#will undoubtedly wake up grumpy and with bad breath

[sapphicrow]

Sleepy Lady Dimitrescu…..relaxing in bed when a big yawn hums through her body….leaning back against the headboard of her bed and trying to refocus on the novel pinched between her forefinger and her thumb….another yaaaawwnnn…her eyes flutter shut for a moment and she tells herself she’s just resting them for a second…Alcina snoring peacefully with a bit of blood wine dribbled on the side of her lip and the book she’d been reading forgotten in the tangle of blankets next to her…..Sleeping Lady D..

[humanitys-strongest-bamf]

"get me a damned matcha" | Chapter 3: August I

{{ Chapter 2: July I | Chapter 4: September I }} Chapter Directory

reader is petty and tbh, same. also we get more on reader's backstory now! :D

if you're interested in getting tagged for updates, fill out this form here!

✧ pairing ➼ levi ackermann x fem!reader, college x coffee shop x roommates!au ✧ summary ➼ After you find yourself plagued with misfortune due to struggles in your personal and family life, you find yourself needing to move last minute. As a junior in undergrad with little money and little social support, you considered yourself lucky when you found a sublease that was close to campus and was relatively cheap. Unfortunately, it seemed that your roommate did not seem to be so excited regarding your presence. ✧ content/warnings ➼ fluff, slowburn, enemies to lovers (sorta), strangers to lovers, mentions of family deaths, reader being a little shit, descriptions of reader being superficial (ITS PART OF THE BACKSTORY ILL EXPLAIN LATER ITS FINE) ✧ word count ➼ ~4.4k

It was the first day of class. How today goes will essentially decide your trajectory for the semester. Everything had fallen apart so quickly last semester, which meant  that you wanted to place the utmost importance upon maintaining a good streak. 'No more bad days' is what you continued to tell yourself, even when the days were undoubtedly bad.

All of the problems from last year are resolved. You still have two more years to get everything done. Things will be back on track.

You stared at yourself intensely in the bathroom mirror as you repeated those thoughts to yourself, hoping that you would believe it if you thought it enough times. 

There were still a lot of loose threads in your life: your ex-boyfriend was still floating around, your aunt was still breathing down your neck about your grades, and you still had a stupidly hostile roommate. The only good thing about the last issue was that Levi irritated you more than he made you anxious, which couldn't be said for the other two. You could cope with being irritated. It fed into your stubbornness. 

The anxiety from the other two were much harder to deal with—so you didn't. It was a problem for future you. The only thing you wanted to focus on today was getting to class on time and surviving the day. After that, you just had to repeat the events of today every single day until you graduated. 

Solid plan, you thought to yourself, although you knew that you were just trying to drown yourself in blind positivity at this point. 

You finally came out of the bathroom, looking as chaotic as you felt. Your hair was a mess, your toothbrush was sticking out of your mouth, and you were still in your shorts and oversized t-shirt. You went into your room to grab your phone before locking yourself into the bathroom again. 

Your grumpy roommate was already up, but that wasn't necessarily a good thing. Levi was currently in the kitchenette, making morning tea, hoping that the caffeine will help with the mind fog that was quickly kicking in for him. Mornings generally weren't good for him, usually due to his inability to sleep regularly. While most would feel refreshed in the morning after the typical 8-10 hours of rest, he would find himself tired, grumpy, and unable to focus, which made it so that he couldn't even do work if he wanted to. All he could do at that point was suffer.

Since he was already irritated by default, he found himself scowling to himself as you ran around the apartment in a rush to get to class on time. He was already dreading having to wake up to this every week for 5 days in a row with you making a ruckus. If you were going to be late on your very first day of class, he couldn't imagine the following days being any better. He had no idea how he was going to deal with this all year.

He raised an eyebrow at you as soon as you came out of your bedroom. You seemed like a completely different person. Where there was formerly an oversized t-shirt, there was now a tight-fitting blouse that had open shoulders and would reveal the small of your back if you stretched your arms up. You wore jeans that tightly hugged your curves and looked incredibly uncomfortable.

Levi wasn't one to judge how you dressed or presented yourself, but the sudden change in dress took him aback. He had spent the past two months seeing you every single day. You had made yourself comfortable in his home—he was still reluctant to verbalize the fact that you lived with him now—and he had seen you in those shorts and t-shirts every day, even when you left the house. The only time in which he saw you in dress that was consistent to what he was seeing now was the very first day you met, after getting off the bus that came from your ex-boyfriend's apartment. 

He eyed you as you walked past him, trying not to make it obvious that he was looking at you. Levi could vaguely tell that you were carrying yourself differently—you were more formal, more elegant, and more...fake. 

He could tell that every movement you were making was forced, as if you were fighting against your instincts. He couldn't tell exactly what it was that gave him this impression, but something seemed different. He'd directly ask what was going on if you didn't irritate him so much at baseline. He didn't want unnecessary conversation with you. He just wanted you to leave.

He told himself this, but Levi did still find himself curious as to what was going on behind your psyche. Has the person he had been living with the past two months actually been someone else and was masking? Or was it the other way around? Or was he completely misinterpreting something as simple as a change in fashion style? 

Levi scolded himself for even being this nosey as he watched you pack your bags. It wasn't any of his business. He was just forced to see you every day, so of course he'd be curious about such a drastic change.

You swung your backpack over your shoulder and brushed yourself off, grabbing your phone to place into your back pocket. You barely acknowledged Levi's presence as you walked past him, but you were vaguely able to feel his eyes following you.

You glanced back at him.

"Later, grumpy," you said shortly before leaving and closing the door behind you, grinning to yourself as you visualized the scowl that undoubtedly appeared on Levi's face afterwards.

Levi stared at the front door that was now shut. Any lingering curiosity that he had 30 seconds ago was immediately replaced with irritation.

"Tch," he muttered to himself as he gently picked up his mug of tea. "Good riddance, brat."

~~~~~

You were wholly unprepared. 

Throughout your first two years of undergrad, you had your ex drop you off at the main quad every day, so navigating campus or even knowing the bus routes was never an issue for you. You realized once you got to the bus stop that you had zero clue as to when the next bus would arrive or if you would even get onto the right one.

You had both a maps app and the local bus app pulled up on your phone, constantly refreshing every 10-15 seconds to make sure that you're getting on the right bus. 

You eventually got onto the correct bus line, but that's where your luck ended. You had been standing on the opposite side of the street to where you were supposed to be, so you ended up getting onto a bus that went west instead of east. In your defense, the bus itself was facing east, but you had missed both the flashing sign in front of the bus that said it was the west line and the fact that this particular bus route you chose to take was one of the ones that drove in a circle around the block, which explained why it was facing a different direction once it arrived at your stop. 

You noticed that the bus was driving you further away about two stops into the ride and you immediately panicked and pulled on the wire that indicated the bus driver to stop.

You found yourself frantically pulling up the maps and bus apps again once you got off, cursing at yourself for getting lost on the first day of the semester.

You eventually gave up on trying to figure out the bus system and just ended up walking halfway across campus, trying to ignore the irritating fact that it probably would have been faster just to walk anyway. 

Although it was only by ten minutes, you were still late to class. You were able to arrive before any real discussions began, but it was still late enough that everyone would have noticed. It was a fairly small class that was seated at tables instead of a traditional lecture hall.

Luckily, it was only syllabus week, so you didn't have to worry about any assignment announcements—and you had printed out the syllabus ahead of time—but you were really embarrassed already when you walked in and saw everyone's eyes fall on you. On top of being late, you were fairly certain that you physically looked a mess from being forced to run around on campus for the past 20 minutes.

The class itself was an elective, so you weren't overly stressed about the coursework, but Paradis University was a small university at baseline and your major was even smaller. Everyone knew each other, which made this situation worse for you. On top of the blunder that made up today, everyone also knew of your struggles from the previous semester. They might not have known all the details, but nearly everyone knew that something had happened.

You made eye contact with the professor, who was side-eyeing you from walking in and disrupting his monologue. As you walked further into the room, you made eye contact with the graduate student that was TA-ing the class and gave her an awkward smile. 

Pieck nodded at you to acknowledge you before making a head motion to a table in the back, indicating that you should skip formalities and take a seat before making the professor more grumpy. Professor Magath wasn't a harsh professor by any means, but getting on an instructor's bad side from the very beginning of the semester was something that even you knew was a bad idea.

You slumped into the open seat at the table that both Petra and Oluo—another one of the few classmates that you could call a friend—sat at. You dropped your bag on the floor and had to resist the urge to bury your face in your hands.

Petra gave you an empathetic look and passed you a cup of Matcha from the nearby Starbucks that she picked up for you since she knew that you would be stressed.

You shot her a small smile as you grabbed onto the cup. Your friendship with Petra was on and off, but you at least appreciated her attention to detail whenever you were going through it. 

"It'll get easier with the more days that pass by," she whispered.

The smile fell off your face as you averted your gaze, frowning at an empty spot on the table.

Petra meant well. You knew that—but you were not in the headspace to discuss anything regarding "it" right now. You were in public and just had a rough morning.

"I don't want to talk about it, Petra," you said sternly.

At this point, it's been a little over two years since your parents passed overseas, but you were still struggling to adjust. They were there, and then they suddenly weren't. You remembered it all hitting you like a truck—with the first time being when you first got the bad news and the second time after your somewhat rocky relationship with your ex-boyfriend exploded and all of your emotional walls came crashing down. You thought you were over it, but you clearly weren't. It was more likely that you had used your relationship as a distraction from having to cope with your grief, and that once the relationship ended, you didn't have anything else to hold back all of the turmoil that had been building up inside you.

No one blamed your mental health for going down the drain towards the end of last semester, but it still resulted in unfinished classes and strained friendships. 

You sighed quietly as you tried to calm your nerves, sipping on your drink. 

You found yourself grimacing a little upon tasting the liquid that came into contact with your lips. You were perfectly content with the quality of the matcha tea latte's at Starbucks—until you had a certain barista brew it for you that apparently changed your standards out of the blue.

"You finally getting to murdering your roommate?" Oluo asked.

"I wish," you said with a scoff. "Can't afford the rent."

As you began chuckling to yourself for your snarky comment, you heard someone clear their throat from up front. 

Magath was giving you a disapproving look as he briefly paused in his speech. You were being too talkative and too noisy. 

You sipped on your drink again, turning away from your friends and towards the front in an attempt to avoid getting distracted again. However, given the fact that Magath was discussing the syllabus—which you had read the week prior—you still found yourself zoning out purely due to the lack of interesting information being spouted at you. 

The only thing running through your mind was how annoyed you were at the fact that your first day of class was already kind of a shitshow. Still, you repeated those phrases in your head that you had muttered in the morning: 

All of the problems from last year are resolved. Still have two more years to get everything done. Things will be back on track. Solid plan.

You were determined to make things go well.

By the time you zoned back into reality, class was over and everyone was packing to leave. Petra briefly patted you on the shoulder before heading out the door and Oluo briefly muttered something about being late to your meeting with him later during the day before rushing out.

You immediately began packing your own bag to leave, but you were lagging behind, and resulted in being the last one to leave.

You did another awkward smile at Magath and hoped that he didn't get too bad of a first impression from you. 

As you passed Pieck, she made eye contact with you and then spoke, which prompted you to slow down.

"I'm glad things are picking up for you again, _____," she said softly. "But Magath isn't the type to go easy on you—even if your reasoning is valid—and there are only so many strings I can pull." 

You clenched your jaw at her comment. She was right. It was only because of Pieck and the rapport she had built with the department professors that you had even passed your classes last semester. You hadn't shown up for more than a month and barely got assignments in. You knew it was only by chance that she noticed and reached out to you and it was by some weird stroke of luck that she was able to pull the strings that she did to convince Shadis to give you an incomplete last semester that you'd be able to make up in the summer. 

Although you had Magath this semester instead of Shadis, your situation was undoubtedly known to some extent by everyone in the department, given how small it was.

The more you thought about your situation, the more you felt your face heating up, and the more desperate you became to mask and hide any feelings of frustration that were rapidly approaching. You felt like your heart was jumping out of your throat and that your vision was becoming unfocused. Your hands began to feel clammy and you felt your brain begin to jump into the self-shaming thought spirals.

You really were grateful to Pieck for all the help she had provided you last semester, but you were unsure how much you'd be able to vocalize it right now without breaking down on the spot. As a result, you nodded at her, muttered a quiet thank you, and promptly left the room.

You vaguely heard her speak to you as you left.

"Just remember to reach out when you need it."

~~~~~

While it was a significant day for you with classes finally picking up again, it was a fairly normal and ordinary day for Levi. He made his morning tea, read some papers, went to lab for a few hours, and then came into his shift at the cafe in the afternoon. 

His shift was a bit busier during the late afternoon due to the undergrads beginning school and all deciding to come hang out in the cafe after classes were over, so he was more than ready for Onyankopon to come in and take over his spot at the register. 

He was currently in the awkward layover period in which Nicolo, who was working the morning shift, had already left, but before Onyankopon, who was working the closing shift, had yet to come in. The layover period was only for thirty minutes, but it was still thirty minutes too long. 

On top of having to deal with the annoying undergrads and his problematic roommate, his relationship with Hange and Erwin in lab had slightly soured. It was for no other reason that him not being in the mood to chat with either of them because of the conversation from last month. There was no bad blood or resentment, but Hange's comment regarding his disdain for the undergrads left him tilted and chatting with Erwin only ever involved his graduation progress, which was the last thing he wanted to think about at the moment.

He felt himself getting more and more frustrated and rarely found a moment in which he wasn't on edge because at this point, he literally feels like he doesn't have a safe space. Even when he's at home, he has to deal with you, even if he locks himself in his room most of the time. He couldn't catch a break no matter where he went. 

Levi was able to recognize that he was being hostile towards you and that it wasn't entirely fair, but you were also being a brat towards him. He acknowledged that he probably should have tried to compromise when you approached him two weeks ago, but your behavior since then has destroyed any lingering motivation to make your shared situation any better.

You've been nothing but petty ever since that one day in which he brushed off your attempts to get along with him. You began doing explicit "my space versus your space" behaviors, such as neatly cleaning only half the sink or kitchen or even putting a clear divide between what was yours versus what was his. One of his biggest pet peeves that you've picked up as a habit was that when you did the dishes, you only did your own dishes and left his in a neat pile, unwashed—which killed the purpose of them being stacked neatly as the dishes themselves were still filthy. 

It irked him to no end, but he also told himself that it was ultimately a good thing to keep everything separated. It would increase the chances of you moving out after the school year was over, but that was still around 10-12 months into the future, which gave him a headache to think about.

At this point, he began to wonder if maybe he cooked something that was scented a bit too strongly that made Miche mad and that was why he had to deal with you as a result of some bad karma. 

He found himself sighing in relief when Onyankopon finally walked in through the door. However, that sigh immediately turned into a groan of discontent when he saw you follow promptly behind him. Your figure was significantly smaller than his coworker, so he didn't see you until you were already in the door. 

You were completely distracted by your phone, furiously typing as you walked towards his counter. It didn't look like you did it on purpose, but he couldn't help but wonder if you were purposefully trying to irritate him when you took a seat in front of him at the counter—the same seat you had been sitting at ever since your first day stepping into the café back in June. 

Finally, you looked up and flinched upon seeing Levi, which caused him to raise an eyebrow at you in irritation.

"Shit, I forgot you work today," you grumbled.

Levi grunted, rolled his eyes, and then walked away from you to clean his tea station. 

You squinted at him as he walked away, glaring daggers into his back.

"Wonderful customer service skills as always," you grumbled as you scowled at him.

"Welcome!" a pleasant voice greeted you as you looked up and saw Onyankopon smiling at you as he walked up to the register. "I assume you and Levi know each other?"

"Unfortunately," you mumbled.

You had a shit day at school. Your following classes weren't much better compared to your first one of the day. While seeing Levi here didn't improve your mood in the slightest, you did find yourself coming into the cafe nearly every day. It was a convenient spot and had a good environment to study in—minus Levi, of course.

You eyes darted down to your phone as your screen lit up. Oluo had mentioned that he was going to be late for your planned meeting with him to set up the club you had mentioned to Petra, but he didn't mention just how late he was going to be. You were impatiently waiting for him to respond to your text about it.

"Well, what can I help you with?" Onyankopon asked.

"Matcha tea latte with coconut milk and a shot of espresso would be nice," you said with a smile. You knew that it was an unconventional combination, but you liked the taste.

"Coming right up."

"You're much more pleasant compared to Levi," you mused. "Do they pay you more?"

"They do not," Onyankopon said in an overly professional manner as he chuckled.

"Well, they should," you muttered loudly enough for Levi to hear in the back. You shot a smug grin towards him as your roommate glared at you from his station. 

If it was your goal to piss him off every time he saw you, you were succeeding.

Onyankopon took your card and walked off to enter your drink into the order intake system. 

You pulled out your laptop, opting to get some of the initial set-up done if Oluo was going to force you to wait for him. If your club wanted to operate this semester, you had to get the official paperwork in within the next two weeks. 

As you pulled up the university's student life website, you glanced up towards Onyankopon and saw that Levi handed him your drink before Onyankopon was even able to hand him the sticker indicating what you had ordered. 

As much as Levi chastised you for ordering a Matcha on your very first interaction, it seemed you had become predictable enough for him to immediately know what you were going to order every time. You wondered if you should switch it up occasionally to throw him off. The thought of it brought another smile to your face.

You sipped on it and you shut your eyes as another small smile appeared on your face. This blend was your comfort drink and was much better than the Matcha that Petra had brought you in the morning.

You didn't notice, but Levi was subtly eyeing you from the back as he restocked his station. You pissed him off to no end, but he'd be lying if he didn't at least take some satisfaction in the fact that you enjoyed his version of your comfort drink.

The door to the cafe opened again and two other undergrads walked in and sat next to you. 

Oluo walked in and sat down first, with another upperclassman one year above you that immediately followed after. Gunther had said he wasn't overly interested in being an officer, but you needed a senior representative and he was the most available, so you were able to rope him into it.

Levi was immediately reminded of that subtle discomfort you seemed to be giving off this morning when you had first come out of your room. That same tension appeared in your body posture again as you sat up more "properly" as soon as you started interacting with the two of them. It was overly professional and once again, appeared "fake". He just couldn't understand you. 

He vaguely overheard the three of you discussing the trajectory that your club was supposed to be taking. Levi scoffed to himself at the fact that a simple extracurricular was what you found yourself stressed about. You were incredibly privileged if that was the only thing you had to worry about. 

Levi did notice that although you started the conversation, it seemed more like Oluo and Gunther were leading it. Any idea that you proposed that didn't get immediate agreement from the other two was discarded. You immediately backed down on everything. You wanted an academic component since the club was supposed to be an honors society. They said no, you conceded. You wanted a stricter budget to be able to afford a bigger social outing at the end of the year. They said no, you conceded.

Everything that you said made sense, and even Levi agreed in that he would prefer the activities you mentioned over whatever garbage Oluo was proposing, such as a social for stupid things like Valentine's day or Thirsty Thursday. 

It irritated Levi even more that you didn't fight for your ideas in the slightest. You were letting both of them walk all over your club. He subtly squinted at you, watching your movements with them.

It wasn't a people pleaser thing, he could tell that much. It was more like you didn't really know how to navigate asserting your own opinions or desires, which was ironic. The person in front of him was not the person he had been coming home to every night.

Levi wasn't the type to be outwardly social, but he knew how to read people. That's how he was able to tell that this wasn't something as simple as being a people pleaser.

It was a lack of self-respect. He was able to see that even without full context over what was happening. The fact that you were different in front of him irked him even more.

He could not possibly think of a worse person to be forced to be around. 

He had hoped that he would have had a better day after leaving lab and coming in to have a mindless shift at the café, but the only thing he was feeling was his mood rapidly declining the minute you stepped into the door.

#: @levisbrat25 @gothgril69 @sckerman @berrijam @notgoodforlife @meowjaa @averysmolbear @roseofdarknessblog @bejewelledd @hhighkey @ayame236 @sad-darksoul @velouria17 @kamyru @l1zk4 @layenacreates @lamees004

[terapsina]

Can I take a moment to talk about how I enjoy the fact that Dongfang Qingcang was NOT ever actually evil?

He was without feelings. He was ruthless. Thirty thousand years ago he tried to attack Shuiyuntian and there would undoubtedly have been innocent victims but he did not do so because he was being a conqueror. He did so because his people were clearly quite desperate (and yes, as revenge against the Fairy Realm for their treatment of the Moon Tribe).

The story describes him as this great evil but it feels more like the victors of the war rewriting history the way they liked, rather than actual description of Dongfang Qingcang as we get to know him. Even in the beginning when his feelings are only barely beginning to wake he's not so much cruel or malicious as angry after all.

Infuriated by being tied to Xiao Lanhua. But he doesn't really do anything truly horrific to her does he? He's kinda mean when she's irritating him - especially when she keeps unknowingly describing him as a green skinned monster with bad breath (which: ICONIC); incredibly grumpy; throws around a few empty threats; gets kinda hilariously excited about the opportunity to kill people and beings FOR her.

But he doesn't kidnap her until it's to save her life. He tries talking/tricking Xiao Lanhua into fixing the previous God of War's destiny book but doesn't hold swords to the throats of the people she cares about to make her do it.

And then he multiple times tries to make Xiao Lanhua feel better whenever she's upset (very resentfully in the beginning to be fair and with the frequent addition of murder eyes as he does it but not in a... calculated way. There's no real manipulation or seduction going on, he's even right when he tells her he never lied to her when she learns exactly who he is).

I just... I like that the story ISN'T 'evil man falls in love and this fixes him'. He wasn't evil. And falling in love didn't fix him. Falling in love was more a consequence of his Heart Tree being given a spark of life, which gave him the ABILITY to fall in love, and not at all the kind of toxic power play that shows often try to make romantic and which just end up making me vaguely ill.

He's not an evil overlord out for his own selfish goals who then starts caring about one person and one person alone. He cares about his entire realm, he cares about the souls of those 100'000 trapped soldiers. He always did, even if up to that point he was loyalty without affection. He's dangerous. Both the leader of and the weapon for his people. But he grows into more than that through the story as he learns selflessness and forgiveness and compassion.

Ultimately I guess I like that though he might have changed because of Xiao Lanhua, he didn't do it for her. At least not the way this trope is usually used in many of my NOTPs.

[merpiplier]

baby if i'm half the man i say i am | steve harrington x eddie munson

Eddie must've been dying.

There was no other explanation. He could feel the blood slicking his skin, pooling in the back of his throat, coating his tongue as he sagged into the earth under the horde of bats. He was ready for it; he'd come to terms with it in the short amount of time between chopping the rope down and now.

So, the vision swimming into view must've been his brain's last hurrah before clicking off once and for all. Because seeing Harrington, skin a golden glow in the gloom of the Upside Down, ax raised like a great sword against the swarm of monsters around him, giant brownish wings spread out like a shield around him... There was no other explanation for that, other than a pre-death hallucination. 

“Fucking told you not to be a hero.” Vision Steve hissed, smashing a handful of bats out of the sky before the glow got so much stronger, Eddie having to close his eyes against it.

He didn't bother to reopen them after that, everything too hard to do after that.

Waking up in the hospital after that was... unexpected.

Eddie grimaced, body aching all over as he squirmed. He could feel the stitches all over his stomach and in his neck and thighs, the bruising and the general bone deep ache from recovering from his blood loss.

He really should be dead, so... what the hell?

“Good, you're awake.”

Eddie startled, letting out a pained whine as he did. The voice tutted, and Eddie rolled his head over to find Steve, looking grumpy and tired. “Harrington?”

Steve huffed, his arms crossed, dressed in a fluffy blue sweater that didn't look as good as his yellow one currently lost at the bottom of Lovers Lake, sweats, his hair fluffy and free of product. He looked incredibly comfy. “About damn time, Munson. Was beginning to think I dragged you out of there for nothing.”

Eddie blinked, breath catching in his throat. Why did the thought of Steve carrying him out of that hell hole twist his guts so much? Fuck, he wanted to cry a little bit now, thinking of it. He cleared his throat, tilting his head back as it started aching at the angle he needed to look over to Steve. “I mean... I appreciate it, but you didn't have to.” Silence, Steve's breathing even stopped for a second, and Eddie let out his own trapped breath. “I kinda came to terms with it, dude. Shit was gonna suck when I got back here. How the hell was I gonna come out of this okay, you know? There was no way I wasn't gonna be framed and dying to try to help you guys out seemed infinitely better than taking the fall for that creep.”

Another couple beats of silence, before Steve stood up, and for a split-second Eddie thought he could see that golden light again, just for a bit before he blinked and it was gone. “You're an idiot.” Steve muttered, before he left.

Eddie immediately blacked out, as the door closed, pain swallowing him up with the sweet blackness of unconsciousness.

The next time Eddie woke up, he hadn't felt nearly as bad. There was also a warm, soft hand wrapped around his, a rough thumb brushing over his knuckles. Eddie allowed his head to loll over, frowning slightly when he saw Steve there again, seeming a little guilty as he drew circles into the back of Eddie's hand. “Steve?”

“Sorry.” Steve muttered; his gaze was soft as he watched the patterns he traced into Eddie's skin. “That was a little mean, last time. But...” He looked up then, and Eddie thought for a second Steve's eyes seemed brighter, almost unnaturally so, but when his own eyes focused, they were the usual hazel Eddie had admittedly spent too much time staring into. “Eddie, you should've stuck to the plan, man. We would've figured something out. We did.” He gestured to the room; his lips drawn into a tight line. “Do you think they'd let me be alone with a triple murder suspect? There'd be guards, Eddie.” He leaned forward, frown deepening, and Eddie's eyes must've been going wonky again from all the drugs undoubtedly pumping through him, since Steve's skin seemed to be glowing again, his eyes almost seeming golden in the little bit of light. “As soon as you heal up, you're a free man, Eddie. You just needed to trust us.”

And... wow, okay, that hurt a bit. “Really, Harrington?” Eddie let out a rough chuckle, grimacing as he snatched his hand out of Steve's, pain seeping through his bones with the loss of contact. “I'm really expected to trust a gaggle of kids and the reformed resident jackass to fix the shit show that was my life for the last week. Yeah, okay.”

Steve huffed, hand falling onto his thigh, pain slipping back under a muted blanket with the touch. That was... weird. “Go back to sleep, Eddie.” Steve's voice was tight when he spoke.

Eddie went to sleep.

The next time Eddie woke up, he was alone, and in pain again. His wounds were slowly healing, but according to the nurse that came in to check on his vitals and swap out his IV, they were healing a lot faster than they should've, given the apparently horrific state he came in.

“Honestly, it seems like something of a miracle. It's only been a couple days, and you just about seem ready for the stitches to be taken out.” The nurse smiled at him, comforting and sweet. It wasn't anywhere near as comforting as Steve's grumpy ass. Eddie should probably unpack that a bit later, in private.

“Where's Steve?” Eddie asked, instead, his voice rough to his own ears.

She hummed softly. “He's visiting the young lady that came in about the same time as you. She seems to be recovering fairly well, too.” She let out a soft chuckle, scribbling onto his chart. “It's almost like he's some sort of visiting angel, or something.”

Angel?

The word stuck in Eddie's mind, and he frowned as she left. He faded back to sleep not long after, but he dreamed, this time.

Golden glowing skin, large wings, and a sword raised through a horde of evil. Wings sturdy enough to shield the weak behind them.

Maybe his... blood-loss addled brain wasn't making something up... but... that'd be crazy. Steve Harrington, former asshole of Hawkins High, some sort of weird angel thing?

Yeah, sure.

“What?” Steve groused, when Eddie was awake the next time, finally snapping after Eddie had spent the last several minutes staring him down.

“You're glowing.” Eddie muttered, his eyes catching at the gleam of Steve's skin. It was hard to keep track of, as it seemed to shift if he stared at it for too long. But it was there, Eddie could see it, just at the edge of his vision at all times.

Steve frowned, then looked away, his hand squeezing for a second on his thigh where it'd been resting. “I got a new moisturizer.”

It's said too quickly, all in a rush, like an excuse he'd had loaded and ready. Eddie sucked on his teeth, looking the man up and down. “There's something off about you, Harrington.”

Steve simply shrugged, patting his thigh. “Not my fault you don't pay attention.”

Wow, if that wasn't fucking cryptic and damning. Eddie had no idea how. He knew, somehow, that this vision, or hallucination, or whatever... it was real, somehow. Maybe it was his drug addled brain, but there was just something odd, something just the left of human about Steve now. Or maybe it had been there all the time, and Eddie just never paid attention. Did everyone else know?

“You're really going to save my life and keep me in the dark like this, Stevie?”

Steve's lips quirked at the name, and he tilted his head. “You're not in the dark.”

“But I am.” Eddie blinked, because yes, he was. He had no fucking clue what Steve was, what the hell was going on, he just knew there was something. “Why are you acting like I know what's going on?”

“You're the only one who knows anything.” Steve supplied, then tilted his head in the opposite direction, this time like he was listening to something. He hummed. “I'll be back. Get some rest.”

Just like last time, Eddie's eyes felt heavier, and he could feel the siren call of sleep starting to drag him in. “Steve-”

He was met with a soft smile, softer than he'd ever seen on the man, and that hand squeezing into his leg one last time, before the touch left, taking his consciousness with it.

Not fair, that's cheating... Eddie's sleepy brain supplied, before it plunged into the soft, gentle golden glow of dreams.

“Why did you come back for me?” Eddie asked, the next time he was awake with Steve. The other man was curled up in the bedside chair as much as he could be, legs tucked up, tilted partially to one side, hand stretched out to rest on Eddie's arm as the other flipped through a magazine.

Hazel eyes looked up at him, and Steve gave a crooked smile. “You're one of us, of course I'd come back for you.”

Eddie hummed. “Yeah, okay, then how?” Steve tilted his head and Eddie continued. “You had a job to do all the way across that place, several miles away. How did you get there just in time? Even if you were a track star in high school instead of swim captain, there's no way you'd get there in time.”

Steve nodded, tilting his head the other way. It was... okay, admittedly, it was a little cute. Like watching a puppy try to puzzle out something new. “I flew there.”

There it was again, that tone. Like it explained everything, and maybe it did, but the words made absolutely no sense.

Expect, they did.

But yet, here Steve sat, looking human as ever, no sign of any wings or glowing or anything.

“Good joke.” Eddie said carefully.

Steve's eyes gleamed. “Thanks.”

There were a couple of beats of silence, and Eddie stared at Steve, unashamed, as he focused back on the magazine. “Are you... ever going to come out and tell me what actually happened, instead of letting me think I know?”

Steve nodded, then, that same soft smile on his face, still reading over the magazine page, over a recipe of all things. “When you're home, and we can have some privacy. I'll show you.”

Show.

Eddie swallowed, thinking of the wings he keeps seeing in his dreams, that he saw just before blood loss drug him under. Soft grays and browns, molting in places, pink and red from scarring in others. Fucking beautiful, all the same.

“I'd... I think I'd like that...” Eddie's voice came out more choked off than he expected.

Steve hummed, then tilted the magazine up. “Looks good, huh?”

Eddie didn't even glance at it, just looked into Steve's eyes, told the truth, raw and vulnerable for the first time since the boathouse. “Yeah, yeah looks good.”

Hazel eyes crinkled, all too knowing, and Eddie glanced away finally, feeling a bit too much like Icarus chasing the sun.

He could catch fire in Steve Harrington's gaze, all too easily. And Eddie would be glad to, would welcome it, after surviving the end of the world.

Eddie settled on the bed in the bedroom of Steve's apartment, feeling awkward. He'd half expected to be dragged into the Harrington mansion when Steve offered his place to take care of Eddie post hospital stay, so seeing the dingy apartment complex at the edge of town come into view instead Eddie couldn't help the way his eyebrows raised, surprised.

“Disappointed?” Steve had asked, not a drop of malice in his tone, teasing. “I had to find someplace after dad cut me off last year.”

“I'm sorry.” Eddie had offered, because what else do you say to that?

Steve had simply shrugged, a private little smile on his face. He seemed relaxed, happy. “I don't mind it.”

That lead to Eddie where he is now, his hands locked together in his lap, in Steve's borrowed clothes after his trailer had been ripped in half in the 'earthquake', surrounded by a surprisingly bright and cluttered room. Polaroids decorated just about every wall, sneaky little pictures taken of the kids, Steve and Robin together at Scoops Ahoy and then later Family Video, a handful of pictures of Nancy and Jonathan, smiling and laughing. A mess of tapes by an obviously used stereo, a handful of little trinkets and items gathered around. Nothing at all like Eddie had expected, not a single piece of the old King Steve visible, no trophies or anything of the like. The final nail in the coffin for Eddie's crush.

“You okay?” A soft voice knocked him out of his head, and Eddie looked up, finding Steve smiling at him, bright as sunlight after rain. “Is it okay?”

Eddie swallowed, nodding. “Yeah, yeah it's fine.” He cleared his throat, looking away for a moment. “I don't know what I expected.” He lied.

Steve hummed, striding into the room and plopping onto the bed beside him. His skin seemed to have that odd almost glow to it again, shifting as if it was avoiding his eye. He felt warmed like a blanket over him as Steve settled by him. “Did you still want to talk about what you think you saw?”

I think you know what I saw. Eddie nodded slowly, sucking in breath to set his gaze firm on to Steve. “I'm pretty sure you swooped in like some sort of... I dunno, but you had wings, Steve, you were glowing.” He swallowed as Steve's expression didn't change, the only movement in him his eyes shifting down to stare at Eddie's mouth as he spoke. “I-I thought I had imagined it, because I was dying. But then I didn't die, and I'm pretty sure you did something, but I don't know what, because I don't know what you are.” He finally took a breath, then reached a tentative hand out to Steve, settling on his leg, hazel eyes meeting his once again. “Steve, you're not human, are you?”

A beat, then Steve smiled, soft and sweet. “I was.” He hummed, his own hand covering over Eddie's, making his heart do traitorous little skips in his chest. “Back before all this started, I was. You remembered me like that, I was horrible. Then this happened, and something about having to protect everyone, wanting to protect the kids, then Robin, and Nancy... And you.” He trailed off, finally breaking eye contact. “I knew something had changed, and I kept it a secret for such a long time. Because I was scared, at first, I had no idea what was happening to me. I just rushed in to protect everyone, without thinking, it was instinctual. And every time afterward something would change. No one else seemed to notice so I thought... it was just me.” He looked to Eddie again then, his hand squeezing Eddie's. “Then you saw, somehow. No one else knew how I made it across the Upside Down like that, like you said. There should've been no way for me to do that, for me to even know something had happened to you.”

Eddie swallowed, feeling more now than ever like he was burning in the presence of Steve. “How did you?”

Steve hummed. “You've been like a little knotted thread attached to my brain since the boathouse. I can feel you, wherever you are. It's how I knew where you were at Skull Rock... how I knew you were in trouble.” His expression shifted, and Eddie felt scolded for the moment. “I had told you not to be a hero, Eddie.”

Eddie flushed then, looking away. “You said that before, too...” He swallowed, looking back sheepishly. “So... what are you, then?”

Steve didn't seem to appreciate the change in subject, but he simply sighed, standing to put a couple inches of space between them, hand still holding Eddie's. “I'm not entirely sure, but I have a guess, just based on everything. Some sort of... guardian angel, I suppose.” He wrinkled his nose then, letting out a short, choppy laugh. “I don't like thinking of myself like that, though. I feel... like it's my way to make up for everything I did before this, so I... don't think I really deserve to be called that.”

It made sense, with everything Eddie saw. He really did seem like a guardian at that point, using his own body to protect Eddie, beating away the bats like a warrior out of one of Eddie's campaigns. He swallowed, turning his hand in Steve's hold to squeeze his hand back. “I think you're doing good, Steve. You saved me, after all, you didn't have to.”

“I did.” Steve immediately answered, using his free hand to tilt Eddie's head up by the chin, sending a thrill down Eddie's spine. “I wanted to. I think you wanted me to, despite whatever reasoning you had for doing that, you wanted to live.” He smiled softly. “I wanted you to live.”

Eddie's heart gave a yearning tug at his heart strings, and Eddie sighed as Steve's fingers skimmed along his jaw. “Maybe.” He answered, not wanting to give Steve the satisfaction of being right. He paused a couple moments, his eyes skimming over Steve's frame. “Is there... can you make them come out at will? Or just when one of us need rescuing?”

Steve gave a light chuckle, before he leaned forward, pressing a kiss to Eddie's forehead, making his heart soar into space, dance among the stars, crush speeding at a dangerous rate to something close to love. “I'll show you when you're better.” Steve smiled then, gently settling Eddie down to the bed. “I'll bring you some medicine and food once I've gotten your things settled in place. Just lay back and let me take care of everything, Eds.”

It was too late for Eddie. He let out a soft punched out breath, following Steve's softly given orders. He settled against the too firm mattress, sunk into the blankets that smelled like sandalwood and lavender, letting his eyes drift close as he watched Steve putter around the cramped room, adding bits of Eddie into the mess of the reformed Steve Harrington.

His heart ached, watching the scene, watching Steve smile privately to himself as he settled Eddie's minis onto his tiny desk, right beside the chewed-on pencils of Steve's, notebooks full of song lyrics right beside the kept movie ticket stubs. He drifted off to the sound of Steve humming softly, some pop song Eddie had heard playing in Steve's car on the way over, Steve making happy sounds to himself as he integrated Eddie into his space.

He tried not to think of it too much, not to let the thought of Steve being happy with coiling Eddie into him get under his skin. If he dreamed of Steve wrapped around him in the bed, of soft pink lips tracing over his still healing scars...

Eddie could keep it to himself, bury it deep in his chest and never let it see the light of day.

“I like this...” Steve muttered, his chest rumbling against Eddie's arm. They were too close, squished together on Steve's tiny couch, a handful of weeks after Eddie had been taken in to heal. Steve had gotten into the habit of bringing movies back home to help Eddie spend time at home – at Steve's home, not...not his.

Eddie couldn't have focused on the movie if he wanted, Steve's warmth invading every inch of his body, welcomed into Eddie's core with greedy hands. He hummed, his eyes blinking sleepily as he nuzzled back, brain moving slow. “'m glad. Me too.”

Steve chuckled, then, nuzzling into Eddie's skin. “I like you.”

Eddie would've choked, panicked, if not for the lazy happiness coursing through him. He tilted his head back, looking into brighter hazel. They always seemed so bright now, every day, bordering on that gold Eddie had seen him with nearly four months ago. “I... Do you mean that?” Eddie asked, his heart waiting, caged up, ready for disappointment.

Steve simply answered with action, tilting Eddie's head back just an inch more, fingers gentle on his jaw, and lips infinitely softer on his.

Eddie's heart burst from its cage, screaming the highest energy song into the cool fall air, singing Steve Harrington's name to the clouds. No turning back, Eddie would either fly on, soar higher and higher with Steve's warmth encompassing, or he would eventually burn up in the face of Steve's daylight. He would take the chance, anything to feel the plush touch of lips against his again, to be handled soft and sweet like something to be cherished.

The movie was forgotten, Eddie freeing up space on the couch by turning to climb into Steve's lap, hands coiling into Steve's hair, pushing back against Steve's softness with all the need he'd been holding onto since he'd pushed Steve back into the wall, glass bottle in hand, fragile as the bars that held his too strong feelings at bay.

“Can I see them?” Eddie had asked, again, more direct than the last time he had, nearly a year ago.

He'd kept to his end of the bargain; he'd healed up aside from scars several months ago. He was under Steve now, the other man shirtless above him, skimming hands over the silvery skin of Eddie's stomach, lovingly tracing the pattern of his scars. With anyone else, Eddie might've been self-conscious, but here, under Steve, with the all-encompassing love in his eyes as his golden gaze fell over Eddie's body, he couldn't be anything but proud of them. He'd survived, with Steve's help, he'd crawled out of hell, beaten and bloody, and made it through, gaining so much from it, gaining everything.

“They're a lot.” Steve had muttered, before he pulled back, letting out a soft breath. “They're not pretty.”

Eddie grinned, his thumbs drawing circles into Steve's thighs. “Everything is pretty on you, Stevie.”

Steve rolled his eyes, his smile giving him away for how pleased his words made him. “You're cleaning up the mess of them, then.”

With that, Steve's shoulders rolled back, every muscle relaxing, and Eddie realized just how tense he always seemed to be then, just before the soft sound of feather against skin. They were giant, taking up nearly all the space in their tiny bedroom, brown and gray with speckles of green, feathers bent in places, scars in others, rash like redness under where feathers molted out, raining down onto Eddie like individual kisses. Air punched out of him, and Eddie reached a hand from Steve's thigh to trace along the edge of one, feeling too soft feather and pebbly skin below. “Beautiful...” Eddie breathed.

Steve flushed, golden glow lighting up the room, becoming so bright Eddie had to squint against it, but he kept looking, almost greedy for it as he traced the scars, pleased as Steve shuddered.

“They're pretty.” Eddie commented, then, giggling as Steve pressed their lips together, muttering praise and compliments into Steve's plush mouth, his touch never leaving the wings.

“You don't have to say that.” Steve whispered, pulling back just enough to say the words between them, his bright eyes looking over Eddie's face. For the first time, Eddie saw the scared look on Steve's face, uncertain and worried. Eddie dragged his hands down to cup Steve's face, rubbing his thumbs along Steve's jaw, dragging him into a kiss he hoped to convey everything he felt, everything he knew he could never hope to word right.

“I mean it.” Eddie muttered, once they parted. “You're amazing, Steve Harrington. My angel.” He kissed him again, hoping to kiss away the unsure expression. “My hero.”

Steve let out a breath, relaxing, wings spreading out like a blanket, soft and warm, like all of Steve. Completely different from the last time he saw them, how last time they stayed firm, wrapping tight around him to guard him. They were like a old band shirt now, like the old Metallica shirt Wayne gave him to sleep in when Eddie showed up on his doorstep, the one he still had after all this time, worn and tattered, tucked away in the salvaged things from his trailer.

“Love you.” Eddie whispered, sealing the words with another kiss, another skirt of fingers along the soft outline of wings, downy feathers warmed from Steve's skin.

Steve's breath caught, and he let out a soft, shocked little laugh, before diving in, kissing Eddie with urgency, stealing away his breath. He was burning, exactly like Icarus, wishing for the sun to melt away his armor and send him falling. “Love you, too.” The sun answered, catching him from his free fall, wrapping him up in it's searing embrace.

[allthingsfuckd]

ur endgame fic was SO good and idk if u take requests or if they’re open at the moment but if they are could you possibly write a bucky x fem!reader fic where shes like really hurt and hides it from him until she passes out or something and he like freaks out? and is just SUPER protective and caring during the healing process but like he’s mad at himself for not being able to tell? idk just very very protective concerned caring angsty fluff basically. 🥺❤️

thank you so much!! yes, i do take requests but it might take a while for me to respond (i’m a full time student). YES i love that idea!!!!

pairing: bucky x fem!reader

warning(s): physical fighting, mention of blood, daggers, fainting, angst and fluff.

you walked by the men laying on the ground, brushing off the concrete dust on your jacket. “Bucky, i’m headed your way,” you said through the comms. you looked down at your side by your ribcage when you felt a soft tingle of pain. your white shirt stained red with blood. the adrenaline from fighting wore off and the pain got worse, you didn’t know exactly how you got it probably from when you held a man in a chokehold on his shoulders.

you shook it off since it was just the start of the mission, the real target not captured yet. you zipped up your leather jacket as you approached Bucky. “you okay?” he asked when he saw your scrunched up face. “yeah, i’m good just got kicked hard,” you lied, not wanting to hold the team back since the mission was time sensitive. you tailed behind Bucky as he opened a door. fuck, you thought when you saw it was a stairwell. “which floor did Sam say Dr. Kim was on again?” you asked Bucky. “10th,” he answered, already half-way up the first flight of stairs. you followed behind him, skipping 2 steps as you went.

when you took the last step on the 10th floor, you felt dizzy. you tried to fight it but you felt your vision dissolve into darkness. “Buck,” you said softly, your vision blur trying to reach for the railing, seeing Bucky walk through the door. he couldn’t hear you. and then, it was all black.

“okay, you wait here for my signal,” Bucky said as he looked at the map on his phone. “y/n?” he looked behind to see you were not there. “y/n where are you?” he said over the comms, growing worried when you didn’t respond immediately. he walked back to the stairwell, his heart dropped when he saw you on the ground.

he got down to his knees trying to wake you up but your body was limp. he unzipped your jacket to look for any wounds, seeing your bloodstained t-shirt. “Sam, y/n’s down,” he opened your eyes to check for any signs of a concussion. he took a bandage out of his pocket and wrapped it tightly around your chest. “fuck, y/n, stay with me,” he grunted under his breath as he lifted you up.

“she lost a lot of blood,” the EMT said to him in the ambulance. he held your hand, his mind buzzing with thoughts and he could hear his heart pounding in his ears. being a former assassin and with your skillset, you were undoubtedly independent when it came to missions. Bucky knew he could count on you when it came to missions, seeing as you’ve saved his ass multiple times more than he’s saved yours. this was the first time he’s ever seen you so weak and fragile.

he sat by your bed, staring at your body waiting for even a slight movement from you. his legs jumping as he waited for the anesthesia to wear off. when you did move a little, he would get up immediately to check on you. it did seem odd that you were hissing a lot and went slower than usual going up the stairs, he thought. mad that he didn’t bother to ask you again. 

finally, he saw your eyes flutter open. “hey, grumpy,” he relaxed a little, hearing the infamous nickname you gave him, realizing he’d been frowning. “what the hell happened there, y/n?” his voice angry, but a glint of worry in his eyes. “i didn’t realize it was that bad, Buck, sorry i hid it from you,” your voice weak, bringing your hand up to run your fingers through his hair. “no, i’m sorry i didn’t notice,” he moved his head to kiss your palm.

you were discharged from the hospital two days after but that didn’t stop Bucky from being overprotective. “babe, you really don’t have to do everything for me,” you laughed when he got up from his seat to help you stand up from the couch. he always became soft when it came to you. he helped you in the shower, woke up early to make you breakfast in bed so you didn’t have to get out of bed. he would even stay in the same room as you on purpose thinking you wouldn’t notice. 

“thank you, Bucky, you’ve been amazing,” you kissed him while he was helping you undress for a shower. he looked into your eyes, smiling after pulling away from the kiss. “i love you,” he said, and your eyes grew wide. his widened too after he realized what he said. you only started dating a few months ago and were too busy to find the right time to share your first i love you. you pulled him in for another kiss, a longer one. his hands went up your sides and you hissed in the kiss. “shit,” Bucky pulled his hands away from your body. “i’m sorry,” both of you laughed. “i love you too, Bucky,” he smiled and kissed your forehead.

p.s. im so sorry if it wasn’t that good. but i hope it was close to what you wanted!

[svnflowervol666]

harry doing baby bubs hair in the bathroom while she’s facetiming mitch 🥺

Word Count: 2.4k

Author’s Note: This made my heart melt. It’s in a puddle on the floor right now. That’s all.

“Baby, ye’ gotta sit still,” Harry huffed as he resituated his daughter on the bathroom counter for probably the fifth time that morning.

She was normally a patient and well-behaved child despite her ripe age of three, but today she was really showing her age.

“Want mummy do it!” she whined, smacking her pudgy toes against the inside of the sink.

“I know ye’ want mummy t’ do it. I want mummy to do it too, but she had t’ go t’ work early. ‘S just me and you today.”

Harry reached for the spray bottle filled with water with his right hand while keeping a firm grasp on his daughter’s unruly head of curly hair with his left, determined to tame the frizzy strands that seemed to have run wild while she slept the night before. A ponytail shouldn’t be this fucking hard. Should it?

He spritzed the bottle a few inches away from her head, trying to smooth down the baby hairs that littered her hair line. And he almost had it. That was, until his daughter tucked her head downward in agitation and caused Harry to lose his grip and the poofy tufts of chocolate brown hair to fall once more around her forehead and ears.

A exaggerated (but not really, it was well-deserved) groan erupted from Harry’s chest, and a feeling of defeat washed over him. He rubbed his tired eyes with the knuckles on his fingers. It wasn’t a big deal and he knew that, but the fact that he couldn’t do his daughter’s hair was making him feel like a failure of a father. 

“What’s it gonna take for ye’ to stop squirmin’, huh? Will ye’ just be good so daddy can do your hair and we can get ya t’ nana’s?”

She was getting restless now, the hard stone making her tiny bum ache and her attention span dwindle down to the point of non-existance.

“Daddy, I want dowwwwwn,” she fussed as she balled her hands into fists and hit them on her knees in protest.

“I’ve got t’ fix your hair, lovie. Can’t have it hangin’ in your eyes. Just be still for a few seconds. Ye’ know what? Here. Play with this.”

Harry fished his cell phone out of his back pocket and placed the sleek device in his child’s lap. He was normally against letting her mess with his phone in fear that she’d accidentally delete an important file or call one of the dozens of influential figures he had saved in his contacts, but at this point he’d do just about anything to make her stop moving so that he could put her damn hair up.

Her eyes seemed to light up when she realized what she now held in her possession, fingers moving quickly to unlock the screen and cause whatever damage her heart desired. It didn’t take her long to realize that unlike her mother’s, Harry’s phone was locked with a passcode and she was unable to get into it.

“Fix it, daddy!” she exclaimed, raising the phone over her shoulder while Harry had finally managed to regather her hair into a somewhat presentable bundle.

He cursed under his breath and let her curly mane go once more, then took the phone back from his daughter. It was unlocked and back in her arms in a few seconds flat, to which Harry’s millionth attempt at corraling the curls he undoubtedly passed down to her began. 

In an instant, she’d forgotten all about how antsy she was, now busying herself by opening random apps that caught her eye and pressing random keys that meant absolutely nothing to her because she was a three year old that couldn’t read, but it didn’t deter her from thinking she was a proper adult doing adult things on her very own cell phone.

Harry let out a sigh of relief when she seemed completely content, reaching once more for the spray bottle to rewet the comb he had been using to smooth over his daughter’s scalp. She put up no fight when he pulled her hair taut against her head, almost as if she had forgotten he was even there as her pudgy fingers tapped away on the glass screen.

The silver lining was now in reach, the finish line only a handful of long strides away. He was satisfied with his work. Sure, there were a few lumps and bumps, but nothing his wife or mother would fuss over, so he raised his arm up to his mouth to pull the neon pink hair band from his wrist with his teeth. As fate would have it, just as he began securing her ponytail with the hair tie, the flimsy elastic snapped and shot to the floor, leaving the toddler’s hair in a bird’s nest on top of her head and Harry’s patience at it’s end. 

“You’ve got t’ be bloody kiddin’ me,” Harry groaned, having to turn his body away from his daughter as if the fuse attached to his last nerve was going to implode at any second. 

He was now certain that whatever higher power in the sky was planning his demise on this bright and sunny Tuesday morning.

With the last bit of his dignity, he knelt down to open the cabinets and rummage through the bin with all of his daughter’s clips and bows until he found another hair tie that would match the outfit he’d picked out for her to wear. He kept a firm hand on her back as he jumbled around the contents of the container, just in case she lost her balance and fell backwards off of the counter (she didn’t really need the extra reinforcement, but he’d not quite been able to shake the over-protective dad persona that he’d adopted whenever she was much smaller and prone to flinging herself backward without warning). There was no additional pink hair tie in sight, so he was forced to go with a bright green one that didn’t compliment what she was wearing in the slightest, but it was just nana’s house, so who gives a shit, he thought to himself. 

As he was regaining his stance from where he was balanced on his haunches, he heard a deep voice that wasn’t his daughter’s echo off the walls of the master bathroom.

“Hey, man! What’s goin’ o-,” the voice, which Harry now recognized as his best friend’s came to an abrupt hault when the camera focused and the man was able to see who was actually facetiming him at seven o’clock in the morning.

“Oh. You’re not Harry,” he toyed, trying to amuse the tiny girl he’d known and loved since the minute she was born.

“Mitchy!” Harry’s daughter yelled directly into the speaker of the phone, causing Mitch to hold his own phone several inches away from where he had it resting on the arm of his sofa.

“Hello, princess. Where’s your dad?”

“Right here,” Harry interjected with a grunt as he willed the pain in his knees (and back) away.

“Sorry, she’s messin’ with m’ phone. Must’ve called you on accident.”

“No worries. ‘S a lovely surprise. What’re you two doin’? You on baby duty this mornin’?” 

Mitch could see Harry messing with the toddler’s hair, a purple comb balanced in between his teeth and locks of wavy, brown hair slipping in and out of the frame as he gathered it on top of her head.

“Yep,” Harry spoke through the comb, “And it’s not goin’ s’ great.”

“Judgin’ by the look on your face, I’d say so.”

“Haha. Very funny.”

“Mitchy!” Harry’s daughter called for him again as if to refocus the attention of this conversation back on herself.

“Yessss?”

“I see kitty?” her voice raising an octave as she asked to see the kitten he’d adopted a few months ago that she adored oh so much.

“Kitty’s sleepin’ with Sarah right now, bug. Can’t wake them or they’ll both be grumpy for the rest of the day. Why don’t you come over and visit and you can see all of us? We miss you,” Mitch pouted dramatically at the camera, making the small girl giggle in a way that made him smile right back at her.

He’d always been rather reserved, but had quite the soft spot for his close friend’s bub and couldn’t help but show her all of the affection that he could.

“Daddy, I go to Sarah’s house?” she jerked her head back to look at her father, whose life flashed before his eyes when the sudden movement almost caused his to drop her hair again.

Harry quickly turned her jaw back towards the mirror with his thumb to keep another disaster from occurring.

“Maybe later, petal. You’re going to nana’s today. Daddy and Mitch have to go t’ work.”

“You play songs?”

“Yeah. Gonna play some songs,” he laughed at his daughter’s earnest attempt at understanding what he did for a living.

“Are you bein’ good for ye’ dad?” Mitch asked, seeing Harry’s struggle and doing what he could to distract her while Harry smoothed the final lumps over her delicate head with the fine-toothed comb.

“Yeah, I bein’ good,” she gloated, flashing her tiny baby teeth.

“If that’s what ye’ want to call it,” Harry mumbled under his breath.

He wasn’t quiet enough for Mitch to not hear his snide comment, to which he let out a chuckle towards Harry.

“I take it you’ve got a bit of a fibber on your hands?” Mitch directed at Harry.

“No kiddin’,” Harry huffed, face concentrated on one stubborn tendril of hair that wouldn’t lay flat no matter how many times he brushed over it, “’Ve been trying to put her hair in a bloody ponytail for twenty minutes. I swear I’ve never seen a three year old with this much hair before in m’ life. Don’t know how her mum does this every mornin’.”

“’M afraid that hair’s all you, lover boy. Those curls are unmistakeable.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“Is your dad good at fixin’ your hair?” Mitch asked the toddler, knowing good and well he was giving leeway for Harry to be teased mercilessly by his ruthless toddler.

“No, I like mummy do my hair more. Daddy pulls it too much.”

“Listen here, you little monster. If ye’ would have sat still for two seconds, this would have been done ages ago and we could’ve been halfway t’ nana’s by now,” Harry stated very matter-of-factly.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Mitch intervened, “Take it easy, mate. She’s three. It can’t be that bad.”

“I would absolutely love to see you babysit her for twenty-four hours. You’d be choking on your words.”

“I’d love that, actually,” Mitch snided, “What d’ya say, princess? Sleepover at uncle Mitch’s house with Sarah and the kitty?”

The three year old cheered excitedly, her chubby cheeks widening on the sides of her face at the thought of spending time with her favorite people in the world (aside from her mum and dad, of course).

“No, no, no!” Harry yelled frantically, “Hold still. ‘M almost done.”

He quickly looped the brightly-colored elastic around her bunch of hair that he held tightly in his hand as if an imaginary stopwatch was about to go off and signal that he was out of time and he’d lose control of her curls once more, for which he’d certainly burst into tears.

“Aha!” he held his hands above his head in victory when he was satisfied with the number of times he’d wrapped the hair tie around her hair.

“Finally.”

Harry was breathing heavily as if he had just run a marathon, making Mitch cheer him on sarcastically.

“Super dad does it again.”

“You’re not funny, Mitch.”

“‘M very funny, actually. Isn’t that right, bubs?”

“Uh-huh!” Harry’s daughter agreed, earning an eye roll from her father.

“Alright, we’re very late. Need t’ get goin’ before Jeff yells at daddy n’ I’m not sure I can handle much more today.”

Harry scooped up the pint-sized child from the sink by the belly and helped her stand, her hands still clasped around the phone surrounded in a baby pink case. 

“See ye’ in a bit yeah?” Harry asked Mitch as he straightened his daughter’s shirt that had crinkled at the hem from sitting on the counter for so long.

“Yeah. Reckon it’s probably time to go wake Sarah. You be good for your dad and nana today. Alright, stinker butt?”

“I not stinky!” the girl cried, almost offended.

“You’re right. ‘M sorry. Your dad’s the stinky one.”

“Goodbyeeeeeeee, Mitch,” Harry sang monotonously into the speaker.

“Bye, Mitchy!” his daughter called after him.

“Bye, sweetheart. See ye’ at the sleepover.”

She began rattling off another excited spout of words, but was cut off as Harry reached down and pressed the red button on the screen, ending the call. He took the phone from her hands and slid it back into his pocket. His daughter was too busy buzzing from the high of being invited over to Mitch’s house to play with his kitten to throw a fit over being deprived of it, to which Harry was thankful.

“Did ye’ put your bunny in your backpack?”

She nodded her head, yes.

“And your blanket?”

She paused, lips pursing as she tried to recall whether or not she stuffed the worn, yet still comforting wad of fabric that she’s had since she was born into her bag.

“Better go check then,” Harry added, watching her as she booked it down the hall towards her room as if she was in a race against herself to make it there.

“Got it!” her tiny voice came trailing back into Harry’s bedroom, the corners of the blanket sticking out from the giant backpack that was nearly the size of her body strapped to her back. 

The sight of her wobbling back into his line of sight with the oversized bag made him want to cry. She was still so tiny, but where had his sweet baby gone?

“Good gir-” he began to praise her before he realized what he was currently looking at.

In the midst of her running, she must have exerted herself a bit too harshly, for her curls that were styled perfectly just minutes ago were floofed around her head in a (not-so angelic) halo and the hair tie had slipped down dangerously low, mere inches from falling completely out.

Her inherited curls were one of the cutest things about her and anyone with even the worst vision would agree. But, god. At what cost?

“-YOUR HAIR!”

[frangipanidownunder]

Still with me, Scully?: fic

A bad case, a snowstorm, a grumpy Scully, a sorry Mulder in a one-bed tropefest story for your entertainment.

The outside looks promising enough. The neon light blinks Vacancy. A low-slung roof over a festively decorated door, wreath shimmering with silver tinsel and tiny jewel lights twinkling. He chances a look over his shoulder. She’s round-shouldered, down-in-the-mouth, pale like the frost just starting to crackle over the motel windows.

“Still with me Scully?”

She stuffs her hands deep into her pockets and he imagines those fine fingers squeezing the life out of him, her cold eyes glinting as he gasps her name, an apology and a declaration of love all wrapped up one final exhalation. It’s been a bad case. Really bad. Silent treatment for the hours lost on the road. Face turned to the grimy roadside all the way; surely, she has a cricked neck and yet another excuse to beat him up, down and sideways.

The door creaks open and the smell of pine, sawdust and years of lost souls hits him. “Looks all right,” he says, mustering some cheer that isn’t exactly Christmassy but definitely holds a note of the hopefulness that comes at this time of year. The end of something, the beginning of something. A chance to reset. She doesn’t respond, merely checks out the tree in the corner with its bright decorations. He follows her gaze and his eyes rest on a golden bauble in the shape of a teardrop. Of course.

The clerk flumps open a dusty ledger and peruses the listing, umming and ahing ostentatiously. Any minute she’ll explode; he can see the blast brooding in her flaring nostrils and her half-rolled lips. The eyebrow is shooting up and up. Ladies and gentlemen, we have lift off.

“Only one room left,” the clerk declares. “It’s out round back.” He turns and unhooks a loop of keys and gives them to Mulder. “You and the missus’ll be nice and cosy, though. There’s a bucket of firewood in each room. Matches are on the sideboard. TV don’t work but I’m sure you’ve got other ways to keep yourselves occupied. Storm’s coming.”

Yes, it is, Mulder thinks as the keys feel like stone in his hand. He turns to face his partner and swallows. “Um. You still with me, Scully?”

The teardrop on the Christmas tree wobbles and falls to the floor as she lets the door slam behind her.

The room is…cosy. But not in the rich timber panelling, mellow lighting, roaring fireplace, fleecy quilted bed linen and luxurious drapes at the windows kind of way. More the six foot by six foot, dingy broom cupboard way. A single, square window the size of a postage stamp is opaque with dust not frost. The curtains hang limply from a bent pelmet. The sideboard is more like a child’s school desk. He guesses the tv hasn’t worked since colour came in. The fireplace is the only saving grace. Mulder gets to work straightaway, striking each flimsy match from the small book as a penance prayer. Finally, the penultimate redhead catches and he protects the small orange flame of hope with his cupped hands.

“I’m so sorry this happened,” he says to her. She’s on the bed. Or in it, perhaps, because it’s folded up around her making her look like a young orphan fresh off the train at Miss O’Leary’s Home for Young Innocents. She grunts at him and sighs forever.

The fire take hold and he lets himself smile at the small victory. “Ta-da,” he declares with jazz hands that he hopes are conciliatory, but from the raised eyebrow and averted gaze are probably more fuel for her inner fire. How can one be simultaneously icy and fiery? Scully is the enigma of all enigmas.

“I’ll take the…” he looks around for another item of furniture. There is none. “Floor?”

She tuts and rolls the small opal earring around in her right lobe. It catches the reflection of the fire and an amber glow emerges from the pearlescent surround. It’s Scully in an earring, he muses. “It’s okay, Mulder. We’re grown-ups.” She offers him a curt smile, one that says, ‘well at least one of us is’.

“I promise not to play footsie,” he says as the fire licks and spits. “If you promise not to drool on me.”

Between her fingers, she’s made a knot of the coverlet. She drops it, straightens it out and slides him a smile, somewhere between a white flag and a red flag. He can’t quite work out which it is, but the room is warming up and maybe she’s thawing a little too.

The fire burns out some time during the small hours. His feet and the small of his back are exposed and his brain is unhelpfully supplying all the dumb things he’s ever done during their partnership. It’s quite the extensive playlist. He can’t move, because he’ll wake her. But he does lift his head to see her nested in the pillow, face like an angel, a russet halo framing her forehead. The delicacy of her snoring is somewhat comforting, the salve for the burn his mind is meting out.

There’s a weighty silence around them. The profound quiet of a snowfall. Through the slit in the curtain he thinks he can see the rising accumulation on the window sill. The blind face of the tv screen is visible in the strange light. He stares at it like he might on one of his usual insomniac nights. What’s the difference between a blank screen and a movie he’s seen a hundred times? The mind-stultifying effect is what he’s seeking.

She shifts. Turns to him and the tip of her nose brushes his. She blows out a slightly acidic breath and it warms him more than she’d consider medically possible. But Dr Scully doesn’t know everything. They’re both as uneducated when it comes to affairs of the heart. True affairs of the heart, not the hormone or power fuelled relationships they’ve both endured in the past. He loves her. She loves him. It’s as clear as the pure snow that’s undoubtedly settling outside. But it’s easier to plough through life without acknowledging the build-up, without gritting the paths to make their way through safer. No, they’ll be wading through knee-high snow for a while to come.

His sigh is louder than he anticipated and her eyes flicker open. “Sorry, Scully,” he whispers and she twitches her nose, wets her lips. She wriggles her hands between her legs and her knees boop his groin. Now it’s her turn to apologise. Although it’s debatable who’s more embarrassed. “Do you want me to start the fire again?”

“Wazzatime?”

“Too early for coffee, too late for coffee. Want coffee?”

She nods and he gets up, starts the fire first time and fumbles for the kettle and supplies. She’s found an extra pair of woolly socks and slips them on. Her crumpled appearance makes him almost fold in half. She’s a glorious sight to behold. His eyes take her in and he finds his breath again. He realises in that moment he would dearly sell his soul to the devil to wake up with her every morning and make her coffee. He hands her a cup and crawls next to her, so their feet are both flat to the flames, thighs pressed together.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, and his heart lights up.

“It’s snowing.”

“Figures.”

“Think you could bear another night here?”

She dips her mouth to the coffee. “Seems to me there won’t be much of a choice if the car’s stuck.” She takes another sip. “Everything is working against us, here.”

“Seems that way. Can’t win a trick.”

“But you do make a good fire, Mulder. So consider that a win.”

He does. He considers it the win of the century. Up there with the Knicks smashing the 76ers in 94.

“So you’re still with me, Scully?”

She rubs his ankle with her fuzzy socks and he lifts his foot so that hers slips under his. “Always,” she whispers and the coffee suddenly tastes like a promise of something better to come.

[mymindwide]

I’m gonna heal you

Pairing: Ashton x Female reader

Word count: 2059

Warning: none, this is full on fluff with one mention of a prevoius sexual encounter.

Summary: Your boyfriend fell sick, and you’ll see a side of him you haven’t before, while you two share cute moments because of it.

Author’s Note: It was written more than a year ago. Again something I didn’t think I’ll post, but here we are. :) (If you bump into any grammar mistakes, I apologise in advance, that’s because english is not my native language.) Nevermind, I hope you’ll enjoy it!

***

You have a very bad habit, but at least you’re getting better and better while practicing it.

For a while now when you wake up earlier than Ashton (which is almost every single day), and give him his morning kiss he doesn’t even notice it, and you like it that way. Whatever body part you can reach – it always depends on what position he’s sleeping in at the moment of your waking. Sometimes it’s one of his cheeks, sometimes a shoulder, his neck, his forehead. You couldn’t explain why it’s so important to you, maybe you’re just weird, and like watching and admiring him while he sleeps. Knowing how hard they work, it just feels good to see him not worrying about anything and just having a well-deserved rest, even for a few hours.

But this morning something didn’t feel right, not like usually. As your mouth gently touched his temple, his skin felt strangely hot against your lips. You knew you should check it again, but the thought itself made you sweat, because you were not sure he wouldn’t wake up this time. But you convinced yourself pretty quickly that it’s for the good of him, and if he runs a temperature indeed, he needs to wake up anyway to take something in as soon as possible.

You leaned back again and pressed your lips against his temple, and then you tried it with the back of your right hand while your left one checked your own forehead for comparison. Miraculously he didn’t wake up, or leastways didn’t show any sign of will to move or open his eyes, his breathing remained steady, although at this point you wouldn’t even care, because he definitely had fever. Murmuring a low “fuck”, you headed for the bathroom to pick up the thermometer and went back with it to the seemingly sleeping boyfriend.

“Sweetie, just keep it there and do not move, please. We have to measure your temperature” you put the thermometer in his armpit.

He muttered something with his eyes still closed, but on one hand, you didn’t understand, on the other hand you left him there to check what medication you have in the bathroom cabinet. You were happy to acknowledge that you were fully prepared for such disasters, albeit since you moved in with him, thankfully, you didn’t even need to open the medicine box.

You had a slight guess about the possible outcome of this fever measurement, therefore with quick steps you ran to the kitchen to make a tea for your newfound patient. Coming back you put the tea on the nightstand and reached for the thermometer to reveal the truth. 102,2 Fahrenheit.

“Double fuck” escaped your lips as you looked at the display of the digital thermometer.

“Do we have to? I’m not feeling too well” came a drawn-out groan from Ashton.

“No shit Sherlock…” but of course this assumption made you smile. “I wasn’t talking about wanting to fuck. I’m talking about you having a fever. 102,2 °F actually.”

“Oh” this seemingly woke him up as he pushed himself up on the bed.

“Whatever you were planning to do today with the guys, it is out of the question now. And take these in” dropping an antipyretic and painkiller pill on his palm you gave him the now not so hot cup of tea you’d made.

“Yeah I guess so. I’ll tell them” he said before swallowing the pills.

“I’ll be here if you need anything” you indicated the living room. “Lay back and try to take a rest or sleep back” you pecked his forehead.

You turned back from the doorway just to look at him once again, and the cutest sight caught hold of your eyes. Or leastwise your sick girlfriend heart considered it cute… he was sitting in the same position you left him a few seconds ago and just stared in front of him, wasn’t even blinking, you could almost see his brain still processing the info that he most likely got sick. End of the world. You felt for him, you really did, but he looked so lost it was cute. He looked adorably useless and that’s certainly something you have not seen him yet.

For you the bright side of the situation is that at least you really can be here and look after him, since last night you could cook while he was out with his friends. In the background you heard him run a shower.

“So much for resting… but at least it’ll help him cool that body temperature down a bit, so after all it’s not a bad idea at all” you thought.

You made yourself comfortable on the couch and already decided you’ll watch a movie that is entertaining enough to switch off your brain for a few hours, and you exactly knew which one is the perfect choice that meets your high expectations and requirements.

While you were considering your options Ash finished with the shower too and joined you in the living room wearing his leisure pants and a clean white t-shirt.

“Is everything okay? I mean besides the obvious.” you tilted your head back against the sofa backrest to look up at him.

“I have a headache and I start feeling my throat.”

“Sounds like the definition of miserable.”

“Right?! Thank you.”

“Would you like to join me?” you smiled at him grabbing a pillow from the couch that you laid on your lap tapping it a few times.

You didn’t have to ask him twice; picking up the plush blanket which is constantly lying at the end of the sofa he laid down, wrapped himself under the blanket; his head resting on the pillow in your lap, his posture facing the TV. Your fingers, as a pavlovian reflex, dived into his gorgeous hair, whisking away a few stray curls from his face.

“And what are we doing?”

“I was about to watch the greatest movie of all time.”

“The Pursuit of Happyness?”

“Nope, Avengers: Infinity War.”

“That Hiddleston again.”

“Hon, you know he’s going to be killed off in the 10th minute into the movie, right?” you had to laugh.

“Good. He deserves it.”

“What is it? Do I hear jealousy?” you got bloody happy and started enjoying your conversation even more.

“Abslttthhaa nauh” he mumbled something under his nose that reminded you of absolutely not.

"Last time I checked it's not him who's lying on my lap dying."

"Lucky for him, cuz that'd be the last thing he does..."

“Ashton, you’re killing me” you couldn’t contain your laughter.

“Wasn’t kidding.”

“I know” you grinned as your thumb stroked his cheek.

This new Ashton entertained you more and more. You leaned forward to blow tiny kisses on his temple and yoke bone leading a path to his ear.

“Also, last time I checked it wasn’t him who had his way with me on the kitchen counter the other day…” the tip of your nose brushed his ear as you whispered and the mention of your latest lovemaking made a smug smile spread across his face. “And do you know what else I remember?! I remember moaning a three letter name, but it wasn’t Tom… help me out… oh wait, that’s it, it was Ash...” you were trying to add a slight annoyance to the tone of your voice.

“Convinced enough?”

“I have no strength to disagree” reaching back for your right hand to take it in his, he towed it to his lips and planted a kiss on your wrist. Without saying anything he interlaced your fingers and just pulled it to his chest. As if his grumpiness had been cut off, he nestled a bit to find the perfect and most comfortable position, then got fully relaxed and your left hand slipped back into his hair to caress and massage his scalp, to play with his soft black locks.

“Alright, play it, I want to see if he resurrects for the millionth time” he egged you to press the play button to start the movie.

“Oh, we’ll see…” you smiled insinuatingly.

“You’re just joking, right?” he turned his head upwards to look at you. “No, you’re not. They just can’t get rid of that guy, can they?”

“Get comfortable baby, two and a half hour fun just awaits for us” you winked.

Although you watched the movie together, you were pretty sure Ash's thoughts were going somewhere else since you weren’t even like 40 minutes in, when he started playing with your fingers. Your eyes jumped back and forth from the TV to your hands, but eventually your attention ended up on what he was doing. His fingertips grazed your palm and fingers with slow, tender and deliberate moves; it felt intimate like never before, as if he touched your hand for the first time, he went from finger to finger, as if he wanted to get to know and memorize the shape of your hand, the feel of your skin.

Your first thought was “if he won’t stop I’m gonna cry”. But he didn’t stop and eventually and surprisingly you did not cry either, although this scene undoubtedly made you quite emotional, because you haven’t seen him this cuddly in a long time. He’s an affectionate man, but definitely not a clinging one. And you really enjoyed this situation; sometimes you crave this kind of attention like air.

A few more minutes have passed during which your focus returned back to the screen. You felt his hand stopped playing with yours, and with his eyes closing shut he turned over and nuzzling his face close to your belly he fell asleep pretty quickly. Getting your right hand back, now it could rest on his waist, while your other hand could keep caressing his hair, neck, shoulder, just with extra carefulness not wanting to wake him up.

By the end of the movie he still laid on your lap breathing smoothly, and watching him made you think about him being such a positive force. Not only in your life but so many others’, as well. Family, friends, members of other bands whom they met only sporadically…  You loved listening to their stories about Ash being nice and thoughtful and polite. That’s how he treats people in general, even strangers. It’s so effortless for him, yet you have no idea how he does that.  Always thinks about making others happy, but is he happy? Do you make him happy? You can only hope, because he deserves the world. At this point, an unpleasant feeling put a stop to your train of thought.

As much as you didn’t want to do it, and wished to stay like this forever, it was time for you to stand up since you started feeling your legs getting numb after sitting stock-still for the last two and a half hours.

“Ash” leaning over his face you started caressing his cheek with your nose.

Your technic was clearly successful, because he slowly turned over nuzzling his nose against yours demanding more contact. You kissed his cheek, his nose, the corner of his mouth, while he enjoyed the love showering on him.

Soon your lips met in very light kisses that became needier with every touch from Ashton’s side, as you felt his tongue brush over your upper lip. Your heart ached but you had to pull back an inch ending the connection between your lips resulting in a dissatisfied moan escaping his lips.

“Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but if we go into this deeper, you may risk losing your nurse to a deadly disease” you whispered smiling on his lips.

“I’ll make it up to you… in a few days… when I get better” he said sleepily.

“Make up for what?”

“For the canceled double fuck.”

“I can’t with you, Irwin. I swear to you I’ll lock you up in the bedroom until you sleep enough.” you had to laugh tho.

“But you love me.”

“Yes, yes I do. What a correct observation.”

“Good, because I love you, too.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Now come Captain Obvious, let’s sleep a bit more.”

And with this you took his hand in yours and led him into the paradise of peacefulness that is your hospital room for the next few days.

[ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes]

Burned Part 20

Summary:  Alfie Solomons is in need of a secretary. Tommy Shelby mentions a young woman in need of employment. From there the two step into a dangerous dance together.

Part 20: Good news is met with the bad. Aberama Gold is informed. 

         Louise sat outside the door into the doctor’s office. She waited patiently for him to finish up with speaking to Alfie after the examination. She was undoubtedly anxious as she waited but at least he was seeking help.

           Finally, after about half an hour, Alfie came out. He stopped in front of his wife for a moment. His eyes searched her face as he summoned the courage to speak.

           “I’m sorry.” He muttered before passing by her and leaving the office.

           Confused, Louise looked to the doctor who was standing in the doorway. Her stomach twisted up and she felt sick. There was a large part of her that was in denial. Of course, she’d been worried about the possibility of cancer, but she thought it was just an overreaction. She wanted so desperately to be wrong. But judging by Alfie’s reaction and the look on the doctor’s face, she had been right all along.

           “Why don’t you come in, Mrs. Solomons.” He let her into his office.

           She came and sat across the desk from him.

           The man, Doctor Cecil Stephens, was a kind man with much compassion for his patients. He was well known in the Camden community for being one of the best doctors in the area. He’d been in practice for quite some time but had yet to formally see Alfie Solomons as a patient.

           Of course, he knew the gangster, it was hard not to when his practice was in the Jewish man’s domain. He’d treated many of Alfie’s men, people who came in beaten an inch of their life, ones with bullets lodged in them, or a missing body part such as an eye or finger. With this pattern, Cecil naturally assumed that he would come across Alfie one day. And most likely it would be under violent circumstances.    Instead, the man arrived that morning with his wife by his side. He looked grumpy, but it was merely a ploy to hide his worry. Once behind doors, Alfie explained the issue and showed him the abrasions that were starting to form on his skin. The man was uncharacteristically quiet and sat stiffly through the diagnosis.

           Cecil had seen many reactions in his time as a doctor. It was difficult to predict someone’s response to a terrible fate. If anyone were to react violently, he assumed it would be a man with such a reputation as Alfie Solomons. So it was a surprise to see Alfie merely walk off, leaving his wife.

           “Mrs. Solomons, I’ve examined your husband and spoke to him.” Cecil sat down and looked through the notes he’d taken. “I’m afraid he’s developed a form of skin cancer.”

           Louise sucked in a sharp breath and felt the sting of tears in her eyes. “I…I don’t understand. How?”

           “Well, there is still a lot of research being done on cancer. Unfortunately, it’s in the early stages. However, I’ve seen many men like your husband, veterans who were affected by the gases used in battle.” He explained with the same gentle tone he used for all his patients and their family members.

           “Y-you can do something for him, right?” Her voice was small and she clutched helplessly to her handkerchief.

           “There are therapies that are still being developed but we aren’t sure the long term effects. Radiation has been proposed in recent years, but it’s unknown if it helps.” He was sympathetic to the woman. Alfie had told him they were just wed in the summer and they’d only just found out she was expecting. A cancer diagnosis certainly wasn’t expected or desired.

           “That…that’s simply not good enough.” Louise stammered. Her heart began to race. She would not lose her husband. She refused to bury him so soon. “There must be something you can do.” Her voice rose and her breathing became shallow. The office closed in on her and she panicked. No, it had to be a nightmare. She would wake up and learn it was nothing more than a treatable condition.

           “I’ll try everything I can to try and ease his pain, but it’s unlikely it’ll be treated completely.” Cecil kept a calm demeanor.

           Louise suddenly stood, nearly kicking her chair back from the sharp movement. “You’re a fucking doctor, you’re supposed to be able to help him!” She shouted. “I’m not going to let my husband die!”

           Not half a second after her outburst, Louise felt strong hands leading her out of the doctor’s office. “That’s enough, Lou,” Alfie said firmly.

           “No! He can’t just not have answers!” She fought against her husband’s hold but he was still much stronger than her.

          “No use in yelling, yeah? C’mon.” He muttered a quiet apology to Doctor Stephens before escorting her outside to the car.

           Once he got her in the backseat, Louise burst into hysterical tears. “He’s lying. That’s not what it is. We’ll find another doctor. Someone who’ll know better.” She rambled through her tears.

           Alfie embraced her close. “Sh, sh, s’alright, love.” He wasn’t going to argue with her when she was in such an irrational state. “Try to breathe.”

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

           Louise spent most of the afternoon in a huff and crying off and on. Alfie stayed home with her, leaving a list for Ollie to finish at the bakery. For most of the time, he sat quietly while Louise kicked up a fuss. She ranted about, pacing through the parlor with Cyril at her heel. The next moment she was curled up in Alfie’s lap sobbing.

           He did his best to comfort her but his mind had gone to a dark place. He thought about getting his affairs in order. Editing his will to include his son or daughter. Louise would need help if he died. He couldn’t leave her with nothing, especially with a child. He figured he could divide up his estate, leaving most of it to Louise, some to Ollie and his family, and the rest to the several Jewish charities he donated to. That would give him more peace at night.

           Yet, money couldn’t heal her wounds if he were to pass. He wanted to berate himself for letting her get so attached. If she didn’t have him, then it wouldn’t hurt as much when he died. He assumed for a long time that when he died, the majority of those who knew him would be happy. Mean ‘ol Alfie Solomons would never again bother them. He didn’t anticipate having a devoted wife and child.

           Now he was anxious for their well being when he was gone. Would his enemies take advantage of her? Could he guarantee her safety if he wasn’t there protecting her?

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

           Ollie arrived at the Solomons’ home late that night. He came in with a list of the things he’d completed and any messages he’d gotten that day.

           Louise had exhausted herself and passed out in bed even before dinner. Alfie was glad she could finally get some peace after the difficult day.

           He greeted his assistant at the door.

           “How’s Louise?” Ollie asked. “Did she go to the doctor yet?”

           Alfie grunted and nodded as he flipped through the telegrams. He didn’t want to tell anyone about his cancer. The last thing he needed was for his enemies to think he was weak and easy to overthrow. “She’s asleep.”

           “Well, Shayna offered a few things for the baby.” The young man said. “If you’d like, I can bring them soon.”

           Alfie’s heart wrenched. “Yeah, mate, thanks.” He mumbled.

           It was clear to anyone, especially Ollie who had spent so many years as his right-hand man, that something was seriously wrong. “Sir, are you alright?”

           The gangster stared blankly at the words in his hand. He wasn’t really registering the typed words. All he could read was Shelby Company Ltd. But his mind was too overwhelmed to really understand the meaning of the words. “Ollie…” He glanced up from the telegram. “If anything were to happen to me, would you make sure Lou is kept safe?”

           His assistant furrowed his brow. “Sir?”

           “Just hypothetically.”

           “Well, ‘course.” Ollie shrugged. “She’s like family now.”  

           “Yeah…”

           The two men stood by the front door in silence. The only sound came from the grandfather clock in the hall and Evelyn preparing a light dinner for Alfie.

           “Sir, are you expecting something to happen?” Ollie asked cautiously.

           Alfie frowned. “’Course not.” He retorted. “But it ain’t like I’m a fucking saint, am I, Ollie?”

           It only made the man further confused. His boss never worried about his occupation killing him. He was confident enough to assume he’d always get away or was brave enough to accept death. Ollie figured perhaps his mindset had been altered by the news of the pregnancy.

           Alfie exhaled sharply and shook the fog out of his head. He was still alive. Wasn’t dead yet. He still needed to work. “What the fuck does Tommy want now?” He demanded.

           “Asking about Goliath. He said he heard he was a boxer.” Ollie explained the telegram in his boss’s hand. “Says he wants to set up a match.”

           “Really? While he’s got Changretta on his tail? Fucking crazy gypsy.” He grumbled. “Wants to make a spectacle of it all, well, fine. Give me nephew a ring tomorrow morning then Tommy. We’ll brave the beast and go to Small Heath.”

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

           Goliath had arrived early the next morning. Alfie filled him in by the door and they were about ready to leave for Small Heath.

           “Alfie?” Louise had panicked when she woke up to an empty bed. She went to the top of the stairs, clutching her dressing gown shut.

           Goliath had never seen such a shift in his uncle’s gruff demeanor before. He’d seen Alfie interact with Louise during holidays. That’s where the two had met for the first time. But there was something about the two being in their own home in the early morning that caused a change. It was a brief glimpse into the intimate relationship they upheld when no one else was around.

           “Yeah, love.” Alfie traveled halfway up the stairs to meet her. “You alright?” He murmured.

           She nodded. “Where are you going?” Her voice was hoarse from crying the day before and her eyes were still red.

           “Birmingham, have to see Tommy.” He explained with full clarity. After the cancer diagnosis, he felt like he owed her at least some honesty.

           “Can I come?” She chewed on her lower lip and touched his arm.

           Alfie weighed the risks. No doubt Luca Changretta was watching Tommy’s every move. He didn’t want the Italian to know about Louise, but he’d be a fool to think the man didn’t already know. Alfie also knew it would be a suicide mission if Luca tried to make an attack in Tommy’s own backyard. If anything, she might be safer there with both his men and the Blinders surrounding them.

           “Alright, love.” He nodded. “Go get dressed, take your time.” He descended the stairs again when Louise returned to the bedroom.

           Goliath gave Ishmael a side-glance. The young man just shrugged and nodded. He’d seen the effect Louise had on his boss since day one. The adoration of a woman was a powerful thing, indeed.

           Speaking of a woman's affection, Evelyn came out of the kitchen. She smiled and fixed Ishmael’s collar. “You be careful.” She warned. “No fighting.”

           The man sported a goofy smile. “Me? Don’t know what you’re on about Lyn.” He replied.

           She raised an eyebrow and shook her head. “Cheeky.” She gave him a smirk and left the men by the door.        

           Ishmael cleared his throat and had a hard time concealing how happy he looked. Goliath looked utterly perplexed. Was there something in the water?

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

           Louise was quiet during the car ride to Birmingham. It was like she was trying to ignore the day before. Maybe if she didn’t bring it up, it wouldn’t be true and it would just fade away.

           Alfie could sense all the types of denial his wife was experiencing. And it pained him to know he couldn’t ease her burden. All he could do was hold her hand.

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

           Small Heath was just as gray and gloomy as Louise remembered. Alfie looked displeased as he got out of the car.

           “Come to Small Heath, you’ll go to hell for fucking breathing.” He muttered as he helped his wife out of the car.

           “It’s quiet.” She noted. In fact, it was completely deserted, not a soul walking around. It left a strange feeling in the air and she felt like they were being watched.

           “Stretch your legs, treacle,” Alfie said to his nephew. “Fuck me, looks like he’s grown. He’s like a mushroom, innit he, grows in the dark.”

           Louise smiled and lingered near Alfie. She couldn’t shake the strange feeling that the empty street gave off.

           “Where is everyone?” Alfie checked his pocket watch. “Ishmael, please, will you hit the call to prayer?”

           “Did you tell Tommy a time?” Louise asked but was interrupted by the car horn.

           “Mhm, loosely.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Well, hit it!” He ordered his driver again. The car horn echoed through the street a little longer. Alfie rolled his eyes. “Yes, thank you.” He pushed past Ishmael and laid on the horn.

           Louise sighed and stood by the hood of the car, listening to the unrelenting noise. A moment later, Tommy came out of one of the homes on the street. He nodded at Louise and she gave him a silent apology for the antics so early in the morning.

           Alfie didn’t quit until Tommy was stood right in front of him. “Morning Alfie.” The Blinder greeted.

           “Yeah, it is, so how come everybody’s in fucking bed?”

           “This must be Goliath.” Tommy acknowledged the young man taking a piss on the sidewalk. “Let me introduce you to David.”

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

           “I hear you’re probably more in need of the old rum at the moment, rather than gin, mate.” Alfie led Louise by the arm as they were brought down into the cellar that had been converted into a distillery. There was a fierce chill in the air and Alfie slipped off his scarf to wrap it around his wife. He stopped when he heard a flutter of wings and warbling coming from above them. “Oh dear, you’ve got fucking starlings, mate. That shit will rot your pipework.” Alfie reached into his coat to draw his gun. “These bastards only understand one language.”

           “Alfie!” Louise grabbed his wrist to stop him from loading the gun. She knew he was armed but only because Tommy probably expected him to be. Even she had brought her gun. It wasn’t a time to walk around unarmed.

           “S’alright Alfie, I’m getting a kestrel,” Tommy explained.

           “I hear that you’ve got Italians, mate, you’ve got a kestrel for them?” Alfie inquired deadpan.

           The two men continued talking as Louise lingered around the small distillery. She glanced up to the ceiling and saw the starlings that Alfie had spotted. One of them stared back at her, cocking its head. She followed it as the bird hopped across a pipe towards a small nook in the corner. A bundle of debris had been constructed into a nest and when the mother approached, four little heads popped out. They chirped, their mouths open wide to receive food. The mother perched at the nest, checking over her chicks.

           Louise’s gut wrenched. What would happen if Tommy got a kestrel? Would the bird of prey eat the mother and the babies, or would it just rid of the mother leaving the chicks to starve to death? Where was the father? Would he arrive just to find his family all gone? Could animals feel the same heartbreak that they did?

           “And you just cannot wash it out, right, ‘cause it come out your mother’s tits.”

           Louise glanced over, completely baffled by the snippet she’d heard of their conversation. She left the birds and walked over to the two men.

           “No, the Americans’ll want it sweeter.” Alfie set down a glass of gin.

           “Do you drink, Louise?” Tommy offered a glass to her.

           “No thank you, I’ve been feeling under the weather.” She explained knowing the alcohol would only make her feel worse.

           “I heard a copper got shot,” Alfie spoke, unafraid to talk about such issues in front of Louise. He knew she’d find out eventually. “Who shot him?”

           “My kestrel.” Tommy offered a seat to Louise by the table.

           “How many are here?”

           “Eleven.”

           Louise shot her husband a look of uneasiness. Eleven men were more than enough. And they had yet to visit them in Camden. As far as she was concerned, it was only a matter of time until that day.

           “Enough to drop a man who wrapped his balls in an OBE till they fell off,” Alfie said with a smug look.

           Louise just shook her head, knowing it wasn’t worth the effort to try and get him to be a bit politer.

           “Well, the real question is, Alfie, which side are you playing for, aye?” Tommy was almost glad Louise was there with them. He had a feeling her husband wouldn’t lie about loyalty right in front of her.

           “Fucking hell.” Alfie chuckled darkly, the brim of his hat casting a shadow over his eyes. “What kind of world is it to bring up children when your own mate can ask you that question?”

           Louise glanced down at her hands on her lap. Indeed, what kind of world was it?

           “But the truth is, Tommy, you’ll be fucking dead soon.”

           “Alfie.” She gave him a sharp look. “Don’t say that.”

           “S’alright, Louise,” Tommy assured her. “We’ve all got our opinions, don’t we Alfie?”

           “Tommy, there are men approaching.” Finn came down into the cellar.

           “Yeah, let them pass.” His brother waved them in. “Right,” he turned back to Alfie. “You tell Darby Sabini, from me, that if the Italians win, they’re not planning on leaving. After me, it’ll be him, then you, then the Titanic. They’re coming and they’re here to stay.”

           Alfie’s eyes were cold on his counterpart. His jaw clenched and Louise could see his thoughts running rampant. But he couldn’t get another word in before another group of men came downstairs.

           “Mr. Shelby, we’ve come to talk about the fight.”

           Alfie raised an eyebrow and pointed his cane at the man. “Your kestrel? Tommy, when a pikey walks in with hair like that, you have to ask yourself, have I made a mistake?”

           “Who the fuck are you?”

           “Who the fuck am I?”

           “Who the fuck is this?”

           Louise pinched the bridge of her nose. “Oh dear.” She whispered. Tommy, however, looked amused at the ensuing battle.

           “I, my friend, am the uncle, protector, and promoter of that fucking thing right there.” He jabbed his cane towards his nephew who was lurking in the background like a misplaced tree. “In whose shadow nothing good nor godly will ever grow. That there, right, is the Southern County’s welterweight champion.”

           “Alfie…” His wife tried to step in but he was already too far gone to stop.

           “He is of mixed religion, therefore he is godless. He was adopted by Satan himself before he was returned out of fear of his awkwardness.”

           “Alfie.”

           “He is impossible to marry off, due to his lethal dimensions. His mother. Terrified, she’s fucking abandoned him. And there he is, stood before you like the first of some brand new fucking species!”

           “Alfie, that’s quite enough.” Louise implored him again to stop. “They get it.”

           “And that, mate, is me wife. She’s the exact fucking opposite, ain’t she? Fucking angel. The world ain’t never seen such a gorgeous creature and the fuck if I know why God let me in her presence. Yet here I am, accompanied by a fucking demon and an angel and you’ve got the absolute fucking nerve to ask me who the fuck I am?”

           Louise couldn’t help but smile a little bit. Endearing yet chaotic.

           “So, will you offer your son?” Alfie inquired, ending his little rant.

           Aberama glanced over at his son with a sly nod. Bonnie smiled and stood up straight. “Name the day, Mr. Shelby.”

           Louise looked back and forth between the size differences of the two young men. She stood and felt a wave of nausea. Her face paled and she looked up at the ceiling when she heard the starlings grow a little louder.

           Big fucks small.

           Blood pounded in her ears and the scent of gin began to make her dizzy.

           “Whoa, whoa!” She heard Alfie exclaim as she stumbled forward, the world going black.

Permanent Tag: @papa-geralt-of-cirilla​ @giftofdreams​

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Masterpost

PB Masterlist

[revengeisalwaysanoption]

Fic: Io non ci credo, alle giraffe (FINAL CHAPTER)

So, you can find this chapter on AO3 as well (together with the sappiest epilogue you could ever imagine) and I do hope it lives up to your expectations. It mostly did, to mine. I agonized over writing this fic, but I nearly cried now that it’s over.

This wasn't quite what he had in mind, when he had tried to picture the afterlife. The few times he did that, whilst attending the funerals of some old relative, Martino had conjured up a field of barley. An eternal sunset. A light breeze.

Loved ones, lost too early, ready to show him the ropes and teach him how to haunt his friends for the rest of their lives.

"Boohoo! Poor Marti wanted a welcoming committee in a lovely bucolic setting…" said a grating voice in a harsh and judgemental tone.

Where did it come from? Who was speaking? There was nothing around him. No one.

Only darkness.

"Instead of you've got me. This." The stranger continued. "Because we've got to be predictable, don't we? Unimaginative. But do you know what? Screw you, man. I can do better."

Then he heard a loud, snapping sound and had to shield his eyes from a bright blinding light.

"Are you still there?" Marti asked to his unknown companion.

They didn't sound like a particularly pleasant person, but… Anyone, even Marco - Emma's brutish brother - would do...

'Beggars can't be choosers' as his dad used to say.

"Unbelievable!! You're still quoting him. As if that man ever said anything worth repeating…"

Uhh, this guy sure had some serious beef with his father… and could read his thoughts, apparently? No wonder why the stranger was so grumpy, given that he had been bombarded by flashes of Marti kissing Nico for the last… day?

Week? It was hard to keep track of time when they only thing that existed was you, and your immense loneliness.

"No!! That's not my division, you've got somebody else covering that. I'm in charge of rage, disdain, frustration, resent and pettiness. Yeah, yeah. I do most of the work around here." The more Marti listened to him talking, the less sense he made.

Where were they? Who was he? Where was he hiding?

"I'm not hiding. I'm right behind you."

What? How was that possible? He must have been joking, because Marti would have noticed if… Suddenly, he felt a hand on his shoulder. A hand that was too familiar in weight and texture. He turned, finally, to face himself.

He looked battered, exhausted, dishevelled. His eyes were red, and teary. His shoulders hunched, as though he had been carrying the weight of the word for quite some time. Wow. It was a lot to take in. Did he really-

"Let me stop you there. Yes, this is how you sound to other people and how they see you. They are used to it, by the way, so they don't find it as unpleasant as you do. Next? Are you alive? Yes? No? How should I know, when I am literally something you made up?"

So, basically, Martino could only hope that he wasn't stuck here, with the worst of himself, forever.

"The worst, huh? Wait until fear, jealousy and paranoia show up... Not to mention the good old self-preservation instinct, aka what you usually refer to as 'common sense', who's gonna bore y-"

"Okay, okay. I get it. No need to get so defensive." Damn, someone here was a bit too sensitive to criticism!

Okay, alright. Perhaps this guy wasn't the bottom of the barrel, maybe some people even found his fiery disposition and charming, but…. it couldn't be all that his friends - and Nico; his sweet gentle dorky Nico -  saw in Martino.

He had plenty of good, in him… so where was it?

"Ooh! That's the attitude you need to get out of here… Know your worth! Fight for it!" Anger goaded him on, suddenly mellowing out and becoming a lot more amiable.

"Lend an ear to your heart, be true to yourself…" Martino rebuked, not quite as sarcastic as he would have been a couple of days before.

"... and when you do, you'll hold the key to open all doors, yeah. Starting from that one" his grumpy companion said, pointing at the portal that just appeared out of nowhere.

"Don't. Save it. We are nowhere, therefore…" Marti shushed him, rolling his eyes and smiling. It was kind of endearing to realise how predictable he could be. Comforting.

"Stop stalling and go through that damn door. Someone's waiting for you."

Who? Could it be… ? Well there was only one way to find out.

As he stepped over the threshold, everything changed.

He could have sworn that the air was filled with the smell of his mother's freshly baked cinnamon rolls, which she hadn't been making for nearly a decade. The sun shine brightly in a cloudless blue sky, but it didn't burn skin. A pleasant warmth was spreading through him, while Marti relieved the bone crushing hugs, the forehead kisses, the most gentle touch upon his own lips and all those casual loving gestures he had taken for granted for far too long.

He knew where he was. The Emerald Fields, and idyllic place on the outskirts of Eterna. A city 'where all wishes come true', according to legends. His father - merchant for a living, myth-buster for 'the greater good, the improvement of society as a whole' - had proved them to be nothing more than smoke and mirrors… Quite ironic that a man so obsessed with honesty and transparency had the guts to… No. Forget it.

It was unacceptable: he wouldn't any unresolved issues he had with his dad spoil this memory.

Of the last time it truly felt invincible, invaluable. Unique, in all his untapped potential. Carefree.

He didn't mind being alone, here… not that he was. Obviously, he wasn't. Deer and and fawns had materialise beside him, stubbornly nudging Martino towards the lake.

Playfully splashing water with his feet, with a flower crown in his auburn hair, sat the person who had been waiting for him. Not Niccolò, unfortunately. Or Gio.

"I suppose you'll have to settle for me." He said, silently asking Marti to sit next to him with an eloquent look. Welcoming, rather than threatening.

There was an aura of 'now tell me all about your troubles, my friend… share the weight with me and maybe they won't seem half as bad..' surrounding him, which normally Martino would've labelled as patronising - unless it came from Giovanni. Normally.

FlowerBoy tapped the plank on his right, for emphasis, thanking Marti when you finally took a seat on the creek.

"I'm glad you two parted on good terms. He got us through some awful times, you know? You call him 'anger', but he is 'pride'. Which, in itself, is not so bad. Life has hardened him, made him constantly ready for a fight, but… what you see as a flaw, indeed, is one of your biggest strengths. Loyalty. Perseverance. Spite… I can't take the credit for those - especially the latter, which has repeatedly spurred you into action. It comes from loving yourself, sure, but with a slight disdain for others and their shitty opinions."

Woah. Martino hadn't being ready for the lecture on his own negative feelings from… His hippie self?

"You seem nicer, though." Clean-shaven, soft-spoken, well-rested and well-dressed.

A stark contrast from the guy he had met first.

"I generally am. Enough to make people stay, most of the time. Draw them in, however? Avoiding to wax lyrical on how the universe now revolves around them, and keeping a shred of dignity as if I wouldn't gladly have them on every available surface?" Huh? Were they still talking about his family and friends?

"Sorry, I got a bit carried away. The most recent developments with Ni… That's all very new to me. Never had I experienced something so intense. It's exciting and scary. Fascinating and confusing. Anyway, the point is: I'm cheesy. Sappy. Shamelessly so. He gives us an edge, turning mushiness into good-natured banter."

An interesting take, undoubtedly, but… kind of pointless? It did offer a new perspective on parts of himself he hadn't been overly fond of, still… In the grand scheme of things, what was the purpose of these talks? Where was the conflict, and the revelation that came with it?

"Not every tale needs to feature a dragon's slayer, or a fearless knight battling orcs. Lessons can be learnt without suffering."

All he needed to do was listen, basically? Could it be that easy? Wasn't it such a cop out?

"Easy, you say. And yet you haven't been able to achieve such an easy task in all these years. You refuse to. Shut up. You weren't talking? Well, you were thinking. Given them - dreaded common sense, fear and self-pity - too much attention."

Empty your mind. Find the sound that resonates within your soul. Amplify it. That's your spark.

Martino had never progressed past that stage, at the Academy, much to the Mentors' bafflement. He'd supposed they couldn't believe what they were seeing… that an individual with no magic at all co-

"SHUT UP!!"

Right. Right. No more thoughts. Hear the waves sloshing against the creek? The breeze blowing through the grass? The pitter-patter of deer hooves? Great. Cancel them out. Your breath is deafening, now, isn't it? It's all you can hear, and that's not particularly interesting…

"Don't give up, Marti please." Whose voice was it?  His mom's?

"Come on, man. Wake up." Gio's?

"Going from sleep deprived to lethargic? Really? Since when are you the 'go big or go home' kind of guy?" Eva's?

"Are you trying to impress someone, hun? You don't need to. One would think you hung the stars and moon from the way he looks at you…" Filo's?

"Marti, you can't go without seeing Luca's latest master-" Oh, how he had missed Elia's laughter. "masterpiece, yeah, that you've inspired."

"Don't fret. It doesn't matter how long it takes, but come back to me when it's over, okay? I'll be waiting. I'll always be waiting." Nico's. 

Wait. How could that be possible. Shouldn't he… No, no, no. Marti, no. Don't get lost, don't let logical reasoning lure you in. Take care of that later, okay? Okay.

Silence, please… There. You have it. The complete absence of s-

"LET ME OUT!!" A young boy yelled, thumping repeatedly from under the thick ice layer it was now covering the lake.

Was it some kind of ruse, a deceit it was supposed to ignore to reach a higher level of consciousness?

"HELP ME!!!" Thud. Thud. Thud. "PLEASE!!!" Thud. Thud. Thud.

Screw it. Too bad if he wasn't supposed to intervene: he was going to, regardless of the consequences.

Deprived of any tool that could help him with the rescue, it soon became clear that's the only way he could smash the ice was by jumping on it. And once he inevitably plunged into the freezing water, it would be just a matter of minutes before hypothermia kicked in and killed them both.

It didn't matter.

"HOLD ON!!!" Jump. Jump. Jump. "I'M GONNA GET YOU HOME. GONNA GET BOTH OF US HOME!!! "Jump. Jump. Jump. "ALIVE!!!"

Crack. He did it!

Seize the kid and get out. Survive.

"Thanks. I'm sorry I cursed you." The boy said, creating a bubble around them. "I… I didn't mean… It backfired… I…"

"... didn’t want to be alone anymore. You aren’t, you understand? I’m the one who’s sorry. You just wanted to be heard. Acknowledged. Remembered.” Martino couldn't recall the last time I took in the world around him with wonder, grateful to be alive and getting to see a rainbow. The first snow. The low tide. Shooting stars. The dancing curtains. Sunrises and sunsets. Niccolò.

"You really like him, don't you? Me too… He's cool… and he was the first one who saw me. Saw all of us, really… and still chose to stay."

Enough with the chit chat. The promises he'd only made, all that he had never allowed himself to be… No more words were needed to reconcile.

Much better to embrace them. Swim back to the surface. Rise.

********************************** Messy black curls. Full, red, pouty lips. Insanely long lashes. Lithe fingers, adorned with huge rings. More beautiful than Martino ever recalled. “You look like shit.” He mumbled, lazily stroking his hair.  “And you’re heavy. Doze off somewhere else, please.” “Marti?” Oi! He had no business breaking his heart with that note of desperation in his voice. Or with the tears in his eyes. He shouldn’t be allowed to cry. Not on his watch.

“Marti, Marti, Marti…”  He didn’t seem able to say or do anything else, for a while. Only kiss him, and repeat his name like a mantra. Eventually, he calmed down. “Look who’s talking, by the way.” Niccolò retorted, rolling his eyes. “I don’t accept criticism from ‘Mr. Death-Warmed-Over’, sorry.” “And from whom would you accept it, huh? Your husband?” Marti teased, hoping he wasn’t being too cheeky. “Mh. Maybe. I wouldn’t say yes to a proposal that came from a bedside, when he’s still hazy from a long sleep and doesn’t quite know what he’s saying.” Niccolò answered, kissing his knuckles reverently. “I do know…” Martino huffed, taking comfort in the fact that Nico hadn’t utterly turned him down. “... nonetheless, you deserve a better proposal. I get it. And you’ll have it. I’ll ride a giraffe, if that’s what is required for you to say yes, okay?” “Okay. I’ll be waiting for it, then.” He leaned down, resting his forehead against Martino’s. “Choose my wedding dress, in the meantime. Unless you’d want me to wear a suit.” “You could wear a gunny sack and I wouldn’t dream to complain, Ni.” “What if I showed up naked, then?” Niccolò moved to the side, brushing his lips against his ear and neck. “Well, it’s not a sight I’m really so willing to share with everyone out there, but I suppose that if that’s what makes you happy…” “Forget it, then. We should be both happy on that day. We’ll be.” And they were. Living fully - though not always happily  - ever after.

[dat-fandom-losertown]

The Drift Between Us

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

Chapter 4: Beginnings of Adaptation

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

Hank Anderson x Connor and Gavin Reed x RK900

Pacific Rim AU

Warnings: Anxiety similar to mine, a lot of swearing all thanks to Hank

Word Count: 8,921

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Previous <~> Masterlist <~> Next

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

    Ritch knows even before he tries to wake Connor up for breakfast that it won’t work. After a day as bad as yesterday, the twin rarely comes out of his room the next day, and if he does it’s late in the afternoon at the earliest. Yet Ritch still always tries because he knows Connor will appreciate his effort of not just leaving him behind when he becomes active again.

    He is aware that Connor is only more used to dealing with hunger and thirst because he occasionally feels the irrational need to punish himself like this for no reason. He understands needing alone time to recharge after stressful events, but Connor needs to at least eat or drink something instead of letting himself slowly deteriorate. Ritch idly wonders how many times Connor has gone longer than two days without food for one incomprehensible reason or another.

    He thought his brother might not run into this problem when they were finally away from Amanda, though.

    Although, to be fair, a portion of Connor’s situation this time is Ritch’s own fault. He’s not too prideful to admit that to himself. To Connor or anyone else, probably, but not to himself. He just thought that since Amanda wasn’t here, his brother would get steered down the wrong path or overwhelmed or both, so Ritch tried to step in and guide him in her place, and tried to be a bit more gentle than she was while doing so. That was obviously the wrong move to make or he did something else wrong, and it didn’t help that he went and hounded him down after a while, too, he realizes now. He’ll remember that for the future.

   He still doesn’t want Connor near Mr. Anderson, but he’ll try to be more gentle and subtle about it from now on. He’ll also try to fix the relationship with Simon and the others that he and his twin undoubtedly made at least awkward again. It won’t be too far out of Ritch’s way to do so, since he plans on continuing his friendship with that group, and he played a large part in this mess, so it’s only right that he tries to correct things. Plus, it’ll be easier for Connor to find another partner if he’s on good terms with Markus and crew since they could possibly introduce him to new people in the future.

    That, and Ritch really doesn’t trust Mr. Anderson with Connor at all. He’s a grumpy, short-tempered alcoholic who can barely get out of bed before the later part of lunch, and Ritch thinks his brother can’t quite see this due to the rose-tinted memories of when he was a decorated pilot on the television.

    Either way, nothing can be done about any of that at the moment, especially considering breakfast hasn’t even quite started yet, and Ritch has a mission for himself. He is heading to where he may be able to find Luther and Chloe so he can alert them of Connor’s absence today. Maybe he’ll try waking up Connor at lunch and hope that he’ll actually get up since he no longer has to stress about Amanda’s reaction to him being late. Or maybe he’ll be practically comatose for longer than a day because Amanda doesn’t have any extra work waiting for him tomorrow for slacking off today…

    “...well, we’ll just have to apologize again today, then, won’t we?”

    Isn’t that North? Judging by where the voices are coming from, they’re headed to breakfast and will pass Ritch if he backtracks to the main hallway. That’s exactly what he does.

    “Again, I don’t think that’s the right way to go about things,” Markus reasons, “He obviously doesn’t want to be reminded about whatever he was thinking about yesterday, and apologizing for it today will only make him think about it again.”

    “Yes, but I think just looking at us will remind him of yesterday, anyway.” Simon points out.

    “I think Simon’s right.” Ritch calls, stepping out to intercept the small group.

    “Oh, hey Ritch…” Josh greets nervously. Ritch elects to ignore it.

    “The best thing to do in this case is to act as if last night never happened at all. He’ll be awkward for the first bit of time, but he should go back to normal eventually.”

    “We’re really sorry–”

    “There’s no reason to apologize, Simon.” Ritch interrupts in a manner that he hopes seems kind, “You guys were just curious and concerned for him, and I had already made it stressful enough beforehand. I’m sure that if I hadn’t pushed him as far as I did, he wouldn’t have reacted quite this way when you guys asked your questions.”

    There’s a brief awkward pause where no one knows what to say, so Ritch decides to continue on.

    “I guess just… From now on, if you have any questions, you can always come to me. We grew up together after all.”

    “Oh, sweet. So were you guys ever ordered to kill each other or something, then?”

    –the punches come and come and don’t stop or slow–

    “North!”

    –where did he go where is he where is he whERE IS–

    “What? He said we could ask him! And quite frankly, I don’t believe Connor!”

    North’s last comment properly snaps him out of it. Ritch takes in a deep breath and holds it. Forcing himself to stay away from those thoughts, he mentally addresses the fact that North essentially called Connor a liar. While his brother may be a surprisingly good liar, he absolutely hates doing it. He, like Ritch, very much prefers to find loopholes within the question or lightly exaggerates or understates the truth.

    “That doesn’t mean you get to ask him too! If it was sensitive to Connor, it probably is for him too! Why don’t you use your head for once, North!”

    Jesus… Were they that blunt with Connor? No wonder why he’s the way he is right now. He had it worse than I did. He finally releases his breath, finally calmed down enough.

    “Ritch? Are you okay?” Markus asks, taking a step forward with an expression of pure concern.

    “Probably.” He answers too fast.

    “Probably?” Markus tilts his head slightly.

    “It’d be best if you avoided any questions of that type indefinitely, because even Connor and I avoid discussing such things with each other. And if there are any other questions that any of you feel may be risky to ask, it’d be best to ask me about it first.” Josh and Simon are just about to apologise when Ritch cuts them off. “But to answer your question, North, the event we don’t speak of didn’t end with us against each other. Amanda knew better than to break laws like that.” Most of the time, anyway, he doesn’t add.

    “Oh. Sorry ‘bout that.” She seems genuinely regretful.

    “I appreciate it, just please don’t be so blunt with Connor. He picks up hints easily, even when you don’t know you’re giving them. He probably won’t be in class today, so I can’t show you his little tells of his attentiveness. It’s actually quite fascinating if psychology and sociology are things you enjoy.” Ritch takes a deep breath to fully dispel the lingering nerves. “Anyhow, I was on my way to let Luther and Chloe know that Connor won’t be in class.” He takes everyone’s nods as a polite dismissal from the conversation, so he turns and starts walking away. “I’ll see you guys at breakfast in a bit?” he calls over his shoulder.

    Josh replies with forced enthusiasm, “Yeah! We’ll see you then!”

    This time, Ritch doesn’t stop until he finds Luther in his office preparing for the day. He found Chloe several minutes before him, but she seemed busy and he didn’t want to bother her with a small message such as this since she has other responsibilities. He suspects she only sticks around Luther for the first week or so to help with evaluations.

    When he gives the instructor a brief rundown of what kind of state Connor is in and pointedly doesn’t mention why, Ritch expects him to insist that Connor comes down anyway since they can’t take “mental days” if they become real pilots. Instead, Luther completely understands and even goes as far as to write a personal note to Connor, explaining that he should take whatever time necessary to get back to normal and they’ll find time for him to take the initial evaluations.

    With a quick farewell and a shocked yet genuine thank you, Ritch heads back to his room with the paper in hand. On his way back, he runs into Gavin again, but easily dodges the asshole’s attempt at tripping him. He ignores Gavin’s taunts and swears behind him just as easily while he walks on. Ritch is learning how to handle that mess of a human relatively quickly, he thinks. Maybe one day he’ll figure out how to trip Gavin back with little to no repercussions.

    He opens the door to his shared bunker easily and finds Connor asleep on his bunk, just as expected. He lays Luther’s note near his pillow so he’ll see it whenever he wakes up instead of trying to wake him up to read it now. He also takes his own blanket and lays it on top of the one his brother has himself wrapped up in, knowing he likes to feel like a tightly wrapped burrito when going through a mood dip. Connor doesn’t even shift in his sleep. Ritch then gets down and starts playing relaxing ambiance sounds on the small speakers he brought with him, hoping that Connor will return to normal faster if he does.

    This is the one time he’ll cottle his brother like this, and it’s really only because this reaction is more than reasonable for the memory that was brought up this time. That, and he did play a part in bringing Connor down to this. Otherwise, Ritch would leave him to do his own thing. Not because he doesn’t care, quite the contrary, actually. It’s because he knows that there are harder, tougher times coming in the relatively near future, and he needs Connor to be ready for it, to be able to pick himself up in case Ritch is gone on a separate mission– or gone for a much worse reason– and can’t be there to help. He very highly doubts Connor will ask for help from anyone, and he also doubts that Connor’s future partner will know how to properly help him through these episodes. Hell, even Ritch barely knows how to anymore.

    Therefore, Ritch just waits patiently each time and hopes that his twin is learning how to bring himself out of these dips in an easier and faster way each time he’s tortured with them.

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

    The first dinner Hank spends without that Connor character coming to sit at his table, he thinks nothing of it. The young adult probably found some friends finally and is sitting with them. Hank makes the note to come to lunch early the next day to find out which group to avoid, since there’s no doubt Connor has already started spreading new rumors or nasty truths within that group. Even if he hasn’t, he wants to spare the sickeningly polite guy the mandatory greeting and small talk with Hank if they ever pass or run into each other, and the poor kid doesn’t need any teasing from his new friends.

    Hank ends up waking up much earlier than he wanted to the next morning thanks to a particularly nasty nightmare. Cranky and exhausted, yet unable to go back to sleep with the horrors waiting behind his eyelids, Hank forces himself up and downs a beer or few to ease the pain and to maybe hopefully get back to sleep. It doesn’t work. He ends up being the fifth person to breakfast, which thoroughly shocks the military equivalent of high school lunch ladies. Deciding that since he’s up this early anyway, he may as well wait to see which group has Connor in it now.

    Hank waits and waits and watches the entrance closely but subtly, yet he never spots the kid. He easily finds his brother, who is still hanging around his group of friends that Connor mentioned, but there’s no Connor. He’s one of the last people to leave breakfast that morning.

    Now, Hank is in no way attached to Connor whatsoever, but anyone would start becoming concerned when the person who refused to leave them alone at mealtimes suddenly disappears. That’s exactly how Hank explains his strange sense of confusion at the young man’s vanishing act, anyway. That lunch is spent pointedly not thinking about houdini number two and focusing on enjoying the peace and quiet again. He definitely doesn’t keep an eye on the door at almost all times to try and find the young adult, either. That would be borderline creepy and way out of character, even for a guy as nosey and curious as Hank can be sometimes.

    He gets to dinner that evening his usual time, right in the middle when people are too invested with their own meals and friends to pay Hank any mind, but the line is already pretty much gone. He gets his food, sits down, then starts eating. Still no Connor, but it’s not his problem anymore. It wasn’t his problem to begin with, actually.

    The next day goes smoothly. Lunch/breakfast is normal, and he gets dinner just fine. It only becomes less fine after he starts eating, though. He barely gets three bites into his meatballs when some asshat decides to sit in front of him.

    It’s the fuckin’ light version of Connor from the hallway yesterday, whatever the fuck his name is.

    He wouldn’t have been able to hold back the growl of annoyance even if he wanted to. “The fuck do you want?”

    “Have you asked Connor any questions? Or brought up any topics to speak about with him?”

    What in the fresh hell? “Do I look like the type of guy who likes to buddy up to people? He just kinda sits there–” Hank gestures to Connor’s spot “–and fidgets the whole damn time.”

    Frosty the Glareman studies Hank for a few long moments. He must find something– or the absence of something– that makes him finally shake his head slowly and back off.

    “No, you don’t. I apologize for taking up your time then, Mr. Anderson. Have a good day.”

    The only way Hank could describe his current emotion is “???”. He has absolutely no clue what just happened or why it had to happen in the first place, and now he’s just going to up and leave just as quickly as he sat down?

     “What? That’s it? I don’t even get to know why it was so important to ask me that?”

    The young man hesitates. “Connor’s just been in a mood dip recently, as I call it. I know that he doesn’t dislike being around you, so I was simply clarifying that you didn’t accidentally worsen this dip. I’ll let you get back to your dinner, now. Good evening.”

    A mood dip? What the fuck does that mean?

    Hank thinks he gets that answer during lunch the next day.

    “Holy shit, you look like a walkin’ corpse.” Hank comments upon seeing Connor limp towards his seat on the other side of the table. “The fuck happened to you?”

    His skin is pale, he has dark bags under his eyes, but his eyes themselves, while shiny, aren’t red, so he probably hasn’t been crying recently. His normally styled hair is in complete disarray. He didn’t even take the time to put on his normal T-shirt with cargo pants and boots, instead opting for a tank top, sweatpants, and slip on shoes. Every single one of Connor’s movements are slow and sluggish, and every single one shows off some kind of bandage, scab, or bruise on his arms, shoulders, and neck area.

    All in all, he looks like someone who might’ve been in too much pain to properly sleep. Although, that wouldn’t make sense with what Connor Lite told him yesterday and the kind of questions he asked. Curiouser and curiouser, indeed.

    “I was just reminded of something unpleasant, is all. I shouldn’t even be affected by it, yet here I am.” Connor drops in his chair like a sack of potatoes. “Very affected and very drained.”

    Then it finally properly clicks, what Connor version two meant by being in a mood, and why he came to Hank of all people to ask if he had anything to do with it. The poor kid probably hasn’t been up due to pain, but nightmares instead. Hank can’t stop himself from empathising with him, having just had that particularly nasty one just the night before.

    “Well, you should get some fuckin’ sleep. Leavin’ the lights on help sometimes.”

    Connor’s brows furrow in confusion before he slowly looks up at Hank, tilting his head in the process.

    “I wasn’t kidding when I said you look like a walking corpse.” Hank states with pointedly raised eyebrows, not especially emotionally invested in what’s happening anymore. He turns to his food, instead.

    “I have been sleeping.”

    “Bullshit, but suit yourself.”

    “I think all I did was sleep and try to sleep for the past 16 hours.”

    Hank, a hypocrite who adores calling people out on their bullshit and proving them wrong, turns to face Connor, resting his elbow on the table and leaning on it.

    “16 hours, huh? So what’dya do for the other 24 then? Hm?”

    He watches Connor freeze for half a second before relaxing again with one of the most forced laughs Hank has ever heard. The panic doesn’t truly leave his eyes either.

   “Ha ha, very funny. Ritch used to try to do that to me too.”

    Hank . “Why is this funny? You literally disappeared for an entire day and a half then suddenly showed up again.” Hank brings his full attention back to his food with an annoyed shake of his head. “I thought you finally found some actual friends or somethin’. Damn.”

    “...I missed another day…”

    Hank barely catches that comment, since it was said under Connor’s breath, but it’s got enough emotion in it to make him want to look back over at the other mess of a human being at this table. He ends up giving in and doing it.

    And a mess he is. Connor’s frozen with wide eyes that see through the table, his food seemingly forgotten in front of him. It’s extremely unsettling to see him completely still for a change. Just a few days ago, Hank would have prayed to the god he doesn’t believe in to make it stop, but stillness in this fashion screams “wrong” so much that it’s almost worse than the light, rhythmic tapping of his fingers against the table. Not that he’s gotten used to them, just that that would be more comfortable than the current tense inactivity.

    “I missed an entire day of evaluations.” Connor says a bit louder.

    That seems to spark something in the injured man because he abruptly goes straight as a board and starts frantically looking for something. It’s not until he catches what Connor’s muttering under his breath “...what time is it? What’s the date? Where’s the time? A clock? I need a clock–”

    “It’s just past noon on the 17th.” Hank huffs an answer, immediately changing his mind on the stillness versus movement. Thankfully, Connor stops.

    “Oh shit.” he whispers, Hank barely hearing it, “Oh shit oh shit oh shit I’m currently skipping evaluations, shit.” Connor quickly stands, somehow looking both more alert and more exhausted than ever before. “I am so fucked, oh no.” He grabs his untouched tray and gets up to walk away.

    Hank may not like very many people, but he knows no good can come from not eating for at least 48 hours. He doesn’t think he would even let Gavin Reed, the selfish asshole, leave without trying to get something in his gut if the guy was in a position and mindset similar to Connor’s.

    “Hey hey hey, woah.” Hank sits up straight and puts his hands on the table, making it look like he’s about to get up from his seat even though he has no real plans to, “You have to sit down and eat. You’re going to starve yourse–”

    “I’ll be fine.” the trainee interrupts, not stopping. “I’ve gone longer without food. I just need a water bottle and I’ll be fine.”

    “You will do no such thing.” Connor 2.0 appears, blocking the other’s way with a stern frown. “Mr. Anderson is right, you’re going to sit down and you’re going to eat.”

    “Ritch,” Ah! That’s what his name was, “I’m not in the mood to play your games. I have things that need to be done so move out of my way.” Connor tries to sidestep Ritch, but he blocks him again.

    “I’ve already informed Luther that you were going to be out of commission until further notice. Did you not get his note?”

    “Yes I did, but it’s not him I’m worried about. There are higher ups that are watching us and I can’t afford to miss any more–”

    “Connor.” Ritch growls, it even takes Hank off guard for half a moment. He’s mildly impressed. “You will sit and you will eat, or so help me Markus and I will pin you down while Simon spoon feeds you. I don’t care if you’ve lasted longer without food before. You didn’t really have a choice then. You will not start doing this again. I refuse it.”

    Upon seeing Connor’s returning glare, Hank quickly changes his opinion of him from being the polite fool to someone who could easily hold his own when needed. Well, he still is too much of a people pleaser, but at least he doesn’t seem to take any shits when he really doesn’t want to.

    “Ritch, move–”

    “Your brother’s right, Connor.” Hank stares Connor down. The older man has thankfully been desensitized to death glares over the past few years, otherwise he would have been in trouble just now. “And I promise you that if Luther understands, then so does anyone else watching. He’s probably the most strict with these rules since he’s ‘passionate’ about his job or some bullshit like that. Now sit the fuck down ‘cause you’re making me tense with all this nonsense and I already haven’t been sleeping well lately.”

    Connor glances between the two of them before huffing and sitting back in his usual seat. Ritch sends a warning glare at Connor– which the latter retaliates with a huff and a slight eye roll– then nods at Hank and retreats back to his table. Before he can even sit down, though, Hanks’s own table starts being slightly jostled. One glance towards Connor proves it’s him and his damn leg bouncing again. Although, as much as Hank wants to snap at him to stop, even he can recognise that Connor needs people to be less harsh with him right now.

    “Connor, you’re leg’s bouncing.”

    No response.

    “Connor.” Hank tries again louder.

    Connor starts muttering to himself then puts his head in his hands, his fingers combing through his own hair in an unconscious way. Hank can’t help but empathize with the poor guy. Hank’s been in a similar state of mind before, but not when he was this young. Actually, now that Hank’s thinking about it, he may still have the stuff that helped him all that time ago, just out of reluctance to clean his bunker.

    “Connor!”

    The young man jumps and turns his head to Hank so fast the older man wonders if he got any sort of whiplash. Connor’s eyes suddenly widen and he goes mostly still and refocuses his attention on his food tray almost robotically.

    “Right, right. Food. No fidgeting. Have to eat. Need calories to train.” Connor takes a breath, shakes his head as if physically clearing the thoughts in his head, then says under his breath, “Real jaeger pilots aren’t like this. I was trained to be better. Stupid stupid stupid…”

    This is an entire level or two worse than Hank originally thought, but he’s pretty sure the things he has could still help. What surprises Hank the most is that he’s actually almost wanting to help this guy out just for the sake of it. Although, he rationalises, it’s probably because Hank had been in a mindset similar to his at one point in time, and can remember exactly how it felt to be that overwhelmed and in over his head. What he can’t rationalise, is the proud feeling at being able to maybe make this guy’s day easier.

    All he knows is this guy obviously doesn’t have any friends to lean on yet, and Hank’s gonna do something to maybe make this easier on him.

    ...Hank was kind of hoping that if he restated it he could bullshit a reason for doing it in the first place. Apparently not. Going with the old “blindly following his gut” thing, now, huh? Whatever. He’s deciding to not care anymore right now.

    He heaves a sigh, interrupting Connor’s uninterpretable muttering. “Alright, take whatever food may be appetizing to you later and let’s go.” He stands up and starts taking his mostly empty tray to where it belongs, throwing out the trash on it.

    “Go? Go where? If I’m gonna leave I’m going to go class–”

    “Well why don’t you just shut up and just follow me. Unless you don’t want anything that could maybe possibly help with this–” he gestures to Connor, “–fuckin’ disaster you are right now.”

    Connor gets up quickly at that, “Things like that exist? Really?” He starts stuffing the pre-packaged items of his lunch into his pockets

    “You live under a rock or something?” Hank is already losing his patience. This is a mistake.

    “Well, my– uh… My trainer, I guess you could call her, didn’t really like that I was limited, and she didn’t like us getting help for something we could fix on our own even more ‘cause we aren’t weak. And we didn’t really have a social life or anything growing up, either, ‘cause we’ve always been kept busy..” Connor takes a deep breath, “So yeah, I guess I have lived under a rock until recently.”

    Whoever this bitch is, she sounds like a down right asshole. Hell, even Gavin wouldn’t go that far with anyone and he’s him. When Hank says as much to Connor as they travel through the reinforced halls, Connor splutters.

    “She– I– Well–” He finally gives up with a sigh. “I suppose it doesn’t really matter now, does it?”

    Hank doesn’t give a response.

    The rest of the trip is spent in silence, and by the time they make it to Hank’s bunker, the small portion of food Connor brought with him is gone. That’s a good sign at least. Really good. Hank puts in the code to his door and cracks it open, then turns to the anxious man (even though he’s hiding it really well now, Hank can still see the signs of it) behind him.

    “If I give these to you, you have to promise to try to find other people to hang out with. Got it? I ain’t friend material.”

    “I beg to differ, but if it will put you more at ease then I will try harder to find other people who will put up with me.” As if on cue, his foot starts tapping and he starts picking at his fingers less-than-subtly.

    “Try harder? You’ve already been trying?”

    Connor shuffles a bit in place, “Yes, but I’m not good at making friends like Ritch is. I’ve always either made a fool of myself or blended into the background.” He looks up sharply. “Which is okay! I’m used to doing things on my own by now. And now I’m talking too much again, I apologize.” he lowers his eyes again.

    “Huh. Well, you better come inside so that asshat Reed doesn’t see you hangin’ around here and decide to try an’ pick a fight.” Hank says as he opens the door to his room, waving Connor in. It’s not like he has anything to hide, it’s just his dirty clothes and the empty bottles of various alcohol bottles all over the floor.

    He immediately shuts the door once Connor fully enters. Ignoring the other man, Hank gets straight to trying to find his old weighted blanket and stress ball. He’s been wanting to get rid of them anyway, and if they can help a possible future comrade, then good. Hank pauses in his search when he hears a bit of shuffling and turns to Connor… who is neatly moving all of the empty bottles on his floor into a pile in the corner of the room.

    “What’re you doing?” There’s no anger in his tone, only pure confusion.

    Connor freezes, then immediately drops the two bottles he had in his hands as if he didn’t realise what he was doing.

    “I’m sorry, Mr. Anderson,” he straightens up, “I just didn’t want the bottles to break and have you cut your feet, but this is your room and I shouldn’t have touched it. It’s my bad, sorry.” his fidgeting is getting worse again.

    “Cleaning an alcoholic’s empty bottles off of his floor is hardly something to apologise for. Just wonderin’ why you felt the need to.” Hank returns to his search, just looking for the stress ball now, with the blanket folded on the floor by his feet. “You aren’t my maid or anythin’.”

    “Oh. It’s just a habit, I suppose.”

    Hank kneels down to better search the bottom drawer, “Habit? You one of those losers with the squeaky clean rooms growin’ up?”

    A moment passes in silence, then Connor speaks with a cautious tone in his voice. “Is it not normal to have a clean room as a child?”

    “Uh, not really.” Hank finally pulls out the dull-from-age stress ball and puts it on top of the navy blue blanket that may or may not have a few visible stains on it. Probably from where his old dog drooled or chewed something on it years ago and Hank gave up trying to wash the slobber out. God, he fuckin’ misses Sumo.

   “Oh. Um…”

    Connor looks like he wants to ask something but is hesitating, and Hank is officially running out of patience. He wants this man out of his room as soon as possible. Yes, Hank’s being somewhat bipolar recently, but can you blame him? This has been a rollercoaster of week so far, and he’s willing to bet that next week won’t be much different. He tried to go with the flow, but now he just wants his regularly scheduled life back please and thank you.

    “What?” Hank finally snaps.

    “Uh– What kind of things do people use to make their spaces cluttered? Like, pleasantly cluttered.” Connor rushes out.

    What in the? “I’m sorry?”

    Connor looks down at his hands, which he’s tightly wringing together, “Like, do normal people actually hang papers on the wall with tacks that make holes everywhere? It seems inconvenient to use when there are other, non-damaging methods of hanging things up.”

    Did he really not have any normal friends growing up? What the hell.

    “Well, uh, it was just me and Ritch for as long as I can remember, so…” Shit, he must’ve said that out loud. “Oh! But there was this one kid named Ross we were acquainted with when we were eight years old and he was nice. It’s probably why he got adopted almost immediately. I hope he’s happy now.” Connor finishes genuinely with a small smile on his face. It disappears quickly though, “And I’m talking a lot again. I apologize.”

    “Why the fuck do you do that?”

    “I don’t know. I just answer a question and then it reminds me of something else and I guess I haven’t learned how–”

    “No no, not the talking itself. Why are you fucking constantly apologizing for talking a bit more after answering a question? It’s kinda more annoying than the talking itself.”

    Connor freezes. “Oh. Oh…” He looks around, obviously caught off guard. “Uh, only friends talk to each other as freely as I tend to want to talk to people. Or that’s how I’ve grown up being taught, anyway. And you’ve implied plenty of times that you’re not interested in becoming friends, even though I personally think you would make an adequate friend, but I digress again.”

    How the hell does Hank respond to this?

    First thing to unpack, when this guy said that he didn’t have a social life earlier, he literally meant that he didn’t to the extent that he didn’t even realise messy rooms were a thing. Messy rooms of all things! That’s like, the most iconic part of being a teenager! And if he didn’t even know that, then that means he didn’t have any social medias or a TV growing up either, because that fact is literally all over every type of media there is.

    That also brings up the point that whoever raised him did a real shit job at it, because who the hell believes people can only talk amicably to friends? How the fuck does someone make friends if they’re not allowed to talk freely with other people until the friendship title has been officially earned?

    Hank’s sure he could go on bashing this so-called “parental figure” Connor had growing up, but he doesn’t particularly want to spend any more time thinking about it right now. If he did, that would mean he actively cares about the kid, when in reality he’s just concerned about how little he knows and how little help he’s been getting for his very real problems, just as any half-decent human being would.

    Secondly (Or is this thirdly? Hank’s lost count already), this poor, misguided kid thinks he of all people would make an acceptable friend. What. The. Hell. He understood Connor doesn’t really get certain social clues even before all this ‘being sheltered’ shit spilled today, but Hank thought he was better than this. What part of Hank’s old, unkept, very-out-of-shape self mixed with scowls, growls, groans, and complaints told Connor “Hey, this old man wouldn’t be horrible to befriend!”. Even with the fact that he used to look up to Hank during his old jaeger years, the young man should have realised after the two days of sitting with him that it wasn’t worth it.

    “Why are you so convinced I’d make a good friend?” is all Hank says out loud.

    Connor looks surprised by that, then quickly turns his head away in obvious contemplation. He looks back a moment or two later with a kind determination Hank hasn’t seen since Jeffery last told him that he’d try his best to help Hank. Hell, even his best friend and copilot of many years couldn’t put up with his shit anymore. What makes this trainee think he could?

    “I’m gonna give you the long, blunt truth because you seem like the one person around here that I don’t have to sugarcoat or say anything gently for. If I start talking too much, just tell me to shut up.” He takes a breath, then, when Hank says nothing, he continues determinedly. “I think you’re lonely without realizing it. I know I was before I got here and was forced to be around a lot of people. And it might be a lot of self-projecting onto the first person I’ve regularly hung around, but I think it’s true for you, even if you don’t know or believe it.

    “You already know that I used to follow your work as a jaeger pilot– you, Marshal Fowler, and the Gerund brothers were my inspiration and motivation, really– and I also know that you don’t really have any friends left because you’ve changed so much since then and they always expected you to go back to your old self, even though that’s impossible.” He pauses briefly, visibly contemplating how to word something. “People keep accusing me of wanting to ‘fix’ or ‘change’ you, but I honestly don’t. Well, it’d be better for you altogether if you drank less, but I can’t control what you do and I won’t try to. You’re a grown man who can take care of himself, and even if you couldn’t, it’d probably be hypocritical of me to lecture you about healthy coping mechanisms.

    “I mean, honestly, I’m just looking for someone to sit down with and not have to worry about watching every little thing I say during conversations so people don’t get any more nosy than they already are. Plus, it just gets exhausting being around the other people around here because I’m so used to being able to sink into the background and be forgotten when I want, and the people around here won’t let me. And from what I’ve gathered, you don’t like the people here for a similar reason; they either completely ignore you or won’t leave you alone.” Connor takes a breath. When Hank doesn’t say anything because he’s too busy processing what’s been said so far, Connor presses on, less confident this time.

    “I know a friendship can’t thrive upon disliking the presence of other people by itself, but I feel like it could maybe start one. I don’t know what you were like before, and quite frankly I don’t really care. People change all the time, and that version of you is in the past, for better or for worse. You just have to make do with what and who you are now.” The younger man looks down to his feet. ”I don’t know about you, but I hate it when people start treating me differently when they find out about my… previous lifestyle and unique experiences, growing up.” He shrugs and looks up to Hank.

    “You don’t. You’re the only one who hasn’t and doesn’t expect anything special out of me in return. And I try to make it a habit to not treat people differently either. Unless, of course, they’re a cold-blooded murderer or something, then yea, I probably would treat them a bit differently, but I’m pretty sure you aren’t, so…” Connor finishes with a small, awkward smile.

    Well if that wasn’t a speech and a half… Hank feels like he’s been saying this constantly these past few days, but once again, what the actual fucking hell. Connor has spent just about two days total with Hank, and yet he clearly understands him more than even most of the coworkers he’s had for years. He doesn’t know whether to be disappointed in his group of acquaintances as well as his therapists, impressed that Connor doesn’t have his head up his ass like almost everyone else, or worried that Connor’s already correctly guessed this much about him in almost no time.

    Hank decides he feels a mixture of all three, plus a weird sense of concern for the man in front of him. He spoke like he has personally experienced horrors, and his two day disappearance just because he was– how’d he word it? “Reminded of something unpleasant”?– proves that he probably has. If Hank has figured anything out about Connor these past few days, it’s that he greatly downplays any and everything pertaining to himself. For fuck’s sake, this guy had no concerns over being beaten almost to a pulp by his own brother. Yet, then again, said brother wasn’t looking too hot himself, either…

   What exactly happened to him during his– how old was he? 26? That almost sounds right– 26 years of existence that he would so clearly understand the mentality of someone who’s been through hell and back?

   Hank holds out his arms to give Connor the weighted blanket and stress ball and opens his mouth to briefly explain what they are. He doesn’t have a single clue why the next question comes out of his mouth instead.

   “How old are you again?”

   To be fair, Connor looks about as surprised as Hank feels right now. “Nearly 23 years old.”

   Twenty-fuckin’-three. This guy standing in front of him, who looks like the biggest brown-nosing pushover, but can pack a very mean and very solid punch and can conjure up a glare so harsh and deadly it could make some grown-ass-men cower. Connor, who made it into this training program with very little effort and could– and probably will– skyrocket to the top of his class if what Jeffery briefly said about him and his twin the other day is true, is only fucking 23 years old. 

    On top of that, didn’t Connor mention an orphanage and a stepmother? If that’s the case, then it means his original family is long gone and he wasn’t adopted out until after he turned at least eight. That’s fifteen years ago… around five to ten years after the kaijus started coming, right when permanent defenses finally started becoming a necessary integration to all shorelines and not just the rich ones. The chances of him having lost his family during those first waves are extremely high.

    God damn, Connor really didn’t have a childhood, did he? Fuckin’ hell, that’s just downright depressing. Even though Hank had it rough growing up, he could still say that he had plenty of time to fuck around as a kid.

    Well, Connor was right about one of many things, Hank isn’t going to be giving him any special treatment beyond this mother fucking stress ball and heavy-ass blanket, that’s for sure. He’s got a reputation of being an asshole to keep up, after all. He doesn’t want people to think that just anyone can come up and talk to him or ask him for and about stuff now, would he? Hank has made that mistake only once in the past few years.

    “Alright, fucker, you got me. Whoopty doo.” Hank starts sarcastically. “Just don’t spread whatever you think of me around too much, I got enough problems to deal with as it is.”

    “Yes, of course Mr. Anderson. I don’t very much like it when rumors spread about me, so I won’t be doing anything of the sort for as long as I can help it, and never when involving you.” Hank can almost imagine him as a puppy with how easily and happily Connor’s agreeing with him.

    “And I wasn’t kidding when I said you needed to find other friends.”

    “And I wasn’t kidding when I said I’d try harder to make them.” A pause. “And I won’t force you into an acquaintanceship with me either. If you really dislike me hanging around, then I can always find another private place to sit during meals.”

    Hank opens his mouth to confirm that he does, indeed, dislike Connor’s presence, finally given a way to get rid of the main disturbance in his life recently. Yet, he finds he can’t. Looking past the fidgeting and essay answers to most questions asked, Hank surprisingly hasn’t found much else to truly hate about him. A lot of said answers seem rehearsed and robotic or sarcastic, but Hank can tell he’s been genuine, or at least has been trying to be. That, and while most people who are open books normally come off as in-your-face and annoying, Connor’s an open book in a way that he doesn’t broadcast anything, but doesn’t try to hide much when asked by someone he’s comfortable with, either. Hank can tell this because he used to know someone exactly like this and can already see the patterns.

    Those types of people generally make the best pilots, in his experience.

    In the end, Hank just silently holds out the blanket in his arms again instead of saying anything. Connor glances back and forth between the other’s face and the blanket in his arms, and hesitantly reaches out as if Hank’s going to snatch it away from him at the last moment. Hank begins explaining what they are, seeing that Connor probably has no fucking clue what these actually are and what they’re meant for.

    “This is a weighted blanket. The box and company will tell you it’s supposed to make you feel safe or like someone’s hugging you or some shit like that, but honestly it just feels like someone laid a flexible mattress over you or something, which can kinda feel nice when you’re having a bad day for some weird reason. I dunno how to fucking explain this shit so just take it.” He does. Hank points to the squishy ball on top of the blanket. “That thing is a stress ball. You squish it, pull it, throw it, do whatever the fuck you want with it. It’s designed to not break unless you’re purposefully trying to. It never really did shit for me, but you fidget all the god-damned time so it’ll probably do somethin’ for you. You’re welcome.” Hank huffs the last part, having to put minimal effort into seeming grumpy, as opposed to no effort, for the first time in ages.

    Connor looks at the old, tattered blanket and ancient, somewhat stretched-out stress ball (from the amount of times Hank hurled it at the walls in sudden bursts of rage) like it was the best thing in the whole damned world. He shifts the blanket onto one arm as if it weighed the same as an average throw blanket and not 15 pounds (around 7 kg), give or take, and uses his now free hand to give the stress ball a test squish. All in all, Connor really shouldn’t have that amazed and grateful look on his face for two old and very used items.

    “Thank you very much, Mr. Anderson. I greatly appreciate this. Thank you.” He looks up from his stuff to Hank, “I’ll take care of them and bring them back in the same condition you gave them to me in.”

    “Give them back?– Connor.” he deadpans, “I’m fuckin’ giving these to you. Permanently. I’ve been needing to get rid of them anyway, and you sure as hell could use them if what happened before is even somewhat a normal thing that happens.”

    That was probably the wrong thing to say, Hank realises a tad too late.

    Connor’s changes from gracious and happy to anxious yet calculating in the blink of an eye.

    “I still need to catch up on evaluations.” He starts stepping backwards, somehow expertly avoiding anything he could trip on despite not actually being able to see them. “Thank you very much for these Mr. Anderson, but I’ve really got to go. I have a lot I need to do. A lot. So thank you, I’ll get out of your hair now.” Connor opens the door. “Goodbye.” And he’s gone.

                     ...why does his room seem so quiet and cluttered now?

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

    Ritch releases a large, mental sigh of relief when Connor enters the room during their current written evaluation. When he watched Connor blindly follow Mr. Anderson out of the food court area before actually eating anything earlier, it took both Josh and North gently holding him back and talking him down so he wouldn’t hunt down the pair. He’s glad they succeeded in calming him down, though, because whatever Mr. Anderson said or did very obviously calmed Connor down, and judging by the empty wrapper sticking out of his pocket, he even got his stubborn brother to eat something.

    Maybe Hank isn’t too much of an incompetent asshole after all. Yes, he’s still obviously constantly grumpy and drinks way too much alcohol, but maybe one half of the rumors and stories aren’t quite true. Either that or maybe Connor simply latched onto him much faster that Ritch originally thought, and is now somehow charming the old man into not despising him by using his stupid puppy eyes. It’s likely a mixture of both, now that he’s thinking about it.

    No one can quite interpret what’s being said between Luther, Chloe, and Connor, but seeing his brother’s pleading expression along with the instructors’ stern ones with undertones of concern, they’re most definitely making him wait until tomorrow to continue evaluations. He still looks like a complete wreck, after all, with his sleeping clothes still on and disastrous mop of hair.

    Ritch forces himself back to the boring and simple exam even though he finished a few minutes ago. He even purposefully marked a few of the questions wrong just as he and Connor planned, but he’s currently waiting for at least two other people to finish before he turns his in. Connor then quietly leaves with a pleasant farewell to the two instructors, and the room is plunged back into silence once more.

    Precisely 24 minutes later, Ritch can’t take sitting in the silence with nothing to do any longer while his brother is off doing who knows what right now. Plus, he’s pretty sure Luther and Chloe have booth figured out by now that he hasn’t actually been writing anything down for a while. He gets up and is the first one to turn the evaluation in. Ritch most certainly does not think about how Amanda would be disappointed in him for not being able to sit still for any longer because Amanda no longer has any control over his life. What is she going to do? Somehow hack into the cameras, see him giving in, then fly all the way over here just to punish him for being weak?

    Ritch also does not think about how that doesn’t sound completely outlandish and bizarre for some of Amanda’s standards. That woman is frightening when she wants to be.

    Instead, Ritch focuses on how, upon entering his bunker, he hears the shower running in their little bathroom. That means Connor is officially out of his funk. This is significant because the event he was directly reminded of normally causes the worst dips by far. The last time someone asked about it, he refused to come out of his room for just over four days, and Ritch had to smuggle snack foods and water bottles into their shared room (where it wasn’t allowed due to carpeting and bedding) just to keep him from starving and dehydrating.

    Maybe Ritch was right to begin with, maybe being away from that environment really is helping Connor after all. He truly is a talented and smart guy, Amanda just didn’t particularly like how he puts his heart on his sleeve, since that could get him or others hurt. Ritch wants to believe that she didn’t mean to break Connor like this, but another part whispers that she may have purposefully broken both of them long ago in order to make them soldiers; that they had just found different ways of coping and played different roles in the games she called ”training”.

    Connor will show her. He doesn’t believe it now, but he’s quite strong in his own way. What kind of person can say they’ve been through what Connor has and still remain so reluctant to become bitter and reclusive. Hank can’t, that’s for sure. Even Ritch can’t quite say he can, either. It’s only because of Connor’s constant desire for genuine friendship and connection that Ritch had even tried talking to Markus and the group in the first place. If his brother had no part in what Ritch thinks and how he behaves, he would spend most if not all of his free time in their room.

    Connor doesn’t realise, let alone believe it now, but it takes a special kind of bravery to put oneself out there, especially when one’s mind constantly screams every imperfection about themselves like Connor’s seems to do.

    Ritch calmly places the sleeping oil his brother uses to remain unconscious during his mood dips back where it belongs. He doesn’t think that Connor knows that he knows he uses it, but there’s no way Ritch wouldn’t have after all these years of sharing a room and storage space with him. Plus, the amount of times he’s had to hide these little bottles from Amanda to save Connor’s forgetful ass when he leaves it out is far too many. Now Ritch only puts it away out of habit, and some part of him knows that it will likely put Connor more at ease knowing the bottle was hidden away for one reason or another, away from where anyone could see it.

    Ritch also notes the… well loved ball and the stained blanket placed on the desk. He wonders if Mr. Anderson had anything to do with those, since Luther would have given any gifts at the same time as the note he wrote for Connor the other day, and these are clearly a new addition to the room. If the older man actually did have anything to do with those, then he’ll have to thank him at some point in the near future.

    Maybe, just maybe, Connor is right. Maybe Hank Anderson really isn’t as horrible and unpredictable as people say, and maybe Connor really isn’t looking to bring him back to how he was during his “glory” days.

    Maybe… Maybe he won’t get between the two of them for now. Just for now.

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

Previous <~> Masterlist <~> Next

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

A/N: Heyo guys! Another chapter out, whoot whoot!! So, I don’t have much to say except this chapter was kind of boring, but it’s a stepping stone for what’s to come in the future so please bear with me 😅 Next chapter will feature Gavin and Ritch!! (even though it may still be kinda dull compared to the last chapter 😅) I feel like I’ve been focusing on Connor a lot since the beginning of this fic, but that’s only because that’s how it has to work out in my evil master plans Mwahaha!

Anyway, The next thing I’ll be posting is actually the first chapter of a Hankcon fic I had planned, Cat Out of the Bag, and that will be coming very soon! I already have more than half of it written! Thank you for reading and leaving comments! I may not respond to everyone, but I read everything! Y’all are the best 💖

[friendlylocalwhumper]

@badthingshappenbingo fill #5. one hell of a game.

Trope: Hallucinations

Fandom: Leverage

Characters: Eliot Spencer, Shelley, Alec Hardison, Parker, Sophie Devereaux

Tags: hallucinations, fever, infected wound, escaped from captivity, war flashbacks, PTSD, waking up delirious, comfort, rescue

Word count: 5,489

"Shelley! You there, man?" Shelley's brows furrowed when he heard Eliot's voice. Hushed, strained. What kind of way was that to start a phone call? "Eliot? What's going on?" "I-I don't know, man," The other man's voice was rough. "Fire incoming but the boys're still out there somewhere. One'a my squad leaders is dead. Damn IED's." Shelley's expression shifted from confused to grave. Eliot was talking like he was in a combat zone, like he was still a Commander. What was this? "Pinned down by fire?" Eliot grunted in answer. "Comin' down like a damn hailstorm. Gotta get one'a the gators down here, get 'em, and get back to base before another damn IED goes off. Gotta be a secondary one armed." There was no sound of gunfire over the line. What the hell was Eliot hearing? "Where are you squatting?" Eliot didn't answer for a moment, then the phone was held up again. "G- uh," Spencer held in a groan. He was injured. "Not sure. Don't look like Kandahar." Kandahar. So Eliot thought he was back in Afghanistan. Those had been some tough months, with the men they'd lost and the attacks they'd sustained. Spencer had been injured in an explosion and pinned down by gunfire, unable to push back against the insurgents while his squad was going down one by one. They'd both been younger then, scared but focused. If that's where he thought he was, he had to be messed up, bad. "Your RTO outta commision?" The guy that would, if he was really in combat, man the radio and facilitate communication with the base. He was asking if Eliot had a way to call for help. "Yeah, legs blown off." Eliot took a few shaky breaths. "Shelley, where you at? I can't hold up here much longer, AR's are goin' off like a motherfucker." "Stay where you are, soldier. Keep behind cover. I'll get to you. You keep this line working, alright? You gotta be your own RTO. You hear me, Commander?" "Yeah, I hear you." "No man left behind, Spencer. I'll be there. Don't you quit on me." "You got it, team leader." Shelley hung up. He would have preferred to keep the line open, but if Eliot was out of it and in a dangerous situation, he needed to focus on nearby threats, not talking on the phone. Even if Spencer was in a flashback right now, he could be in some deep shit. Shelley had to find him and get his head right, fast. The best chance to find him would be to trace that phone, and the best way to do that was get Eliot's computer guy to do it. Kid was cocky, but he had the chops to pull this off.

~ As soon as he got through the doorway, Spencer's team bombarded him with questions. "-thinks he's where?" "What did he say?" "Where is he? Is he going crazy?" "Is he hurt?" Shelley raised his hands to stop them. "Hardison, you got that trace going?" Alec gladly took the chance to talk about the three computers he had running the signal. "The phone's still on so I can trace it, but it doesn't have GPS enabled. It's gonna lock onto the signal, triangulate it soon, maybe 10 minutes. Would be faster but- hell, you don't care. What's wrong with Eliot?" Shelley could tell they were all dying to know, but he didn't know much. "He called me, talking like he's back in Afghanistan. We were outside our base when we hit an IED, then took heavy fire. Couldn't get out of there for hours. He thinks he's under fire now, but I didn't hear anything close to that sound on the line. He's holed up somewhere, sounds like he's hurt. No," He gave them a pointed look before they could interrupt, "I don't know how bad. I know he's never had a flashback like this before, not this bad. Something happened, something violent, to make him go back there." "Violent is kind of his thing," Parker supplied. "Then it was worse than violent. When was the last time you saw him?" "Four days ago," Nate answered immediately. He probably had every detail logged away to use in a situation like this. "Took two days of the week off after a tough job, then the weekend. We were supposed to meet back up today." Shelley nodded. "Then he was either taken, or he went after someone. Could be he knew he had four days to get a job done and it went south. Could be he got attacked four days ago and just made it out today." "You think he was kidnapped?" Sophie asked incredulously. "I doubt he'd let anyone close enough to try." Shelley shook his head at that. "Can happen anytime. Right infiltration team, right timing, you can take anyone. You said your last job didn't go well?" Nate sighed at that. "He had a concussion." "There you go. Head wound, tired, outnumbered - that's all it takes." "Why didn't he call us? We're his team." Parker looked dissatisfied with Shelley's suggestion of how it went down. The soldier understood her doubt, but he knew this side of Eliot. "Would you guys say he acts like a soldier?" "Uh, no, he acts grumpy. Bossy. Know-it-all." Alec seemed to have a lot of opinions on Eliot. He sounded like a kid brother. "Sure. He's just a guy to you, a teammate, a friend. Hypervigilance comes across as being paranoid. Keeping to a fitness regimen and diet seems like vanity. Focusing on the task at hand and getting pissed at distractions looks like he's just a grumpy guy. He was trained as a soldier and he hasn't stopped fighting since he got deployed." Shelley saw that the team was starting to get it now. "You're not his squad, you're the people he protects. If he thinks he's in a war zone, he's gonna radio in to someone that's been there with him. He thinks he's 22 and about to die." They were silent until the computers beeped aggressively. Hardison spun to look at them, and he was animated by the result. "I know where he is." ~ Shelley stepped into the abandoned house silently. The back door had been off its hinges, making subtle entry easy enough. The place was falling apart. It was part of a lot on the edge of a large salt marsh, amid a mess of dilapidated buildings that were lived in, left in favor of newer developments, and allowed to fall into disarray. Shelley pulled his cell from his pocket and found the number Eliot had called from. He hit dial and heard a phone ringing ahead of him on the first floor. The phone wasn't picked up - Shelley heard something smash, and figured Eliot had broken it when it went off. Not great, he might not remember that he'd called for Shelley at all. He proceeded into the house, stepping around debris and into the hallway to the front rooms. He knew Spencer was in the room to his right from the sound of the phone breaking. He had to assume Eliot had heard him enter due to his hypervigilance. "Hey, Spencer. It's me. Shelley." No answer. Eliot wasn't sure if it was a trick. He was likely standing just inside the open doorway, ready to attack as soon as he entered. "I have no weapons on my person. I'm gonna step into the room with my hands in front off me. Don't bum rush me, man." Shelley took a calm breath, then stepped forward, moving slowly. He'd guessed wrong. Eliot wasn't waiting to tackle him, he was sitting up against the far wall, watching his every move. "I look like the kinda guy that'd bum rush ya?" Eliot asked amicably, though his eyes were wary, skittish. "The hell you doin' walkin' around out there? Gonna catch a bullet like that." Shelley walked closer, still slowly, hands still visible so he didn't register as a threat. "What, those big ass mosquitos that whizz by you out there? You know I got a hard head, Commander." He got closer and saw that Eliot was injured, probably why he wasn't standing. His clothes were stained with blood and mud. He must've waded through the swamp out there, which would undoubtedly lead to infection. His ankle looked swollen, probably broken. A couple fingers were sickeningly bent wrong, and one arm was held close to his chest, either dislocated, broken, or protecting his ribs. There was a stream of blood down the side of his face. For all intents and purposes, he looked like he'd been in a combat zone. "Mind if I squat with you, Sarge?" Shelley moved to squat by Eliot, who didn't object. The hitter shifted with a sniff, looking to the doorway, then to the boarded windows on the right side of the room. "Where's your radio?" Eliot nodded to the smashed electronic device a few feet away. Shelley grabbed it and showed it to him. "Look like any radio you've seen, Sarge?" Eliot looked down, then squinted at it. He shook his head. "It's a cellphone. A civilian phone." Eliot looked up at him. The question in his eyes was better than if he'd outright denied it. "This place isn't Afghanistan. Look at it. No sand, no dirt. Glass, painted walls, flooring - we're in the States." Eliot didn't argue it as he glanced around the room, taking in the details. "You hearin' me, soldier? You're not in Kandahar. We made it out." Eliot shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut. When he opened them, he looked a little more aware. He tensed. "Shelley." "Yeah?" "Where are we?" "Massachusettes. Wetlands. You remember how you got here?" He shook his head, then, growing restless, he tried to stand. His left arm left his chest and pressed against the ground for leverage. That was enough to make him gasp and he pulled his arm back in, looking down for the first time. "Why can't I get up?" He gritted the words out between his teeth, breaths coming hard through his nose. "You're hurt." "No shit." Eliot tried to sit up more, wincing when the movement pulled at his wounds. The hitter tried to make a fist with his right hand. As soon as he tried to bend his broken fingers, everything around him faded to black and he saw a cell. There was a man standing over him, taking hold of his hand, twisting his fingers back one by one. He tried not to scream; he'd had worse, a broken finger or two wasn't enough to make him yell. But his ribs were killing him, he could barely breathe, tied up like this. His arms and legs shook with fatigue but there was no way out of this position. He felt a weight on top of him and he tried to twist out from under it, to shove it off, but he was winded and the pain made him still with a shudder. "Eliot, calm down, you're safe." The voice made him open his eyes to see who held him in place. It was his old friend. "You came at me, you were gonna hurt yourself worse. I don't wanna have to hold you down. You back with me?" Eliot nodded, eyes still glazed over but he was clearly desperate enough to end the pressure on his chest. Shelley rose and gave him some space. Eliot didn't try to move, he just breathed, eyes closed. "I'm sorry about that." Shelley offered, hoping his brother in arms didn't see him as a threat now. "I messed up." "Messed up? How?" "They- there was more of them." Eliot looked at him a little desperately, a little angrily. "You said you had the recon done, there was supposed to be one guy!" He was half scared, half pissed. "They were all home. I didn't... I couldn't, they were screaming." Any anger in his eyes melted into anxious surrender. "I-I know. I should'a..." He closed his eyes in anguish. "Sarge, you're not thinking straight. You didn't hurt anyone. You're not working for anyone." Eliot stiffened once more at that. "I won't tell you." Shelley watched him, concern growing. "I don't talk about my clients. I'm not gonna tell you a damn thing." "You don't have to. There no one else here, it's just you and me. Spencer." Eliot opened his eyes uncertainly. "I know you've been through some shit. You're hurt. Why did you hide out here? You come from across the marsh?" "Amateur," Eliot smirked. "'Just tell us and the pain stops,' really? Come up with something new. God knows you got the time on your hands." He laughed disjointedly, hollowly. Shelley ran a hand through his hair. Eliot was out of touch right now, switching from memory to memory. It was almost better when he was stuck in the war flashback. He'd almost been back to normal when he'd asked why he couldn't get up, then he'd sent himself careening into another flashback. "I'm gonna sit you back up. This is gonna hurt, but I gotta do it." He moved beside Eliot and grabbed him under the armpits, dragging him back over to the wall and up to lean against it. His friend didn't fight it, strangely enough, he just took it with a grimace. "You with me, buddy?" Eliot looked at him but didn't respond. "You were hiding out here. Someone looking for you?" He nodded absently, looking around the room. "Who's looking for you?" "Barely got out," Eliot answered softly, looking for any sign his position had been compromised, discovered. "Damn legs barely workin'. Chasin' me. I got no backup," He admitted it like he'd never been more alone. "Boys under fire and all I could do was crawl outta there. Caught a bullet in the back, hadta duck under the water til they passed by. My ankle's fucked up. Can ya set it, Shelley?" That sounded closer to reality. Some memories had mixed in, the 'boys under fire' and crawling out. But Eliot did have a bullet wound in his back, Shelley had seen it when the guy tackled him in the throes of his flashback. And the marsh water out there was deep enough to duck under in a chase. That ankle? Definitely fucked up. "Yeah, I can set it." There was a nasty old sheet on the ground in the corner; it would work fine for a makeshift splint if he could get a decent piece of wood off the boarded up windows. He stood to get to work. "W-wait," Eliot gasped, watching him. "Don't leave me." Shelley saw the desperation in his eyes and he felt for his friend. "I'm just gonna make a splint for your ankle, then I'm gonna get you outta here." He knelt in front of the downed man and placed a hand on his shoulder, looking him in the eyes. "No man left behind, right Sarge?" Eliot nodded. "We gonna make it out?" "I got you, Team Leader's taking care of it for you." The hitter nodded dutifully, this time not protesting when Shelley stood to get what he needed. ~ He came to when they were moving him out of the van after the drive home. He twisted from their holds and nearly fell to the ground. Hardison and Shelley caught him and pulled him back up before he pulled free and hit the pavement. "Get offa me!" Eliot growled, although he luckily was too weak to land any blows. "I got you, Sarge, it's just me." Eliot stopped struggling, twisting to look at Shelley. "Corporal?" "Yeah, Sarge?" "Th' hell these civilians doing?" "You're hurt. We're just trying to get you inside where you can get help. Look at these ladies here, you tryna scare them?" He gestured to Sophie and Parker, who watched worriedly. Eliot looked up at them and his expression softened. "Sorry." He apologized almost meekly. "Been a while since we seen honest to god women, huh, Sarge?" "Have some respect, Corporal," Eliot chided as they led him into the back of the bar. "Sorry, Sarge," Shelley conceded, and the others smiled at the light exchange. It was difficult to get Eliot up the stairs to the apartment with his injuries, but the challenge was punctuated with comments from 'Sarge' to the 'Corporal' and vice versa. It seemed that Soldier Eliot was big on being respectful to the ladies, though he seemed to question Nate's input every time he spoke. "He's givin' off heat like a damn furnace," Hardison pointed out, feeling the warmth from Eliot's skin as they half-carried him into the apartment. "Fever from the infection," Shelley replied, setting Eliot down on the couch. The hitter cringed when settling down shifted his ribs. "You're running hot, Sarge, fever's messing with your head. You still with me?" "You callin' me a broke-dick, Shelley?" Eliot smiled, still handsome even under the dirt, blood, and bruises. "Hey, you said it, not me. You rest up, I'm gonna check the perimeter." Eliot nodded, sobering up. "Lock it down, Corporal." "Will do." Nate watched as both Eliot and Shelley took stride in their roles. Even though Shelley was fully aware that he was a civilian now too, he took on each task and informed Eliot of the plan. It was easy to see how they'd worked in tandem as Sergeant and Corporal in the past. Nate's overanalytical mind took each piece of information and held it together, logging it away, recognizing the things Eliot had always done as the actions of a man who knew how to assess and neutralize any situation. What concerned the mastermind was what had put him in such a place that he was suffering from these flashbacks. Where had he been? Who took him? Nate stepped forward, about to speak to Eliot, but he was stopped by a hand on his arm. Sophie stepped forward. "Let me try." He nodded, and the grifter approached the hitter. Eliot didn't look at her until she sat in front of him, perching elegantly on the ottoman to the couch. "I'm going to say a few things, if you don't mind just listening?" She said kindly, and he nodded, paying attention. She'd always been partial to his southern charm, but he was a downright sweetheart when he was like this. She hoped he wouldn't mind a little NLP to help him center himself again. "When I first met you," She smiled fondly, "You were rather curt. You weren't a big fan of my acting. You weren't used to working with a team, I could tell. And then I betrayed your trust on that job with the First David." His expression grew a little more serious at that, but she quirked a brow. "You've tried to make us believe you don't trust us, that you never did end up trusting me. I don't know for sure, but I do suspect that you have faith in us." Eliot shifted, glancing over to where Shelley stood, looking out the window for anything suspicious. Sophie drew his attention once more with a slight tilt of the head. "You knew we would try and find you, that you had somewhere to escape to. You know we love you, don't you, Eliot?" He blinked, still silent. She was quiet a moment, then she leaned forward just enough to convey earnest. "We would never leave you behind." His brow furrowed. He was captivated by her soft expression, and he felt indignant at her words. "Then why didn't you come?" He did not raise his voice or harden his features, but she felt the pain behind the words. His eyes flickered away when she did not answer. She'd done what she'd set out to do - gently led him to focus on the present, align himself with what had happened. It saddened her to see that her theory had been correct. She'd known that for flashbacks to drag his mind away, he must have been afraid on top of the pain. If he'd simply been tortured, he might have made it out and back to them. But something had brought him back to a time when he was afraid, alone, surrounded and far from safety. He'd been scared, and he hadn't believed they would come for him. "I'm sorry, Eliot. I'm sorry that you were alone." "I'm not broken," He ground out. "You don't have to use your grifter voice on me. I made it out, I-I got back." "I know you're not broken. You did make it out." He met her eyes, and she held his gaze. "I know why your mind went where it did. Nate and I understood that you would come back. But Parker and Hardison aren't like that. They're worried that they've lost you, 'Sarge'." He winced at that. "I think you should try and help them understand." "Are they afraid?" He asked carefully, and she could see how acutely he needed the answer to be no. "Never. They're just worried. Will you talk to them?" He nodded, pulling himself to sit up a little more with a small sound of pain. Sophie stood and went downstairs. She found Parker and Hardison sitting at the bar, cradling a beer and a glass of orange soda, respectively. They'd cleared the bar of patrons and sat alone, quiet. Entirely unlike them. "Eliot's asked for you," She informed as she walked past them, and she left the bar. They watched her go, confused, then exchanged a look. Parker set her glass down, heading straight for the stairs. Hardison took a last swig of his soda before he stood and followed her up. Eliot was pale, which was weird to Hardison because he was running such a high temperature. He wished that they'd cleaned him up and wrapped his injuries as soon as they'd gotten up, but he'd been exhausted and in pain and threatened to kill anyone that laid a hand on him. The young man was nervous about the blood, that it came from Eliot, that it was at his temple, there was a lot, and maybe he was, like, real messed up in the head, and- "I'm sorry if I scared you," Eliot said, looking at them sadly. "I know I've been out of it." "You were being really weird," Parker confirmed, arms crossed. "Yeah. And I can't promise it won't happen again, 'cause it's kinda hard to focus right now, and memories are... weird like that." "You thought you were still a soldier." She informed redundantly. "I looked it up, man, and you definitely 100% have PTSD. Did you know that?" Hardison was so earnest, it made Eliot crack a smile. "I believe it. Little something from overseas. Listen, I'm okay. You don't have to worry about that, I'm not going anywhere. Got it?" Hardison looked like he wanted to argue, but he stopped himself. He couldn't follow through and blurted, "You've got to hate us." Eliot frowned. "You're annoying as all hell, but I don't hate you guys. Why would I hate you?" Alec looked beyond guilty. "We didn't look for you. I mean, I did after you called Shelley, but we didn't even think to before that. We didn't even know you were gone. That's so messed up. How could we do that?" Understanding flickered on Eliot's face. "I'm glad you didn't. That way you didn't try to find me and get yourselves hurt. I'm not angry. Really." "But you were alone," Parker frowned too. "Hardison said I don't have to worry about planning everything because I have you guys to look out for me. I'm not alone. And you always worked alone, like me, and now you have a team, but no one helped you. We should have been your parachute." "Parachute?" "Yes!" She exclaimed impatiently. "I know I'm not gonna hit the ground. I always have a parachute. And you'll always catch me, or Hardison will pack an extra 'chute. We weren't there to catch you." Eliot looked sad at that. He could see how much this hurt them, and he silently cursed himself for sticking around, for letting them grow attached. For not protecting them. "Knew you'd find me," He offered. "I wasn't gonna make it far, not like this. I just had to make it out of there. I knew you'd get me home." "How'd you know?" Parker's eyes were wide. "'Cause you're not getting rid of me that easy." He smiled charmingly, and the other two broke into grins of their own. "You're an idiot, you know that?" Alec shook his head, taking in the sight of their hitter, lying there bloody and still being a smartass. "Stop flirting!" Shelley complained from across the room. "Watch your tone, Corporal." ~ "How's he doing?" Nate looked up from his tablet when Shelley spoke. "Still asleep." The younger man nodded, walking further into the room. Eliot lay on the bed, tucked under the covers. They'd cleaned and wrapped his wounds; Shelley had even stitched the bullet wound closed with the hitter's blessing. His hair was no longer stringy and matted in blood, but drying a little frizzy. He'd always hated his curly hair, preferring to straighten it or tie it back. It had been difficult to splint his fingers, swollen and bruised as they were. Eliot had been hard pressed not to fidget or pull away as they were immobilized one by one. He wouldn't be able to use his hands for a while, which would not mix well with his need for distance and privacy. His ankle had been splinted as well, but that had needed resetting, and Eliot actually passed out during that procedure. Now he was still, which was unsettling to the team. Shelley was accustomed to it, though. He'd spent hours upon hours waiting alongside him, ducked down in some godforsaken hole, awaiting the approach of a target. He'd also seen him laid up with an injury after bad fights. He was just glad Spencer felt safe enough to sleep around the team, although the exhaustion probably influenced the choice. Once he was closer to the bed, Shelley noticed how Eliot was breathing. The laid up hitter took deep, slow breaths. His face was neutral, nearly relaxed. Shelley paused, considering that Ford's statement had been wrong. Eliot was not asleep. "You stopped drinking, huh, Ford?" Shelley asked, still watching Eliot. Nate noticed but answered casually. "Whiskey didn't do me any favors." "Guess that's how you kept such a beautiful woman at your side!" Nate was looking at Eliot now, head tilted. "I'm lucky she didn't leave me." "Maybe you should take her out more, show her a good time. I hear you're all about the job." "You think so?" "Hell yeah," Shelley answered, meeting Nate's eyes now. "Maybe you should go offer now. All this going on, wouldn't hurt to get out for a bit." "Alright, I'll do that." The mastermind stood, gave Eliot one last glance, then left the room, closing the door. Shelley heard the others leave after some arguing from Parker and Hardison. Eliot was definitely pretending to be unconscious, and not because he didn't feel like chatting with the team. He was protecting himself, he didn't think it was safe to show he was awake. He intended to lie there, listening, gathering information. And he would only do that if he thought he was still in captivity. His fever was still too high. Shelley just had to remind him that he was safe without alarming him. If Eliot didn't or couldn't listen, Shelley would have to subdue him. And it was not safe for the others to be nearby if that happened. Luckily, Ford had caught on about that. Shelley audibly moved to lean against the wall a few feet from the bed. He wanted Eliot to know exactly where he was in the room. "Hey Sarge, you're not fooling anyone." No response. Eliot lay still. "No one here wants to hurt you. You're back home with the team. Your position is secure." Clearly, Eliot didn't believe him. Or he didn't hear him. Maybe he heard his captors speaking. There was no way to tell. Eliot's breaths started coming in wheezes, more and more strained. He started coughing, his face twisting in pain. Shelley walked over to the bed, hoping it didn't get worse. Sweat was beaded on his brow and his jaw was clenched. Shelley leaned closer to listen to his breaths, and that was all the opening the hitter needed. Eliot's eyes shot open and he grabbed Shelley around the back of the neck, yanking him down and shoving him off the side of the bed. The hitter landed on top of Shelley's back. The sheets got tangled up in dragging the man down, which restricted the sick man's movements enough to let Shelley pull free of his weight and tackle him in return. Shelley kicked the blankets away and tried to hold the vet still.

Eliot wasn't having it. With wild eyes, he kicked Shelley off with his good leg and grabbed the edge of the bed to pull himself up. Despite his broken ribs and splinted fingers, he hoisted himself in one heave and threw himself at Shelley. The younger man twisted and ended up kneeling behind Eliot, who was about to turn and get up. Shelley put a stop to that maneuver by wrapping his arm around the hitter's neck, the crook of his elbow at the trachea and his other arm providing leverage for the chokehold. Eliot's hands flew up to try and remove the pressure on his throat. He growled in frustration, straining, but the hold was secure. "You know you can't fight this hold, Sarge, you taught it to me." "Get off," Eliot wheezed, clawing at Shelley's arm. "You gotta calm down first. You attacked me, remember?" Shelley wasn't fully applying the hold, or else the other man would be unconscious by now. Eliot's panic didn't let up. "I d-didn't know," The hitter whimpered. Shelley was taken aback. "Didn't know what?" Eliot's struggling stopped, his hands still clutching Shelley's. "Didn't know I c-crossed him." A low whine of hysteria was caught in the injured man's throat. "I swear I didn't." "Okay," Shelly loosened his hold a little more. "Okay, you didn't know." "I can fix it. Just, just let me go." Had Eliot been taken by someone he'd crossed on a past job? Or was this another unrelated flashback? Shelley had to know. "You got away." He didn't say it to comfort; that's not what this was about. Eliot shivered with a chill from the fever wracking his body. "You got away from us." The hitter's shoulders worked as he tried to stay still in the hold, unwilling to struggle and make it tighten again. "How did you get out?" Eliot's splinted fingers let up. It was painful and damn difficult to use them at all, let alone try and grip on the arm that wasn't even cutting off his air anymore. He lowered his arms. "Took out your guy tryna wrap my leg. Took a while to reach his key. Fingers didn't work too quick with the lock. Snuck outta the house, got away through the marsh. Had to sink down and hold my breath so ya wouldn't see me a couple times. One'a your guys clipped me in the back, but there was a development off the swamp, good cover." "You know who you crossed, right?" Eliot nodded a little. "Say it." "Belair. Antin Belair." "Alright. I'm gonna let you go now. Don't freak out." Shelley slowly pulled his arm back. Eliot made himself stay where he sat, one hand going up to his throat. Shelley moved around front of him and knelt. The hitter watched him warily. "I'm not going to hurt you." Eliot just barely narrowed his eyes. "You're sick. Do you know where you are?" "Drugged me." "No one drugged you, you're running a fever." "They drugged me," Eliot insisted. His eyes were hard. "I was out of it. Still am."

Shelley knew it was irrational, but he felt guilty. Someone had messed with Spencer’s head, likely in order to interrogate him, and he was still in that place. "We're trying to help you, Sarge." "Don't help me," Eliot hissed. "Help them.” His eyes flicked toward the door, indicating the team. “They're exposed now. Belair is a threat, and I can't protect them." "I will," Shelley swore, "I am. I made them leave in case you woke up like you did."

“Good,” Eliot muttered, his tensed body slowly relaxing. “That’s good, Corporal.” He was losing consciousness fast. Shelley held him up and leaned him back against the bed.

“I’ll take care of them,” Shelley promised to the exhausted man. “Soon as I finish taking care of you, Sarge.”

[peachmused]

READ ON AO3 // SUMMARY // CHAPTER ONE / CHAPTER TWO

cg credit - i wanted to write a fic where the mc doesn’t wake up in a life-threatening situation for once (see: the entirety of the diabolik lovers series), so here’s a lighter fic! i’m not sure if i’ll name mc just yet or keep her as the reader (if that makes any sense), but she’s definitely got her own personality and life that’s entirely different from yui’s. anyways, i started writing this fic for fun but now it’s really growing onto me. hope you enjoy reading, and feel free to leave comments! please be nice 

Tulip bulbs, daffodil seeds, orchid seeds, and gloves.

Four, simple items. Yet within seconds, I found myself undoubtedly lost among the endless rows of plastic packets and multitude of fragrances. Appliances of various shapes and sizes lined the aisle just opposite the flower, fruit, and vegetable seeds. My hand would wander to one pair of gloves, then immediately reach for another. Which one did Grandma use, again? The ones that had little rubber stubs, or the ones that were completely smooth? The larger ones, or the more fitted ones?

Eventually, I grabbed what I thought best and turned to the countless seed packets and bulbs. There were so many brands to choose from within the selection that I decided to stick with “Easy Greens” and move on from there. Brushing my finger against each row as I searched for the items felt both unfamiliar and increasingly awkward. Of course, there was no legitimate reason to be so conscious of how supposedly dumb I appeared, my mouth ajar and my eyes blinking at the labels. But as soon as another body stepped into the same aisle, my shoulders tensed and I shifted in place.

I’m not a plant expert, okay? I justified inwardly to the supposed disapproving stranger.

Briskly, I tossed the orchid seeds and tulip bulbs into the cart. That only left…

“Daffodil seeds!” I gasped, a wave of relief swelling up within me. Normally I couldn’t shop in the Gardening section for the life of me, but this time, the daffodil seeds were hanging conveniently above me. It was the last packet in the shelf, so I made haste in reaching for it.

Just as my fingers grazed the plastic packaging, another (immensely larger) hand gripped the other end of the bag. I raised my head to face my opponent, then… tilted my head further upwards. A broad-shouldered man loomed above me, his tousled mane tied back in a half-ponytail. The sleeves of his sweater had slid down to reveal brawny arms, ones at least twice the size of mine.

Although his narrowed, angular eyes should have made me stumble backwards, my grip only tightened on the packet. Grandma’s garden was just ready to be planted, and if I missed the opportunity to snag these now, I would either have to run to another grocer or return tomorrow. With my school transfer just around the corner, I hadn’t the time nor the energy to make a second trip.

Resolute, I titled my chin upwards, and stared the stranger down. The corner of his lips twitched slightly, his body inching towards mine.

“I’d let go if I were you, kid,” he advised, his gaze unwavering.

‘Kid?’ You don’t look all that old either, Mister! I wanted to holler, but immediately suppressed the urge. Instead, I relaxed into the most artificial smile of the century, and yanked the packet towards me.

“Excuse me,” I retorted, “but I’ve had my eye on this for a while. And I’m pretty sure I grabbed it first.”

A scoff. Then, the man wrenched the packet towards himself. Holding onto the packet as best as I could, I attempted to dig my feet into the smooth flooring to prevent any stumbling.

“And I’m sure I grabbed it first, lady.” he growled. Although he was a giant compared to me, the brunet was slowly revealing a boyish, competitive nature. Tension grappled the two of us as we fought over the packet, with him yanking the packet in all directions and my body soon following.  

In a matter of minutes, the hushed argument became a turbulent one. “Let… go…!” I demanded through breaths. Teeth clenched, the man only persisted in his attempts to snatch the package.

“Tch… this… woman!” he yelled back, struggling to push my arms away.

At this point, our scuffle had gotten the attention of the store clerk, who was bouncing in between us with his sweaty forehead. The clerk mumbled something along the lines of “Please, don’t fight in here…”, but with our glares stuck on one another, we only shouted, “Shut up!” right back.

“Ohhh my God…” the clerk fumbled about, his circular glasses nearly dropping off the edge of his nose. “This is my first time dealing with a Code Red… Oh wow…”

We were so caught up in our tussle that the presence of another being didn’t occur to either of us.

“What’s going on here?” a gentle, feminine voice inquired. I, of course, was desperately biting on the packet and barely noticed the girl peeking into the aisle.

“Miss, you don’t want to go in there—It’s a real World War situation down in Aisle Four…”

“Yuma!” she interjected, the items in her hand falling, one by one. The larger man paused mid-headlock, his eyes widening as soon as they landed on the petite figure. He glanced down at me, then at the girl, then back down at me again. I, too, gaped at the girl before us.

With soft, golden curls and doll-like features, she was absolutely stunning. I felt the grip around my head loosen, and I quickly took the packet out of my mouth. ‘Yuma’, as he was called, had his brows knitted, his stare fixated on the packet of seeds.

“Let’s go, Yuma, we don’t have time for this,” she urged, approaching the two of us. Her gaze flitted to me. “You can have the packet, Miss… I’m so sorry for the trouble he caused!”

I only nodded, heat rising up my neck at the thought of my feral appearance just seconds ago. Yet there she stood, graceful, collected, and calm. In this moment, she was everything I was not, yet looked around the same age as me. To think that I had to be seen… like that…

Despite the rouge entering my cheeks, I broke into as best of a smile as I could. As soon as she turned to leave, however, most of the embarrassment evaporated. It was just me and the beast once more, but this time, I’d emerged victorious. With overflowing triumph, I watched as Yuma glowered down at me one last time.

“If you ever show up in front of me again,” he warned, his face edging close to mine, “You’re really going to pay.”

Shoulders relaxing, I broke into a grin, and nodded cheekily. He ended the conversation with the click of his tongue, stuffing his hands into his pockets before stomping away. Just as his back faced me, I wagged my own tongue, relishing the moment. I then lifted the prize in my hands to examine it. Fortunately, the package was still intact, save for the few teeth marks I’d punctured into the plastic. If it weren’t for the girl’s intervention, the packet would have ripped open and all would have been for naught.

This girl obviously had some sort of influence on him, and I thanked the heavens that she had appeared when she did. I couldn’t help but assume that she was his girlfriend; the way he listened to her so obediently… that had to be it, right? Regardless, it was a wonder that such a soft-spoken person even affiliated herself with him. From his grizzly appearance to his uncouth mannerisms, he was the exact opposite of everything sugary sweet. In fact, Yuma was much like a grumpy bear, storming about and creating messes.

An image of a Grizzly head on top of Yuma’s body entered my mind as I made my way to the cashier. I couldn’t help but snort.

Definitely a bear.

“Love Fortune Cookie! The future ain't that bad... Hey! Hey! Hey!” I hummed, an extra bounce in my step as I made my way down the paved streets. The air around me was honeysuckle sweet, its warmth hugging my body. Fellow pedestrians scattered throughout the wide road left me with a sense of comfort and security, the sun slowly slipping below the horizon. Splashes of tangerine, rose, and dandelion hues blanketed the sky, turning shades darker the closer I got to home.

Juggling bags of groceries in my hands, I poked my head up behind the bundle and spotted the familiar enclosure. It wasn’t long after I passed through the door and placed the bags down that my grandmother emerged from the living room.

“I’m back,” I announced, dusting my hands off. Grandma gifted me one of her tender smiles, and welcomed me back home. Simply the curl of her lips could make me feel ease; she had a healing presence, much like a guardian. That day she wore another knitted cardigan atop a flowery dress, the signature look for most gentlewomen her age. When she came closer to help with organizing the groceries, I could smell the light lavender from her grey and brown hairs. As expected, she was working outside again.

I raised my brows and verified, “Grandma, you were in the garden again, weren’t you?”

Eyes lighting up, she nodded. “I was making space for the new plants you brought me.” she explained, lifting up the punctured bag of daffodil seeds and blinking at it seconds later.

“What happened here?”

“Ah… that’s…” I mumbled. My lips scrunched in thought, when it finally hit me, “A bear! Right, a nasty bear was trying to take your daffodil seeds, but I managed to save them just in time. Aren’t I amazing?”

Seeing me wiggle my brows at her, my grandmother broke into a hearty laugh. “Of course you are. Now, if you’re done fighting off bears, will you please help me plant the seeds?”

After burying the seeds in dirt (as well as learning that the gloves I bought were the wrong brand), I headed inside to prepare tea for the two of us. She liked hers herbal and sugar-free, while I enjoyed Earl Grey with just the right touch of sugar and milk. Seated on the veranda, we sipped our drinks in the cool night air. The singing of crickets kept us company as we lounged under the moonlight.

“They’ll look so beautiful when they blossom…” I murmured, already picturing the flowery scape. Though I had no interest in gardening and only helped for Grandma’s sake, witnessing the flowers and fruits paint the tiny yard was a magical experience.

“I think so too,” Grandma chimed, sipping her tea.   

She then turned to look at me. “Ah, what about school?”

Nodding, I lowered the cup in my hands. “Everything’s been processed, so I can start attending tomorrow.”

“That’s a relief.” she relaxed, then just as quickly tensed, “Oh, what about your uniform? And your lunch?”

My hands rested atop hers as I assured that I was all set for my first day at Ryoutei Academy. It was a night school, which was a huge change for us, but a necessary one.

Classes were from five to ten to accommodate those working during the daytime, and I happened to be one of those people. I was set to learn management as a supervisor for Kanna Inn—my grandpa’s inn—during regular school hours. My father never showed an interest in taking over the place, but I found management to be my strong point and accepted the proposition. Evidently, the inn was closest to my grandparents’ house, and I volunteered to stay there for the remainder of my school life.

Considering that this town was only a bus ride away from my old home, paired with the fact that I only had one year left of high school, I decided that focusing on my career from now wasn’t going to hurt anybody. My hometown friends and parents were only forty-five minutes away, and the area itself was just the quaint space I adored. The only thing troubling me was my nine p.m. class. By nine and onward, my concentration dwindled, and I could already picture myself nodding off instead of taking notes.

Whatever my worries were, the fact that I was going to be sporting a new uniform and attending evening classes was inevitable. A small smile crept its way up my face at the thought of a new school life. New faces to befriend, new halls to explore, new teachers to learn from... Everything would be unfamiliar. Yet, that very fact was what made my heart race, what made me want to shout out in joy. Perhaps it was the surge of caffeine from the tea, perhaps it was simply excitement; whatever the reason, my thoughts of Ryoutei High shined brighter than the star-speckled sky above us.  

Later that night, Grandpa arrived home with goodies in his arms. He prepared meat for us, claiming that tonight we’d celebrate my acceptance into Ryoutei. I, of course, made no complaints. Once our bellies were filled to the brim, I wished my grandparents a good night, video chatted with my parents, and washed up for the evening.

I curled into the blankets, realizing that this bed would come to be my new hideout. The pillows felt just like I remembered them: pleasant and comforting, much like the owners of this house. My eyes flitted across the moderately decorated room, envisioning all the cute additions I would add to make it feel like my own. Although there wasn’t much as of that night, the space felt familiar—like it was waiting for my presence.

As the hours passed and my eyelids fluttered shut, I fell asleep knowing that, for once, I’d made the right decision.  

[jawllines]

OkAY SO THIS IS THE GUARDIAN ANGEL (KIND OF) ONE SHOT I STARTED A LONG TIME AGO LEMME KNOW IF YALL ARE INTERESTED IN IT

The night air was cold despite the earlier onslaught from the sun, enough so to riddle Y/N's skin with goose pimples and pebble her nipples to stone. A near icy feeling bench isn't the best spot for a college student at midnight on a Saturday, but she was trying to catch the last bus to her apartment after closing at work, so her seating options were limited. It was either this bench or take her chances sitting next to a suspicious looking puddle on the ground, and she'd much rather her bum freeze off than get anywhere near it.

See, the thing is, Y/N needs to start saying no to people. Truly, it is probably her worst attribute -- a lack of  a backbone when it comes to sweet old women who waddle about and run bakeries. Miss. Mandolin is just as saccharine as any cupcake, and gave her a raise last week, so declining was not an option, especially finding out that if she didn't then Miss. Mandolin herself would be the one closing. However, while that same sweet old woman is tucked away cozy and warm in her bed, and Y/N has become a distant relative of an icicle, she is mad regretting being so softhearted.

Her day hadn't been all too hard, just some bread baking and cake icing, but she feels proper dog walked. She'd been there since 9AM, working two shifts because she agreed to it last week and past her really hates present her, apparently, because she'd even agreed to come back tomorrow night as well. It's fine though, she does need the money, and when she gets to work it's not so terrible, it's just the thought of working that taunts her mercilessly.

So all she wanted to do with the rest of her night is to eat the muffins she took with her and pretend not to smell the copious amounts of pot they're undoubtedly smoking next door. Then maybe watch TV with her laptop on her belly and pass out like that, or flop down on the floor and sleep for a few years, or even just digging into her sheets not bothering to adorn herself in pajamas, just stark naked in her bed because she couldn't be arsed to put anything back on. The thought of sleep is just so lovely, really, all nestled in the covers with the whir of her fan going and the steady thump of the cat who lives above her freaking out and running back and forth and back and forth all throughout the night. She'd like to cuddle her stuffed bear tonight as elementary as it sounds, but his fur was soft and nice to rest on, and Y/N had no human to cuddle so he was the second best thing.

These pleasant thoughts are cut short when the lamp post above her begins to flicker in the most ominous fashion; first only slightly, like a hint that the bulb is about to give out soon before it's light drops out to nothing but a dim glow, then comes back, then repeats, and makes a terrible horror movie esque buzzing noise with it. It's then her brain processes that the street she was on was basically deserted, no sign of people or cars anywhere, not even with the strip of clubs and bars just a few blocks away. The wind picks up only to ruffle the trees leaves and make things even creepier, and Y/N's now hesitantly looking down each street to see if there were any headlights coming her way.

"Well, this stinks." She says it to herself, only to have some noise other than all the eerie one's surrounding her. Now that she's hearing all these noises though, even scarier ones start manifesting in the once quiet air and she's proper spooked, tucking her arms further around herself. Just a little while longer right? It's only. . .only 12:15, and the bus should've been here at 12:00 but that's fine, maybe it's a little late.

If it could be a little less late that would sure be fantastic, but beggars can't be choosers, and a bummy light plus some weird wind are just every night occurrences that Y/N shouldn't be scared of.

What Y/N should be scared of, however, is the black blobby mass materializing in front of her, hissing like a snake, glooping into a human form with beady eyes and a sickening grin. That's something to be frightened of, surely, like total horror movie material that she was not expecting and Y/N squeals like an old school Damsel before scurrying up. "What the -- what the hell?" She gasp as it slithers a hand in her direction and she dodges it, stumbling a little ways away from it even if it meant leaving the little light that was left.

"Say, you can see me?" It's voice is distorted and sounds like there's mush in it's mouth, but she can make out the words, nodding slow, her face screwed up and a gross, slimy tongue falls out to lick around it's lips, "That makes this even better! So much tastier when you're scared."

Did she just hear him right? Tastier?

A sweat builds on her neck despite what had previously been such a frosty feeling night, and as it's gloopy, gloppy hand is trying to reach out for her again Y/N tosses her heavy plate of muffins right at it's face before pivoting on her heel and taking off in the other direction. This was 100% not how she expected nor wanted her night to go -- this was something for story books and movies only, and she didn't want to be the opening scene because that character always gets written off early on. If her life wanted to start being blockbuster worthy why couldn't it have been a proper romantic comedy or something? Why a gross looking creature that she's running away from with her springy cupcake ended work headband on (which were totally overrated and outdated, but Miss. Mandolin loved them so she wore it despite herself)?

Her flats bound against the ground with sharp clicks that echo in the streets, and she doesn't need to look back to know the thing is just about nipping at her heels. It has to be a dream, doesn't it? It feels so real but not real all in the same breath, mostly how the cool air is hitting at her cheeks. So refreshing and enlivening, it's confusing her greatly, and she isn't quite sure what to do. If this is a dream, she could stop running right now and she would probably be consumed by black matter but wake up all sweaty necked in her bed. If it isn't a dream, then she gets consumed and that's it, done-zo, outta here, no more Y/N for anyone. And let it be noted, if she dies because of some weird, drooly, droppy skinned creature she's going to be so fucking pissed off.

"Slow down, Sweetheart, let's have a little fun." It growls and Y/N presses herself onward, holding the strap of her purse tightly to her and feeling it bump on her thigh.

"Shut up!" She shouts at it, before a slimy hand is wrapping around her ankle and tripping her up, sending her to the ground.

The next few moments were in slow motion.

First there was a burst of wind that nearly knocked her over, like a car might have zipped past them but she knows no car was in sight nor heard beyond very distant noise of the highway. Second an arm wraps around her waist just before she smashes her face into the concrete, warm and firm, making a small 'umph' come out of her unintentionally. Then suddenly with a bright flash of white light Y/N sees from behind her eyelids, the hand at her ankle is gone and she's dangling in midair around this arm of an unknown assailant. She doesn't know if this is good or if this is bad, but she feels her consciousness slowly fading in little fizzling bubbles that disperse quickly and she's sinking into nothingness, almost, it feels like falling asleep but also something completely different.

"Pain in m'arse." She hears someone grumble, and then she's out like a light. '

                                                                         .                      .                     .

"A woman obtaining beauty at such a high degree as yourself deserves this pastry for free," Y/N rolls her eyes listening to her Charlie (her coworker) try is hand in wooing someone while she sweeps up crumbs and the paper from straws up into the dustpan, "Make sure you come back soon." She doesn't have to watch to know he sends her off with a wink and Y/N waits for the door bells to jingle before starting up.

"Why do you keep trying to court girls using free goodies?" She asks for what might be the hundredth time, standing up with a huff and tilting the dustpan into the bin, "They'll see you as nothing more than a sweet mouthed push over."

He pouts at her, leaning over the counter with his face lying in his palms, "Don't be like that cutie, I know your jealous over all these people swooning over me but there is little I can do. I'm a hot commodity don't you know?"

"Hot commodity my ass," she grumbles, "Maybe in a crypt."

Y/N's just being a grump and he knows that -- Charlie has never once doubted his looks, even when Y/N's tries to bring him down a few pegs, so he doesn't take her all too seriously. Instead chuckling before reaching out as far as he could and whisking the broom from her hand, "What's got you in such a temper today, Pet? Your neighbors keep you up all night with their music?"

If only it were that simple, she thought to herself. Truth be told, Y/N doesn't know why she's in such a mood. When she woke up this morning she was in pajamas and a few face wipes were scattered on her bedside table like she used them because she was too lazy to wash her face. Her head was pounding, her stomach growling, and a throb in her ankle that was so unbearable she stuck in bed most of the morning until she could coax herself out to get a pain pill. Bits and pieces of the dream she had the night before come to her in confusing, fuzzy bursts and memories of how she got home are lost to her in a doughy mess. Somehow she'd gotten to her bed, she just wishes she could remember the steps it took to get there.

She just felt weird today, really, and maybe that was making her a little harsher, so she shrugs at Charlie before mumbling, "M'sleepy." And he coos at her.

"You're just adorable when you're all grumpy-like, Cutie." Charlie had always been a flirty little bugger, but his cool façade had crumbled to Y/N when she witnessed him cry over a TV show, so his charms fell useless on her. That doesn't stop him from going at it, however, because he's her best friend and likes to tease and Charlie's form of teasing gets mushed with his flirting a lot, including drenching her in pet names until she resembles something of a river soaked rat, "How about I close tonight and you skedaddle on home?"

Y/N shakes her head, sighing heavily, "Not a chance. Last time you closed we got robbed --"

"Oi, you make one mistake and nobody lets you live it down!"

"And besides," she continues, swinging through the door to get behind the counter so she could hook the broom and dust pan up and grab for the mop, "You've got your Econ exam you need to study for."

With a hearty huff, he flops into his arms,  "I don't want to!" His whines come out muffled by his skin, "It's like a foreign language, honestly, and the professor is shit. Plus the --" there's a jingle of the bell at the door and his head snatches towards the side, a big grin tugging at his lips as he straightens himself out, "Well what brings a beauty like you in here?"

Y/N scoffs lowly -- damn playboy can't even keep his mind on his work for a second.

As she tunes out Charlie's wooing of the customer, Y/N tries to make sense of last night again. Even though it's muddled and puddled, she still would like to know how she got home but between leaving here and waking up this morning, she remembers nothing. Eight hours just lost. . .that's never happened to her before. She walked out of the store, locked the door, got to the bus stop. . .what happened after the bus stop then? She remembers being cold. . .was the bus late? Did she end up walking home? The latter wouldn't be so surprising seeing as her legs burn like she took part in some sort of physical exertion last night. There was. . .if she pushes past the fog in her head there was something -- something scaring her? Or was that a part of her nightmare last night?

Aish, this is too much!

"You come back now!" Charlie calls and it brings Y/N back down to the present, watching him flop back over himself and moan sadly, "Who cares about Monopoly and Cartels anyways?"

Y/N guesses it can't be helped now. She got home safe, was all that counted, and besides the pain in her ankle there was nothing out of the ordinary when she woke, so really she should be able to let it go. What does it matter how she got there, she got there which is the important thing. She just needs to live in the present and not think about last night. Like -- last night? Who is she? Never heard of her -- like that.

So instead she turns her attention back to Charlie, "You need to care because I'm booking on mooching off of you for the rest of our lives, so I need you to be a hot shot business man. Got it?"

Charlie peeks up to her, grinning, "Got it, Cutie."

                                                                              .                     .                  .

Y/N is getting a mad sense of Deja vu, as she sits shivering on the park bench again.

The light above her begins to flicker, and Y/N feels uneasy.

The bus still hasn't shown up and it's fifteen minutes past midnight.

This is a horror movie waiting to happen, isn't it?

She's terribly tired, and now she's all snuffled from the air. Holding herself in her arms as if to gain some warmth from it, but it doesn't help as much as she would like. So she shakes and shivers and curses the damn bus driver who is taking their good ol' time making it to her stop. Granted she usually isn't the one who closes so she doesn't normally have to take this bus and she's not sure how the times work here, but the bulletin board posted says it should be here by 12 like all the other busses around town.

Huffing, she slouches more in the bench. This freaking stinks -- honest to goodness she doesn't even think the money is worth it at this point; freezing her bits off by herself on a dark, empty street with a crummy light post light. At least she's gotten to take some goodies home, so they sit in her lap on a plate and her stomach grumbles to remind her the last time she ate was before her shift, which started around two this afternoon. She swears as soon as she gets home she's going to get all cozied up in her bed, steam something online and shove these muffins down her throat. Her only class tomorrow is at 4PM, so she should be fine to just do as she pleases for a little while tonight.

A sigh of content is about to leave her lips when she hears something like a hissing sound, and her brows furrow. That couldn't be a snake, could it? They never really show themselves anywhere apart from untouched fields and in the thick of he woods, so it wouldn't make much sense for it to just be hanging around. With brows furrowed, she looks around for it -- where could it be? She stands up so she can bend down, looking beneath the bench and into the tufts of grass.

While she expected to find a snake, instead she sees a sickly face staring back at her, with eyes two red slits and it's skin slimy, dropping around him.

Oh yeah.

Before she could buckle down to scream, an arm slips beneath her stomach and heaves her up easily, "For fuck sake," the mysterious person utters, "Two nights in a row with this?"

Y/N doesn't know if he's talking to her or to the thing, just dangling off his arm and watching the gross guy seep from beneath the bench and build himself up back to a human form before them. So this wasn't a dream? This was what she forgot happening last night wasn't it? Or was this just a reoccurring dream she's destined to have forever?

"If you'd stayed out of it, it would've only been one night." The creature has mush mouth again, but it's still easy enough to make out it's words and it's intentions of doing away with her.

Brows furrowing, she shoves her head up, "Hey, I resent that, I could've gotten away if --"

"You," the person holding her utters, and his voice sounds awful familiar, giving her a squeeze from his arm around her waist, "Keep quiet. This bus stop doesn't even run anymore, and who goes to the same spot where something tried to kill her?"

"Oi, I thought that was a dream in my defense! Honestly, I didn't even know most of it happened -- wait a minute, who are you?"

"Just be quiet for a mo' yeah? Close your eyes." Y/N doesn't know why she feels compelled to listen, but she shuts her eyes as she's told -- skewers them closed so she doesn't have to see that gross thing again, and once more, with a bright flash of light that dazzles beneath her closed eyelids and a grunt from her savior the hissing sound is gone. When she opens her eyes again, the gloopy gloppy guy is also absent, which is good, and the arm around her loosens so her feet hit the ground again and she straightens herself out.

Finally she goes to take a look at him, and he's got a hoodie on and he's facing away from her, "Ya' aren't allowed to know who I am." He answers her before she can ask again, which makes her frown.

"Says who?"

"Says me," he rejoins, "Go home now, and be quick about -- hey!"

Y/N had snuck behind him and tugged his hood down because there was no way she was just going to let him mosey on off without having some inkling of an idea of who he was. When she's met with the makings of curls her brows furrow, because theirs only one head like that she knows of and there was absolutely no way it was him. He's like famous and whatnot -- has better things to do than save wimpy college students who keep running into monsters.

But when she swings around to confirm that it definitely isn't him, she gasps, mouth falling open wide and eyes bulging from her head. Y/N doesn't mean to squeak, but she does, and it's very well about to turn into a shout in shock because oh my fucking god!

His hand -- Harry Styles' hand -- smacks over her mouth, muting whatever could have come from her, "Shush, shush, shush!"

"You!" Her grumps are muffled by his palm, "You're --"

"I know who I am, Love, you haven't got to say it." He sighs, eyes shutting, "Christ, this is just great innit?"

They stay like that for a moment, Y/N only blinking owlishly at him while he mutters angrily to himself. This is Harry Styles -- a guy she's idolized since she was just a wee lil middle schooler, in eighth grade with a terrible fashion sense and poofy hair -- standing in front of her with his hand on her face, after saving her from some weird thing. What was he doing out here so late? How did he know what to do with that creature? Why was he being so short and tetchy like she'd done something wrong?

This was all so weird and she had so many questions, but he didn't seem to want to answer any of them and she's trying not to give him heart eyes as they stand, but if she is she really can't help it. It was too dark to make out all his features, but the lamp post gave just enough light to shadow his jawline and the curve of his nose. Surely he was sculpted for the gods, and it was a little hard to stand in his presence, especially when he had this smoldering gaze looking past her. As untouchable as he looked in pictures, he looks even more untouchable now -- feels even more untouchable, despite them 100% touching.

His eyes flicker to her own and somehow hers feel as if they grew even wider, "You will go home, and forget of this, yeah? Pretend tonight didn't happen." Gently, he releases her but Y/N stays put, brows furrowed greatly.

"Well I can tell you that that isn't going to happen at all. I have so many questions --"

"And I can answer none of them right now, so please listen to me. It's not safe for you out here."

Y/N would fight it again -- really she would, if not for the thumping of her heart and a voice in the back of her head pleading with her to listen to him. He looks so tired, like he hadn't slept properly in weeks and for some reason she feels like it might be her fault. The least she could do was just go home, be safe like he apparently wanted. And when she gets home she would try and sort this out in her head, maybe do a panicked gleeful squeal into her pillow, and sit on her hands to keep from texting Charlie immediately.

So with a sigh, Y/N peels back the saran wrap on her plate of goodies and reaches for an iced lemon cookie in the shape of a butterfly, holding it out to him. Harry looks at her suspiciously, eyes squinting, "Take it," she urges him, "As a thank you for saving me."

"I save your life and you give me a cookie?"

She grabs his hand with a huff and shoves the cookie into it, "Don't be a jerk and eat the cookie, I made it myself."

With this she pivots on her heel, taking a deep breath before starting on her way home while keeping her freaking out to a minimum and inside of her head.

"Oi," he calls from behind her, "You're walking the wrong way."

        .                                .                               .

It'd been two weeks since it had happened and within those two weeks Y/N has successfully not made any sense of it. She'd been over the main points again and again and again, but this was harder than analyzing Shakespeare her freshmen year of high school. Nothing connected in any sort of way: a scary blobby man, Y/N, and Harry Styles was just not a trio easily explained apparently, and it was annoying the fresh hell out of her. Y/N liked having answers to things. Mysteries and fantasy were only fun in tv shows, movies, and books, but when it comes to real life and her life she liked definitive proof and explanation, but this current happening was null of any clarification.

She'd not told Charlie about it, because knowing Charlie he would brush it off as a dream just as she had at the beginning. There was no way this could be a dream though -- not when a bruise is formed around her ankle, the yellow icing butterfly cookie was missing on her platter of sweets, and the buzzing warmth inside of her from meeting Harry Styles in the flesh. Despite his snappy tone with her, she still felt all muddled and tender on he inside. Those weren't feelings you could just (italicize this) make up.  . .meeting your idol was something you remember, and she remembered that.

Even though it made not a lick of sense, she remembered. The first night too, had even come back to her in blurry splotches of someone lugging her along and up the steps. Bleary eyes opening for a moment at the feeling of someone swiping her face with a cleansing wipe and shushing at her to close her eyes again, "S'fine, Moppet, go to sleep." Blankets being tucked around her body, the pillow being repositioned, and though she had listened and closed her eyes as requested, she could feel a tender gaze peering at her.

Though that really doesn't help her case in the slightest, about not understanding what was going on. How he could show up so suddenly, when she could've sworn she read he was in London. How he got rid of that thing. . .that completely not human thing, and how he did it with one arm occupied by her. It was driving her batty, not having answers and he hadn't seemed so open about giving any to her.

And I can answer none of them right now, so please listen to me. It's not safe for you out here. (italicize that)

He'd looked so tired when he said it, and she felt genuinely bad. That's why she let it go and skipped on. . .it felt like she was at fault for him being so worn out, but how could she be? Sure, two late nights were rough, but she didn't look half as sleepy as he did and she had been on her feet for more than seven hours each time.

It was annoying -- so freaking annoying!

Y/N huffs through her nose, stepping up to the same bus stop she'd been those two nights. The sky was painted an orangey pink, navy seeping in through the East threatening the town with darkness. She knows it's pretty dumb to go to the same spot where she had previously been in danger, but she figured that maybe Harry would show up again and she could get him to explain some stuff. Or maybe he wouldn't, and the past week has just proved she was on the verge of a psychotic break, but she was shooting for the first scenario.

So she toes at a patch of grass near the bench, taking a look at the street she was on. People here were sparse and the street didn't look any less creepy than it did at midnight, but she felt a little better than she did that night given that she wasn't half awake and she had hid pepper spray in her bag in case things got rough. Plus there was the small comfort knowing that if the creature showed up again then maybe Harry would show up too to save her, which would be nice, because that's why she's doing this in the first place.

With a hearty sigh, she plops down on the bench and leans back into it.

She'll wait for a while.

                                                                                    .                           .                          .

"How long were you intending to wait, Pet?" A voice startles her eyes open which she hadn't realized she'd shut, knuckling at one eye while looking towards who she'd been waiting for. There he stood in a light, heather grey hoodie without the hood pulled up -- she guesses since the cat is already out of the bag with her knowing who he is, he isn't going to bother covering it up. "Closing your eyes in a place like this. S'almost like you're askin' for trouble."

She blinks at him, rising to a stand, "It's you."

"Well, what? Were you waitin' for the other guy?"

"Not funny," she grumbles, "I-" She's got questions. . .she's got plenty of questions but she can't figure out which ones to ask, or how to ask them.

[queenofchildren]

Falser than vows made in wine (Pt.I)

In which Romeo and Juliet try to be impulsive and romantic, Rosaline and Benvolio get drunk and stupid, and what happens in Vegas... does NOT stay in Vegas. [also on ao3]

Shut up and put your money where your mouth is

that's what you get for waking up in Vegas

Get up and shake the glitter off your clothes now

That's what you get for waking up in Vegas.

Rosaline is in no mood for romance, or all the craziness it brings. She just had her heart trampled all over by a man she thought was the love of her life, and then lost her job over it. Her sister met, fell for, and moved in with a former patient of hers over the span of barely as much time as it took the guy to recover from his injuries. And her cousin is planning the wedding of the century to tie the knot before she's even turned twenty-one.

Love is madness, and Rosaline wants nothing to do with it.

Which is why, when Juliet offers to treat her to a spa weekend in Vegas, fancy hotel suite included, she says yes without a second thought.

The hotel Juliet chose for them is gorgeous, sleek and modern and with not one piece of garish fake marble or tacky gold paint in sight. There's one of those aquarium columns in the middle of the lobby, stretching up the length of the three-story atrium and casting the entire lobby in soothing bluish light. The only thing spoiling their beautiful surroundings is the fact that there are two Montagues standing in the middle of the lobby, and Juliet is steering her straight towards them.

"What,“ she hisses through clenched teeth, “are they doing here, Jules?"

Juliet makes her usually irresistible puppy eyes, and Rosaline feels dread pool in her stomach.

"Don't be mad babe…"

But she doesn't get around to explaining, for as soon as he sees them, Romeo, the younger and much less obnoxious Montague, starts sprinting towards his fiancée, gathers Juliet in his arms and spins her around, never one to shy away from a flashy gesture.

"We're getting married bitcheees!"

At the nearby hotel bar, a few drunk patrons cheer vaguely, Juliet giggles, and past the aquarium, Rosaline's eyes fall on the older Montague, whose expression must be mirroring hers right now. Benvolio looks somewhere between shock, disgust and resignation, and she thinks that this may be the first time the two of them have ever had the same opinion on anything.

Maybe together they can stop this madness?

But what Juliet Capulet wants, Juliet Capulet gets - and tonight, she wants to elope in Vegas.

"We'll head to one of those little chapels and just get married. No boring service. No 400 super important guests. No five-star catering. No Vera Wang dress." This last point she does look a little regretful about, Rosaline thinks with vicious satisfaction.

Still, the older sister in her can never stay quiet in the face of such recklessness.

"You've been planning that wedding for months now!"

Longer, perhaps - in reality it feels like they've been going crazy over this wedding for years, with Juliet's mother treating Rosaline like her personal errant girl just because she's the maid of honor, and Romeo's father butting in all the time to let everyone know he's paying for half of the wedding. It's been a nightmare, to be honest.

"Exactly." Juliet shrugs. "I'm sick of it."

"Your parents won't be able to get back most of the down payments," she tries to reason once more, but Juliet is not to be dissuaded.

"That's their problem. Half the expensive stuff was their idea anyway. They don't care about our love, they just want to impress their stupid rich friends."

"And outshine each other," Romeo adds, and Rosaline has to admit he's probably right.

The rivalry between the Capulets and Montagues is the stuff of legends, stretching back so far no one even remembers what it started over. The fact that the two families' beloved and only children have somehow found their way together and convinced their parents to bury the hatchet for the span of one insanely glamorous wedding is a miracle unto itself - but then again, Rosaline has no doubt that, had anyone tried to stop them, Romeo and her cousin would have ended up in this exact same place and gone through with the marriage anyway.

"So we're not going to be their excuse to be at each other's throats anymore. We're getting married, and it's going to be about us and no one else," Romeo exclaims, with a passion that might be exhausting in someone else but is annoyingly endearing in him.

Next to him, Juliet nods eagerly, looking at her fiance as if he had just singlehandedly invented the concept of romance.

"It's going to be so romantic," she sighs, then leans up to Romeo for an uncomfortably long kiss.

Rosaline rolls her eyes.

"It's… not as romantic as I imagined."

They're standing in front of the smallest, saddest wedding chapel Rosaline could have possibly imagined, having just spent the last two hours driving all over town in search of a chapel that is free to do the wedding today. Alas, all the somewhat pretty ones are booked out in advance ("Booked out?" was Romeo's horrified response, "That goes against the whole point of eloping!"), and the only free time slots were at about four in the morning.

So it was either getting married at four am, or getting married at a place that looked like the officiant might also rob you during the ceremony and then try to sell you back your own stuff.

"Don't worry, I'm sure the Elvis impersonator will give it his all on 'Love me tender'", Benvolio comments sarcastically, and Rosaline has to admit, when it's not directed at her his snark is actually quite entertaining.

But Juliet's expression remains doubtful, Romeo looks less than enthusiastic too, and Rosaline has never felt more full of Schadenfreude.

They don't even make it past the entrance parlor, where a supremely bored employee shoves a set of forms at the hesitant bride and groom without so much as a hello. He does get a little more talkative after that, but only to rattle off a disclaimer that the chapel will not be held liable for any regret, accidental polygamy, or other damages occurring after the wedding. Then he tries to sell them all horribly tacky and overpriced souvenir shirts.

The happy couple's faces get longer and longer, and finally, Romeo lowers his pen from where it was hovering over one of the forms.

"I love you babe, but I don't think I can do this."

With a sigh of relief, Juliet throws down her own pen, leaving a big splotch of ink on the paper.

"Oh thank God! I hate it here, I don't want the rest of our life to start in a place like this."

If the chapel employee is offended at her distaste, his impassive face shows no sign of it.

"So we're doing the big wedding after all?"

Juliet beams. "Yes, we're doing the big wedding!" Then she throws herself into her fiancé's arms to kiss him passionately.

"You have got to be fucking kidding me," is all Rosaline manages to say in reaction.

She was dragged here, cheated out of a much-needed spa weekend, and forced to interact with Benvolio Montague - and it was all for nothing? Desperate for someone, anyone to support her, she looks to the best man. But Benvolio is doubled over laughing, wheezing whoops escaping him every once in a while. Rosaline rolls her eyes – she should have known he wouldn't be any help.

Finally, when she's about to strangle him with a souvenir shirt, Benvolio straightens up again, exaggeratedly wiping a tear from the corner of his eye.

"Well, looks like I've got my material for the best man speech," he concludes cheerfully and grins expectantly. "Now what?"

Two flushed faces look at him sheepishly. It's two in the afternoon, and apparently, Juliet and Romeo didn't make any plans for this weekend beyond eloping.

"I for one was lured here with the promise of a weekend of debauchery," Benvolio states, a half-second before Rosaline can speak up and bring up the topic of her spa weekend once more. "I say we get started on that."

Rosaline wants to protest, but Benvolio suggests they start the “debauchery” with a steak dinner, and, well, they have been driving around all morning and she is actually famished. So she goes along for the dinner, planning to talk Juliet into ditching their company as soon as possible. And since the restaurant has a cocktail happy hour in the middle of the afternoon and it's been a day, Rosaline decides it's only fair she gets to treat herself to a drink as well.

Which of course Benvolio has to comment on.

"Daydrinking, Capulet? I didn't know you had it in you."

She doesn't dignify him with an answer.

Unfortunately, however, Juliet and Romeo are so caught up in themselves that eventually, there's no way around interacting with him: It's either talk to the other third wheel, or risk getting her eyes stuck in the back of her head because she's rolling them so much.

"Have I told you that I love you?" Romeo murmurs into Juliet's ear for about the millionth time just then.

"Only about ten seconds ago," Rosaline mutters under her breath, but the happy couple doesn't hear her. Rosaline downs the rest of her mimosa - only to have her glass taken away from her as soon as it's empty.

"Alright, Capulet, time to get you out of here."

"What."

"You're grumpy. Vegas and grumpy don't go well together."

"Why do you care?", she asks, deepening her frown to look even grumpier, just on principle.

"Because it looks like you're my only company for the weekend, and I make it a point not to associate with boring people. So you'll have to woman up and try and have some fun."

"I don't want to have fun!", she almost replies, and then freezes as the words hit her. Is she really so determined to be unhappy the entire time here? Sure, Juliet and Romeo luring them here for a surprise wedding and then not even getting married is perhaps a little inconsiderate, but it is also undoubtedly funny, and something she can tease her cousin with for years to come. Besides, she's been like this for weeks, constantly in a bad mood, and the realisation suddenly makes her angry: So not only did Escalus break her heart, but he also turned her into a boring stick-in-the-mud?

Hell no.

She's in Vegas. She's going to have some fun - even if it is with the likes of Benvolio Montague.

She gets up so abruptly her chair scrapes loudly across the chair.

“Alright. Let's have fun then,” she snarls, then almost flinches at how... questionable it sounds.

Benvolio seems to have heard it too, but to his credit, he doesn't comment. Instead he smiles, and looks almost genuine.

"That's the spirit, Capulet."

Juliet and Romeo protest only very perfunctorily when they take off, no doubt planning to return to the hotel and make use of the already paid-for suite.

And since that probably means Rosaline won't be able to get back into the suite for some time, there's only one thing left to do: Keep drinking.

But to her amazement, it turns out that drinking with Benvolio Montague may have been just what she needed.

First, he goads her into chugging a Long Island Ice Tea to see who can down it faster. Rosaline retaliates by daring him to perform "Call me maybe" on the bar's karaoke machine, and then has to down another cocktail when he actually does a fairly good job - mostly in tune, and with a rousing charm that soon has the handful of other patrons enthusiastically singing along. Next, he dares her to hit on the first three guys she makes eye contact with and she actually does it, probably because he calls her boring again and she wants to prove him wrong (although why it should matter what he thinks of her is a question she prefers not to ask herself).

Honestly, by that time she's surprised he's even still with her - she thought he'd have abandoned her a long time ago to head to a strip club or something. But Benvolio stays, teaches her to play Blackjack, brings her drinks and the occasional coke, makes jokes that are not all terrible (though obviously, she doesn't tell him this), and even chivalrously whisks her away when she accidentally hits on two men a little too close together and they immediately get into a fight over it.

By the time the sun sets, Rosaline has to admit that maybe he's not as terrible as she had thought until then. Absolutely full of himself, yes, but not the kind of fratboy douche turned corporate tyrant she had pegged him for based on the few times she met him at one of Romeo's parties.

So, against all odds, hours after he turned up this morning to herald the ruin of her weekend, she's still hanging out with Benvolio Montague, and she's doing it voluntarily - although of course, her other options are trying to get Romeo and Juliet to yield the hotel room, or taking off alone in the hopes that she'll find some new friends to hang out.

Compared to these options, it might just be preferable to sit on a hotel rooftop and watch the sun set over the glittering city, slowly gearing up for a long, wild weekend.

There's an official rooftop bar just two floors below them, but Benvolio took one look at it, deemed it "too crowded", and led her up a fire escape to the roof instead – the kind of thing that Rosaline, usually the designated “sensible friend”, would never do. Once again, she feels that little thrill of adventure flare up, that spark of defiance that made her stand up in that restaurant and exclaim that she was going to have some fun. Well, she's certainly having fun today, and doing a lot of things she would never usually do - and honestly, amazingly, it feels good.

Escalus would freak out if he could see her now, she thinks randomly, and then realizes that this is the first time she's thought about her ex since this morning.

With a smile, Rosaline takes another sip of the water Benvolio bought her at their last stop, despite her whining that she'd prefer a cocktail. "Staying hydrated is the first rule of a Vegas weekend, Capulet. Did you learn nothing from The Hangover?", he chided her, and she remembers thinking that of course he would count The Hangover among his favorite movies. But now, she has to admit she's kind of glad for the refreshing water – and probably still a lot more drunk than she'd like to admit, so maybe she should take that advice about staying hydrated.

For an indeterminable time, Rosaline lets her thoughts stray and her eyes wander down the long line of flashing lights, one casino after another, bars and restaurants and other entertainment venues. They all look tiny and insignificant from up here, and the rest of her life feels just as far removed.

For the first time in a long time, she feels her mind quiet down – and to her surprise, Benvolio falls silent too and doesn't interrupt her aimless musings.

Well, for a little while at least.

"You know what we should do?", he eventually asks, mischief in his voice.

And when she turns her head and looks at him, his face bathed in gold from the setting sun, his eyes bright with the reflection of that last fading strip of desert sky below the first glinting stars, Rosaline knows she's going to say yes no matter what he suggests.

"We should get married."

[zutaraverse]

Chapter 10: Seeing Without Eyes

Chapter 10 of Blood, Chi and Full Moons: Find previous chapters here or: Chapter 1 Part 1 | Chapter 1 Part 2 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 Part 1 | Chapter 3 Part 2 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 Part 1 | Chapter 7 Part 2 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9

Zuko jolted awake from a disturbing dream just before dawn, the last dregs of which were quickly dissipating into the lightening room. He replayed the scene from last night and considered how to approach the new day. Since they were earth bending he didn’t think he should wake Katara for meditation. Besides, Toph being in charge meant there was no chance of starting early.

However, as the grey light of early dawn infiltrated the room, Zuko started to worry. Katara had hardly moved the whole night. He had to place a hand on her stomach just to feel her breathing, otherwise she may as well have been dead. She must have been in a very deep sleep and he was torn as to whether to wake her or not. Finally he decided that she would probably be mad if he didn’t give her the choice - she was not one to look sympathetically at anybody who made decisions for her.

He kissed her gently on the cheek and called her name, drawing her out of her comatose sleep. Katara’s eyes opened slowly - differently to her usual confused fluttering. This was weary, tired, and her gaze was still distant.

“Hey, its dawn, and we’re meant to earth bend today,” he explained softly. Katara’s eyes closed with the same slow, deliberate movement she had used before. They stayed closed a few seconds before opening again to consider him. She reached up a hand and caressed his cheek, before letting it drop back onto the sheets.

“I’m… not… leaving… this… bed,” she breathed. Zuko nodded. He didn’t think he should argue with her - she seemed to be exhausted. There was only one problem though…

“Then we’ll leave Toph to sleep - I bet she will be happy,” he said, trying to conceal his disappointment. He had been looking forward to learning earth bending - he loved the strength it gave those who wielded it. Katara closed her eyes.

“You should learn,” she said from somewhere very distant.

“You’re the only one who can blood bend,” he reminded her. She sighed and reached for his hand.

From her fuzzy state she didn’t need to try to block out anything; it was already gone. She found his blood easily and followed a very bright chi flow in the darkness of her incomprehensibility. Katara had studied Toph’s chi flow the day before, memorising the points where it differed from hers. She wasn’t surprised to find earth bending focussed in the legs and feet. It made sense. In the back of her mind it reminded her of something, but she couldn’t quite place it.

When she had altered Zuko’s chi, she did her own.

“There, now we’re both earth benders,” she said. She hadn’t moved or opened her eyes - Zuko had thought she had fallen asleep again. He kissed her again and quietly left to wake an undoubtedly grumpy Toph.

The sun rose just before six o’clock. Nothing official happened before nine o’clock, which meant that meditation, training, washing and eating took place in those three hours. Katara woke from her stupor at about eight, and decided to find her friends. She didn’t bother hiding the black under her eyes, and she tied her hair up so it wouldn’t look dirty. Going into her bathroom, she sighed in relief at her ability to blood bend. For all of the uses blood bending had, the most mundane was also the most useful. No longer did she have to soak her cycle cloths in boiling water for hours; she could soak them for five minutes or so and bend the blood off. It was amazing. If she ever lost the ability to blood bend this would probably be one of her main regrets.

Having washed herself and thrown on some clothes, Katara hurried to the indoor arena so see if Toph and Zuko were still in there. She opened the door quietly and slipped in, almost laughing at what she saw; Toph had riddled the stone floor with holes and dips, sharp spikes, inclines, and steps of all kinds. Zuko stood, looking somewhat weary, blindfolded in the middle of the maze.

“Hey Katara,” called Toph from the other side of the arena.

“What? Katara’s here?” asked Zuko, jerking his head about and trying to work out where the damned door was.

“What is wrong with you Zuko!” cried Toph, “You are a fire bender, that means you can feel heat! You should be able to sense her in the room with your own element!” She threw up her hands in frustration.

“Yeah well I’m too damned concentrated on trying to sense the fucking death traps you’ve set out for me!” he cried back, a glimmer of his old-Zuko anger in his voice. However, he didn’t remove the blind fold. Toph growled.

“I do not understand why it is so hard to teach earth bending! With Aang what he needed was a forceful push, and I think you need the same. We are going to duel,” she said definitively.

“Duel!” exclaimed Katara. “Isn’t it a bit early for that?” She did not like the idea of a blind Zuko going up against Toph. With his eyesight they may have been equally matched, but he was at a distinct disadvantage here.

“Stay out of this Sugar Queen. This is between me and Sparky. Actually, you can play doctor when he gets his butt kicked. Right, Sparky, you can use any element you like - I will only use earth bending. But we are both blind. And you better start paying attention to the earth pretty soon because it will, quite literally, slap you in the face if you don’t. Ready?”

“Toph I think this is a really bad idea,” started Katara pleadingly. However, Zuko interrupted her.

“Please Katara! If this is what it takes I’ll do it. But you shouldn’t get hurt - wait outside till this is over.”

“Absolutely not,” she said forcefully, crossing her arms and not a little irritated that he was trying to tell her what to do, “I can defend myself, Fire Prince Zuko, and if I have to beat your arse again to prove it, believe me, I will!” And with that she leaned against the door, staring at the back of Zuko’s head angrily.

He gulped. An angry Katara was far worse than a playful Toph. He would have to deal with that later.

“Wahey! Sweetness is getting Spicy!” laughed Toph. This is more like it, she thought to herself.

“Don’t you dare make light of this Toph - I’m furious with you for doing this. You two are going to seriously hurt each other and I’m the one who is going to have to pick up the fucking pieces as usual!” she snarled, switching her cold stare from one blind person to another.

“Shesh! Calm down Spicy! Hey… Spicy and Sparky… I like it… although Sweetness and Sparky is like sweetness and light which is a lovely saying. Except I don’t know what light is,” mused Toph, completely unperturbed by Katara’s outburst. She was more than used to it, but sensed that it had put Zuko on edge… maybe she should go easy on him after all. “Well, lets get to it!” she announced, stomping her foot on the ground and changing the landscape to something completely unfamiliar. Zuko didn’t know it but it was actually easier to navigate than the previous one.

Zuko froze at the sound of grinding rock.

“You fucking changed everything again didn’t you?” he growled.

“Yup!” replied Toph lightly.

He spun around in the direction of her voice and shot a fireball at her. However, he heard the usual creaking of the expanding metal as it collided with the wall.

“Yeah, how are you supposed to get me if you don’t know in which direction I’m going? You are aiming for the past Sparky, get with it!” she instructed, leaping around and changing direction. Zuko tried to aim a few more fireballs but without success. “Not even close!” mocked Toph from yet another position.

Zuko could feel his frustration growing into anger. Anger at himself, at his damned inability to pick this up. He felt like a scolded child again, the worst one at fire bending, with his sister showing off to his father and grandfather moves that he still hadn’t mastered. The familiar rage that he had harboured for three long years on his ship returned full force, contorting his body into well rehearsed moves. He growled through his teeth as he drew on as much power as he could and shot a sheet of fire, spinning as he did so, in order to make it reach every corner of the room.

He was left panting from his sudden outburst. After a few deep breaths things started clearing in his mind as he realised what he had done.

“Katara? Toph? Are you ok? I’m so sorry…” he reached behind his head to undo the blindfold and rush to the aid of his friends. He was resisting breaking down into sobs of self loathing.

“Don’t you dare Sparky!” called Toph from a long way away, “This isn’t over!”

“We’re fine Zuko,” said Katara from somewhere closer to his side of the arena, a softness in her voice that indicated that she at least partially understood what had prompted his rash gesture.

Zuko suddenly felt something hit him square in the forehead. Then something else. They were hard. Stones! Toph was throwing stones at him - he had just whipped out enough fire to destroy a palace and she retaliated by throwing stones. It almost made him laugh.

Because she defended herself from his attack and he was incapable of defending himself from hers.

Right. He needed to find cover. Getting low to the ground, he moved along with his hands spread wide until he found a large rock jutting out. He moved so that it was between him and the rock-throwing Toph. It wouldn’t take long for her to adjust her position to come at him again, but she had been the other side of the arena, so she would have to move quite a bit. At the very least it bought him some time.

A memory presented itself to him; a memory of himself as the blue spirit, living in the shadows and being impossibly quiet - breaking into the highest security prisons and freeing the highest security prisoners. Sneaking around wasn’t going to fool Toph, and there was no wood to dampen his steps. He silently cursed himself for not having brought water in this morning - at the very least it might create some confusion!

But along with these memories came the less pleasant ones; being locked in cupboards, waiting in vents, sneaking through barracks, finding his way down the tunnels of Lake Laogai. In none of those situations did he have any light. He had done it by not searching for light - by instead focussing on what he did know and translating that into images. He remembered sitting very still, hardly even breathing, and listening with all his might to what was happening around him.

Marching boots: soldiers. The paces even: bored. Two, in practiced time: regular partners. No hesitations: knew the land to perfection - they were lookouts on duty.

Now he had more than his ears, though. He had heat. He had water. He had earth.

He relaxed and opened his mind to the arena. There. He could feel Toph not too far from him. She wasn’t moving. So she must have been waiting for him to emerge.

Katara stood somewhere behind him. She was much warmer than Toph.

This didn’t help though. As soon as Toph picks up a rock, and the rock leaves her hand, he would have no idea where it was. He might hope that the contact with her skin would make it slightly warmer than the surroundings, but hat was a vain hope. Besides, was she even picking them up? Wouldn’t she just bend them towards him?

He needed to go deeper than heat and water. He needed to focus on where he was in relation to the room. He needed to feel, through his skin, what was going on. Everything is connected he told himself. I am on the earth, I am touching it, I am part of it. He repeated this mantra in his head over and over as he ran his fingers and toes along the surroundings, paying attention to every nook and cranny he passed over. There was no movement in the room, nor was there any noise; it seemed the girls had decided to leave him to his own explorations.

He felt a dip under his feet as he inched forward. A dip meant a rise though. Where was the rise?

There. The rise was very close - the dip was not wide. But the rise seemed to be higher than where he was standing. That would mean another dip perhaps. It would be annoying to have to climb it though. But moving to the right should give him some space. Instinctively, with the speed yet caution of the blue spirit, he headed towards the easier path. There was something blocking his way though and he ducked just in time, feeling an overhang graze the top of his head. Toph would be standing to the left - stationary - a heartbeat - a more intense vibration. Carefully positioning himself, he shot a simple fireball directly at the direction of the more intense vibrations. The vibrations faded for a split second - she had stepped out of the way - and he felt a presence moving closer - too fast to be Toph - no Toph had not moved from her spot.

Something small and hard hit him on the chest. Oh. Another rock. So that’s what a rock feels like he thought to himself, too fascinated to be irritated.

“Nice one Sparky, you are finally feeling. Now quit with the fire, do it with rock,” instructed Toph.

“Hmmm thanks for the details Sifu,” grumbled Zuko, momentarily distracted from his study of the ground.

“You’ll work it out,” she replied. Zuko imagined a smirk playing on her lips underneath her black bangs.

He returned to the state he had been in while observing the stone beneath his feet. Right. Stone MOVE he mentally shouted. Unsurprisingly, nothing happened. He returned to the overhang and, standing in front of it, he placed one hand on the lip, concentrating on how the stone was shaped - not so much on the surface, but underneath it. There he exerted a force, and to his immense pleasure it shifted. Not much, just an inch. But he could do it again - and with more power. The overhang lifted so that he could pass under it without ducking.

Now he needed a stone to throw. He reached up and touched the overhang once more. Instead of pushing inside, he pulled, and a part came away easily in his hand.

Now where was Toph? Ah! There. He threw the stone but it fell short - he felt it hit the ground a few metres in front of her. He took another part of the overhang, and this time, he pushed it from inside. Not enough to separate it, but enough to control its direction. There!

The vibrations coming from Toph changed and the stone stopped. Ah. She must have lifted her hand and caught it.

“I like it Sparky! But I’m afraid we are going to have to continue this another time - your advisors are hesitating outside the arena - I think you might be late for something…” said Toph.

Zuko gasped and tore off the blindfold, ignoring the tears that sprang to his eyes from the suddenly very intense light. He ran to the door and ripped it open.

“What time is it?” he asked urgently to the advisors who stood nervously outside.

“Ten o’clock, my prince,” answered one of them.

“Shit. Prepare the meeting room, I will be there shortly,” he ordered, watching them scurry away towards the palace. Zuko turned to the two girls in the room.

He took in the terrain Toph had created. It had seemed so much more threatening without his eyes - in the daylight he could have manoeuvred it with hardly a thought! Toph had created a seat of stone and was picking at her feet, just as she used to when she was younger. Katara had also seated herself on a boulder, her legs dangling down. She seemed much calmer than before.

“We’ve only got half an hour to prepare but I reckon we can do it,” she said serenely. Zuko regarded her gratefully. He was worried she wouldn’t be there at the meeting today - but she knew so much about what was going on that she would grasp anything he happened to miss. And besides, her insights into how the normal people lived were exactly what he needed. The memories of his life as a refugee in the lower rings of Ba Sing Se were forever fresh in his mind.

Katara slid off her boulder.

“What, Sugar Queen is wussing out of her lesson?” mocked Toph, seemingly unbothered by their disappearance.

“Sorry Toph, if you like I can come back this afternoon after lunch? I had an idea I would like to try with you,” she said, still the image of composure. Toph yawned.

“Yeah alright. I’m going to go and take a mid-morning nap now. Wake me when you want to learn?” the tone in her voice was almost too hopeful, betraying how much she needed this distraction - this reminder that she could be in control of something. Katara smiled.

“Of course,” she promised, before taking Zuko’s hand and heading back to the palace with him.

The meeting had been surprisingly simple. People seemed to be on more or less the same page - which was an event in itself. Zuko had some letters to write, but Katara hurried to wake Toph and they headed to the arena. She was determined not to be put through the same thing as Zuko - that had taken hours, and to be honest, she did not have the patience to deal with it today. She had another idea though.

“What’s this plan of yours then?” asked Toph once the door had clanged shut definitively.

“Well you know how you play with metal? Its kind of like how I water bend - as in it is almost liquid - or it behaves like a liquid. So I wanted to try that,” she explained confidently.

“You want to start with metal?” asked Toph incredulously.

“Well, yes. It might not work, but if it did I think it would be easier for me to attack it that way around,” explained Katara, suddenly not so sure of herself. Toph raised an eyebrow and flicked the hair out of her face with a familiar jerk of the head.

“We might as well try,” conceded Toph. She wouldn’t admit it, but angry Katara was not something she wanted to run into twice in the course of a day. She reached out and summoned a chuck of metal from high up on one of the walls, bringing it down between her hands. She couldn’t resist playing with it for just a bit, letting it circle her hands and splay out in different patterns.

“I don’t really know how to teach you this because I learned it from earth bending. And with that you need to find the earth within the metal. It is there, it just feels slightly different, you know?”

“Like blood feels to a water bender,” compared Katara.

“I guess,” reasoned Toph, “if you can start to place it in space first you would get a feel for what it is?” She was guessing. She actually had no idea how to approach this. She solidified the metal again and handed it to Katara, who sat on the ground holding it between her hands contemplatively.

Treat it like ice, she thought.

“I think,” she spoke out loud, “that solid metal is kind of like ice, liquid metal like water. I don’t know what vapour would be… but anyway, so if this is like ice, then what I would need to do is sort of… break it apart from the inside, but all over at the same time. Does that sound right to you?” she asked Toph.

“Yeah, sort of. But you need to keep the whole together so it doesn’t splatter… the edges kind of feel different.” Toph sat down opposite Katara and waited. Katara didn’t move. She didn’t move for a long time.

Toph focussed on sensing the metal in her hands, and was surprised at how easily she fell into it. She could feel how there was a growing pressure inside, a tentative movement. But it was going in the wrong direction - or rather it was going in all directions at once. That is not how metal is structured, she registered, there needed to be more of a sliding and jostling to it. She murmured this instruction to Katara, careful not to break the concentration of either.

Slowly but surely, she felt Katara’s hold on the metal increase and the right action take place. The metal was more malleable, and then eventually liquid. She imagined Katara would be smiling.

“Fuck. Yes,” breathed Katara, playing with the liquid metal. She was right. She could treat it like water in a way, although it was less similar than she had expected.

Toph grinned.

“Nice one sugar-cake. Now can we get on with real Earth Bending?” quipped Toph, not quite managing to hide her awe for what Katara had just achieved. She wondered if she would be able to use the same technique in reverse when Katara kept up her side of the bargain.

A couple of days had passed and Katara had managed some earth bending - Zuko some metal bending. Both realised that the more they learned about any element made picking up the next one ever easier. So many things were similar that sometimes in the depth of their meditations they stated fusing the boundaries.

Toph liked fire too - she used it to sense what she could not feel through her feet. And carefully, with much caution, she learned to manipulate it. Since it was not solid it took many hours of concentration to keep hold of the shapes she created - they were not bounded by everything, but she saw it as her job to bind it to a shape.

When it came to her turn to learn water, she could hardly wait. Katara had also decided that she would attempt to teach Zuko blood bending at the same time; full moons only came around once a month and she wasn’t sure what the future would hold.

The three met by the little lake, much to the annoyance of the turtle ducks, just before sunset. Katara talked Toph through everything she had done with Zuko, and decided it would be a good idea if she kept her feet in the water. Although Toph had eventually learned to swim, she still feared the power of water, and so keeping the most sensitive part of her body connected with it might help bridge that distrust.

Katara and Zuko left her in meditation as the sun set, knowing that, at this point, it was highly unlikely she wouldn’t experience the surge of power that came with the moon. It seemed strange yet oddly logical that they were all picking up one another’s elements so quickly.

“Blood,” started Katara, “feels slightly different to water. It is harder to move, since it pulls everything else that is in the blood with it. It is heavy in that sense. And besides, there is something blocking your direct access to it. The way I like to look at it is as a reaching past a barrier rather than a going inside.”

Zuko looked around, distracted from her words by a thought that had just occurred to him. He was feeling uneasy.

“Katara, don’t you have some animal I can practice on?”

Katara stared at him hard.

“No. Blood bending takes away the freedom of whatever you are practicing on. Therefore you will only blood bend practice on willing subjects.”

Zuko sucked in a breath. He had a really bad feeling this might happen.

“Katara there is no way I am blood bending on you!” he seethed.

“Yes, you are,” she replied calmly.

“I won’t learn then,” he matched, folding his arms across his chest in defiance.

“Yes, you will. What happens if I go crazy with all this power? What happens if I need to be stopped and Aang can’t do it? What happens if people find out about this and torture me until I make them as powerful as we are?” Katara had tears in her eyes but she refused to let them fall. This was why she had to teach him. How could she trust herself with something so destructive without any way out. “You need to learn Zuko, you need to be able to control me and my chi like I can control you and yours. That way you can take away from me what might one day harm so many people…”

Zuko’s arms had fallen to his sides as her arguments computed in his mind. Out of all of them, she was the only one who could not be stopped. If he or Toph abused their power, Katara would be there to take it away. Aang had still not managed to return to the Avatar state since they had split up two years earlier and so would be incapable of doing so. But if she lost her mind, if she was used and tortured, nobody would be able to help her.

“Katara, don’t think like that,” he whispered unconvincingly. He pulled her into his arms, well aware that she was right. He was both moved by her trust in him and terrified of misusing it. An image of his father flashed in his head. What atrocities could he have achieved if he had known how to blood bend? Zuko didn’t want to imagine.

“Look, Zuko, this is important. I know you are as strong as I am, and you feel the water in the same way I do. Blood is not hard, its just as shift in how you see the element - like lightening is for you and metal is for Toph…” she pushed him away gently and collected herself before starting her instruction.

Zuko was used to observing the mass of water that was Katara. But now he needed to concentrate on overcoming the resistance provided by her skin and moving behind it. He could understand how somebody who struggled with water would find this near impossible, but by this point shifting his perspective was becoming a way of life. The constant re-analysis was opening his eyes - metaphorically - to a way of feeling  that was completely foreign to him.

It took a while, but the power of the moon was coursing through his body, and all the water in the world seemed to be at his fingertips. He reached forward with his hands and his mind, and concentrated on what was behind the skin. His fingers curled in order to take control of her body - a rigid, awkward movement, like a puppeteer. He had the distinct feeling that if he softened his stance control over her would slip. Slowly, he moved her arms around, getting a feel for how it felt.

Zuko had expected to be repulsed by the sensation of blood bending another person - especially Katara, but actually he felt very calm, just like when he was water bending. In retrospect, he didn’t really know why he had anticipated repulsion - he hardly felt repulsed by the creation of lightening, and he doubted Toph disliked metal bending.

“Alright Zuko, now I’m going to start resisting,” said Katara. She, too, looked relatively calm.

“What do you mean resist?” he asked, dropping his hold and letting her arms flop to her sides.

“Well, I’ve been letting you do what you want, but that is hardly ever going to happen. I will try to resist and you will need to use more force to control my body. Are you ready?”

Zuko gritted his teeth but nodded, retaking his stance. He hoped that he didn’t hurt her.

This time was more difficult, he needed to focus all his attention on maintaining his hold and bending her to his will. In the back of his mind he could understand how people could become addicted to such power, but he pushed that thought away.

Eventually Katara’s face contorted in pain and she gave over control. Zuko dropped his stance.

They both stood staring at one another, breathing heavily. Katara nodded and forced a smile.

“I think thats enough for tonight,” she murmured, turning towards where Toph sat in the distance.

Zuko caught her arm.

“Katara, wait. There is something I’ve been meaning to tell you. Uncle made me promise not to but I think you have a right to know,” he started hesitantly.

“Spit it out Zuko!”

“Your family is coming here. To the palace. They are arriving with Iroh.” He was looking away, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

Katara exhaled audibly.

“Thank you for telling me,” she said cordially, controlling her rising panic. “How long to I have to prepare for this?”

“Erm… they arrive tomorrow.”