#walking out of the doc mildly covered in blood

[sommerregenjuniluft]

@jegulus-microfic september 10 - pottery - 1430words - M

cw: explicit language, mention of sex

and welcome to part 2 of lune generating random dates for the jegulus microfic prompts she hasn't done yet

“Alright guys, my co-instructor just texted me he’ll be another 20 minutes so we’re gonna start without him,” their pottery instructor tells them. Mary, she seems about Pandora’s and Regulus’ age, early twenties, with warm brown skin and a head of beautiful dark curls. 

Pandora sighs dreamily as she levitates down onto her stool. Regulus snorts. 

“So,” Mary goes on with a bright grin, “First we’re gonna want to get real nice and cozy with our station. We’re gonna get dirty regardless and we’ll wanna have a firm grip on our clay so spread your legs and get right in there.”

She explains the first few steps, throwing the clay and that they shouldn’t mind if their chunk isn’t exactly in the middle since that’s what the next step, centering, is for.

Regulus flinches when Pandora slams her clay down on her bat with a thunk and then rolls his eyes fondly when she gives it a wet slap of her palm, smiling deviously.

Regulus follows similarly and then wets his clay, like instructed.

He’s been coning and flattening, reshaping and centering his piece for a good dozen minutes now. Splattered with wet clay—his apron looks worse than Pandora’s somehow even though her cone nearly threw her off her stool several times (nothing a little close proximity help from lovely Mary couldn’t fix, smelling of apples and cinnamon, according to Pandora’s excited giggles) and if the way the skin of his forehead stretches when it pulls into a scowl every few minutes is any indication there’s a few dried blotches on his face as well.

Half of the attendees are already done centering their piece perfectly, talking in gentle tones and mixing with the lofi music in the background. And it should be soothing and enjoyable and an overall pleasant experience if it wasn’t for the fact that Regulus might explode in the next 5 to 15 seconds if he doesn’t get his stubborn piece of fucking clay to—

Of course, because the universe hates Regulus, that’s when there’s the sound of the bell jingling above the front door of the shop and what might be the most attractive man Regulus has ever seen walking in.

Smiling breathlessly, pulling off his snow covered beanie and unzipping his jacket with fervor.

Regulus is going to have a meltdown.

“Finally, James,” Mary says from right next to him and Regulus startles.

“Sorry, sorry,” the most attractive man Regulus might’ve ever seen, James apparently, winces. He quickly strips the rest of the way—he’s wearing a sinfully tight long sleeve with an obscenely wide cut neck, revealing collarbones Regulus wants to get his mouth on in no less than 40 different ways—then snatches the other apron hanging behind the counter.

His light jeans are low on his hips as he rounds the stations with ease, coming closer to where Mary stands, behind Regulus, and still sporting that lopsided, gorgeous grin of his Regulus can feel himself losing multiple brain cells every second because of.

James gives his co-instructor a quick side hug, which she uses to sucker punch him in the stomach, presumably for being late.

James only huffs a laugh as she whisks away.

Then, horrifyingly, looks right down at Regulus and just– keeps grinning.

Regulus has no idea what his hands are doing right now. The bat might not even be spinning anymore. Maybe it is. If he has to reshape his clay again he is going to throw a temper tan—

“Hi, there,” James says warmly. To Regulus.

Regulus swallows. “Hello.”

James, the most attractive man Regulus might’ve ever seen and apparently, now, pottery instructor, nods his chin at Regulus’ station, “Need any help?”

Regulus blinks.

Feels his face fall into a scowl, “What is that supposed to mean?”

James’ grin adopts a playful edge which Regulus doesn’t find funny at all. And then he opens his mouth again, “That it looks like you could use some help.”

Regulus decides that James can take his stupidly gorgeous face and slutty top and fit body elsewhere because he does not appreciate the arrogance. How did this man become a pottery instructor?

“No thank you,” Regulus snaps and promptly turns his back.

And James– immediately just leans down over him, eloping him in warmth that smells equal parts chilly outside air, spicy rich cologne and then something that must be just James. “That’s not really the point of taking pottery lessons though, is it? Doing it alone.”

Regulus’ body is so tense all over he fears he might combust. “I’ll gladly wait for Mary then.”

James tuts, “Of course not, she’s way too busy and I only got here, didn’t I?”

Regulus opens his mouth to retort but James cuts him off again, ducking even closer, “Besides, I think you might already be my favourite student.”

Regulus feels the flush rise into his cheeks, “Why would I?”

James shrugs, “Just a feeling.”

“The feeling is very much not mutual.”

“Let me change your mind then.”

When Regulus looks back James is closer than expected and he has to blink him back into focus.

When he doesn’t say anything for too long apparently James eyebrows rise prompting behind his gold-rimmed glasses.

“Fine,” Regulus sighs explosively and turns back to his clay.

He can hear the shit-eating grin in James voice when he says right against the shell of Regulus’ ear, “So polite.”

Regulus nearly collapses on the spot.

Then follows an excruciating 10 minutes of James adjusting his body into prime position to mould the clay to his will.

He steadies his waist and effortlessly nudges Regulus’ stool even closer to his station, spreading his legs ridiculously wide. Then takes Regulus’ elbow and guides it into his hip, showing him how he’s able to use his full body weight then. 

Once Regulus has the stance James starts guiding his hands. With his own hands. With his own much bigger and stronger hands.

Shows him where to press with the heels of his palms, when to add more water for the consistency to be smooth and buttery.

Once Regulus gets the hang of it it works wonders on his work ethic, though he could do without his half hard length digging into his abdomen.

James keeps checking on him every so often when they move into forming their piece, always ducking low and recurring touches and mumbling praise when he gets it. It makes Regulus go insane between the urge to pull the half formed bowl off his station and smash it into James’ stupid face and sink to his knees and suck him off on the spot.

When he’s done Regulus gives his piece a last slow swirl on his bat to scan for any uneven spots on his bowl, chest swelling with pride and the corners of his lips lifting when he finds none.

When James sees he grins and winks at him from across the room. He helps Regulus get his piece off the bat unscathed and then brings it into the adjacent room for him. 

Pandora finishes her wobbly bowl a few minutes later and beams when Mary gives her an approving nod and a cheeky smile.

More and more people start trickling out after cleaning their stations and calling their thanks and goodbyes until suddenly Regulus finds himself alone with James in the big room.

Small sponge in hand as James switches the light off in the front of the shop.

Regulus blinks, eyes wandering to the wardrobe but sure enough Pandora’s jacket still hangs right next to his coat on the rack.

Then there’s a crash and a loud moan from the room where the drying pieces go and when Regulus looks over James is already smiling smugly.

He closes the distance slowly and Regulus sets down the sponge and wipes his damp hands on his apron.

“Listen,” James rumbles, setting his hands loosely on Regulus’ hips slow enough so he could pull away, “I’d love to take you out on a date first but this is kind of getting me going.”

Smirking when, as if on cue, there’s another debauched noise from the other room.

Regulus rolls his eyes. “Oh, you’re actually insufferable, aren’t you?”

James’ grin widens and he wiggles his eyebrows, “Only one way to find out.”

Regulus hums, setting his palms against James’ torso, “Yeah, I’m known for making bad decisions.”

James laughs like he didn’t just insult him. “There’s a small office behind the door next to the counter.”

“Couch?”

“Desk.”

“Let’s hope your cock matches the ego then.”

James barks a laugh and kisses him.

[his-red-right-hand]

his red right hand, Chapter 3

You slept through the night, a rarity, awoke with the idea of breakfast entirely unappealing, a very common occurrence. You were also, however, not immune to judgy nurse face, so you choked down about three spoonfuls of the bland oatmeal before just poking the rest of it with your spoon as you were told how to care for your wound.

Dressing changes, antibiotics to be taken with food (blergh), don’t get it wet, cover when showering, stitches out in two weeks, any redness or warmth in the area come to urgent care. You paid less attention to the instructions for the pain meds they were going to give you, you had a different idea of how to numb the pain. Whilst the fuzzy headed sensation had been kind of nice at first, it was letting your thoughts drift a little too freely for your comfort. The fact that your weed guy worked at a restaurant three doors down from your job, and made the best damn burger you had ever tasted in your life was just a bonus.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl and slip by at light speed at alternate measures as your anticipation of going home built. Back into your own clothes, not constantly being watched so you could just ease yourself back into that comfortable little pit of despair that was your life. The sooner to see if his promise would be kept and he’d come and kill you soon. Better you than all the other poor souls out there. At least you wanted it.

A different nurse came by, the clothes you’d been brought into the hospital folded in their arms, an apologetic smile on their face as they explained your tank top had been cut off you in surgery, but everything else was in wearable condition, the police forensic guys had swabbed what they’d needed from it all. The thought of them going over your clothes made something twist uncomfortably in your gut. But you were able to get out of bed under your own power, the nurse disconnecting you from your iv’s, pulling the curtains around the bed and standing outside them at your request, but demanding that you call out if you had any difficulty getting dressed.

It was slow and a little painful, more than difficult. Wiggling your left arm into the sleeve of your flannel in a way to try and actually get the damn thing on without pulling overmuch at your stitches. Your tights had big ladders at the knees now, but you didn’t have anything else and like fuck were you putting your Doc’s on barefoot, so that was another ordeal. You looked like you were having the walk of shame from hell, the side of your flannel stained with your blood, that was going to be a bitch to try and get out, but you were dressed.

Apparently a Deputy was coming by to give you a lift home. Great.

You refused a wheelchair to get to the entrance of the hospital, walking didn’t pull too much at anything, the worst of it really was your legs not wanting to work after being confined to bed. It wasn’t even that long, you spent longer lying in bed staring at the wall on your days off, but then again you don’t normally get stabbed on your days off.

Deputy Riley was young and had a mildly questionable moustache, friendly but quick enough to get the hint that you didn’t want to talk as he drove you home. You were looking forward to being able to wallow unobserved once again; let the weight of it all wash over you and crush you down. People around meant having to pretend you could carry the weight of it, and who had the energy for that?

Ten awkward minutes later he pulled up outside your crappy house, the scrap of the front yard overgrown with weeds. Deputy Riley scrambled out of the car to open the back door for you, and you managed to get out of the vehicle under your own power, even if it did take a little bit of swearing. “Uh, thanks for the ride. I got it from here.”

“Happy to serve ma’am. Just remember we’re only a phone call away if you need anything.” Oh, that was painfully earnest.

“I’ll - ah - keep that in mind.” Walking along the path to your front door, you fumbled with your keys for a moment before opening the door, stepping inside, and leaning against the door after you closed it, shielding you from Deputy Riley’s watching eyes. Home sweet fucking home.

Just the same mess as you left it.

You needed a shower. You smelt of hospital and dried blood and sweat. You unbuttoned your bloody shirt, a quick check to make sure that the kitchen blinds were still closed from when you left - just to make sure you weren’t about to flash the whole neighbourhood - and then stepped forward to drop it in front of the laundry room door.

The little blinking light on your answer machine caught your eye from its place on the little half wall that divided the kitchen from the rest of the main living space. Not that it was much of a space. Well, chances were about 50/50 between telemarketers and someone actually caring enough to call you. No, wait, make that 70/30, you did your stabbing recovery on your two sweet, precious days off from work.

That could be investigated once you felt clean again, the chances of it being actually important were pretty fucking low. Leaning against the wall as you unlaced your boots, grumbling to yourself the whole awkward process, kicking them off with a satisfying thunk you proceeded to get naked. Now time to hunt through your kitchen drawers for the cling wrap and medical tape you knew had to be in there somewhere.

One shower later, feeling much better for it, even if you did almost kill yourself slipping on the way out. You wanted to die, but that would just be a fucking embarrassing way to go. Wrapped in a towel, you hit play on the answer machine as you wandered to your bedroom, digging through the pile of dubiously clean clothes to find a too big tee to pull on, score, found one of your Alice in Chains shirts. First message was from Piper, another one of your friends from the party, asking you to call her once you were back from the hospital, and she hoped you didn’t die. Well, that was one of you.

Next message started as you perched on your couch, opening the box there with your papers, grinder and weed. It was Devin, your manager at work, wishing you a speedy recovery and to call him, he’d sort out all the time off you needed. Fuck, you should probably call him back before you got stoned.

Last message, Sarah reminding you to call her once you were home. She at least wouldn’t begrudge you getting high first.

Joint rolled, you picked up the phone, perching on the arm of your couch as you dialled your job. Fingers twined through the cord as it rang, one, twice, then ”Roseville Books, how can I help?” A bit of relief eased through your veins as you heard Devin’s voice, at least you weren’t going to have to answer any co-worker questions until you were there in person.

“Hey Devin-”

“Holy shit, are you alright?” Concern was laced through his voice, Dad vibes coming on strong.

“Yeah, I’m home, I’m okay, asking you to please put me on the schedule this week.”

“What? Are you sure? Because if it’s a money thing, we can work something out-”

“It’s a not going completely insane at home thing. Like, I probably shouldn’t lift anything heavy, but I can work a till, answer the phone, and deal with customers. Please...” Part of you wanted nothing more than to take the opportunity to stay at home, just lie in bed and do nothing. But you also knew that if you did that, you would never get out of bed again, the weight of all you kept inside finally crushing you.

“I... You can come in tomorrow, a half day, 11 until 3, we’ll see how you go. But any problems, I’m sending you home, okay?”

“Yessir,” you responded dryly.

“Now go get a good night’s sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow Devin, bye.”

He said his goodbyes as you hung up the phone, letting out a long sigh. You stood up with a soft groan, padding over to vinyl collection, flicking through a few albums, you must’ve been really stoned last time you went through these because a bunch of them were out of order, before settling for The Cranberries, taking the time to set up the record player and start that playing, the ritual of running the dusting block over the spinning record before dropping the needle always calming to your mind. Picking up the joint and your lighter, opening the french doors at the back of your house, stepping out and settling into the chair you had out there, taking a moment to stare into the dense woods at the back of the property. Damn, it’d be nice to walk out into them and just disappear.

Lighting up, you took some time to let the music just wash over you as you smoked. Much like everything else, it wasn’t that your side didn’t hurt any more, it just made it so you didn’t care about it. You didn’t really care about anything other than the music curling through your brain. You stayed out there, gently tapping ash off into your ashtray there, trying so hard not to think about what had happened to you two nights ago. The weed helped dull the intensity of your recollections, but did nothing to stop the ache thinking about him caused, the ache that wasn’t in any of the wounds he gave you.

The soft hissing of side A ending shook you from your thoughts, getting up from your chair, stumping out what little remained of your joint, leaving the roach in the ashtray; and going back inside. Lifting the needle arm, you flipped the record, letting side B start playing. Part of you wanted to go and lie down on your bed, but you knew where that would end; and you were not masturbating to a fucking serial killer, no matter how intensely intimate your encounter with him was. No matter how you ached from it. There were three fucking dead bodies there with the two of you, and he didn’t even have the fucking courtesy of adding you to that total. Even after he made you beg.

Remembering begging for him made the ache worse.

Fuck.

Movies! You had some rentals here from blockbuster. Stoned horror time, sounded great! You even had some jiffy-pop in a cupboard somewhere, so if the munchies kicked in you were sorted.

Looking around you could find The Evil Dead, you could’ve sworn you had rented a copy of Silence of the Lambs as well, but then again maybe serial killers weren’t the best thing to watch right now. You slotted the tape into the VHS player, turning off your music and putting the album away. Fuck, you still had to call Sarah and Piper. It was less effort to try and do it now then it would be to get reamed out by them for not doing it.

Picking up the phone from its cradle, you dialled Sarah first, waiting for a few rings before it went to her answerphone. She must still be at work. “Hey Sarah, you said to ring when I got home, so... I’m stoned and gonna watch some horror movies, so you know I’m doing okay. Talk later.” You hit the button in the cradle to hang up, quickly dialling Piper, who unfortunately for you actually picked up, but your conversation with her went over mostly the same gist, along with a few reassurances that you were okay. Hanging the phone back up after some quick goodbyes, you briefly considered the business card you had with Jed’s phone number on it. What the fuck would you even say to him? You could barely keep up with the friends you had at the moment, you didn’t have the time or energy to make a new one, even if you had felt a spark of a connection with him.

No, it was time for some ridiculous melting makeup fun.

You negotiated laying yourself down on your couch, having to move your cushions to the other end. Next time you got stabbed you’d have to request it not to be on your comfy side. Stupid murderers with strong thighs that you wanted to grind against- No, watch young adults get murdered in a cabin in the woods, no thinking about him. You were probably never going to see him again anyway, so there was no point. And no matter how fucked up your fantasies normally got, you had to draw the line at fucking yourself to thoughts of an actual murderer who had killed actual people.

Even if you do wish he had fucked you up against that wall before he stabbed you.

Scrubbing your hand over your face, you tried to focus on Bruce Campbell making poor life choices as evil spirits lurked in the woods.

[stitchwork-madness26]

Just like you

Paring:2BDamned x employer!reader

Warning:so much adorable shit, subtle swearing tho

Notes:the employer reader is from @rotshop and this was inspired by a photo they made of the employer reader,2BDamned, and a little baby grunt. Adorable shit. Would have made this a while back but i was frankly to lazy lol.

So ya employer reader and doc being parents to a baby grunt. Enjoy :3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

How long has it been now? Weeks? Months? A year? Time can be a bit of a blur after the suns disappearance, you can lose track of how many days it has been as the sky always remained that dark red hue. Even if a long time as passed you can still recall the same events that happened some time ago.

You had joined hank,sanford, and deimos on a raid, no reason in particular you just wanted to come along. A tingling feeling that something will happen, uncertain if it was the feeling of impending doom looming over your head, or something far different. Whatever it was you wanted to be present for it, a change you wouldn't want to miss after endless raiding and passing out from the random drops in temperatures as of late. Damn your cold bloodedness...

The building you all came across was empty, almost barren much to hanks dismay. Dust and cobwebs littered about with some knocked over desks,chairs, and broken lab equipment. Deimos and sanford wandered to the next room to find supplies on the right and hank went up ahead to a room across the entrance,normally you would follow hank or the duo but decided to go on your own for a change of pace and go to the room on the left.

The lights in the room flickers, barely holding onto the ceiling from their age but they still did their purpose. Despite the flickering you can still see everything fine, you didnt see nothing special at 1st just knocked over tables and a dry blood covered vending machine until in your peripheral vision you saw something move.

You was not alarmed or afraid, the thing looked small, almost the size of a mouse compared to you it couldn't possibly be anything harmful. Yet something told you to check what it was, silently you wandered over to where it moved, behind a bar that was in the room with broken glass all around. When you peeked over to see what it was you saw a grunt, it was smaller then a average, one less then half of the size of one. A small child...

"Hello" you said as calmly as you can muster, a jump and a small squeal was the childs response before it cowers and starts to cry "go away! Go away scary monster!!" It cried, you did not take offense. A faceless being made of shadow and as tall as you are can scare anyone, even to a poor defenseless child "its ok little one i wont hurt you..." You attempted the calm voice again, you receive no response as the child continued to cry in fear. You wouldn't want to leave it alone, so you waited for the others to find you and stayed out of the childs line of sight so you dont scare it more then you are.

Once the others came you asked sanford or deimos to carry the child to the van, hank scared the child too so you did not bother to ask him. After several minutes deimos managed to pick up the child and you all went on your way back to the HQ...

It did not take a lot to convince 2B to let the child stay, it only took you a simple phrase "i am adopting them, dont stop me" with determination in your tone. He only sighed, frankly a little tired from all the shit the group has gone through and mumbles a "ok" leaving it at that. The child had no name, so you named them with a name that even a employer like yourself would be jealous of but you sometimes still call them little one,because they are.

The child trusted 2b right away, clinging onto him like they saw a monster under the bed...only the monster was you. Whenever you get close to them both the child hugs him and cries, begging him to make the monster go away. 2b tries his best to claim you are not a monster and your not there to hurt them but he's not the very best at consoling people. It does hurt a little to see the child be so afraid but you can understand why too, being new to this parenting life it is difficult to know what to do in these situations...at least 2b had your back in this.

Eventually the child called 2b their "dada" and it just stuck, seeing him as their father. You always grin at this with your human like teeth with sharp canines at how adorable it is, whenever the child sees your teeth they always freeze in place and just stares. At this point no longer crying from fear but still freezes up and stares at you like a deer in headlights, you could not tell if they are getting used to your presence or if they had ran out of tears to cry... Either way you assumed it was progress. Seeing the interactions between 2b and the child warmed your heart, they always eager to help 2b with his work or help put bandaids on hank when he gets mildly injured. They even see sanford,deimos, and hank as their uncles now, such as deimos giving them piggy back rides, sanford drawing with them, hell even hank, the most well known killer in nevada, even had a soft spot for the child, letting them climb on him like a tree.

It was all so incredibly sweet and you was fine with it, even if you are just the big monster under the bed to them you are glad they are happy with a nice family.

....

Now its the present day, with you, doc, and the little one only present at the HQ. Looming over your loves shoulder to see him work on the tablet in his hands and the child is drawing with warn out crayons and ripped paper just a few feet away, the child had gotten more comfortable around you but not by much. They never got startled by you anymore but still stares at you like a deer in headlights when you speak to them, they do talk to you though and still address you as "monster" not as (mother or father or other) and you was alright with it. As long as they are getting better.....

"You are lost in your thoughts again" 2b spoke in the comfortable silence "sorry...just wondering some things" you replied with a sigh, standing up straight no longer looming over his shoulder "ill let you get back to work dear" you said before slowly approaching the child "little one?" You spoke in the same calm tone as before,they looked up at you with the same look as before "are you hungry? Do you need anything...?" You asked kindly, they nod their head looked away for a sec before looking back at your featureless face "noodles?" They asked "sure. Ill get you some" you unintentionally grinned with your spooky like teeth and walked out of the room.

As you was getting the food ready for your child the trio had returned from their raid, hank covered in blood with a large machine gun strapped to his back stomped past you and sanford stuck around with you, deimos is nowhere to be found "where is deimos?" You asked sanford "he picked something up for the kid, so he's looking for them" sanford replied, taking a seat on the kitchen table "good to know" you left the conversation at that taking the ramen noodles and walked back to 2bs office, stopping to see deimos walk out. He waves at you "oh hey s/o" he greets "kid wants to talk to you" he continued before walking past "alright?" Confused you walked inside.

2b is still sitting in his chair with his tablet in hand, nothing seemed to change on his part but the little one seemed very excited and happy. You walked over to the child and crouched down to give them their meal, they took the food and set it down and looked up at you happy. No longer full of fear or that wide eyes look they give "look monster look!" They exclaimed, voice sounding a little muffled showing fake vampire teeth in their mouth "i got sharp teeth like you!" They continued, the words almost hit your heart by how cute it is.

You let out a fake gasp, playing along with them "oh! So scary!" You pretend to be afraid, receiving a little giggle from them "rawr!" They screamed with their hands in front of them like they would attack you "oh no! If only someone came to help!" You continued to pretend and glance at 2b, who looks at you with a unamused look in his eyes "raaawwrrr" the child continued to play "aaahh! Doc! Please help!" You pleaded trying your best to hold back a laugh, with that 2b gets up and walks over and picks up the child "gotcha" 2b announced with a subtle grin under his mask "noooo! I wanna scare monster!" The little one laughed, followed by your chuckling. "Rawr!" The child attempted to scare his father "oh no! They got me!" 2b played along too, still holding the child in his arms. It was so uncharacteristic but so adorable from him, you laughed and grabbed them both in a hug "now i caught both of you" you grinned "aaah! Monster got us!!" The child laughed "whatever shall we do?" 2b chuckled.

The little one looked up at you and patted your empty face with their tiny hands "boo!" They yelled and you faked a yell, let them go, fell backwards, and pretended to be dead on the floor. The child laughed "i defeated the monster!" They praised themselves as 2b set them down with a grin, the child wandered over to you and pat your featureless face again "im big and scary just like monster" they smiled before you reached over to pat their head.

"You sure are little one..."

[yoongi-sugaglider]

Daegu Quarantine

Jungkook x reader

Gang/ zombie apocalypse au

Warnings:

Gore, violence, blood, gun shot wounds, zombies, mention of drugs and drug dealing, weapons discharge in self defense, main character death, zombies, course language, zombies, drinking, did I mention zombies?

Summary:

They were the top of their game, known throughout the city as the smartest and most dangerous crew to ever hit the Daegu streets. But what’s going to happen when this group of young men encounter something right out of a horror film?

Word count: 2588

Part 14===Part 15===Part 16

The sound of screaming voices awoke me the next morning to the sight of an empty room. The dull aching in my chest and leg only grew the more my mind woke up.

The screaming escalated, followed by a series of crashes and thumps from downstairs. I sighed, shifting to the side and almost having to roll myself into a sitting position. It wasn’t unusual to wake up to the sound of yelling, but from the way things seemed to be, this one might just actually be serious.

Throwing my legs over the edge of the bed I inhaled deeply, steeling myself to stand when the bedroom door swung open and a wild looking Jeanette and Rose bolted inside before slamming the door shut behind them.

Rose slid down the back of the door, arms folded over her knees as she leaned her head against it and closed her eyes. Jeanette inhaled, exhaling the breath slowly through her nose in a quiet whistle and humming to herself as she shook her head at the closed door.

“What’s going on out there?” I asked, wincing slightly when the two women jumped and whipped their heads around to stare at me with terrified gazes.

“Shit! You’re awake!”

“Oh thank god you’re awake!”

Their voices swirled and merged into one single unit of confusing emotions and I couldn’t help but snicker at their faces. “Okay, conflicting moment aside there. I’ll repeat, what in the ever loving fuck are those idiots up to downstairs?”

The two began talking at once, each speaking animatedly and raising their voices in an attempt to talk over the other. I raised a finger, instantly silencing them to sheepish glances between each other.

“I am...one person. With two ears, and half a brain coming down off of some pretty intense pain killers. Please...one at a time.”

Jeanette glanced at Rose who shrugged in defeat before dropping her chin to rest on her folded arms. The younger woman gave her a nod of deference to speak on the subject.

“Well...okay so like this morning when I got up everything was pretty quiet so I thought I’d go to the kitchen to start breakfast. Hobi was there balancing dishes from the dishwasher in one hand while trying to open a cabinet with the other. Your uh..Jungkook was sitting at the table kinda staring off into space when Tae came in and scared Hoseok. He dropped all the dishes and that’s what set Jungkook off. Jimin jumped in and they started screaming at Tae about some mission and well... They’ve been fighting ever since and it’s only getting worse.”

I let out a long suffering sigh, scrubbing the heels of my hands into my eyes before looking up at them. “Help me up.” 

“But…” Jeanette paused as I shook my head.

“I’ve got to get down there. Those idiots are going to kill each other and I’m the only one that can stop them.”

Rose groaned, banging her head against the door and fisting her hands through her hair. “This is all my fault…”

“That’s not true.” I grunted, shifting my weight to the edge of the bed. 

“But if I hadn’t been there you wouldn’t have gotten hurt and they wouldn’t be fighting over it.” She groaned again, head hanging as teardrops fell to the floor.

“Tae and Jimin have been at odds for a very long time. And Jungkook...well… Kookie can be the absolute sweetest and smartest man you could meet. But when it comes right down to it the man is an actual blonde. I joke with him all the time they dipped his brain in bleach before they handed him off to his mother.”

Rose snorted, glancing up to me as she wiped her tears away. “Isn’t that all men though?”

The three of us giggled, sharing a moment of joined exasperation before sobering up as another crash echoed through the house.

“Alright, for real. Jin’s gonna cry if any more of his kitchen gets destroyed. Come on, help me up. I’ve got to end this.”

***

True to form the dumb asses were still fighting by the time we’d made it down the stairs. 

Jimin was off to the side, standing by the fridge as he screamed obscenities at Taehyung. Jungkook and Tae were on the floor, pulling at each other’s hair with their legs wrapped around one another to keep the other from escaping.

A massive bruise had bloomed just beneath Tae’s right eye and Jungkook’s lip was split and seeping blood all over.

“It’s all your fault Tae! Every time she’s gotten hurt it’s always you to blame!” Jimin screamed. He moved as if to launch himself into the scuffle but Hobi, who’d been watching from the stove reached over to stop him, effectively wrapping him in a bear hug and pinning his arms to his sides.

“Oh no you don’t Doc. We don’t need you getting hurt.”

“Let me go! Let me at him! This has been a long time coming Hobi!” The boy was basically foaming at the mouth, tears streaming down his cheeks as he struggled in the dancer’s hold.

I couldn’t help but sigh, knowing the only way to stop this was if I intervened. Glancing between Jeanette and Rose I shrugged them off, taking a step forward on my own and muttering under my breath. This was going to suck.

“Boys! Please! Stop this!” I yelled, internally cringing as my weight landed on my injured leg.

The offending limb buckled under the pressure, causing me to yelp out in pain as I staggered forward a half a step before falling to the ground. It was worth it though.

All activity in the room ceased. For a moment it was quiet as I lay there wheezing and whimpering in pain. And then chaos ensued.

From my vantage point I could see the boys scrambling to my side, Jungkook and Tae disentangling themselves from each other as Jimin and Hobi pushed each other out of the way in an attempt to reach my side. Jin, Namjoon, and Yoongi walked into the room just in time to see Rose and Jeanette reach me first, shooing the boys out of the way as they helped me into a sitting position.

“Fuck sake. What are you all in here tearing the place up for?” Namjoon growled, giving the younger boys the stink eye as Jimin crouched at my side to check my bandages.

“They’ve been arguing for the last hour, how have you all not noticed till now?” Hobi grumped as he stood to his feet and dusted off his jeans.

“Because unlike you idiots we’ve actually been doing something.” Seokjin frowned, leaning his broad shoulders against the doorframe as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“And what’s got the three of you so wrapped up in each other that you couldn’t notice the idiot brigade trying to off one another?” I huffed, pushing away the pain of my leg.

“Securing the satellite links, setting up better firewall protections for the security cameras.” Namjoon replied.

“Reinforcing the front gate, making sure our rear’s covered in terms of fortifications.” Yoongi added in.

“Adding more cameras to the sides of the house just to make sure we have every inch of the lawn and side yards covered.” Seokjin frowned, glancing at the three younger men. “I can’t believe the three of you are grown ass men. And to think one of you is in charge of giving me orders.”

He shook his head, eyes darting back and forth between them before landing on the mess that was his kitchen. It was almost comical the way his gaze went from mildly frustrated to all of a sudden full blown horror and betrayal.

“M...my… MY KITCHEN!!!”

The series of events that followed may have been comical but it certainly managed to squash the feud and rising tensions that’d settled over my boys in the time I’d been unconscious.

Jeanette and Rose managed to help me off the ground, settling me into a chair at the center island as Seokjin screamed and ranted about how ungrateful the younger men were while demanding they cleaned up their mess.

Jungkook and Taehyung actually managed to look ashamed and remorseful as they swept up the broken plates together and wiped down the counters before settling into mopping the entirety of the area. They stayed silent, barely glancing at each other or speaking until Jin tore into Namjoon who’d resigned himself to ‘helping’ cook breakfast before getting scolded about holding the knife upside down as he attempted to chop an onion.

“Ya! How can someone have such a high IQ and STILL not know the meaning for sharp side down?? All those brains and muscles and no common sense!” Jin’s face shone bright red as he screamed, barely stopping for breath as he smacked poor Namjoon over the head with a wooden spoon.

Taehyung snorted, Jungkook giggled, and after a shared look between them they burst out laughing, leaning against each other for support as they lost their minds over the sheer visual of the genius level man getting scolded by his elder.

Jimin all the while did his best to address my leg, crouching beneath the ledge of the island as he checked the skin above and  beneath the bandage.

“It hasn’t bled through, so the stitches are holding. But I really wish you would stay off it as much as possible.” He frowned up at me, tiny hands wrapped gently around my ankle as he balanced on his heels.

“I’m sorry Doc. It’s just, you all were so worked up over nothing and I just had to do something to get it to stop.” I shrugged, not sure if it was a valid enough reason for almost dislocating anything that was still left to injure.

“I mean, you could have just fired in the air or something. Thrown something at them, anything but literally throwing yourself to the ground and risking actually breaking something.”

“I could have sure. But that would have meant risking the ceiling and Yoongi’s room. Not about that life if I’m being honest.” I grinned at the doctor, earning myself an exasperated glare and a pat to my uninjured leg.

“Really, and here I thought you were the rational one in this group of misfits.” Jimin stood, brushing his pants off and then walking around the island to wash his hands at the sink.

“I may be irrational at times but at least I have the ability to forgive people.” My blunt words hit home. I could tell. He’d paused all motion, staring down at his hands as the water ran over his fingers.

I reached across, turning the sink off and folding my hands before me on the cool countertop. Patiently I waited, watching the emotions flit across his face faster than his expert fingers stitching up a wound.

“Jimin...we’re going to have to talk about this eventually.” I spoke calmly, knowing that anything could set him off if I misspoke.

“I know it’s just…”

“We were all attached. The first truly good thing to come out of all our awful work.” Pausing I focused for a moment on the tiny scrapes and scratches I’d gotten from being out in the thick of it.

“We got comfortable. All of us did. And sloppy. But Taehyung can’t be blamed for that. We were all at fault. But more importantly those bastards that kidnapped me and tried to hold me hostage were at fault.” I turned slightly, watching as the others went about their business.

“When it came down to it he had to make a choice. Yes we’re always family first but everything was on the line. Literally everything Jimin.” I turned back to him, watching the frown deepen his brow and tug that sweet face of his into a scowl. “If it weren’t for Taehyun,g half our crew would be dead or in jail. Including Namjoon and Jungkook. Do you think I’d have ever let him live it down if he had chosen any other way?”

He shook his head, tossing the towel in his hands on the counter. “No… No you’re right. You wouldn’t have. You’d have torn Daegu up, burned the whole city down.” He chuckled and I joined him, my shoulders shaking with the snickers joined between us.

“You’re not wrong. But considering the circumstances I didn’t need to do a thing. The city’s already burning.” The mood chilled at those words and we sat together in silence, watching the others fuss and fight over cooking and who was on dish duty.

“This could be the end days huh?”

Turning back to him I sighed, though the motion left me wincing at the pain in my chest. “That may be so… and if it is, if everything is ending and the world is burning...shouldn’t you go make up with your best friend?”

“...Yeah….yeah you’re right.” his eyes crinkled as he smiled at me, reaching across and giving my hand a squeeze. “Thank you for talking some sense into me.”

“Jungkook may be the brawn but we all know I’m the brains of the operation here.” I snorted at my own words. My heart warmed as I watched Jimin walk over to Tae and begin whispering softly to him.

Both men, grown as they were, became teary eyed, suddenly lunging forward and hugging each other as close as two men could.

“Damn, look at you.” Rose plopped into the chair beside me, nudging my arm as she grinned at the two now openly sobbing gangsters. “You get paid to be the family shrink?”

“Nah, they couldn’t afford me if I were to actually charge them.”

Jeanette ambled over, hand subconsciously rubbing her belly as she leaned into Rose who wrapped a gentle arm around her waist. “I don’t think even the richest man could afford your services. You really out here keeping these boys from killing each other and still surviving in this world? Absolute boss if you ask me.”

It felt good to laugh with them as we sat there. It’d been a good long while since I’d had female friends. Not that I didn’t love my boys but there was something about being around someone who got my mind without me having to say something that just felt so right.

Things settled down as we all gathered around to our meal, the chatter subdued and amiable as food was passed around in abundance. It would last us a while sure, but the idea that at some point it might run out had us all appreciating it that much more.

As I munched on my toast my mind wandered, but my thoughts were abruptly by Taehyung and Rose cheering as they jumped out of their chairs and began laughing and hugging each other.

“YAH! What the hell!” Jin demanded as he scrambled to wipe the juice he’d spilled on himself at the shock of their cheering.

“We did it!” Tae grinned, the biggest boxiest grin on his face as his ears blushed crimson from the kiss Rose had planted on his cheek.

“We managed to fix all of the security issues! Cams are on lock and all internal systems are now free of amature hour hack jobs!” Rose’s smile was infectious, cheering the whole table and causing the others to whoop and holler their appreciation for the two computer experts.

[aion-rsa]

The Suicide Squad: Who Lives and Who Dies

https://ift.tt/eA8V8J

This article contains major The Suicide Squad spoilers. We have a spoiler free review here.

Five years ago, Will Smith uttered the instantly meme-able line, “So that’s it, huh, we’re the patsies, we’re some kind of Suicide Squad.” Yet by the end of that 2016 film, barely anyone in that squad was put six feet under. How times have changed.

For the entire rollout of his pseudo-sequel/reboot, writer-director James Gunn has insisted he had carte blanche to kill off any character in his The Suicide Squad roster. While we may remain skeptical if Margot Robbie’s Harley Quinn and a few others were really that expendable to Warner Bros., Gunn’s finished film speaks to just how much freedom he was allotted in slaughtering potentially valuable DC IP. Major characters from the first film, and a slew of new ones Gunn personally introduced, were pushing up daisies before the movie’s opening title card. And the bodycount only grew from there.

So if you had trouble keeping up with who died, and in what gnarly and grotesque fashion, we’re here to offer a handy dandy list of which members of the Suicide Squad walked away from Corto Maltese, and which were carried away in bags.

Blackguard

Dies

You can’t help but wonder if Gunn intentionally cast Pete Davidson as the first Squad member to get put down. With the exception of a fakeout (more on that in a bit), the mildly divisive SNL alumni goes out in gruesome fashion when he reveals on a Corto Maltese beachhead that he somehow communicated with the local military that a U.S. operation would be landing there. He thinks this will get him in good with the new government. Instead it gets him obliterated by a hail of bullets. All that time in prison and Blackguard never learned what happens to snitches…

Javelin

Dies

Flula Borg’s Javelin cut an amusing figure, as if he wandered in from some low-rent 1970s superhero television series. Even his accent was absurdly disarming, as Harley quickly noticed. Alas, it was not meant to be since Javelin was blasted fast on the beach, barely having a moment to entrust Dr. Quinzel with his trusty weapon.

Mongal

Dies

Let it not go unsaid that Mayling Ng’s Mongal made an epic introduction and exit when she took down several choppers all by herself. Unfortunately, she didn’t really think about a personal strategy as she rode one helicopter all the way down into its fiery ‘splosion.

Captain Boomerang

Dies

The first really major death of the film came when Captain Boomerang, Jai Courtney’s holdover from the 2016 movie, also bit the big one from the same fiery blast that took Mongal. At least he and Harley got to share a few laughs beforehand. We guess this puts an end to any chance of him  showing up in The Flash movie!

T.D.K.

Dies

Okay, as soon as you realized the secret superpower of Nathan Fillion’s character was something as lame as “detachable” limbs, you also knew he was dead meat, right? This character is so lame that Gunn doesn’t even show the Corto Maltese military putting him out of his misery. They just snicker as he writhes in pain, feeling how his detached arms have been shot to ribbons. Bad day to be a Browncoat.

Savant

Dies

Michael Rooker is the actor James Gunn casts when he wants to give a character an epic death scene. It took two movies for that to prove true in the Guardians of the Galaxy movies, but Rooker’s Savant doesn’t even make it to the end of the opening credits here… well not all of him. The blood and brain splatter created by the bomb Amanda Waller detonated in this coward’s skull spells a lovely “The Suicide Squad” lettering across the waves. And hey, at least Rooker got to rock those epic blonde locks!

The Thinker

Dies

Once you heard that Peter Capaldi was playing an evil supervillain who was also in league with the Suicide Squad’s enemies, you knew there was no way Thinker was walking away from this movie, right? Nonetheless, Gunn goes hard with the doc’s death scene when a liberated Starro the Conqueror gets revenge for 30 years of captivity by ripping his captor’s arms off and then turning him into a red smear across glass. Ouch.

Col. Rick Flag

Dies

This one hurt. Joel Kinnaman’s Rick Flag was one of the better and even underrated elements from 2016’s Suicide Squad, and he got a chance to shine a lot brighter here. From small things like his total war buddies vibe with Harley to showing a backbone when he realizes Waller’s nefarious cover-up game, Flag came out as a real leader this time up to bat. Sadly, he then got Cena’d to death.

Polka-Dot Man

Dies

You did it, Polka-Dot Man, you proved your simultaneously dippy and creepy superpowers could make you a real superhero! Even your Norma Bates-like mama would be proud. Too bad Starro then stepped on you immediately afterward. Yay?

Starro

Dies

The big guy had his giant eye poked out by Harley and then an army of rats swarm into the hole that made and chew up his insides. Honestly, you feel bad for the kaiju in the end. Like King Kong, he didn’t ask to be brought here. Who knew we could get the sniffles for a rampaging monster with mind-control powers?

Harley Quinn

Lives

Come on, did you think they’d kill off Harley? Pfft, Robbie’s performance is way too good for that.

Bloodsport

Lives

Given his world-weary stoicism, I thought going in that Idris Elba’s Bloodsport was too noble for Gunn’s twisted vision. How nice it is to be proven wrong. Elba’s supervillain marksman reveals there’s a heart of gold beneath that gruff exterior, and it’s still beating when the credits come around.

Ratcatcher II

Lives

James Gunn once told us that Daniela Melchior’s Ratcatcher was the heart of the movie with a presence ��like somebody from the French New Wave.” And he wasn’t blowing smoke about the actor or the character. Despite being introduced as an easygoing millennial, Ratcatcher turns out to be the most sympathetic Squad member and proves her generation gets the job done by unleashing an armada of rats on Starro.

King Shark

Lives

Thank God. Nobody better hurt our precious man-eating Nanaue. Go ahead, King, have another nom-nom. You earned it!

Sol Soria

Lives

Sol Soria gets to be el presidente in Corto Maltese now. I guess that’s a fair enough trade with the knowledge that the people who put her there also fed her buddies head first to a land shark.

Amanda Waller

Lives

Some characters are too evil to die. Amanda Waller is still stewing back in D.C. by the end of The Suicide Squad, and she’s likely scheming of a way to murder all of her current underlings too.

Weasel

Lives

The first fakeout of the movie is the fate of Weasel. Despite seemingly being the first character to seemingly die off—in a really hilarious fashion when Waller and company realize they didn’t check to see if Weasel could swim—it turns out he didn’t drown. There’s another reason right there for why Savant deserved to have his head go boom. Pity the children of Corto Maltese.

Peacemaker

Lives

Even though Peacemaker got an epic death scene where Bloodsport won a quickdraw showdown, some actors are just too big of a deal to kill. Thus the end credits scene reveals that Peacemaker survived his bullet wound to the neck and is still breathing on a hospital ventilator. Nonetheless, Bloodsport taught him a valuable lesson: It’s not the size of your bullets but how you use them.

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[lovethestars1966]

STEREK FBI/FALSELY ACCUSED FIC

Chapter three is up from unforgettable!! The one where the Sheriff arrests and charges Derek with multiple murders.  Also I have a competition going on the person who can guess the murderer first!! First and second prize. It’s to pay for some ART by a very talented Tumblr artist who we all know and love. Just a bit of fun. Give it a go if you're interested and who knows. Maybe you’ll be the winner. Can’t hurt.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31853854/chapters/79642657#workskin

Excerpt: (Big one today...)

“So you guys work with Stiles?” Isaac asked conversationally as he led Allison and Jackson along the track to where the body had been discovered.

“For a few years now,” Allison answered, assuming she would be the only helpful person for Isaac today. Jackson was forthcoming but anything he had to say seemed less than useful. “You knew him from school?” She asked.

“Yeah, but if you’re from Beacon Hills you pretty much know everyone from school.”

Jackson speaks up, “was he just as annoying back then?”

“Probably more.” Isaac laughs genuinely and it causes Allison to giggle alongside him. “Didn’t stop me from being madly in love with him though.” he admits sadly.

Allison isn’t afraid to admit she stumbled then. Freezing right alongside Jackson at the sudden bombshell Isaac had just dropped. Isaac himself didn’t notice he was walking alone for a few moments but when he did he looked back to find them both standing there gobsmacked.

“Guess Stiles doesn’t talk about me much huh?” he asked just a little bit embarrassed. Allison made a small choking noise while Jackson threw his hands skyward in disbelief.

“Seriously, how did that little weasel get two guys to fall in love with him?” He asked but Isaac skilfully ignored him in favour of Allison.

“Did he know?” She queried.

“Whole town knew.” the deputy answered, shrugging his shoulders and continuing towards their intended destination, “Although I would hope Stiles knew anyway since we dated.”

Allison had just started walking again.

“What the fuck is happening?” Jackson whispered, mostly to himself.

“Wait,” Allison threw a hand out to stop Isaac once more. “I thought Derek was the first and only person Stiles ever dated.” Isaac nodded and hurried them along once more.

“Well yes and no,” He relented to her enquiring eyebrow, “Derek was certainly the first person he dated and I assume he thinks he’ll be Stiles last. Stiles and myself dated for a few months when he and Derek broke up.”

“Stiles and Derek never broke up.” The conflicted agent to Isaac’s right argued which caused the young cop himself to huff quietly with laughter.

“Guess Stiles doesn’t talk about anything from his past much.” he states, “I gotta tell you, that does make me feel a bit better.”

“I’m starting to feel like none of us really know Stiles.” Allison muttered.

“Yeah, well I just learnt two people have actually seen Stiles naked and enjoyed it so now I’m questioning everything I know.” Jackson countered inciting another round of laughter from Isaac.

“Now that I can’t claim,” he admitted, “me and Stiles never had sex, though not from a lack of trying on my part.”

“Surprisingly that didn’t help.” Jackson grumbled and then wheezed out an annoyed breath after having a hand thrown across his chest. “Problem?”

“Not at all, we've just arrived.”

It was like flicking a switch. Allison and Jackson went from confused, and a little sickened in Jackson case, to professional in the blink of an eye. From the corner of her eye she saw Isaac looking mildly impressed.

“You got the file?” Jackson asked Allison who was already nose deep in said paperwork.

“Looks like she was found underneath that tree over there,” she pointed towards a large imposing trunk, and after a quick inspection they discovered specks of remaining blood confirming the assumption.

“wide space,” Jackson noted out loud, “no clear trails, lots of obstacles.”

“What does that mean?” Isaac asked genuinely interested.

“Means whoever did it has to be an experienced hiker.” Allison answered as Jackson wondered off a little. “Probably have an intimate knowledge of the area.”

“A local?”

“Not necessarily, could be anyone who travels here often enough to learn the terrain. Although statistically speaking a local is more likely.” She mumbled examining a photograph.

“Any tire tracks?” Jackson yelled, still out of view, startling the young deputy.

“None that our technicians could find.” He answered anyway as the male agent came stumbling back into the clearing.

“How wide were your search parameters?” he questioned further.

“Had a team of about six go about two miles in all directions.”

“Only two miles?” Allison asked shocked at the same time Jackson screwed up his face.

“Only six people?”

“We’re a small town,” Isaac huffed a little offended, “that’s actually a lot for us,”

Allison had the moral conscience to at least look sheepish while Jackson merely shook his head in judgement.

“Two miles is still pretty far to drag a body.” Isaac moved on smoothly. “At least it is for any normal  human being.”

“Well you’re not wrong there, Kolchak.” Jackson retorted unforgivingly. “Maybe she was flown here on a magic carpet.” Isaac was becoming increasingly more put out the longer Jackson was allowed to talk and showed so in the narrowing of his eyes.  Allison was going to have to watch that. Her best friends fiancé had a way of pissing people off that was unmatched by others.

“Obscure references to seventies si-fi-crime shows aside,” the deputy forged on, “the point still remains, this guy must be ripped… if it is a guy? Do we know that?” He directed the last part towards her.

“I highly doubt it’s a woman.” She responded, and Isaac looked extremely grateful. “the facts don't add up.”

“Meaning?”

“Statistics show that ninety two percent of all female serial killers know their victims personally. While it is extremely likely, almost definite even, that the unsub in this case knew at least one or two of their victims, considering the fact that they were spread across three states and share extremely similar aesthetics, knowing all thirteen on a personal level is virtually impossible.” Allison explained calmly only for Jackson to tag on the end.

“Pair that with the fact that most female motives are to do with money, and that we just ruled out magic carpet to the dumpsite, seems a bit ridiculous to suggest women doesn't it?” he asked with no small amount of mockery.

“Boy are you going to be sorry if it does turn out to be a woman.” Isaac replied shaking his head in judgment. Jackson’s only response was to roll his eyes.

“Okay,” Allison spoke up completely ignoring the boys little competition, “So if he didn’t drive here, and he didn’t carry her here then how did she get here?” she pondered aloud. Jackson furrowed his own forehead in concentration.

“Maybe she was killed here?” Isaac offered only to receive a scoff from his favourite agent.

“She died from blood loss Deputy,” Allison stepped in before Jackson could mock, “There was nowhere near enough blood near here for it to have been the kill site.”

“I know how she died, I saw her,” Isaac began then paused, looking like he regretted his short tone. He tired again. “Look Doc Deaton told us she had ligature marks around her ankles.”

“she was hung upside down.” Allison confirmed.

“Yeah but I watched this documentary on like war zones and militant extremist and stuff. It said that sometimes they have to take their victims to remote places to, you know, ‘question them’. Often  they do it by cutting them and letting them bleed to death slowly hung upside down. To avoid attracting animals with the sent of blood they like, dig a hole, or place them over a bucket or something.”

By the time Isaac had finished he looked a little embarrassed, at his suggestion, but obviously couldn’t bring himself to tame the smirk he sent Jacksons way. Jackson however was just looking back with a seemingly bewildered look on his face.

“You are an idiot.” he stated and Isaac deflated a little. “You think this guy just so happened to watch the same documentary you did? You realise the chances of this are like five million to o-“

“Shut up Jackson!” Allison interrupted suddenly.

“What?”

“Shush, I think Isaac might be right,” she waved off his distress distractedly and Isaacs smile grew back tenfold. “Think about it. This guy is meticulous, methodical, dedicated. All things that can be easily explained with a military background.” She grinned back at the young officer before heading over to the tree and squatting down. She pulled out a glove from her pocket and began fitting it over her hand while continuing her thoughts aloud.

“What if he served overseas. He could have learnt everything he needed from the locals and simply applied it to some of his victims.”

She placed her covered hand to the ground where the body had been discovered and started to dig.

“Now considering he would’ve had to walk her here, tie her to the tree, kill her, get her down, and get the hell out of dodge, I doubt he had time to bring several buckets along with him and then carry them all the way back to wherever he came from without dropping any. No he is way to organised for that. However digging a hole would only require a small shovel. Military grade ones can be attached to a belt, which leaves only his faith that the local sheriffs department would never think to dig…”

Suddenly she stopped pulling up the dirt when she was almost elbow deep. The two boys froze in anticipation as she slowly lifted her gloved hand into view. There was dirt, soft and wet from the damp ground as well as small bits of leaf and bark but in-between all of soil, saturating the no longer white glove was deep red blood.

“To bad he didn’t know we would have a deputy as quick as you hey Isaac,” she spoke smugly looking over to him with an approving nod.

Isaac totally preened.

Jackson merely growled at being proven wrong.

“‘Pretend inferiority and encourage his arrogance’.” Isaac quotes smugly. She wasn’t sure is he was talking about Jackson or the unsub. Probably both. Either way it sounded familiar.

Allison scrunches her nose up. “What is that? Shakespeare?” She asks curiously. Isaac goes to answer but is cut off by Jackson.

“Call a CSI team already,” he spat before turning around and muttering, “If this backwater town even has one.”

[defibrillation-and-lactation]

After the Mission

story idea by nhattan212 on deviantart

Trigger Warning: medical/resus content below

It was late Fall. The sun started settling down. Lian had finished up with her tasks for the day. Her main mission that day didn’t go as planned. She barely came back to her HQ and with minimal success to show for it. She was mildly beaten by the guards while in combat.

She drives back to HQ in the van she drove to get to her work destination. She walks into her superior’s office for debriefing. After some questions and data collection, her superior sends her off to the infirmary for a medical examination.

She then takes the elevator to the infirmary and waits to get called in. After several minutes passed, a nurse opens the door and brings her in. The nurse then checks her blood pressure, weight and temperature. Nothing completely out of the ordinary there. Next, the nurse tells her to wait for the doctor to come in and examine her. After several minutes, a male doctor walks in and greets her.

“Hello miss! What brings you in here today?”

I just came back from some rough work. My boss just wants me to get examined for any signs of injury that I’m not aware of.” Lian says.

After hearing that, the doctor wastes no time to inspect her.

Can you please take off your suit? The doctor asks.

“Sure.” Lian says

She starts unzipping her suit. She takes off her bra as well, revealing her bare breasts and belly. Next, her bottom comes off. She shimmies out of her pants, showing her legs, leaving her now nearly naked with only panties on.

Lian hops onto the exam bed and lays down on her back. The cold, yet soft bed makes goosebumps rise up all across her body. The doctor presses his fingers into her stomach. It’s tender, yet springy. As his hands firmly push across her belly, some light groans were let out by Lian. The doctor was applying pressure to places where Lian was struck during combat.

“Does it hurt around here?” The doctor says, gently pressing on the parts where Lian was moaning at.

“Just a tad. I think that’s where I was hit while I was fighting out there.” Lian says quietly.

“I see.” The doctor says, looking at the light bruises on the side of her stomach.

The doctor then puts on his stethoscope to listen to her heart. He presses it against her chest, the cold metal piece made her shiver a little and more goosebumps popped up on her upper body. As he listened to her chest, he heard a rested, slow but steady heart. It was beating slightly hardly than normal. He moved on to her stomach. He pressed it deeply into her belly, sending shivers to her hips. He listened to her abdominal sounds, hearing nothing out of the ordinary.

“I want to investigate further, but because I know there is some pain in your stomach, can I put you to sleep?” The doctor asks.

Of course. Some sleep is definitely what I want right now too! Haha!” She responds.

“Alright great! Nurse Angie! Can you bring this patient to exam room C? And help me gas her up! I want to do some more thorough examinations on her.” The doctor ordered.

On it, doc! Angie said in response.

​She brings Lian to the other exam room and help her get comfortable on the table. The doctor helps the nurse get the anesthesia ready. They put the mask over Lian and make her sleep quickly.

The doctor pulls out a pen light from his coat. He opens each eye and shines it in them. Her pupils shrunk a little slower than normal, but not too slow to worry about. After that, they hook her up to an ECG above. Three leads were stuck on her chest. As the doctor listens to her heartbeat via stethoscope, the ECG explained what was going on inside. Her heart was in a slow, irregular looking state of bradycardia. Her breathing was a bit shallow and slow, so the doctor slid a tube down her still throat with ease. He attached the tube to a ventilator and boosted her oxygen levels a bit.

“Angie, go prep the AED, she needs a little shock.” The doctor orders.

Nurse Angie grabs the AED from the counter and brings it back to the table. She opens it up and starts getting it ready.

The pads were taken out and placed on Lian’s chest. One above her left breast and another below her right breast. The defibrillator is turned on and it starts analyzing her heart. The small display indicated it was irregular and a shock was advised. The doctor overrided it’s controls and manually set a charge for 200 joules. He waited a few seconds to let it fully charge up. Once it was ready, he pressed the big yellow button on the AED and watched as Lian’s body twitched for a split second. He looked back at the monitor and saw little change in rhythm. He charged the defibrillator higher to 300 joules. He shocks her again. This time, her body bounces up a bit, falling straight back down on the bed. Her breasts jiggled freely coming back down. As the doctor looked up to check her heart, he was met with the sound of a flatline. Her heart had now stopped completely.

Acting quickly, the doctor grabs a shot of epinephrine and injects it into Lian. He then quickly gets down to compressions and gives her a few rounds of CPR. He pushes deeply down on her chest, rapidly forcing air in and out of her lungs. Her chest and stomach repeatedly rose and fell as the cycles continued. The ECG went wild, showing each and every compression he gave to her. After a couple cycles of CPR, an alarm on the ECG sounded. She was now in ventricular fibrillation.

The doctor swiftly gets back on the AED and charges it once again at 300 joules. Pressing that big yellow button again, Lian’s upper body jumps up off the bed as the electricity courses through her chest, straight to her fibrillating heart. Her fingers and toes seize and curl up. She crashes back down, bouncing gently from the impact.

The alarms had stopped. There were now only slow, steady beats. The doctor looked up and saw a normal heartbeat. She was starting to breath on her own now.

Grabbing his penlight, the doctor shines it into her eyes. They move rather slowly, but it’s not too concerning. He steths her chest, hearing that slow and steady heart start working properly again. He then steths her stomach, hearing a very thin, weak abdominal pulse. He pushes his fingers deep around her smooth belly, feeling for any abnormalities now. It was at this point that he realized, Lian was not very responsive to anything. He declared her to be comatose right there on the exam table.

“Nurse! Can you please transfer this patient to a recovery room? She’s in a coma and needs careful attention.” The doctor requests.

“I’m on it!” A nurse from down the hall replies.

Lian was taken off the ventilator and ET tube, being given an oxygen mask instead. She was stripped completely naked and covered loosely with a hospital gown. She was then transferred to a bed and was closely monitored until she woke up a few weeks later.

[vorish-egos]

[Y/N] AND THE EGOS 3: HENRIK VON SCHNEEPLESTEIN

Henrik: Experimenting (for Science Of Course)

Henrik Von Schneeplestein had been engrossed in one of his books when he heard someone knock on the door to his office, and it took him a few moments to register what he’d heard and go to respond. When he opened the door, a very pale, bloated-looking Jackieboy-Man met his eyes, green in the face and looking desperate as he clutched at his stomach protectively. He was hunched over and taking slow, shallow, quaking breaths.

“Doc, ya gotta help me,” he said quietly, “Can I come in?”

He moved aside and gestured for the hero to enter, “Of course, vhat’s wrong?”

“Cl-close the door first. It’s about [Y/N] an’ I don’t want Anti hearin’,” the hero said, taking tentative, shaky steps as he entered the tile-floored section of the office.

He closed the door and crossed to Jackie’s side before placing a hand on his shoulder, “Vhat’s happened? Are zhey alright? Vhere are zhey?”

Jackie looked around the room nervously before standing upright and revealing his abdomen. It looked uncomfortably swollen and oddly lumpy. Henrik didn’t understand at first, but then the lump moved and made a sound. No, it didn’t just make a sound, it spoke! He didn’t understand the muffled words, but the voice was unmistakable; it was the only one in the house that didn’t resemble Jack’s in some way. He felt the blood drain from his face as Jackie pointed at the lump in his distended belly.

“I had to act quick or Anti’d get ‘em again,” Jackie said, “He’d eaten ‘em before I… well, never mind that. He wanted to eat ‘em again so I… God, Schneep, ya’ve gotta help get ‘em outta me!”

“Zhat… I don’t… How is zhis possible?” He asked, bending over to study the small form inside the hero, “How did you manage to get zhem down your sroat?”

Jackieboy groaned, “Doc please. Now ain’t the time fer this. D'ya have any ipecac left from the last time Anti poisoned someone? I tried ta make myself throw ‘em up earlier, but it didn’t work…” 

Henrik glanced up as Jackie grimaced, then stood upright with a mental sigh. He was right, of course. As scientifically fascinating as this was, it might only be a matter of time until digestion kicked in and the clock was ticking. He did in fact have ipecac left, plenty of it, and crossed the room to his medical cabinet. If things were less dire, he’d want to study how this happened and what effects this would have on both parties, but… He plucked the little bottle from its shelf and pulled a swab from a nearby jar before turning back to see Jackie bracing himself against the examination table.

“Is everysing alright?”

“Y-yeh, just not feeling so good. They keep movin’ around.” 

Even from here, Henrik could tell the hero was sweating and trembling. It looked like he wouldn't need the ipecac to throw up, [Y/N] would just need to keep moving. Regardless, he took the few steps back to Jackie as he prepared the swab. He was about to tell his near mirror to open wide when a thought occurred to him.

“Just a second, ve don't vant zhem getting hurt vhen you srow zhem up,” he said.

Jackie nodded weakly and seemed to gag as his stomach jostled from inside with an audible slosh. [Y/N]’s small muffled voice said something and Jackie mumbled in response. Henrik made quick work of grabbing a towel and folding it over a few times before returning once more. He didn’t catch what either of them had said. 

He held the towel near Jackie’s chest and held up the swab, “Open vide please. I'm afraid zhis von’t be pleasant.”

“Yeh, I-I know. Oh God, [Y/N] please stop doin’ that…”

Jackie did as he was asked, opening his mouth and sticking his tongue out. Henrik wiped off a bit of the excess syrup before swabbing near the base of his friend’s tongue. The emetic worked quickly, almost giving him no time to set the swab down and prepare the towel. He got both hands covered in time to catch the first heave, which was, unfortunately, just bile. Jackie winced and groaned as he rubbed his stomach, and Henrik glanced down to see that the lump had moved upwards. That was good. The second heave was completely dry, but the bulge jumped up enough to be hidden behind Jackie’s ribs. It took two more heaves for [Y/N]’s squirming form to appear in the hero’s throat and two more for him to spit them out into the towel.

Poor Jackie then turned and threw up on the floor. [Y/N] was drenched in bile and smelled awful, and they spent a long time laying and gasping for breath in Henrik’s hands.

“Are you two alright?” Henrik asked.

Jackie had his hands on his knees, doubled over and dry heaving but he nodded. The approximately six-inch tall [Y/N] did the same and gave a weak thumbs up.

“Jackie, can you get yourself to zhe bathroom? I’ll be viss you in a moment, but [Y/N] is mein first priority. And don’t vorry about zhe mess, I vill take care of it.”

The tiny in his hands began to shiver, so he wrapped them in a drier portion of the towel and held them close to his chest. Poor thing had really been through the wringer lately, hadn’t they? Jackie nodded again and collected himself long enough to stand, sign a quick ‘thanks doc’ (he probably learned that from Jameson), and stagger to Henrik’s bathroom. Meanwhile, Schneeplestein walked over to his sink on the other side of the room and placed [Y/N] on the side as he ran warm water.

“How did zhis happen?” he asked the moving lump in the used-to-be-green towel, “Vhy are you so small?”

When they spoke, he had to strain his ears to hear them over the water hitting the metal basin of the medical sink, “Anti did it. Some sort of magic. He pounded on my door when I was napping and caught me off guard.”

He nodded though they couldn’t see it. That sounded exactly like something he’d do. What a despicable demon, that Anti. Lord only knew why Jack allowed him to live here, like he wasn’t a threat to everyone else in the house. 

Soon the sink was plenty full, so he shook himself from his thoughts and turned off the water, “Let’s see vhat ve can do about zhe bile on you [Y/N]. I’ll have vords viss Anti later.”

They peeked out from under the towel, “Careful, he's on a rampage. You know how he gets, especially with me.” They peeked over the lip of the basin and seemed to pale further, “Oh that’s a long drop…”

“Here,” he said, placing his hand, palm up, flush with the wall of the sink, “I can help viss zhat.”

They scooted onto his palm and he lowered them into the sink and spent a good long time getting clean. Once they indicated they were done (with the childlike ‘I want up’ hand motion no less), he picked them up out of the sink and placed them on the counter.

“Zhere you are. Nice und clean.” He gently dried them off with a washcloth. He stared at them for a moment, fascinated and curious.

[Y/N] nodded slowly, shivering and clinging to the washcloth for warmth, “At least I’m not being eaten again.”

He paused, then spoke softly,“Explain to me how you ended up inside Jackie please, if you vould.”

“I- well, quite simply, I asked him to eat me to protect me from-... from being eaten by Anti,” they covered their face with a hand and sighed, “I sound like a total idiot.”

“No, no. It sounds to me like you didn’t have many options. It may have even been vhat saved you bohss in zhe end.”

“I don’t know, Schneep, I heard Anti threaten him if he didn’t keep me down. And, from the sounds of it, he’s still throwing up too.”

“True. I should go and check on him.” He couldn’t help but hesitate. This might be his only opportunity to experiment with the poor shrunken kid.

“Go, I’ll be fine. I’ve been like this for over two hours. I’ll stay here,” they promised.

Henrik nodded and went to check on Jackie. He could satisfy his curiosity later. When he reached the bathroom, Jackie was in the midst of a dry heave and drenched in sweat. Henrik took a clean washcloth, ran it under cold water, and placed it against the back of Jackie’s neck. 

“Don’t vorry, Jackie. It vill be over soon. Zhe good doctor vill take care of you,” Henrik soothed, knowing Jackie could use some reassurance in his state. “You are a sveaty boy, hm?” he teased lightly, “I bet a nice shower vill feel very good after zhis is over. I vould recommend cold vasser. Cold vasser very good after a sveat.”

“Gotta say, Doc, I hate ipecac…”

“I know, und I am sorry. I wish I had somesing zhat I could use instead.”

Jackie heaved again and panted for a while, but he seemed to be mostly over it. Henrik sent Jackie to go get washed up and clean. In the meantime, it seemed like the perfect time to satisfy his curiosity. He walked back into the main lab, noted the puddle Jackie had made, and went to clean that up before he made his way back to [Y/N]. 

They were still tiny, wrapped up and burritoed in the washcloth he'd used to dry them. He picked them up gently and looked them over. They looked to be simply scaled down, completely proportional and mostly unharmed save for wrinkly fingers and toes. Henrik debated asking for permission to experiment.

“Henrik, I’m getting dizzy,” they said, “Please stop holding me upside down..!”

He righted them with a hasty apology and a light embarrassed blush. He hadn’t meant to look at their feet for so long, but there was something interesting about how very small they were. Well, he decided, for now he’d let them recover. He wrapped them in the dry towel again and picked them up. Goodness, but they were still shivering! So he held them to his chest and took them to his examination room where it was warmer. 

Over the next several hours, he jerry rigged ways to check their vitals and see what effect  their new size had on them. So far, it seemed, the only lasting effect was being cold. Their O2 levels were fine, heart rate was relatively normal if mildly elevated, bmi was vastly unchanged, mineral levels were fine… The only difference was they couldn’t retain their body heat. 

By the time Jackie had come back more or less recovered, Henrik had their tiny friend wrapped in several warmed facial washcloths and resting on his work desk. Understandingly, the hero was concerned about their shivering, as was Schneeplestein. He’d offered to care for them, but Hen wouldn’t hear it; not in the poorly condition he was in. In Jackie’s current condition, Henrik wasn’t sure he could even defend himself from Anti. Speaking of, he was grateful he hadn’t seen him lately and said as much.

“He’s sulking,” Jackie explained, wrapping himself in one of the many heated blankets, “I’ve been avoidin’ him.”

“Zhat is probably for zhe best, mein friend.”

“He’s a dick!” [Y/N] piped up vehemently.

And as much as he hated to admit it, Henrik laughed. He laughed harder than he should have in all honesty. 

But fate is nothing if not a bastard.

At first, no one noticed the hissing white noise, not even [Y/N] who was understandably on edge. Jackie was the first to make a face of discomfort, turning his head to try to avoid the subtle noise almost subconsciously. But as the sound grew, even Henrik started trying to drown out the sound.

Until everyone realized what it was and paled.

Jackie wobbled to his feet and put himself between Henrik and the door not a few beats before a pale green foot rammed it open. No one had time to react as Anti glitched himself into the room and tackled Jackie to the floor. Poor Jackie didn’t stand a chance, not after what he’d been through.

Henrik watched in abject horror as the glitching maniac headbutted the hero at full force. He turned and grabbed [Y/N], clutching them protectively and when he turned back, he stared into the jet black eyes of Jackie’s assailant. What was worse, Anti was now holding a very small, very squirmy hero who was no more than six inches high.

“How-?” 

“I w͘a̛rn̸ed ̢h̶įm͘. Now ͢it͢'̀s̡ ̶hís ̶tur͝ņ.”

With that, Henrik could only watch as he lifted the poor lad up and dropped him into his maw. He told himself to do something, to do anything, just get Jackie away from Anti’s throat! But something held him frozen. Maybe the look in those mad, black eyes or maybe not, but he got to helplessly watch as Anti gulped hard and Jackie sank. Still unable to move, he made a sound of protest, but not even words came out. Another gulp and the distention in Anti’s throat elongated, which made the slit in his trachea ooze a few small drops of blood. Henrik demanded his arms do something, but nothing happened. Not even when Anti closed his mouth, sealing the weakened hero’s fate.

One last gulp and the spell was broken. Henrik screamed but the damage was done. Anti’s throat bulged and swelled with the struggling, but the lump slid down and disappeared, squeezed behind his clavicles. 

“Let him go, Anti!” Henrik begged.

“An̕d ̕w̡h͝y̶ ͠wou͡ĺd̸ ͠I ͟do ̸that? ́H̵e͘ f̨e͘els̕ ̡s̷o͠ g̢oo͜d~!͡” he quipped, rubbing his abdomen as it rounded out noticeably, “Bu͏t͝ ́I'͜m̧ s̨ti͞l̡l h̷ung̴ry̴. Why d͘on͞'̡t ́I͜ t̡a̛ke̛ ̷th͟at pi͘psqųeak o͏ff y͝o̸ur h̡an̢ds͞?”

He reached for [Y/N] and Henrik’s brain exploded into panic. His chest went tight and his mouth went dry, and every thought vanished from his mind. 

So he did the unthinkable.

His body acted on instinct and he shoved the terrified shrunken person into his mouth and gulped hard. Anti stopped and scowled as Henrik gagged on their hips before reflexes took over, causing him to swallow again and again to dislodge the blockage in his windpipe. He closed his mouth over their feet and with one more gagging swallow, they disappeared.

He sneered with a frustrated chuckle, “That'͏s̸ f͡in͞e,҉ I̴ ͝alrȩądy̕ h͞ave͞ a ̷meal͟. ̸But͟ ͜know͠ ̕th̸is: i̡f͝ ͏I͘ s̸e̢e͜ th̴em ̴o̢ut aga͡in͞,̡ ͞a̵l͟l t͞h͡re͜e̕ ơf҉ ̧yơú ̡ar̴e̵ ͡min͏e.”

With manic laughter, the glitch fizzled out of existence and Henrik’s legs collapsed beneath him. He hadn’t even felt [Y/N] sink into his stomach, but there they sat heavily, trembling like a leaf inside him.

“Vhat… have I… done..?” he breathed, “Vha- vhat do I do?”

[negasonicimagines]

(You kissed her.)

Hi folks! I am so, so sorry for not posting, like, at all, ever! I am trying really hard, I need to stop procrastinating and get on you guys’ requests! I’m bad at keeping track of which rqs are anon and which aren’t, so, if you wanna be tagged in your fulfilled rq, please include to tag @[user] because I copy the rqs into a doc! (this is also useful if you wanna be tagged but not as your main blog!) anyways, I wanted to mix up the writing style a little, sorry if it’s obnoxious!

request: “Can u write something like,Idk,the reader is texting Ellie and asks her to make a makeup tutorial for youtube and she actually films it?And she's all flustered and embarassed interacting with the camera?Sorry if this is too vague”

I tweaked this significantly, I’m so sorry, I just really struggled with doing it justice, especially due to the vagueness of it. But, I did appreciate the request and if you’d like to submit it with a few extra details I would love to write you a new piece! 

Additionally, this is my 30th NTW x reader imagine! Not my 30th published, but I keep my docs numbered and this is number 30! So, go us! 

So sorry for the long A/N! Please enjoy! 

(Text names are what you guys have each other saved as in your contacts!)

Ellie lost touch with most of her friends at home when she moved to Xavier’s.

(Most.)

There was one left, and if you’ve ever read one of these fics before, you know it’s you. Her best friend who she definitely doesn’t have a crush on.

Y/N ♡: Ellie!

҉  ♥Ellie♥  ҉  : What.

Y/N ♡: Your make-up looked really cute on the news today!

҉  ♥Ellie♥  ҉  : Thanks. Your point?

Y/N ♡: I was wondering if you would film a tutorial…? Please?

҉  ♥Ellie♥  ҉  : You don’t need a tutorial, you do makeup just fine. I saw your Snapchat story

Y/N ♡: Yeah, but I don’t do it how you do yours! I wanna learn THAT….

҉  ♥Ellie♥  ҉  : Tough.

Y/N ♡: :-(

Ellie rolls her eyes before leaving you on read. She’s so lucky you can’t see her face when you shamelessly compliment her like that. She gets so damn red, it’s embarassing. Whatever. She plugs her phone in and goes to sleep pretty quickly, not even dreaming.

The next morning, though, when she’s bored, she decides to create the video.

(Like it was a decision, when you were the one asking.)

҉  ♥Ellie♥  ҉  : Fine, I’ll make it. Can’t say I never did anything for you

Y/N ♡: Yay!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

҉  ♥Ellie♥  ҉  : Whatever lol weirdo. Don’t text back I don’t want the phone to vibrate during

She suction cups her phone to her mirror, as she typically does so she can watch Netflix and do her makeup at the same time, but instead of that black and red app, she goes to the camera and begins recording.

“Hello, everyone. Or, just, y’know, Y/N. This is how I do my makeup. I start out with a primer, because I’m not completely stupid, then I go in with my foundation. Yes, it really is this pale ass emo shade. Then I blend it with a beauty blender, yeah, even I haven’t avoided that trend. And then this gray eyeshadow. And then the eyeliner, duh. And then mascara. Lipstick optional, but I’m wearing it tod- Oh! Oh my god!” She covers her mouth.

(Shocked.)

“Hey!” you tell her, stepping through the door. “Oh good, you’re actually recording. I wanted a video of us BFFs reuniting!” You wiggle your fingers towards her, and she rolls her eyes. You were the fun one, she was the grouchy one.

“What the fuck are you doing here?!” She remembers the situation.

“I’m not allowed to visit?!” you ask in reply.

“It’s kind of a long drive!” She argues, gesturing with her hands a little, and you shrug.

“Well, yeah, but when you’re moving somewhere it’s a good idea to visit first.”

“What?!” Ellie asks. “You’re a-!?”

(You nod.)

“What kind?! I mean, what do you do?!”

The people who overhear as they pass swear she’s never been this loud before, always responding briefly and nearly muttering her words.

You offer her a packet of sunflower seed snacks. She looks at you, confused.

“Take one,” you tell her. She’s always resisting.

(It’s cute.)

“What’s this got to do with anything?” the jaded girl inquires skeptically.

“Just do it, doofus!”

She takes one from the pack, and goes to crack it.

“No, hold it in your palm.”

“Y/N, you’re acting weirder than these jackasses think I am.”

“Watch!”

You close your eyes, focusing on the seed in her hand. She watches as a small green stem cracks the shell open, roots sprawling out as the stem grows thicker and darker, growing taller until the sunflower bursts open.

“Oh. My. God. Seriously?”

You crack open an eye nervously, smiling with the same tone. “Yeah. And…” You control the roots, causing them to make themselves into legs with feet at the ends. You make the sunflower dance, waving its leaves like arms.

(She just watches.)

Ellie usually didn’t speak as a choice, but in this instance she genuinely didn’t have anything to say.

(Until she realized that yes, she did.)

“Um, Y/N… Well, uh… Can you make the sunflower stop dancing?”

(No, that wasn’t it.)

“Oh, yeah, uh, here.” You hand her the gift bag she hadn’t noticed you’d been holding, and she peeks inside. It’s a bag of soil, as well as a black flower pot and plate set with silver skulls spray-painted on. “For the sunflower.”

“Nice,” Ellie comments, placing the plate and the pot in the correct position, on her desk in front of the window.. You dump some of the soil in the pot, and make the sunflower sit cross-legged, more roots expanding outwards to stake in the dirt before you add more. You take a water bottle from your purse and wet the earth inside with what’s left.

“Well, uh, I’ve gotta tour the campus. Kitty’s showing me around.”

“No,” Ellie immediately disagrees, jealousy rushing through her veins like it’s racing against her blood.

“Did I remember her name wrong?” You ask, confused.

“No, just- I’ll show you around. Tell her not to worry about it.”

You peek your head out the door and shrug, but then you nod.

Damn it, Kitty had been out there waiting for Y/N & listening the whole time? How embarrassing… Ellie thinks.

“Alright, let’s get the tour started, huh?”

The two of you go to exit, before Ellie realizes she’s (uncharacteristically) forgotten her phone! She stops the recording and locks it, sticking it in her back pocket.

You follow her around, listening to her explain the classes you’d likely take and what clubs there were in an exhausted tone.

“Is it really that bad here? Maybe I shouldn’t come…” you tease.

“No!” she nearly shouts,and you look at her with a mildly surprised expression. “Uh, it really doesn’t suck or anything, I’m just… You know… Like that.”

“I was kidding, Ellie, and besides. The papers are all in order. I don’t have anywhere else to go, anyway, my parents… Well, you know how that story usually goes.”

Ellie nods. “I’m really sorry. They seemed better than that.”

“It’s okay. Now I get to be roomies with… Well…”

Ellie’s eyes widen. “Me?”

“Yeah! You’re one of the few students who doesn’t have a roomie yet, so when they told me I could pick, I chose you!”

She tries not to blush.

(It doesn’t work.)

“Oh, jeez, El, you’re really red. You’d think with all that working out as an X-Woman, you wouldn’t get so winded after walking around a bit,” you joke, at least about the working out part. You’ve got no clue why she’s so flushed. “Are you okay? You’re not getting sick or anything, are you?”

“Sick of you,” Ellie remarks, though she doesn’t mean it. The only thing that makes her sick is her own cowardice. She couldn’t even ask you out over text, and now you’re going to be seeing her in person? She’s never going to admit her feelings, is she? She’ll die miserable and alone, just like she is now. 

(And people wonder why she lashes out.)

You giggle nervously, eyeing her expression. Most of the time you knew she wasn’t being serious, or, at least, not being honest, but you did worry sometimes. “Alright… Suppose I’ll have to find Kitty to give me the rest of the tour…” You turn around teasingly, waiting for her to stop you as you slowly walk away.

(She doesn’t.)

It hurts your feelings signifcantly. You don’t turn around, knowing you wouldn’t be able to hide it. You begin walking at a normal pace.

“Hey, wait!” she protests, and you return. “Listen, I’m sorry I’m kind of a dick. I try not to be a dick to you, but it doesn’t always work out, because I really like you.”

“Um… Isn’t that supposed to be… Not like that?” You laugh nervously, a bit concerned for her mental health and your own safety.

“I just mean that- Well- I don’t like being nice to people! It makes me feel weak! And I don’t want to be weak in front of someone I like!”

“Like… Like-like…?” You ask nervously, trying not to sound too hopeful.

(It doesn’t work.)

“Yeah,” she admits dejectedly, your hope most likely being obscurred by the metaphorical dark clouds that always surround her. Most of the time, people saw them as anger. You understand, though.

(They’re shields.)

“Hey. Did you miss my tone completely or something? It was hopeful.”

“Hopeful that I wouldn’t? Sorry to disappoint you, prince- Mmf!”

(You kissed her.)

[voidselfshipp]

Love Deep As The Ocean

Cw: mentions of blood, bloodloss,injury,Food a minor being taken hostage ( not explicit). Implied trauma involving motherhood/becoming a mother (bcs being raised by a bad mother)

♡Only mutuals allowed to reblog.

Summary: Varun gets saved by a misterious person whom he ends up crossing paths multiple times.

->Songs: En el mar: la Sonora matancera, Sea of Love By Cat Power

(Im on Mobile. Sorry for the long post!)

♡Lovely Taglist: @tex-treasures @malewifepatrickbateman

Varun stared at Jerico, quietly cooking lentil soup, his cheek on his hand, arm propped up on the table besides the dinner Plate.

He took a deep breath, letting the scent of the food invade his senses and make his shoulders relax.

The smell reminds him of the first time they met...

《♡♡♡♡♡》

Harbor Ran holding his side, limping as his hand pressed against a wall.

REALM's men ran past the little alleyway he had hidden in, and once they are out of sight and ear reach he walks out and looks both ways.

Varun lets out a sigh of relief and walks back the way he came from, though his head feels light weight, breaths shallow and quick, the midday sun hits harshly against his skin. Has it always been this warm?.

His body slams against the wall covered in the shade of a nearby tree, sighing in relief. Blood loss is a bitch.

Looking at his bloodied hand, his vision doubles and gasps for air.

--Are you okay?--A voice asked.

He looked up, blinking to try to clear his eyes, sharp features of a face and a worried expression is all he can make out, the sun that filters through the leaves give them a sort of Halo around their head.

They say something he cant make out, and Next thing he knows he feels himself being carried away.

--Whats your blood type?--They asked.

--Huh-- wh-what was that beautiful?

He smiled seeing the blush spread across the person's cheeks-- Whats your blood type?

--type O...--He winced-- that bad huh?

--Yeah...try to stay awake--They muttered.

--Whatever you say Doc...

Well. Easier said than done, in a matter of seconds he was out like a light.

The Next time he wakes up, hes in a bed, half naked, his body felt sore, he blinks slowly regaining concioussnes.

--Wha- where am I?--He tried to sit up but the gash across his side stinged and burnt with pain.

--Easy, easy...--harbor Turned to see the misterious stranger that saved him.

Beautiful brown hair fell wildly down to where their shoulders started, green eyes, intense but warm, mildly thin lips that curled down, their expression showed worry and amusement.

--Uh...hi--He said laying back down sheepishly.

They laughed under their breath and handed him a bottle of water--Here-- varun slowly sat up with the help of his savior--You lost a lot of blood, drink water

He chuckled, eyeing his bracelet and nodding, drinkung from the bottle, the cold liquid was a relief from the brash heat. --I lost a lot of blood, where the hell did you get a blood transfusion

They sat besides him--I know a guy or two

--Works for me--He wasnt going to complain about getting his ass saved--I think I should know your name, to properly thank you

--Jerico-- they replied.

--Means city of the moon--He noted flirtly.

Jerico rolled their eyes--Alright, and whats your name?

--Varun, Nice to make your acquaintance~

--Alright, Varun, im going to make some lunch, you take it easy--They stood up, walking to the kitchen, Merely some meters away from the bed he was resting on.

Harbor soon laid down and interlazed his fingers togheter,resting his hands on his chest.

It didnt take long for the smell of food to invade the room, spices, dried herbs, Onions,bell peppers.

It feels oddly like home, and his body relaxes, was Jerico a total stranger? Yes, were they also very nice? Yes.

Varun felt like a pull towards them, an idea came to his mind but quickly dismissed it. Though a part of his mind didnt agree.

His eyes shoot Open, hearing a beautiful voice sing-- En el mar la vida es más sabrosa

En el mar te quiero mucho más

Con el sol, la luna y las estrellas

En el mar todo es felicidad

Te verás bañada por las olas

Y serás sirena de mi amor

Hallarás amor entre sus aguas

Y tendrás del mar su inspiración..-- spanish,that was the language jerico was speaking while carrying him.

He Turned his head to see them, and their eyes go wide...

Warm summer breeze flowes through their hair, swaying it slowly and Gently, eyes half lidded while adding chili powder to some potatos, and he noticed the beautiful yellow dress that swayed with the same gentle breeze.

Breath leaves Harbors chest,oh. She was beautiful...

With a smile he closed his eyes and kept listening to her singing, maybe he wasnt too wrong in thinking what the thought before.

The food was great, spicy and salty, it tasted like home,and it made him feel like he had a home.

--Ever thought of doing something else than running away from guys?--Jeri teased.

--Hah, maybe, if REALM stops hunting me down..

--Maybe defend this world? I mean you have that thing--They tapped the bracelet, that seemed to react to their touch, the floating ball spins quickly, to then calm itself down.

--Hmm...well I am stuck with this for a reason..--He agreed-- this food tastes great,thank you

--Of course--Jeri smiled and varuns heart melted.

Their presence was calming, grounded, Like the calmness in the eye of the storm.

--When youre done you gotta take a bath,I need to change those bandages

He nodded--Cant move much though..

--Ill help, --they added not looking up from their Plate-- if- if you dont mind that is

--I uh...I dont--he confirmed,cheeks darkening.

During the bath, jerico Gently scrubbed the Mans chest, humming a song that made Varun feel relaxed, then she washed his hair, which almost makes him fall asleep, the caresses of her finger tips against his scalp felt right, Like this was the exact place he was supposed to be.

Soon they were sharing the only bed in the small appartment, he hugged their waist while they slept.

Harbor didnt feel right doing this at first, but the bed was relatively small, so he had no other choice.

But it also felt right, as if he was were he was supposed to be. Like some sort of karmic energy pulled him to her.

Sighing with resignation of not being able to figure out what was happening he closed his eyes and decided to join jerico in their sleep.

Jeri nursed him back to health during the following days, sharing small domestic moments, flirting and that sensation of a pull becoming stronger.

Now varun sat on the terrace of a building, a day after he left, his hair left a reminder of her scent. A part of her would be with him.

《♡♡♡♡》

He snapped back to reality as he catched a glimpse of jerico's lizard tail sway to the rythm of the music in the radio.

Their sticky Hands let them Carry plenty of things, and for a moment he rememebred the second time they met.

《♡♡♡♡♡♡》

Its late at night as varun walks through the streets, thinking of his savior, he hoped that the walk would clear his mind. Needless to say it didnt work.

--Get her!--A Man yelled, jerico ran with a young girl in her arms.

--Its okay-- jerico told the girl-- Duck your head in my chest,dont look behind

The girl obeyed and gripped her carrier's clothes.

As the men behind her prepare to shoot, a wall of water comes out of no-where and the bullets are stopped by it.

--That wall...Varun?!

--No time!--Harbor yelled putting a hand on their Lower back--follow me!

Both start running away, loosing their pursuers soon after.

--whats with the kid?--He asked out of breath

--She-- was a hostage..I was contracted to free her

He looked at the kid, Clothes and hair a mess--Are you okay?

The girl looked at him,clearly scared.

He Walked closer and kneeled to eye level--ठीक है, जवान...(its okay,young one),its okay, lets take you to your family yeah?

The girl nodded and her eyes rested on the bracelet--You like this huh? Its shiny, and guess what, its going to help us Keep you safe

Jeri giggled under her breath, she May not want to have kids of her own, but Seeing Varun like that made her melt a little.

--Do you know where her house is?

Jerico nodded--Yeah, c'mon--She picked the girl up and both started to walk.

Soon enough the girl fell asleep, jeri smiled and murmured a lullaby.

--So, how much are they paying you for the job?--He asked.

--Nothing really, her family is very poor-- she confessed-- im doing this for 'em

--Thats...very nice of you --She gave him a warm smile, fixing the girl so she was more comfortable--ill take her -- he Gently grabs the kid from her arms and lets the girls head rest on his shoulder.

In her eyes, Varun was perfect. She could see him as a dad.

--You'd be a great dad--she commented.

--Uh-uhm..Thank you-- he said,being catched off guard-- you'd be a great parent

Jerico looked away shyly,scratching the back of their neck-- dont really wanna have kids..but thank you...means a lot

He patted her back and smiled, she smiled back and both Walked closer to the other.

After handing the girl to her parents, they let them both share the spare room for the night.

--What made you take up that job?--Harbor asked, jerico's head against his chest, both looking out of the Window.

--I like helping people, making the world a better place --She admitted.

--The worlds better because you are in it--Varun said without thinking,it was genuine.

Jeri didnt reply, only nuzzled closer to him, her hand Inching closer to his.

He Gently takes their hand, and smiles,kissing the top of their head--shubh raatri (good night)

--Good night...--Jeri didnt quite get what he had said, but given the context, they figured the gist of it.

The Next day they parted ways, with longing stares and aching hearts.

Since then, Harbor took Jobs that benefitted the communities of the places he ran way to.

Some times he would lay down in bed looking out the Window, his mind revolving around the idea he had since day one of meeting them.

Lehnu,the link with another soul that causes you to keep crossing paths, positively impacting each other. It describes someone who helps you lead a life that serves a higher purpose.

That was the Hindu idea of Soulmates.

He wondered where they were now. Varun didnt think much of his life after he started to be on the run. But thanks to Jerico he wanted to make his life worth something.

But Varun also had influence on jerico, it felt good knowing that someone like him supported them even from far away, every little compliment he made to them stayed within them giving them strenght.

《♡♡♡♡♡》

Harbor remembers he felt confident that he would see them again.

He never expected their Next meeting to be when both joined the valorant protocol.

《♡♡♡♡》

Both stayed dumbfodedly at eachother, before hugging the other tight.

--You two know eachother?--Asked Brimstone.

--Sorta!--Jeri confirmed-- we ran into eachother a couple of times

They were Inseparable, between Jerico's shape shifting and earth powers and Varun's water powers they were the perfect match during combat

One night, they went up to the terrace of the base, hidden in a mountain on an island.

Both Drank from their teas, He had a chai one, and she had black tea.

Both looked at the Ocean, surrounding the island like as if the water was protecting the earth.

--Its beautiful...--He commented-- the Ocean at night...

--I love the Ocean...since I was a kid...I love the beach and the sand...

--Well I do have water powers...--He flirted looking at them, not expecting the answer they would give him

--Well, youre the embodiment of one of the things I love the most--They said, trying to mask the nervousness on their voice.

He tensed and looked away, cheeks warm.-- Well-- I uh...I dont know how to reply to that-- Harbor cleared his throat-- But thanks to you ive found out I love lizards...and flowers and plants..

They smiled standing closer to him, and he moved closer--I always feel safe around you, Like the Ocean protecting this island, I feel like im the island when im with you...,youre so calm and grounding...and nice...--He sighed, tapping his mug-- I uh...have a crush on you

Jerico pressed their head against Varun's shoulder--I do too..I wrote you a little something actually.. I really missed you...

--Can I hear it ?

--Sure...--They Drank from their cup and said-- "As an act of love the sea sent you to me.

'We spend a year appart, my shores long for your skin and your laugh,appart for such a Long time,so here,I bring him, the embodiment of that which you love so much'

And the moment your eyes laid on me, I felt the rushing waves sweep me away, and I felt the same love I do during summer near the shore.

Ebb and flow, the tide of your love, those brown eyes melt me like the summer heat, I can already feel the sand against my feet.

Youre everything I love. Everything I need.

Your calm, your flow, your shores your love"

He chuckled and hugged their waist, nuzzling their hair--I also wrote you something...

Harbor fumbled with his pocket before pulling out a piece of paper, Reading it-- "Brash sun,Hard earth.

The barren land that nothing grows, Harsh heat that blurrs my vision.

And then, gentle summer breeze, Soft dirt, the smell of dried herbs and spices, I met you just when the sun its at its highest

Calm light, warms my heart, the color of that dress you wore, while cooking lunch for an injured dog.

With you I dont have to hide, with you, the dangers of the barren land I used to run through dissapear, and I realize I want you,my dear..

My soft dirt, my warm summer breeze, my beautiful lotus flower, That Grants me rebirth.."

They take his free hand and look at him, and he leans in for the kiss, they kiss back, both smiling.

《♡♡♡♡》

--Thanks for the food--Varun said. -- ive been thinking about our history togheter and...I think youre...youre my soulmate--He pulled jerico closer to his chest.

--I think youre my soulmate too...--Jeri agreed.

The screen that acted as a Window showed a calm beach at night, both look at it and giggle under their breath.

--In Hindu culture, there's an idea that you have a karmic connection with certain souls. In the Gujarati language, it's called lehnu: the link with another soul that causes you to keep crossing paths, positively impacting each other. It describes someone who helps you lead a life that serves a higher purpose.--He explained.

--Well...im glad we ended up togheter...--Jeri said.

--Me too, My lotus --He kissed them Gently, hugging them protectively.

--Thats such a beautiful petname, my Ocean...

He chuckled--Lotus mean rebirth...I think it suits you pretty well--Varun gave his lover a playful smile and closed his eyes-- Come with me my love

To the sea

The sea of love

I want to tell you

How much I love you--He started singing,caressing Their hair.

--Do you remember

When we met?

That's the day I knew you were my pet

I want to tell you

How much I love you --Followed jeri, nuzzling his chest with their eyes closed.

--Come with me my love

To the sea

The sea of love

I want to tell you

How much I love you..--He finished, noticing his lover was peacefully asleep, he chuckled and followed suit, the sound of the waves and the breath of his beloved relaxing his body and soul.

[theoddcatlady]

The Legion Studies, Part Five

November 21, 198X

I could not speak after the attack. My neck was covered in dark purple bruises, and any time I did attempt to talk it’d come out as a hoarse whisper.

The attack was ruled as the first proven success of the Legion Studies, probably since I couldn’t protest otherwise. Hugo was adamant I was attacked by a supernatural force and if I hadn’t been wearing the cross I would’ve likely been choked until I lost consciousness or worse. Again. No chance to argue since I couldn’t talk.

Even I couldn’t deny Hugo and I were alone in the hallway when the lights went out though. No one was following us, and I’d heard no one approach us. Many more questions than answers.

Graham was found in the kitchen like Hugo said he would be, under one of the counters. He’d taken a little nap after gorging himself on leftovers from dinner and had absolutely no idea what fuss he’d caused.

Doing my work as normal was impossible given that I couldn’t speak, so I merely observed interviews and some of the actual attempts to communicate with the ‘being’ that attacked me. And much to my lack of surprise, there was nothing. Whatever or whoever had attacked me seemed to remain silent, for now.

Dr. Leon was the most considerate, constantly bringing ice for my neck and honey to soothe my throat. Sitting in on his interview with Kaitlyn, a depressed young woman with a history of self harm and attempted suicide, I pressed a fresh pack of ice to my neck as Robert spoke with her.

“Kaitlyn, you said last week you felt someone in your room that you could not see, and that you couldn’t sit up. Has that happened again?” Dr. Leon asked, smiling kindly.

Kaitlyn chewed on her jagged fingernails. “… Not that I couldn’t. He wouldn’t let me,” She answered after a hesitation, her voice barely above a mumble.

Dr. Leon nodded as he wrote it down. “Has it happened again then?” He asked.

She nodded. “Twice. He… he talked to me, the second time. He’s left bruises.” The girl pulled down her shirt sleeve to reveal green tinted bruises on her shoulders.

I reached for my cross.

“I don’t hear voices, doc. That’s not something I’ve… I’ve done. I think I actually contacted him, like Anastasia has,” She continued, biting off a piece of nail and spitting it on the floor. I could see a hint of blood around her finger. “He’s scaring me, doc. I don’t think I’m onboard for this anymore.”

Dr. Leon reached forward and held Kaitlyn’s hand. “That’s fine. I’ll talk with Dr. Lewis about sending you home soon. If the weather’s good. And you don’t have to participate in the experiments any longer,” He said.

The girl immediately relaxed, sighing and clutching Dr. Leon’s hand. “Thank you, doctor. Thank you.”

When we left the room, Dr. Leon dropped the calm hiding his storm.

“Any data we get from the B-3 group is absolutely useless. Part of the use of the Oujia and Tarot requires multiple parties to participate. What’s more likely to happen is Kaitlyn’s grip on reality will start to crumble and she’ll be even worse. The others came already delusional, imagine having that as most of your companionship.” Dr. Leon paused to pull a flask from his jacket and took a sip. He gave me a bit of a worried look, as if he expected me to tattle like a little girl, before he continued. “It’s not helping the others either. Anastasia claims she’s talked to someone named Emmet, that she has gained his secrets and trust. I’m going to have to talk with the security about gossip. There’s no way she could’ve heard about that detail in Randy’s murder unless someone didn’t keep their mouths shut.”

I couldn’t exactly respond back, but I was listening, nodding every so often. Dr. Leon took another swig and offered it to me. I could faintly smell whiskey, which wasn’t my drink of choice, but I still accepted it and took a small drink before handing it back. He pocketed it and took a right, down the hall to the cafeteria.

“Thanks for listening. Perhaps I can rely on your testimony to convince Lewis to let Kaitlyn return home?”

I gave a thumbs up.

“Thank you.”

November 30, 198X

It had taken a ridiculous amount of time to convince Lewis to send Kaitlyn home. Like trying to pull a steak from a dog’s jaws, Dr. Lewis was stubborn on keeping Kaitlyn at least for ‘another month or two’, as the ‘progress’ with her had apparently been astounding. Even my recommendation (from my croaky and sore voice) was passed over.

When Dr. Leon threatened to call Kaitlyn’s original doctor Dr. Lewis finally gave in.

“Fine,” He said, giving both of us a defeated look. “She goes home when we get a pilot out here.”

Kaitlyn was thrilled when she heard the news. The few times I passed her quarters, I could hear her gleefully singing various hymns. I caught myself multiple times humming ‘Be Thou My Vision’ in between interviews. I can’t carry a tune in a bucket, but something about those old songs made my work a little easier.

I was there when we were walking Kaitlyn to the hanger, Hugo tagging along behind. Dr. Lewis was off sulking elsewhere. Kaitlyn was the happiest girl in the world, but Hugo seemed uneasy.

“I think I’m going to stay with my parents for a few days before I go back to the hospital. Reconnect with actual people instead of doctors… not saying you’re not actual people!” Kaitlyn looked mildly embarrassed.

I took a sip from my water bottle before I spoke. Even so many days later my throat still felt sore. “It’s all right, Kaitlyn. I do advise you speak to your doctors soon though, I imagine this experience has rattled you quite a bit,” I said reassuringly.

“Of course. I have no intention of stopping my treatment.” Kaitlyn smiled brightly, and then we opened the trap door.

Snow blew down the hole and coated Kaitlyn’s dark brown hair, and with that, her smile faded.

“Snow!?” She combed through her hair and watched the flakes melt on her fingertips, her expression turning quickly to horror.

A head poked down, wearing a hat far too large for his head. “Sorry miss! It started just as I arrived, it’s coming down real good! No more flying for me today! Mind if I come down, I’m freezing my nuts off!”

The young pilot’s name was Brandon, he couldn’t have been that much older than Kaitlyn. We sat in the cafeteria while we awaited news on the storm stopping.

Kaitlyn’s face had gone gray, all sign of the earlier hope out the window. Brandon smiled weakly. “Sorry, I really can’t fly out in weather like this I’m afraid. It’ll probably clear up through the night though! Then smooth flying back home!”

Hugo’s face was the same color as Kaitlyn’s, his fingers tapping irregularly on the table as he sipped down his third cup of tea. I was absentmindedly stirring mine. Brandon looked about. “Oh boy, why are you up here anyway? I can’t imagine it’s anything fun, being a doctor and studying weather.”

Kaitlyn softly snorted. “I’m not a doctor,” She grumbled. Brandon looked briefly confused before the lights flickered out.

I felt Hugo’s hand wrap tightly around mine, the rings creating imprints on my skin by the time the lights turned back on a few seconds later. Brandon was looking around wildly. “Well that’s rude,” He commented dryly.

“So is murdering your mother and hiding her body underneath the foundation of your new home.”

I gasped as I turned around. Chloe was standing there, but she didn’t look quite right. Her face was the color of chalk, and her eyes… they were boring holes into the back of Brandon’s head.

“You were worried she’d find out that your roommate being a fag wasn’t coincidence,” Chloe continued in monotone. “I hope she knows you and him were never happy together, that he left you for someone else.”

Brandon laughed, a high pitched and nervous sound. “I’m sorry? The fuck? Who are you?”

Chloe’s eyes turned on me, blank. “… Emmet told me to tell you that no one here is leaving alive. Not even you.” With that statement, the girl walked out.

Brandon ran his hand through his spikey red hair. “Why is there a little girl accusing me of murder in this place?” He said slowly.

Hugo’s chair made a loud screech as it moved several inches away from Brandon’s. “Unknown. She knew something unknown,” He hissed to me before he got up and fast walked from the room, murmuring some form of prayer under his breath.

Kaitlyn got up silently and drifted back to her room. After I had Brandon bunk up with Dr. Leon, I had to pass her quarters to reach my own.

I could no longer hear her singing a hymn. Only sobs.

[irishavengersassemble]

As Long As You’re in My Care

Hello lovelies! This is an idea I’ve had for awhile. I’ve never written Ducky as lone character before. Hope I did him justice. Enjoy!

Gif not mine!

Ducky x Wife Reader

(Reader is in her mid-forties.)

You stared at your hands as the feeling of a large warm hand landed on your shoulder. “Are you sure you’re alright?” Allan your bodyguard asked kindly.

“I’m fine.” You whispered not meeting his eyes. Allan was a stocky 6`5 black man with a powerful build and kind honey-colored eyes.

You tried to ease the pounding in your head as flashes of a shady-looking man pulling out a knife and diving at you before Allan got to him made you shudder.

 “If you need anything don’t hesitate to ask Y/N.” The man states his eyes scanning over the bandages around your shoulder, black eye, and multiple face abrasions.

 He held a guilty expression before he headed towards the door of your hospital room.

 You’d been attending one of your book signings in London when out of nowhere a man came at you with a knife.

 He’d managed to stab your shoulder and get several decent punches to your face before Allan got him off you.

 Luckily the stab wound was only a flesh wound and required some minor stitches. 

The doctor had just finished up with you a few minutes prior. She’d advised you to go back to a friend’s house and get some rest.

J.K. Rowling was a great friend of yours and she’d already offered to put you up for the night while your manager worked on fixing your crew a flight back to the States.

 “Allan wait.” “This isn’t your fault okay.” “Please don’t blame yourself.” You whispered softly staring at the young man who was old enough to be your son. 

In a lot of ways he’d become a bit like a son to you in the three and a half years, you’d known him.

 “Yes, Ma’am.” The retired Marine replied as he headed outside to make arrangements for your transportation to Rowling’s home.

A sigh hit your lips as your mind went to your husband. He was on a case and no one had been able to reach him yet.

 You knew that Ducky would be terrified once he received word you’d been attacked.

Yes, there had been occasional death threats and restraining orders throughout your twenty-plus years of being a world-famous author. It had never actually escalated to that of a physical attack at least not to where you were stabbed.

 “Easy there Mama.” Allan soothed as you woke with a start. You glanced around mildly confused when you found yourself on a plane in first class.

“It's alright Y/N we left Jo’s place this morning remember?” He informed you as memories of saying goodbye to your friend flashed through your head.

 “How much longer until we land in D.C.?” You let out a wince at the splitting headache that hit you.

“Ouch, what did I do get hit with a brick?”

“Well, you did hit your head pretty hard when you fell.” “Sorry about that by the way.” Alan replied softly.

 “I probably wouldn’t be alive if it wasn’t for you.” “So there is  no reason to apologize.” You smiled before taking the two painkillers the large man held out for you.

“Thank you.” The words tumbled from your lips as the effects of the pills became to work almost immediately.

 “Hey Y/N… I hate to wake you but we’re going to be landing in about 15 minutes.” You opened your eyes letting out a wince at the light as hit your eyes.

 Most of your headache was gone but the brightness of the sun coming through several windows was uncomfortable.

  “Here doll.” “I figured you’d want to freshen up a bit before we land.” Patricia your manager purred before shoving a tote bag in your hands.

With a sigh, you made your way to the bathroom locking the door behind you. 

The sight of your reflection staring back at you in the tiny mirror made you wince.

“I look like one of Duck’s corpses.” You think.

Your usual neat h/c locks were hanging dull and lifeless around your face. Deep abrasions were scattered along your cheeks and jaw. Swollen and purple your left eye had received the most damage; crimson blood vessels were the first thing that people would see when they looked at your eyes.

 You could clearly see where the man’s hand that was covered in thick rings had bashed your face repeatedly. 

Black and plum shades of various bruising outlined your nose. 

A small smile hit your lips as you glanced in the bag letting out a sigh of relief at what you found.

 Patricia had grabbed a pair of black sunglasses, a mint scarf, a brush, and an array of hair ties.

“Trish you are an angel.” You retort. Before running the brush through your tangled mane, a satisfied smile hit your lips as you walk out of the bathroom a few minutes later.

 Feeling a bit like Audrey Hepburn in your headscarf and sunglasses. You glided down the aisle trying to ignore the dizziness that seemed to be tugging on you from every angle.

Slumping into your seat you raise a questioning eyebrow at Allan who was smirking at you.

“What?”

“You’re just looking very classy today is all.”

“I know there’s underlying sarcasm in that statement.” “Didn’t your mother ever teach you manners?”

“Yes, Ma’am.” The man retorts with a proud smirk.

“The real question though is did you listen.” You question teasingly. 

“Nope.” He confirmed letting out a deep booming laugh.

 Allan kept a firm hand on the small of your back as he helped guide you through the airport trying to look as inconspicuous as possible.

“Dr. Mallard said that he’d meet us at the back entrance.” Your bodyguard muttered quietly in your ear. 

“He’s probably made himself sick with worry.” You mutter thinking of how over-protective your husband and his team were over you.

The noise of the airport did nothing to help your sensitive head. 

A grimace hit your lips before it was quickly replaced with a small smile.

The sight of your husband standing beside his beautiful car met your line of sight. 

He was dressed in one of his suits that he knew you loved holding a large bouquet of lilies.

 “Hello handsome.” You sighed.

Allan released his hold on you once you made it over to him. Neither one of you said a word as he opened his arms to you.

Without a moment's hesitation, you accepted burying your face into his shoulder. 

Cologne filled your nostrils but you could still make out traces of antiseptic.

 The Scotsman wrapped his arms around your smaller form protectively placing his chin on your head.

 A satisfied sigh hit your face as you relaxed in your husband’s embrace.

Ducky usually knew when words weren’t necessary but that was to be expected after twenty-plus years of marriage.

 The sound of your luggage being placed in the back of the car hit your ears making you wince as the door slammed.

“Thank you, Mr. Becket.”

“Anytime Dr. Mallard.” “I’ll call in a few days and check up on you boss.” Allan confirms gently.

 “Donald I promise I’m fine.” You protested as he kept a firm arm around your waist helping you into the house.

The drive home had been pretty silent but you knew that you wouldn’t be able to avoid talking or removing your sunglasses forever.

 Taking in the familiarity of your own home you finally started feeling a bit relaxed at being in your own surroundings.

 Ducky went back outside to grab your bags being the gentlemen that he was. 

You let out a groan taking in all of the flowers and balloons that decorated the mantle above the fireplace.

Unable to let your curiosity get the best of you, your eyes landed on the first card you saw.

“Get well my lovely friend” “–S. King.

 “Those arrived this morning.” A warm voice noted.

“Did they that’s fantastic.” You assured.

The feeling of a gentle hand rested on your arm.

 “I know you don’t feel like talking just yet but I’m here if you need me.”

“Thank you.” The words fell out of your mouth as you turned to look at him.

His deep blue eyes stared at you with the utmost love and concern. Sitting wearily on the couch you take off your headscarf before reaching up to take off your sunglasses.

The light wasn’t as bad this time around but it still was a bit uncomfortable. He sat beside you placing a hand on top of yours when you didn’t look at him.

 “Y/N”

 Soft and tender there was no anger or disappointment in his voice as he waited for you to look at him. 

He was so patient with you, he always had been and it was one of the things you loved most about him.

Ever so slowly you lifted your head meeting his eyes. Ducky placed both of his hands on either side of your face before gently placing a loving kiss to your forehead.

“I’m so sorry Darling.” “This shouldn’t happen to anyone especially you.”

“Sometimes these things happen Duck.” “We don’t have control over them.”

“That doesn’t mean they aren’t difficult.” He advised.

 “I don’t deserve you.” You whispered letting your head fall against his chest. 

“Nor I you.” He agreed pressing another kiss to your hairline.

 “I was so worried when I received word about your attack.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t able to contact you.” “You were busy with your case and every time you called Trish or Allan.”

 “I was knocked out thanks to my painkillers.” You chuckle letting out a slight wince as you feel your body react to the movements.

“Careful Sweetheart.” “ Doctors orders.”

A snort escapes your lips at your husband’s words.

“Whatever you say Doc.” You mumbled curling deeper into his side. He reached over the back of the couch pulling off the quilt your great-aunt had made you before throwing it over you both.

“Get some rest my love.”

 "Love you Donald.”

“I love you too my dear.” “I promise you’re safe as long as you’re in my care.”

“I know Duck.” “ I know.”

[ravenvsfox]

86 and andreil??

86: “Perhaps you’ll take me out one day — or do I have to make an appointment?” (I combined this with a prompt from foxpaws10 from ages ago based on this post, and I kind of warped both of your prompts i hope this is still okaaay basically it’s doctor andrew and that’s all u need to know)

His morning is a string of disasters that begins with covering the ER in the Sunday rush of hypochondriac elderly and fussy children. It’s one long stretch of kicked over paint buckets, a mess you can’t ignore, splattering the walls and getting on his shoes.

Andrew chose surgery almost entirely for the distance of it, the sterility of a room with a slab of meat, a tray of knives, and a sickness he can actually cut out.

He’s a doctor because he can be, and patients sometimes like that he doesn’t speak a word to them, like silence equals genius.

He likes that there are some patients that come into the ER unconscious and leave the OR unconscious, and all he has is a problem and a ticking clock. He always solves the problem. He thinks maybe it’s because he is one.

The sinking ship of his Sunday in the emergency room goes from slippery to debilitating with one patient.

Two showy ER doctors with their lab coats off and their sleeves rolled up go into the private room they’ve cordoned off, and they both come out looking pinched in the face with their stethoscopes clenched in their fists.

“He’s a fucking disaster,” one of them says, leaning up against the information desk with his eyes still pulling back to the closed door of the room.

“I know. I thought, I dunno. That the news was exaggerating.”

Andrew tilts his head and listens without making any move to leave his post, filling out inane charts as illegibly as he can.

One of the residents chances a look at him and Andrew makes a point of catching him. The guy startles, then juts his chin.

“Maybe you’ll get along with him, Minyard. He’s as crazy as you.”

“You’ve mistaken the hospital for a playground,” Andrew says mildly. “Give me his chart.”

“What?”

“His chart.”

He looks at his friend, mouth slack, and then the one holding the chart holds it out like a dirty rag.

“He’s Boston’s starting striker,” he stage whispers. Andrew takes the clipboard and ignores him, scanning the details. “We’re not supposed to let any patients know.”

“That Neil Josten is causing a scene ten feet away from them?” he says, and the men titter uncomfortably. “Why should he get the luxury of privacy?”

“How did you—“

“The news is available to everyone, Bryant, you fuck.” He rounds the desk and makes for the closed and shuttered room, dropping the chart in the receptacle outside.

“He shouldn’t be allowed to practice,” someone says behind him, and then someone else, softer, scornful: “surgeons”.

Andrew wrings the door knob and finds himself abruptly face to face with the singular most swollen person he’s ever seen. He’s obviously bolting for it, his gown gaping at the neck and someone’s stolen shoes jammed on. Andrew scans the defiant face, the shock of red hair, the near invisible trail of blood from an incorrectly removed IV.

“Sit down.”

“No.”

Andrew watches Neil Josten— and it is him, one of the handful of strikers on Boston’s team and certainly the most newsworthy — size him up. His eyes run the same circuit Andrew’s would if he were looking to fight his way out: door, threat, surreptitiously behind him for a weapon, back again.

“I’ll drug you,” Andrew says simply. Neil’s good eye, the one that isn’t purpling, goes narrow.

“Are you allowed to say that?”

“‘Allowed’ is relative.”

“You mean you don’t do what you’re told,” Neil says, smiling sort of grotesquely with one side of his face rebelling against the other.

“I meant what I said,” he says, bored. “Are you done arguing?”

“Not really,” Neil says.

“Okay,” Andrew replies simply, and leaves the room.

He walks coolly back to the catch-all desk he was doing charting at and sits. Eyes swarm.

He’s flipping open the nearest file when the door across the room opens.

Neil walks out and about four staff swoop to intercept him, but he’s not running anymore. He points at Andrew. “Bring him back in here and don’t even think about touching me, and I’ll cooperate.”

Andrew regards him evenly, something darkly interested buzzing in his fingers. He stands, slowly, watching Neil’s uneven shoulders and his slouchy stance. He’s favouring his left side, and Andrew can spot the cracked rib from here, can clock the grit in Neil’s teeth a mile away.

“Sit,” Andrew says, “down.”

Neil frowns, turns, and disappears into the room. The ER is as quiet as it’s ever been in the face of the scene they’re creating. Andrew crosses the stretch of the main floor back to the exam room, the silence bolstering his weird, twitchy anticipation.

Neil is sitting almost cross-legged on the bed when he gets there, and Andrew gives him a look.

“You shouldn’t be bending your knee.”

“How would you know?” He seems like he’s genuinely asking.

Andrew doesn’t reply, just walks to the bedside and studies his newly bare feet awkwardly tucked into the cradle of his purpling kneecap.

“It’s bad,” Andrew says. Neil nods, unfazed. Used to it, Andrew’s mind supplies. He can see the warp of an older scar scrabbling for a place under his disaster of an eye.

“Will I be able to play?”

Andrew looks up into his intensely focused eyes, then lets his gaze drift away again. “Ever?”

“Soon,” Neil corrects, impatient.

“No.” He tugs Neil’s leg out from underneath him and listens to his intake of breath. “Not that it matters.”

“What?” Neil asks, genuinely alarmed.

“Exy is lacrosse and hockey’s bastard, without any of their finesse.”

“Oh fuck you. If you want to fight—” he starts, and Andrew jerks Neil’s leg back into its socket.

Neil yells, and then swallows it so suddenly that it sounds like someone’s paused him. Andrew looks sharply at him, noting the strain of his jaw, the cap on his own reaction, too instinctive to be anything but practiced.

“What the fuck,” Neil hisses. “You can’t insult my career and then break my fucking leg.”

“I can,” Andrew says. “I didn’t. Your leg is fixed.”

“Did you go to medical school?” Neil asks. “Or is provoking your patients self taught?”

“Yes,” Andrew replies. Neil huffs and Andrew reaches for the tie of his gown. Neil goes instantly stiff under his reaching hand. Andrew’s stomach rips, an overfull grocery bag.

“Yes or no?”

Neil looks up at him with his one glacial eye, mouth set in a straight line. “Yes,” he answers warily, tense but tolerant. Andrew sits with the intimacy of that interaction for a beat, and then he peels Neil’s gown down to his waist.

Neil stiffens, and Andrew knows he’s meant to react to the battlefield on his body but he stays silent. The bruising gets bad on his right side, and the thatch of old and new injuries is almost impossible to figure out, like a magic eye illusion.

He feels along Neil’s ribs. This is usually where an ER doctor would ask the patient to ‘tell me where it hurts’ but Andrew’s never needed to be told. He can tell the second Neil hurts and represses it, stomach jumping.

“Your rib is cracked.”

“I know,” Neil grits.

Andrew finds another tender spot, the focal point of a bruise, and he takes his hands away. He can’t remember seeing a sports injury being so full-body. He looks up to find Neil frowning at him.

“What did this?”

Neil swallows and eases himself back into the pillows. “I play Exy for a living.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

They stare at each other, the buzz of equipment all around them. There’s a physical imbalance in neil being half naked while Andrew’s clothed, incapacitated versus healthy, sitting versus standing, and it lodges between them.

“I’m walking out of here,” Neil says finally. “If there’s nothing else.”

Andrew slips a prescription pad out of his pocket and scribbles down a string of medications and instructions. Neil’s face is blank with confusion when he takes the paper.

“Enough refills to get you through the next three months.”

“I’m not planning on losing any more fights,” Neil says, and shoves the paper back at Andrew, who lets it flutter to the floor.

“But you’re planning on starting them,” he replies, not really a question. Neil doesn’t argue, and it rings in his ears like a victory.

Andrew walks out of the exam room and only realizes how completely engaged he’d been in Neil when his regular static creeps back in.

He works through the ER restlessly, catching Neil at the desk with discharge papers five minutes later and ignoring the eyes on him.

He sweeps back into the abandoned exam room when Neil Josten is safely out in the parking lot, finding the sheets still mussed and the prescription gone from the floor. A shiver goes through him, the severance between him and his patients slipping completely through his fingers.

____

He watches Boston’s next game (as follow up, he tells himself). He tracks Neil’s form and his natural gait, the way injury sits in his back pocket as if it’s completely separate from his presence in the game.

He plays hard, and physically pushes the cameras away when they try to capture his post-game flush, his ugly blue bruises. Andrew wonders if he’s taking the pills. He wonders if exy gear holds Neil together the way Andrew’s armbands do. He wonders who’s punching Neil’s face.

Neil comes into the hospital twice more in the next month.

Andrew’s obligated to call someone at this point, Neil is a battered husband or a gang member or a psychopath to the people in this hospital, to the eyes that narrow and pity every time Neil hobbles in. They widen back up when Andrew starts descending from the OR to drag Neil off to exam rooms.

He does it because Neil starts throwing punches if the ER docs try to touch him. Because the sight of him scares the people in the waiting room. Not because Andrew doesn’t trust anyone else’s hands on Neil. Not because he likes the way Neil mouths off and lets Andrew practice medicine that doesn’t spare feelings.

This time, Neil’s already lost in a jumble of pillows and a haze of morphine when Andrew hears that he’s in the hospital. Andrew takes the chart right out of a nurse’s hands.

“He’s mine,” he says simply, and she sputters and frowns and leaves.

“You’re starting to eat up my time,” Andrew says to Neil, who’s head lolls and mouth strains like the overextended strings of an instrument.

“I’m a vacation for you,” Neil says. “You stop pretending not to give a shit when I’m here.”

Andrew stops, page sliding between his fingers. “Funny, I don’t see head trauma on your chart.”

“I’m right,” Neil says. “There’s something behind your eyes.”

“You’re high,” Andrew corrects.

“When are we going to—“ Neil breaks off into a fit of coughing, both hands struggling out of the blankets so he can hold his quaking chest. Andrew moves in instinctively.

“You need to breathe.”

“Glad medical school taught you something,” Neil wheezes.

Andrew lowers the bed so that he can reach over Neil and take one pillow out from under his head, easing the stress on his ribs a little. He frowns at a gash leading down Neil’s collar, and grabs a suture kit from the shelves along the wall.

Andrew snaps on gloves and preps Neil’s collarbone after a cursory ‘yes or no’. His restraint breaks in half about halfway through stitching Neil’s skin closed. “Stop letting them do this to you.”

Neil’s whole face changes. He looks suddenly younger, a kid who’s been called out in class. “I made a deal,” he says, and Andrew waits. “I can’t break it.”

“Then make a better one.”

Neil breathes out through his nose, tilting his head back. “I’m fine. I just have to keep winning.”

And Andrew doesn’t understand the situation beyond rumours he’s heard about Kevin Day and a warped system pulsing under the surface of Exy, but he knows what survival looks like. Neil is what survival looks like. “This isn’t winning.”

Neil twitches a sad smile. “It’s not dying.”

Andrew’s temper pitches at how blasé he sounds, like he doesn’t care if he gets better or not. “Get out of my hospital.”

Neil laughs, infuriatingly, pretty eyes clashing with his crooked, cruel smile and his shattered glass cheek.

“Take me out,” he challenges, the innuendo understated but there, a rock upsetting a creek. Andrew’s nerves kick and scream. “Or am I ‘eating up your time’? Do I have to make an appointment?”

“This is an emergency room,” Andrew says flatly. “Do whatever you want.” Neil smiles wryly, then starts to struggle upright.

“I’ll be back eventually,” he warns. “Get me my trusty AMA forms.”

“No,” Andrew says, and grabs Neil’s phone off the side table. He thumbs his contacts open and enters his own number in. “You call me next time. Preferably before whoever’s beating you up undoes my work.”

Neil looks stupidly caught of guard. “Why do you care?”

Andrew blinks. “You’re my problem.”

“You looking for something to solve?” Neil asks.

“Don’t flatter yourself. I’ve already solved you.”

Neil searches his face and something in his eyes thaws. “I’ll be back,” he repeats. “You’re a good doctor.”

“You are a terrible patient,” Andrew replies, gritting his teeth when Neil struggles into pants and winces with his whole body.

“I’ve been told.”

“Call that number,” Andrew says.

“I’ve been told that too.” Neil pulls his t-shirt on next, and shoulders his bag onto his good side. “I will.”

He limps to the door and turns with his hand on the frame, squinting down at his phone screen. “Andrew?” He looks up. “Thank you. For the honesty. And the stitches.” He doesn’t wait around for a reply, just disappears from the doorway and out towards the front desk. Andrew finds himself looking at the indent Neil left in the pillows for a long time.

The next time Neil comes in he’s unharmed, and he asks for Andrew by name.

[punk-in-docs]

Loving The Handsome Duke of Chatsworth, Chapter 2

TITLE: Loving The Handsome Duke of Chatsworth. CHAPTER NO: Chapter Two SYNOPSIS: Tom Hiddleston AU Love story - Set in the Victorian Era… Circa 1858 to be precise… AUTHOR:@punk-in-docs 
AO3 LINK: http://archiveofourown.org/works/4108306?view_full_work=true

Sir Thomas Kenworthy, The Duke Of Chatsworth sat in silence as the hackney cab rattled it’s way along the cobblestoned pavements of North London.

He could hear nothing but the quiet repetitive clack of the horses hooves hitting the street every now and then, and the driver barking out commands to the animal. London was shrouded under cover of a heavy midnight blue evening now. The stars light managed to chip and break through the heavy night sky, he peered up out of the polished window, seeing the moon hang dutifully in the sky, the stars winking and twinkling back at him with infinite promise.

He himself was a keen astronomer, he could make out Orion’s belt, the little dipper, the big dipper and numerous numbers of other constellations he knew. He loved feeling like an inconsequential speck on the planet when he thought about the stars and heavens in all their majesty.

His eyes returned to looking at the tall townhouses, standing tall and proud like a regiment of marble white soldiers under the net of the stars which was strung up in the sky. He could see that there were fewer gentlemen and ladies walking arm in arm along the pavements now, they were all returning to the safety of their homes, or scurrying off to the opera or to take in a show.

He sat back further into his seat, easing himself into the plush upholstery that the carriage offered. Sir Richard had mentioned another business associate, and his eldest daughter and wife would be present at Dinner. He had been doing business with Richard Farrow for only a few weeks now, it was not Improper, but not all entirely common for such a meagre connection to warrant an invitation to a family dinner – which was something of a private matter nowadays – but nonetheless, Sir Richard had insisted, and Thomas was far too much of a gentle soul to refuse.

Sir Richard Farrow had also mentioned that he would get along quite famously with his eldest girl, Elizabeth, he had said her name was. A pretty name, he granted her. But he doubted that he would find amiability in this woman, she was most likely to be alike every other silly willed girl he had been introduced too all season. Girls who were interested in nothing but dresses, fabrics and petty gossip. But had to obligingly talk to eligible men like him because their matchmaking Mama’s had instructed them too.

He was fed up of London already, he had only come down for a few weeks to conduct his business. Chatsworth was a vast estate to upkeep, and after an uninspiring season of attending ball after ball, and seeing that every girl was as airheaded and stupid as the next, he was rather impatient to return to it. He had tenants to see too, all with matters of their own that he could assist them with. Plus he had to get back soon, he didn’t like leaving Judith, Edith and Iris all on their own. Plus there was Ophelia, God only knows what trouble that old biddy could stir up in his absence. He sighed, he had hoped this season would break the mould, and allow him to return to Chatsworth with a wife on his arm. Not that he needed the assets which a wife would entitle him, he was enormously wealthy, having been left a fortune by his late father. He wanted a wife, just for the reason of having one.

It was an odd concept, this he knew. Most of his friends, and other male associates had taken spouses. And they were, pleasing. And that was all they had said. That was it. That notion was awfully strange to him. That his friends, all men of discernable wealth and power, had taken women for wives with no aforethought as to partiality to their character. Heck, he had one friend whose wife didn’t even like him. It was just, as he had put it ‘a wise business venture’ and that thought had rung as an irrational decision in his head for weeks. He didn’t even love the woman he had taken to be bound too forever in the eyes of Almighty God and England. She had just been thrust into it because it did well for families to marry off their daughters, and for young men to gain the maidens wealth. He half promised himself that he was going to marry a woman he found atleast marginally interesting… That way he could be assured that atleast if they did not love each other, then they could grow to be fond aqquantainces of each other. And even the thought of only mildly liking his wife, was still a idiotic one, but it appealed more than openly despising one’s wife, he supposed.

It was the best of a bad situation in that case.

The cab rattled it’s way around another corner, a bump in the road throwing him back against the seat, he struck out his hand to keep his balance as he sat upright. Body rolling with the suspension on the carriage. He swiped a hand down his trouser leg, brushing away a stray speck of lint. He had donned full dress wear for tonight. White bowtie, top hat, long black velvet overcoat, his thick winter coat atop this, even though it was not cold out, he decided if it rained it would be wise. He had slim black trousers on his long legs and his shoes had been polished so hard he swore he could use them as a mirror if the situation warranted it. His waistcoat was white also, to match his white undershirt. He had his father’s engraved silver pocket watch tucked into the pocket of the garment. It had been a gift on his 18th birthday, the last gift he gave to his son before he passed away and left the estate to him, and his sister.

He also had his walking cane with him. Usually, summer climes meant that his injury went days without afflicting him, but the slightest hint of damp in winters air sometimes caused him painful trouble. He had seen action in Sevastopol in the Crimean War in 1854. And had been left with a severe leg injury to remind him of the hellish siege that was war.

But, the scar that marred his femur sat now as a testament to what he had survived and fought through. He could remember as plain as day what had happened as he’d been wounded. The trajectory path of three stray enemy bullets had been stopped by the muscle and flesh that was his thigh, and he had subsequently been taken to the nursing station at once by his troops to see a surgeon, all the while loosing so much blood he was barely conscious by the time he got there. But the leech of a surgeon who was attending him, didn’t even make a point of telling him there was no hope at all to save his injured leg, as the bullet had shattered the femur and he predicted it would take years for the muscle to repair as it knitted itself back together again. The surgeon had simply said to the nurse behind him ‘pass me the saw’ and Thomas had snapped. His friend, Sir Benedict Carlton, who had served with him at the time in the 10th Royal Hussars, always remarked he would never forget what Thomas said to the parasite of a Doctor.

He fisted his hand into the surgeons blood stained overalls, pulled them close together until they were nose to nose, and snarled at him with such fury and strength which was utterly remarkable given the sheer amount of blood he had lost, and he said through a growl;

“If you dare take my leg, you unspeakable swine, Then I sware as God is as my witness and in the name of Bloody Queen Victoria’s underskirts, I will hunt you down and saw off yours!”

And the Doctor had subsequently let him be, said he’d extract the shrapnel, but leave him to die of fever or infection if that’s what he truly wished. But alas, Thomas did not. He clawed his way through a vicious fever which further still threatened his life, his mortality clung onto him like the diseased afflictions he was suffering with. Yet still, he did not die.

He fought his way through weeks of pain and fever to limp home and be declared a hero. He had too much left in England to simply give up on and die on the continent. And subsequently, the war had finally made him decide that he hated, and abhorred violence with every fibre of his being. And that all he knew now, was that as he had come so close to death surrounded by strangers, that when him and death did meet again, decades later, he wanted to be surrounded by his loved ones, Preferably a loving wife, and hordes of children by his side, and an heir for Chatsworth to be passed down onto.

He wouldn’t say, apart from his lust for living, that the war had dramatically changed his life. It just made him appreciate his situation in the world all the more. He had a loving sister, two beautiful nieces who he adored to spoil and dote upon. He had a vast fortune which he didn’t fritter away on booze and illicit company, he had a nice home, and all he wanted was an even nicer woman to share it with. No, come to think of it, aside from the fact his leg hurt him in Winter, he liked his life very much indeed. And he was grateful for all God had seen fit to give him.

The carriage sought to then roll to a gentle stop opposite a tall and practically gleaming house that sparkled white marble back to him in the moonlight. One night lamp burning outside the street in front of the house he now looked at. House number 34, he noted. And subsequently his place of Dining for the evening. The Home of Sir Richard Farrow, quite the nicest and kindest accountant he had ever come across, the most skilled too, he was a guest lecturer in mathematics at Oxbridge University’s in his spare time, clearly a bright man. He only hoped that his eldest daughter, who he feared he would be hurled at in attempts of match making at the hands of Mrs Farrow, would possess some of her Father’s intelligence. Lord help him, and her, if he was to be seated next to a woman who wanted to talk of nothing but petty gossip, and the colour of gowns all night. If that was so, then he was to spend the whole night wishing to gouge out his own eyes with a fish knife.

He took a deep breath as the Cab driver rattled the roof, alerting him to the fact this was his destination.

“34, Farrow House, Montague Street, Guv’nor.” He heard the cockney twang of his driver permeate the still night air.

Thomas swung himself out of the cab, reaching in his pocket to get the fare.

“How much?” Thomas asked in his crisp educated voice.

“Half Crown Guv’nor.”

Thomas flicked the coin up for the driver to catch, nodding curtly with a smile as he stepped down from the cab onto the street, his polished shoes clacking on the cobbles.

“Evening.” He nodded, thanking the driver as he clicked the horsewhip and drove on.

“Evening y’self now.”

He drawled back through his accent that was thicker than pea soup, as he trotted off down the street, turning the corner and clacking away out of sight.

Thomas pulled his coat tighter, cane in hand as he crossed the quiet empty street, letting a couple of gentleman walk on before he crossed the path and jaunted up the front steps of the impressive townhouse. Rapping his cane on the door, flexing his fingers inside his leather gloves. Unfortunately, he didn’t have his white gloves with him, so the black leather would have to do. There was a seconds silence until the door was pulled inwards from the other side, and he was welcomed by the ever impassive face of the Butler. They were all of the same breed, Butlers, always stoic and immovable. But, they were the heads of the house staff, and as such a key component to any house, he decided.

“Good Evening.” Thomas tipped his head forwards slightly.

“Mr Farrow and Mrs Sharpe are expecting me for Dinner. Sir Thomas Kenworthy.”

He introduced. He didn’t want to give his full title lest he feel he was flaunting his station, like a peacock would fan it’s feathers. He was far to humble and gentle to pretend he could pull rank with someone such as the Staff.

But the Butler was already smiling and opening the door for him. Letting him in, saying he was wholly welcomed and expected. Thomas smiled as he stepped through it

The home he stepped into was warm, and well decorated. And there was little doubt that this family was wealthy indeed. They had scarlet red walls, which went along with the diamond black and white tiles which he stood on, which was gleaming like it had been scrubbed recently. Many fine portraits and paintings adorned the walls beside him. Aswell as a large and expensive vase of white flowers sat reeking fragrance on the side table next to him.

“My name is Hawkins Sir, I’m the butler who’ll be attending you this evening.” He introduced as a standard greeting.

“It is a pleasure, Hawkins.” Thomas smiled.

The Butler stepped past him and stood dutifully, hand outstretched as Thomas handed him his coat, cane, gloves and overcoat, revealing his fine velvet dress jacket underneath, Hawkins then moved off behind a door to usher away his coat.

He watched as a door at the end of the long hallway opened at that precise moment, and his business associate, Sir Richard Farrow stepped through it. Smiling that wizened gentle smile which Thomas returned. Beaming right back. A plump mature woman followed him, smiling like it was going out of fashion, and he half wondered how her lips hadn’t fallen off yet. He could only assume by process of elimination that this was the splendid Mrs Sharpe, second wife to Richard Farrow.

“Sir Thomas..”

Sir Farrow greeted as he got to the man, graciously clasping the man’s hand and giving it a firm squeeze to let him now his aged look wasn’t sapping him of strength. It was a kind gesture from an incredibly kind man, to invite him here to dinner tonight, with their family. He was practically a perfect stranger to them. It was quite heartening, really.

“Sir Richard.”

Thomas greeted, smiling and bowing his head lightly as his hand let go. Thomas was relieved to see that Mr Farrow’s hands were left bare, without any white kid gloves, meaning he would not be chastised for not remembering to bring his.

The woman who had followed him smiled loyally by her husbands side. Hands clasped delicately in front of her, encased in black elbow length gloves, a diamond trinket knotted about her wrist, sat sparking in the light, along with a huge pearl dress ring on her opposite hand atop the glove. Her gown was a pale plum colour, with a folded diamond collar pointing down her chest, where the shoulders spilled over he saw black lace beaded with black pearls dripped from her shoulders, aswell as from the jewelled silver choker about her neck, and the droplets of diamonds that hung off her ears. Her greying brunette hair was arranged flawlessly in neat coils atop her head, and he remarked she had relatively little wrinkles on her face to belie her age, and not faded beauty, her warm butterscotch brown eyes looked remarkably kind, to Sir Thomas.

“May I introduce my wife, Mrs Araminta Cressida Sharpe..”

He presented. The elder woman held her hand up to Thomas, and dutifully, displaying his most grateful smile, he took it and placed a kiss upon the back of it.

“I am honoured, your Lordship.”

She curtseyed in a way that made Thomas feel like he was imposing.

“Please, Madam, after being so generous as to invite me to join your family for a private dinner, it is I who should feel most honoured. And I must beg you pay my title no heed, I am your humble guest for this evening” He bowed, tipping his head lightly

He watched as Mrs Sharpe proceeded to blush.

“Oh, nonsense! I must insist you feel as comfortable here as you would in your own home. Pray, do you have an estate to speak of?”

“I do Madam. Just outside of Derbyshire. Chatsworth House. A humble estate, I grant you. No more than 150 acres of land surrounding it. A few tenants also. As such, I find myself thoroughly in need of Mr Farrows exquisite assistance in helping keep accounts for it as brilliantly as he has done.”

Sir Thomas complimented, because it was true, the last accountant he had filed with in London had forgotten to factor in an entire stock of wages for his staff. This caused Sir Richard to laugh and smile, smoothing a hand down the front of his jacket.

“Oh, my dear man, Yours are quite the neatest account books I have ever had the pleasure of looking over. And in our meetings together you have shown quite an aptitude for the subject yourself, and a very sufficient system I should daresay, I’m sure you could manage doing them without my help.”

“I’m positive my skills as such would be nowhere as proficient enough, Sir.” Sir Thomas smiled.

“Come through to the parlour, I’ll fetch you a drink, a brandy perhaps? we still have to wait on our other guests I’m afraid…”

Sir Richard explained, placing a hand in the air to gesture to the door they had appeared through to greet him. Talking all the while.

“Pray tell, dear, where is that Daughter of ours?”

Sir Richard asked as he walked Sir Thomas, and Mrs Sharpe deeper into the house, the three of them pausing at the top of a regal imperial staircase that divided up onto a landing before continuing to curve round back into the house. As he got there, his ear pricked at the sound of two voices whispering animatedly at the top of the stairs. Hissing in hushed tones so he could not make out what was being said, but he could hear them nonetheless.

“I do apologise for the lack of our daughters presence, Sir Thomas. But I fear she was still preparing her hair as you arrived. A most silly affliction, for she is never known to be such a vain creature,

ELIZABETH…”

Mrs Sharpe called, cooing sweetly up the stairs. He listened as the hissing and whispering stopped, and he heard dainty footsteps echo on the landing above stairs. And he could also hear the rustle of silk skirt as this ‘Elizabeth’ creature began down the stairs. Seeing as she had still been coiffuring her hair as he got here, he feared that he was doomed to receive a vain girl, who fussed and preened about her looks in a manner to that of a narcissistic chit.

Sir Thomas watched as more of the woman came into view, now he could see the beginnings of her emerald silk skirts, beyond this, as she descended, he began to see more and more of this woman. And dare he say, each new speck of her he saw, he grew to rather like.

He was at her waist now, and she was quite slender, of course, the strict corset she wore would hide any true curves of her body shape. But her back was perfectly shaped, flaring out from a trim waist to slender shoulders, all still lavished in emerald green silk, a small emerald collar folded up at the back of her neck, speaking of which, her skin was very pale, quite a shade of pale that he’s never laid eyes on before. Her skin was lily white, and smooth like white silk. Even from this distance away, it looked supple, unblemished and, simply lovely. She had quite the most beautiful neck he had ever had the pleasure to let his eyes wander across, and now, she was positioned so he could see enough of the side of her face, and that was pleasing too. She looked utterly beautiful, even though he hadn’t seen all of her face yet due to his angle, but when she rounded the stairs, her slender arm and delicate pale hand resting on the banister atop the stairs, and then she turned to face him so he could see all of her. All of Miss Elizabeth Farrow….

Honestly, he wouldn’t do justice to himself, or to her, to try and recount it. Because he could honestly remember barely anything, but her.

His name, the smell of grass in summer, the colour of the sky, the fact he had two feet. It all was lost on him.

He saw her, and it was almost, as if, even after 30 years of life on planet earth,

that his heart finally began to beat.

Thomas Kenworthy had never been the most admired boy at school. He had also never been the most handsome, or athletic, nor had he been the cleverest, or the most snobbiest. Or even the silliest boy in his class. What he had been, and what he had been for all of his life, was the most well liked. People had always liked him. And for good reason, he was kind, he was gentle. He never had a harsh word to lay upon anyone. And never had he belittled or made anyone feel like they didn’t deserve his kindness and generosity.

Because that was just how he was. Nonetheless, for all of Thomas’s likeability, he had never warranted much attention from females as a boy, nor much as a man either. Of course, a few determined society mama’s were resolute and strong-minded in being certain he would make a fine husband for their daughters, but no woman had ever quite taken a serious fancy to him.

He was the kind of man, whom, of all the females of his acquaintance, he was more seen as a kind friend, than the kind of man they could take for a husband or a lover. They all led him to believe he was nothing more than a jolly, dependable sort of creature. The worst part was, all the women he did have the pleasure of being acquainted with, swore blind they knew the perfect woman for him.

So, he carried on, he danced with all the wall flowered girls at balls, to make their day and to make a statement to the snotty nosed snobbier girls who all thought themselves above the quiet bunch, but whom he would make their day, their season, by showing them that not all men favoured skinny snobby brats for their brides. He would always be the man who was still searching for the perfect woman, who all his male friends assured him didn’t exist. And whom all his female friends assured him, did.

And that was how he had lived half of his life now, in search and want of this amiable woman whom he could wager he would eventually grow to love. Perhaps even stretch to adore, if he was very very lucky.

But he supposes, he can’t dwell on such things, because now, Elizabeth Farrow’s eyes met his own, and, he wasn’t ashamed to say he was now lost.

Lost in her eyes, lost as to why he was here, except he was now so glad the universe had conspired to locate everything at this point in space and time so they could meet, lost to his own name. Hell, lost to his own two damn legs.

He had been hit by a proverbial lightning bolt. Struck dumb with breathless passion, heady bliss and an odd tingling sensation swarming across his entire being. He didn’t feel hot, or cold. He couldn’t remember which way was up, and he wasn’t sure if his lungs could be found in his chest any longer.

In fact, as he stood there, eyes not moving from the earth bound mortal formed goddess that was Miss Elizabeth Farrow. He knew one thing, and one thing only…

That he wanted her.

~ Elizabeth and Felicity, no matter how old they got. Would never be too old to be those enraptured children, dressed in their nightclothes, sat on the landing hoping to catch a glimpse of the grownups down below, who would be lavishly dressed in fine fabrics and diamonds. And it was like they were secret intruders on a whole other world, sat watching them from the prison bars of the banisters.

Except, as the years went on, Elizabeth found she moved further and further away from belonging up there, hidden away in plain sight with her sister, huddled in a white nightie and pink dressing gown, hair oft in plaits ready for bed. Now, as she had done her first season, she was expected to be dressed and down there with them. With the adults. And try as she might, she knew she was four and twenty and had many more Dinners to come, yet, she still felt she belonged this side of the stairs.

Mrs Sharpe had acted as strict chaperone and insisted Elizabeth take her bath, scrub her skin til it was pink, and then after her hair was dry and her body sprayed liberally with scented lavender oil, she was to be laced into her emerald silk dress, of which the corset of such made her ribs ache after too long inside it. She had been wrestled into her dresser chair and made up by both Nessie and Mrs Sharpe simultaneously. Nessie tugging her red hair back into a tameable chignon, which pinned all her curls flawlessly atop her head. Whilst Mrs Sharpe layered cold cream onto her complexion, the slightest dust of rouge to her cheeks and some burnt sienna powder colouring to her lashes to make them stand out to her advantage, making her eyes look bluer, and fuller. They decided against lip colour, as one, it would fade with Dinner as she drank and ate, and two, only stage girls and women of the night wore lipstick, and the natural rosy colour of her lips was pleasing enough to a gentleman’s eye anyway. After which she had been caged in her corseted dress which had taken near enough to an hour for Nessie to lace her into. She felt very nearly ready to faint by the time she was into it, from all the numerous times Nessie had instructed her to ‘breathe in’

And now, here she was, diamond droplet earrings placed in her ears, which shimmered when she moved. Hair done. Dressed and ready, made up and reeking of lavender oil, and the honey and lily soap she used on her hair. And still she didn’t want to go downstairs. She didn’t want to face tonight because she had an awfully uncanny feeling she would know exactly how it was going to go.

She would sit there and have to make polite conversation with Marcus, and Cecil Burke, of whom she was sure Cecil didn’t really like her at all. Just saw her as a way of improving his son, and his fortune. And then atop that, she would have to be charming and unfailingly lovely to this mysterious handsome Duke her father had invited. Who would probably think this Dinner was a waste of his regal time, wishing to be back in his grand country house rather than suffer through a dinner with someone as below him as his accountant. And all the while Marcus Burke would be leering at her, and trying to slip his hand down her back, or across her thigh, as he always did when he got slightly drunk. She soon found that all men were wicked on drink. Marcus especially. Lord help her, she didn’t want to court or marry him. She just wanted to slide easily into simple maidenhood for the rest of her days, atleast then she would be happy.

She stood now, with her hand resting onto the smooth wood of the banister that looked down the stairs to the hallway below. She could see the black and white tiled floor that stretched out to inside the front door. She knew that Father and Mrs Sharpe were already downstairs partaking in a small brandy before their guests arrived. And she also knew she should join them. But her stomach was churning in sickness, and she found her body didn’t want to move, she felt so pulsating with nerves that she was almost sure she was starting to perspire, that, and she suddenly felt rather warm. Her dress was already beginning to make her feel trapped, like a caged tiger. She wanted to rip the thing off and go to bed, but, she knew she couldn’t so, here she stood. Torn in anticipation of what tonight would be like.

She tapped her nails nervously on the polished wood on the banister which her hand lay resting on. Nails making a repetitive –clack-clack-clack sound onto the wood as she drummed her fingers. So lost was she in her own head, and nervousness, that she didn’t hear Felicity pad across the carpeted landing to her side. Swathed in a comfy looking nightgown and a pale pink dressing gown. Her feet bare, and her hair twisted up, ready for her to sleep with her paper bows knotted into her auburn tawny brown curls. Smiling sweetly up at her sister, who looked pale and nervous.

“You can’t wriggle out of this one. Mrs Sharpe will notice if you don’t make the dinner table tonight. Especially if there is a titled gentleman present. And would you know, he is a Duke…” Felicity spoke kindly.

Unhelpfully, of course. Stupidly obviously, but kindly.

Elizabeth’s face creased into a smile. Mrs Sharpe had spent half of the day reminding everyone in the house, short of everyone who walked by it, for that matter, that they were expecting a DUKE for Dinner. A DUKE.

She felt however, far too nervous to laugh. And judging by the way she had just heard a succession of rattling knocks echo across the front door as the clock on the landing chimed eight, and Hawkins cross to answer it from the stairs to the Kitchens, then she was definitely not going to laugh aloud at Felicity’s little jape regarding their irresolute stepmother, because she couldn’t be seen to be guffawing laughter from upstairs when their polished peacock, the Duke, or their other guests, arrived.

“Is it him? Is it the Duke? Is he here?”

Felicity asked, throwing herself to the railing beside Elizabeth to lean over and try and catch a gander at whomever was now knocking at the door.

Libby listened intently as she heard a voice of a man she did not know, speak in polite soft smoky tones to Hawkins. The man’s, downright pleasant deep voice she decided, was not familiar to her. Therefore, it must’ve been the Duke who now stood at their Doorstep.

“It’s the Duke.” Elizabeth noted glumly to Felicity.

“Is he handsome?”

She asked, both their voices now lodged firmly in hissing whispers, as Libby watched Felicity biting her lip and peering down, twisting and contorting her head in attempts to gain a new vantage point from which to visually dissect the mysterious Duke. Hands clutching the bars like she was an incarcerated prisoner in her own home.

Oddly, and ironically that was how Libby now felt.

Elizabeth dared peer slightly over the landing to see that the Duke was now inside and taking off a tall top hat, gloves, coat and handing across a cane to Hawkins. But where the man stood was just at a point where Elizabeth could only see his lower half, she could only see a fine tailored dress suit stretched onto long, cricket like legs, whose muscled thighs radiated power, but their lean ness told her that somehow he was remarkable at covering distance when he ran using the long lengthy things. And his shoes shone brighter than stars in the night sky. He was tall too, she’d guessed. And judging by the way he looked, moved and carried himself, he was no withering aged old man either. Dare she say it, his voice sounded pleasant, and she was getting remarkably tingly all over, just from looking at the length of this stangers legs. She found herself oddly awaiting and hoping the rest of him was as pleasing as his bottom half.

She blushed despite herself at the other – cruder – meaning to that statement.

He was speaking nicely to Hawkins now, again, came that pleasant voice. It sounded damn near sinful. Surely no mans voice or tone should excite and exhilarate her as much as his did? Could it?

All she thought then was, Marcus Burke’s voice certainly didn’t get her this wound up. Neither did his legs thrill her quite as much as the Duke’s had, either.

She listened as Hawkins moved off, and then her parents appeared from the front parlour. Making swift distance as they heard their father greet him by name, reaching out to shake his hand. Mrs Sharpe stood now in front of the man, her plump short frame blocking Elizabeth from seeing that mans long legs that made her flush unsuitably.

“Argh, Mrs Sharpe is blocking my view! Curse the woman! I want to see how Handsome he is! His voice is dead amiable, don’t you think Elizabeth? Husky and divine.”

Felicity asked in a cheeky whisper, eyes shining evilly, smile wide and cheeky, as it usually was.

“Have care how you speak, Felicity Farrow, you’re not too young to be sent to bed for speaking improperly you know…”

Elizabeth warned in a harsh bite of a whisper, though God help her, and not that she ever would admit aloud, but she did happen to agree with Felicity’s dissection.

Elizabeth felt more nervous now. One, because she found this Sir Thomas Kenworthy rather pleasing to look at - atleast his lower half was. And secondly, he possessed such a nice voice. And as she watched him, he hushed something humble and polite to Mrs Sharpe, who flushed bright red as a consequence. And now, thirdly, she supposed, he was charming and if he was anywhere as handsome and divine – to paraphrase and rescind Felicity’s earlier statement – as he sounded, then she was truly in trouble when she had to make polite talk with the man, when she had as much nerves as she did, sweeping through her body. Travelling unhindered through every cell and pore. Then she was now sure she’d make a right fool of herself, she now wanted nothing more than to march back to her room, tear this infernal dress off, crawl under her bedclothes and hide away from the world and all the handsome Duke’s with long muscly legs that were contained within it.

She watched now as her Father gestured to the front parlour, doubtlessly inviting the Duke through for a drink before the Burke’s made an appearance. But still, The Duke managed to keep out of her sight, the awkward angles of the landing meaning that she still couldn’t quite get a glimpse of all of him. and she could see this was tormenting her sister also, as Felicity would be liable to topple headfirst down the stairs soon if she wasn’t careful and didn’t straighten up from her current position.

“Felicity!”

Elizabeth chided, pulling her sisters arm to tug her shoulder backwards.

“I want to see him!” She hissed back.

“Don’t be stupid, you are not breaking your neck falling down the stairs to ogle blindly at a Duke, what would Father say if you died in that way, you buffoon!” She whispered back.

Elizabeth tugged Felicity back so she was once again ensconced fully on the landing carpet, rather than hanging off down the banister like some kind of monkey clothed in a white nightgown.

Felicity made a grumpy face at her elder sister.

“You must sware, on Aristotle’s life, that first thing tomorrow morning, at breakfast, you will tell me straightaway whether or not he is handsome!”

Felicity pointed a stern finger at her sister. Who nodded, holding out her hand for Felicity to shake sternly. Though Libby couldn’t quite take the cheeky face of her younger 16 year old sister quite so seriously. Especially when she was heaped cross legged on the landing at her feet. Making them sware on the life of their inescapably naughty, fox terrier, Aristotle, who as they spoke was probably terrorizing cook in the kitchen downstairs.

“You are an infuriating little gnat, have I ever told you as such?” Elizabeth smiled.

Felicity gave a resulting beam at Libby, before she scarpered to her feet, and threw a pleasant little taunting

“Good Luck, dear Sis.”

Over her shoulder, still in hushed tones as she scurried away down the landing like a little mouse, disappearing into her room.

Elizabeth could suddenly never name a time when she had been more jealous of her sister…

Elizabeth turned her body back facing down the landing as she took in a deep beath, her body going quite pinched with nerves as she heard Mrs Sharpe speak up the stairs, shouting for her. Mumbling something first to the Duke, probably in apology for her tardiness, she was sure.

“I do apologise for the lack of our daughters presence, Sir Thomas. But I fear she was still preparing her hair as you arrived. A most silly affliction, for she is never known to be such a vain creature, ELIZABETH…”

She shut her eyes, dragging in a deep breath before she centred her body at the top of the stairs, and began her descent. One foot at a time, but with each step feeling like her legs were made of wobbly jelly, and her torso was as weighty as a marble statue.

One step, second, third, fourth…

As she walked, an uncomfortable warmth prickled and swarmed across her skin. It was the feeling she often got when she was sure that someone was watching her. The heavy, pressed feeling of when more than a few pairs of eyes were following you where you went. She swallowed, she hoped the Duke wasn’t like that of Marcus Burke, who often stared at all the wrong parts of her, she hoped he would be amiable, and not interested in her. and she started to then wish a thousand other things…

She hoped he didn’t chew with his mouth open, as it was unmistakable that she would be placed near him at Dinner. At attempt via Mrs Sharpe to help force a man into something he should not be forced. And that was to force Mr Burke into wedding her, and to force Sir Thomas Kenworthy to start falling in love with her.

She also hoped that his face was as nice as his lengthy muscled legs, and that he didn’t have an off-putting sense of humour, or was a dull conversationalist, or….

Her thoughts were left unfinished,

As when she got to the banister of the steps that led down to the hall, she turned, and she saw all of him. Indeed. She got a good long look from the waist up, seeing the regal face, ink black medium length hair, and the twin set of two blue eyes that looked like two discs, the colour of a summers sky in may, staring back at her.

His body was long, and lean, and he was so tall he could give streetlamps a run for their money, she was sure. His jaw looked like it had been carved by an ancient artist out of a flawless chunk of marble. His lips were thin, but still somehow not ugly, no. She thought they looked soft and warm. They looked just full enough to be sinfully good if she was ever to be so lucky as to be able to place a kiss upon them. His cheekbones were high and arched, allowing her to dissect that they nearly divided his face in three, and his brow was strong and certain, like lentils above a dark concrete window frame. And those eyes that she quickly decided were the most breath taking things she had ever had the pleasure to see, were looking back at her, burning at her, as if she was the only woman he had ever seen. She’d never considered herself to be melodramatic before, but now, Miss Elizabeth Farrow knew what it felt like to have the world tugged out from under her feet.

She started down the rest of the stairs, mindful not to trip on her skirts as she decided that falling flat on her face down the stairs would be an ultimate disadvantage on his first impression of her. She walked slowly, hips under her green skirts swaying with the movement as she moved, skirts in her right hand, just so above her knee, as she had been taught. And she, amazingly, glided down the steps gracefully and without incident. Which was remarkable considering how her body felt like it was humming with nerves.

Suddenly, she felt her night would not be such a waste, and she didn’t care that the dress was suffocating her, that she was sick to the stomach with nerves, or that she had admired his flawless legs with such crude mannerisms and afterthoughts. She wanted to know more, in a fit of mad improper curiosity, about Sir Thomas Kenworthy.

“Sir Thomas Kenworthy, May I formally introduce my eldest daughter to you, Miss Elizabeth Farrow.”

Sir Richard pressed. Seeing that neither of them had taken their eyes off each other, so much so, he swares he saw sparks fly when their eyes met.

“Elizabeth…”

He started, watching as Sir Thomas took his daughters hand and bowed, eyes not peeling away from Libby. Who, it had to be said, looked pale, shaken, and as if her world had been rocked to it’s very core.

“..The Duke of Chatsworth…”

He finished, pleased to see his predictions about them getting along famously were shaping up to be quite correct, indeed.

“An enchanted Duke of Chatsworth, Miss Farrow..”

He beamed, rolling about her name in his mouth as if he were savouring it. Tasting it. And something wicked told her, he liked the taste of her name on his tongue.

Elizabeth smiled, all breath swiftly vacating her as he kept his eyes pinned to hers and brushed a gentle kiss to the back of her hand that he held.

She had been right. His lips were warm and butter soft.

Not wanting to let her delicate hand slip away to rest down back at her side. He wanted her, all of her. He wanted her middle name, and the name of her cat, if she had one. Her laugh, her smile, every single strand of her beautifully red hair, and every one of her blue eyed looks.

“It is a pleasure, Sir Thomas.”

She – finally – spoke when she remembered she had a voice again.

“Believe me when I say the pleasure is all mine, Miss Farrow..”

He beamed. Eyes shining as he increased the width of that great smile that could make nun’s swoon. And could fell even the most cold hearted woman. And just like that. She felt as if she had been dead all her life, and now she finally, truly, Knew what it was like to come alive.

~

[fearofaherobrine]

Roleplay Server Log #202

“Hot Springs Outing”

[Lie] - How about some place Doc can heal up?  I think they just threw their back out in front of my place...

[gem] -in chat- I could use relaxing

[Alexsezia] I'm game.

[Doc] Hot water sounds good.

[Herabrine] Ehhh... where at?

[Alexis] - Sure, I think Stevie and Notch could use some more alone time anyways

[Mix] Can I drag Sky with?

[Sky] -in chat- why

[aven] -in chat- no  water because if gem is going I am going to be dragged along

[Deer] - Wasn't there a hot springs where we rescued the pokemon?

[Alexsezia] Can't we do just girls for a change?

[Doc] Yes, and does that count me out?

[Deer] - Only if your wearing boy parts love

[gem] aven you don't have to go in go in the water and pokemon

[aven] only for the pokemon

[Doc] ... that can be arranged...

[Mix] I mean technically

[Sky] I'm not going

[Mix] Lame, I'll go with. Where we meeting to go out?

[Sweet Alex] Can we drag Herabrine?

[Herabrine] HEY.

[Lie] - I think I've got CP calmed down enough for me to go

[gem] this sounds like a good time where should I drag aven too?

[Lie] - Well Doc is in front of my place...

[Deer] - I'll gather the pokemon here

[steveson] take alexine I need the time to mine with out her bugging me

[alexine] I don't even know what a hot spring is don't sign me up for stuff like this

[Lie] - It's a very relaxing place, like a natural hot bath

[alexine] hot? like lava?

[Lie] - Not as hot, but very relaxing

[alexine] fine i'll come

[Doc] Lie can you watch Yaunfen for a moment?

[Lie] - Sure- She comes back outside with her two vulpix's

[Doc] Gets up and goes inside to find a private spot to change. Xe comes right back after.

[BEN] - WHY ARE YOU GOING TO WATER!?

[Herabrine] Is it really okay to leave all these men alone unsupervised?

[Lie] - We'll find out

[aven] I am no going in the water I am going to play with pokemon and maybe get my own

[Deer] Arrives with the rest of her and Doc's pokemon-

[Exeggutor] Sniffs Herabrine -

[Herabrine] Swats at it in annoyance

[Lie] - Do we want to take any food?

[Endrea] - Don't worry, I will still be here

[gem] -is arriving with aven her pokemon and the female guardians-

[Doc] Yeah, bring a snack just in case. I always have a little food on me.

[alexine] -also manages to make it to lies house-

[Mix] -Trudges up, mostly pushing Sky, who looks mildly annoyed and a good bit amused-

[Sky] She's very determined to atleast make me come all the way out here, sorry

[RVulpix] Cowers in Lie's arms-

[AVulpix] Jumps around Lie's feet-

[Sweet Alex] Arrives already in a bathing suit with a skirt around her waist. - Hey guys!

[Alexsezia] Rides up on Smudge and jumps him into Lie's paddock with Beau, the vinehorse and the donkey. Smudge spooks a bit at the vinehorse - what the nether?!

[Lie] - What does it look like?

[Alexsezia] A cross between a horse and a wicker basket?

[Doc] Hey now...

[gem] it looks like a plant horse

[Alexis] Arrives- So who else are we waiting for?

[aven] -is peting gem's lunatone- I don't know

[Herabrine] I don't think so....

[Alexsezia] I doubt Flicker or Croca want to go.

[Doc] Quickly balls the Archen and the Exeggutor - Anybody want a ride? - Xe lays down, sprawling out into hir dragon shape.

[Herabrine] Picks up Sweet Alex like a sack of potatos and gets on.

[Sweet Alex] Ummm!

[Alexsezia] Climbs up behind them with a roll of her eyes.

[Sky] -Just leaning heavily on Mix, who's still pushing him as close to the group as she can get him. its, not very close. He definitely digs his feet into the ground-

[Mix] I'm good

[Lie] Helps Alexis up as she climbs on-

[Deer] Takes her perch in Doc's mane-

[Doc] Can you grab Yaunfen, love?

[gem] -balls her pokemon before dumbing aven on doc's back- i'll fly

[Deer] - I can try, but they are getting pretty big...

[alexine] sure i'll go for a ride why not -has a hint of sarcasm in her voice but gets on-

[Deer] Calls for Yaunfen who trots over and struggles a bit to get up, but does manage it after a moment-

[Doc] Lifts up hir head. - We ready?

[gem] I think so

[Lie] - Let's go

[gem] yay happy spring time

[Doc] Opens the safety protocals for a moment and draws the hole open, then snaps it closed again once they're all outside. It's slightly cold and the void is full of nodes to other games and the quiet hiss of static.

[Sweet Alex] I should have put on a jacket... I've never really travelled in the void for more then a few seconds between seeds.

[gem] this is nice

[Lie] Keeps her little Vulpix's close-

[alexine] I am going to die here aren't I?

[Deer] - No, you're not

[Alexsezia] Uh, no. It is a bit creepy though.

[Sky] -Still getting pushed along by Mix. At this point its actually pretty comical, since he just slides along- I doubt you're going to die right here, maybe a few feet ahead though? -jokingly-

[Doc] I'm not fond of it either, too easy to get lost.

[gem] it reminds me of space minus the static which is annoying

[Herabrine] Reminds me of being deep underwater...

[Alexsezia] Sarcastically- are we there yet?

[Alexis] - I hate travelling through here...

[gem] I would say deep ocean and space are both quite the same it some aspects

[Doc] I don't want to alarm anyone, but... does anyone else hear voices?

[Sky] Yeah.

[gem] -puts her hand to her ear- I think I do

[Lie] Focus' her hearing- Maybe?

[aven] yes

[Mix] I can't...

-the group of human hostile mobs starts to come into view-

[Alexis] Considers going for her bow-

[Doc] Hello? Are you guys lost?

[aven] -see the spider women- AAA SPIDER! -she then got limp on docs back-

[Sweet Alex] Hugs Aven- It's okay!

[Herabrine] What kinda crazy seed did you lot come from?

[brine] -squints at the other group from his place at the back of the mobs-

[Doc] I see brine eyes...

[brine] Nope, no you do not.

[Deer] - Oh, more brines

[lord Enderman] i'm lord Enderman and it's not to crazy unless you count that we had to keep the hostile mobs in check or they would do what every they want

[Doc] at the brine- It's not a bad thing. Most of my friends have the same.

[Lie] - Sounds like CP's generals...

[aven] -gets up slightly there voice now a male tone- how?

[Herabrine] Eh, an oraganized seed... waste of time

[Sweet Alex] Aven? Are you okay?

[Alexsezia] You speak common very well.

[brine]-moves the girl in his arms to his other shoulder, she's snoring quietly- I see..

[lord Enderman] well we mostly speak common and keeping the seed oraginzed is now that our brine was killed by a violent NOTCH and humans

[aven] avery is hiding it's just me ben

[Sweet Alex] oh, hi. I'm not sure we've met? I'm Sweet Alex- huge smile

[Doc] You lost your Herobrine... - grinds hir teeth a bit

[aven] we have avery just tends to be more prominent I am always here but now I have the control for now

[Sweet Alex] Oh, well take good care of her. She's my friend.

[Herabrine] Are we going or what?

[Lie] - Another NOTCH to add to the list of those who need to be killed?

[lord Enderman] yes his last words to find BEN because if he couldn't find him he figure no NOTCH could so we would be safe

[gem] did they follow you?

[brine] I don't think so? But to be fair, I've only been walking with them for a little bit.

[lord Enderman] no they didn't

[Doc] We're close to our destination anyway so lets get inside and out of the null space just in case. Deerheart, would you like to make the opening?

[aven] I know who they are looking for

[Deer] Creates an opening into the pokemon game-

[lord Enderman] where are they

[aven] you are talking to them

[Sweet Alex] This is BEN. One of them

[Doc] Come on, let's go in.

[lord Enderman] well that was one way to break the news to you -goes inside the game with the group following him-

[gem] -flies in-

[Mix] -pushes sky into the opening-

[brine] -reluctantly follows-

[RVulpix] Begins shaking, recognizing it's surroundings-

[Lie] - Shhhh, it's okay, he can't hurt you anymore

[Doc] Waits for the rest to come in - Lie would you close it please?

[Lie] - Hands are a little full here Doc...

[aven] this will be interesting maybe lady spider can get rid of Avery's fear of spiders

[Doc] Okay, I just thought you could use the practice - Xe hunkers so everyone can get off before xe shifts back.

[Mix] I can do it, but Sky might run... -gives Sky a dirty look-

[Sky] Where am I going to run to?

[Sweet Alex] It's awfully rocky here, but the air is nice and warm.

[gem] the void is nice but it will feel 100% better after a long soak in a hot spring

[Edward and Takeo] -on a walk with Moxie, admiring the neighbors houses-

[Edward] It's nice here. I miss my pets though.

[Takeo] What about Moxie?

[Moxie] -wags tail at the mention-

[Edward] She's more yours, dear.

-There's some barking ahead from Lie's wolves-

[Moxie] -barks back and heads in the wolves' direction-

[Takeo] Haha, look at her go!

[Moxie] -greets the wolves-

[Edward] Ugh, more dogs.

[HG] -is approaching lie's vine horse with his watering pail-

-The wolves crowd around the fence, sniffing at the new face-

[Edward] -interest piqued- Now that's something you don't see everyday... Hello there! Would that be a horse made of flora I see?

[HG] AAAAA!

-The vine horse snorts at them which get's Beau's attention-

[Edward] ... Are you alright?

[HG] -runs very faster then anyone else can to a corner of the house opposite them and hides there looking out-

[CP] Comes into the room HG is in, covered in blood from the punching bag- The fuck are you doing in here?

[HG] AAAAAA! -runs away and hides in the green house-

[Takeo] He... disappeared.

[Edward] Yes, that's what people do when they run and turn a corner.

[Takeo] ... Don't.

[CP] Walks outside- Oh joy, more visitors...

[HG] -looks out from the green house-

-The chain chomp bounces excitedly at the end of it's chain-

[Edward] Oh, hello. Didn't mean to bother the brine that just ran inside.

[CP] - I'm not sure what to think of that dipshit

[HG] -is starting to cry because he heard what cp said about him-

[Edward] Oh, well, okay then-.

[Takeo] That wasn't nice.

[CP] - Well I'm not a nice person, now if you don't mind I need to feed my wife's horses

[Edward] -cuts Takeo off from saying anything else- Yes, yes, that's totally fine! -begins to approach the greenhouse-

[Takeo] -grunts and calls Moxie over-

[Moxie] -joins Takeo-

[HG] -is still crying-

[CP] Starts with Beau and the Donkey-

[Edward] -to HG, softly and motherly- Hey, hey, there's no need to cry. I'm sorry if I scared you. ... Out of all the plants you've got in there, vanilla is the only one I recognize. I'd love to learn more about the others.

[HG] -quietly- these aren't mine I just like to tend to them

[Edward] You must be quite a dedicated tenderer; they're blooming so nicely.

[HG] I only got her recently but my tending make plants grow bigger strong and faster especially when I water them with my watering pail

[Edward] Interesting. May I ask your name?

[HG] Herobrine the gardener

[Edward] Nice to meet you, Gardener! My name is Edward.

[Takeo] I'm Takeo.

[Moxie] -rubs her head into Takeo's side-

[Takeo] And this is Moxie.

[HG] nice to meet you -he still seem timid-

[CP] Is watching those in the green house to make sure they don't harm his wife's plants-

[Edward] I hope to see you again. Maybe we can discuss gardening some more next time. -walks away-

[Takeo] Edward? I thought we were on a walk-?

[Edward] -whispers to Takeo- I just remembered; I still do have a pet~.

[Takeo] -now blushing- ... Oh. -follows her-

[HG] bye -decides to water the plants in the green house-

[Doc] Just watch where you step unless you want to end up in a pokemon battle. I figured out if you run behind people so they don't have a chance to say anything you can usually avoid it.

[Herabrine] Pfft.

[Lie] - We'll need to find a place to buy some swimsuits...

[Doc] I can just make you something.

[Herabrine] Or we can go it nude...

[Lie] - I'm suspicious of what you might make me...  HERA!

[Sweet Alex] I'm prepared!

[Gem] my tank and short is a swim suit because it's water proof -equips her black tank and shorts-

[Doc] What? Why would I make you something skimpy? Cp isn't around to give a boner too. Unless you want something tiny...?

[Lie] - NO!

[Alexsezia] Takes out some extra clothes and a pair of shears and starts snipping.

[Herabrine] Looks at Sweet Alex and then turns to Doc - I'll have what she's having, in darker colors.

[AVulpix] Is sniffing everything and then there's a faint sound of peeing-

[Mix] Can I have somethin? I didn't pack anything..

[Doc] Examines Sweet Alex's one piece for a moment and then copies it and changes the color with a bit of spawned dye. The result is a very dark purple.

[Herabrine] Takes it, and equipts it under her clothes. - Good enough

[Doc] What color Mix? One piece or two?

[aven] -is looking around ben is still in control-

[Mix] Light purple's fine and two pieces

[Sky] -unamused face-

[Sweet Alex] Because you're BEN right now, I assume you won't join us?

[Deer] Starts stripping a little-

[Lie] - DEER NO!

[Doc] Whistles appreciatively - Xe's working on a suit for Mix-

[Lie] - Deer...  We still have to go through the town...

[Herabrine] Hark, I can hear the dulcet tones of Deerheart not caring.

[aven]  neather of us would join aven came for two reasons one she would turn to a ghost if gem left and two pokemon

[Deer] - But it's hot and I don't have the Ponyta to ride this time

[Doc] eyebrow wiggle- you can ride me anytime...

[Deer] - Gladly, my hooves are already getting a bit too hot

[Alexis] Shifts awkwardly-

[Sky] Ew

[Doc] Shifts again to avoid hurting hir back again and kneels for her - Just pretend I'm a pokemon- winks

[Deer] Giggles and climbs on-

[Yaunfen] Baps Doc's face-

{Doc] I love you too kiddo.

[Lie] - Should we get going?

[Doc] Doc-doc

[Lie] Groans-

[Herabrine] Dork...

[alexine] I still need a suit

[Alexis] - I still do to...

[Deer] - So does Lie

[Doc] Clicks on Herabrine a couple of times- what colors?

[Herabrine] HEY.

[Alexis] - I don't really care

[Lie] - Ummm, light blue?

[alexine] uh green

[Doc] Makes the suits and passes them out. Xe also makes a small green bikini for Deerheart. It doesn't hide much.

[Deer] - Do I have to wear it?

[Doc] Nope. But keep it just in case

[Deer] - Good

[Doc] Sets off for the town. With the others following.

[Lie] Hangs back a bit, taking everything in-

[Gem] -is super excited looking around in the game-

[Alexis] Hangs back with Lie-

[Doc] Trots through the town and toward the springs. The cliff walls are high around the pools of steaming water and the air is near foggy with it.

[Alexis] - This is so weird...

[Alexsezia] How so? Just because you've never been to another game?

[gem] -she puffs up her wings trying not to just jump right in from there-

[Alexis] - Well I've never seen anything like this at all

[Doc] Just wades right into the biggest pool. Deerheart and Yaunfen are still dry on hir head though.

[Deer] Quickly pulls off the rest of her clothes-

[Doc] Make sure you stow them so nothing gets lost....

[gem] -fly's in making a splash-

[Lie] Ducks behind a rock to change-

[Herabrine] Picks up Sweet Alex and throws her in the water-

[Alexsezia] That was not nice.

[Herabrine] So?

[Mix] -Trudges into the water happily after changing while Sky settles on the edge of the water-

[Alexis] Changes and cautiously steps into the water-

[Sweet Alex] Shrieks like a mimsy at the hot water-

[aven] -sits down on the ground away from the spring and ends up talking with the half mob people-

[Doc] Looks at the newcomers- If any of you want to join in, you can.

[alexine] -puts her hand in the water- what the fuck it's hot

[Lie] Puts just her feet in as she holds the normal Vulpix-

-the mob people look at each other and collectively say no-

[Alexis] Slips the rest of the way in-

[Yaunfen] Starts splashing around-

[Herabrine] Of course it is! Why do you htink it's called a hot spring? Duh.

[Doc] Keeps hir paws near Yaunfen while they paddle. - So glad you don't have the allergy. I bet you'll be a damn good swimmer once you get the hang of it.

[Deer] Humms as she slips deeper into the water-

[Doc] Just watches hir mate out of the corners of hir eyes.

[Herbrine] Try not to drool...

[Doc] Shut up.

[AVulpix] Race around the edges of the pools-

[gem] -is swimming keeping under the water before coming up and letting her Pokémon out  just out side the spring so they can join if they want to which Serperior does-

[alexine] -gets in-

[Sweet Alex] Has adjusted and leans on the side - Aww, cute little fox.

[gardians] -are swimming around-

[AVulpix] Gets closer and sniffs Sweet Alex-

[Lie] - It was a gift from CP

[Doc] Gives hir balls a light toss and the Goomy immediatly flops in the heat on the edge, the Exeggutor sits down heavily with the Archen perched in it's leaves and the Galvantula skitters partway up the wall to play lookout.

[Sweet Alex] Aww, that's nice. He's made so much progress.

[Lie] - And then there are times when he forgets what he's learned

[gem] -her and Zyria are splashing each other-

[Alexsezia] It took TLOT a while to learn how to relate to people properly too. He still gets anxious in crowds.

[Lie] - Really? It didn't show when we went to Kore...

[Mix] -has found herself a comfortable place to sit-

[Sky] - sitting at edge of water dipping a foot in-

[Alexsezia] That's odd... maybe just because they were glad to see him? Being liked and belived in does bolster his power.

[Herabrine] He could have been internally screaming for all you know.

[Doc] It's because of Steve... If his lamb is by his side he'd fight the sun itself. And now his NOTCH is gone. He has no reason to be afraid anymore.

[Lie] Shifts nervously- Plus we kind of had no choice since I left...  Something, there...

[gem] -her and her guardians are playing Marico polo-

[Aleixis] Splashes Alexsezia-

[Alexsezia] Splashes her back- What did you leave Lie?

[Doc] Chuckles-

[Lie] - A...  Giant lust pod...- Turns red

[Zyria] -bumps into lie- polo

[Sky] Well, that's unfortunate...

[Herabrine] No wonder they were glad to see TLOT! They were probably blissed out from fucking!

[Sweet Alex] Blushing- He-he

[RVulpix] Baps at the water-

[Yaunfen] Clings to Doc's paw- Burp?

[Doc] Are you tired Yaunfen? You can climb on me.

[Yaunfen] Tries to curl around Doc's paw, playing with it-

[Doc] Wiggles hir claws a little and gives the baby a nuzzle. There's a quiet snap of hir taking screenshots.

[Gem] marco

[Deer] Moves over next to Hera, mischief on her mind as she whispers to Hera- Wanna grief Lie a little?

[Herabrine] Visibly perks up a bit - Yes please....

[Sweet Alex] Polo!

[Deer] Smirks and looks at Lie- So, Lie, you mentioned that you had had anal before?

[Lie] Freezes and turns redder than the vulpix in her arms-

[gem] -goes right into sweet alex-

[Doc] Pffft!

[Herabrine] Reaaaaallly?

[Alexsezia] Whatever you're into. - shrugs-

[Lie] - Shutupshutupshutup

[Doc] What? It's no big deal. Done safely at least-

[Deer] - So who was it with?

[Sweet Alex] oof!

[Ava] there are werid things to be into lie

[gem] got someone -giggles-

[Deer] - Oh come on, it's just us girls here~

[Sky] -slowly dips other leg into the water-

[Lie] Whines-

[Doc] It wasn't that griefer was it?

[Herabrine] You dated a griefer BEFORE Cp?

[Lie] Quietly- Yes...

[Alexsezia] No wonder you're used to men behaving like children....

[Lie] Sinks a bit lower-

[Deer] - But if you've done anal before, why haven't you asked CP to do it with you?

[Doc] I bet he's too big and rough.

[Olivia] do you not like it?

[Alexsezia] Trust issues?

[Lie] - It...  It really didn't do anything for me...

[Doc] Ah, okay. It's an aquired taste, if you don't have a prostate anyway.

[Herabrine] Geeze...

[Doc] Hello. -points to self with hir free paw- Doctor here. Nothing is too personal.

[Yaunfen] Decides to go after Doc's tail-

[gem] -swims away from sweet alex and swims just below he water like a shark letting just the tip of her snake tail poke out like the fin-

[Mix] - Just slowly sinking in the water, enjoying the warmth-

[Doc] Twiddles hir wet fluff around in the water for the little dragon to bat at;

[Yaunfen] "Viciously" attacks the tail-

[Herabrine] Grabs Gems tail playfully-

[gem] -grabs hera and pulls her under-

[Herabrine] Goes under easily. She can breathe water and makes a silly face at Gem-

[gem] -makes silly faces back-

[Alexsezia] Play nice you two

[Lie] Is just bright red now-

[Sweet Alex] Lie? Are you too hot?

[Lie] - No!

[Alexis] Chuckles a little- She could never be "to hot"

[Sweet Alex] She is quite pretty. You have lovely hair especially, Lie.

[Lie] Noises-

[Doc] She certainlly melted Cp's frozen hearts....

[Deer] - Still, I knew you had a relationship before CP, just not that it had been a griefer

[Doc] If it's a thing someone chooses to be... they're usually not nice people to be around at all....

[Herabrine] Splashes around with Gem.

[Alexsis] Herobrines can't help what they are... humans can be rather cruel.

[Lie] - He...  He was one of the types that seemed super nice, charismatic...  Talented...

[gem] -swims with easy her lack of need for oxygen making easy to stay under the water-

[Doc] Tricky...

[Alexsezia] That sort of thing just makes me suspicious.

[Lie] - I was inexperienced, he was my first boyfriend

[Sky] People like that suck..

[Alexis] - Her ex also tried to kill her, didn't even recognize her on the other server

[Doc] What a useless troll...

[Alexsezia] I'm sure he knew exactly what he was doing, going after someone innocent like that.

[Lie] - CP thinks he saw CP almost kill me and thought he actually meant to kill me

[Doc] Who knows what Cp was thinking at that point. With Insanity whispering in his ear it could have been damn near anything.

[Alexsezia] Shakes her head sadly.

[Alexis] - Either way, CP was the one who ended up killing her ex

[gem] -climbs out of the water and lays on the ground- I need to cool a little i'm too hot

[Doc] Good riddance to bad rubbish.

[Herabrine] Uses a water tentacle to splash Gem one more time-

[gem] nuuu to hot

[Alexis] - Indeed

[Sky] Do not toast gem, freeze her

[Deer] - Hey Lie, you should get rid of that swimsuit

[Lie] - DEER!

[gem] yes I need cool

[Doc] Are you okay Lie... I mean.. no regrets?

[Lie] - Hm?  Oh, yeah, none at all

[Doc] I know Cp's kind of a dick sometimes....

[Herabrine] KIND OF?!

[Alexsezia] Doesn't that hurt you Sky?

[Alexis] - He was worse

[Doc] Eh, still.....

[Sky] Hm? Not really. Kinda tingles but that's about it.

[Zyria] -sneaks up behind hera and pulls her under-

[Alexsezia] How's Liz doing?

[Herabrine] Slides under Zyria and paddles deeper-

[Sweet Alex] Maybe you could make a flower to make him nicer- giggles sweetly

[Zyria] -follows after hera-

[Deer] Tickles Yaunfen-

[Yaunfen] Squeaks in surprise-

[Sky] Shi's fine, likes to take up the whole tub when Mix tries to take a bath now. -kicks feet a bit in the water- I usually have to wrangle hir out.

[Sweet Alex] You should bring hir over sometime. I heard xe got bigger since I saw them last.

[Lie] Carefully puts the regular vulpix on the edge of the pool-

[Doc] Gives Deerheart a tickle from behind with the tips of hir tongue.

[Deer] Laughs and turns around-

[Doc] Gives her a huge messy smootch that encompasses half her face.

[Deer] - Doc!

[Doc] Runs the points of hir tongue along hir thin lips- Yeeees?

[Sky] Ill see about it, would be good for hir to get out.. not that Shi  doesn't already. - notices mix has sank  up top her chin into the water from where Shes relaxing and rolls eyes-

[Alexsezia] You too are worse then TLOT and Steve

[Deer] - Easy now, I think we might start something if we're not careful

[Sweet Alex] Ah Mix you look so relaxed.

[Mix] Iss so warm, I like it

[gem] too warm

[Herabrine] Quietly pulls a packed ice block from her creative and plunks it on Gem's chest mischeviously.

[gem] -cuddles the block- thank you

[Doc] Very quietly - Maybe I wanna start something....

[Alexsezia] Splashes Doc-

[Deer] - Oh I know you do

[Doc] Pffft! Hey!

[Alexsezia] They can't resist their fair maiden. Especially when you're naked as a jay.

[Deer] - But of course, naked is the most comfortable

[alexine] -is siting on the opposite side of the pool to everyone-

[Alexsezia] Alexine? You can come over here, it's safe.

[alexine] I am fine over here

[Herabrine] Still suspicious of the mean old brines huh?

[Lie] - Hey, some of us are pretty young

[alexine] they had cause nothing but trouble on the soul server I have every right to be suspicious

[Herabrine] Sorry, 'mean little sprout of brines'. - Grins-

[Lie] - But have we been anything other than helpful to you on our server?

[Lie] Gives Hera a look-

[Doc] Yeah, if I wanted to be mean I would have never let you in in the first place.

[Herabrine] Returns the look with a bigger grin

[Lie] Manipulates her plants to lift Hera out of the water upside down-

[Alexsezia] All brines are different...

[Herabrine] HEY! You're making us look bad

[Alexis] - I was tormented by a brine as well Alexine, but I trust Doc and the others here

[alexine] -say nothing-

[Lie] - You started it

[Herabrine] Pouts-

[Doc] It's up to you Alexine. I'll just keep hammering on you with cookies and kindness until you crumble like all the rest- winks-

[Lie] Gently puts Hera down-

[Herabrine] Vanishes under the water as smoothly as a shark

[Lie] Checks on the Alolan vulpix who's now snoozing on a rock-

[gem] -is still snuggling the block of ice-

[Doc] Hera...

[Herabrine] Sneaks up on Lie from behind and puts a slimeball down the back of her bikini bottom.

[Lie] Shrieks and jumps away- Hera!

[Herabrine] Stays underwater.

[Doc] Shakes hir head-

[Lie] Is trying to wipe the slime away-

[Sweet Alex] Are you okay Lie?

[Lie] - I'll be fine, it's just some slime

[Doc] rowr....

[Deer] - Hmmm, maybe we could help you Lie, show you how to use that slime

[Lie] - Not helping Deer

[Alexsezia] swats Doc's noise with the feather end of an arrow from hir inventory

[Doc] Yow!

[Alexsezia] Behave.

[gem] -puts the block in her innovatory before jumping back in in the middle of the group making a big splash-

[Mix] -startled  noise-

[Doc] So what's wrong with the dildo I gave you? Too big? Too small?

[Lie] Goes back to being bright red-

[Herabrine] Goes for the tickle on Gem, fully underwater

[Doc] What? It's a fair question. I can adjust it

[Lie] - I...  I...  I don't know...

[gem] don't tickle me I will not be responsible for what happens if you do

[Herabrine] Oh all right, if you're gonna go ballistic I'll leave you alone. Spoilsport...

[gem] I just hate being tickled

[Mix] - has actually fallen asleep where she sits. Amazing-

[Herabrine] Pops back up and backs off. - Hey Doc?

[Doc] hmm?

[Herabrine]  When are you going to fix me?!

[Doc] Instantly flustered- well um! I've been kinda busy!

[Lie] Is glad the subject has changed from her-

[Doc] I've been... monitoring Lie and Cp! They both had chakra adjustments! It's delicate stuff.

[Herabrine] Looks skeptical-

[Lie] - I'd think Flux would need more of your attention than either CP or I

[Doc] Flop sweats - Uh....

[Alexsezia] At Alexis - How is Flux anyway?

[Alexis] - I'm not sure, I'm still not sure what normal is for her and what's not

[Doc] Glances at Mix. - I still can't believe Mix is a Steve.... that's so cool and unusual.

[Herabrine] A Steve? What the...?

[Sweet Alex] Really?

[Lie] - But she has the brine eyes?

[Doc] They're fake...

[Sky] Don't you tell anyone else, she gets embarrassed when people find out. -just, slightly protective look and pointing a finger at them menacingly. It's not very menacing though, considering the situation-

[Lie] - Relax Sky, we won't, I promise

[Doc] Sorry... I'm not holding it against her. I mean, we could make them real if she wanted...

[Lie] - Hey Sweet Alex?  How are your oil experiments going?

[gem] -become a shark again-

[Sweet Alex] Oh? Very well! The house smells amazing. Thought you wouldn't think it is Gk was over. He wrinkles his nose all up in the funniest way.

[Sky] She doesn't mind them being fake, she just doesn't like it when people know she isn't really a brine. -vague hand wave- Thinks it makes her less intimidating. Not that she is in any way unless she's upset. -shrug-

[Lie] - Well I bet his sense of smell is very sensitive since he is a dragon

[Sweet Alex] Oh certainly, but he loves to complain.

[Doc] Dare I ask how she is when she's upset? She seems so calm.

[Sky] I'm pretty sure she utterly ruined a Notch once, but it was pretty weak... Probably traumatized Flowey when she fried him all to hell... -taps chin-

[Doc] Fried him? He seemed okay to me. Did he just heal up from it? Or was it a code issue?

[Alexsezia] Mix killed a NOTCH...? Wow...

[Lie] - Maybe we should take her along when we go to deal with CP's...

[Sky] A bit of both? He couldn't even talk properly afterwards forever. She actually fried herself a bit too, regretted it immensely afterwards.

[Mix] -snoring sounds-

[Sky] I doubt she'd want to. She's perfectly capable of doing it, she just.. Doesn't want to usually.

[Doc] I'll have to hunt him down and examine him then, just to be safe. Geeze... I had no idea Mix was such a badass...

[gem] -pops up for a second- you never expect the quiet one

[Lie] - But you can hear my loud husband coming from over a mile away

[Doc] snickers- I could turn his volume down with the mixer on his player settings.

[Herabrine] Why the fuck haven't you done that already?!

[Lie] - That's possible?

[gem] could you like turn it off for a whole day maybe?

[Doc] Well yeah... you have a player account. You are an admin. You've never looked at your settings?

[Lie] - Do you have any idea how much sex I'd need to do to keep him pacified?

[Lie] - Doc...  I'm still in creative and lost the paper with the code to take it off

[Doc] Do you want it off Lie?

[Lie] - Yes please, I've accidentally released my chickens way to many times...  And lava...

[Doc] Okay I'll fix it. - Xe brings up hir own display and twiddles hir claws, it's obvious xe's typing. - whoops! - Xe hits a button and there's the sound of quiet piano music in the air.

[Lie] - What is that?

[Doc] Has it been too long since you heard it Lie? Of all of us, you should know it best.

[Lie] - Oh, is it the games music?  After awhile I had just turned it off so I could hear the mobs better, and CP didn't have it on his server...

[gem] -jumps out of the water like a dolphin  before diveing back in- Minecraft music

[Doc] I usually turn it off so I don't annoy anyone. It is rather soothing though.

[Herabrine] Yawn.

[gem] reminds me of days when I got bored of my music and turned on the game music then go annoyed because it didn't continually play.

[Doc] What you wanted to repeat the same song instead of random cycling?

[gem] no I mean it just stop for a while then played the next song I kind of just wanted constant music

[Doc] I never noticed much a dip between tracks. Must have been a server malfunction.

[gem] no it was normal when I was playing it when I was alive it would stop for a few minutes then start the next song this

[Deer] Is looking at the code that Doc is manipulating-

[Doc] I kinda like the spooky track, the one that isn't part of the playlist...

[Alexsezia] You too? TLOT loves that fucking thing...

[gem] you mean disc 11?

[Doc] The one that looks cracked and broken?

[Alexsezia] It's not music...

[Lie] - I think CP used that one a few times to freak some of the other humans out

[gem] that's disc 11 it kind of sound like someone getting chased it always interested me

[Doc] That's the one.

[Lie] - Anyways, settings Doc?

[Doc] Deerheart? Do you want to try?

[Deer] - Hm?  Oh, no, I'm just looking... I wonder if there's a bit of code we could tweak to make her more comfortable about being naked...

[Lie] - Deer!

[Doc] Okay, that's a tad creepy... come on love... I think that's something she has to come to on her own. You wouldn't like it if someone changed your preferences.

[Deer] - Pooey, but it's so much fun to be naked

[Doc] I fully agree. But then... I wouldn't have agreed with you when I first met TLOT and Steve... I was rather paranoid about my rather empty skin....

[Deer] - And then you met me!

[Doc] Well, it's not just that... there wasn't really anything under my clothes to show back then.

[Deer] - Well I'm glad that was fixed

[Doc] I didn't think it was weird then, but in retrospect I do.

[Herabrine] Now you're got way more guts to spill when you piss someone off.

[Doc] Looks annoyed-

[RVulpix] Sniffs the air and tenses, slowly backing closer towards Lie-

[Sweet Alex] I think your pokemon has a whiff of something Lie....

[Lie] - I think so too, come here sweety

[RVulpix] Darts into Lie's arms will it's Alolan counter part runs over as well-

-Through the fog a figure can begin to be seen picking up some litter around the springs-

[Doc] Sniffs the air - Who dares disturb the Herobrines while we are relaxing?

[gem] really doc?

[dominodebt]

a lick and a promise

“Nice place,” the boy comments.

           Angela declines to reply, neatly giving the speaker her back—still keeping him in her line of sight by using the reflective surface of a stainless steel tray she has propped up on the counter for this exact purpose.

           He cocks his head to the side, and she watches in the reflection as his matted hair falls unevenly into his glittering, coal-dark eyes.

           “You ain’t one for talkin’, are ya?”

           She loathes his accent. She loathes everything about him, truthfully—the dirt he tracked in, the sly smile he’d tossed her way, the fact that she knows this is the same member of the Deadlock Gang who shot Torbjörn—but his accent is at least near the top of the list she’s been writing in her head since he was brought to her infirmary.

           “I am very vocal when there is something worthwhile to discuss,” she returns coolly, eyes trained on the syringe she’s prepping.

           She can practically feel his cocksure grin.

           “Yeah, I’ll bet yer pretty vocal. Uptight gals like you are always the loudest in the sack.”

           He chuckles at his own joke, and she turns to give him a look of dead disinterest over her shoulder.

           “How vulgar,” she remarks, not a glimmer of interest in her voice. Reyes owes her for this, he has no idea—

           He flashes her a grin that prominently displays a chipped tooth that she can’t help but catalogue, even though there isn’t a chance in hell she’s going to do anything about it.

           Make Reyes hire a damned dentist. It’s not her problem.

           “Sweetheart, you ain’t seen vulgar yet,” he promises her in a low, gravelly voice that she knows is something he’s fabricated. There’s no possible way the natural cadence of this skinny beanpole of an arms dealer sounds like that.

           But Angela has a choice to make. Because on the one hand—he’s bluffing. Rather impressively so, if she’s being honest, but a bluff is a bluff and she can call them with utter confidence. He’s scared, cornered, and injured, so his natural course of action is to lash out and establish dominance.

           Her lips twitch at the thought.

           Dominance? Over her?

           Not in this lifetime.

           She turns to face him, leaning up against the counter and arching an eyebrow.

           On the other hand: she’s Angela fucking Ziegler.

And no one—not the President of the UN and certainly not some some lanky American punk—is going to treat her with disrespect in her own damn infirmary.

           “The only one who is going to be any kind of fucked is you if you insist on harassing me instead of letting me do my job,” she tells him, voice cold and hard with authority. “Which, for the record, is preventing the untimely end of your very sad existence.”

           Silence. The boy just stares at her, cocky grin long gone, eyes somewhat wide.

           She flashes him a smile that’s all teeth.

           “Begreifen?” her native language is even harsher. She watches as his Adam’s apple bobs with a hard swallow.

           “I…uh…” he fumbles for words, still just staring at her. “Sorry?”

           She rolls her eyes, giving him her back again as she returns to the syringe.

           “Keep your tastelessness to yourself,” is her dismissive answer. “I like to keep my infirmary clean.”

           She can still feel his gaze across her shoulders—while his entire countenance is rather underwhelming, his eyes are sharp as a fresh knife—and does her best to ignore it as she goes back to readying the medicine. Manners aside—the boy is in rough shape. Reyes hadn’t given her much of an explanation when he’d brought him in. She had no files, no medical history.

           Reyes hadn’t even told her the kid’s name.

           “Y’ain’t gonna kill me?”

           Angela blinks, frowning to herself as she stills her movements.

           “What?” she asks, glancing over her shoulder, peering at him from around an errant lock of hair.

           He’s staring her down. She refuses to duck his gaze.

           He gestures to the syringe in her grasp—the movement takes both of his hands, as he’s cuffed at the wrists and ankles. Angela had insisted to Reyes that it wasn’t necessary, but he’d hauled the hogtied arms dealer in anyway, all but throwing him up on her operating table before storming out.

           “Of course I’m not going to kill you,” she tells him, frowning back. “Why would I do that?”

           The boy just shrugs noncommittally. His eyes are buckshot dark, and Angela can feel the weight of them keenly across her back when she turns again.

           “I’m a doctor,” she says, because maybe he doesn’t know? She picks up the syringe, an alcohol wipe, and a bandage before turning back.

            “Yeah,” he says, eyeing her warily as she steps up beside the table. “An Overwatch doctor.”

            Angela’s brow furrows as she rolls up his sleeve—his shirt is dark and crusted with dirt and old blood, his skin littered with scars—and wipes down his bony shoulder with the alcohol pad.

            “What do you mean by that?” she asks softly, peering up at him.

            He glances over to meet her gaze, and she’s struck again at the ferocity she sees there. His body is falling apart, but his eyes remain overbright and wild.

            “Jus’ go ahead and put me out, Doc,” he tells her, his voice leaking with sudden exhaustion.

            She gives him another hard look—she’s going to have a long talk with Reyes after this, that’s for damn sure—before readying the syringe.

            “I will see you when you wake up…” she trails off, hesitating, suddenly feeling embarrassed at her slip. “Er…what was your name?”

            She braces herself for a smartass response, or maybe just a dead stare.

           Instead, he flashes her a quick grin—a sly, practiced thing that she knows intuitively is familiar on his face.

           “Name’s McCree.”

-0-

“He’s got to go.” Morrison’s voice leaves no room for argument.

           “You haven’t even given him a chance, Jack!” Reyes argues back.

           “He had his chance. And you know what he did with it? Joined up with the Deadlock Gang—”

           “He was forced into that and you fucking know it—”

           “If we give every outlaw we come across a second chance—”

           “Well if we just haul off and kill ‘em then what makes us any better than the fuckin’ gangs in the first—”

           “Overwatch is not a gang, Gabe—”

           “It’s not a dictatorship either!”

           Angela sighs to herself as she sits outside the infirmary. Her infirmary, as it happens. The one that Reyes and Morrison have repurposed into goddamn arena.

           But she knows better than to step in between a spat as bad as this one is shaping up to be, so she just sits with her back to the wall, leafing through reports as she waits for the soldiers to stop acting like children.

           She wishes Ana were here. No one can call those two to order like the sharpshooter.

           Angela’s turning over another form—she’s hesitant to clear Reinhardt for combat because she knows his shoulder is still bothering him—when she hears the telltale thud that she knows without a doubt belongs to a pair of goddamn cowboy boots.

           “McCree,” she grumbles without looking up, finishing off her signature with an angry flourish before raising her gaze to see the outlaw himself ambling towards her from down the hall.

           “What are you doing?” she demands, pushing to her feet. “You shouldn’t be out of bed.”

           He looks pretty good for someone who had been just a little dead the last time she saw him. His hair is clean, his wounds patched and wrapped under pristine white bandages, and the shallow, gaunt look to his face has filled out. He’s wearing a spare Overwatch shirt, and she’s only mildly surprised that there’s a real, actual human underneath all the dirt and grime and blood.

           He’s a long way from full recovery, but he’s no longer loitering on Death’s door, so Angela will take the victory where she can.

           Still. He shouldn’t be out of bed.

           His expression had been drawn and dark when she’d first spotted him, but now that he’s caught, she watches it bloom into that arrogant smirk he’d fixed her with back in the infirmary.

           “Hey there, sweetheart,” he greets her, but she notes the nickname lacks some of its previous bite.

           “Don’t hey there me,” Angela warns, stepping closer with a frown. “And don’t call me sweetheart unless you have a death wish.”

           He shrugs, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

           “Whatever ya say,” he relents. “Darlin’.”

           “Call me Angela or Dr. Ziegler. Or—better yet—don’t call me at all.” She sort of pushes him back away from the infirmary, unsure how to best get him to bend to her will. “Now get back to bed. You aren’t supposed to be on your feet for another day at least.”

            He doesn’t budge under her hands, and she blinks in surprise as the sudden tensing of his muscles. For a scrawny arms dealer, he’s got some brawn.

           “Dr. Ziegler?” he questions, peering down at her in confusion. God, what she wouldn’t give to have about four more inches so she wouldn’t have to look up at him.

           “Yes, doctor,” she makes a shooing gesture. “As in, the one who can easily alter your medical itinerary to keep you in bed for another week and a half, darlin’.”

           The Southern sobriquet sounds awful in her accent, but McCree doesn’t even rise to the dig. He just keeps staring at her, slowly walking backwards as she keeps pushing him towards the med bay.

           “Yer a doctor?” The disbelief in his tone is insulting to say the least. Besides, hadn’t they covered this? He really must have been out of it their first meeting. Not that he missed anything spectacular.

           “I am,” she confirms, following him through the halls, passing a few other agents who look up in mild confusion to see Angela Ziegler herding the scrappy outlaw Reyes’ had hauled in yesterday around the base. “So some respect wouldn’t be the worst idea you’ve had here.”

           “Yer like—” he gestures pointlessly with one hand. “Fifteen!”

           Angela bristles, eyes narrowing to slits.

           “I am twenty-one, thank you very much,” she snaps at him. Not exactly true—she’ll be twenty for about six more months, but he doesn’t need to know that.

           McCree pulls a face. “What kinda doctor is twenty-one?” he demands. “Did ya come outta the womb with a fuckin’ college degree or—?”

           “The kind who got accepted to University early and finished a seven-year program in four,” she throws back at him. “And you don’t have any room to talk. You can’t be any older than me!”

           That cocky smirk returns as Angela keeps forcing him backwards towards the med bay, and her hand itches with the need to punch it off his face.

           “I’m twenty-five,” he brags, flashing a grin.

           “Oh bullshit,” she retorts rolling her eyes. “Absolutely not. I don’t believe that for a second.”

           “An’ you expect me to believe that Overwatch hired on some eighteen year-old?”

           “Twenty-one.”

           “Show me yer license and maybe I’ll believe ya.”

           She huffs and he smirks. He’s toying with her. Fucker.

           “You expect me to believe the Deadlock Gang took on some scrawny teenager?” she asks harshly, giving his chest a solid shove to push him through the door to the med bay, glaring up at him.

           McCree’s coal-dark eyes go flat. She’s touched a nerve.

           “I don’ really expect much from anyone. ‘Specially doctors.”

           He spits her title like it’s toxic. She pulls her lips back in a snarl.

           “It’s not wise to make enemies with the person responsible for saving your life, you know,” she tells him sharply.

           He just scoffs at her. “You lost yer chance at the upper hand. You want me gone? Shoulda let me die on that table.”

            Silence falls between them—heavy and tense.

           Angela knows she should leave—there’s nothing to gain from a fight with him—but her pride rails at her until she gives him one last push, forcing him to sit down hard on the edge of his cot.

           “I will tell you this, McCree,” her voice is dark and deadly, and the outlaw freezes, clearly realizing the end of Angela’s light temper and the start of true anger. “You had better hope—to whatever it is you put your faith it—that you never find out what kind of research I do, and the kind of medical advancements I have made.”  

           She gives him one last severe look before turning to stride out, keen to grab a guard and use whatever bullshit authority she has to station him outside of the outlaw’s room so she doesn’t have to see his face for another twenty-four hours.

           “Why not?” McCree calls after her, unable to let things go.

           She turns to assess him over her shoulder, eyes supernova bright.

           “Because that means you’d be dead.”

-0-

The next time she sees McCree, he’s wearing an enormous cowboy hat.

           There’s still an uncomfortable tension—they haven’t quite patched things up, and she still absolutely hates his guts—but McCree makes the first move at what she assumes is his idea of a peace offering.

            “Like it?” he asks when he catches her staring, flicking the brim and lifting it up just enough to reveal his eyes—shiny and black as oil with a quicksand draw.

           “I hate it,” she answers breezily as she steps into the infirmary, dropping her gaze to look over the chart in her hands. “So, Reyes wants to get you cleared for the strike team?”

           She asks the question with a practiced nonchalance—like she hadn’t heard Reyes and Morrison arguing about it while she made herself instant Mac and Cheese in the mess hall at three in the morning.

           From what she could gather, Reyes was pushing the redemption narrative—“Give the kid another chance, Jack. I served with soldiers who had been in gangs, it doesn’t define you for the rest of your life.”—and Morrison was sticking to his holier-than-thou mantra—“The Deadlock Gang has been a thorn in our side for years, Gabe, I’m not going to waste any more time and resources on them!”

           But, due to the medical checklist in her hands, it would appear that Reyes won, which is not surprising in the slightest.

           Angela, personally, doesn’t care one way or another. On the one hand, Morrison’s excuse of wasting resources is utter trash—one word to Reyes and Angela could have anything in the world she wanted or needed within the hour. On the other hand, she’s not sure why Reyes wants to actually bring the boy onto the strike team, which is, you know, only the most elite military operation in the—

           “Darlin’?”

           Angela jumps, snapping her head up to see McCree peering at her, head titled to the side from his seat on the operating table. “Y’all right there?” he asks. “Thought ya powered down er somethin’.”

           She gives him a frosty look for the comment.

           “I’m not an Omnic.”

           “Coulda fooled me. Ya sleep about as much as one.”

           She clicks her pen, declining to comment.

           “So, Jesse McCree,” she drawls, glancing up to see if the use of his first name rankles him. He gazes back at her passively. She dips her eyes back down with a silent curse. “You have never had any kind of medical check-up in your life.” She skims the list. “No previous doctor, no past treatments, no prescriptions, no surgeries, no medical history whatsoever.”

           Her tone drips annoyance, and her gaze is accusatory when she lifts it back up to his. McCree just shrugs.

            “While you were off grauduatin’ early an’ curin’ cancer, I was…doin’ other things,” he answers. A pause. “Cutter once made me down a fifth of vodka ‘n dug a bullet outta my leg. Does that count as surgery?”

            “No,” she replies mildly, scribbling down some notes. “My apologies to Dr. Cutter. His credentials didn’t hold up.”

            McCree snorts at her quip, and she glances up to see him smirking—but not that awful, cocky smirk he likes to flash. Just a genuine twist of his lips.

            “What?” she asks, frowning.

            “Whaddya mean, what?” he retorts, still half-laughing. “Yer such a goddamn weirdo.”

            “I beg your pardon—”

            McCree cuts across her indignation. “One second, yer makin jokes about shit, an’ the next yer looking at me like the damn Undertaker, tellin’ me I gotta die to learn about yer fuckin’ research.” He spreads his hands. “That’s weird. Yer weird.”

            “I’m not weird,” she argues. “And I didn’t say you had to die to learn about it, I said if you did learn about it, it means you’ve already died!”

            McCree throws his hands in the air. “The fuck does that even mean?”

            “It means don’t die,” she retorts, still somewhat sore. “And I’m not weird.”

            He just shakes his head, chuckling. “I didn’ mean to upset ya, Doc.” He holds up a hand. “Cowboy’s honor.”

            She rolls her eyes. And yet she’s the weird one.

           Silence returns, but it’s much less prickly than the last time they’d squared off. She finishes most of the document while McCree loiters around the infirmary, occasionally reaching for tools that Angela orders him to leave alone without even looking.

            Finally, she can’t take it anymore, and she flicks her gaze up to see him fiddling with the cuffs of a flannel button-down she suspects Ana had some hand in purchasing.

            “Why did you join Deadlock?” she asks quietly, watching him carefully from around her bangs.

            He glances up in surprise and they cross gazes—flint-stones and sapphires.

            “Why’d ya join Overwatch?” he questions, peering at her from beneath the brim of his hat.

            Her lips quirk, though there’s no amusement in her eyes.

            “Fair enough, McCree,” she tells him, holding the checklist to her chest. “My professional advice to you—assuming you somehow actually see combat as an Overwatch operative—is to stay behind Reinhardt’s shield and do whatever Ana tells you.”

             He frowns at this, but she just offers him a sunny smile and turns to leave.

             “Wait, which one’s Ana?”

            Angela snorts to herself. “She’s the one who shoots better than you,” she mutters to herself, before something occurs to her and she turns back.

            “Oh, and I checked over your genetics. You’re twenty as well, but good try.” She smiles sweetly again. The one with all the teeth.

            McCree looks appalled. “You checked over my what?”

-0-

“You asked for my opinion and my answer is no.”

           Angela rakes a hand through her hair—her fingers catch on a tangled knot and she ends up tugging it through roughly, pain spiking as she yanks on the strands—and clutching the communicator to her ear with the other.

           “Yes, but Dr. Ziegler—”

           “There’s no but!” Angela shouts back. “Lacroix is not cleared for combat, and he will not be cleared until such time that I—the medical professional on this base—deems otherwise!”

           Silence on the other line. Angela chews her lip, anxiously awaiting a response.

           “Very well, Doctor. If that’s what you think—”

           “It is,” Angela cuts in hotly.

           “I’ll pass that along, then. Thank you for your…insight. Good day.”

           Angela’s expression sours as the connection ends, and she leans against the counter, frowning down at the device.

           “Well, someone’s in a mood.”

           Angela glares, setting the communicator down on the counter as she glances up to see McCree loitering in the doorway of her infirmary, still wearing that damnable hat. With a huff, she pulls the hair tie out, letting her hair tumble down messily around her shoulders.

           “Do you need something?” she asks unkindly, dragging her fingers through her hair to try to work out some of the knots. She wonders vaguely when she last brushed it.

           “I think,” he begins, and she gives him a dark look that clearly communicates how much she doesn’t care what he thinks, “that when they ask fer yer opinion, they really jus’ what ya to tell ‘em what they wanna hear.”

           “I am aware,” she replies, probably a bit more prickly than strictly necessary. She sweeps her hair back up, tying it off in an untidy ponytail. “I also don’t give a shit.”

           His lips split with that crooked smile he’d given her back in the med bay after her quip about Cutter. She notices his tooth is no longer chipped and wonders idly who fixed it.

           “Yer ornery.” He says it like a statement of fact.

           She narrows her eyes. “I’m a professional.”

           His smile grows. The rim of his hat hides his eyes, but she can still feel them.

           “What did you come here for, McCree?” she asks sharply, hands on her hips. “I really prefer not to be bothered arbitrarily.”

           He freezes at this, and Angela arches an eyebrow, waiting.

           “Suppose I needed somethin’,” he begins.

           Angela sighs heavily, lifting an annoyed eyebrow. “Don’t play games. Talk straight or leave.”

           He grimaces at her no-nonsense tone, hooking his thumbs in the belt loops of his jeans.

           “I need a favor,” he rushes out.

           There’s a beat of absolute silence in the infirmary.

           “A favor.” Her words couldn’t be flatter.

           “Please. I’ll owe ya. And a debt from me ain’t nothin’.”

           Angela huffs a sigh. She doesn’t even want to think about the kind of debts McCree has fulfilled in the past.

           “It depends,” she answers, leaning up against the counter. “If it’s not related to the infirmary, I can’t really help you.” She gestures to the phone that lies facedown beside her. “As you can see, I’m not exactly good at currying favor.” Her eyes narrow. “And that assumes I’d want to help you at all.”

           McCree shifts his weight between his feet, bouncing a little with the action. Her eyes snap to the movement, cataloguing it as a nervous habit.

           “It ain’t…exactly related to medicine,” he confesses.

           Angela frowns. Then why is he asking her?

           “What is it?” she demands.

           “I have a belt buckle,” he explains quickly. “It’s been mine since before the Deadlock Gang—since ferever. They took all my stuff when they picked me up. Reyes gave me m’ hat back—mostly ‘cause I wouldn’t stop pesterin’ him about it—but he won’ gimmie the belt buckle.”

           Angela just arches an eyebrow, almost daring him to continue wasting her time.

           He does.

           “They still have my gun, an’ all my bullets, which I get. But my belt buckle ain’t gonna hurt anyone.” He folds his arms. “I was hopin’ you could sweet talk it outta Morrison’s claws. Ya follow?”

           “A belt buckle?” she repeats dubiously. “McCree, be serious please.”

           “I’m bein’ serious!” he insists. “C’mon, please?”

           Angela sighs. If the item really is being held by Morrison’s people, it wouldn’t be that hard for her to get it back. She could weave together some bullshit excuse easily. She’s done it before, though never for a damn belt buckle.

           Giving him a stern look, she reaches for the communicator. “You owe me,” she reminds him fiercely.

           He nods earnestly, and Angela rolls her eyes, dialing the number.

           Some tech picks up, and Angela wastes no time in dropping every name she knows, and a few she probably doesn’t have the authority to mention, as she rattles off a dozen-odd ridiculous reasons as to why she needs whatever belt buckle they have in their possession.

           “The…the one from the Deadlock Gang, ma’am?” the tech asks feebly a moment later.

           “That’s the one,” she affirms, twirling a loose lock of hair around her finger, already making a mental list of things she can ask McCree for in exchange for this horseshit.

           “The one that says…um, excuse me…BAMF?”

           Angela flicks her eyes up to glance at McCree, who’s standing idly in her infirmary, thumbs hooked in the belt loops of his pants. He catches her look and offers an awkward smile.

“That’s it,” she says, lowering her gaze. “Just…send it to the infirmary, please.”

           The tech agrees and hangs up, and Angela sets the communication device back on the counter with a sigh. It couldn’t have been normal. Of course not.

           McCree is eyeing her so she glances up to meet his gaze with an arched eyebrow.

            “So…yer really like, the end all be all authority on this base?” he asks, looking at her curiously.

           Angela scoffs. “Hardly. That was a bunch of hot air.” She sighs, absentmindedly pulling down cleaning supplies from a cupboard.

           “I’m…not officially on Overwatch’s roster,” she explains. “I’m here because I was handpicked by Reyes, and backed by Morrison and Amari. My duty was really just to continue my research, but when Overwatch’s big three put their stamp of approval on you, you can kind of do whatever you want and nobody looks twice.”

           She feels his eyes on her—like lightning, or like the flash that runs before the hot report of thunder—but ignores it as she goes about wiping down a tray at her side.

           “Ya get attached.” His voice is quiet, but still rough.

            Angela scoffs to herself, coloring slightly. Why had she run her mouth like that? Stupid.

           “Something like that,” she bites back, working at a particularly tough stain. “Now leave me alone. I’ll give you your belt buckle the next time I see you.” She gives him a hard look. “Mister badass motherfucker.”

           McCree goes scarlet. Angela just arches an eyebrow.

           “They, uh—” McCree coughs into a fist. “They told ya what it said?”

           “They sure did,” Angela returns, voice void of any real emotion. “You can leave now. And for the record, you’re going to owe me every time I have to look at that belt buckle and remember this conversation, got it?”

           He mumbles out an affirmative and ducks out of the room.

-0-

“Angela, look!”

           There are few people who can catch and command Angela’s attention with only a word or two, but Fareeha Amari is definitely one of them. She stops in her tracks, glancing back to see the young girl standing as tall as she can, hands on her hips, grinning from beneath an enormous cowboy hat that practically engulfs her head.

           “What in the world?” Angela turns around completely, half-laughing. “Fareeha, where did—”

           McCree steps into her line of sight from the end of the corridor—looking hilariously out of place without his typical hat, his hair an unholy mess atop his head—and he strides up the hallway, scowling at Fareeha with a playfulness that Angela isn’t used to seeing around Overwatch’s base.

           Fareeha squeals when she sees him, dashing up to hide behind Angela, peeking out at the approaching gunslinger from behind her.

           “Angela’s base!” the little girl announces triumphantly, sticking her tongue out at McCree, who puts his hands on his hips, face falling into an exaggerated expression of shock.

           “Base?” he repeats, and Angela cracks a grin at the mock outrage in his voice. “No sir, little miss. Not in my game.”

           Fareeha just cackles to herself, hugging Angela tighter.

           “You look good, Jesse,” Angela tells him, smiling lightly. “You look…very not dead, which is not always the case with you.”

           “He started taking shooting lessons from Mom,” Fareeha explains, pushing up the hat with two tiny hands so as to better see Angela.

           Angela lifts an eyebrow, looking over at McCree, who’s turned mysteriously red and won’t meet her gaze.

           “Has he now?” she asks, small smile turning into a grin.

           “Yep!” Fareeha chirps.

           McCree does look better, she notes. He’s sporting a kind of breastplate now, and a set of chaps. The shoulder of his shirt proudly displays the Overwatch logo, and a bright red bandana is tied around his neck. Angela has to catch herself from calling the entire collection endearing. He’s still a dead shot, and a fully-fledged member of the strike team.

           “Well, then congratulations,” she says. “You’ve survived Ana Amari’s training. Consider yourself lucky.”

           “I get all his stuff when he dies, though,” Fareeha interrupts, tugging on the hem of Angela’s shirt to get her attention again. “He promised.”

           Angela frowns. “Well, nobody’s going to be dying any time soon, Fareeha.”  

           The young girl waves her comment away impatiently. “Not soon,” she corrects. “Like, in fifty years or whatever. When he’s super old and can’t shoot anymore.”

           Angela snorts at this, looking up to see McCree fighting a smirk of his own as they both listen to Fareeha’s continued ramblings.

            “I get his hat, his gun, his bullets, his spurs, and—” she ticks the items off her fingers, looking up to fix Angela with a grin. “His belt buckle.”

           Angela’s stomach bottoms out.

           “Oh, um, I…are you sure about that, Fareeha?” she asks hesitantly. “I don’t know if that’s…really your thing?”

           “BAMF,” Fareeha announces, and Angela winces. “McCree told me it means bad at making friends. It’s funny!”

           Angela shoots him an accusatory look over the young girl’s head. McCree splays his hands uselessly.

           “Run along, Fareeha,” a voice calls from down the hall, and she jumps to attention as Ana strides up, arching a dark eyebrow at her daughter.

           Fareeha mumbles a farewell to McCree, gives Angela’s waist a fierce squeeze, before traipsing off, but not before McCree can snatch his hat back off her head and giver her hair a quick ruffle. She shrieks in indignation, ducking his hand, and McCree responds by scooping her up by her underarms and spinning her around, pacing away from Ana and Angela as he does. Fareeha’s laughter rings out in the hall, and Ana smiles to herself.

           “So,” Angela begins, shifting her weight. “Fareeha says you’re training him?”

            “He’s good,” Ana answers, still watching as McCree sets Fareeha down and she slaps at his breastplate, begging for him to do it again. “Really. I had my doubts, but…” she trails off with a shrug, looking down to flash a smile at Angela. “I hear you’re darlin’ now, is that true?”

Angela colors darkly, rearing back from the sharpshooter.

“Absolutely not,” she protests. “I cannot believe you actually listened—”

           “Oh, relax child,” Ana soothes, reaching out with a gloved hand to smooth some of Angela’s wild bangs down. “I’m only teasing. He is a charmer though.”

           “He’s horrible.” She sighs as Ana drops her arm around her shoulders, pulling her into her side.

“He’s family,” Ana counters, voice low and serene. She glances down at the young doctor, quirking an eyebrow. “And I don’t think I need to tell you, of all people, what the means.”

           Angela huffs out a laugh, watching as Fareeha mimes a finger gun at the gunslinger, who slaps a hand to his heart, swooning in false death. She listens to Ana’s steady heartbeat beneath her ear. A heartbeat she’d fought on many occasions to keep going strong and steady when there were others she hadn’t the chance to save.

           Yeah, she knows a thing or two about family.

           “I suppose,” she answers.

-0-

“This,” Angela announces, not bothering to hide the haughty anger in her voice, “is not how I wanted to spend my Saturday night.”

           McCree snorts, then winces at the pain the action brings. She slaps at his leg to still him, leaning far into his personal space as she inspects a thick gash that runs from his ear to the edge of his jaw, bleeding sluggishly down his face.

            “Yeah, ‘m sure ya had so many plans,” he gripes back at her, staring sullenly at the wall as she works. “Gee, should I stay in an’ fill out reports, or stay in an’ reorganize the infirmary?” He widens his eyes in mock surprise. “So many options!”

           She slaps his leg again. “Shut up,” she returns irritably. “There’s nothing wrong with doing my job.”

           “When it’s all ya do,” he counters, sliding his gaze over to meet hers, still frowning. “Seriously, Ange. Have you ever taken a night fer yerself?”

           “Of course,” she answers immediately, though no such night comes to mind.

           He just scoffs, looking away, and Angela keeps gingerly cleaning his wound.

           “Fontaine really did a number on you,” she muses softly, eyebrows knitting together. “Isn’t there some kind of saying about guns and knife fights?”

           McCree grunts crossly. “I wasn’t gonna shoot the bastard,” he snaps. “An’ I sure as hell didn’t think he’d gut me like a damn fish.”

           “You’re not exactly the most popular agent here, Jesse,” she reminds him. “There are a lot of old wounds tied up with the Deadlock Gang. Fontaine can hold a grudge.”

           “Fontaine can kiss my ass—”

           She hushes him softly, rolling her eyes at his temper.

           Silence settles, like it always does. She works as quickly as she can, noting the distinctly displeased set to McCree’s jaw. She fishes around for something—anything—that will make him listen, but eventually decides to just speak plainly.

           “Morrison doesn’t need another reason to dislike you,” she warns him quietly. “Reyes’ favor can only get you so far.”

           McCree scowls. “I don’ need anyone’s favor,” he gripes.

           Angela sits back in her chair, frowning at him.

           “I’m only trying to help, Jesse,” she reminds him. “I know you’re not used to being looked after, but you need to trust that you are. Reyes, Reinhardt, Morrison, Ana, Gèrard…” she trails off. “We look after each other. We trust each other.”

           He slides his gaze over to hers—eyes flashing, like fire through canon smoke—and she can only stare.

           “I trust you,” he mutters, frowning like she’s stupid for doubting such a thing, eyes hard like he’s daring her—anyone, really—to challenge his statement.

           She smiles faintly back at him.

           “I’m glad,” she says. And she is.

           “Now relax your jaw so I can stitch this shit up, okay?”

-0-

Angela lets her breath out steadily, relaxing her shoulders and exhaling slowly through her nose.

           Peering down the aisle of the shooting range, she chews her lip, displeased at her performance. She sets down the gun and yanks off her headphones and goggles, vaguely annoyed. She knows marksmanship isn’t the find of thing you improve at overnight, but she’s also not accustomed to lagging behind in anything she puts her mind to.

            “Yer a terrible shot.”

           Angela just sighs, not evening looking back.

           “Do you ever get tired of sneaking up on people?” she asks, still looking down at the target. Her gun lies on the stand before her, still warm from her last round.

           She feels him settle at her side, leaning against the opposite wall in the booth. She glances up to see him rubbing his jaw as he studies the target.

           “Ya barely clipped his ear.”

           “I’m practicing.”

           “I hope so.”

           She bristles, slamming her fist on the button that will swap out her old target for a new one and turns to face him, arms crossed.

           “What do you want, Jesse?”

           He glances down at her, arching an eyebrow.

           “I could give ya some tips,” he offers, trying for casual and missing by yards. He coughs awkwardly. “If…if ya wanted, I mean. I’m no Ana Amari but…I know some stuff.”

           Angela looks up at him curiously. No one—not even Reyes—had ever offered to give her any kind of advice on firearms.

           “Why?” she blurts out before she can think better of it, and McCree’s face goes slightly red.

           “’Cause…’cause you clearly wanna be better. And you’re gonna halfta be better if ya wanna get tips from Ana,” he says, gesturing lamely at the gun, goggles, and headphones that lay before her. “And…I dunno…” he trails off, hand leaping up to cup the back of his neck in a nervous habit he can’t seem to shake.

           She considers pressing him, but decides against it. She moves the conversation along to safer grounds for her, uncomfortable with the uncertainty of where he could take this dialogue.

           She doesn't like not knowing. Period.

           “Who taught you how to shoot?” she asks, tilting her head as she reclines back against the wall of the booth.

           He flicks her a sideways look, apparently surprised by her question, but just shrugs.

           “Nobody. I jus’ watched people, I guess,” he explains. “Trial an’ error…mostly error, fer a while anyway.”

           Angela’s lips quirk up in a small smile. He continues.

           “I kept at it, y’know? Got tired of bein’ outdrawn, gettin’ left behind. Wanted to make myself useful. It was…” he gestures kind of vaguely with his hands, but Angela knows what he’s trying to express. “…it was a bad time. I mean, now I’m glad I did it, but, the actual act of learnin’ to shoot…” he flashes her a smirk—the one she doesn’t like, the one that’s more mask than anything else—and Angela is reminded of weeks she spent holed up in her room during med school, reading and studying and writing and memorizing and critiquing until she felt like she was going to honestly die. She had to. It had never been optional.

If she wasn’t the best, then what was the point of her? Why had she survived, if not for this?

           She nods. “I know what you mean.”

           His eyes snap to hers—angry, like he doesn’t believe her comparison—before they go dim, and he nods.

           “Yeah,” he remarks. “Yeah, I bet’cha do.”

           She picks at the sleeve of her shirt, watching McCree size up the targets in the range. She wonders if she’ll have to prompt him to shoot them all down or if he’ll jump right to showing off all on his own.

           “I was the best shot,” he mutters after a moment. “In Deadlock, I mean. An’ that ain’t just talk. I could really outshoot anyone.”  

           Angela shrugs. “I believe it,” she tells him. And she does.

           He frowns at her from the edge of his vision like he doesn’t buy her sincerity, before he just shrugs. “It’s a good thing too,” he adds. “If it weren’t for my aim, Morrison probably woulda had his way.”

           “They never would have killed you,” Angela tells him firmly. “Not with Reyes there. Not with—” she breaks off, looking away quickly.

           McCree’s eyebrows vanish behind his hat as he glances down at her, waiting for her to continue.      

           She doesn’t, and he doesn’t push her.

           They’re kind of alike, that way.

           “I would like to take you up on your offer, though,” she eventually murmurs, crossing her arms and looking down at the new target. She glances up at him through her bangs. “I’d like to…be a slightly less terrible shot, if you’d be willing to help.”

           McCree’s lips quirk. “Yeah?” he asks, and she nods. “Ya fancy yerself a field medic, Doc?”

           She frowns at the question, freezing as she reaches for the gun again.

           “Field medic?” she repeats, glancing up at him.

           He nods. “Sure. I mean…I dunno. You always seemed real hands-on. I was kinda surprised when you didn’t just come out into the field with us all.”

           Angela arches an eyebrow. “I’m not cleared for combat,” she states flatly.

           That fucking illegal grin is back. “Not yet, you ain’t.”

           She just snorts, waving him off, but her mind begins turning. It’s not as though she’d never considered the prospect—there’s very little in the medical field she hasn’t considered—but she’d never allowed herself to make concrete plans about it. Her thoughts turn back to a suit—winged and armored, allowing her to quickly get to patients, a halo-shaped headpiece…

           “Can I say somethin’?” he asks softly, and Angela jumps in surprise.

           “Sure,” she says quickly, shoving those thoughts away for now.

           He hesitates—she shoots him a sideways glance and sees him working his jaw, like he’s tasting his words—before seems to make up his mind.

           “I’m very, very glad yer on my side,” he tells her. He smirks down at her then, the friendly one. The one that pulls a smirk out of her too.

           “Terrible shot ‘n all.”

-0-

“So,” McCree drawls as he sits down beside her at the table.

           Angela lets her gaze flick over to his with a raised brow. They typically don’t sit next to each other in the mess hall��partly because Angela is in the habit of taking her meals alone at two in the morning and partly because McCree’s usually preoccupied with harassing some agent or another—and she feels more than a few gazes on them.

           But she just sips at her coffee as he settles alongside her now, broad shoulders brushing against hers, brim of his hat upsetting the smooth fall of her bangs as he inclines his head down towards hers.

           “So,” she repeats, lacing her fingers around the mug. “What’s up?”

           McCree sets down his plate—generously full with breakfast food—and glances around like he’s missing something. Angela pushes her unused fork forward, and he nods.

           “So,” she prompts again, arching an eyebrow.

           “So,” he agrees, picking up the fork. “I went lookin’ fer Fontaine today.”

           Angela cocks an eyebrow. “For purely diplomatic reasons, I’m sure.”

           McCree snorts, seemingly momentarily distracted at her own lack of a breakfast. He picks a muffin off his plate and plops it in front of her. She ignores it.

           “An’ wouldn’t ya know it—I couldn’t find the bastard.”

           Angela takes another sip. “Tragic.”

           “Ain’t it? So I asked around.”

           Angela’s fingers tense for a moment on the handle of her mug, but she relaxes soon after.

           “Asking for help? Are you feeling well?” She reaches up to press the back of her free hand against his forehead, but he ducks it with a sour look.

           “An’ you’ll never guess what Lacriox told me,” he continues, giving her a pointed look.

           The doctor swallows. She has a guess.

           “He’s been relocated,” McCree stabs a forkful of scrambled eggs, arching an eyebrow at her, “to Antarctica.”

           A beat of silence passes between them. Angela takes another sip of her coffee, dutifully avoiding McCree’s gaze by staring down at the muffin.

           “I hear it’s lovely there this time of year,” she eventually offers. “Also, penguins. Antarctica has penguins, right?”

           “Angela.”

           “Plus that cold air is brilliant for clearing out the sinuses.” She picks at the muffin’s wrappings, wondering what flavor it is. Blueberry?

           “Ange.”

           “What?” she demands, finally setting her mug down and turning in her seat to scowl at him. “What do you want, Jesse? A confession? Fine—I did it. You solved the case. Congratulations.”

           She glares up at him, awaiting his response—she hadn’t expected him to follow up with Fontaine, and she’s not overly fond of being found out this way, thank you very—

           She starts as McCree snakes a thick arm around her shoulders to pull her in for a quick squeeze, and she wrinkles her nose as the hair on his chin scratches against her cheek before he pulls back.

           “Thanks,” he tells her, voice low and honest, giving her a slightly lopsided smile. “Fer lookin’ out.”

           “Yes, well,” Angela smooths out her lab coat, loops loose hair behind her ear, clears her throat. “It was the least I could do.” A pause. She glances up at him seriously. “Really, that was the least life-threatening thing I could have done.”

           McCree chuckles. “Ya make it sound like ya had a list.”

           Angela goes still as McCree reaches across the table for a napkin.

           The gunslinger glances back at her, frowning at her silence, when he sees the look on her face.

           “Ange, you didn’t.”

           “I makes lists about everything!” she snaps back at him, faintly flushing. “It’s how I best organize my thoughts!”

           He just shakes his head, sitting back on his chair.

           “Yer a mess.”

           Angela nurses her coffee, watching as he ducks into his breakfast.

           “Probably,” she agrees.

           McCree snorts through a mouthful of grits. “Eat yer damn muffin.”

-0-

“Paraguay?”

           “Poor pronunciation, but yes,” Angela returns, quickly ducking the gunslinger’s hand where he’d shot it out to try and tug on the end of the Santa hat Ana had bullied her into. She looks up to flash him a smile. “Paraguay.”

           McCree shrugs where he’s lounging idly on the desk in Reyes’ office while Angela busies herself with gathering the last of the documents he’d filled out. It’s not as though Overwatch has anything like a winter break—the Omnic Crisis doesn’t exactly take a holiday—but Reyes had told the pair of them they had the next week and a half off to do whatever they did for their seasonal holiday of choice.

           McCree had promptly announced his plans to get trashed.

           Angela had mentioned Paraguay.

           “Not really a touristy kind place,” he comments lightly. “Do they even have beaches there?”

           Angela snorts as she marks a certain pile of documents for delivery, shaking her head.

           “I’m not going for a vacation, Jesse. I’m going to work.”

           He frowns, looking up from where he’d been scratching a penis into the corner of Reyes’ desk. “What?”

           She shrugs. “You know, extended international aid. Doctors Without Borders. That kind of thing.” She makes another quick note on another sheet before looking up with a quirked eyebrow. “Just…helping out where I can.”

           He frowns. “And Overwatch is okay with that?” he demands.

           Angela pushes herself upright, crossing her arms as she studies him with a slightly bemused look.

           “Yes?” her confusion makes it a question. “Honestly, Jesse. If they’re okay with you going to get shitfaced I can’t see why—”

           “Ain’t it dangerous?” he cuts her off. “I mean, South America is still pretty heavy on Omnics, right?”

           Angela shrugs. “Probably. I hadn’t really looked into it.”

           He gives her a flat look. “Really.”

           “Really,” she says again, shrugging. “I go where people need me, Jesse. Omnics be damned.”

           She feels his gaze on her as she turns around to stack up the rest of the documents, but ignores him, unable to see his issue.

           “And yer family’s okay with that?” he asks, frowning hard at her. “Like, ya ain’t got presents to unwrap? Fuckin’ carols to sing or whatever?”

           Angela goes still, hands hovering over the stack of documents.

           Right. Because that’s what happens when you don’t tell people things. They eventually stumble into them, full of love and live and good intentions, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less—

           “Ange?” She hears the desk creak as he pushes off of it, hears the frown in his voice. She still hasn’t moved. “Ange, what’s--?”

           “They’re dead.” The words tumbled out, almost clumsily, like when you say ouch even though it doesn't hurt, or sorry even when it’s not your fault.

           She swallows, refusing to face him. “They died years ago, in the initial waves of the war.”

           Silence. It’s not as comfortable as it usually is, she notes with detachment.

           “Angela…” McCree sounds as lost as she feels. “I...I’m sorry, I had no--”

           “Of course you didn’t,” she mutters, finally kicking herself back into gear and scooping up the documents. “I never told you.”

           She finally turns, papers held to her chest, to see McCree watching her closely. His eyes--sharp as ever--reveal a mixed bag of compassion and hesitance. A desire to help but a strong understanding of the boundaries they’ve set so far.

           “Right,” he eventually offers. “I, uh. I woulda remembered that.”

           More silence. Angela wonders--off-handedly--how many time a single person can fuck up in one lifetime. Surely she’s nearing her quota.

           “When ya leavin’?” he eventually asks, voice softer than it had been before.

           She tosses a quick glance at the clock. “Umm…they’re flying me out in about twenty minutes.”

           “Twenty minutes?” Angela starts slightly as McCree forces himself off the desk to stand over her. “Jesus, Ange, were ya ever gonna say somethin’?”

           She blinks at his sudden aggression. “I mean…I was planning on sending you a really tacky postcard, if that counts?”

           He glares at her steadily. She guesses that’s a no.

           “Do you…do you want to come with me?” she asks, confident that’s not the answer but unable to work out why he’s upset.

           He snorts. “Yeah. A fuckin’ smartass ex-con. I’m sure that’s just what the doctor ordered.”

           She spreads her hands. “Then what do you want, McCree? I’m sorry I didn’t tell you? I’m sorry I’m not going to get drunk in a bar with you on Christ—”

           She breaks off in surprise when he steps closer, reaching out to wind an arm around her waist and draw her up close, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head.

           “Jus’ be careful, ya big weirdo,” he mutters. “Come back in one piece, alright?”

           She nods, touched, and he pulls back.

           “An’ I’ll be expectin’ that tacky postcard, got it?”

           She smirks back, swinging her bag over her shoulder.

           “Sure thing,” she calls back. “Just let me know what bar to address it to.”

-0-

Angela hears the chime and is already moving through the halls before she knows what she’s doing.

           It’s a noise she’s long memorized—and one that sometimes haunts her dreams—that subtly rings through the Gibraltar base, requiring medical attention at the landing pad for whatever party has just returned.

            Angela’s coat whips out behind her as she turns a corner sharply and rushes up the hill to the tarmac.

           McCree. Reyes. McCree and Reyes. Whose fucking idea was it for them to go on a mission together, and to hunt down the Shimada heirs of all fucking things—

           Someone catches her arm, pulling her to a stop, and Angela whips her head around, gaze absolutely murderous, teeth half-bared—

Morrison holds up his hands in defense.

           “They’re gonna be fine,” he tells her quietly.

           “You don’t know that,” she snarls back, and takes off again, Morrison behind her.

           They burst onto the tarmac, where the jet has just touched down, and Angela’s heart seizes when she sees Reyes standing there, watching whatever is happening inside the belly of the jet, one arm slack at his side, clutching Jesse McCree’s stupid fucking hat—

           “Reyes,” she gasps, reaching out to grab his arm when she trips to his side, Morrison on her heels. “Reyes, what happened?”

           He glances at her, then his eyes go higher, probably meeting Morrison’s gaze over her head, before dropping back down.    

           “Go back to the infirmary,” he tells her, and his voice is ruinous.

           Angela feels like she’s moving through a dream, or fighting through some kind of current as the next half hour drags by. McCree is brought in on a gurney, looking like hell warmed over.

           Angela almost breathes a sigh of relief—she’s seen him in far worse states than this, this is nothing, if he can come back from that fucking disaster in Ilios, he can come back from—

           Then she sees his arm.

           Or, rather, she doesn’t see it.

           She’s sitting at his bedside, glaring at his vitals like she can bully them into improving, when he finally comes around.

           For a moment, they sit in silence. Just quietly taking in each other’s presence.

           Then he heaves a sigh, and Angela braces herself.

           “’M arm’s gone, inn’it?”

           Angela stares down at her hands. “Yes, Jesse,” she says softly. “I’m sorry, it…it was gone when you got to me, I did everything I could. I wasn’t there, I don’t know what—”

           “Shhh…” he hushes her tiredly. “Enough, Ange.”

           She falls silent, daring to lift her eyes to his. He’s staring up at the ceiling, buckshot eyes glittering in the soft morning light.

           “Did Reyes get it?”

           Angela’s heart cuts all ties with her chest and leaps into her throat.

           “Did…did he get…?” She can’t even finish the question. McCree sighs heavily, letting his head roll over to look at her.

           “’M hat, Doc,” he says. “Did Reyes pick up my damn hat er naw? ‘Cause if I hafta go all the way back to Hanamura just to pick up that thing, I’m gonna—”

           “No,” she rushes out, nearly knocking her chair over in her haste to get to the counter, where she’d set the hat. She snatches it up, scrambling back to his side. “No, Jesse, it’s—it’s right here, Reyes brought it in…” she trails off as she sits back down, holding it up for him to see.

           His lips quirk in a small smile.

           “Well. That’s somethin’ at least, ain’t it?”

           Angela hesitates slightly, unsure what to do with it. It seems pointless to put it on his head when he’s obviously going to be bedbound and sleeping for the foreseeable future. She runs her fingers across it, pondering, and feels his gaze—the heat of his eyes mocking the roar of a fire—and she makes a snap decision to jam it on her head.

           McCree blinks, looking up at her as she gives the hat a quick tug to adjust it. It’s a little too big for her, but she stares back at him evenly from beneath its brim.

           There’s a beat of silence. Then McCree coughs out a laugh, shaking his head.

           “Ya look ridiculous.”

           Angela’s mouth falls open in protest. “What?” she demands. “This is your stupid hat!”

           “Yeah, ‘n it belongs on my stupid head.” He’s laughing, and Angela smiles back. There are tears in both of their eyes. Neither address them.

           “Keep it, fer now,” he mutters, offering her a small, sleepy kind of smile. He’s got so many different drugs pumping through him, Angela likens him to a walking pharmacy. “If Morrison gets ‘hold of it, he’ll fuckin’ burn it.” A pause. “Who knows, maybe you’ll shoot decently fer once in yer life it ya wear it.”

           She snorts. “Yeah. Maybe it’ll trick Ana into giving me lessons,” she adds dryly, and McCree closes his eyes with a quiet chuckle.

           “You’ll halfta give it back,” he murmurs. “When I get sent packin’, I mean.”

           Angela frowns. “You’re staying right here,” she tells him firmly. “This is where you belong, Jesse.”

           He offers her a smirk that reminds her too much of that disastrous first meeting. A fake twist of his lips meant to hide his thoughts and misdirect those he flashes it at.

           “We’ll see, Doc.”

-0-

Angela smells the alcohol well before she sees him, and sighs quietly to herself.

           She pulls her lab coat closer, folding her arms as she steps slowly into the abandoned mess hall, drawn to the only faint light in the whole room.

           The refrigerator door is propped open, bathing the surrounding area in a soft yellow glow that makes the nearby bear cans shine. Angela can’t necessarily see who’s behind the door, due to her approaching angle, but the cowboy boots sticking out give her some idea.

           She carefully negotiates her way around glass bottles that litter the floor, frowning hard at an entire handle of Fireball that winks in the light—completely empty.

           She turns, peering around the refrigerator door to see one Jesse McCree sitting slumped up against the interior of the refrigerator, his amputated arm still heavily bandaged, his other hand holding a beer bottle.

           “Jesse,” she breathes.

           He looks up at the sound of her voice, and she frowns, disliking the way his razor-sharp eyes are dulled by the alcohol.

           “Evening, Doc,” he greets her, offering a crooked smile that’s far messier and less practiced than his usual charmer’s grin. “Wha’s a fine lass like yerself doin’ out here?”

           Angela just crouches at his side, taking his chin in her hands to turn his face towards her, searching his eyes for vitals.

           “Please tell me you did not take your medicine before drinking all of this,” she says, voice deadly serious. She scans the room for a bottle of medication, but McCree just offers a husky chuckle.

           “Naw, not tha’ dumb,” he tells her. He pulls his chin back to break her hold and takes another swig from the bottle. “’Sides, there’re easier ways to go than that.”

           Angela glares hard at him. “You aren’t going anywhere, Jesse,” she tells him fiercely.

           He tips her a clumsy wink. “Tha’ you know of.”

           “Stop trying to be clever,” she chides him with a frown. “You’re drunk.”

           “I’m both.” He smiles up at her. He looks terrible.

           “Come on, then,” she mutters, ducking low to loop his good arm around her shoulders. She tries to brace her legs and push herself up, but huffs at the resistance. “Why are you so heavy—”

           “Leave m’ be,” McCree grumbles, and she realizes he’s not assisting her at all. “I’ll fin’ my way back.”

           She blows out another breath, straining under his dead weight as she struggles to pull him to his feet.

           “No, you won’t,” she retorts. “You’ll drink yourself into a stupor and then—with your luck—Morrison will be the one to find you, and that’s not a problem any of us want or need right now.”

           McCree snorts. “He’s already gonna gimmie th’ boot, don’t see why you ‘n Reyes are so hung up on it.”

           Angela’s eyes flash in the darkness of mess hall.

           “No one is giving anyone the boot,” she argues fiercely, still trying to tug him upright. “You are staying—right—here!”

           She grunts with effort, and McCree starts as she actually lifts him off the floor a few inches, before gasping and letting him fall back down, where he lands hard on his backside.

           “Ow.”

           Angela huffs, facing him with her hands on her hips. “Well, if you’d just let me help you, that wouldn’t have happened!”

           “I’m a gunslinger with one fuckin’ arm, Angela!” he yells back, voice echoing loudly in the empty hall. “The fuck they gonna keep me ‘round for? Charity?”

           “It isn’t charity,” she tells him stiffly, hands fisted at her side, voice low and angry. “It’s taking care of family.”

           That seems to catch him off guard, and he peers up at her in the near-dark of the mess hall, questioning.

           “You trust me,” she tells him softly, reaching down to brush hair out of his eyes. “Remember? You told me you did.”

           He stares back at her, eyes cloudy and dull.

           “I ‘member,” he mutters. “Do…do you trus’ me?”

           Angela stands there—trying to haul a drunk, one-armed gunslinger with an impressive rap sheet and a missing medical history to his feet—and gives a firm nod.

           “With my life,” she tells him, voice deadly serious in the quiet of the mess hall. “So let’s go, okay?”

           He stares at her a little longer, and Angela holds out her hand—and offering.

           After a moment, he gives a slow nod, swallowing hard.

           “Alright,” he mutters tiredly. “Alright, I’m comin’.” He pauses to squint at her extended hand. “Stop movin’ yer hand.”

           Angela blinks. “I’m not…” she just sighs, rolling up her sleeves and ducking down once again to loop his arm around her shoulders.

-0-

            “A skull, huh?”

           McCree twists his arm in the light. Angela observes the metal flash as it turns—he’s already managed to scratch it, of course he has—and keeps her expression expertly schooled, knowing he’s watching her face like a hawk.

           “I dunno,” he remarks. “Thought it might be cool.”

           She snorts to herself, shaking her head, unable to stop a smirk from quirking her lips.

           “You’re such a weirdo,” she tells him pointedly, glancing up with humor in her eyes, and he grins back.

           They’re on the roof of the main building of the Gibraltar base—a hideaway that Angela used to scold at him endlessly about but had since become a space they share when they need room from everything but each other. She assumes, somewhere in the back of her mind, that this is what friendship is.

           “Reyes said he liked it,” McCree retorts, a hint of pride in his tone.

           Angela rolls her eyes. “Of course he did,” she mutters. “Remember when Ana had to talk him out of getting that barn owl tattoo? This is exactly the kind of thing Reyes likes.”

           “To be fair, that looked wicked.”

           “It looked horrendous and he was drunk,” Angela counters. She shifts her weight, eyes tracing the shiny exterior of the prosthetic.

           McCree just sighs, giving her a look.

           “I know ya wanna touch it,” he tells her. “Go ahead.”

           Angela’s hands are on the arm in a moment, chattering—half to him, half to herself—as she runs her fingers over the surface, pokes at the hinges, pulls it closer to inspect the neon blue accents that mark the energy pulsing through it.

           McCree fields her questions as best he can: yes, there are sensors that let him feel touch and temperature, no, it doesn’t itch, yes, it’s weird to sleep with it but it just takes getting used to, yes, I can crush metal with it, no, I didn’t try it on that UN member’s car out front, I don’t know what you’re talking about, Angela.

           “Awfully curious there, Ange,” he notes, not bothered but intrigued at her dogged questioning.

           “I’m starting to bring Omnic technology into my research,” she answers thoughtlessly, eyes still on his prosthetic. “I’ve been talking to Torbjörn and I’m thinking I can really reduce the amount of post-surgery recovery and general physical therapy if—”

           She breaks off, glance up to meet his gaze, looking slightly alarmed.

           She never talks about her research. Ever.

           McCree watches her warily, like he expects her to bolt.

           “Ya don’…ya don’ halfta tell me anythin’,” he offers when the silence grows uncomfortable. He shrugs. “I mean, I know yer pretty private—”

           “I…” she bites her lip, flicking her gaze up to his. No one outside of Ana, Reyes, and Morrison know about her research, and even Ana and Morrison only know the bare bones.

           “I…I work with…death,” she explains quietly, eyes on his prosthetic.

           She can feel McCree’s dubious look.

           “Ya don’t fuckin’ say.”

           She huffs a sigh, crossing her arms and looking up to frown at him.    

           “Specifically ways to…bypass it altogether,” she adds stiffly.

           A beat of silence. They stare at each other.

           “Ya cheat death,” he verifies slowly, searching her eyes from beneath the brim of his hat. She wonders if she could even get away with lying under those eyes. Probably not.

           “That’s the idea,” she says, shrugging like this is an idle conversation not worth pursuing.

           She fiddles with the belt loops of her jeans—a habit she'd picked up from McCree.

           “I mean, if I had to pick someone to have that kinda power,” he says with a shrug. “I’d pick you.”

           Angela’s chest loosens where it had been unbearably tight. She can’t stop a small smile from blooming across her face, cheeks turning red at his praise.

           “Thank you,” she murmurs.

           “I mean it,” is his steady response.

           She suddenly seizes him in a fierce hug, and he hesitates for a moment, thrown at her unexpected move, before his arms snake around and he holds her close, pressing his cheek against the side of her head where she buries her face in the crook of his shoulder.

           “Please don’t fucking do that again,” she whispers.

           She feels his responding chuckle more than she hears it.

           “Didn’t mean to upset ya, Darlin’,” he murmurs.

           She digs her nails into his back where she clutches handfuls of his shirt. “Don’t joke,” she orders sharply.

           He runs his new hand across her back, and she can feel its coldness through her shirt.

           “Hurry up an’ finish yer field examination,” he mutters. “Then ya can run away from magical fuckin’ dragons right along with me.”            

           Angela pulls back, frowning. There are tears streaking down her face, but she looks more confused than anything. “Dragons?”

           “Yeah.” McCree reaches out to wipe away a tear with the pad of his thumb. “Fuckin’ dragons.”

           “Reyes mentioned the Shimadas had a…certain supernatural flair—”

           “Did he also mention my arm got eaten by a dragon?”

           “Um,” Angela sniffs, wiping her nose with the cuff of her sleeve. “No?”

           McCree heaves a very put-upon sigh, turning around to hook his arm around her shoulders, pulling her into his side as they begin to walk across the roof back to the stairwell.

           “So we were in Hanamura, right? Lookin’ for the Shimada whatevers. And outta nowhere, this fuckin’ asshole who needs a damn haircut pops out, shoots an arrow, and then the arrow turns into a fuckin’ dragon.”

           Angela can’t help but laugh. “Did you shoot him?” she asks.

           He scoffs. “’Course I fuckin’ shot him. I gotta reputation to uphold.”

           She smiles, pressing closer to his side. “Jesse McCree: Dragon Slayer.”

           “Somethin’ like that,” he mutters, shaking his head. “Didn’t do a whole lotta slayin’, per se.”

           “Guess I’ll have to take care of that then,” she says, elbowing him in the ribs with a smile. “Since I’ll be with you next time and all.”          

           He tosses her a smirk—her favorite one—his eyes glittering from beneath his hat.

           “I guess ya will, Doc,” he replies. “I look forward to seein’ it.”

RISES FROM THE FUCKING DEAD

WHAT’S GOOD KIDS

it’s your local disaster domino, back from hiatus hell. how’ve y’all been.

Anyway, pre-canon Mercy and McCree shenanigans? Sure. Why not.

Shoutout to my Bibi @gaynervousdog who read this over and made it a lot less shitty than it could have been.

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