - but the rest of the titans are just as important as dick and it feels like the writer doesn't understand that. (i get this is a dick comic but it's still a titans story.) (it does however make me want to write a fic expanding upon this moment and the aftermath bc the idea of the titans all coming together to cheer dick up is so goooooood. are they gonna have a party celebrating dick's parent's lives? are they gonna eat junk food and watch a comfort movie? are they gonna just sit and talk?? the possibilities are endless!!)

the art is gorgeous as all of jimenez' art is, i love his style so freaking much!!

the next page is of the bludhaven supporting cast and all it does is remind me how much i do not care abt them. i think the only one i actually like is clancy, the others are expendable and forgettable. (i do love clancy a lot though, i wish she'd been written by more people than just dixon). though, i usually love guice's art, i think i actually prefer mcdaniel's take on clancy??? which is 100% a first for me.

i like seeing the set up to dick's apartment, bc i'm a sucker for layouts and maps. i wish this comic was way better written bc the concept of dick living in an apartment building and interacting with his neighbours is one i really like, esp in superhero comics. but again i have to say, alas.

a day in the life of nite-wing/hangin'-with tad:

painful... just painful...

i physically couldn't care less about this if you paid me

the next page is tad's file and i am Not Reading That. nope nope nope. and also fuck you.

next is a map of bludhaven, and like i said, i'm a sucker for maps.

the page after that is brutale's file and again i just do not care. the art is by damion scott who i really like, but the design looks like knock off scarecrow so

the next pages are files for double dare, lady vidc, shrike and blockbuster and i'm skipping them all bc i give negative fucks

next is a spread of what i assume is dick's cork-board? it looks kinda interesting but the writing is hard to make out and i don't care enough to try to decipher it

next is torque's files and same same, idc idc

nightwing's romances/orange you glad i didn't say banana?:

ok so y'all know i hate dickbabs. i hate everything about how it was built on the foundation of tearing down kory and dickkory and i'm a kory fan first and foremost so i hate this whole situation. so i'm already predisposed to disliking anything that talks about how babs is dick's true love, and talks down any of his other love interests. i come into this with an admitted bias. i'd try to be charitable but i don't see why i should when no one involved in the writing of dickbabs is charitable towards my faves so 🤷

i love love love stelfreeze's art! he's drawn babs in something else i read and i loved it then and i love it here!

i adore dick and babs' friendship, so the beginning is really sweet and cute. i also love the concept of baby!dickie being obsessed with watermelons and wanting to eat them forever

dewey decimal system!!! librarian babs reference!! fdjkh she's such a nerd i love it

babs trying to talk about romance and dick's like 'lol nah what abt fighting' lmao

i Do Not like babs hitting dick while talking abt 'i was segueing into talking about romance, hint hint'

this is romance? dick giving exactly 0 fucks?

why are these writers obsessed with hinting at dick and donna??? like first dixon and now grayson??? please stop!!!! i do love how he says he loves her bc 🥺🥺🥺 i love them

ur not being slick having babs call donna 'donna' and kory 'starfire', i see you grayson. i see ur hate for kory.

and reducing kory to just her body, and dick's sexual attraction to her boils my blood

i'm choosing to interpret babs's face in that panel as her being attracted to kory too

i do like that dick talks about being in love with kory, and thinking about still being with her. a) i'll take those crumbs, and b) thats how i see dick's relationship to love as being (though devin views him as kinda flighty and unfaithful so idk how we're agreeing on this lmao)

pls stop talking shit abt huntress devin, ur the one who made dick/hel a thing

since devin loves her brudick subtext, i'm side-eyeing the mention of bruce there

also why are we hinting at cass pls stop

babs being jealous and petty pls stop

the ending was smooth i have to admit it. if it was any other ship i'd probs love it but as it is, i'm tired of everyone else being downplayed in favour of the ~babs is dick's true loooooveee, it's always been herrrrr, from the beginningggggg~

i don't mind babs being dick's first crush though, in fact that's my hc for him because hello?? who wouldn't have a crush on babs??

thank you mr stelfreeze for accurately portraying babs' bitchface bc she's being a petty bitch here (and i love her but lmaooo i hate this whole thing)

next is the files on the bludhaven pd and i do not caaaare

then there's a timeline, but i don't care about any timeline that dixon writes. i'm petty though so i'm gonna read it and talk abt why i don't like the retcons.

i hate the dickbabs reference in YEAR FUCKING 3 jfc. pls stop with the retcons.

also lmao the difference between the way dick's canon relationship from that time is described in the shittiest way possible (though reluctant at first, dick begins a long and tumultuous romance with teammate starfire.) and how he wrote dick and babs' relationship (robin first teams with ... barbara in her guise as batgirl. the two will pair time and again over the course of their careers and develop a burgeoning affection for one another) this was at a time when they weren't even remotely interested in each other!!! there was no affections there dixon! no matter how much you wish it to be true!! and again the contrast with 'starfire' and 'barbara'! like it's dehumanising and i hate it.

and he can't even bother to get the new teen titans' team name right.

no mention of kory's importance in dick becoming nightwing, nope we ignore that bc it's thanks to superman now.

stepping away from the way he hates kory to talk about the way he hates jason! jason's described as a 'troubled orphan' and a 'juvenile delinquent'.

no mentions of how jason and dick bonded but as soon as tim gets introduced he talks about how dick and tim 'switfly bond as brothers'.

another incredibly impersonal description of dick and kory's relationship (the wedding of dick grayson and kory anders (aka starfire) is aborted by the rogue titan raven. dick and kory soon part company and dissolve their relationship.) but at least he calls her kory this time.

also i love how he speeds up through all the 'non important' development for dick but spends a whole page talking about all the bullshit he's been writing for nightwing. i understand why, but it's just lmaooooo 🙃 when you read it like that, it really shows how shitty this comic is.

talks of the 'doomed relationship' between dick and hel and i really hate it pls stop

the last page is dick's evaluation by the police academy and i do not care so i'm skipping it too.

[reality-warp]

A/N: So I finished Jedi: Fallen Order and sweet God it was way better and more emotional than I was prepared for. And then before I knew it my mind starting rolling out this idea before I could slam on the brakes. What else is new?

With work stress, difficult physiotherapy, and seasonal affective disorder all kicking my butt right now, theres no way in hell I’m going to have the time or enegry to turn this idea into an acctual polished fic. But after the idea refusing to leave me alone several weeks I decided I just needed to sit down and get the beginning out of my system.

Not my best work by a long shot, but it’s been so good to finally get writing again after a year of struggling.

Set post-game, this follows crew of the Mantis as they start their search for others who survived Order 66, and opens with the POV of one ex-Jedi Healers padawan (alien OC) hiding out in a hospital on Lothal...

Remedial Biomancy - Part 1/5 Auri

The first thing all padawans learned when they apprenticed as healers in the Jedi Temple was that your hands were always going to be the bloodiest.

Bloodier than any knights. Bloodier than any murderer. And if you chose the path of healing, you were going to be living up close and personal with suffering, pain, and not always be able to help. It was not a job for the faint of heart, or for the thin-skinned. But Auri Madraan doubted even Master Sayf, the man who’d taught her everything she knew about the horrors and wonders of being a Jedi Healer, would have been able to remain stoic in the face of all this. 

Bodybags lined the room.

Dozens of them lined up in neat rows stretching from one end of the cold storeroom to the other. Twenty-six men. Fifteen women. Forty-one in total. She knew because it had been her job to count, scan and evaluate each one of them. She’d already finished the details of the last entry on her datapad, and now she just found herself staring into the cold room, struck hollow by the stark emptiness of it against her senses.

The absolute silence of life in a room so crowded.

“Medic Rinna,” The tinny voice of her droid assistant using her fake name broke through her daze, floating over from after making his final scan. “I believe that was the last one. Shall I transmit the results directly to Head Medic Jorran?”

Auri shook her head, both in reply and attempting to pull herself together, rubbing her tired eyes and tapping the save function on her datapad. She’d been awake for well over thirty-two hours and desperately needed to sleep. But this was something she always made herself do every time there was a death.

Master Sayf had always said one should never let lost life become something that felt normal…

“No, that’s ok PANN. I’ll deliver it myself,” she answered, her voice a bit crackly from hours of not speaking.

Her Prognosis Analytic Neural Network droid—more commonly referred to as PANN—bobbed in the air where he hovered, amber optical sensors flickering over her face. She could feel him resisting the urge to share how high her cortisol levels were, and that she would start to become dangerously inefficient if she stayed awake much longer. But even if she were already tucked up in her tiny room in the hospital staff quarters, she doubted she would have been able to shut her eyes for the thoughts and images burning through her mind.

There had been another tunnel collapse in the Lothal mines a day ago, and the men and women now lined up on the floor of the hospital basement were the only ones lucky enough to have been close to the entrance for their bodies to be dug out. The initial evaluations of the first-aiders and Auri’s reports both read suffocation and crush syndrome as the cause of death—no need for full autopsies or further investigation. That was what Head Medic Jorran had made clear what he expected to see, and consequences to anyone who thought otherwise.

But Auri knew differently.

She knew the truth of what had killed these people. She’d known the moment she’d touched a hand to the brow of one of the young men, the story of his broken body unfolding out before her like a story in black bruises and shattered bone.

They hadn’t died from lack of oxygen, they’d been killed when a toxin in the earth they’d been mining had been released as a gas. The Imperial mining operation running the dig had realised what had happened as their workers began dropping, and they had quickly collapsed one of the tunnels in an effort to both cover it up and stop the gas from escaping.

No one else knew. And if her Imperial loyalist boss had his way, no one else ever would.

Only her.

The thought made her want to be sick. She might have done just that were it not for the whooshing sound of the elevator doors opening just behind her, the sounds of footfalls on the metal floor.

“Hey Rinna, I hoped I’d find you down here—” Lyle, her co-worker and fellow junior medic broke off halfway through his sentence behind her, clearly noticing the contents of the room for the first time. She heard the air leave him in a single stunned rush, like someone had jabbed him in the solar plexus. “Maker, I’d heard it was bad, but this…”

Auri didn’t answer or turn to look at him.

Lyle was another recent emergency employee of the short-staffed Lothal capital hospital. He was human, blonde, good looking, and unfortunately just enough aware of it for it to be utterly confused by her disinterest. They’d been working the same shifts for the past two months, and Auri wasn’t sure why, but he had started developing what a charitable person would have called a fondness for her. An uncharitable person would have called it annoying. Her polite but repeated rejections only seemed to urge him on, and he always seemed to turn up when she most wanted to be alone…

This was definitely one of those times.

“You ok?” He asked her earnestly, coming up and placing a too-familiar hand on her shoulder, apparently completely unaware what a stupid question it was.

No, she wanted to say. To scream.

To yell that nothing about this was ok.

That she hadn’t been ok for the past five years.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she lied, clipping her datapad back onto her belt and turning past him towards the elevator. She refused to look back at him or the forty-one bodybags filled with people who would never have their truths heard.

Who would never get justice.

She stabbed the button for the top floor without waiting, and Lyle quickly dashed after her, slipping in just in time and almost getting his scrubs caught in the door. A significant part of her really wished they’d cut him off before he could get inside.

“Rinna,” he started, once again reaching to touch her shoulder, but clearly thought better of it this time when she shifted away. “You sure you’re alright? You covered a triple shift today, and you look kinda… well, paler than usual.”

Something halfway between a laugh and a snort escaped her before she could stop it.

Ex-Jedi padawan Auri Madraan was a haedrathi, an uncommon near-human species from the Haedra system whose only real biological difference to humans was that they’d evolved in underground caverns, which meant their bodies didn’t process vitamin D in the same way. The result was naturally pasty skin, snow-white hair, and eyes so sensitive to light that they had to be covered by protective black contact lenses near constantly to prevent blindness.

She was likely the palest being on this entire damned planet.

How this guy had managed to become a medic, she had to wonder sometimes…

“I’m fine, Lyle. Just tired. And doing autopsy scans of tunnel collapse victims isn’t high on my list of favourite things…” she trailed off into the silence of the elevator, the only noises breaking the tension the whooshing of the passing floors. 

She sighed heavily, rubbing her eyes again. She had been working herself harder than normal, but focus and eventual exhaustion seemed to be the only way to keep her thoughts and nightmares at bay lately. It was clearly taking its toll on her temper—and for all his dogged determination to get her to swoon over him like the other nurses did, Lyle was only being kind. 

“Sorry. Yes, I’m ok. Anyway, what are you doing down here? Didn’t you finish half an hour ago?” She asked more gently this time.

Lyle scratched awkwardly at the back of his neck as the elevator continued its rapid ascent, and even though she wasn’t looking at him, she could feel his gaze running over her.

“You’re going to deliver those reports in person, right? I thought I could keep you company on the way to Jorran’s office, if you like. Give you an excuse to get out of the quickly.” he offered, an almost painful note of hope in his voice. “Look, I’ve been meaning to ask if you’d like to spend more time together? Like, maybe… as a date?”

Auri only managed to restrain her sigh by virtue of the fact that at least he’d managed to wait until they were out of the room full of dead bodies before trying to officially ask her out. If he hadn’t, her training might have failed her entirely, and she’d have simply brained him with her datapad and left him down there. 

She was saved from shooting him down by her droid rounding on her, a distinctly disapproving note in its metallic voice.

“Medic Rinna, I really must insist you engage in at least one REM sleep cycle as soon as possible. Your cortisol levels are impractically high, and—”

“Yes, thank you PANN,” she interrupted the fussing droid, cutting him off before he could launch into a full-blown lecture. “I’ll get some sleep as soon as I’ve delivered the reports. Why don’t you both go on to the dorms and get plugged in to charge for the night.”

“But—” PANN and Lyle started at the same time.

“I’ll be five minutes max. No need for an escort,” she cut them both off, deliberately not meeting Lyle gaze. The elevator came to a stop at their floor, the doors whooshed open and Auri quickly stepped out before either of them could try and stop her.

Out of the corner of her eye, Lyle looked crestfallen, but PANN just grumbled, immediately floating away back towards the staff quarters at the other end of the building.

She’d tried tinkering with the little medical droids AI processor a few years ago before arriving on Lothal in an effort to improve his analytical speed, but it had somehow affected his personality algorithms too. Now instead of being a clinically detached medical encyclopaedia, he fussed when her stress levels got too high and chipped in with sarcastic commentary whenever she least needed it, and she had no idea how to fix it. It was like having a nagging metallic nursemaid following her around every day. She’d found herself cursing the fact that she’d never taken any programming courses back during her training; but metal, chips and circuit boards had never been her area of expertise…

Cal had always been way better with that stuff anyway.

The sound of his name, even inside her own head was enough to send a lance of pain through her chest. She buried it quickly before it could show on her face, forcing a small, weak smile into its place.

“Thanks for offering, Lyle. But I’d rather just get this done and go to bed. I’ll see you for the next shift,” she said over her shoulder.

“Yeah, sure,” he mumbled, failing to hide his disappointment as she strode off. “Night, Rinna.”

Auri started making her way towards the Head Medic’s office on the far side of the building, but instead of heading there directly, she turned down another hallway and made a detour towards the recovery wards.

There was someone more important she needed to see first…

Three minutes later she was swiping her ID card to enter the paediatric wing, the smallest but also most colourfully painted section of the hospital by far. The wards weren’t particularly big, only four beds to a room, and at this time of night, all the kids in them were fast asleep. The one Auri entered was at the end of the long, brightly painted hallway, and it was the only one with just a single kid curled up on his own inside.

“Rinna?” The boy mumbled, hearing the door sliding open as she entered, turning over to peer sleepily at her from under the blankets. It hadn’t been safe for Auri to use her real name in five years, but the smile the little boy gave her as he saw her was always just enough to ease the ache of missing it.

The kid coiled under the hospital blankets with bio-monitor patches all over his chest was human, small even for his years, with dark hair, coppery tanned skin, vivid blue eyes, and an infectious grin in the rare moments when he was feeling ok. His entire family had been living on Lothal since the days of the Republic, and the day he’d first come to the ward a week ago and met Auri, he’d excitedly told her that he loved haedrathi pop music, was a crack shot with a slingshot, and was going to be a pilot one day.

The name on the bed chart read: BRIDGER, EZRA.

“Hey little soldier,” she smiled at him, this time a genuine one, quietly shutting the door behind her. “I just came to check up on you before my shift ends. How are you feeling?”

“Better,” Ezra lied, trying to sit up. “I don’t even think I’ll even need my meds tonight.”

Auri gave him a sceptical look, eyeing his shaky arms struggling to support him, and the low blood oxygen level reading on his bio-monitor.

It turned out the same toxins that had killed the workers in the mines had been leaking into the water supply a couple of weeks before, and Ezra had got a heaping dose before his parents realised what was wrong. Now it was wreaking havoc on his organs, the toxin fiendishly difficult to purge, especially for smaller children whose body mass was less than an adult. Ezra was barely six, short and skinny as a rail, and he was getting sicker by the day, even with the treatments and Auri’s regular help during their checkups.

Still, he was a fighter, and stubborn as a Loth-cat. Especially when it came to foul-tasting meds.

She placed a hand on one hip, trying not to smile.

“Oh really?”

Ezra scowled determinedly, but on his young round face, it was closer to a pout.

“Really!”

She raising a brow theatrically at him.

“Then I supposed you won't need this either?”

The kids face lit up as she pulled a little album stack out of her pocket and held it up—an innocent little palm-sized chip that stored sound data and could be plugged into any system or droid to play music. She’d managed to find one of the bands he’d mentioned while complaining how boring and quiet it was in the ward on his own, and she’d promised to bring it during her next visit.

She waved the album stack in front of him before setting it pointedly on the side table.

“Meds first, then music.”

Ezra pouted at her again, but dropped his little shoulders in defeat.

“Urgh, fine,” he grumbled.

Auri couldn’t help but smile sadly to herself as she opened the medication compartment on his bedside table, and began measuring out his prescribed dose of immune boosters. A nurse or med-droid would have been round later to give him his nightly meds, but they were so short-staffed at the moment that they likely wouldn’t have finally got to him until late at night. The kid was already struggling with his condition so much, she didn’t see any need to keep wake him once he finally managed to get some rest.

And she would have been lying if she said she hadn’t wanted to visit the one person in this hospital she actually enjoyed spending time with.

Once she’d double-checked the measurements, she pressed the little measuring cup into his hands and poured him a glass of water to wash it down with. Ezra took it without complaint but pulled a face as he gulped it down.

“Urgh! Why does it have to taste so bad?”

“That’s how you know it’s good for you,” she teased, setting the cup aside and handing the glass of water over. He took it gratefully as Auri pulled a pressure band out of the side table and wrapped it carefully around his skinny arm. “Just going to quickly check your blood pressure too, then you’re all done.”

In truth, she didn’t really need the band to check his blood pressure, but it gave the excuse she needed to get close enough to use her Biomancy.

She’d had the ability for as long as she could remember—a rare talent even among the Force sensitives that let her sense and read a persons life force through direct contact. It meant she’d effectively been able to tell when a person was healthy or sick since she was a child, and after years of training in the Jedi Houses of Healing she was now able to pinpoint and identify the cause of almost any pain or illness with a single touch.

Or in Ezra’s case, it allowed her to sense every part of his body that was struggling most against the poison in his system, and do what little she could during her checkup visits to help him. She’d added specific toxin absorbers into his daily meds to try and help take the pressure off his kidneys, used tiny amounts of Force biomanipulation to boost his white blood cell count, but to be honest there wasn’t an awful lot left she could do. Pretty soon the only thing she’d be able to do was numb his pain receptors so he could sleep comfortably. She hadn’t even been able to think about how she’d break the news to his parents that he was unlikely to ever fully recover…

Frustration and regret roiled deep in her chest as she read his bio-signs, seeing barely any improvement since she’d checked the day before. If only she could just do what she’d been trained for years by Master Sayf to do. To reach out with the Force and help heal the actual source of the problem, not just clumsily try to manage the symptoms. To be the healer she’d worked so hard to become since she’d first walked into the Jedi Temple at two years old.

But it was a different Galaxy now.

She’d only been on Lothal six months. If she cracked now, used her true power and took the risk of being found out, at best she’d have to flee. Start all over again.

At worst she’d be found by Purge Troopers and executed on the spot.

“Hey, Rinna,” Ezra asked abruptly, pulling her out of her morbid thoughts.

“Mmm?” She answered, pretending to check the pressure monitor before releasing the air and removing it from his arm. He pointed at a spot around her collarbone.

“What is that?”

For a second she didn’t know what he was looking at. Then she saw that he was pointing at the cord she wore around her throat. It must have crept up without her noticing, and was now barely peeking out over the neckline of her scrubs. She shrugged it back under the grey-green cloth a bit too quickly to be subtle.

“It’s nothing, little soldier. Nothing important.”

“I always see you wearing it, every time you visit,” he pressed, a tiny pout appearing again. “None of the other nurses or doctors ever wear any jewellery. How come you do?”

“Because this isn’t jewellery,” she answered automatically, then mentally kicked herself for it. Ezra just kept looking at her expectantly, and she knew instinctively he wasn’t going to let it go. So with a sigh, and against her better judgement, she pulled it out just enough for him to see the small jade green stone bound at the end. “It’s called a kyber crystal.”

Ezra’s vivid blue eyes went wide in wonder.

“Isn’t that what’d in Jedi lightsabers?” He breathed.

“They use to be. But not anymore,” she murmured, quickly tucking the cord back beneath her shirt. “It’s just a silly trinket. But one that you have to keep a real secret, ok? I’m not supposed to have it, and I’ll get in a lot of trouble if you tell anyone.”

He gave her a solemn look and a slow nod, his dark hair flopping adorably.

“I won’t tell.”

“Swear?”

He drew an X over his chest.

“Swear.”

Auri tried to regard him seriously but eventually smiled, unable to stop herself. He was a starry-eyed kid, but he was also the most honest and genuine person in this place.

“Good. Now let’s get you tucked in. Your folks will be in to visit tomorrow morning and you don’t want to sleep through it.”

He nodded, coughing a little as he pulled the covers up to his chin again, peeking out and giving her and the album stack on the side table another hopeful look.

“Can you put the music on?”

Auri rolled her eyes with a smile, but nodded, bopping him lightly on the nose with the stack.

“Ok, but only on the lowest volume.”

She got up from the cot and started plugging the stack into the small radio near the door. Ezra coughed again, a bit harder this time. And then a strange noise came from him; a kind of gasping wheeze that quickly became a throaty cough, like he was struggling to catch his breath. Auri turned instinctively, feeling the pull of something wrong through her senses, only to see the colour had suddenly drained almost from Ezra’s round cheeks, leaving him a sickly grey colour.

“Ezra? What’s wrong?” She asked, dread creeping into her chest.

“R-Rinna…” he mumbled, sitting up and swaying dangerously on his cot, “I d-don’t feel good…”

He slumped sideways, almost falling out of the bed entirely. Auri shot across the room and caught him by the shoulders just in time. She tried to sit him up again, but he’d gone almost entirely limp, eyes rolling back in his head.

“Ezra? Ezra!"

He didn’t respond. Only continued to wheeze out breaths that were far more laboured than they should be.

Not wasting a second Auri rolled up his sleeve and touched her entire hand to his upper arm. That one solid point of contact brought a fresh flood of sensations, and she instantly understood, the breath slipping out of her in horror.

“Oh no…”

She could feel the frantic flutter of his pulse through her senses like a hummingbirds wings. Feel the pain of his insides and every laboured breath as if it were her own. The toxin had finally found its way into his heart, and the shock of it was causing the organ to beat wildly out of control.

Not wasting a breath, she yanked back the sheet and laid him out flat on the cot, tilting his head back to open his airway. He was so small it barely took even her any effort to lift him, his little form not even taking up half the space on the cot.

“Keep fighting hard as you can, little soldier,” she whispered, pulling out a syringe and a vial of cardiac stabiliser from the nearby emergency cart. She didn’t realise her hands were trembling until it took her three tries to get it filled correctly.

If this didn’t work…

She returned to his side, sliding the needle into his bicep and depressed the plunger, keeping a hand firmly on his arm and letting her Biomancy monitor his response better than any of the equipment around her could.

But…

“No, no come on, please…” she cursed under her breath, dread beginning to turn to panic.

It wasn’t working. She’d managed to slow his pulse and calm his adrenaline with the stabilising drugs, but it wasn’t enough. His heart was still beating out of rhythm and getting quickly worse. If that poison stayed in his body any longer she knew it was going to destroy his heart beyond any hope of repair…

The sight of those bodybags filling the room downstairs invaded her mind again. The image of one more of them, slightly smaller than the others—

No.

The thought rang through her head with the long dead voice of her master, and the panic in her chest stilled into sudden, familiar calm as she looked down at Ezra again. This time with all the years of lessons and practice she’d gone through to get here rushing in to fill the void.

To heal a hurt, you must first understand the hurt, padawan.

To ease the pain, you must know that pain.

She could still feel the poison lingering in him through her senses, could feel the damage it was doing through the contact. She also knew it wasn’t going to be enough to just remove some of it. Every last drop he’d managed to accumulate by drinking that contaminated water had to be pulled out if she was going to save him now.

So, taking one of his small, tanned hands in her considerably paler ones, Auri reached a hand out to hover over his chest, stretching out with the Force. It was like flexing an aching muscle that had long gone unused, and for a moment, she wasn’t sure she was going to be able to do it. 

But then, her thoughts brushed up against a cluster of something cold and foreign. Something that wasn’t supposed to be there—a knot of wrongness caught up in the complex weave of life that made up all of Ezra.

She reached out further, and her mind stumbled over another. And another. And then another. Feeling the pressure building in her own head with the concentration, she forced herself to focus harder, latching her will onto all those knots of wrongness until she could feel every molecule of the poison scraping against her thoughts—a million pinpoints on a map laid out in the shape of the boy before her.

Then, as gentle as she could, Auri began to pull on all those pinpoints of wrongness.

If anyone had been watching, it might have looked at first like the young haedrathi medic was simply praying over the kid, one hand holding his while the other hovered over his chest. But then, ever so slowly, what looked like tiny beads of pale orange sweat began to appear all over the boy’s clammy skin. At first they were almost unnoticeable, but quickly they grew, forming together into bigger drops that began to slowly rise off him entirely, floating in dozens of perfect spheres up into the air.

She didn’t stop until all of those droplets had risen off Ezra’s clammy skin, and only when every last bit had left him did she shift her hand slightly, condensing them all into a single floating sphere the size of a large marble in the air.

Her head beginning to ache with the strain, Auri automatically reached a hand towards the side cart at the edge of the room, and a test tube flew into her grip as if pulled by a magnet. Sweat began to bead on her own brow as she guided the floating ball of poison into the glass before finally releasing her focus. The pale orange liquid fell straight into the container as if someone had finally turned the gravity back on, and Auri felt her hands trembling as she quickly stoppered it.

Her perception of the rest of the room flooded back in as she pulled in a few steadying breaths, if someone had turned the volume back on for the rest of the world…

Only then did she hear a noise come from directly behind her.

Auri whirled to face it, her head spinning and heart pounding as she automatically shoved the test-tube full of poison into her back pocket. Lyle was stood in the open doorway to the ward, a confused look on his face. For a horrible moment, she thought he’d seen everything, his gaze flickering in bewilderment between her, the boy on the cot, and the empty syringe of cardiac stabilisers on the side table. But the look softened to worry as he saw the expression on her face.

“Rinna, what happened? Is he ok?”

She was saved from trying to flat out lying when Ezra groaned. She turned back to him to see the boy’s vivid blue eyes flickering open as he began to regain consciousness.

“R-Rinna?” He rasped, and she immediately knelt next to him, gently stroking his messy hair back from his face.

“It’s ok. You’re ok, little soldier. You just had a bad spell,” she assured, calmly as she could despite her own racing heartbeat. He coughed a bit and she helped him take a few more gulps of water before gently laying him back down on the pillows. “Try to sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning, I promise.”

He was out barely ten seconds later, the exhaustion of having the poison forcibly purged from his body taking its toll.

But at least now he would live.

Auri covered him in an extra blanket from one of the other beds, and set the bio-monitoring system to alert her if there was any change to his vitals. Then, once she was sure he was as comfortable and safe as she could possibly leave him, she turned back to face a concerned-looking Lyle. He was gazing at her like he was desperate to somehow comfort her, but had no idea what to do or say to help.

“What happened?” He asked quietly the moment they were both outside.

“His heart, it started going tachy right after I gave him his meds. I barely got the stabilisers into him in time…”

It wasn’t a complete lie, but she still hated the taste of it on her tongue. Lyle glanced down at her still trembling hands, and once again she could see him barely resisted the urge to try and take hold of one.

“You’ve done everything you can,” he told her, not realising the truth of those words. “But you really should sleep now too, Rinna.”

She nodded, glancing back at the door to Ezra’s room once more before turning back to Lyle.

“I’ve changed my mind,” she said quietly. He looked at her in confusion, and she gave an anaemic smile that she couldn’t quite make reach her eyes. “Would you mind walking me to Jorran’s office after all?”

It took him a second to process what she’d said, but once he did he nodded vigorously.

“S-sure! Yeah, of course.”

Auri followed her colleague down the hallway, falling into an exhausted step beside him. But not before quietly pulling the test tube of poison out of her back pocket and dropping it quietly into a nearby biohazard bin.

Much as she hated to admit it, PANN and Lyle were both right—she really did need all the sleep she could get tonight.

Tomorrow she was going to have to start planning her escape from Lothal.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

[sammysdewysensitiveeyes]

 @thecorteztwins

Based on your idea about Pyro being unable to lift Haven.  It was supposed to be funny, but this is Legacy Virus Pyro, so it got a little angsty.

               It was, according to Dominic, a quick-and-easy, in-and-out job.  Some fabulously wealthy Indian bird was holed up in one of New York’s luxury hotels, and they were going to ransom her for her family’s considerable wealth.  And if the job went south, they’d just snatch up whatever cash and valuables she had in her room – he’d seen her in the papers, her earrings alone were probably worth thousands – and run off.  Quick-and-easy was about all St. John could handle these days, but he had still angrily shrugged off Dominic’s “You sure you’re up to this?” because fuck, he wasn’t an invalid yet, was he?  So he had lied, grinning with gritted teeth, and claimed that he was just dandy, that today was one of the “good” days.

               Of course, there had been complications.  Complications in the form of a hulking, muscular brute that claimed to be the rich chick’s brother.  And he had powers.  At least there were no bloody X-Men in sight.  Yet.

               “Go up the stairs, Johnny, I’ll handle this,” Avalanche ordered, as they both picked themselves up off the hotel lobby floor.  The big guy had knocked them off their feet with a gust of wind, and now a storm was lashing the plate glass windows with rain and hail.  It had been a clear sunny day just moments ago.

               “You okay on your own?”  St. John didn’t want to leave Dominic fighting solo with a guy who appeared to be a male Storm, and he really didn’t want to be ushered away from the “rough stuff,” like some kind of delicate child that needed protection.  He tried to ignore the burning in his lungs.

               “I got it, man, just finish the job!”  Dominic shoved him towards the stairs while sending a seismic wave rippling across the lobby floor, knocking the big guy off his feet.

               “Right.”  Pyro sprinted up the stairs, letting adrenaline do the work, hoping he could make it to the luxury penthouse suite before he had a chance to feel how very tired he was. He needed to get this done, because it was for Dominic.  Or rather, it was for Dominic’s ex-wife, who apparently needed a pot of money for heart surgery.  St. John wasn’t entirely sure why Dominic was so hell-bent on helping a woman who had broken his heart, but if it was so important, St. John would have his back. Dominic had stuck his neck out trying to help him find a cure in the Savage Land, and St. John wasn’t going to die owing anyone favors.

               There were guards at the door, of course, but a quick blast of flame made them drop their super-heated guns, and then a red bull made of fire chased them down the hall.  There had been a red bull in some book he’d read years ago, but damned if he could remember the title now.  He grinned as the guards bolted through the emergency exit.  He still “had it,” even if using his powers now sent sharp, stabbing pains though his head.  The lock on the door quickly melted, and he kicked it open.

               The woman did not look surprised.  Perhaps her brother had already informed her of the danger.  She sat upright on a chaise lounge, with her flowing robes and impossibly long hair pooled around her, hands folded in her lap.

               “Did you kill the guards?  I hope you didn’t.  They are good men, with families.”          

               “Nah, they…..ran like rabbits….guess you….guess you didn’t pay them enough…..”  The run upstairs was catching up with him now, and he couldn’t help gasping for breath.

               “I don’t want them to die for me,” said the woman.  She hadn’t moved from her position on the couch, one of several scattered around the lavish suite.  It was bigger than most apartments St. John had seen, and filled with fine furniture, and what appeared to be Indian artwork, similar to what he’d seen a lifetime ago as a travel writer.  Radha Dastoor, the woman who called herself “Haven,” was supposedly some kind of charitable humanitarian, but of course she surrounded herself with luxury, like every other rich fuck Pyro had ever known.  Certainly none of them were willing to wear the sackcloth and ashes, in his experience.      

               “Well, that’s good then.  No one needs to die, love.  We’ll make this nice and easy, and you won’t even get a scratch on that pretty face of yours.”  She was stunningly beautiful, although there was something odd about her eyes, almost unnaturally calm.

               “Is this about my message?  Or do you simply want money?”

               “The latter.”  Perhaps in the Brotherhood days it would have been about her message – she was spreading some kind of New Age bullshit about humans and mutants living in harmony.  Magneto probably would have wanted her eliminated – or maybe not.  He could never keep track of the “Great Leader’s” ideology, and these days it was much harder to keep things straight in his head.

He grinned at her, and sent a jet of fire sweeping around the room.  It hovered around the walls, but didn’t actually touch or burn anything.  It would be a shame to destroy this swanky stuff, and this was just an intimidation tactic to get her up and out of the room faster.  To his surprise, she remained seated, staring at him without a hint of fear.

               “Look, darling, we’re not interested in hurting you, okay?  It’s very simple.  You’ve got money, and we need some.  With the fortune you’ve got, you won’t even miss it.  Now you just come with me, your lawyers will fork over some cash, and you can enjoy the rest of your day.”  

               “I’m afraid I can’t do that.  I’ve got a speech to give this evening.  And I’m not going to let myself be kidnapped.  It won’t end well for any of us.  Please put the fire out.  People will get hurt if it spreads.”

               “You seem to be confused, love.  You don’t get a choice in this.”  Pyro strode across the room, somewhere between amused and annoyed.  These rich types always thought the universe would somehow bend to their will, even if there was someone literally pointing a weapon at their faces.  He grabbed her wrist and attempted to pull her to her feet.  She yanked her hand back, stronger than he expected.

               “C’mon now, don’t struggle.  That’s how people get hurt.  I’m tryin’ to be gentle about this.”  Haven was looking up at him, eyebrows pursed together in what appeared to be concern.

               “You’re very thin,” she said.

               “Yeah, no shit, love.  I’ve always been a beanpole.”  He gritted his teeth, blinking away sweat that dripped down into his eyes.  The flame wall was lopsided and ragged at the edges, nowhere near his usual precision, and he wasn’t sure how long he could maintain it with the pounding in his head.  He leaned in, and she shrank away, probably getting entirely the wrong idea as he wrapped his arms around her, taking care not to put his hands anywhere inappropriate.  Pyro was known as a terrorist, thief, murderer and all-around criminal, but he wasn’t known as a rapist, and he didn’t want that on his reputation.  He tried to lift her from the couch, while she pushed against him and kicked.  

               “C’mon, don’t….” He gasped, his breath starting to catch in his throat as burning pain shot through his chest.  “Don’t make this…..I won’t hurt you, just…..just give me a bloody break, love!”  Why was she so unnaturally heavy?  And so freakishly tall?  Or had his arms really gotten that weak?  His grip slipped as she shoved him backwards, and he staggered, unable to stop the coughing fit that tore out of him.  He dropped to his knees, shoulders shaking.  For fucks sake, could he not hold it together long enough to pull off one easy job for Dominic?

               Suddenly, he felt a strong pair of arms wrap around his chest from behind.  Before he could struggle, he was being lifted up onto the couch, leaning back against the cushion as he wheezed.  The flame wall, which had mostly been maintained by his own concentration, had largely evaporated, and he waved a hand to extinguish the remnants that had fallen to the floor.  This didn’t need to get any more out of control than it already was.

               “You are extremely ill.”  Haven was now hovering over him, putting her hands on his cheeks and turning his head to peer into his eyes.  The mask hid the worst of the lesions, but he couldn’t really hide how sharp his cheekbones had become, jutting out of a gaunt face.  “You should be in a hospital.  I will arrange for –“      

               “No, no hospital!” Pyro snarled, although it came out as more of a croak.  Once he went into a hospital, he was never coming out.  They’d jam him full of tubes and keep him breathing long after he devolved into an incoherent, drooling, shitting sack of flesh.  And that was the best case scenario – if they recognized him and called the authorities, he’d breathe his last strapped down in a SHIELD holding cell.  He was going to die anyway, at least at his apartment he had booze and porn and some god-damned privacy.  And he had everything he needed to end things on his own terms, when it came to that.

               “They can’t help me,” he continued.  “It’s…..”  He couldn’t quite bring himself to say the word “terminal,” even though it hung in his mind like a black flag.  “There’s no cure.”

               “I’m sorry,” said Haven, and the look of compassion on her face seemed to indicate that she actually meant it.  Usually people didn’t.  “I’m sorry” was usually such bullshit, better translated to, “Better you than me, mate.”  

               “Perhaps I could…..”  Haven stopped and trailed off, her head cocked to one side, as if listening to something Pyro could not hear.  “No? No, it seems it is not the right time. I’m sorry.  I don’t always understand the workings of the divine, but I most obey.”  She reached out and clutched his hand in hers.  

               Pyro shrugged as his breathing gradually came back under control, although it was still a painful wheeze.  Today had really not been one of the “good” days.  And obviously this woman was crazy.  A lot of rich types were, especially if they got religion.  But at least she appeared to be genuinely nice.  He felt oddly comforted sitting on the couch, holding her hand, even though either the police or some do-gooder X-Team was probably on their way.

               “Are you for real?  Most people aren’t this nice during a robbery.”

               “I try to see the world with compassion.  I want to ease suffering, and you are suffering.  Is that why you need money?  For treatment?”

               “Not treatment for me.  There’s no treatment for me.  A friend needs help.  He’s down there with your brother, probably getting’ his bell rung.”

               “Monsoon can be very….overenthusiastic, but he only wants to protect me.  I will contact him, and perhaps we can work this out peacefully.”

                 Dominic, with his face pressed against the shattered rubble of the hotel lobby, and a 200 lb man sitting on his back, reflected that this job had been a complete shit-show.  All the rich socialite “humanitarians” in New York city, and he had tried to rob and kidnap the woman with a mutant for a brother.  Above him, Monsoon shifted his weight, and Avalanche winced at the pressure on his ribs.  Maybe it was closer to 300 lbs?  Worse, he had dragged Johnny out into this, and the man was in no condition to be running around, no matter how many times he said he was “fine.”  He seemed to be running on pure, stubborn pride these days.

               “Look, fella, my partner is up there with your sister, so unless you want him to torch her, you’d better let me up,” he tried.  He could, of course, shake the entire building off its foundations.  And that would kill everyone inside, including him, Johnny, and the spoiled rich bitch they were here to rob.  Monsoon stared down at him, contemptuous and silent.  Then his phone chirped.

               “Yes?  Are you okay? Understood.”  He snapped the phone closed, and hauled Avalanche up to his feet, with one arm twisted around his back.

              “It’s over,” Monsoon said simply.  “She wants to talk to you.”  And he began to drag Avalanche over to the elevator.

               “Wait, what’s over?  What happened?  Is Pyro….” He trailed off.  Haven had a team of bodyguards with her, and they had probably been posted at her room. Bodyguards with guns, and Johnny was off his game these days.  Dominic would never be able to forgive himself if he’d gotten his best friend killed, even if it was the kind of death he might prefer over slowly wasting away. Monsoon was frustratingly silent as the elevator took them up.

               “Look, this is on me, okay?  This was my job, I pushed him into it.  You can have me, but let Pyro go, okay?”  The only thing worse than Johnny getting gunned down while doing him a favor would be Johnny dying in jail.  Dominic was ready to do anything to keep that from happening.  But he was met with only silence while being dragged down the hallway towards the room.  There were scorch marks on the carpet, but no blood, which made him sigh with relief.  He wasn’t entirely sure what he expected to see when he was pushed through the doorway into Radha Dastoor’s suite, but he still stopped short in surprise.   

               Pyro was sitting on the sofa next to the woman who called herself Haven, both looking up as Avalanche came through the door.  Pyro had a blanket draped around his shoulders, and was clutching a steaming mug of something that smelled like spice.  He looked vaguely guilty behind his mask, while her face was a perfect picture of calm.

               “What….what the hell, man?”  Avalanche spluttered.  

               “I’m sorry, Dom,” Pyro shrugged, using one hand to gesture helplessly at Haven.  “She’s just…too nice.  I can’t do it, mate.  She’s too nice.”

               “Too nice?  Are you kidding me?!”  Monsoon let a heavy hand fall upon his shoulders, forcing Dominic to his knees while Haven glided over to him.  And as she knelt and began to coo over the bruises that her brother had left on his face, he realized exactly what Pyro meant.

Notes: Haven is probably going to write a check for Dominic’s wife’s treatment, and then let them go.  I realized I needed a reason why Haven wouldn’t attempt to heal Pyro like she tried with Jamie, so I’m thinking the Adversary told her “No,” because it didn’t want her to fail (and possibly destroy the faith she had in her cause).    

[kamen-rider-zed]

Artiste et Muse Ch4

Okay confession time: because depression sucks and my job is eating me alive, this is the last complete chapter of this fic. I'll try to have this done by the end of the week, but I can't make any promises. Just know that I appreciate all of the amazing comments, and I've been so glad to get even a bit of my writing mojo back after so long.

AO3

Chloe groaned and forced her eyes to open against the massive migraine sitting on her skull. She reached out and felt the sheets she’d slept in the previous night; somehow, she made it back home. She closed her eyes again and focused through the pain. How did she get here? What did she remember? The wedding album, crying, lots of crying, the cafe down the street, more crying, and Nathanael holding her.

Her eyes snapped open and she flinched against what she assumed was afternoon light slicing into the room through the thin crack in the drapes. Nathanael holding her? Comforting her? Why would he do that? He hated her, right? But then...why? She sat up, pressing a hand to her temple, and noticed her heels sitting next to the bed. He must have guided her back home, into bed, and even taken her shoes off. Her heart thumped harder in her chest but she shook the feeling away. Why was he having this effect on her?

She slipped out of the bed and out into the living room where she found Nathanael with a sketchbook on one knee and the wedding album on the other.  He lifted his head when he heard her enter the room, and Chloe could have sworn there was the faintest smile on his face when he saw her.

He cleared his throat and whatever smile there had been disappeared. “You’re awake.”

A rude and snarky retort sat just behind her teeth ready to tear into him, but there it sat. Whether it was the migraine or her new and confusing feelings directed at Nathanael that held it back she couldn’t tell. Instead, she pressed her fingers into her temples and asked, “How long was I asleep?”

“A few hours. It’s just a little after one.” He pointed his pencil towards the kitchen. “There’s some pain pills on the counter if you need them. I would have made some coffee, but…”

“But you don’t know how?” She rounded the island in the kitchen and spotted the tiny red bottle. A quick search through the cabinets and she finally found a water glass.

“I know how to make coffee, but…” He turned his eyes back down to the album. “There’s nothing but whole bean in there.”

“Of course, I refuse to live under the same roof as pre-ground bullshit.” She found the beans and a grinder, paused, then turned back to Nathanael. “Get in here, Red. I may not like you, but everyone deserves to know how to make a decent cup of coffee.”

When she saw Nathanael blush at her invitation, she had to fight against the word ‘adorable’ crossing through her mind. He set the books aside and joined her in the kitchen. She taught him the proper proportions of beans to water, the proper grind settings, then set a kettle on the stove. As they waited for the water to boil, she asked, “What were you doing with the album?”

He was quiet for too long to Chloe’s liking. He finally said, “References. I thought I’d...practice drawing a wedding.”

Chloe moved across the kitchen to stand in front of him and crossed her arms. “You’re a terrible liar, you know that? You have the internet, a window into the next ten years of fashion and design. Getting to see that before literally anyone else? And you choose our...the wedding album?”

Nathanael matched her glare for a few seconds before he rolled his eyes and looked away. “Okay, I got curious too. I didn’t get that good of a look at it this morning, so I started flipping through it and...wanted to draw a few things. There, happy?”

“No. What about that book could have piqued your curiosity?”

A subtle movement dropped her gaze to his hands, where she noticed him twisting his wedding band about his finger. “I guess...it’s like I said to Marinette and the others last night; I want to know how this happened. How did we go from being bitter enemies to…” He lifted his left hand, fingers still playing with the ring.

Chloe stared at his hand for a long while. The Chloe and Nathanael of this world obviously had a strong relationship, but where had it come from? Sure, ten years was a long time, time enough for her to move on from Adrien and possibly to...but that was ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous. There was no way she’d choose someone else over Adrien...except she had. Or this world’s version of her had. And the Adrien of this world seemed happy with Marinette. Her thoughts flashed back to what Nathanael had said about the Akuma. Fairytale was supposed to make people live their happy endings. Did this mean that her happy ending wasn’t with Adrien?

The low whistle from the kettle broke her out of her thoughts and she finished showing Nathanael how to properly use a coffee press. Chloe found herself inexplicably smiling as he took his first sip of properly pressed coffee and melted into his mug. She raised her own mug to her lips to hide the smile, but had the slightest suspicion she hadn’t been quick enough. The damnedest thing was that she didn’t care. Maybe it was because he’d seen her at quite possibly the lowest she’d ever been in her life, but she wanted him to see her smile.

“Do you want to go through the album together?” Chloe looked to him and raised a brow. “You know, actually take a good look at the photos now that you’re…umm...” He turned away and bit his lip.

“Now that I’m not obsessed over my mother. That’s what you were going to say, right?”

“No!” Chloe stared at him. “Okay, kinda. You know what? This was a bad idea.” He squeezed his way past her and made his way back to the couch. “I should probably just-”

“Sure.”

Nathanael whipped around and gaped. “Wha?”

“Sure, let’s look at the album together. It’s not like I have anything else to do until Ladybug gets us out of here. Besides, if I do get all weepy over my mother, I have…” You, she was going to say, because he had been her sole source of comfort since waking up in this strange world. As much as she hated his guts, having him around, that sense of familiarity, was better than nothing. She bit the inside of her cheek and reminded herself exactly who he was, who he worked for, and continued, “I have to get over it eventually.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, but soon shrugged and slid over on the couch to make room for her. Okay, not what she expected. She grabbed her coffee and sat down beside him, then turned her attention to the album on his knee.

An outdoor wedding. Flowers everywhere, rows upon rows of chairs set in...Chloe reached over and flipped another page, searching for an identifying landmark. Ah, there. The Jardin du Luxembourg. A nice venue. Several women in yellow sundresses. Marinette, Alya, Kagami, and...Sabrina. Chloe pulled the album into her lap and ran her fingers over Sabrina. When had they made amends? How long after Sabrina walked out on her, tired of Chloe using her superhero status to shove more and more schoolwork onto her? More tears pricked at the corners of Chloe’s eyes, but she wiped them away and turned another page.

She blushed at the picture of Nathanael, wearing black slacks, a purple button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and a black kippah. Somehow the purple worked for him, and...was he wearing a bee charm bracelet? He looked...really nice, especially with his hair tied back like thaaaa-no. No, she wasn’t going to think about him like that. Focus on something else, Chloe. He wasn’t wearing a jacket or a tie, so maybe they were going for a more casual wedding? Which didn’t make sense, if one of Paris’ superheroes were getting married, it would be a huge event, right?

On the next page...ah, her dress. A black lacy bodice with a low-scooped neckline, halter straps, and pearl adornments dangling from the front. From the waist down, a pure white sheath skirt with gold embroidered hem and a pale yellow sash tied about her waist, the knot somehow tied in such a way to resemble a flower. Lace fingerless gloves in the same yellow as the sash. A simple diamond and pearl tiara with her veil flowing from the back, her hair tied up with a plain white ribbon, and a bouquet of yellow dahlias. She squinted and looked closer at her necklace. Stones of purple, blue, and green. Paon’s colors. Now that she got a better look at it, it was subdued, but still spoke to her color pallet. Light fabrics to let it breath in the heat of summer. Marinette outdid herself.

“Are you nervous, Nath?” Chloe turned to the laptop at the sound of Nino’s voice. It was a shaky video of Nathanael buttoning up the shirt she had just seen, and another blush crept up on her face.

“Nervous? No. Relieved that we’re finally here? Yeah. Relieved that all of the planning and prep is over.” He chuckled. “Not that Chlo let me do much. She insisted on doing almost everything, including pay for all of this.” He turned to face the camera. “You know, her original budget was over a hundred thousand euros? Do you know how long it took me to talk her down from that? I mean, she justified it as a ‘charitable donation’ to expand the gardens, but that was still a bit much.”

“Well, Queen Bee is the face of the international ‘Save the Bees’ movement,” Nino said from behind the camera.

Nathanael smiled again. “Yeah, she is, however accidental it may be.”  He leaned over to grab something off of a nearby table. “I didn’t even really want a wedding if I’m honest, but the moment I mentioned the word ‘elope’ to Chloe, she became a living nightmare until I relented.”

“Yeah, that sounds like you,” Chloe heard from her left. She elbowed Nathanael in the ribs, but kept her eyes on the video.

Nathanael stood back up stuffing whatever he searched for in his pocket. “But I’m glad we’re here. I’m glad she’s…” He turned his gaze to a nearby door and somehow, Chloe knew she was...no. Her alternate self was beyond that door. “If you’d told me ten, fifteen years ago that I’d eventually be married to Chloe Bourgeois, I would have laughed in your face. But I’ve never felt this way about anyone. Not Marinette, not Marc. She…” He chuckled. “She’s come so far since we were in lycee, and I’m so happy…” When he turned back to the camera and smiled, Chloe felt her heart skip a beat. “I’m so happy she’s about to be my wife.”

The screen faded to black, and when color bloomed back in, Chloe stood in the center wearing her wedding dress, her hands fidgeting and her eyes trained on a mirror in front of her.

“Chloe! Stop squirming!” came Marinette’s voice from just off frame.

Chloe looked down and mouthed ‘sorry’, then looked back into the mirror and sighed, her frayed nerves evident in her eyes.

“Don’t know what you’re so nervous about, girl,” Alya said behind the camera. “You’re Le Grand Paris’ chief event coordinator so you obviously know what you’re doing and you’ve triple checked every-damn-thing. This is probably going to be the smoothest wedding ever, granted Mayor Bourgeois doesn’t break down into tears like M. Dupain did.”

“Okay, just because my dad sobbed so loud the priest had to start over three times, that does not mean our wedding didn’t go smoothly.”

“It’s not the ceremony!” Chloe stomped, eliciting another swear from Marinette. Chloe apologized again and wrung her hands together. “I’m...kinda waiting to wake up.” Marinette’s head lifted into frame, a couple of pins hanging from the corner of her mouth and an inquisitive look in her eyes. “I treated Nath like shit for years, treated all of you like shit, and now look at us. Marinette made me a custom dress, Alya and Nino are handling our album, Sabrina agreed to be my maid of honor, and Nath…” She turned her eyes down to her left hand, her engagement ring sparkling in the light. “He proposed. After eight years of probably the rockiest relationship ever, he...chose me. Chose to spend the rest of his life bound to me. Me.

“I feel like this is a dream. I feel like the moment I say ‘I do’, I’ll wake up, I’ll be a teenager again, and Paon and I will be back to kicking each other’s teeth in.” She turned down to Marinette. “Did you ever go through this whole ‘too good to be true’ thing with Adrien?”

The camera lowered to Marinette, who huffed and flashed a wry grin before returning to her work on Chloe’s dress. “When he agreed to date me after two years of stalkery pining, kind of. After I found out he was Chat Noir, definitely. I thought there was no way the guy I loved and the cat who loved me were the same person. Even on our wedding day, I expected it to be some kind of Akuma spell, but here I am, six years deep into marriage with a pair of five-year-olds, and I couldn’t be happier.”

She smiled up at Chloe. “I assure you, this isn’t a dream. You deserve to be happy. After everything you’ve gone through, you deserve this.”

“Especially after all the bullshit you went through with The-Bitch-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.”

“Alya!” Marinette scolded, but the smile on her face betrayed her true feelings.

“What?” The camera shook in time with Alya’s laughter. “Chlo put the kibosh on mentioning her name, so how else are you supposed to know who I’m talking about?”

“You’re right.” Marinette and the camera refocused on Chloe. “You’re both right. I deserve this. I’ve changed so much since I was a stupid kid, and Nathanael sees that. He believes I deserve to be happy, and you know what?” She turned back to the camera and the smile on her face was bigger and brighter than Nathanael had ever seen. “I believe it too.”

That particular video file ended and Nathanael turned back to Chloe, who had her eyes down on the album in her lap. She seemed focused on a picture of her dress, which was strange since she described it as ‘lackluster’ earlier. “Are you alright?” he asked.

Chloe ran her fingers over the picture, and when she spoke, she spoke with an odd mix of wonder and sorrow in her voice. “I...she was right. It feels like a dream. This is me. I know this is me but it still feels like I’m looking at someone else’s life.” Her voice dropped to a whisper and all Nathanael could make out was, “I’ve never seen…”

“Never seen what?”

She shook her head and blinked at him, his voice jarring her from her stupor. “N-nothing.” She looked down at the album, stood, and held it out to him. “I’m done for today. You can look through it if you like.” When Nathanael accepted it, she collected their empty coffee mugs and strode into the kitchen, seeming all too eager to put distance between herself and him. Or maybe the album.

Nathanael looked down at the photo Chloe had been looking at. The Chloe in the photo wore the same smile she had in the video. Judging from the background, Nathanael guessed this photo was taken moments after that segment of the video ended, when Marinette had finished her last adjustments on the dress. That smile...he’d never seen Chloe smile that big or that bright. He’d never seen…

He paused and looked back up at Chloe, slowly realizing what she’d whispered.

“I’ve never seen myself that happy before.”

[master-sass-blast]

Salt of the Earth

Well. Hello. Welcome to my salt.

So, this is a fic that definitely fits into the series and everything, but it is also a direct byproduct of my salt at Netflix cancelling “The Punisher.”

It’ll make sense once you read the fic.

Rated T for: Multiple injuries, car accident (singular), kidnapping, mentions of child abuse, and just angst in general.

Pairings: Piotr Rasputin x Reader (and kinda sorta Frank Castle x Karen Page; it’s not outright stated, but it’s very strongly implied that they like each other).

Song lyrics are from “Zombie” by Bad Wolves; bible verse is Matt. 5:13.

@marvel-is-perfection

“It’s the same o-ld thing/ in 2018/ In your head/ in your head/ they are dying…”

You sing along with the music blaring through the store speakers under your breath as you glare at the stack of sketchbooks sitting on the shelf in front of you. You’re at an art store in the small town area Piotr likes going to for outings –the very same place the two of you had your first date, in fact—and you’re trying to pick out a good birthday gift for your dearly beloved boyfriend.

 Because Piotr is, without a doubt, the world’s most fantastic boyfriend, and you are not about to be shown up by your own partner.

 You know, not to mention the fact that you want to get him something good. Something he’ll like.

 So, first step. Art store. Always a good place to start, considering that Piotr is an artist and loves getting any art related gifts.

 And, bonus! You can get there legally, without Piotr’s help, because you have a driver’s license! One hundred percent legally obtained! Go you!

 The money in your bank account that will be used to buy the gift/gifts isn’t legally obtained, because it’s a mix of funds from Wade and your uncle, but the cashier isn’t going to know that and you know Piotr isn’t going to berate you for it because he understands that your situation’s a little –a lot—fucked up to begin with.

 Anyway. Back to the point

 You’ve made it to the art store. You are currently in the art store. You are exactly where you need to be –which, if it wasn’t clear, is the art store.

 Unfortunately, there are no steps after “get to the art store” because you have no idea what you’re doing.

 Yes, you do art; you’re not on Piotr’s level, but you hold your own –and, dare you say it, but you’re improving!

 But Piotr’s always handled the ‘supply buying,’ as it were, and now that you’re staring down what seems like thousands of options, you’re completely lost at sea.

 Okay, you tell yourself. Think. What does he need replaced?

 Pens. He’s always burning through pens –and erasers, come to think of it—with how regularly he uses them.

 You smile to yourself as you dart over to the proper aisle. I’m gonna own the fuck out of this.

Once you get your footing, you nail the shopping session. You’re gonna have to hide the receipt from Piotr because you definitely went a little nuts, but he deserves and you have more than enough money so why not?

You hum happily along to the pop song of the moment as you drive back to the mansion, gifts safely tucked in the shotgun seat of your car. You’re flying down the highway –not literally, in the sense that you can actually fly or the sense that you’d be speeding—and—

 There’s not a single other car in sight.

 And that’s… a little weird. It’s early afternoon on a weekend. You’d think you’d see more travelers on the road.

 Before you have too much time to overthink it, a massive black SUV comes up on your tail out of nowhere.

 You yelp and lay on the horn when it rams into your bumper. “What the fuck, asshole?” You wrench the wheel, trying to stay on the road, and press the gas pedal down harder.

 The SUV keeps pace with you, barely keeping off your back bumper as it tails you down the empty road.

 You honk again and shift into the other lane before slowing down.

 The SUV simply speeds ahead –and spins so that it’s sitting across both lanes of the highway, right in your path.

 You shriek as you stomp on the brakes, but it’s too little, too late.

 Your car slams into the side of the SUV, and everything goes dark.

The first thing you register is pain. So much of it, everywhere. Your head feels like it’s been put in a vice until it cracked, and your ribs ache with every breath you take.

The second thing you register is that you’re laying on your side in some sort of cramped, stuffy compartment. You can’t sit up, can’t really even move without bumping into a barrier of some sort.

 The third thing you register is that whatever you’re in is moving.

 Oh, dear sweet Cthulhu have mercy, I’m in the trunk of a car. You groan as you check your pockets for your phone and swear when you come up empty handed. “Shit! Okay, taillight. Find one of the taillights.”

It takes forever, between the pain you’re in and the cramped quarters, but you manage to find one of the taillights. You rip the carpet covering it away, then use your powers to punch it out.

You’re in a city, which is better then being on some backroad in the middle of the woods. City means people, which means phones, which means you’ve got a shot at calling someone and getting back to the X-Mansion. You suck in the fresh night air –you’ve been out for a while, which isn’t good—and try to formulate some sort of a plan. Maybe they’ll hit a light soon, and then I can break the hood open and get out—

The sound of tires screeching fills the air, followed by a heavy burst of gunfire.

You suck air through your teeth –part in surprise, part in pain—as the car comes to an abrupt stop.

“The fuck was that?” one of your abductor’s voices shouts from the cabin of the car, muffled but extremely pissed off.

You know about as much as they do, it would seem, and while you’re not fond of getting out of the car while there’s active gunfire, you know you’re not gonna get a better chance.

You slam the hood of the car open, sending it flying into the air, and bolt for the nearest alley before your kidnappers can react. You barely make it two feet into the shadows before you collapse against a wall, head spinning with blinding pain. Fuck. I think some of my ribs are broken. You pant and gasp through the waves of agony, trying to keep from vomiting.

“Where’d she go?”

“She won’t have gotten far. Find her!”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck fuck fuckfuckuckfuck—

You grit your teeth and fly up to the nearest roof top. You do actually vomit –and almost pass out in it—once your feet hit the flat, paved surface. You collapse to your knees, arms shaking, and groan as you force yourself to your feet. Push through it. Come on. You need to find a way to call Piotr.

You manage to run across the roof top, away from the sounds of your kidnappers’ voices, tears stinging your eyes at every jolt your body takes. You round a corner, hoping to find some sort of door inside—

You run into a black clad figure –literally, full body contact and everything—and scream as the two of you go down together. Adrenaline surges through your system, and you lash out at the person wildly.

“Woah –woah! Hey!”

You stop with a gasp when you see Frank Castle’s face –a little bruised and bloody, but not too much worse for wear considering his line of work—staring down at you. You groan and go limp. “You have no idea how happy I am to see you.”

“The fuck happened to you?” he grunts as he scans your various injuries.

“Car crash. Kidnapped.” You wince. “You know, the usual.” You flinch when you hear the voices of your abductors shouting –they’re getting closer—and shoot Frank a desperate look. “I need help. Please. I lost my phone, I can’t call anyone for help—”

He pulls you to your feet and hooks one of your arms over his shoulders so he can support some of your weight. “I’ve got a van in an alley nearby. Let’s go.”

You do your best to keep pace with him and look over your shoulder jerkily when you hear more gunfire. “The fuck is that?”

“I made some friends,” he grunts as he guides you across the dark rooftop. “Left.”

“Sure sounds like it.” Gunfire pierces the air again –closer, you’re both being closed in on—and you shift your arm so that it’s around his waist and squeeze him against you as much as you can. “Which way’s the alley?”

“West, two blocks –Christ!”

If you were feeling better, you’d smirk at Frank’s exclamation when you launch the two of you into the air. As it is, you grimace and focus on not crashing into anything or dropping your only ticket out of here –here being Hell’s Kitchen, apparently.

You manage to find said alley and van –both of which could be charitably described as ‘creepy looking.’ You and Frank tumble to the cracked pavement, and then you’re retching against the dirty asphalt like a cat trying to hock up the biggest hairball of its life.

Frank gets you up on your feet an into the passenger side of the van in a matter of seconds. He mumbles an apology as he buckles you in, then gets into the driver’s side equally as fast and starts the engine.

“I’m gonna apologize in advance,” you gasp. “In case I throw up in your van.”

Frank makes the grunt equivalent of a shrug as he peels out of the alleyway. “Not the worst thing it’s seen.” 

He stops behind a massive apartment building about fifteen minutes later, cutting the engine as he unbuckles himself and opens the door. 

“What’re we doing?” you mumble. Now that you’re sitting down and not actively working on getting away from your kidnappers, exhaustion’s setting in. Fast.

“Can’t use my car to get’cha where you need to go,” Frank explains as he unbuckles you and half-drags, half-scoops you out of your seat. “We’ll need to borrow a ride. That, and you need some first aid for your head faster than you need a ride home.”

You frown as you touch your head, then blink when your hand comes away red and sticky. “Oh. Party.”

Frank chuckles as helps you stagger towards the fire escape. “Always is.”

“Wait, you’re gonna make me fucking climb all that?”

“Guy like me can’t exactly use the front door.”

“How high up are we going?”

“Floor fourteen.”

You give him a flat look. “I hate you.”

He chuckles again. “That how you thank all your rescuers?”

“It is if they make me climb up fourteen floors after going through a car accident.”

“Suppose that’s fair.”

You wince as you hook your arm around his waist again. “You’re gonna have to count; I need to focus on not dropping us.”

You manage to get up to the correct floor without dropping Frank once. He does, though, have to practically drag you to the right window. You whimper as he sets you down and taps on the glass pane.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Hang in there.”

You can hear movement inside the apartment, and then the window opens.

A slim woman with shoulder-length blonde hair and wide blue eyes gives the two of you a horrified look. “Frank –what the fuck?”

He jerks his head at you. “She needs help.”

You stick out your hand –it’s not like you’ve got any better options. “I’m Y/N.”

Karen shakes your hand before backing away from the window so Frank can lift you inside. “I’m Karen Page. Let me grab my first aid kit.”

“I’ve got it,” Frank says as he shuts the window. “She needs a phone to call her boyfriend.”

“I lost mine in the car crash.”

It says something about Karen that she doesn’t even blink at your comment. Instead, she digs her phone out of her purse, unlocks it, and hands it you. “Here.”

“Sorry if I bleed on it,” you mumble as you dial Piotr’s number –you mentally thank your uncle for making you memorize phone numbers from an early age on—and try to avoid smearing Karen’s phone with blood as you lift the speaker end to your ear.

“It’s fine.” Karen nods in the direction that Frank went. “I guarantee you he’s done worse.”

The phone rings a few times before Piotr picks up. “Ya sluchu vas.”

You start crying; after the day you’ve had, hearing his voice is the best damn thing in the world. “Piotr?”

His reaction is immediate, relief so evident in his voice you can practically see the expression on his face. “Y/N, where are you? I have been trying to reach you all day—”

“I got in a car crash; some chickenshits tried to run me off the road, and then they threw me in the trunk of a car, and—”

“What? Slow down. Wait, are you safe? Where are you?”

You groan as Frank and Karen help you sit on her couch, then laugh when you realize how fucking ridiculous the story you’re about to tell is gonna sound. “Yeah. You’re not gonna believe who I ran into.”

Frank takes over the phone once you’ve recapped everything for Piotr and reassured your darling boyfriend that, yes, you’re as okay as you can be and you’re in a safe place; he works out the details of how you’re getting back to the mansion while Karen works on getting you relatively cleaned and patched up. 

And Karen, to her credit, doesn’t seem all that alarmed by your –or Frank’s, for that matter—injuries. Concerned, yes, and maybe a little strained, but not scared.

She smiles weakly when you remark as much. “Yeah, well, you can’t really let all this freak you out to much if you associate with him.” She nods at Frank again.

“I didn’t think the Punisher had associates,” you mumble as she applies another bandage to what seemed to be a nasty cut on your forehead, if Frank’s and Karen’s reactions were anything to go by.

She huffs out a laugh at that. “I didn’t either, until I realized that I was one of them.”

“Yeah… yeah. No, we’ll get ‘er to you. Probably safer that way… nah, I’m sure. We’ll finish getting ‘er stable, and then I’ll drive her out. See you in a bit, Rasputin.”

You peer up at Frank as he ends the call and hands the phone back to Karen. “How’re we getting out of here?”

“I’ll drive you back once you’re patched up.”

Karen snorts and gives him an incredulous look. “I don’t remember saying you could ‘borrow’ my car. Again.”

“I’ve got a ride—”

“What, your murder van?”

You giggle; it’s an apt description, really.

The corner of Frank’s mouth turns up –and holy shit the Punisher is actually smiling. “What’s wrong with it? It’s got four wheels, it drives, it brakes, it steers. What more do you want?”

“Upholstery that doesn’t have bloodstains on them?”

“Aw, c’mon. It adds character.”

And, even with your probable concussion, you can tell that Frank and Karen are flirting. Hardcore flirting, even.

And that’s… interesting. You knew that Karen had to be someone that Frank trusted to even go to her in the first place, but you hadn’t banked on him liking her, too.

“Frank, you won’t be in Hell’s Kitchen. If you drive Y/N to the X-Mansion in your murder van, people are going to call the police. We’ll take my car.”

“‘We?’”

Karen shoots him a defiant look. “You aren’t ‘borrowing’ my car again, Frank.” She moves out of the way so he can take over your ‘patching up’ and disappear somewhere out of your field of vision.

Frank crouches in front of the couch, still grinning as he rifles through Karen’s first aid kit. He pauses for a minute –and you recognize the look on his face as the ‘I’m about to be a little shit’ expression, which you’ve learned to identify from spending so much time with Wade—then says “Technically, I didn’t borrow it the first time.”

“Not helping your argument, Castle.”

You bite back a smirk as Frank huffs out something that, on another person, might be a chuckle. Very interesting.

Once Frank declares that you’re unlikely to bleed on the interior of Karen’s car, she and Frank help you down to the parking garage of her apartment building. Frank crawls into the back with you –to make sure you don’t fall asleep, given your probable concussion and whatnot—while Karen gets into the driver’s seat and turns the car on. 

You wince as you try to sit in a way that doesn’t hurt, then give up on it and settle for letting your head rest against the car door. 

You’re tired. Now that you’re not running for your life or in the warm glow of Karen’s apartment, all you can process –feel—is your exhaustion. You haven’t eaten since breakfast, you’re uncomfortable, and every single tiny move you make hurts.

You are, however, wearing one of Frank’s hoodies; Karen had produced it from somewhere in her apartment –add that to the list of interesting details about whatever dynamic Frank Castle and Karen Page have going on—and wrapped you in it to hide the worst of your injuries from any passersby. It’s ridiculously soft, funnily enough, and is only adding to the exhaustion weighing down on you. You nestle yourself in as much as you can to the back seat of Karen’s car and make to close your eyes.

“Hey. Hey, hey! Do not fall asleep right now!” Frank grabs your hand and squeezes hard enough to be uncomfortable. “Keep your eyes open, you hear me?”

“Fuck you, I’m tired,” you whine. You open your eyes anyway.

“How’d you end up running into Frank?” Karen asks from the front seat as she carefully navigates out of Hell’s Kitchen. “You said something about crashing your car?”

“I didn’t crash my car,” you grouse. “Some assholes pulled out in front of me on a highway and stopped.”

“And no one called the police? Or an ambulance?”

“I’m pretty sure it was all planned ahead of time. The highway was dead empty just before it happened.”

The car goes silent for a moment, and then Karen says in a voice that’s just a little too steady “I knew working with the X-Men could be dangerous, but I didn’t think things were that crazy.”

“I don’t think it had anything to do with them,” you admit. “I’m not really an X-Man, either.”

“But you live at the mansion. And you’re a mutant.”

“I am, but being at the mansion is more for my own safety,” you say with a bitter laugh. “I, uh, grew up in an anti-mutant home. Left once I figured out there was a place that would accept me.”

“You think it had something to do with your parents?” Frank asks.

“I mean, they’ve sent bounty hunters after me before,” you grumble. “It’s not like it’d be the first time.”

Frank tenses next to you. “Who are you parents, ‘xactly?”

You don’t have to guess about why he’s suddenly so uptight. This is the man that spends his life gunning down gangs and crime families and other scums of the Earth; if you were him, you’d be worried about what sort of shit the person you randomly helped save might drag into your life—

Or the life of someone like Karen Page.

If there’s really something going on there, you muse, he’s gonna be protective of her. “They’re no one. Just a couple of assholes who didn’t want their kid when she was growing up, but now that’s she gone they’ve figured out they don’t want anyone else having her either, much less for her to have a life where she’s happy.” Tears start stinging your eyes, and then they’re trickling down your cheeks as you start crying. “They used to lock me in my room –my dad would beat with a belt when I had trouble controlling my mutation—” You choke back a sob, then pain racks through your body from the movement jarring your ribs.

There’s the click of a seatbelt unbuckling, and then Frank’s sliding over so he’s next to you, holding your shoulders steady so you don’t jerk yourself around unnecessarily. “Hey, hey. Deep breaths. Easy.”

“I can’t ‘breathe deep,’ asshole,” you say with a choked laugh. “Ow.”

“Is abuse really all that common towards mutants?” Karen asks from the front seat. “Not that I don’t believe you or believe it happens, it’s just… disheartening to think about.”

“Unfortunately, it is,” you say as Frank slides back to his seat and buckles himself in; you’ve calmed down again, which means you don’t need to be restrained. “There’s obviously the good families, but we’re kind of scum to society. Freakish abominations.”

“But there’s nothing wrong with you,” Karen insists. “You’re just people.”

You let out a dark laugh. “Tell that to the founders of Harmony.”

Frank’s eyes are on you again. “What?”

“An anti-mutant settlement about an hour from Xavier’s. They actively kill any mutants they can get their hands on; they’ve got a compound out in the middle of the woods where they do it.” You go quiet for a moment. “They would’ve killed Piotr, if we hadn’t rescued him.”

“I didn’t realize things were that bad,” Karen says softly after a moment. “How are people even getting away with that shit?”

“How do people get away with committing atrocities anywhere? They think they have a right to hurt people, and others agree with them. Unfortunately for us, the ‘others’ who agree with them happen to be the people in power.”

The car goes silent again, and something tells you that the wheels in Karen’s head are turning. You don’t know her that well –don’t know her at all, really—but something tells you that the woman that Frank Castle is –seemingly—interested in isn’t the type to roll over all that easy.

Then, Karen clears her throat. “Who’s Piotr?”

You smile softly. “He’s my boyfriend. He’s the one I called at your apartment. I was actually out getting him some presents for his birthday today.”

“That’s sweet. What were you getting him?”

“Art supplies. He’s an artist, so I like to help keep him stocked up.” You blink owlishly when you realize that the bags with everything you’d bought are probably still in the wreckage formerly known as you car. “I’m gonna have to rerun that errand. Right after I get a new ride.”

“It’ll all work out,” Karen reassures you. “How long have the two of you been together?”

“Uh…” You try to figure it out, even going as far as to count it out on your fingers—

“She’s concussed, Karen. Maybe don’t make her do math,” Frank says with a chuckle.

“It’s been longer than a year,” you add. “Definitely longer than a year.” You think for a moment, then let out a soft laugh. “Y’know, I never thought I’d find anyone. I grew up thinking I was unlovable.”

“Anyone can be loved,” Karen says.

If it were any other situation, you’d write it off as a supportive statement.

But Karen’s voice is just a little too pointed, a little too intentional, and Frank suddenly gets very interested in staring at his shoes.

Probable concussion or not, you know you’re not seeing things. But, there’s nothing you can do or say now that won’t make things awkward, so you tuck it all away for later, for when you can dish it all out to Ellie, Wade, and Yukio to get their opinions on it all –which, to be clear, you’ll only do because you know they’d never blab about it.

But yeah, later. Right now, all you want to do is get back home to Piotr.

Karen keeps you talking for the rest of the ride, asking questions about Piotr and your new life at Xavier’s until she pulls up the gravel drive of Xavier’s Institute for Gifted Youngsters.

The front door opens before Karen even puts the car into park and then Piotr’s sprinting out towards you, followed by a couple of healers.

Frank gets out and directs him to the side where you’re sat—

And then the door’s opening, and Piotr’s there next to you, and you’re both crying.

A couple that cries together, stays together. Isn’t that how the saying goes?

Frank helps Piotr unbuckle and get you out of the car, and then you’re being made to lay down on a stretcher by one very blue, very furry Dr. Hank McCoy.

“Hey, doc,” you manage. “How bad do I look?” 

“I’ve seen worse,” he says with a small smile. “Let’s get you fixed up.”

You can breathe without your ribs hurting.

It’s the small things in life, really.

Lucky for you, aside from the fractured ribs –and the concussion; you did, in fact, have a concussion—there weren’t any other major injuries. The healers fix you up, Hank checks you over, and then you’re being discharged with a meager amount of painkillers to help with the stiffness and soreness that’ll linger for the next few days.

It could’ve been worse. It could’ve been so much worse.

Piotr sticks by your side for all of it; he holds your hand, lets you squeeze his when you need to, and offers encouragement when he can.

Hank leaves so Piotr can help you get dressed in clean clothes, and you start crying as soon as the door closes.

Piotr’s by your side in an instant –not that he had wandered far from it in the first place. “Moya lyubov’, what is it? What’s wrong? Are you hurting?”

You mash your face against his shoulder and sob. “I’m sorry –I’m sorry that I didn’t call, and that I worried you, and that—”

He’s quick to shush you, gentle and loving as he rubs soothing circles on your back with his hands. “Nyet, nyet, nyet. This was not your fault, myshka.” He kisses the top of your head. “Let’s get you dressed, and then let’s get you food. Da?”

You sniff loudly and nod. “Yeah, okay.”

He kisses each of your eyelids. “What sounds good?”

“I want a burger. With fries.”

He chuckles and kisses the bridge of your nose. “Khorosho.”

“A lot of fries. Like, a metric ton of fries.”

He laughs again and helps you start changing out of your shirt. “We’ll see what we can do.”

Karen and Frank, surprisingly enough, are still around when Piotr walks you over to the main side of the Institute. Karen’s talking to Professor Xavier while taking notes in a little notebook, while Frank just generally looks uncomfortable and seems to be set on finding the best places to stand that’ll draw the least amount of attention to him. 

He also looks a lot better, too, which means the healers must’ve gotten a hold of him.

Good.

Karen looks shocked when she sees you. “Oh, wow. I didn’t think you’d be walking at all.”

“I’ve always bounced back quick,” you say with a shrug. “But having healers that can literally make your wounds close themselves by touching you doesn’t hurt things either.”

She nods. “Yeah, I bet they don’t.”

Frank rolls his eyes, but the corner of his mouth lifts in a grin anyway.

You manage to make eye contact with him –no small feat, since he seems hellbent on memorizing the grain of the wood flooring—and nod in greeting. “Thanks for helping me out.”

He nods back. “Any time.”

“You guys alright? You need anything to eat?” You point in the direction of the kitchen. “I’m gonna have a burger—”

“Actually, we should probably head out,” Karen says. “I’ve got work tomorrow, and I still have an article that I need to wrap up before morning hits.”

The relief on Frank’s face at being given an out is palpable, so you drop it. “Alright. It was nice to meet you. Thanks for letting me bleed on your couch.”

Karen laughs and nods. “No problem. It’s definitely not the worst thing that couch has ever seen. Hopefully, if we run into each other again, it’ll be under better circumstances with less blood involved.”

“We can always hope.” As you watch them leave, an old memory flashes into your mind’s eye:

“You are the salt of the earth; but if the salt has become tasteless, how can it be made salty again? It is no longer good for anything, except to be thrown out and trampled under foot by men.”

Normally, any memories from your childhood are liable to send you reeling –especially any that connect to the countless times you were dragged into your town’s church and told, over and over, how you were a perversion of God’s creation.

But now, instead of panicking, you can’t help but regard Frank and Karen in quiet contemplation as they walk out the front door of Xavier’s; the two people that, without really knowing you or having any investment in your wellbeing past the general goodwill that decent humans possessed, had spent the past couple of hours helping you get to safety.

After a life of being beaten down –specifically by non-mutants—it’s an interesting turnabout.

You smile to yourself, just a little, as you watch Frank open the door for Karen and usher her out into the night. Salt of the earth indeed.

You wind up on the couch, nestled against Piotr’s side, happily munching on your burger while the two of you watch old Mythbusters reruns. 

(You did, in fact, get a small mountain of fries –and decent servings of fruit and vegetables, because Piotr made your plate for you.)

“How are you feeling?” he asks, voice soft as he kisses the top of your head.

“Sore. Tired. Hungry.” You set your burger down. “I’m gonna need a new phone. I lost mine in the crash.”

He rubs a hand up and down your back. “We’ll get it figured out.”

“I’m gonna need a new car, too. And to replace everything in my purse.”

He wraps his arms around you as you start shaking and presses his lips against your shoulder. “Breathe, myshka. Everything will be taken care of.”

Your lower lip trembles and you squeeze your eyes shut. “I had presents for your birthday picked out and everything. I lost those, too.”

He kisses your temple, then your forehead. “I would rather have you than presents.”

“Yeah, I get it, I just—” You sniffle and rub your hands over your face. “I’m just upset about it. I get it’s not even that big a deal in the grand scheme of things, but I still just—”

He gently settles you in his lap when you start crying and rocks you back and forth. “It is okay to be upset. You had upsetting day.”

“I was just really happy with what I picked out, and now I’m not gonna be able to leave the mansion again until we figure out who went after me and why, and I really just want to be able to buy you a birthday gift, dammit.”

“I am very flattered, myshka, but trust me when I say it does not matter to me. I will not be hurt if you cannot get me gifts.”

“I know, but it matters to me.”

He goes quiet at that, opting to just hold you and rock you back and forth while you cry.

It’s been a shit day. Your car was totaled, you were kidnapped after being forced into an accident, you had to spend over an hour in the medical bay at the mansion to get your ribs patched up, and now you’re down a phone, an ID and debit card, a car, and your gifts for Piotr.

You know that you’re lucky. That things could be much, much worse. That if you hadn’t run into Frank on that rooftop, you’d probably be in the trunk of another car right now.

You’re alive, you’re healed, and you’re back with Piotr. You’ve got a lot to be grateful for.

And, in the morning, you will be grateful for it.

But it’s been a shit day, and right now all you want to do is cry over the fact that you can’t buy your boyfriend a damn replacement birthday present.

So that’s what you do. You’ve earned it.

Crying’s healthy, anyway.