#work they’re repairing it and it’s taken months and it’s gonna take more cause some of the other repairs they were doing lead to more

[orallech]

Shits been goin on in my life lately where it’s like……truly what else is there to do but have a bit of a giggle about it

[soft-din]

i’ve been the archer (i’ve been the prey)

summary: You have been traveling with the Mandalorian for a while, and one day you notice something that will change the course of your relationship forever.

pairing: Din Djarin x reader

warnings: None that I can think of! It’s just a fluffy soulmate AU.

word count: 1.9k

ao3 | masterlist

You had been traveling with the Mandalorian for a while now. It sometimes seemed like it had been forever since you had been alone without the elusive warrior and his little green son at your side. As you sat in the cockpit of the Razor Crest and watched Mando pilot his ship to some new destination, you couldn’t help but admire him. You had to admit that after some time of this lifestyle - going system to system as Mando hunted his bounties and you helped with his child - you had come to care for the man in beskar in a way that transcended partnership or friendship. But in a world where one’s soulmate was dictated by a tattoo on their body that the person meant for them shared, it was difficult to start a relationship, especially without knowing who they themselves were destined for. You sighed a little, adjusting the small child in your lap and catching a glimpse of the hand where your own special tattoo was. It was in the shape of a target, and placed in between your thumb and forefinger.

You were taken out of your thoughts by the piloting Mandalorian. “We’re gonna touch down for repairs soon. Nothing major this time; I should be able to take care of it.”

“Okay,” you replied. “Where are we stopping?”

“Nevarro.”

Upon hearing this information, your mind immediately recalled the day you and Mando had met, which was on the very same planet. You allowed yourself to fall into the memories.

*****

It had been a spring afternoon, the weather nice if a bit warm. You worked at a cantina on Nevarro, serving customers and trying to keep your head down. Even though you were new there, you knew it was a shady joint, frequented by ruthless bounty hunters looking for their next job. But sometimes, a person has to do what they have to do to get money, and this was as good a place as any for that. That fateful day, the Mandalorian walked into the cantina, and once you got over the shock of seeing a real life Mandalorian, full armor and all, you were charmed by the small companion with him.

He sat down next to a man who you had often seen here, giving the hunters their work. You had heard him be referred to as Greef Karga, who then called you over to take his order. When you did so, you couldn’t help but smile at the sight of the green baby in the pram next to the table.

“Is he yours?” you asked the Mandalorian, being friendly purely on instinct and not thinking about how he would react.

The man had nodded after a moment of silence. “Yeah, he is. A foundling.”

“How sweet,” you said, putting two fingers into the floating pram to gently pet the child’s head. “What’s his name?”

“Grogu.”

“Hi Grogu,” you cooed.

Karga then cleared his throat, interrupting your baby talk. “So, to business. Long time no see, Mando.”

You took that as your cue to leave, your face flushing slightly in embarrassment as you walked back to the bar you were supposed to be working at. Even after the adorable child and his Mandalorian father had left the cantina, you couldn’t help but smile at how cute Grogu had been.

A few hours later, you were just about to start wrapping up your shift when the Mandalorian came back. This time, however, he didn’t sit down to talk with Karga, who had also gone by now. He approached you instead, the child still with him. 

“How can I help you?” you asked curiously as you wiped down the counter in front of you.

“Are you good with kids?” he said, answering with a question of his own. 

You were a bit taken aback, but responded easily nonetheless. “Yes, I think so. I’ve always had a connection to the little ones. Why do you ask?”

“Well, I’ve been looking for another crew member. Someone to help take care of Grogu. I can’t always take him with me when I go hunting.”

Was he asking you to join him? To essentially be a live-in babysitter? You considered the offer. You really had nothing to lose, and his son was absolutely precious. Looking back, you couldn’t have stopped your next words from leaving your mouth even if you’d tried. 

“I’m in.”

*****

That had been months ago, and now you were in deeper than you ever expected to be. The Mandalorian could often be cold and quiet, but over time he had started showing you a softer side of himself, a side that he usually only reserved for Grogu. He would check on you every night without fail before he went to bed, just to make sure you were okay. There were times when you would swear that his helmet had been looking in your direction before you turned to see and he looked back again. It was this part of him that made you glad that you had accepted his offer, and it was this part of him that made you realize that you cared for him - maybe even more than you knew.

Now that you were touched down on Nevarro for repairs, you scooped up the child and stood. “I’m gonna go stretch my legs for a while,” you told Mando. “I can take the kid with me, and I’ll be back soon.”

He nodded in your direction and you set off, happy to be distracted from your thoughts and breathing in the fresh air. Before you left, you saw the Mandalorian begin on his repairs outside the ship, trying to see what was wrong with it this time. You smiled a secret smile at the sight.

After you finished your walk, you returned to the Crest, holding Grogu and still grinning. But when you approached the vessel, you saw a sight that you never expected to see.

Mando was still working on the ship, but his gloves were off, presumably to allow him to work easier. It was the most exposed skin you had ever seen from him, and you couldn’t help but admire them a little before realizing something. He had a tattoo.

It was in the shape of a target, and placed in between his thumb and forefinger.

Oh. Oh. This meant something that you had admittedly considered, but never really thought could be a reality: the Mandalorian was your soulmate. Though you liked to think you knew him pretty well after all your time traveling together, there was still so much to learn. Not for the first time, you wondered what he looked like when he rolled his eyes or smiled or any other number of expressions. And now, the day that you would find those things out suddenly seemed closer than ever. Taking yourself out of your thoughts, you decided to wait til Mando was done repairing the Crest before saying anything. But then what would you say? That thought echoed in your mind as you finished walking up the ramp of the Crest, still holding the kid.

You and Grogu entered the cockpit, and you sat down with him. “Okay, little one,” you said, chatting to him as you always did. “When your buir gets back inside, I’m gonna tell him what I saw. I don’t know what he’ll say, but I’m sure it’ll end up fine,” you said, not sure if you were convincing him or yourself. He cooed up at you, as if he could understand what you were saying.

After several more minutes of this, you decided to lay the womp rat down for a nap as he had started to look sleepy. Once you returned to the cockpit alone you sat down and laid back in your chair, intending to relax and calm your thoughts before the Mandalorian came back. It wasn’t long before he did, joining you in the pit.

“The ship’s fixed well enough,” he said, the sound of his voice causing your heartbeat sped up even more than usual. “It should get the job done, for a while at least.”

You nodded, sitting up straighter in your chair. “Great. The kid’s taking a nap right now; he was getting tired.”

“Okay.”

Taking a deep breath, you realized now was as good a time as any to try to tell him what you had seen. “Hey Mando?”

“Hmm?” he hummed in reply, making his way to the pilot chair.

“I, um, need to talk to you. When I came back from my walk with Grogu, I...well, I saw something. Something you need to know about.”

The Mandalorian’s footsteps halted. “What was it?”

Just spit it out, you thought to yourself. “I...I saw your hands. You had taken the gloves off to work. And...I saw your soulmate tattoo.”

Mando let out a breath, the sound echoing through the modulator of his helmet. “Is that all? You don’t need to worry about that, people see each other’s tats all the time…”

“But it was the same as mine.”

That caused the Mandalorian to reconsider what you had just said completely. If it was the same as yours, then that could only mean one thing. And even the idea of that one thing caused him to feel something in his chest that he wasn’t used to feeling. It was a pleasant sensation, one that, in recent times, he had only ever really felt for the kid, and you as well. He always assumed it didn’t mean anything, that it just meant he cared about you, but hearing you admit what you had seen made the feeling blossom in him as if it were an explosion.

After hearing nothing but silence for a few moments, you spoke again. “I think we’re soulmates, Mando. As crazy as it may seem, our tattoos are the same. We’re...tied to each other, in a way. Maybe you inviting me on your crew was the universe’s way of getting us together.”

The Mandalorian turned to face you completely. “You...you don’t have to call me Mando. It’s Din. You should know that.”

Hearing this information caused something to stir inside you, as if the stars themselves were aligning. “Is that your name?”

“Yes. My name is Din Djairn.”

The name sounded as sweet as honey coming from his rich voice, and you smiled widely. “That’s a nice name. It fits you.” Din chuckled, which caused your smile to grow even larger. You then showed him your hand, specifically the target shaped ink there. “See how they’re the same? I always wondered why mine looked like this; it never really felt like me, you know? But it all makes sense now, knowing that my soulmate is a Mandalorian,” you said, letting out a soft laugh. 

Din observed your hand for a moment before taking off his own gloves, pulling them off his fingers delicately and revealing his own tattoo. “You’re right. They are the same.” He then instinctively reached out with his bare hand to grab yours, and when he did so the sensation was unlike anything you had ever felt before. It was if every missing puzzle piece in the galaxy had suddenly connected at the same time, and the person that would help you reconnect them once they fell apart again was right in front of you.

“Nice to meet you, Din Djarin,” you said, grinning and enjoying the way the name felt on your tongue. The mysterious man in front of you was suddenly so much more than your traveling partner. Now you knew that he was your soulmate, and you finally knew his name. The universe worked in strange ways, but you wouldn’t have it any other way as you sat there in the cockpit of the Razor Crest and looked forward to all the experiences you would have with Din in the future.

It was an adventure you were looking forward to more than anything.

[itsnothingofinterest]

I’ve often said that it seems like a lot of the main pros below All Might seem to end up representing serious flaws in hero society; specifically the ones on the hero side of things. So as a fun little exercise I thought I’d go over all those main pros and what flaws they represent (should be easy, they’re usually their own personal character flaws). Maybe also give my assessment to what I think their chances of living to the end of the series are while I’m at it, since representing serious flaws in the old guard can be hazardous to your health if treated poorly.

Endeavor

A man who needs no introduction if you’re any kind of HeroAca fan. love or hate him, everyone knows the new no.1.

Funnily enough, he’s actually the main exception to the rule we mentioned before about a pros’ character flaw being the flaw they thematically represent. See, his character flaw is that he focus so much on heroics, his career in heroics, or just his own general needs over his family; to the point that he only had a family to have children he could live vicariously though, and felt no obligation to love the ones he couldn’t live through. What he represents, is actually two-fold: 1) the toxicity of the ranking system which makes heroics so competitive and encourage heroes focus on some arbitrary number, and 2) the power heroes have that let them do horrible things and get away with it. They’re connected concepts, for sure, but not exactly synonymous.

And with that said, what are his chances of survival? Well, the ranking toxicity is out of his hands, but besides that...it can be hard to tell. He has, under semi-aggressive guidance of his family, publicly taken responsibility for the things he’s done and vowed to make up for it; which helps his chances considerably. But in that same scene he also said that the only way he can atone is to keep doing what he’s always done; beat up villains and at least 1 family member. It sends a mixed message. But in general; I want to say that he’s gotten enough development that he doesn’t feel set to fail his arc now. I’d be tempted to say his chances look pretty good...were it not for all the separate reasons I think he’s likely to die anyway. Oh well, no one’s situation can be perfect.

Hawks

The controversial hero; Hawks!

I’ve summarized Hawks’ main flaw before as ‘hubris’, partially because he’s an Icarus figure so generalizing it like that feels clever, but it’s a bit more complex than that. Hawks main flaw isn’t so much pride as it is self-righteousness. Hawks represents the belief that everything is just right as it is, and the status quo must therefore be protected at all costs. A denial that the heroes he believes in have done anything wrong even after staring their mistakes in the face and spending months talking with those the heroes failed. In fact to contrast Endeavor’s line to the press; Hawks tried to excuse what he did as though it had to be done. That’s the opposite of promising.

With that said, what are his chances of survival? Well, I’d actually put him at 50/50 odds; since I see 2 endings for him, and it’s too early to tell which is more likely. See, while we’ve only got two instances of a “pattern,” Hawks seems like a guy who falls to the ground, recovers and gets back up, only to fall even further down because he never learns. So his two futures are either: A) To actually learn. Take a fall so hard that in the aftermath, he can’t convince himself he was right all along. Maybe he gets Endeavor killed, or does something to sever their relationship. Something that’d force him to self-reflect. B) To take a fall so hard it proves fatal; his mistakes catching up to him in a way that doesn’t give him a chance to self-reflect.

Best Jeanist

Sir Long Neck McImagine Obsession himself.

Best Jeanist represents the self-interest in hero society can have over justice itself. Already known for being focused on superficial image; he’s dramatic reappearance revealed just how deep that went. For when it’s revealed by a villain that a hero has committed great crimes that ended up motivating that villain’s actions; Jeanist’s immediate concern was the damage this would do to the reputation of heroes. More than what kind of person he’s been working alongside, and even more than saving lives, Jeanist’s first thought went the wellbeing of the industry he works in and how bad they would collectively look to the public; that’s what he’s most angry at Dabi for.

Chances of survival are...maybe 40-50%? There’s no real leaning one way or another frankly, so that kind of feels like it’d put him at even odds for the exact opposite reason as Hawks. Will he live? Will he die? Who can say? Leaning just a bit towards death though, because again, representing flaws in the old guard can be hazardous to your health.

Mirko

And here we have the violent one.

While I’m tempted to lump this one with Hawks, I actually think Ms.Mirko represents the heroes use of incredible violence best. See, Mirko is someone who really likes to beat people up, even once in a spin-off said Bakugou’s drive to murder was a good thing in a hero. And while she won’t even feel the need to kill like Hawks apparently did, her response to fighting the High End Nomu was something like “finally, some villains I get to just kill with no ethical issues, that makes things easy”. (Which, considering the High Ends are sentient is, um, hmm). Her love of violence borders on villainous, and she freely admits it is simple obligation that prevents her from crossing that boundary. It’s reminiscent of when Shigaraki pondered what the difference really was between heroes’ & villains’ violence. And, well, if it closes the gap in morality between heroes and villains, it’s going on this list.

Regarding her chances of survival, like Jeanist she’s not exactly defined enough to really say anything for sure or end up on any extreme end; I’ve no real reason to think she’s very likely live or die. That said; on the one hand she seems a bit more eagerly reveling in the flaw she represents, plus a blood knight getting back into the fight after sustaining heavy injuries is never a good sign. On the other hand, Horikoshi clearly likes her for reasons we won’t address here. I think I’m gonna average it out to 50%. Maybe even 60%.

Kamui Woods & Mt. Lady

You wouldn’t think some of the most plain as bread heroes would be joining the ranks of the problematic, and in fairness that’s because they mostly aren’t, but they are the ones who best represent a serious issues with heroes. They represent the way heroes will focus on flashiness & the problems they cause/exasperate in the process. Misconduct performed in the quest for fame; in so many words. Kamui showed this in chapter 1; calling a giant purse snatcher “evil incarnate” because that villain was attention grabbing and disturbing the peace. This is especially noticeable in hindsight, after we’ve see some real problems heroes could be dealing with but aren’t; like lost children on their way to becoming villains. And Mt. Lady represent it by how she operates in a big city despite her powers really working better for more rural or neighborly environments; because city work makes her more popular and rakes in the cash (that she loses paying for repairs).

That said, even if those are flaws I feel are highly associated with them, none of that is stuff they’re actively involved in; they’re naïve at best, and have already improved considerably (for minor characters at least) into better heroes. Frankly speaking, their changes of survival are probably averaging at 85% (80% for Kamui, 90% for Mt.). Like, they’re not gag characters per se; but they’re not super serious characters, they’re not connected to the MCs in any real way, and they don’t knowingly contribute to any of society’s corruptions. Really, so long as big H doesn’t really want to off someone we know for a shock, they’re probably fine.

Gran Torino

And lastly, the only non-big shot on the list, the unpleasant old geezer himself; Gran Torino!

What GT represents better than any other, I think, is the idea of passing any blame a hero may have for the actions/very existence of a villain on to the villain in question, thus allowing the heroes to better absolve themselves. You know like how with Shigaraki, he ignores any fault he has with that guys’ existence and simplifies him down to a criminals they can only beat down; and how dare he exist and thereby hurt Toshinori’s feelings. On that note, I’d say he also represents the idea that the villains are what they are, they’re too far gone, and there’s nothing the heroes can do about it. The most convenient excuse to not ever have to try to make up for what they did wrong, which you can’t even blame them too much for because they “tried their best” (even if they really didn’t).

So, what are his odds? Well frankly I wanna put him at 0% just cause he’s so old that if a villain doesn’t get him, time will. But that’s cheating. In actuality, it’s hard to say; dude’s a stubborn old man, and it really feels like it will depend on his ability to admit how wrong he handled things regarding Tomura. Now admittedly, he did admit to making the wrong choice in handling Kotaro, but he’s said nothing of Tomura so far. For now I’ll put him at 30%, but we’ll have to see if he sticks to his guns regarding current events next time he talks with All Might or whoever to really get a gasp on his chances.

And that’s about all the big ones so we’ll wrap it up. Anyway the point is it feels like a lot of heroes are gonna need to get their acts together lest they risk coming down with Not Alive Syndrome sometime in the future.

[i-put-the-star-in-bastard]

Come back to me, amore mio

As soon as they arrive, they do the usual sweep. After that many centuries together, they don’t even need to speak to coordinate, Joe checks the first floor while Nicky clears the ground floor. They meet back in the kitchen.

“All clear?” Joe asks as he comes in.

Nicky nods while turning the kettle on. “The shutters in the living room need to be repaired.”

Nicky keeps his back to Joe as he looks through the cupboards in search of the tea they’d left the last time they’d stayed here.

“Nicky.”

“Hmm?” He takes two cups of tea out of one cupboard.

“Nicolo.” Joe steps closer, his chest brushing against his back. He takes the cups from his hands and places them down on the counter. Joe’s hands run lightly up Nicky’s arms until they get to his shoulder and squeeze gently. “Nicolo, look at me.”

“I’m okay,” he protests.

Joe wraps his arms around his middle.

“Look at me,” he whispers against Nicky’s ear.

Nicky takes a shuddering breath and slowly turns around in Joe’s arms, meeting his eyes tentatively.

“I’m fine,” Joe tells him reassuringly.

“I know you are. Of course you are, we’re always fine.”

“But you’re not.”

Nicky drops his forehead on Joe’s shoulder and sighs.

“I’ll be fine. I just need a little while to recover. I just...” his hands’ grasp on Joe’s hips tightens. “I got scared.”

“You, scared?” Joe says with a forced chuckle. “You’re not scared of anything, my love.”

“You wouldn’t wake up, Joe.”

Joe’s smile falls from his lips in a sigh.

“I know, I know.” He guides Nicky’s head up with a finger under his chin and presses his forehead against his. “To be fair,” he whispers. “I did have part of my head blown up.”

Nicky jerks away, his hands pushing roughly against Joe’s shoulders.

“You think I don’t know that?” Nicky’s fists clench at his sides. “I saw it happen right in front of me. I haven’t stopped seeing it since it’s happened!” he yells.

“Nicolo, habibi, I’m fine.”

“Well I’m not fine, Yusuf!”

Joe raises a tentative hand but Nicky takes a step further back and swats his hand away. Although he’s not surprised by Nicky’s rejection, Joe’s still hurt. He ought to have gotten used to it by now, but he always feels powerless when faced with Nicky’s anger and torment.

They’re so different in the way they deal with strong emotions. Joe needs comfort and reassurance whereas Nicky needs to be left alone and work through it on his own. After a couple hundred small disagreements blown out of proportions because of that difference and their inability to actual communicate their needs, they had caught on.

So in situations such as this one, Joe now recognises when it is time to give Nicky the time and space he needs. He lifts his hands up in surrender and slowly walks out of the kitchen, leaving Nicky to his tea.

A couple of hours later, Joe is in the living room, a book in his hands but not on his mind when he feels Nicky’s presence at his back. As he puts the book down, Nicky skirts the chair Joe is sitting in and sits on the table in front of him.

“I’m sorry for getting angry, hayati.” Nicky grabs Joe’s hands and kisses his knuckles in a quiet apology. “I was scared and felt vulnerable but I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

“You don’t have to apologise.”

“Yeah, I do,” he whispers. “I hurt you by pushing you away and I am sorry for that. Hurting you is never my intention.”

“And I know that, habibi, which is why you don’t need to apologise, you just need to come back to me.”

“I’m here with you.”

“Not really, you’re not. You’ve been distracted and distant for a while now, not just today.” Joe scoots closer to the edge of the chair, closer to Nicky. “I know you need time to deal with your feelings, but right now, I need you to tell me what you’re dealing with because I can’t handle not knowing any more.”

Nicky’s face tightens in pain and he brings their linked hands back to his mouth.

“Ever since Andy... It’s gotten harder, Joe,” he tells him in a pained whisper. “I’m scared I’m gonna lose you.” A whining noise escapes his throat and Joe pulls him onto his lap. “Every mission is making it harder and I don’t know how to deal with it anymore. I even get scared when you go out to get some groceries, I’m scared all the time. I couldn’t live without you, I don’t even remember what my life was like before you, it’s been nine hundred years, Joe, and it’s been perfect, all of it, and I can’t bear the thought of it ending, I can’t bear the thought of you leaving me all alone and I-” His voice breaks and he starts crying in Joe’s arms. They hold on tightly to each other, Joe's thumbs drawing gentle circles on Nicky's back.

When Nicky’s sobs somewhat quiet down, Joe kisses the top of his head.

“Do you need us to take a break?” he asks.

“We can’t take a break right now. Andy is... And she needs to keep on going. We need to be there with her, she needs us. I- I need her.”

“Well, I need a break.”

That statement surprises Nicky enough that he pulls out of his own head. He pushes slightly away from Joe, just enough to watch his face and asks “Are you okay?”

Joe’s eyes close and a weary sigh escapes his lips.

“No, I’m not.” He opens his eyes but doesn’t meet Nicky’s. “I- as I said, I know you needed to work through your emotions on your own and you didn’t mean to be this distant but I need us to take a break from the team. I need you to take a break. Because I can’t handle it. When you get this anxious, I... I need you with me. So I’m asking, please, let’s take a break. I know it’s not the best time with Andy being mortal again and I understand you wanting to be with her to protect her, I feel that way too. But I also need you back. And we can suggest we all take a break and it might be good for Nile too, she’s not used to it all yet and it’s taking a toll on her too. I know Andy might not say yes, but we can at least try and-”

“Yes.”

Joe’s eyes snap up. “What?”

“I said, okay, let’s take a break.”

“Really?”

“Of course. Habibi, you know you only ever have to ask. Whatever you need, I’ll give it to you.”

Joe pulls him in for a kiss then buries his face in his neck.

“Thank you, Nicolo.”

They spend the afternoon on the couch cuddling. At some point they put on a film that neither of them truly watches, as focused as they are on each other. They cuddle, kiss, talk, joke, and softly comfort one another. No more words are pronounced about the whole ordeal. At least not until that evening.

Nicky is already in bed, waiting for Joe to be done with his whole night-time routine as he always does. Only this time, he’s not reading, his eyes are looking at his hands without seeing them, a lonesome expression on his face.

“Joe?” he asks when Joe finally comes out of the bathroom.

“Hmm?” he answers as he’s getting undressed.

“How long have you been feeling like I was distancing myself from you?”

Joe pauses, one arm still in his shirt. He turns carefully towards Nicky before letting the shirt fall down slowly into a puddle at this feet. He doesn’t answer but doesn’t look away either. Nicky waits.

Joe’s shoulders fall a bit.

“For a while.”

“How long?”

“A little over a month.”

Nicky thinks back on the past month’s events. “After you died in Switzerland.”

“Yeah.”

“Why didn’t you tell me before?”

Joe doesn’t answer right away but when he does, his words come out so softly, Nicky almost doesn’t catch it.

“Do you remember Paris 1851?”

Nicky winces. “I do.”

“You left me.”

“I never left you,” Nicky immediately replies.

One side of Joe's mouth curls up in a sad smile. “I know it wasn’t your intention but we’d just argued and you said you needed some space and when you didn’t come back that night, or the night after that, I thought...” Joe takes a deep breath and looks back into Nicky’s eyes. “I thought you’d left me. Even though we’ve talked about it since, I never told you how much it hurt me because I knew telling you would only bring you pain. But I do realise now it might have been a mistake. I should have brought it up before.”

“It still hurts you.” It isn’t phrased as a question but it is there in his eyes.

“It’s not that I still carry pain from those days exactly. It’s more that every time I feel you getting distant, I feel myself going back there emotionally, feeling like you were gone and I’d have to face the rest of eternity alone until I finally died for good.”

A moan escapes Nicky’s lips at those words and Joe crosses the space between them. He sits on the bed leaning against the headboard, close enough that their sides are pressed together. Nicky turns his head and nuzzle his face against Joe’s shoulder.

He draws comfort from Joe’s touch for a while before speaking again.

“That doesn’t answer my question though,” he whispers. “Why didn’t you tell me before? Especially since you were hurting so much.”

“Because, amore mio, you were already in so much pain, I couldn’t add on the weight of mine on top of it.”

“Yes you could. You should have talked to me about it, even if it caused me pain.”

“Hayati, you know I can never bring myself to cause you any pain, even if it means anyone else - myself included - would hurt less.”

“Unlike me. I’ve been hurting you for over a month because I couldn’t talk to you about my fears. I was so caught up in my own pain, I didn’t even see yours, didn’t even see that I was causing you pain. It’s not even that I couldn’t talk about it, I just assumed you already knew. We’ve been together for so long, sometimes i take things for granted. You always seem to know my every feeling and desire and I sometimes forget you can’t read my thoughts. Forget that some things actually deserve to be said out loud.”

“You’re right, we should probably - both of us, Nicolo, I don’t want you to carry the guilt alone of this misunderstanding - communicate more about our feelings.” Joe chuckles at his own words. “I’m glad Andy and Nile aren’t here to listen to this conversation, they’d say that talking about our feelings is all we do already.”

“Well they’re not here and we do need to talk about it. I don’t ever want you to feel again like you’ve been feeling because of me so we’re gonna talk about it until we’re sure this won’t happen again.”

“Alright then,” Joe whispers. “But if I may, I’d like to start this long conversation by saying, Ti amo, Nicolo Di Genova.”

Nicky’s face softens.

“Ti amo, Yusuf Al-Kaysana.”

[reyescarlos]

both of us are losing || a tarlos fic

word count: 4k || read on ao3

I know sometimes It's gonna rain But baby, can we make up now 'Cause I can't sleep through the pain

Carlos has always prided himself on his ability to keep his cool. He likes to think it’s what makes him a good officer and a great friend to those close to him. He’s patient and analytical. He examines a situation from all conceivable angles before drawing conclusions.

But even he has limits. Even he is capable of thinking with his heart over his head and, as expected, it hasn’t led him anywhere good.

Getting into an all-out screaming match isn’t how he could have seen his night ending but as he stands on the opposite side of the kitchen from TK, he doesn’t see how else this could go.

The evening had been going well until this point, the two sharing a quiet night in at Carlos’ place for dinner. As always, being able to share in TK’s company after a long day at work was the perfect antidote to a stressful shift. There’s never a greater comfort for him than to spend time with TK. It hardly ever matters what they’re doing. It’s always just enough to be around him.

These last three months they’ve been together have been a real highlight for him. Given the complicated path they took to this point, all Carlos wants to do is wrap himself up in moments like this where it’s just the two of them simply existing in the same space together.

With their meal done, they two work alongside each other in the kitchen doing dishes with TK on washing and Carlos on drying duties. TK’s phone chimes on the counter with an incoming call, the jingle echoing over the rush of the water from the tap.

“Grab that for me, would you?” TK asks, his hands covered in suds. “It’s probably my dad.”

Carlos drapes the dish towel he’s been using to dry plates with over his shoulder as he turns to pick up TK’s phone. His heart sinks to the pit of his stomach at the name he sees flashing across the screen. He stays frozen in place, unsure of what to think.

“It’s not the captain,” he says, his voice grave.

TK shuts off the faucet and looks over at him. Carlos holds the phone up for him to see the screen as well. TK sighs and rolls his eyes.

“I told him to stop calling,” he hisses, shaking his hand to get some water off before taking the phone from Carlos and rejecting the call.

Carlos blinks, his brain slowly processing what TK has just said.

“Wait, you’ve been speaking to him?”

TK sighs, ripping off a sheet of paper towel and drying his hands.

“It’s not like that. He wanted to apologize and see how I was. He left this long voicemail...it was so ridiculous. But then he called again and I figured he would keep doing it until we actually spoke.”

“When the hell did this happen and why am I only now hearing about it?”

Carlos’ voice sounds so different to him now and it’s evident that TK feels the same way because his boyfriend looks up at him like he’s someone else entirely.

“Carlos,” he says slowly. “Just listen to me, okay? I don’t want you getting worked up over this. I handled it and there’s nothing to worry about.”

“Handled what exactly? TK, what is going on here?”

“Nothing! That’s just it. There’s literally nothing going on here. God,” he groans.

“How can you expect me to believe that? Your ex is calling you. Repeatedly, apparently. Obviously something is happening. Don’t give me that.”

TK shakes his head and sighs.

“How long have you been talking to him, TK?” Carlos asks.

TK hesitates for a moment, pursing his lips before answering. “He reached out to me last week.”

Carlos stands up straighter, jaw clenched. “So seven whole days have gone by and you couldn’t find so much as a minute within any of them to tell me that your ex-fiancé reached out to you?”

“Ex-boyfriend!” TK corrects, as if that makes much of a difference in Carlos’ eyes right now.

He scoffs and shakes his head, wringing the dish towel in his hands. For a moment it’s too easy to pretend it’s Alex’s neck.

“Oh, well, pardon me then. That makes all of this so much better.”

“There’s no need to be sarcastic here.”

“You’re kidding me, right? You must be joking. I don’t care what the label is. What this boils down to is the fact that you kept this from, TK. What else are you hiding from me?”

“That’s not fair. I didn’t do this on purpose, Carlos, and I’m not hiding anything. I just didn’t think anything of it.”

“And maybe that’s the real problem here. You actively chose not to tell me and you probably never would have if he didn’t call just now.”

“Do you honestly think Alex and I are getting back together or something? We haven’t been talking every day, catching up like we’re suddenly friends. I didn’t answer when he first tried.”

“But you obviously picked up at some point and didn’t think it was worth it to tell me.”

“Because it doesn’t matter. He just wanted to check in and say he was sorry for what happened back in New York. I told him that I was fine, that I moved on and that I’m happy so we can just drop the conversation. He’s nothing to me.”

“It does matter, TK. It matters so much and the fact that you can’t see that…,” he trails off, shaking his head.

TK pinches the bridge of his nose. “This is all coming out wrong.”

“Then explain it clearly because I’m not understanding how you could think I didn’t have a right to know. It’s about respect and transparency.”

“Carlos, there was never a threat here. Our relationship was never in danger. I love you so much. If nothing else, I need you to know that.”

Carlos’ vision swims for a moment, his eyes filling with tears born more so out of frustration than anything else. He’s always been an angry cryer.

“That’s not how you show someone you care about them. You don’t lie.”

TK runs a hand over his face. “I didn’t lie to you!”

“Omission isn't the truth either, TK. It amounts to the same. Screw technicalities.”

TK jerks back, blinking twice. Carlos struggles to stop his heart from racing, his chest from heaving. The silence that falls between them now is unbearable. Carlos’ ears ring with their exchange.

This divide between them seems so much larger than the counter that separates them. Carlos has been here before and the ghosts of his past relationships start to creep into the room, suffocating him.

Carlos bites back on his lower lip, swiping at his eye. He feels like a dam that’s ready to crack at any moment. There’s too much pressure building in his chest and if he’s not careful, he’ll explode in a way that may cause far too much damage.

What he needs is fresh air and time away. This isn’t where he needs to be, at least not in this moment.

“I just...I can’t. I can’t be around you right now.”

Carlos tosses the dish towel down on the counter and walks past TK out of the kitchen.

“Are you serious? Carlos, where are you going?”

“I’m going for a walk, okay? I need some air.”

“It’s getting late and you’re upset. You shouldn’t be outside.”

“Well I can’t stay here so I don’t have many options, now do I?” Carlos snaps, turning around to face TK.

His boyfriend stops dead in his tracks. His bottom lip crumbles a bit but Carlos looks away, stewing in the anger that has taken root in him. This feels wrong but this frustration has its claws in too deeply for him to apply reason to the situation.

Other people get to rant and rave. Carlos keeps far too much inside. Now that the lid has been lifted, the steam has to go somewhere.

Carlos turns back, snagging his keys off the coffee table as he hears TK draw nearer once more.

“Carlos. Carlos!” TK calls after him.

It’s the last thing he hears before slamming the front door shut behind him.

~*~*~

Alone with his thoughts proves itself to be an even worse place for him to be. Carlos has no idea how long he’s been walking around his neighborhood but it isn’t long enough for him to grow comfortable with the ugly thoughts swirling around in his head.

He pictures TK being pushed too far with this argument, seeking solace in something familiar, in Alex. Logically, he knows that would never happen. Alex broke something between the two of them that could never be repaired and yet that cruel, insidious voice in the back of his head whispers to him, conjuring up imaginary scenarios that feel far too vivid and real.

Had Carlos not traveled this same road before with partners in the past? He’s been burned so many times throughout the years that a part of him had been secretly holding its breath just waiting for the other shoe to drop with TK.

Carlos has long since learned how to live with that worry lingering in the recesses of his thoughts. Even when things were going well, life had a habit of proving to him why he should always remain cautious and vigilant.

Certainly he and TK had gotten off to a rocky, awkward start with each other. But once they managed to find their footing, things had been going extremely well. Perfectly, Carlos would venture to say.

But inevitably, the end would come in the form of a boyfriend finding some way to let him down. It was almost always when he’d invested so much of himself. Carlos was worried he’d wind up giving away so many pieces of himself that there would be nothing left.

He thinks of the look on TK’s face as he snapped at him just before leaving. It’s enough to make Carlos sick to his stomach. He knows his insecurity has just ripped the bit of fabric that’s been binding them together this whole time. All Carlos can do now is pray that isn’t something that can’t be salvaged.

Even though he felt justified in being upset over TK keeping the truth from him, Carlos knows his approach was all wrong. Being quick to give into anger wasn’t his usual speed but he slipped into it as easily as a hot bath.

Picking the night apart, Carlos realizes how much he felt ambushed by the sudden appearance of Alex in his life. The man was thousands of miles away and yet he had placed himself so prominently into the future Carlos was trying to work towards with TK. The past had a nasty habit of circling back, the old becoming new again.

What really troubled Carlos was the familiarity of tonight’s scenario. He’s been cheated on, dumped, ghosted. Just about every relationship ended in disaster but he’d been wrapping himself in the belief that this time around, things were finally different.

You’re a great guy but…

I think we’re better off as friends…

I’m sorry to do this to you…

He’s heard it all before and then some. Knowing that TK had been harboring a secret like this set something off within. He knows TK’s actions weren’t malicious. Now that he’s had time to replay it all and truly recount his boyfriend’s words, he knows TK was just trying in his own way to shield him.

Carlos’ head is a riot of thoughts but the most pressing one is that he needs to set things right with TK.

He rounds the corner to his block, slipping his phone out of his pocket as he ambles down the sidewalk. He wonders if TK will even be keen on answering him tonight. If his boyfriend still wants space, he’ll of course respect that but Carlos hates loose ends and this one is a gaping hole.

He pulls up TK’s name in his favorites and touches his thumb to the screen, pressing the phone against his ear as he walks up the short pathway to his door and unlocks it.

The phone rings as he steps inside and Carlos startles hearing the chime of a phone inside his home. He follows the sound to the living room where TK is sitting on the couch, eyes fixed to the door. His legs are pulled up to his chest, his arms folded on top of his knees. He looks so small, like a child that has just been reprimanded, the cuffs of his sweater pulled down over his hands.

TK’s eyes are rimmed pink, his face flushed. The man looks as if he’s aged a few years in the span of time Carlos had stepped away. It makes something in Carlos’ chest crack open.

He falters at the sight of him, ending the call. In the silence of the room now, he can only hear the ticking of the clock as it counts the seconds it takes for Carlos to find something to say.

“You’re still here.”

TK looks wounded at the statement. “Would you rather I not be?” TK asks quietly, chin propped up on his arms.

Carlos toys with his keys before dropping them into the dish on the coffee table.

“Of course not,” Carlos replies, walking around the table to sit on the couch as well.

He leaves a bit of space between them, still unsure of what footing they stand on with each other. It’s reassuring to see TK now, to know that he at least still wants to be around him and talk this whole thing out.

“I’m sorry about walking out like that. I just needed to clear my head.”

“I’m the one who should be apologizing. I’m the one that got us to that point.”

TK lets out a shaky breath and continues. “I’ve never seen you that upset before.”

Carlos shrugs. “I don’t usually get angry, especially not like that. I wasn’t myself and that wasn’t right.”

“You’re allowed to get mad, Carlos. If something bothers you, it’s only natural.”

Carlos shakes his head. “I don’t like giving into that.” He falls silent for a moment. “I’m glad you stayed.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I hate how this feels; this isn’t us. I don’t want you and I to end tonight on a bad note and have it spill over into tomorrow.”

TK stares at him for a moment and shakes his head as if to clear it.

“What?” Carlos prompts.

TK licks his lips and unfurls himself. “I’ve never been with anyone who thought like that. All my exes, our bad moods stayed with us for however long it took to fizzle out on its own.”

Carlos doesn’t like the sound of that at all.

“That’s not how I operate. Tomorrow is its own day. It shouldn’t inherit the troubles from today. I don’t like going to bed angry.”

It was an old adage his family swore by and Carlos had adopted the philosophy for himself as well. Harboring negative feelings was a disservice to everyone.

TK looks at him for a moment before lowering his gaze to his hands.

“I’m sorry I got defensive. I was totally in the wrong with this. I’ve been thinking it all over and seeing it from your perspective. I fucked up. Honestly, this whole time I knew I was messing up. You must hate me.”

“I could never hate you, T. You know that. I just needed some time to clear my head but I wasn’t walking out on us, I promise. I just needed to be alone and work some stuff out.”

TK sighs, letting out a relieved breath. Carlos feels guilty for making him worry.

“Did you find that peace of mind you were looking for?”

Carlos chuckles tersely. “Sort of. I realized the real reason why I blew up didn’t really have anything to do with you specifically. It was old insecurities rearing their heads and I caved. I thought I was past everything and all it took was one instance to show me that I’ve still got some things I need to work on.”

“Past what exactly? What kind of insecurities?”

Carlos sighs. He isn’t sure how to touch on his concerns now. It sounds so trivial and childish in his own head. He fears what TK will think if he brings himself to disclose what he’s been grappling with all evening.

“I know how much he means to you. Hell, you wanted to marry this guy, build a future with him. I’m not holding that against you, of course. It’s just...what you guys had clearly counted for a lot. If you had decided to continue talking to him or to even see him again, I couldn’t compete with that.”

TK’s brows furrow, reaching for his hand.

“Carlos, please listen to me. You win out each and every time in every possible way. Alex meant something to me. Past tense. As in used to but not anymore. I chose wrong with him but I know that I’ve got it right with you. That isn’t something I’ve ever doubted since meeting you.”

Carlos looks away, chewing on his lip. It isn’t like him to show his anxiousness like this and yet here he is, a ball of nerves.

“Talk to me, Los. What are you thinking?”

TK’s been so candid with him about his life back in New York, all the highs and lows of his battles with substances and depression. In Carlos’ eyes, those are real issues, true upsets that rank so much higher on a list than pesky confidence issues. But if he can’t be open with the man he’s in love with, Carlos realizes that there isn’t anyone else he can talk this out with. And besides, he reasons, his thoughts and feelings will always matter with TK.

“I’m not usually the first choice someone makes. Or...if I am, they always seem to inevitably look elsewhere. I never seem to be enough in the long run. Seeing that he called you, it scared me. I know that you love me and that we’re happy and good together. I know that we have something real and solid here. Rationally I know that you all ended on horrible terms. But even with all that in mind, I’m always so scared of losing you one day. I’ve had boyfriends run back to their exes before. I panicked thinking it could be the case here.”

“That’s never going to happen with me, Carlos. Never,” TK says quickly.

“You don’t know that.”

“Yeah, actually I do. I know it for a fact. I am so incredibly in love with you. I never thought I could ever be this happy with someone and yet, here you are. All mine. I’ll say it to you every day and you can bet I’ll make it my mission to show you too. I don’t ever want you to doubt your importance in my life. I don’t know what I’d be now if we never got together. Alex is barely a thought and on those extremely rare moments when he comes across my mind, all I can think is how goddamn lucky I was that I dodged a bullet there.”

TK laces their fingers, giving his hand a squeeze.

“I had no idea you’ve been through all of that in the past. Shit, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s dumb. That’s no reason to flip out like I did.”

“Of course it is; it makes total sense. I didn’t mean to add to that, to be another person on that list. But I swear to you, I will never make a mistake like this again. I wasn’t trying to hide anything or be sneaky going behind your back. I didn’t tell you because I honestly didn’t want you to feel like you had any reason to worry because you truly don’t. I feel nothing towards Alex or any other guy for that matter. But I see how not telling you was way worse. I should have been upfront from the second he called me.”

TK sighs and rakes a hand through his hair. “I’ve still got a lot of learning to do.”

“So do I,” Carlos says, searching TK’s eyes. “God, I was being so stupid and ridiculous.”

TK frowns and inches closer. “Shh, no, you weren’t. Your reaction was completely justified, a hundred percent. I didn’t mean to make you scared and I’m so sorry you were ever with anyone that made you feel less than. You’re the greatest part of my life, Carlos Reyes. The absolute best part. There hasn’t been a single day that I haven’t felt like the luckiest guy in the world for being loved by you. You’re so much more than I ever thought I’d have.”

Carlos smiles at the reassurance. All the same, he can’t help but to feel foolish.

“Still, I’m so embarrassed,” he chuckles, rubbing at the back of his neck.

“Why? You don’t ever have to be embarrassed around me.”

“I made something out of nothing and just showed you what a massive insecure mess I can be. Not exactly the finest quality.”

“If you say one more negative thing about my boyfriend I’ll...well, I don’t have an actual threat here. I’ll just be very upset.” TK kisses at his temple. “I love every part of you, even the messy bits. God knows I’m made mostly of parts like that and you still love me anyway. I don’t want you keeping up appearances or downplaying your emotions for me. Whatever you’re feeling or thinking, I want to know because it’s valid, Los.”

TK brings Carlos’ hand to his mouth, lips skimming along the back.

“You’re not a machine. It’s okay to feel things. And, to be fair, I went about this whole Alex thing totally wrong. I should’ve said something; I shouldn’t have kept that from you. This one’s on me. If an ex you were serious about did that, I’d want to know.”

“So you forgive me?” Carlos asks.

TK frowns, tracing the outline of Carlos’ jaw. “Babe, there’s nothing to forgive here. I’m not mad at you. I was upset with myself.”

“I snapped, walked out, and I made you cry. Those are criminal offenses in my book.”

TK laughs and shakes his head. “It’s nothing we can’t bounce back from, right?”

“Right. We’re okay. Better than that, even. We’re prepared if anymore exes decide to come out of the woodwork.”

TK laughs and nods in agreement. “Definitely. So, have we passed the ready-for-bed test now?”

Carlos hums in thought, standing up from the couch and tugging TK towards him.

“Not yet. There’s just one final step until we get the all clear,” he says.

TK smirks knowingly and tips his head up for Carlos to capture his lips. Carlos frames his boyfriend’s face in his hands, mouth moving over TK’s steadily. He kisses him deeply, casting out all the residual doubt and fear that’s knocking about, clearing it all like cobwebs from the darkest corners of his head.

He pulls back enough to stare into TK’s eyes, those gorgeous green irises teeming with so much love and affection. How Carlos allowed himself to give in to misgivings seems inconceivable now. No one has ever looked at him the way TK does.

“Okay, now we’re ready.”

Ready to put this whole argument behind them, ready to sleep, ready to tackle whatever obstacles may try to stand in their way.

As they walk hand in hand towards his bedroom now, Carlos feels as if he’s leaving so much behind. For all that he’s given away to people throughout the years, he’s struck by just how much the man holding on to him has given him back in return. And that, Carlos realizes, isn’t something anyone stands a chance of taking away.

[tosikoarts]

SFW Alphabet | Tsukishima Hajime

Here he comes, my favorite boy. You can check tosikowrites tag for more. Warning: there’s a lot under the cut.

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Showing affection is something Tsukishima forgot how to do. It is almost foreign to him after what happened with Igogusa, after years of war and service under the leadership of Tsurumi. He knows exactly how easily happiness can be acquired and how easily it can be taken away, by unknown forces and by someone close to him.

An obvious sign of interest would be gratuitous help that Tsukishima offers to the person. When everything falls out of hand, he is right there to catch. Tsukishima does little errands in between taking care of Koito’s whims and bigger ones he saves for later to look at them closer. He genuinely enjoys helping them and seeing how grateful smile lights up their face.

Another one would be small gestures like walking them home after dark or bringing unpretentious little thingies that made Tsukishima think of them. If he goes to the market and notices their favorite candy, he will surely buy it. At times, it gets more serious. For example, if they wanted nice new shoes, Tsukishima will save money up from his sergeant's salary to afford the best pair in the shop.

Letters. So many letters. A soldier's life presents a gift in the form of partings, and in order to somehow compensate frequent  goodbyes and innumerable kilometers between them, Tsukishima puts his heart and soul into letters. They may not be that frequent, and he keeps crossing out words that seem too sweet, but it is the very intimate way to maintain the precious bond.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

Local mom-friend that takes care of you when you are suffering the worst hangover and saves your ass from last night’s consequences. Tsukishima puts all the effort to shield his best friend from problems, and if they are inevitable, he has a clear plan of actions how to fix unfixable and repair unrepairable.

Responsibility is another of his distinctive features. When it comes to school or work, he is second to none: Tsukishima is up to help with difficult tasks or take on the role of mentor. He is amazingly good teacher, albeit strict at times, that has the ability to explain the most confusing concepts better than that Indian guy on YouTube.

Is it worth mentioning that he is a devoted friend? It doesn’t matter what happened between him and his friend in the past, Tsukishima always comes back to them. No distance, no time, no other people are able to make him turn around and leave a friend to the mercy of fate.

Probably the friend you think you know well but suddenly it turns out he has more dark secrets than the most deranged madlad from your fried group. Also, you can’t judge him. Only accept. You know if Tsukishima had to do somthing, he had his reasons you are not allowed to question.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Yeah, of course, but he hasn’t cuddled anyone in years (young whining Koito that craves reassurance and family warmth doesn’t count) so it may be awkward. It is very likely that he will simply move over, apologize, and wait for the next time when he is more comfortable with all of love dumped on him. Tsukishima doesn’t care about positions and will adapt to the partner’s desires whether they want to spoon him or be kept on his lap. Cuddles are combined with back rubs, massages, head pats, even hair brushing and braiding if they are not afraid of tangles.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Both wants to and is afraid of settling down by himself, left alone with his loved one. Over the years spent in the army, he lost the sense of life’s fullness, and now Tsukishima drifts freely without a specific direction. Military is where he belongs to, it gives him purpose and reason to exist, and as time passed, he forgot how to live outside the barracks. Gentle persuasion would be the best option to assure Tsukishima in his ability of living normal life. Maybe, owning a small house overlooking rocky shore and sparkling ocean isn’t a bad idea, he just isn’t ready to accept it. Both great in cooking and cleaning, prefers to do the latter.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

He is visibly uncomfortable when confronted about working late and postponing previously such long-awaited dates. Tsukishima is lost for words since he can find none that could describe how sorry he is. Inner guilt forced him to defer this moment until the last minute: breaking-up right before another trip (the further the better) will make it impossible to crawl back to them when loneliness overtakes him again. Overthinks a lot. Nevertheless, Tsukishima finally speaks out in an even calm voice, as if he is reporting to his superiors, apologizes, and bows low. So low that chances of meeting their surprised gaze drop to zero. He quickly retreats without giving them the opportunity to say anything in return. Drinks more than usual during the trip, makes Koito nervous with unfriendly passive-aggressive aura he carries for weeks.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

This is the part where Rick Astley’s Never Gonna Give You Up starts playing because this is the man who fits all of the chorus lines perfectly. Tsukishima grows attached to the loved one fast and after this he is physically unable to think romantically of anyone else. Igogusa’s memory is another proof of his deep, borderline painful commitment. One year or year and a half is enough time for Tsukishima to start looking at municipal government office with certain interest. He takes marriage very seriously though, he dates for it, not for entertainment.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

He is what a soldier is trained to be (so not so gentle in physical plane) but you don’t have to dig deep to see Tsukishima’s hidden soft core. In everyday life, he's an absolute sweetheart. All he really wants in a relationship is to love and be loved, that’s all. Tsukishima doesn't even have a lurking desire, intrusive thoughts of messing with the feelings unlike some individuals. Soft, soft, soft, and he doesn’t deny it.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

It feels like a child’s hug: tight and unhesitant, with his hands wrapped around person’s waist and face buried in their neck. Light blush covers Tsukishima’s cheeks and he can’t stop smiling. If his partner is smaller than he is, Tsukishima will pick them up, and if they are taller he will try to hug them as if to almost hide in their arms. Picking him up will result in embarrassed exclamations but Tsukishima actually enjoys their attention.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

One year is the limit. Less time than 6 months feels a little bit rushed to him and more than one year seems like an unnecessary delay. Tsukishima is expectedly sincere in his confession; he doesn’t hold back and wriggle because of how confident he is in his feelings. It is not a long rehearsed monologue but a stream of consciousness, full of confessions how he likes their shining eyes, how their clumsiness makes his day a little brighter, how their whole character amazes him from day to day. The only thing that can possibly overwhelm Tsukishima is the overthinking of their possible negative reaction. One of his biggest fears is to appear too persistent with the confession and scare them away so he puts a lot of thought in choosing the right time and the right place.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

Obviously expects his partner to reject any cheeky suitor since he understands that their natural beauty is hard to resist. If they choose to accept stranger’s attentions, Tsukishima feels insulted and betrayed. Trust is a key factor in the relationship so such irresponsible attitude towards the loyalty huts him deeply and rises suspicion of oncoming break-up. Also, being in limbo and asking himself whether they want to be with him or not takes a toll on Tsukishima’s psyche. He becomes more withdrawn and taciturn and spends more time busy at work with trying to distract himself from intrusive thoughts.

If his partner decides to go around and flirt, Tsukishima will be overtaken with anger. He is furious. The glass in his hand sonorously cracks under the pressure while he watches them ungodly teasing unsuspecting men. He doesn’t start a fight or scream at his loved one and keeps everything inside. It is enough for him to witness such behavior two times to leave them without long explanations and quarrels.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

A bit inept and greedy. Tsukishima tends to defer the kiss until his partner is ready to nicely ask him for one but after that he is completely in for a ride. The last time he kissed anyone is unknown-how-many-years-ago so it is natural for Tsukishima to be a little bit sloppy and eager. Lip kisses are golden classic and fits his character perfectly. It takes a good push to shift things in more intimate direction though. The most efficient way to do it is to play on Tsukishima's weaknesses: the back of his neck as well as earlobes and straight line down the spine. A few gentle touches and hardened composed soldier melts down like an ice on the sun.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

If you want to calm down a crying baby just give it to Tsukishima. It seems like kids feel sympathy when looking at his tired face and try to cause little trouble so as not to disappoint him even more. Smart children clearly amuse him, and Tsukishima strongly encourages their desire for knowledge, their curiosity and ambitions. Every now and then sudden thoughts about starting his own family pop up in his head but Tsukishima is kind of indecisive. Right now he is not ready to take on such responsibility, but in the future, dream of starting a big family could become a reality.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

It is impossible to catch Tsukishima in the morning during work week and it still isn’t that easy on the weekend. Insomnia keeps him up at nights so his day can start a long before his partner opens their eyes. On such nights, he goes for a lonely walk around the block and, on his return, prepares a light breakfast for two. There are also rare moments when Tsukishima falls asleep right before first sunbeam reaches earth. Those are the days when he sleeps in and refuses to get up from the bed, trapping his loved one in tight cuddle. Nuzzling into their neck, Tsukishima mutters that he needs five more minutes and he will definitely let go but five minutes turn into half of hour, then hour, and he never fulfills the promise.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

A great lover of a quiet pastime he is, Tsukishima likes to spend evenings playing intellectual games like shogi and reading whatever comes to hand. One of his favorite activities is resting his head on the partner’s knees and listening to them reading aloud haikus or other classic Japanese works. On warm summer nights, Tsukishima likes to go to the river or lake for skinny dipping since most onsens are separated by gender. Even if there is one that is not, he would still prefer more secluded place where there is no reason to worry about onlookers. If his partner wants to something more active and social, they will have to choose something not too overwhelming. Small friend gatherings are okay but huge parties drain the rest of the life from him.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

Here is the thing: to pull personal information out of Tsukishima you have to know what to ask. You can’t say “Tell me how you got into army” and expect a little frank story, no. It would take a whole “It seems you and Lieutenant Tsurumi share some story” or something even more shifty to make him open up about this topic. It doesn’t mean that he is trying to hide something on purpose, but it definitely means he never had anyone to trust. Any claims that he is too secretive offend Tsukishima too.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

Utter unshakable calmness in the middle of 7th Division craziness, either way because he has seen too much shit already or because he has no active neurons to react to it (insomnia, your know?). As a person who puts up with brain-juice leaking leader, spoiled naive brat in the dawn of youthful maximalism, mentally unstable fan boy, and mutilated lack-all on the verge of breakdown, he won’t even pay attention to small inconveniences. In quarrels, Tsukishima always appeals to rationality and perfectly avoids any escalation of the conflict. You have to ruin his life for him to snap, and when he does, someone’s neck will snap too.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

Pays attention to them whenever around but forgets most of the stuff easily. Tsukishima only remembers one or two specific details that he can use practically in the future, like what their allergies are or what they want for the birthday. For the rest he has a small personal page in the notebook where he writes down little things that definitely will not stay in his memory for a long time. His writing comes in the code of abbreviations and numbers to make sure nobody pries into his personal life.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

Used to be the one responsible in the group, he would probably remember moments where he was the one that had to be cared for. For once Tsukishima came down with a high fever and unbearable weakness, and it was a moment when his loved one jumped into merciless care-mode. He was put into bed with three pillows, teacup waiting for him on the nightstand, and even the most determined statements that he needed to finish some things have been met with indisputable refusal. They spun around him bringing medicine, food, and water whole day so Tsukishima couldn’t stop blaming himself for the helplessness. At the same time, his feelings of gratitude and love intensified with every thoughtful gesture so by the end of unfortunate leave Tsukishima almost regretted returning to his usual hectic life.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Previous experiences with both romantic relationship and role of sergeant-nanny taught Tsukishima one thing: danger is always there, even if it is not visible to the naked eye. A passerby can hide a loaded gun under his clothes, so there is not point to talk about hired killers, invisible diseases, natural disasters etc. Based on the above it is natural for Tsukishima be on the alert. He wants to know where his partner is going and with whom, warns them about his gut feeling if he has one, and, of course, intervenes at the sight of real danger without any second thought. Like this man would give up his life for a person who deserves it. Not at any point in time, Tsukishima expects his partner to protect him but if it happens, he will be extremely mad at them and himself too.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Tsukishima has a low social battery for the most of the time so he has to manage energy according to importance of the affairs. There is always a little bit more saved for his loved one, but you can’t really tell that he puts all of the effort into relationship. If work affairs did not suck the remnants of happiness from him, Tsukishima may stop and get a nice box of sweets or fruits. For special dates like their Birthday or anniversary, he saves money for a worthwhile present: for a female lover he would probably go for a beautiful silk tenga obi with celebratory motives or handmade jewelry box, and for male lover he would choose chopsticks with personalized engraving or exquisite lacquerware. Performs household chores well, although sometimes he has to be reminded about their existence.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

Although Tsukishima is a stronghold of common sense, - he always keeps everything to himself, puts on a poker face, - once person gets on his nerves, they will see the worst side of him. Thanks to the famous reliability, Tsukishima learns where person’s weak spots are fast and he can easily hit them where it hurts with bold spiteful words.

Puts work over relationships. Setting to serve the homeland faithfully and unquestioningly rooted deep in his mind and now it is impossible to re-educate this shabby sergeant. Even in serious relationship, Tsukishima remembers about his duty as a soldier and as a son of Japan so he takes a lot of additional paperwork home.

As someone who used to be ordered around, Tsukishima still needs a guidance in the relationship. It takes a lot of thinking and weighing the pros and cons for him to make a decision but the partner’s opinion will be crucial nevertheless. In critical situations, he is perfectly oriented, but in a steady life? Not so much.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Cares enough to wash, dry, and iron his own uniform and brush up muddy toecaps of own boots. Tsukishima tries to blend in with surrounding, not to pop up, so he keeps his style in muted neutral colors (that applies to both clothes and shoes) and prefers strict uniform to anything else. In his view, moderation is the sister of style so the only thing that can make him pull off fancy apparel would be direct order from the First Lieutenant Tsurumi. Indifferent to how people perceive his physical appearance as well.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

If his partner decides it is a time to part the ways, he acts maturely, thanks them for the great moments that they shared and everything they achieved together. Even though Tsukishima is hurting, he keeps bitter reproaches to himself, knowing that lashing out won’t do anything good. It is not his style anyway. Few weeks need to pass by before the hurricane of emotions settles down and their image ceases to be associated with a romantic relationship. Instead, Tsukishima faces them again with a proposal to start everything from scratch. Leave everything behind and become friends. Just friends. No hard feelings. Honestly, being close to them is everything he asks for. If they decline, Tsukishima won’t bother them again, but if they agree, he won’t ever leave their side.

Their death is a punch to the gut. It is like Igogusa’s disappearing all over again, but more painful, more deliberate, more distinct. To say that he is heartbroken is to say nothing at all: division soldiers notice how gloomy their sergeant has become, they feel uneasy under his sharp look. It feels like one wrong word and he will snap. Now Tsukishima’s nihilism turns into total indifference to existence: he puts himself in danger just to see how long he can last.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

Another one who has a great singing voice. He never ever sings in barracks or anywhere near his comrades but Tsukishima’s voice is charming: he has a sweet soothing bass-baritone that sounds the best in lullabies or ballads. Even though his partner may never hear a proper serenade, they may catch him quietly singing to their child instead of reading old fairytales.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

Tsukishima can tolerate A LOT and turns blind eye to person’s bad habits for the sake of avoiding unnecessary stress. Therefore, there isn’t much that irritates him and even less that can drive him on the walls.

Grubbiness is one of the habits that Tsukishima cannot ignore. Clothes scattered around the room, unwashed dishes, and heaps of unnecessary junk get on his nerves but he keeps composure and never complains.

Loud noises, including chewing, smacking, munching, are annoying too but Koito’s constant monkey screeching desensitized him to the degree when Tsukishima takes a deep breath, prays to gods not to go apeshit, and goes on with his day.

Oh, he also hates summer. Hot temperatures force Tsukishima to soak in the bath three times more often than in winter or any other season.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habit of theirs?)

Those bags under his eyes are Gucci Yoshida. Well, okay, Yoshida was established a little bit later but this is not so important. Tsukishima suffers from insomnia for who knows how long, and no doctor can help him. On sleepless nights, he just sits by the window and reads in the faint candlelight, still cherishing the hope of falling asleep in the morning. After moving in with his loved one, nothing really changed beside Tsukishima changing his habitual reading spot from armchair by the window to a more secluded place in another room. He doesn’t want to wake them up by accident.

In general, Tsukishima sleeps around 3-5 hours per day with occasional awakenings during the night. His sleep is shallow and filled with disturbing dreams in which shapeless shadows haunt him, driving him south of Mukden, where many of the Japanese brethren found eternal peace.

[funky-boat-zone]

“stars”, but for all the wrong reasons

(based on the salty’s lighthouse ‘verse, with the pov character being adapted from the diesel tug character that never made it into tugs. cw for discussions of kidnapping, missing people (boats?), and implied character death.)

“Do you need any help?” Ten Cents calls from across the harbor. You shake your wheelhouse, since you’re more than capable of pulling your barges by yourself.

It’s strange, being the very first diesel tug in Snugboat Harbor. It’s even stranger that most of the tugs were so quick to accept you as not only their coworker, but their friend; with the way they were acting, it’s as if they’ve known you for years rather than just having met you a few days ago.

-

“Oh— heads up, the sun’s going down and the fog will roll in soon! Do you want to sleep here for the night?” He offers once you’ve finished your jobs for the day. That.. doesn’t sound so bad, truthfully. It’s better than getting lost while trying to navigate a harbor you know nothing about or bothering one of the tugs to try guiding you home, that’s for sure.

“You barely know him, he’s only worked here for a day, and you’re letting him stay here overnight?!” Zorran protests.

Sunshine rolls her eyes. “Well, why not? It’s better than letting him navigate the fog by himself, at least!”

Zorran casts a furious glance your way, but the sight of his unfortunately-named fleet returning to port for the evening stops him from saying anything else.

Zug looks at the three of you nervously, sensing that he’s floated in at a bad time. “Zorran, c’mon! Captain Zero’s waiting.”

ZB adds, “Yeah, leave ‘em alone!”

Zorran looks around, quickly realizing that no one in the vicinity is on his side. “Fine. But he’s not staying at our dock.”

-

You enter the Star Fleet’s dock, quickly recognizing your next-dock neighbors from earlier. Thankfully, there’s no sign of Zorran.

The one with the raspy voice is the first to speak up. “Don’t listen to Zorran, he’s spouting a load of bilge—“

“Zak! Remember what Captain said about language!” ZB admonishes him.

“Hey, I’m just saying that what he’s saying is a load of bilgewater, I’m not actually calling anyone that! Anyway, he thinks that just because of what happened to Otis—“ A set of pointed looks from the already-docked members of the Star Fleet immediately gives Zak the hint to shut up. He looks away, guilty. “It’s, uh— never mind.”

-

Despite their efforts to just make friendly conversation with you, it seems that the mere mention of “Otis” really put a damper on the Star Fleet’s mood. They’re talking about absolutely everything except Otis, and at one point you catch Ten Cents frantically glancing between you and the rest of his fleet to make sure you’re invested in what they’re saying.

“Look at that, the moon’s already up.” Hercules remarks. “Well, better get some shut-eye now. We’ve got work tomorrow—“ he gives you a quick look, “And you should probably be up early if you want to get home before work starts.”

“C’mon, can’t we stay up a little later?” Ten Cents complains.

“Yeah, I’m not even tired yet!” Sunshine adds.

“We have to wake up early tomorrow.” Warrior says with barely-restrained frustration, which, judging by the look of fear on the switchers’ faces and how quickly they close their eyes, you can only assume is code for “shut up, drop the subject, and go to sleep now”.

You stay awake anyway, wondering what’s going on with this fleet.

-

“Hey, you awake?” You feel ready to jump out of your hull when Ten Cents alerts you to the fact that he wasn’t asleep… and probably hadn’t been for hours.

“Y-Yeah, can’t sleep. Got a big day coming up tomorrow.” You laugh nervously, trying to keep your voice down so as not to wake up the rest of the fleet.

“Me either.” Ten Cents sighs.

“What are you guys doing awake?” Sunshine asks, and Ten Cents jolts from where he’s docked.

“Sunshine, this is a private conversation! Now go back to sleep!”

“We were actually just talking about how we can’t sle— Oh.” From the irritated look he’s giving you, you’ve dashed his hopes of keeping Sunshine out of this.

“Doesn’t sound like anything worth keeping private, then.” She huffs. “I mean, I can’t sleep either.”

“Well, at least we have that much in common.” You joke. A glance toward the Zero Fleet’s (you still can’t believe they willingly call themselves “Zeroes”) dock reveals that Zorran made it home after all, and he’s sleeping next to the rest of his fleet. “So.. What’d I do to make Zorran so mad at me?”

Ten Cents sighs again. “It’s nothing that you did, he’s just touchy about new boats in the harbor since..” He looks to Sunshine. “Should I tell him?”

Sunshine looks uncomfortable. “I-I mean, I think Captain wouldn’t want us just blabbing this to any boat who asks— no offense.”

“None taken.” You smile nervously.

She continues, “But.. I think he should know.” She turns her wheelhouse back to you. “It’s not okay for him to treat you like that, I’m gonna tell Zero about how he’s been so rude to you as soon he gets here tomorrow, but I think it’s important that you know why.”

“Alright.” Ten Cents hesitates for a moment before asking. “You’ve already heard of Otis, right?”

“… Yes.” You respond.

-

Ten Cents begins slowly, hesitantly. “About.. I wanna say about five years ago, two tugs came into Snugboat Harbor and told Captain they were famous movie producers. If you think that sounds weird, well.. it is, but nobody thought that at the time. Even Captain was bought their story.

“Anyway— they gave her a long list of movies they’d produced and said they wanted an old boat to star in their movie. And I don’t mean ‘old’ as in ‘grown up’, I mean ‘old’ as in.. well, old. They didn’t say much about the movie beyond that, but Captain didn’t think anything was off and gave them the go-ahead to look around for potential actors.

“Otis was an old tug who’d been with our fleet for.. I actually don’t know, but he was the oldest boat in the harbor. Old enough to still have paddles instead of just a propeller. I remember him being kind of fickle and cranky sometimes, but the rest of the time he was nice enough, a lot of the older tugs were good friends with him. Of course, even if he was the biggest jerk in the harbor, he still wouldn’t have deserved what happened to him.

“At the time, his engine was shot, there was no way around it. I asked him to go to dry dock and get himself repaired, but.. He kept saying there was too much work to do, he’d be fine if he put it off for a while.”

Sunshine chimes in with her side of the story. “Then Captain asked me to go get him so he could meet those producers. So I did, ‘cause I didn’t know anything was wrong at the time and it was Captain’s orders.” She looks saddened. “In hindsight, I-I wish I’d asked her first. Maybe none of this would’ve happened if I didn’t go to find him.” Shuddering, she adds. “I bumped into Zorran on the way, and he said he wanted to show off for them, maybe even get a movie of his own. He complained all day the next day that Captain Zero didn’t let him go, but..”

Ten Cents picks up where his sister left off. “And then Otis blew out his engine. Smoke and soot everywhere, he wasn’t going anywhere unless he got it replaced. Sunshine and I brought him over anyway, since it was Captain’s orders. The movie producers came over, started spewing bilgewa— sorry, a bunch of nonsense about how he was perfect for the job and how they were gonna make him a star. He didn’t want the time off at first, but Captain said he could go, and after the movie was done, he could come back to work with the rest of us.”

“Never mind that they never told us how long he’d be gone.” Sunshine huffs, though there’s genuine fury in her voice.

“Sunshine and I were gonna take him to dry dock for a new engine, but the producers said it’d be fine, that’d be ‘part of the expenses they’d cover’ or something like that. It convinced Captain, so we let them take Otis, got back to work, a-and just waited for them to come back with him.” His voice suddenly breaks. “I should’ve stopped them! I should’ve at least stayed long enough to get him into dry dock, maybe then I would’ve realized something was wrong and told him not to—“

“Shh, we can’t wake up the rest of the fleet!” Sunshine whispers to him, trying to distract him so he doesn’t start crying. The last thing any of you want is to make a scene, especially at this time of night.

He quiets down, though few stray tears roll down his cheeks and his voice still wavers. “W-We waited about six months, since that’s— that’s how long these movies take, right? But we were having a bit of a hard time with work without Otis around, so Captain wanted to call them and try to ask if he could come home for a while.. and that was when we all realized at once that those ‘producers’ didn’t leave her with any way to contact them if we needed him back.

“Captain talks to Captain Zero about it, and the next thing we know, Zero’s calling the Coast Guard a-and Cappy’s rounding us up and asking us all these questions. It turns out that they didn’t even have Captain fill out any paperwork or tell her how long they’d be keeping him, and if they were a real set of producers they’d have at least a few members of a human crew to do all the negotiation stuff. Of course, she expected that for people making movies about boats. She didn’t know what the policy was for boats filming other boats, I don’t think— Nobody did.

“Cappy says he and the Coast Guard were gonna set out and try looking for Otis, but said there wasn’t a lot of hope by this point. It’d been long enough that they could’ve been anywhere by now, and without anyone remembering what the producers’ flags or emblems looked like, they couldn’t even call up their company to ask if they’d taken an old paddle tug in the recent months. I remember he said that the Coast Guard usually only looks for a boat for the first few months; after a certain point, he said, it’s time to start looking for.. parts of the boat, if you catch my drift, just to confirm that they’re actually gone.

“Five years passed, and apparently the case went cold after about one. Of course, Captain tried getting Port Authority involved in that time, and they said they’d look into it, but.. they couldn’t do much, for the same reason the Coast Guard couldn’t. She never told us or anything, but Hercules took me and Sunshine aside and said he thinks they gave up. If Otis is still out there one way or another, he’s probably unrecognizable by now.” Ten Cents shuddered.

“Word got around the harbor real fast in that time, and all the captains took their boats aside and told them to be on the look out for any suspicious vessels. Our fleet’s story became something of a cautionary tale, so I guess in a way, we got our own fifteen minutes of fame..” He chuckles bitterly through his tears before catching himself. “Yeah, I know it’s not funny.”

Sunshine looks close to crying herself. “Captain said that those producers probably took Otis for scrap, since they saw he was old and.. I hate to say it, but Zero told us that old, worn-out, broken-down boats are easy pickings for scrap dealers.”

“What’s this have to do with Zorran?” Ten Cents asks rhetorically. “Well, he took ‘suspicious vessels’ to mean ‘any new boats in the harbor’. And he’s gonna have my hull if he founds out I said this, but.. I think he’s scared. The only reason he didn’t go with the producers is because Zero wouldn’t let him. If he hadn’t run the idea by his captain first, there’d be two boats in whatever scrapyard they took Otis to. Of course, I know you’re not here to scrap anyone, and most of us kind of calmed down once we realized that what happened to Otis probably won’t happen again, not without someone catching them.” He suppresses a sob. “I just hate that it took something like this for it to happen.”

Figuring that’s the end of his story, you close your eyes and bid the switchers goodnight, trying to tune out the sound of Ten Cents’ crying.

None of you sleep well for the rest of the night.

[cursewoodrecap]

Session 23: Medical Ethics

Y’all ever been to college?

Our new friend Vigdor has just pulled a pale, twitching human leg out of a poster tube, sheepishly admitting to Valeria that it’s his own.

Valeria blinks at it. “Well, it doesn’t appear to be bleeding demons, so that’s good?”

Shoshana sticks her head in the door, and has to pause to take in the sight. “Uh, bruh? Bruh? I have questions. Is that yours? I mean, like, yes, you HAVE it, but was it attached to-“

“That’s a bit tricky? It was amputated twice.”

“Twice?!”

“Once from me, and then, well, um. Once from an amalgam of sewn together body parts?”

(Gral and Shoshana pile into the room, because Oh, Lore?)

“When I was in the swamp, we were fighting a bunch of zombies led by this particularly nasty undead guy. We called it the Wailing Wight. At first it was just the usual undead hordes, but then a local leatherworker was found, torn apart and harpooned every which way, half his limbs torn off and stolen. After that, we started getting attacked by stitched together abominations cobbled together from human and animal pieces. I was there just trying to help the villagers, being a doctor and all. But that’s when I lost my actual limbs.”

“They got stolen, like the leatherworker’s?”

“I had to chop them off. Which, for the record, is not a fun time? The Wight’s harpoon has a kind of poison that rots everything it touches. So I had to amputate or, like, die. So I cut them off and his zombies, uh, stole them. And I managed to get one back? Kind of a long story. I don’t know how I recognized it, but – I guess I know my own leg like the back of my hand? Now I’m taking it back to Sturmhearst. There’s a weird fluid inside it; I want to study what’s going on with that so we can take care of the nastyboy in the swamp.”

“Well, I am generally against nastyboys,” says Shoshana, poking his foot in the ticklish bit. It squirms at her.

We’re headed to Sturmhearst anyway, so traveling together seems reasonable. We think about taking Fun Key Shortcuts, but that could backfire spectacularly, so we’ll play it safe and go the normal, boring way.

In the morning, we head downstairs. The inn is trashed. The stalwart barkeep Rene is not there; instead there’s a young elf sweeping out what debris he can. As we grab breakfast and the young fellow thanks us over and over for saving his friend’s life, Vigdor awkwardly wanders around casting Mending on chairs and tables that got a little too close to the tentacles and chainsaws. Shoshana doesn’t really do non-destructive magic, but she slips the barkeep some gold for repairs.

Vigdor’s too lopsided for a horse, so he’s gonna hop on in our cart. He’s very taken with the Eyegis, poking at it with fascination. “You can see the blood vessels in the eyes, despite no source for a blood supply! Do they have tear ducts? Have you ever seen the shield produce tears? Can you make it cry?”

Valeria gets very uncomfortable with this line of questioning and turns the eyes back into painted ones, put off by a Weird Stranger gettin’ all up in her business. Gral distracts him by asking about his fancy metal limbs.

Vigdor goes full technobabble on how the runes and machinery work. “Well, there’s three different kind of magical actuators on each joint, and they act as conduits for the dilithium crystals-” He knows the details secondhand from Bjork and none of us speak robotics, so if he ever needs serious repairs he’ll have to bring them back to Sturmhearst for the engineers to take a look at.

Valeria knows a bit about Jotunn runesmithing, but she’s never heard of it working to this degree of precision; before, she’d only heard of stuff like boats that row themselves, or a peg leg that has a little extra articulation. These are fully actuated limbs!

Val checks if the limbs are the same metal as our space wrench, but nope, they look like completely normal everyday metals. She’s not gonna inspect further, because she has RESPECT, unlike SOME people.

(“Hey, I didn’t try to pry the eyes open or anything!” Vigdor protests.)

She does notice one thing, though: Valeria recognizes runes from most magic systems even though she doesn’t know them well enough to use; her sister studied magic for a long time, so she knows what they look like. There’s one elaborate rune that appears on both Vigdor’s forearm and leg that is of no origin she’s ever seen.  

“How long’d it take Bjork to build this thing?” Shoshana asks, squinting at Vigdor’s kneecap.

“Well, I was unconscious for a good bit of it so…between a week and 2 months? He was already working on it when I, uh, had to amputate.”

“…did you KNOW you were gonna wake up with those things on?”

“Oh! Yeah, yeah. It took a while ‘cause the original blueprints they found were for somebody, like…really short for a human or really tall for a halfling? Something in between. Bjork had to resize the whole model to fit a human.”

“He, uh, FOUND blueprints?

“I can’t imagine he’d have made blueprints for a person who didn’t exist? It was all proportioned very strangely. I don’t know too much about it, you’d have to ask Professor Bjork.”

(One of the players asks if the strange rune, perhaps, says ISTC in a language the characters don’t know. It DOES, and we’re all very pleased with ourselves for previous-campaign references.)

The long road stretches on before us, and we have plenty of time to talk as we spend a week or two heading north toward the coast. We fill Vigdor in on the four flavors of Curse and the concept of the Prisoners, and that we suspect there’s major Key nonsense going on up at the university. (Heh heh, “major key.”)

Vigdor and Shoshana bond over being locals. Why are foreigners so weird about trolls?

Vigdor really, really wants to look at Twombly’s glasses. We explain to him that the Key could take his desire for knowledge and turn him into a cackling, dimension-hopping madman with a few extra eyeballs. He still wants to play with the glasses. Valeria protectively hides the Key map, just in case, flashing her Hunt fangs at anyone who asks about it.

After like a week of pestering everybody, Vigdor gets to look at the glasses. Disappointingly, when not looking at the Key map, the colorful lenses just make everything look slightly more those colors. Maybe Gral’s lutestrings look weird, but that could be the placebo effect. He tries flipping around the many lenses in different combinations, and finds that all of them make him look absolutely ridiculous.

Eventually after many days of travel, we can smell the ocean and the distinctive stench of a large number of humans living in one place. Vigdor takes in the familiar sight of his college hometown. Shoshana is dumbfounded that this many people can live on top of each other, while Valeria thinks it’s a quaint little town.

Up to the west, Sturm Castle squats on a cliff above the city, like a big hippo of knowledge. It looks like it was once a reasonable castle shape, but it’s had new wings and towers built onto it haphazardly until it’s a weird sprawling network of jammed-together architecture. By the edge of the cliff, in one of the more sensibly-built sections, a majestic lighthouse beams out over the bay. In the city below, the largest building appears to be a grand temple, with its roof carved in the shape of an open book. The perimeter of the city is outlined by strange wooden and metal towers, two or three stories tall with conical brass roofs.

Eh. It’s only got one castle, so it can’t be that good of a city compared to Aurentium.

Our cart is briefly stopped for a quick examination at the gate by a friendly city guardsman. He’s flanked by two of the same enormous owl-masked guards we saw accompanying Quercus and Ulmus. “Hi, welcome to Sturmhearst, folks! What brings you here?”

We all awkwardly try not to look at Vigdor’s leg bag.

“I’m, uh, here to visit Dr. Emily Thorpe?” he tries.

“Oh, visiting the university. Don’t need yer life story. Where you stayin’? I can recommend some inns. Oh, and check out the Scholar’s Temple while yer here!” He hands us a brochure from the Sturmhearst Tourism Board and steps back. “ALL RIGHT BIG GUYS, LET EM THROUGH!”

The owl guards don’t move.

“Oh, uh, I mean –“ He fishes in his pocket and pulls out a whistle. “Lemme see if I can remember how the doc told me to do this.” He blows a few sharp notes on the whistle, and the owl guards promptly step off the road to let us through.

Huh.

Vigdor makes an investigation check on those guards, who definitely weren’t around back when he was in school. They’re pretty bulky for humans – no, honestly, they’d be bulky even for goliaths. He’d heard a story from Professor Bjork that the school was hiring goliath mercs and dressing them in owl masks, but the professor had sounded like he hadn’t believed it much. Supposedly they’re silent because they don’t speak the language, but Vigdor’s pretty sure Bjork speaks Jotunn, so that excuse doesn’t quite hold up.

Once we’re out of the guards’ earshot, Gral pulls a huddle. “Vigdor, the Key’s a more recent influence, so let us know about anything new or significantly more abundant – that’s where we’ll need to search.”

Vigdor hmms. “The big brass towers weren’t here before. And the owl guys didn’t used to be a thing.”

Gral cuts another glance back to the owl guards, considering. “…How much of a faux pas is it to remove a Sturmhearst person’s mask?”

“I mean, if you’re dealing with the plague, it’s kind of a dick move? And dangerous? But most people – it’s like, the same rudeness of grabbing someone’s hat or jacket. For some people it’s badge of honor or superiority, y’know, how amazing they were to get through the gauntlet of Sturmhearst. But mostly it’s a practical tool of the job. We’re not, like, afraid to show our faces.”

Gral nods. “So you wouldn’t have to duel them, then.”

“W-what?”

“Oh, with bards it’s like ‘you are not deserving of your title’ and you have to duel about it. You know, like, how dare you slander my name, I’ll have to fight you for my honor?”

“Oh, uh, no, nothing like that. The mask is proof of office, that’s all.”

Before we get investigating, though, it’s late and we should rest. Vigdor wasn’t a palling-around-town type, but he rolls a nat 20 and knows the best inn in the city – not one of those touristy places on the square; the best-kept-secret on a side street that only the locals and regulars know about.

We have a lovely night around the docks of Sturmhearst. Shoshana spends like fifteen minutes just staring out to sea, because they MAKE boats that big???? This much water even EXISTS????? There’s a dragonborn ship from Aurentium, a goliath ship from Jotunhein, a couple of Galwan freighters, and even a ship crewed by colorful macaw aarakocra. (History check: while the Aquilians mostly died out, some of the ground-based aarakocra cultures survived. Valeria’s met macaw traders before in Aurentium; they tell lots of stories and do GREAT impressions.)

Valeria, meanwhile, holies some ocean water. They say Galwan clerics swear by holy seawater; salt repels demons, right? It’s gross harbor water but, whatever, it’s holy now. She also beats a sea captain at Man-go, presumably dock style. The inn’s equipped for foreign travelers, so it’s got a whole bar of draconic and goblin spices!

Gral, meanwhile, discovers the inn is near a bath house and enjoys finding out what a sauna is.

Morning comes, and Sturmhearst U awaits. Vigdor knows the main campus has the colleges of Engineering, Science, and Medicine, while the satellite campus across the bay houses the college of Ethics, which includes humanities like economics and history.

Valeria rolls for Order of the Rose knowledge. The Order actually has an arrangement with Sturmhearst when they’re working in Valdia – whenever the Order is sent on disaster relief, some Sturmhearst ethicists are sent to help coordinate. Valeria’s never worked with them personally, but the impression she’s gotten from her fellow knights is Not Great. From what she’s heard, they’re supposed to do triage and help direct the knights, but it seems like they spend the whole time sitting around debating absolutely horrible things. “Hey, if we brewed up some necromancy, could we use the skeletons of plague victims to transport supplies without spreading the infection?” Apparently they just sit around in corners debating whether that kind of shit is kosher or not, without ever actually DOING anything.

Also ethicists wear white instead of black like most Sturmhearst scholars, which is just pretentious. We then poke fun at an Order of the Rose knight calling anyone else pretentious.

Vigdor studied at the College of Medicine; he’s a doctor. But that’s not where he’s taking the leg.

“Why not Medicine? I mean, it’s a human body part, innit?” Shoshana asks.

“It’s…I have some concerns…regarding the, um. So, along with this leg, my arm was stolen, right? Not long after the arm was stolen, the sewn-together amalgams got a lot, uh, cleaner.”

We stare at him.

“…as if whatever stitched them together had my medical training.”

…oh.

“I’m a little hesitant taking that info to the College of Medicine,” he admits.

“Why?”

“There’s a lot of ‘for the greater good’ stuff with the College of Medicine sometimes. The College of Ethics keeps them in check. Anyway, there’s actually this thaumochemist I want to take a look at it.”

(We’d know the discipline as alchemy, but she hates that. She’ll go on a whole tirade about it. Somebody yells “Full Metal Thaumochemist” and we accidentally take a commercial break. We’ll never get tired of that joke.)

More of those owl guards are at the door, supervised by a businesslike white-coated member of the College of Ethics. His mask is a bit more abstract than the ones we’re used to; not modeled after a bird face like the regular scholars’. He lets Vigdor in with no problem, though he’s a bit suspicious of the rest of us. We’re with a doctor, though, so he’ll let it slide. “Welcome to Sturmhearst, may your visit be enlightening.” He does the same whistle we heard before and the guards step aside. Gral’s a string guy, he can figure out the notes easily enough but he doesn’t whistle.

“Nothing goes on here without Ethics knowing about it, huh,” Gral observes.

More owl guards are stomping around, some carrying heavy objects. Vigdor knows where he’s going, but asks an owl guard for directions, as an experiment. The owl guard doesn’t even notice him. He steps in front of the guard, who just steps around him very politely.

The castle is a nightmare to navigate, like Hoeska, but we have an expert tour guide. “The old keep, the part that used to be a castle – that’s where all the 101 classes are and the whole working hospital. All the additions are laid out super weird, and then there’s the tunnels underneath. The Chem students had WILD parties down there, they brewed up all SORTS of stuff. The lighthouse is a real lighthouse, but it’s also where admin is, and the dean’s and headmaster’s offices. Oh! DO NOT cross the librarians. Each college has its own library? Like, theoretically they share the whole collection, but which college keeps which books is kind of a blood sport…”

Shoshana and Gral hang back, feeling out of place. “Bards don’t really have a college, exactly?” Gral explains. “It’s more of a pilgrimage. I met the elders of each village and they imparted wisdom upon me?”

Shosh feels like an uneducated hick even by that standard.

We take a hairpin turn in one of the Science buildings and run into Professor Quercus! Or at least someone with a bird mask and a similar voice, chatting with some other masked scholar. “Ah! Yes! We made a lot of excellent discoveries before we started to run into problems – you see, there hadn’t been an event in some time, but if we could get in there to the source, we could really – well, my goodness! These are the people I was telling you about, who gave me such wonderful notes!” Quercus turns to us, sounding rather delighted. “I certainly didn’t expect to see you here. Welcome to the world of knowledge! What brings you here? I thought you were having adventures and derring-do!”

“Well, it turns out our adventures led here!” Gral tells him.

Quercus nods enthusiastically. “I’d show you around, but I rather need to speak to the bursar! If you need anything, I’m sure you can find my offices without too much problem. And please, if you’ve encountered any interesting monsters, I’d love to hear details! Especially if you have samples!” Despite his keen excitement, Professor Quercus rolls a four and fails to notice our Shusva accessories.

“If you ever need a cup of tea and a biscuit, you’re welcome to stop by my office! I’d be more than happy to speak with you! And if you could do me a favor – well, I wouldn’t mind having you with me when I speak to the bursar! See, our expedition to Holzog has hit a bit of a snag. The events with that mist stopped happening, you see. Luckily, we managed to identify which house you were going to, and we were all set to investigate, but then the Baroness put a squadron of those damnable Condotierri to prevent us getting in – “

Gral shrugs, deliberately casual. “I don’t know why you’d go back; there’s not much to see besides what’s already in the notes.”

(Vigdor immediately rolls insight to see if Gral is lying. Unfortunately for him, bards are excellent liars.)

“Anyway. The bursar’s giving me an earful about continuing to fund the expedition. I’m considering withdrawing from Holzog and asking him to redirect the funds into a different project! For example, lots of interesting monsters have been seen around Barroch lately!”

Yes, definitely, we want him to go somewhere that’s not a Tempting Key Portal. Valeria and Gral tag-team Persuasion checks to sell him on interesting cases of monsters we’ve heard of around Barroch. If we’re fuzzy on the details – well, all the more reason to have someone get out there and take a closer look!

Quercus is rather taken by the idea. “If you would, Mr. Duu –“

“Um, actually, Duu is the tribe, my family’s name is-“

“-yes, if you could write me some letters, I might find it useful making the acquaintance of the locals while setting up camp. Sturmhearst hasn’t established an official relationship to your people yet’”

Gral agrees to write up a formal letter explaining the mission of Sturmhearst and the expedition to make introductions a bit smoother; the word of a bard will go a long way in gaining the cooperation of the orcs of Barroch. He’ll do a personal letter of introduction for Quercus, and a general letter to Shieldeater’s administration to explain who the heck these weird bird people are.

“Wonderful! Bring it by my office!” He gives us directions that make NO sense to anyone but Vigdor. We’re pretty sure several of those compass directions aren’t real words?

“Oh, and if you see an angry tall woman stomping around, tell her I’m not here! She’s mad at me for some reason I can’t discern. Good day!”

He scuttles off, presumably to hide.

We definitely want the gossip on that – Ulmus was mad at him about funding, and she definitely dissed his field of study. Is this what academia is like?

Vigdor confirms that the professors have all kind of weird beefs, interdepartmental politics, and personal feuds. “One of my professors gave me a B- in amputation – shows what he knows – purely because I was taking some classes outside the College of Medicine and he got all offended. It’s a lot of politics and bullshit, they’re all more concerned about their careers and publishing than actually important stuff.”

We find a door with a brass plaque: Dr Emily Thorpe, Thaumochemist. There’s a paper list tacked to her door with a list of courses: “Intro to Potion Brewing,” “Principles of Alchemy Thaumochemistry”

Vigdor knocks. “Yes, who’s there? Come in!” a voice calls.

“It’s Vigdor! Vigdor Gavril!”

“Ah, Vigdor!” A halfling woman in the requisite bird mask waves from behind a counter where she’s handling a set of proper Movie Science bubbling beakers and flasks. “Yes, you sent me that letter! You had something ‘interesting’ for me!”

“Yes, and you will see why I couldn’t be more detailed!”

She notices his metal arm as he starts pulling open his heavy waterproofed case. “Oh! I heard that Professor Bjork was giving you his prototype! How’s it working?”

“They’re loud and heavy and uncomfortable sometimes, but I have limbs! Can’t complain! But then I, uh, found one of my limbs again.”

He goes over to an open table and pulls out his entire-ass leg with a flourish, plus vials of hair and blood and strange unidentified liquids. Her eyes widen.

“Ah, this is yours!” She watches his toes wiggle. “Well, you don’t see that every day.”

“Yeah, I found it stitched to some kind of unholy undead abomination.”

“And that explains the Knight of the Rose. Hello, Kyr.”

“Kyr Valeria Argent, at your service!”

“Dr. Emily Thorpe, at your service as well, I guess? Pardon the mess in my lab, it’s not much but it’s home. Hand me that vial?” She pulls out a syringe and takes a sample of not blood, but oily black liquid, from the leg. “It will take some time, but I can write up a thaumaturgical profile without much difficulty. Do you mind if I keep it?”

“You can hang on to it. But I would appreciate discretion.”

“Yes, this will stay between me, your friends, and – oh, this is Hugo, he’s my teaching assistant. He’s been helping since the school was mobilized.” She turns to Vigdor’s clearly uneducated hick friends (not you, Valeria, you’re very fancy) and explains:

“In times of crisis, the University turns from education to innovation. Were this a disease, we’d be researching cures! If demonic, we’d be researching weapons or dimensional banishment. We haven’t really received direct orders this time, so everybody is doing their own thing, which I can’t say I mind. Mostly I’ve been helping other researchers with the practical application of their theorems.”

She scribbles out a hasty list. “Hugo, if you can go to the library and put these books on order? The Vigmar and the Auspelius especially would be useful, but don’t let the librarians kill anyone over them. And the Principles of Advanced Anatomy – tell them I won’t ask. But I do need it.” The grad student nods and hustles out of the room.

(Shoshana insights, out of paranoia. Hugo’s a good egg, though he might refer to thaumochemistry as alchemy.)

“Now, Dr. Gavril, do you want this leg back? How intact-“

“Want it back? Like, in the abstract, or on my body?”

She pulls out a vial of bubbling acid. “I’d like to put some of this on it and I’d like to see what happens.”

He blanches slightly. “Uh. Um. I have some proprietary-“

“Aw, no acid then,” she grumbles, stowing the acid with an audible sigh.

“Only do something you would do to living person’s leg. That they would survive!”

“How would I know? I’m a chemist, this is only, like, my second dead person!” She pauses. “…well, fifth.”

Shoshana starts looking around at all the alchemy equipment curiously. Everything here is clearly labeled with numbers, and letters that feel like numbers, and complex formulae, which hedgewitch potionery doesn’t really account for.

There’s a knock at the door. “Ah, that must be Hugo. Come in!”

Valeria instinctively body-blocks the leg from view.

It is not Hugo. In walk 3 white-clad ethicists. The gentleman at the front is in fancier robes – we suspect he’s the kind of fellow who has tenure – and he wears a powdered judge’s wig atop his mask. We immediately don’t like it. His two companions peer around the lab – one has a jeweler’s loupe built into the lens of his mask, and the other is carrying a big chime with runes carved into it, clearly a magic item of some sort.

“Dr Thorpe,” the leader intones.

“Sorbus,” she replies disdainfully.

“I see you have guests, is now a bad time?”

“Is it ever a good time?” Emily makes a point of tending to her samples and beakers busily.

“I suppose not. We have come to ask a few follow-up questions. Have you been visited at all by Professor Matthias Macker? Has he followed up on the project you were working on together?”

“I told you, no! I had no potions strong or precise enough for what he needed, and he’s never spoken to me since. That was months ago!”

“And no one has seen him since then. You understand why we need to know what you discussed.”

“Yeah, not since you quarantined the whole surgical wing!”

“That is not what I’m asking about. Has Macker’s assistant Greta Ruble visited you?”

“No. She’s a good kid, though, don’t hassle her.”

“We are simply making sure she is not a danger.”

Emily sputters angrily. “A danger to who?!”

“I cannot tell you that.” He turns to Valeria. “Kyr, it is always a pleasure to see a member of the Order here. I suppose if you’re here we can be assured nothing… unethical is happening,” he says, unpleasantly oily. “I am Professor Rigmor Sorbus of the College of Ethics; I lecture on legal and judicial ethics. These are my assistants, Charles and Pippin.”

Valeria bows with the precise degree of politeness required. “Kyr Valeria Argent, at your service.”

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance. In these times of mobilization, it falls to us as ethicists to supervise our colleagues’ noble efforts. Please, I implore you: if you see anything untoward or suspiciously unusual, I request you report it to the nearest representative of the College of Ethics.”

Emily butts in. “What happened to Eric Pelbort, his other assistant?”

“Mr. Pelbort has transferred to the College of Ethics and is assisting us with some research. We will let you know if that changes.” He tells her dismissively. “Kyr Argent, the College of Ethics has always been proud of our long association with the Order, and I would like to extend our deepest condolences for the tragedy of the Crusade. Should you have need of any assistance whatsoever, do not hesitate to ask. Our offices are on the satellite campus across the bay. If you were to visit, I’m sure many would love to speak to a paladin of the Order of the Rose.”

“We have business here, but I might be able to make time to stop by,” she equivocates.

“Very well. I will let you all get back to whatever it is you’re doing with that leg,” Sorbus says, turning neatly on his heel and taking his leave, his toadies hurrying in his wake.

(Yes, you guessed it: That was Professor Rowan, with his Tort Wig and his assistants Pip Loupe and Chime Charles.)

“Those guys give me the creeps,” Emily grumbles. “They used to be fine, but lately they’ve been doing this whole inquisitor act.”

Vigdor’s always known these guys as douchey blowhards. But now they’re douchey blowhards with AUTHORITY.

There’s always been a divide between Ethics and the other three colleges roughly the size of the harbor! The sciences don’t believe in debate, they believe in experimentation! Anyone who can spend an entire week talking without action is wasting time and breath. The College of Medicine thinks even less of them – they just get in the way of progress!

(IRL we all respect medical ethics, but Sturmhearst WAS founded on a fine tradition of graverobbing and leeches.)

Vigdor is primarily a surgeon, or he was, when he had two fully functional hands. (Two players at once: “HE GOT DR STRANGED!”) He had quite a few classes with Macker, the chair of the surgery department. Most people didn’t like the guy, except his surgical grad students who would defend him to the death. A bit of a hardass about proper procedure, but that’s probably not a bad quality for a surgeon. He was a local institution, so it’s pretty alarming he’s somehow gone rogue.

“His whole lab was quarantined?”

“The whole teaching wing, actually,” Emily tells us.

“Are there people in there? Some kind of sickness?”

“Not that I’ve heard. Ethics just put guards outside the labs and blocked everyone from going in. They’ve done it to a couple places around the school recently. The excuse is that someone was doing ‘unsafe experimentation’ that’s ‘poisoned the area’ or something?”

Wack. “How long have these quarantines lasted?”

“They don’t really end? A couple stopped after a few months, but some have been there for a year! Nobody goes in or out. Sometimes the white coats go in, but it’s pretty rare and they don’t stay long.”

“Is that what all the guards are for? Where’d they all come from?” Vigdor asks.

“Medicine used to be the ones, uh, hiring them.” (A quick insight roll notes that she hesitates on the phrase “hiring.”) “Lots of them still answer to whoever they were originally assigned to. But recently Dean Chidor from the College of Ethics took over that whole program, so a lot of the newer ones answer primarily to the ethicists. I mean, they all dress the same, so it’s kinda hard to tell? I haven’t asked a lot of questions, I’ve been trying to keep my head down since the whole thing with Macker.”

“What actually happened with him?”

“He’d been acting weird for a while,” she confides as she starts sticking pins in the leg and wiring them to a voltage generator. “He’d been working on something, some kind of extreme surgery – I think he was looking into a method of surgically removing Curse corruption. He was hitting roadblocks, though; he called in me and Alma Ulmus, who’s a College of Medicine bigwig.”

“Yeah, we met her in Bad Herzfeld!”

“I heard she’s here again, stalking around the halls complaining about funding. She knows more about his project than I do. Anyway, Macker sent me requirements for a healing potion he was gonna administer as part of some surgical procedure. I couldn’t get anything as powerful or precise as he needed. I’m a thaumochemist; I don’t know medicine that well. So it was beyond me to do that amount of gross tissue damage repair as controllably as they wanted it. I mean, I made some pretty nice innovations as far as the theory of potioncrafting, I’m hoping to get published as soon as it goes to peer review.

“But I couldn’t do what he needed, and eventually I got shut out of the project. Then one day he vanished. Alma set off for Bad Herzfeld and Macker stopped coming out of his lab. His assistants were still going in and out, but not long after that, the ethicists quarantined the place.”

“Has anyone else been quarantined?” Valeria asks.

“People from all three colleges got hit. I dunno about other ethicists, I haven’t heard about them quarantining anything of their own. But everyone else has. A group of engineering students were building a defense system to be deployed out to the Scar, and all of them got quarantined. Here in my department, Dr. Vilman – remember him? Stupid goatee, did a lot of stuff with crystals? – got shut down. Sometimes they quarantine the whole lab; sometimes they just shut down a project and everyone working on it gets a ‘guest lecture position’ over in Ethics. Sorbus said they got one of Macker’s assistants, Eric Pelbort. He had another one, Greta Ruble, but I guess she’s given them the slip.”

Emily’s got experiments to do on that leg, so we’ll let her get to it. As we head out, Gral asks one last question. “What’s up with those guards, by the way? Why do they only respond to those whistles?

“Uhhhh,” she says, as we fail our persuasion check. “They, er, don’t speak very good Valdian. Mostly foreigners, goliaths, the like. The whistles get their attention.”

Gral sighs and doesn’t push it. Vigdor’s already making plans to pickpocket a whistle. Valeria, since she has a direct invite to talk to the ethicists, considers the unheard-of paladin approach of Just Asking Them Directly.

First, though, Vigdor wants to check out the quarantine of Macker’s lab; he knew that professor well, and we’re all curious what’s been going down.

We walk on over to the surgical wing to case the joint. There’s a single owl guard blocking the hallway, presiding over a small barricade. A pleasant sandwich board sign states “Area quarantined by College of Ethics, apologies for the inconvenience.”

We try to walk in and the enormous guard holds out a hand to stop us. Shoshana tries to wiggle around him, like a cat trying to get at your dinner, but he impassively blocks her every move.

Gral tries a smoother approach. He begins with small talk; the guard doesn’t even twitch. He starts asking prying questions about the surgical ward. No response. Fine, then: he switches to Orcish, a sinister undertone weaving through his voice as he uses Words of Terror.

An insight roll reveals completely unchanged body language.

“Either they’re immune to fear or not a humanoid,” Gral reports back. “Not a single emotion. Definitely not goliath mercenaries.”

“Tryin’ to talk your way into the surgical wing?” says another chatty passerby. “Good luck. They got all the medical cadavers locked up in there and they won’t let us in.”

(Cadavers? Oh shit, we bet that’s the guard factory, theorize the players.)

“Oh, are you a med student?”

“Yeah. I work with Professor Herberts, or I used to, anyway. We needed a couple cadavers to do this comparison study about spleens; we got some weird ones from out in the wood, we compare spleens to see if place with thing don’t worry about it; need control spleen. And then these BIG DUMB IDIOTS wouldn’t let us in, and Herbert got transferred to the College of Ethics all of a sudden. He’s been gone a couple months.”

“How long do professors usually transfer for?” asks Gral.

“I mean, they usually pop over to give a lecture or two and come back by the end of the day.”

(Vigdor happens to remember that the College of Ethics also runs an asylum. They live in a big spooky castle and do dissections with guts and stuff, it can do a number on your head! Some of the ethicists have branched into the field of psychology. No reason to mention this when people are having extended stays on the ethics campus, of course…)

The student shrugs. “I gotta get to lecture. If you manage to get in there, any chance you can bring me back a couple spleens?”

We wave goodbye noncommittally, though Vigdor insists he can pop a spleen out of a corpse like a yolk from an egg. He’s a good surgeon!

Anyway, Vigdor went to school here, and the dice are on his side; he knows a side path through an old abandoned classroom into the surgical suite. He pops the lock on the door easily; all the undergrads used to go this way when slipping into lecture late, to get past the TA keeping track of tardies.

The guard is in earshot but facing the other direction, and he’s not even blinking, much less scanning around. Gral casts Silence on us and our very clanky party slips by easily.

Shosh sticks her head into the TA’s office. Nothing really stands out, but she swipes some interesting-looking notes from the desk drawers to look at later.

Meanwhile, Gral and Vigdor go into Macker’s office. The desk is an absolute mess, which is very unlike the guy Vigdor used to know. There are wheeled chalkboards crammed into the office, covered in scribbles and anatomical diagrams. Paging through the notes and glancing over the chalkboard, Vigdor makes a decent medicine check and can at least figure out what problem Macker was working on.

Based on what Dr. Emily told us, Macker’s trying to develop a surgical procedure. The issue is that whatever he’s doing would cause so much physical trauma that it’d kill the patient, and he’s looking for some way to prevent that. There are lists of healing options: formulas, spells, potions, nonmagical stabilization methods to keep the patient alive while various tissues are extracted from the body.

Gral’s unimpressed. Healing methods? That’s pretty tame for forbidden knowledge.

To Vigdor’s experienced eyes, this stuff looks mega-advanced and highly experimental, but Gral’s right – it’s not anything you’d scramble to censor.

Weirdly enough, the place doesn’t look ransacked, only disheveled and a little dusty. Macker’s notes haven’t been moved since he was here. Maybe this isn’t what the ethicists were after?

We head to cadaver storage while Valeria keeps watch. Cadaver storage is creepy as hell, but only because it’s, y’know, a room full of cadavers. A lot of the bodies, kept stable with Gentle Repose, appear to be Cursed, but that’s hardly weird. What’s so crazy they’d keep it hidden from everyone?

Vigdor opens the door to the dissection labs, Gral’s Silence deadening any ominous warning he might have had from the room beyond. Yes, the table here’s been recently used, and the bizarre symbols scrawled on the chalkboards have spilled onto the surrounding floor and walls, but Vigdor’s eyes are drawn to where the chalkboard peels away like skin to reveal a strange, multicolored, impossible space. The floor begins to take the shape of a stone hand that projects out into the shimmering void, joining a daisy-chain of enormous hands that form a walkway out to a marble platform floating in space.

Gral takes his Silence spell with him and runs to get Valeria.

Eyes starry, watching entire worlds and impossible shapes spinning through iridescent mists, Vigdor takes his first heady hit of Key taint.

As we cut session, Valeria considers that the ethicists may actually have a point.

[aquilaofarkham]

title: the harder the rain, honey, the sweeter the sun rating: T+  word count: 3,015 summary: Trevor and Sypha never thought that vampires—even half vampires—could ever get sick but when Alucard succumbs to a fever during a rainstorm, they discover that there’s still much to learn about their friend. 

For @kamek 💛 Thanks so much for commissioning me!

READ HERE

“You’ve been coughing for an hour.”

It hasn’t actually been an hour; or has it? It feels that way. Time flows differently when it rains as a constant, all-consuming mist. Things seem to go on for much longer than they really should. The annoyed hunter and his equally annoyed companion could have been working on their wagon’s broken wheel for as long as he just suggested, or a mere ten horrid minutes could have passed instead. Who can say in such miserable circumstances.

“You exaggerate.”

Alucard’s voice comes out not as smooth, dulcet tones but as a hoarse, ugly rasp. Rather than the words themselves, he coughs them out half-formed and pained. Trevor wishes he were in a better mood so that he could jest and say he sounds like his late grandmother whenever she smoked strong tobacco in her curved pipe. Instead they work in frustrated silence, not one inch of their bodies dry. At least Trevor does what he can to cover himself; Alucard doesn’t seem to care that his good coat and gloves with their gold embellishments are both ruined beyond repair. Nor does he notice how his long strands of hair stick against his forehead then tumble down his face like soaked rags.

A hooded figure in blue sits at the front of the wagon keeping a watchful eye on the road, though there isn’t much to be seen. Not long ago, she used to wait in anticipation for whatever creatures might mistake their caravans as an easy dinner consisting of one distressed damsel and her two manservants. A few steps closer then flames would fly, the blade of a needle sharp sword would sing, and Trevor would forgo his whip in favour of fists just for the challenge of it all.

Today she waits for the rain to stop and for the boys to stop fiddling with that damn wheel before one of them breaks a finger. They’ll survive one night with their transport incapacitated.

Sypha curls in on herself, using her robes as both dry shelter and a warm blanket; a way of giving herself momentary comfort. This personal method feels more familiar to her than the two men working tirelessly (and fruitlessly) behind her do. Most times it’s a failed effort, which is why Sypha has always preferred the company of others so that she doesn’t have to shoulder a sense, or rather, the responsibility of loneliness.

Alucard likes to be alone sometimes; Trevor is overly familiar with it as well. He grew up with loneliness like it was a childhood friend. Sypha can’t stand to be alone. It’s not in her nature nor in her blood.

Rain always makes her mind wander, often to places she would rather it stay away from. To distract herself from those sorts of thoughts, she tries listening to whatever Trevor and Alucard are saying to each other. Perhaps some of their usual banter or one upmanship they’ve become masters of. What she hears does nothing to ease her concerns. Trevor’s is the only voice she can make out clearly. Alucard barely sounds human.

“Keep… keep holding up… the wagon, you…” Every other word is interlaced with a chorus of dry coughs into his elbow. Trevor doesn’t want to know what comes after that “you” and Alucard has no energy to tell him.

“Fuck the wagon and the wheel. You need to drink something.”

“Why don’t you… give me a drink… from you…” Alucard keeps an arm over his mouth while his other hand steadies himself against the canvas covering. By drink, Trevor assumes he meant his blood, but Alucard’s worsening state already ruined any levity of his poorly executed quip. He watches how his friend sways from all sides, his head lobbing around as though it were a boulder attached to his neck. If Alucard weren’t coughing or paler than ever, he might be mistaken for a drunk.

And if Trevor were the same man he was mere months ago, he might feel some sick pleasure in seeing the sulky half-vampire prince like this—but that was then. A time he doesn’t look back upon fondly.

“Let’s get you inside.” He lets go of the wagon before it leaves any more splinters in his skin and places them on something he’d much rather hold instead.

“Let me go… we need to… fix and go…”

“You need to shut up before you run your throat raw and bloodied.” For once, Alucard is rather complacent in Trevor’s arms (he has no energy to struggle against him otherwise). Are half blooded vampires usually this warm? No, Trevor tells himself. This sort of warmth burns and hurts. As he helps Alucard into the wagon, Sypha joins them.

“What’s wrong? Did he injure himself?” Once inside, they remove their hoods and clear an area for a makeshift bed. Hay and blankets may seem beneath the Tepes prince but for Trevor and Sypha, they are luxury items.

“No. Stubborn ass just got himself sick. Probably from all that cold and rain.”

“I never thought that could happen to him of all people.” Sypha’s comment is one of both curious surprise and genuine worry.

“Well, we learn something new everyday.”

“Are we near any villages?”

“Not for miles.” Trevor isn’t even sure if he wants to leave Alucard in the care of a normal Wallachian healer. Too many risks, too many possibilities that he might leave this world the same way his mother did. “Can’t you perform a healing spell or something?”

“My magic can only manipulate elements like fire and water, not the human body.” Without thinking (and perhaps knowing), Sypha picks at the scars on her right bicep, healed by her own flames. “If I were a scholar of that kind of magic, I would be invincible and there’s no fun in that.”

“Garlic…” A weak voice interrupts. Trevor and Sypha turn their attention downwards at Alucard, eyes shut, struggling against the resistance of his own worn throat. “Get… garlic… echin… cea…”

“What was that last thing?”

“Ech… what?”

“Flower… purple petals…”

Deciphering Alucard’s request comes easier to Sypha than to Trevor. “Echinacea! It’s a flower that can be used for medicine. If we mix it with the garlic in a broth, it might help him.” Before Yrevor can come up with a cynical response regarding the lack of garlic and echinacea with the rest of their dwindling supplies, Sypha has her hood raised and a basket in hand. “I’ll go look for some in the woods.”

“Will you be alright out there?” Trevor glances through the canvas slit leading outside; the skies went dark minutes ago and the rain has picked up.

“Of course! You look after Alucard, I will be back shortly.” A quick kiss on Trevor’s cheek and a light caress across Alucard’s burning forehead before they lose Sypha to the outside world. The optimism in her eyes, the same kind that matches her tone, used to be so infectious. But Trevor is too distracted by the heavy drops of rain battering down upon their meager shelter.

--

Alucard’s breathing doesn’t occur naturally; what little air there is in his lungs forces its way out through trembling colourless lips. More strained whimpers than breaths. Like Sypha, Trevor never believed it was possible for him to be in such a weakened state he can barely lift his head. His eyes are shut tightly but he cannot sleep. Every time Trevor lowers a cloth, wiping away as much sweat as he can from his forehead and cheeks, he can feel Alucard’s unbearable warmth. It seems no amount of cold rainwater collected in a bucket will help bring him respite.

“Come on.” Trevor says, wringing out the cloth before repeating the same process, the only thing he can do for now. “You survived Dracula twice. A little cough isn’t gonna be the end of you.”

Alucard always has something to say, always some witty repartee or equally sarcastic remark. Never before has the sulky, brattish, beautiful half-vampire left Trevor in absolute silence. If it’s not through spoken words then it’s through gestures; a smile coupled with a raised middle finger that’s not to be taken seriously. Never before until now.

“You’ll be fine you dramatic bastard.”

None of this seems right, not to Trevor at least. Vampires never feel sick; they never feel anything according to the family bestiary. Only the agony of fire and consecrated steel among others. That side of Alucard’s heritage should offer him some protection against nature’s uglier natural causes. We learn something new everyday. This unwelcome discovery concerning their companion weighs heavy on Trevor’s confidence and fragile optimism. It’s not long before they’re both killed outright despite his best efforts.

“Sorry. I know this isn’t your fault. None of this is.”

On the surface, Trevor apologizes for nothing. Yet still, he knows he must acknowledge what’s underneath. Everything from the mounting frustration over that broken wheel, the worry he feels regarding Sypha’s whereabouts, and the misplaced anger that someone as strong as Alucard could succumb to something so stupidly human. Saying it all while Alucard is more delirious than a nun who has just found rapture might be cheating, but at least he can say it.

“I’m not good at this sort of thing. For as long as I can remember, I had to take care of myself and... it was always rough love with me. No one cares that you’re hurt or if you feel like shit, get up and keep moving. Probably not the best approach. To be honest, I panicked a little when Sypha told me to look after you.” Another pause and Trevor wipes his forehead again, only with more tenderness.

“I’ll do my best to treat you better than how I treated myself.”

Alucard stirs, shifting his head away from the damp cloth. Trevor backs off with the fear that he heard every single ramble he should have kept locked away in his closely guarded heart. A few strenuous groans later and he finally speaks.

“Blanket… Lisa gave me… water…”

Trevor discerns three words: blanket, Lisa, and water. He can give Alucard two of those; the third one might be harder. Scrambling from one corner of the wagon to the next, Trevor covers him with a second blanket and guides his mouth towards the opening of a leather water canteen.

“Come on, one more sip. That wasn’t so hard, was it? Sypha will be back soon and you’ll be right as rain.” They’re not lies persay, but Trevor still cannot say them with certainty. Before he has the chance to give him more, Alucard interrupts.

“Miss her… so much. No time… I never said… goodbye I never… said… thank you. For every… thing.”

Alucard’s eyes close even tighter along with his lips, as though desperate to hold something back. Something he’ll never let anyone see. Trevor places a tentative hand on his matted hair, drenched in sweat. A gesture of empathy or he knows what it feels like to never say goodbye to those gone from your life as well.

“Sleep. Just sleep.” A tall order to ask of him.

--

Sypha once read a book she found in the annals of the Belmont archive; a series of poems collected into a singular narrative originally written in Italian. She managed through the introductory cantos before pulling herself away from the temptation of distraction. There wasn’t much to remember from what little she read save for the first few lines.

Midway upon the journey of our life

I found myself within a forest dark

For the straightforward past had been lost

As Sypha continues further into the woods, basket empty and soaked down to her bones, those lyrics prode at her thoughts like devilish taunts. She’s not lost, but she must admit that her trek through mud and prickly bushes has gone on for longer than she hoped for. Not even the poor little light emanating between her index and pinky finger is enough to withstand the downpour of rain along with the darkness of night.

Another outsticking root catches Sypha’s root, causing her to stumble forward. Though it doesn’t show on her face, her mind flies into a rage. How fucking hard can it be to find some fucking common plants in the middle of the fucking forest? If Trevor or Alucard ever heard her say that, they would be shocked into silence. Yes, she can explode a vampire’s internal organs into flames but god forbid she curse as much as her two boys do.

Sypha stops to catch her breath and refocus her thoughts. Anger is good, anger helps push her forward. It’s been with her since childhood, helping her survive, but this anger is directed at nothing. All it does is exhaust her more than the rain. It won’t make her dryer, it won’t clear a path through the dense foliage, and it certainly won’t make wild garlic and echinacea flowers magically appear in her hands. Sypha has to do that herself.

The light between her fingertips begins to fade but only because Sypha’s attention is somewhere else. She looks ahead and sees the same sort of light amongst the trees, dim yet noticeable against the monsoon. They float off the ground as graceful little flames of blue and form a path where there was none before. There they stay, patient, waiting for somehow to follow.

Sypha is very much aware of these tiny creatures. They have many names ranging from fairy lights to wil-o-wisps; frivolous, unassuming names that mask their true motives. How they lure lost travelers to their death for they too are the remaining souls of those who met their ends in nature’s grasp. A bedtime story meant to warn children about walking alone in the woods, but like most Wallachian stories, it holds true.

Sypha takes her first step along their path. She may regret this in the worst way but what else is there to do. The thought of Trevor and Alucard (Alucard especially) propels her, even if she is putting her fate in the hands of dead spirits.

A few more twigs and branches scrape at her wet cheeks. One foot begins to cramp up, causing a limp in her step, and yet she follows the lights nonetheless. At least she isn’t dead yet.

Sypha won’t die; not tonight. Upon reaching the end of the pathway, she finds herself surrounded by the very things she needs so desperately. For the first time, and what might be the only time, she’s grateful for Wallachia’s creatures.

--

Dreams, memories, and hallucinations all mean the same to Alucard. They meld together until he can no longer differentiate between reality and whatever his mind conjures up. He thinks he’ll stay in this one at the moment, for it’s a happy moment this time. Where everyone called him Adrian, not yet Alucard. Warm underneath a quilted blanket made by his mother and father, sheltered by the walls of his sanctuary.

A woman with the same golden hair as his leans over him and removes a stick-like device from his mouth. She examines it with a furrowed brow before placing something soft next to his head: a hand sewn wolf doll stuffed of downy feathers with glass eyes and a leather nose. “It’s a good day to stay in bed.” The woman tells him, rubbing his hot forehead with her soft hand. She smiles; always smiling in his memories of childhood.

After tucking him in and disappearing for only a moment, she returns holding a steaming bowl. Alucard does his best to sit up while the woman guides a spoonful of soup into his mouth then another. It tastes of garlic and fresh herbs; it tastes of a home that once was and might never be again.

“I think he’s coming to…”

The scene of Alucard’s bedroom fades as his heavy eyelids force themselves open. Sounds of steady rain tapping against stretched canvas fills his ears, mingled with two faint yet recognizable voices. His lips feel warm and there’s a strong aftertaste lingering on his tongue. Was it really just a wishful dream?

Another surge of watery garlic and herbs enters through his mouth, slowly and carefully, while a rough hand helps prop his head up. Without thinking too much about it, Alucard assumes the one feeding him hot broth is Sypha and the one holding him is Trevor. His train of muddled, foggy thought suddenly changes when he realizes that Sypha has returned. She was successful and they are all together. They are all safe.

“Don’t you worry, Al. We’ve got enough garlic and flowers to last us for days.” Trevor chuckles at the nickname he will no doubt force upon Alucard in the near future. “How in the hell did you find so much anyway?”

Sypha tells a little white lie. Neither of them need to concern themselves over the possibility of dead souls roaming the very forest that surrounds their wagon. “I must have gotten lucky.”

“Who mixed the soup?” Alucard asks, his voice much clearer.

“Trevor did.”

“... I can tell.”

Trevor’s grin is wiped clean off his face along with any sense of smugness. He and Sypha switch places with her assisting Alucard and him in charge of the stew. “I hope for your sake you meant that as a compliment.”

Alucard won’t say. But he does manage a smile of his own as he’s fed a few more hearty spoonfuls. He doesn’t grimace or spit it back out; a good enough sign.

“Now sleep for god’s sake.”

Alucard thanks both of them, though it comes out as a tired mumble before his eyes close and his still pale face relaxes. Trevor and Sypha stare at him before turning towards each other, nevertheless feeling a joined sense of relief. They watch over Alucard for a while longer, huddled together for warmth, weary yet calm expressions basked in shadows caused by the one lantern they managed to hang above them. Oddly soothed by the now gentler rain.

No one dares mention the broken wheel.

[fanficwriter013]

The Tower: Unexpected - 8

The Tower: Unexpected An Avengers Fanfic

Series Masterlist

Previous //

Pairing:  Avengers x ofc, Bruce Banner x Bucky Barnes x Clint Barton x Wanda Maximoff x Steve Rogers x Natasha Romanoff x Tony Stark x Thor x Sam Wilson x OFC (Elly Cooper)

Word Count: 2223

Warnings:  pregnancy, body image, smut (vaginal sex, pregnancy sex)

Synopsis: A little over 2 years after moving into the Avengers Tower, Elly finds herself pregnant against the odds.  While some are excited, others are terrified, and pregnancy that none expected to happen causes rifts through the group and threatens to end the relationship.  

Author’s Note:  Written with the ever amazing @avengerscompound​

Chapter 8: Clint

The next month, I was a little bit of a roller coaster.  My morning sickness got really bad.  I was throwing up multiple times a day and barely able to keep things down.  I still hadn’t even seen a hair of Bucky, Clint or Tony.  Hulk was still the Hulk.   There didn’t seem to be any indication that Bruce would return.  On top of that, I was growing out of all my clothes.

I had Wanda, Natasha, Steve, Sam, and the Hulk though.  They were doting on me a lot.  Sam was making sure I was eating.  If something set off my morning sickness, he’d make note of it and I wouldn’t see it again.  He made sure that every meal had what I needed even if it was something really bland so I could keep it down.

Natasha was being anal about all the doctor's orders.  She made sure I’d keep going to work and exercising without overdoing it.  That I took my anti-nausea medication and vitamins.  She kept me out of the public eye too.  She was pretty insistent that the press didn’t find out I was pregnant.

Steve was doing the same as Nat as far as the double-checking I’d taken my pills that day, but he was also a huge soft touch when it came to cravings.  If I said I felt like chimney cake, he’d go get me Chimney cake even though there were only two places in the whole city that sold it.

Wanda took me shopping for clothes and cuddled with me when I was low.  She was always there to hold my hair in the bathroom.  And if I really just didn’t want to follow the rules, she was the one that let me off.

Hulk was the one I went to if I really just wanted someone to be excited.  Wanda and Nat were excited about it too, but life moved on.  Hulk was always excited.  He’d light up when he saw me and want to touch my growing stomach.  He would tell me how he really wanted to feel them and when I told him we were naming one Pietro and I was thinking about Riley for the other, he got excited that they now had names.

So things were looking up in any case.  Not perfect but I didn’t feel so alone.  I didn’t feel like I was being foolish hoping the others would come back to me.

It was a Saturday afternoon and I was just sitting alone in the common room when Clint showed up.

Showed up is underselling it really.  He climbed down out of the vent above my head babbling like we were already in the middle of a conversation.

“Hey, El. I've been reading. And there are some things that I don't understand. Like, did you know that a fetus can have hiccups? How is that even possible.”

I was too shocked and amused to be upset with him.  It was such a Clint thing to do that I felt like I hadn’t lost him in the first place.  “Uh.. yeah.  Yep.  I've felt them.  It's weird.”

“The book also said they start to grow fingernails at about 10 weeks.”  He continued to babble, sitting down next to me and opening up a baby book full of multicolored tabs to a page and showing me a picture.

“So I read.  That's weird to think about.  I wonder if they scratch inside there.”  I said looking at the book more than the picture.  It was well worn and each tab was labeled with things like ‘hearing’ and ‘diabetes’ and ‘alien face’.

“Well, they're not as strong. So maybe you wouldn't feel it?”  He said looking from my stomach to the book and then back again.

“Oh yeah.  That makes sense.”  I said, closing the book and put it on the coffee table.  I looked at him and smiled.  “You've been reading up?”

“Yes,”  Clint said, grinning.  “I've done the reading that FRIDAY recommended for me. The margins have notes.”

I took his hand and started playing with his fingers.  They were so long and calloused.  You could always tell that Clint used his hands a lot.  “That's where you've been all this time?”

“I'm a slow reader?”  He said trying to play it off as a joke.

I frowned.  “I was starting to think I wasn't going to see you again.”

“You know that I dropped out of school and joined a circus right? The circus isn't exactly big on reading.”

“I know.  I know.”

“And these words, this topic. Slightly above my reading level.”  He said, turning away from me and rubbed the back of his head.

“Clint?”

He fidgeted where he sat.  “I know.  I’m sorry.”

I wrapped my arms around him, melting into him and smacked him upside the backside of the head.  “Don't scare me like that.”

“Yes, ma'am.”  He said wrapping his arms around me.

I took a breath and pulled back from him.  “Have you been talking to Nat?”

“About the twins?”

I relaxed again.  “Good.  And you’re okay?”

“The books say that twins make it harder for everyone.”  He said.

“Um... well I guess there's two of them.  I'll probably end up having to have a c-section too.  Which has risks.”  I said with a frown.

“Yeah, that's what I read.”  His hands had moved almost absentmindedly to my stomach and he ran them gently over the swell.

“But people have them all the time.  And while I'm starting to wonder if I'll ever actually see Tony again, he has got really good medical care happening.”  I reassured him, putting my hands on his.

“Don't worry about Tony,”  Clint said.  “I'll throw the book at him.”

“You’ve seen him?”  I asked.  I wasn’t sure what was worse.  If he had or if he hadn’t.  I was so worried about him being alone, but the thought he was being with everyone but me hurt like hell.

“I've made him my pet project,”  Clint said.  “He’s all; ‘I’m gonna be a bad dad.  My dad was terrible and I’m just like him’.  I’m trying to shake him out of it.”

“Oh good.  Thank you.”  I said though I’m pretty sure my voice didn’t exactly convey thanks.

“Because Bucky threw a knife at me.”

“Bucky threw a knife at you?”   I asked shocked.

“Yeah.”  He said as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

“He's being weird.  If it's just about his arm, why doesn't he get a new one.”  I said curling into myself.

“Is that an option?”  Clint asked.  “FRIDAY is that an option?  Can Elly see the scans?”

A holographic projection of Bucky’s arm and shoulder lit up in the middle of the table.  “Why couldn't he get a new one?  Tony could make him an arm, couldn't he? You can upgrade tech.”

Clint flicked the scan around to show the joints.  I stood and took a closer look at them.  They looked wrong.  Like they cared about the arm but not about the person they were attaching it too.  It looked like the muscles were tearing at the joint and there were raw nerve endings.  With the way he healed faster than average they must have been tearing and repairing constantly.  He must be in pain all the time.  “Now, I'm not a doctor. But something about these here, are fucked.”  Clint said.

“They definitely seemed to care about the arm more than Bucky.”  I agreed.

“Yeah, so something about it being a major surgery. And Tony won't do that without Bruce. And…”

“Yeah, but... and okay, granted this bit is fucked up and probably should have already been seen to, but ... okay... don't you guys know doctor Helen Cho?  Like isn't... didn't Vision get made with her cradle tech?”  I asked.  I knew a little bit of the history but not all of it.  So I wasn’t exactly sure why they hadn’t done that yet.

“Yeah,”  Clint said, with a hint of sarcasm in his voice.  “And Ultron tried to kill her. I'm not sure she'd work with us.”

“Well, in any case.... surely you can just take it off from here,”  I said indicating to about two inches below where the metal arm started.  “And just put new tech on the old connection.  Worry about the connection later.  Or just take it off.  If it stresses him out that much.”

“I'm not sure he thought about that,”  Clint said.  “And then that brings in the new set of issues in being able to protect his family.”

“Right,”  I said closing down the hologram.  I really didn’t have the energy to try and figure out how to fix Bucky’s arm.  I was far from an expert in that kind of thing anyway.  I turned and faced Clint.  “You're here?”

“I'm sitting here, right?”  He said.

“Yeah... but I don't know.  Look at this.”  I said and lifted my shirt up to show how big my stomach was getting already.

“You're cooking babies in there,”  Clint said putting his hands on either side of it.  “What did you expect to happen, El.”

“I don’t know, but … what if no one wants me like this or bigger?  Or it ruins my body?”  I asked.

He pulled me down into his lap.  “Come here, dummy.”

“You’re the dummy.”  I pouted.

“We love you, El.  Nothing’s gonna change that.”  He said.  “Plus, I think you look hot.”

I nuzzled into his neck, not wanting to look into his eyes.  “You know what else happens in pregnancy?”

“Is this the part where you tell me that the books weren't actually written by 15-year-old boys like I thought.”  He joked.

“They were not at all.”

He pulled back and looked into my eyes.  “Is that safe?  That's not a no. Just a genuine worry.”

“Yeah.  It's safe.  Everything is fine.”

“Well then…”   He said and pulled me into a hungry kiss.

He pulled back for just enough time to get my shirt off before we were kissing again and his hands roamed over my belly.  I turned to straddle his lap and cupped his jaw, holding him in place as we kissed.

I rocked my hips and could feel the way his cock hardened under me.  The problem was, my stomach kept pushing against his abs slightly painfully.

“Oh no.  This isn’t going to work.”  I said pulling back a little.

“Then we adapt.”  He said patting my thing.  “Turn around.”

“You don’t want to look at me?”

“Oh honey,”  Clint said, pressing a kiss to my forehead.  “You’re a mess.  A beautiful sexy, mess, who I most definitely want to have my way with.  I’m just trying to make it comfortable for you.”

“Oh, right,”  I said.  “Sorry.”

“Do you want to turn around?”  He asked.

I spun around in his lap and leaned back against him, grinding my ass in his lap.  “Yeah, this is better.”

“Plus, I can do this.”  He teased squeezing my breasts and sending a wave of pleasure through me.

“I do like that.”  I hum.

“I know you do.”  He said kissing my neck.  He kept squeezing and massaging my breasts and his hand down into my pants.  He palmed my cunt and I moaned as a dull tingle spread through me.  His fingers slipped between my folds and circled over my clit before pushing inside me.

He fingered me slowly as he sucked a patch on my throat and tugged on my nipple.  “Feels so good.”  I moaned.

“I know what my princess likes.”  He hummed.

“I want you inside me, Clint.”  I moaned.

He nudged me forward, pulling his hand from my cunt.  “Then there are still too many clothes on.”

I stood and pulled my pants down and off.   “That’s a nice view,”  Clint said, running his hand over my ass and pulling me back down into his lap.  He rutted his hips against me, his cock sliding up and down my pussy before he sunk into me.

“Oh god, that’s it.”  I moaned.

“Yeah, it is.”  He groaned.

I bounced in his lap as he massaged my tits and rubbed my clit.  Thanks to the pregnancy I was overwound and super sensitive.  It was like there was nothing he could do that was the wrong move.  Each thing sent wave after wave of pleasure through me.  I came.  The way my body clenched and shuddered around him seemed to spur him on more.  He started fucking up hard into me, snapping his hips against mine.  His fingers worked tight circles on my clit.  “Fuck.  Clint.  I can’t… I’m gonna…”  I babbled.

“That’s okay, princess.”  He purred, nipping at my earlobe.  “As many times as you like.”

I came again.  Followed by a third time.  My legs started trembling and I began to feel weak.  He held my hips and began to thrust up into me, and when I came again, so did he, spilling inside of me.

I relaxed back against him and he wrapped his arms around me and nuzzled into my neck.  “There you go.  See, I’m good at taking care of pregnant women.”

“Oh yeah?  How many have you taken care of?”  I laughed.

“Just you.  But I studied.  So … we’ll be okay.”

// NEXT

[kakusu-shipping]

Overwatch Self-Insert plots

Ah yes, can’t breath, can’t see, perfect time to write down the overarching Multi Universe plot that is my Overwatch Self-Inserts.

This post is gonna be just like my DR SI post from the other day, only without drawings cause all my F/Os from Overwatch are Omnics and I can’t draw and also I’m like 70% blind rn so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

All of my Self-Inserts stem from the same baseline story, and branch off depending on certain plot points. I’ll cut off at branches as necessary. To anyone who cares enough to read, good luck following along. And thankyou.

Before the Omnic Crisis, my family operated a large branch of Omnic engineering and repairs, engineering many of the modern Omnic servant models, and offering near perfect repair services. I was raised in the Omnic crisis, and still mastered Omnic repair and care.

After a peace agreement passed in the USA, my family’s business went under, as the creation of new Omnics was considered illegal. And while they could still run a repair service for Omnics, they grew a hateful bias twords Omnics and refused service to any non-servant Omnics.

I, however, saw my work on Omnic repairs closer to that of a Doctor than a Mechanic. I didn’t agree with my family’s refusal to help Omnics unless they were owned like property. So, I made a plan to leave. (Branch begin)

Option A:

Pack up all I own and head across Country, serving and caring for Omnics I find injusticed.

Upon leaving my home in Kentucky, I traveled West blindly, eventually landing on Route 66, right in the middle of a gang fight.

I’ll admit, I’m short. It’s no surprise the Cowboy styled gang assumed as I was a child. It is surprising, however, that they cared enough to have the large Omnic, BOB, stop attacking to grab me and take me to cover.

When the Gang returned to the hide-out the Omnic had carried me too, I had already finished repairing any bullet wounds he’d taken while running off. I thanked them for saving my life, and apologized for getting in the way. In return I repaired their other injured Omnics as I explained my situation.

Both Ashe and McCree invited me to stay in Deadlocke. I may not have the firepower the rest of the gang had, but my engendering was top notch, and it turns out poor BOB takes a lot of hits.

I was more than happy to find somewhere my skills could be helpful, even if it meant I had to dress like a Cowboy. (End branch)

Option B:

Steal enough money from my family and purchase a plane ticket to the Omnic Monk village in Nepal to learn from Mondatta.

I am shit at directions.

Despite landing in Nepal, and getting very specific instructions on how to get to the Omnic village on the mountain top, I still got lost.

I wasn’t exactly dressed for mountain weather, either, so it’s no wonder I ended up passing out in the snow. I would have died out there if not for the Omnic who found me, Zenyatta.

Upon awaking in the Monk village, I over thanked my savoir, before immediately pleading my case. I wanted to meet Mondatta, and offer him my services. I wanted to do good for Omnics, and assist in any way I could.

Mondatta was very welcoming, even allowing me to stay in his own home. I was the only human in the village, and everyone had questions. I suppose I caused a bit of a stir my first few weeks.

On top of general check-ups and repairs, I also spent much of my time keeping the village clean. And while it took time to learn that spiders are free to build and keep nests in the sanctuary, I eventually settled into the customs.

It wasn’t long before I began to form a crush on the Omnic who saved my life.

Not JUST because he saved my life, mind you. Though yes, originally I may have caught feelings to him for just being my hero, I was willing to allow those feelings to fade over time. But they didn’t. They simply grew.

I watched Zenyatta wander the village in thought, or take walks with Mondatta as the two discussed the deep thoughts. I saw him pull harmless pranks on his brothers and sisters, play with the children from the human village down the mountain. I saw him laugh, and dance, and admire the world around him.

He was so full of life and love. He was so.. cute.

I suppose Brother Mondatta must have caught wind of my feelings, as whenever I needed to go to the village down the mountain for supplies, he would sent Zenyatta with me as some sort of escort. To make sure I wouldn’t get lost of course.

Then, we met Genji.

He arrived at the village the same way I did, passed out in the snow and discovered by Zenyatta.

He stayed with us at first very begrudgingly, he had no where else to go and no money to his name. We set him up above the stable near Town center, so he was close by both Zenyatta and myself.

I nticed very quickly how... poorly made his prosthetics were. His chestplate stabbed into his flesh, nerve wires hung loosely off his head, his legs had knives in them for pete’s sake! He couldn’t even wear a pair of jeans in those!

While examining him for frost bite or other injuries, I carefully brought up the topic of his cyborg body. He was defensive. I let it go.

After I while I noticed he spent more time around Zenyatta, rather than just holed up in his room. He even came with us to the village down the mountain. He still didn’t speak to me much, but I did drag him into a snowball fight against the village kids with me. We got our asses beat, but it was fun.

One day, he came to me, with a piece of paper and a request. He didn’t want to look like this anymore. He asked if I could fix him, make his body feel more.. complete. I was happy to assist.

I took him though every step. We designed and purchased the parts together, I took his measurements and planned a day for his surgery. We were lucky enough to have quiet a few Omnics from the medical field on hand to help with the human parts.

Genji changed after getting his new body. He was happier. He continued learning from Zenyatta, and the three of us spent a lot of free time together. He taught me how to throw a Shuriken, I taught him how to hit a baseball.

Being such close friends, we of course eventually spilled our guts on our crushes... which happened to be the same person. And in true solidarity, we both chose not to take action. If Zenyatta liked one of us back, he’d make the first move. We’d both simply pine together.

To bad Zenyatta assumed Genji and I had feelings for one another, and decided not to throw his own feelings into the mix.

Eventually, Genji returned to Overwatch, and life went on.

When Mondatta died, the village lost a lot of color.

The monks fell quieter. They mourned in silence and went on about their lives, but no one laughed, or joked, or gathered anymore.

I couldn’t stand living in Mondatta’s house anymore, knowing he’d never return, knowing he’d never walk though the door again, knowing I could never hear his wisdom again.

I stopped sleeping. I began to wonder the village late at night until the sun came up. I’d pass out in the flowers in the sanctum, or on the stairs to Genji’s room. I just couldn’t be in that house.

Eventually, Zenyatta caught me wandering at night, cold and exhausted. He invited me to his own home. He made us tea, though he couldn’t drink his own, it made him feel more human to hold the cup in his hands.

I had mentioned in passing all the Omnics in the village had a tune. They’d play it softly while meditating, wither they noticed it or not, and a group of the monks sounded like a beautiful choir.

Zenyatta asked me.. if I remembered Mondatta’s song.

I’m glad he asked me. I was the only one who ever heard Mondatta’s tune, it would have died with him if I’d forgotten.

After that night, I began to live with Zenyatta. The village eventually recovered from Mondatta’s loss, and we were once again smiling, and laughing, and singing.

(Branch begin)

Outcome A:

Zenyatta loves me

(This arc takes place in my Overwatch everyone lives together AU)

A few months later, we celebrated my birthday. The monks weren’t a mortal possession people, so there were no gifts. But we did have a cake, and some silly decorations. Sense most Omnics were made in batch on the same day, they didn’t normally celebrate birthdays, so this was a special occasion.

And while I love the monks, they can get a bit rowdy. After all they’re all in their 20s, they can get rather hyper. I ended up sitting outside with a piece of cake, staring at the stars.

Zenyatta came to join me, with his own slice of cake, despite not being able to eat it. We sat together and watched the stars, we joked. I may have elbowed him and made him drop his cake on accident.

Zenyatta laughed it off, and said he had a confession. He went against the rules, just this once... And got me a birthday present.

You can imagine my surprise when Zen handed me a Pachimari plush doll. Really, I almost cried. To live with the monks I had to leave all of my stuffed animals behind, and I talked constantly about my abandoned comfort teddy back at home. To think he really listened....

I hadn’t planned on confessing my feelings for Zenyatta, I really was going to stick to the pack Genji and I had made but... it was all too sweet. And really, at this point, Zenyatta already knew. He was just waiting for me to say it.

When Genji returned to Nepal, he had one request; For Zenyatta to join Overwatch with him. The newly awakened team needed him, and it was the chance to change the world Zen had been waiting for.

I’d be lying if I said Zenyatta leaving didn’t break my heart a little bit... But I could hold on. He was changing the world.

In the meantime, there was plenty of Zen and Genji themed merchandise to buy.

After nearly two years of being away, Zenyatta and Genji had some time off to return to Nepal. It was only while boarding the plane did Zenyatta learn Overwatch had a Family plan for allowing Partners and family to live on base. So that was exciting news to bring home.

Despite being in Nepal after we got together, Genji was still blissfully unaware that Zenyatta and I had started dating. So you can imagine his surprise when I can sprinting at them as full speed, jumped into Zenyatta’s arms, and kissed him strong on the faceplate.

He was... a little mad I went against our oath. Though Zen took most of the fall by saying he confessed first. So he let it slide, and continued to be my greatest friend.

I end up moving onto the Overwatch base with Zenyatta, and work on Omnic repairs with Brig and Torb. I make a lot of friends living in Overwatch, and getting to spend more time with Zenyatta is always a bonus. (End Branch)

Outcome B:

Zenyatta loves Genji

(This arc takes place in a semi-everyone lives together AU)

When Genji came back to Nepal to ask Zenyatta to join Overwatch, I begged to come along. I couldn’t stand the idea of being left behind, to be unable to help and provide assistance.

Join Overwatch, most of my effort is keeping Genji in working condition, as he refuses to let Angela or Brig look over his armor, even though I gave them copies of the blueprints. He just doesn’t trust anyone else. Angela says he was like this in Blackwatch too, though back then he trusted her at least.

I also spend time learning from Brig and Torb the workings of older Omnic models. Hana even teaches me about her Mech and how it’s put together.

I spend a lot of spare time with the younger group of Overwatch agents; Hana, Brig, Lucio, Junkrat, Lynx17, and Tracer. Mei and Genji also tend to wane in and out of group activities.

On Hana’s birthday, Lucio, Jamie, and I were tasked with keeping her distracted while the rest of the crew sets up a surprise party for her. So, we take Hana out on the town, and let her decide what we do.

We find ourselves in a Casino, with a bet, and a months worth of laundry on the line. We all start with $50, the person with the least amount of money at the end looses.

I take a seat at a Poker table next to an extremely attractive Omnic. Poker was the only gambling game I knew how to play, and while I wasn’t perfect at it, it should be enough to land me in at least third.

The Omnic next to me took interest in the crew I’d slumped in with. He asked questions, and I answered, more focused on my winning streak than what I was saying.

Eventually I had a good enough chunk of change I felt confident in my placement and started to get up, but a robotic hand on my knee stopped me. “One more game” turned into two more games. Then three. Four.

I played till I was out of money, all because Maximilian asked me to stay.

When I went over the amount I had to gamble, the Omnic payed my debt, and took me on a walk. Up some stairs, down a hall, and into his office. He just wanted somewhere more private to chat.

I sat on his lap and we continued to talk, about Overwatch, what I did, his Casino, the expensive chocolates he had, Talon, everything. He was in control of the situation, and I was oblivious.

At the end of the chat, he asked for my number, and I happily gave it to him, already crushing hard on the mysterious Omnic. He promised to call, and hoped to set a date to meet again.

Hana and Lucio were both over the moon excited to hear about this Max guy, and while Jamie was quick to bully me for my attraction to Omnics, he was just as enthusiastic.

Our first date was the classiest restaurant in town, and I was SHOOK. I didn’t own anything NICE. I basically had to beg Jack for a forward on my next paycheck so I could afford a suit. 

Almost every date after was somewhere I never thought I’d be, classy restaurants, extravagant parties, high end movie premiers. And while at first Max was putting forth all this energy to gain an inside man at Overwatch, it slowly turned to a real relationship he put effort into because he really wanted it to work.

It was after my first on the field mission that I really learned who Maximilian was. Brig, Torb, Zenyatta, and I went to Germany to safely scrap the discarded Bastion units. Zenyatta was there to say a final resting prayer for the passing Omnics, I scanned for good parts, and Brig and Torb took the bots apart.

Suddenly, one of the units powered up, and upon sensing human presence, opened fire. I took a majority of the first round, luckily nothing immediately fatal, though I did black out instantly. Brigitte managed to get her shield up before any rounds hit herself or Torbjorn. Zenyatta, being the only one not targeted, took his fellow Omnic out to save our lives.

I was placed on medical leave from Overwatch duties for months. I spent those months at Max’s home, and got most of my care though Talon, mostly Moira.

When my medical leave ended, I didn’t return to Overwatch. I was offered a much safer position with Talon, one Max encouraged me to take, worried for my safety with Overwatch.

I worked as a medic for Talon’s Omnic recruits. I never saw field work, and remained mostly blissfully unaware of what Talon was really plotting. (End Branch)

[aelaer]

Whumptober 21: Laced Drink

This is a decidedly more comedic spin on the trope, but the rest of the month is likely going to be rather nasty so, you know, a deep breath before the plunge.

Another fill for @stephenstrangebingo, too; card at the end.

21. Laced Drink

Stephen woke up feeling like it was the day after finals in college were over, because his head was pounding with every heartbeat and it was honestly the worst he remembered feeling in some months. What the hell had he been drinking?

… had he been drinking? His memory was rather fuzzy in that department, which was always a cause for concern. He tried to open his eyes, but the light was entirely too bright and he groaned softly.

“Strange? You awake?”

His brow furrowed. The voice sounded… vaguely familiar. Not overly familiar, but he definitely knew it. Lifting a hand to cover his eyes, he slowly peeled them open again, letting them adjust to the half-darkness of his palm before fully unveiling them.

He was staring up at a concrete-looking ceiling of some sort; there was a light fixture just in the corner of his eyes, which explained the sharp brightness. He closed his eyes again and rolled to his side to try and get up; it felt like he was on a bed of some sort.

Opening them again, he found he was now staring at Peter Quill (oh, right, he was off-planet to take care of a series of rifts that Captain Marvel and the Guardians had found). Quill was lounging on an easy chair in the corner, his languid posture offset by a look of vague irritation.

“Do you want the good news or bad news first?” he asked.

Stephen pushed himself up with one arm, grimacing against his still-splitting headache. “Bad news,” he said as he ever-so-slowly got himself sitting on the bed to properly face the spaceship pilot.

“Okay, the bad news is that those Correrans totally spiked our drinks and have locked us in here.”

He blinked a couple times. Well, that explained the headache. “The good news?”

“They don’t seem to want to kill us and, uh, it’s actually pretty comfortable in here, so long as you don’t mind the gawkers.”

More blinking. “The what?”

Quill pointed beyond him, and Stephen turned to look over his shoulder only to see a couple dozen Correrans, including some smaller ones, gawking at him. One of the smaller ones pressed himself (or herself, or itself; he honestly wasn’t sure) against the glass for further staring.

Stephen grimaced and looked back to Quill. “Don’t tell me this is a zoo of some sort.”

“It’s a zoo of some sort,” Quill replied, “but from what Gamora told me, they don’t actually keep species capable of complex thought here. They’re only supposed to keep injured people until they’re better— and you get to be on display for their services. That’s how it’s supposed to go, anyway.”

“That doesn’t explain why they drugged us.”

Quill ran a hand through his hair. “Yeahhhh, so. I, uh, I might have heard about that, too.” Stephen looked expectantly at him. “Okay, so, you know the rift you just closed here?” He slowly nodded. “Yeah, so, that glade it was in. Apparently it’s a special glade.”

“A special glade.”

“Yeah, a really special glade.”

Stephen raised his brows. “And that means?”

He looked up at the ceiling. “Weeeell, I might have heard that you’re only supposed to enter that glade if you’re getting married.”

A beat.

“Please do not tell me—”

“Yeah, according to them, we’re married.” He looked away from Stephen at the wall. “And Correrans sort of, uh, are expected to get on with it in the glade.”

“What.”

“Yeah… and we didn’t, so they put us in here…” He bobbed his head from side to side and lifted his hands upward in a rather open shrug.

Stephen looked over his shoulder again. “This is rather voyeuristic of them.”

“I don’t think the Correrans really have an understanding of privacy,” Quill deadpanned. “Anyway, can you get us out of here? They took my weapons and I’ve already tried breaking the glass with the chair. I’m not sure what material they’re using, but it didn’t budge.”

He patted his belt and shook his head. “They took my sling-ring, so no portals.” He carefully got to his feet and scoped the room they were in, then approached the thick glass-like wall and placed a shaky hand against it to get an idea of its structure. A moment later, he concluded he could definitely shatter it with an outward blast of some sort.

On the other side of the glass, one of the little Correrans waved at him. Stephen let out a low sigh. Blast them out and slaughter a bunch of Correran families in the process. Not happening. “Do they just want us to, as you said, ‘get on with it’ to complete the so-called marriage?”

“Uh, yeah, I think so.”

“They’d let us go then?”

“From what Gamora told me, yeah— they don’t keep people permanently.”

Stephen looked out at the Correrans, then sighed again. “Well, I’ve been in worse situations,” he said, then turned around to face Quill so he didn’t have to look at a bunch of gawking aliens as he began to fiddle with his belts.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Quill shouted, jumping to his feet. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Stephen raised a brow. “You said that they would let us go if we, well, consummate the marriage. It’s hardly an ideal situation, but not difficult to do. Do you prefer bottom or top?”

“Bottom or t— what, no no no. Man, I’ve seen how crazy powerful you are; can’t you just blast the glass apart?”

“Not without hurting the Correrans on the other side.”

“The Corre— they’re the ones that locked us in here in the first place!”

“Not those ones,” Stephen answered, gesturing towards the alien families. “Those are families. With children.”

Quill groaned, long and loud. “Fine, no blasting glass right now! But they can’t stand there forever. The moment it’s clear, then you blast it.”

He shrugged. “Fine. And then what? Do you know the way out of here?”

“… I’ll figure it out. We can’t fly without your cape-thing, right?”

“Cloak. And I can try, but if they have something that’s the equivalent of tranquilizer darts, it won’t go very well.”

Quill let out a loud sigh. “Why’d you have to go and get your cloak damaged?”

Stephen thought somewhat longingly for the cloak, which was still within the Benatar up in space as it spent time repairing itself. They had taken a pod down to the surface, as Stephen had not wanted to draw too much attention. So much for that plan. “It wasn’t on purpose. Besides, we can’t leave until we find my sling ring.”

He groaned again, then admitted, “Yeah, probably don’t want to leave that thing behind. I want my blaster, too.” He collapsed back into the chair. “Fine, fine. We’ll do it your way.”

“If my way doesn’t work, I imagine the others will eventually come looking for us,” Stephen pointed out.

Quill made a face. “Oh God, no. We need to get out of here before that happens. I do not want to tell them that we’re technically married on this planet.”

He made a face of his own; considering their banter already… “Good point. In the meantime, I am going to explore the place astrally and see where they have put our things, and see if I can find a way out of here.” He lay back on the bed and closed his eyes.

“That’s a handy trick. Is it teachable?” Quill asked.

Stephen chose not to answer as he left his physical form and went to explore.

————— 

About three hours, two upturned alien food carts, a stampede of three-foot-tall alien rhinos, and a fight with a very large, ornery space-centipede later, the two men made it back to the pod.

“If anyone asks,” Quill starts, still breathing heavily, “we were delayed because we needed to kill an Abalisk.”

“I don’t kill sentient beings,” Stephen protested.

“It’s hardly sentient; it’s an animal, mostly. Giant slug-type thing that fires energy beams. No one’s gonna come after you for ridding the world of them.”

“I managed to finally portal it into a dimension more suitable for it.”

Quill rolled his eyes. “Whatever. C'mon, let’s get back to the ship. And let’s never come back here again.”

“Agreed.”

(It keeps giving me an upload error when I try to add the card; rest assured I have fulfilled “Married by Accident”)

[shirtlesssammy]

10x02: Reichenbach

June 21st, 2003:

A boy wakes from sleep to hear a fight happening in his house. He finds his dad brutally murdered downstairs. As he cries over the body, we see a de-aged Dean Winchester walk in the room with a bloody knife. (Like, what a weird thing to spend money on, idk) 

Cut to (UGH) Cole (UGH) who was that boy. He’s telling his tale to a tied up Sam. He’s going to kill Dean. Sam tells him that “Dean isn’t Dean right now.” Cole is getting high off of thinking about his revenge so there’s no talking to him. Sam tells him that Dean had his reasons for killing his dad. There are monsters out there. 

(UGH) Cole (UGH) thinks he’s talking about human monsters (of which there are many) but Sam tells him REAL monsters. Cole keeps calling Sam the psycho but then puts on gloves and pulls out a hammer. UGH. 

Killdeer, North Dakota

Our Demon Dean Bean is enjoying the view (and touching without consent..smh). He throws money on the ground for the exotic dancer and she’s less than impressed and starts to walk away. He grabs her again and this time the bouncer stops him. Dean headbutts him and we’re suddenly watching (UGH) Cole (UGH) beat up Sam. I’m going to be honest, smart editing makes recapping hard. :D Cole continues to demand where Dean is. Dean continues to wale on the bouncer. Dudes at the bar are not stopping him --like, holy fuck, stop him, assholes! He stops himself, finishes his drink, and leaves. 

(UGH) Cole (UGH) continues to torture Sam, but he doesn’t realize that he’s dealing with Sam Fucking Winchester. That boy is a badass and he will NOT break. Cole’s just about to break Sam’s kneecap when his phone rings. It’s his wife so he answers and walks away, leaving his keys and a knife on the ground. 

Outside the strip club, Dean runs into Crowley. 

For Dear God Dunk Me Under That Running Water Science:

Cas is on the road with Hannah and his fake grace is failing him. She heals a wound of his and he thanks her but tells her she can go. She’s staying. She wants to help. That makes Cas laugh. It’s just so very human of her. (HANNAH) 

Cas gets a call from Sam. He has a lead on Dean and tells Cas to head to North Dakota. Sam then drops the bomb that Dean is a demon. 

Cas and Hannah head out to meet Sam. Hannah doesn’t see the point in helping the Winchesters. Cas sees otherwise. They’re his friends. (Blarf...this is season 10. One more season and he’ll be living in the bunker and he’ll be family and I just can’t take it.) Cas is not ok and starts to nod off while driving, and they crash. #RipPimpMobile

Dean and Crowley are at a bar. Crowley asks Dean how he’s doing, knowing full well that he’s not doing that great. He needs to kill. Crowley offers him a deal that he can’t refuse --kill for him.

Crowley has a list. First up: Mindy Morris. She cheated on her husband and then asked for a divorce. Lester, the husband, would rather sell his soul than give up his money. Mindy’s going to die. Dean agrees. 

Cas and Hannah have the car towed to a car repair shop. The extra nice mechanic invites them into her home. Hannah is not used to this human condition and it’s kinda cute. She also doesn’t get human humor. Also cute. Cas is so out of it, he doesn’t register the exchange. They head inside. Hannah heads to find food for Cas (wait, with his fading grace, does he need to eat?) and returns to the living room to find Cas zonked out on the couch. 

Dean stalks Mindy Morris’s house and just as he’s about to go in to do his job, he sees Lester pull up. He goes to have a chat with Lester. Pro tip: Not a great idea to be at the scene of the crime when the crime is happening. Dean tells Lester that he can’t really blame Mindy for stepping out. “She’s a North Dakota Eight. You’re a Four and a half max.” 

Wanna see a Hollywood Ten:

Also, Lester was already cheating on Mindy (UGH). Demon Dean maybe learned a thing between the no consent touching and this moment, because he ain’t buying the shit that Lester is selling. He punches him. Lester tells Dean that he works for him now and he needs to get in that house and do his job. Uh, demon or no, don’t tell Dean “Free Will” Winchester what to do; He’s going to do the opposite. Dean guts him with the First Blade. Oops. 

Sam’s at the Angelz Strip Club (LOLOLOLOLOLOL, Dean wishes it was one angel --I’m sorry, I couldn’t help myself. But also, wtf? Is it because he’s a demon, and irony?) He’s talking with the bouncer. They exchange war stories. Sam asks the bouncer to call him (or Lemmy Kilmister at least) if he sees Dean again. Meanwhile, (UGH) Cole (UGH) lurks and follows Sam as he drives away. 

The next morning, Cas wakes to Looney Tunes (god, I love this running theme through Andrew Dabb episodes) and a little girl who has the most fascinating dreams about snot and rockets. Epic. 

She offers Cas some of her cereal and he accepts. IT’S ADORABLE, PEOPLE. (A thousand Cas with small child fics were born, I’m sure.) The mechanic and Hannah watch and smile and all is right with the world. The mechanic tells Hannah their car is ready. And then she tells her that she’s got a great guy. (Lol, he’s already taken. Hannah learned that little factoid last season.) 

Meanwhile Crowley’s in hell (seewhatididthere) while a demon explains to him how to make Hell more efficient. Sam calls Crowley, but Interrupting!Dean (‘cause he’s a demon, I guess) strolls in very proud of himself for killing Lester. When Crowley chews him out for it, Dean shoves him to the ground with his little demon head-tilt. Crowley rather insightfully sums it up: Dean’s a li’l bit human and a li’l bit demon. 

Instead of cowering in fear, Dean’s supremely unimpressed by the King of Hell. He informs Crowley that they’re not “besties” and that he’ll come around when he needs someone new to kill. “It's over,” Crowley decrees. “What can I say? Crazy ones...well, they're good for a fling. But they're not relationship material.” It’s okay, Crowley. Breakups are hard!

In sunny angel-land, Hannah takes over driving for Cas who is looking awful. Listen, I don’t often fantasize about swaddling grown men and spoon feeding them soup but Cas! BBY! You look like hammered crap.

Crowley finds Moose and tells him where to find Squirrel. The Mark of Cain’s a PIA and he’d rather be shot of Dean altogether. 

Cas wakes up in the parked car to find Hannah gone. She went up to Heaven to speak to Metatron in jail. Careful! He’s a tricksy devil. She tries to interrogate Metatron for the whereabouts of the last remnants of Cas’s grace. Oh, sure! Coming right up.

Metatron says he’ll barter Cas’s grace for sweet freedom. Hannah’s about to bite when Cas arrives. 

Cas approaches angrily and tells Hannah not to do it. “I've made deals born of desperation, and they always end in blood and tears.”

Castiel doesn’t want to be saved like that. Hannah reluctantly agrees and walks off. Metatron leaves Cas with a parting shot: there’s just enough of his grace to save him. “Keep it,” Cas tells him. “I’ve made peace with my fate.” OKAY BUT we haven’t. Just so you know. 

Metatron decides to make a really compelling argument for freeing him. He’ll escape one day and then...kill everybody. How fun and well-adjusted. He taunts Castiel as he leaves: “Dead man walking!” 

On Earth, Dean pensively plays the piano?????????? Bored with piano practice, he pulls out the First Blade and slices his hand, then watches it heal up while Crowley’s advice to choose between the two natures echoes in his head. Sam approaches. (Aaaaand musical number time. Sing him a song, Dean!)

Dean picks up the blade and stalks over to the bar. Sam suggests a nice, civilized trip home to do the demon cure. For some reason, demon Dean isn’t into that plan. He confesses that he’d like to rip Sam’s throat out with his TEETH which is...certainly an image. 

Sam expresses his unending loyalty: it doesn’t matter what Dean might have done as a demon. He just wants him home. Dean laughs at him but his mirth gets interrupted by a smoke bomb going off. When Sam stumbles outside the bar, he’s met with (UGH) Cole (UGH). Cole knocks Sam “The Head Injury” Winchester out. 

Cole meets Dean at last, who roundly mocks him for not killing Sam already. Cole dramatically announces who he is to Dean. Dun dun DUN. He’s the son of a man you killed decades ago who has since grown into a completely different looking adult! I mean, come on, Dean. Work on your facial recognition here. Dean apologizes - all those dead people over the years have blurred together. 

Dean taunts Cole, telling him to shoot him already. (Side note: as much as I dislike demon Dean, he really plays up his eyes nicely in these scenes.) 

For Eye Crinkle Science:

They fight. Dean reminds me of a cat toying with a mouse. “What did you think was gonna happen, huh? You just stroll up here and say “my name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die,” And I'd just roll over? Well, that's just… It makes me sad.”

(UGH) Cole (UGH) cuts Dean, who heals before his eyes. He demon-flashes him.

Dean starts beating Cole within an inch of his life but hesitates… Sam takes that opportunity to toss holy water onto Dean and slap on those warded cuffs. You got ‘im, Sammy! Good work. 

Later, Sam hands the first blade over to Crowley for safe keeping (and WOW about that, really). 

(UGH) Cole (UGH) apparently headed straight to the public library after his little prize fight and, still bloodied and barely standing, asks the librarian for every book she has on demons. Please, Cole, demon and witchcraft books always get stolen within the first month on the shelf. 

Back at the bar, Crowley enjoys his froofy drink and fondles the First Blade while thinking of his ex. And then we get a close-up of his phone. It’s a photo of Dean and Crowley wearing cowboy hats and being dorks together. Over the scene, the song “Lonely girl” plays. I CAN’T EVEN WITH THIS. 

Sam drives Dean home to the bunker. Dean refers to Baby as “just a car” and we all die a little inside. Sam has hope, though. He chose not to kill Cole. Dean just smiles. He didn’t give (UGH) Cole (UGH) mercy...he handed him his destroyed pride on a platter. “That ain’t mercy. That’s the worst thing I coulda done to ‘im.” He then promises to visit more of his anti-mercy on Sam.

______________________________

Quote it Again, Sam:

Sam and Dean may be a bit rough around the edges but they’re the best men I’ve ever known. 

I understand the three beans, but what’s the surprise?

What is this, a lifetime movie?

______________________________

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive!

[ariadnelives]

Epilogue -- The Record Set Straight

[Missed earlier chapters? Go catch up here! Otherwise, welcome back! Oh, and make sure to join our discord server! Chapter can also be found @ ao3.” This update concludes “Ariadne Lives!” and I thank you for coming along on this journey with me!]

Some Time Later

“People of our fine system,” said Ariadne, the real Ariadne, on the video that had been practically looping on every news station for the past month, “My name is Ariadne, the dread pirate, and this is my confession.”

“By now you will have heard about the mass suicide of the Red God cult on Mars. This is a lie. You see, the Red God cult you saw was a front for something far more sinister. They were a paramilitary organization run by a disgraced lunatic named Dr. C. Alexander Simon, trying to use science and technology to create a fascist state of mind-controlled drones, with himself as its immortal leader. He thought that free will was something that needed to be cured, and that humanity would prosper if individual human beings were made incapable of behaving outside his warped morality framework. He brainwashed your friends and loved ones, and used the promise of the fabled Ariadne to bring in new ‘converts.’ But, he made two mistakes: 

First, he didn’t expect for there to be a real Ariadne. Now, I know a lot of you thought I was an urban legend, and I was okay with letting you think that, after all, it’s hard to catch someone nobody’s really sure actually exists, but I take great pride in being a folk hero and I couldn’t have some impostor ruining my good name, which brings me to mistake #2:

That cult brainwashed and abused children, and when I found out about that, I knew something had to be done. That’s why my crew stormed their fortress, rescued the children, and slaughtered their abusers. Every single member of their organization who acted of their own free will is now dead. Dr. Simon is now dead. 

Anyone who had friends or relatives fall victim to their mind control, you have been tricked into believing your loved ones are dead as well. Go ahead and cancel the funeral. Even if you’ve seen a body, they’re alive, and they miss you very much, and as soon as we are able, they will be returned to you, although… don’t be surprised if they seem a little more, shall we say, mechanical at first.

Meantime, I advise you not to waste your time trying to catch me. I’ll be doing what I always do, taking from people who have too much and giving to people who don’t have enough, until the day I die, and the only person in the universe good enough to stop me is fighting by my side. The only difference now is that you know I’m real, that I’m watching, and most importantly, you know what I’m capable of if I find out you’ve laid a hand on a child.

Bye now!” Ariadne waved and the face flickered away, a gruff looking white news anchor with a gray mustache taking her place.

“That was, once again, the video of the alleged fabled pirate Ariadne, claiming responsibility for the recent deaths of several hundred cultists and assuring the public that their recently deceased relatives will be returning from the grave. Now, Leanne, does that sound possible to you? Sounds awfully far fetched to me.”

The hologram panned out to reveal a second reporter, one possibly too attractive to be remarkable. “Well Jim, I thought so too, but we have been getting reports of relatives taken in by the Red God cult years ago suddenly returning home. NewMo News 7’s own Solomon Cho has returned unharmed after disappearing a few months ago while investigating the group. Solomon, what can you tell us about what happened to you?”

The hologram suddenly switched off. “I said, no news,” Flax insisted as she approached the poolside with a tray of recently grilled cheeseburgers. “Aren’t you sick of your own voice by now?”

Ariadne laughed. “How else am I supposed to see my normal face?” Truly, Alicia had done an amazing job, with only a new pair of glasses and a specialized hair growth formula she and Sasha had developed together, Ariadne now had much longer hair, which Alicia was currently braiding into cornrows. 

“I’m surprised you aren’t sick of that, too.” Flax said. “You’re not going to swim for an hour after eating that, right?”

There was, at this point, a large splash in the pool as Sweettalk was knocked underwater by Spacebreather. 

“Best three out of five!” Sweettalk shouted when she resurfaced. “You have an unfair advantage, she’s like, freakishly strong.”

“Look, I can play chicken as long as you can,” Pilar replied from atop Beam’s shoulders, “but I’m going to tell you right now, the Spacebreathers can’t be beat at chicken.”

“Don’t worry,” Sasha said very seriously, allowing Sweettalk to get on her shoulders again, “I have a plan for this one.”

“What kind of plan?” Sweettalk replied. 

“I’m not going to fall down and you’re going to push harder than her.”

“That’s… really not a plan, you’re just… describing how the game is played.” Sweettalk said.

“Yeah,” Sasha responded just as seriously, “do that this time.”

Baltimore sat down next to Ariadne and Alicia. “Beam!” She called, “If you don’t win, we’re getting a divorce!”

“You already know I’m going to win!” Beam called back. 

“Yeah!” Baltimore said, “Look, some of us weren’t cheerleaders in high school, this sort of thing is more your strong suit!”

“I’m glad they worked things out,” Alicia said to Baltimore, “I mean, a rift between sisters, we know that’s not the easiest thing to repair.”

“I genuinely have no idea what you’re talking about,” Baltimore replied. “I wasn’t there for, like, any of what happened.”

“I mean, when I came back, it took a while to win that trust back. That’s why I call every day, you know?”

Baltimore burst out laughing. “You are too stupid, you know that?”

“What?!” Alicia said, accidentally yanking a few of Ariadne’s hairs out. 

“Ow!” Ariadne jumped in. 

“Sorry sweetie, you gotta keep your head still while I’m doing this.” Alicia replied. “I’m stupid for what, calling you up?”

“No, dummy, I was really just glad to have you back. Once I found out where you’d gone I pretty much forgave you right away.”

“Well,” Alicia looked confused, “I still think I gave pretty good advice.”

“You definitely did, Baltimore’s Sister.” Ariadne said through a mouthful of burger. 

Baltimore laughed and gave Alicia a friendly punch on the arm.

“Ey Beam!” Baltimore shouted, “Just drop her in the pool and come get a burger already, I miss your face!”

“Do not drop m--” Pilar said plainly as she was dropped directly into the water. Baltimore was waiting for Beam with a towel when she got out of the pool, and greeted her with a tender kiss. 

“Hey,” Beam said as flirtily as she could, “where’s my burger.”

“Ugh,” Baltimore said, “you ruined a good moment.”

Beam considered this. “It would all be worth it if I had a burger, though.”

Baltimore rolled her eyes, handed Beam a burger on a paper plate, kissed her again, and said “I’m gonna go check on the kids.”

“I’m getting a burger too,” Alicia said, “do not move your head while I’m gone. I’ll know if you moved your head.”

“So,” Sweettalk swam up to the edge with Sasha loosely hanging her arms around her neck and drifting behind her, as Pilar got out of the pool and dried off, “your friends seem to have a really happy life here.”

“They really do,” Ariadne replied, “they deserve it, and I’m glad they have it, but I’m not gonna lie, I could never do this.”

Pilar sat down next to Ariadne and quietly stole a bite of her burger, instead of walking ten feet to get her own. “Me neither,” said Pilar with the bite of stolen burger still in her mouth. 

“You know what they say,” Ariadne mused, “do what you love and love what you do.”

“And love who you do it with,” Pilar added. 

“Yes, that too,” Ariadne nodded, “and I’m just more cut out for the life I’ve got. I love what I do, I love who I do it with.”

“You don’t ever get tired of it?” Sweettalk asked. 

“Sometimes,” Ariadne replied, “but it wears off pretty quick. I mean, I could never stop. What I believe in is that the good people are supposed to be rewarded and the bad people are supposed to be punished, and nobody seems to get what they deserve unless somebody gives it to them. So, until the universe starts doing its job, I’m gonna keep fixing things for good people and breaking them for bad people.”

“Yo ho,” Pilar agreed. Ariadne saw Baltimore and Beam come out of the house, each carrying one very sleepy-looking toddler, both of whom were far too young to swim and had inflatable floaties on their arms seemingly just for decoration, and they sat down in the shade and began feeding the babies, and each other, french fries. 

“Good people always get tired of being good, but bad people never seem to get tired of being bad,” Ariadne thought, lying back on the soft towel behind her, “so, that’s what I want out of life. That’s the kind of person I need to be. I want a good person’s compassion with a bad person’s patience. Keep doing good even when it’s easier to do bad, and try my best to make the bad people feel as tired as I am.”

Ariadne took in the warm, gentle rays of the sun, surrounded by the people she loved most in the universe. At her side was the woman she knew she would spend the rest of her life with, whether that was one day or a hundred years, who she could only hope understood the depth and passion with which she was loved. 

A few feet away were two girls who’d known some of the deepest tragedies a child could know, who’d grown up to be the sweetest, kindest, most intelligent young women the system had ever seen. 

Standing at the grill was the first authority figure she’d ever truly respected, handing a burger to someone who’d devoted her life to Ariadne’s crew just because she believed in the cause, whose patience and unfailing loyalty had meant everything to Ariadne in the years they’d known each other, and at a small table in the shade were two women who’d become like sisters to Ariadne, who showed her how intensely two people could love one another, whose marriage she had officiated and whose children she loved as though they were her own.

Right then, she could have combined all the misery she’d experienced in her entire life and it would still only be the smallest fraction of the joy she was feeling at that particular moment. 

The universe can be a good place, she thought, and if I’ve got anything to say about it, it’s damn sure going to be. 

THE END.

[rowxngreen]

18 years old from tucker, atlanta and has lived in atlanta for 18 years . currently working as a computer repair person/staff at his family’s store in marietta [ kit , 25 , mst ] | @atlanta-rpg​

tw: self harm, depression, sexual assault, substance use

Age: 18

Gender: Transmasculine, he/him

[Boxcar - Jawbreakers] - “Uhhh, shit, I guess if I had to pick a theme song it’d be Boxcar. I like the whole vibe of it, like, calling out punk purists. Punk should have no room for purism. If you say you’re a punk and you’re not a nazi, cause in the words of Dead Kennedys ‘nazi punks fuck off,’ you’re welcome. That’s what the whole point of punk was, dude. It’s the ultimate counter culture movement ‘cause it welcomes fucking everyone unlike mainstream culture.”

D.O.B: February 14, 2001

“Why the name Rowan?”

“So, like, originally I was named Hannah. Which is totally a bullshit name and when I met my forever family I decided to give myself a new name and I wanted it to be all nature-y because they all had nature names. They like helped me look and I found Rowan and read this folklore about how a rowan tree was where the devil hanged his mother and I knew right then. That was my name.”

Ethnicity: Half white, half mestizo

Enneagram: 8

Relationship Status: single - “Single and definitely not ready to mingle. If it happens it happens but I sure as hell ain’t seeking it out and I don’t think it’s gonna happen anyways so it don’t fucking matter.”

Sexual Orientation: Unsure  “Yeah, I don’t really wanna think about sexy shit. I was raped as a kid, I’m not especially into remembering it. And all this sexual orientation shit makes me remember it.”

Appearance:

Height: 5’0

Build: Smaller than he looks from far away. He’s actually really tiny. And he hates it.

If he wasn’t so intimidating he could be cute. With a small stature, high cheekbones, a cocky swagger and big brown eyes he is definitely attractive. But the scowl that takes over his features whenever he’s around someone he doesn’t trust and the aggression that seems to exude from every pore disguises that attractiveness pretty well.

Ripped flannels paired with crop tops and t-shirts layered with fishnets are among Rowan’s signature looks. There’s something decidedly sexual about how he dresses but he doesn’t seem to register that. He just wears what he likes and hopes will scare people. He displays his self harm scars like a badge of honor – or insanity. They seem to warn: I AM UNSTABLE, DON’T FUCKING TALK TO ME.

Look at Rowan the wrong way and at the very least he’ll gnash his teeth at you. At the most he’ll pull a knife on you and threaten to gouge out your eyes if you ever look at him again. He claims he tried to once but that’s unlikely. He would be in jail if that was the case. …right? Better not to risk it.

History:

Rowan was born to a teenage mother in an abusive household.

When Melissa Webber got pregnant at only age 15 she knew she would be in trouble. Her father, Frank, wouldn’t approve. Melissa kept it from the man as long as she could. Eventually, of course, he found out. Frank was livid. Melissa was banned from leaving their little trailer, she was banned from seeing her friends, and she was even banned from seeing her boyfriend of just over a year and the father of her baby.  She was to be homeschooled for the rest of her high school career so, in the words of Frank, she could no longer “be a slut.”

Her baby was born on Valentine’s Day in a house with no love left. Melissa’s mother had died when Melissa was only 11, and it often felt like she took any warmth and care that had been lingering in the corners of rooms, hidden among the shadows with her. How funny then that Rowan, initially named Hannah Jane, was born on Valentine’s day.

Frank’s anger and the isolation he forced on Melissa eventually pushed the girl to run away. Rowan was only 6 months old. She initially swore she would be back for her baby when she had a safe place to stay. She never came back. Before Melissa left, Rowan had been largely ignored by Frank. Now, however, he became the scapegoat. Melissa hadn’t left because she was isolated from the world. Nor, apparently, had she left because of the intense abuse she faced. Instead, according to Frank, she had left because the baby had ruined her life.

Frank turned this rage on the baby. Rowan’s earliest memories involve him being tied onto a tiny children’s chair for hours because Frank didn’t want him to make a mess in the house; Frank coming into the bedroom at night to ‘visit’ with him in a way that, to this day, has left Rowan extremely anxious about sex and sex repulsed; Frank holding his hand against a hot burner to 'teach [him] a lesson’ (Rowan was never told what the lesson was); having his face pushed under water in the bath to stop him from crying; and other acts that could only be described as torture. Rowan lead an extremely isolated life for the first several years of his life. He was homeschooled, like his mother, and besides Frank and a handful of Frank’s friends he was largely alone. Most of his socialization came from the television. Frank justified this by saying school was how Melissa got pregnant so he wouldn’t “make the mistake of sending another one there to be a slut.” Instead rowan was kept inside the house during school hours.

It had been noted that Frank was capable of abuse and neglect when Melissa was little (she had spent several months in the system when she’d come to school with visible bruises as a child), however, for the first 7.5 years of Rowan’s life, overworked and under-competent social workers consistently overlooked the abuse in the Webber household. Eventually one of the social workers noticed and cared enough to go through the proper procedures to get Rowan out of that living situation. She reported it to her supervisor and a full scale investigation was launched. The abuse was soon discovered through talking to and examining Rowan and Rowan was removed from the situation. For the first time in his life, he was safe – though Rowan did not know what ‘safe’ meant or felt like yet.

Rowan was given a temporary placement in the Green household, because, at the time, the Greens were acting as an emergency house for children who had just been taken away from their parents. He was only supposed to be with them a week but the Green adults fell in love with the skittish, self reliant child they had taken in. They asked for him to stay with them and began the process of adopting him soon after.  It took a long time for Rowan to realize he was safe and he was loved. For months he put up with people touching him because he was afraid that if he spoke out he would face some sort of punishment. For months he distrusted everyone in the Green household despite how much they loved him. He was always wary, always waiting for the other shoe to drop and for him to be hurt again. He was placed into therapy when he was young and has gone off and on since.

The Greens are a stereotypical homeschool family. Rowan was kid number 11, they own their own business and they bake their own bread. Mr. Green is a carpenter and Mrs. Green runs the little gift shop + bakery in Marietta. There were so many siblings that the older ones had to help care for the little ones when the younger ones were little. To this day the entire family is very close knit and the older siblings constantly rely on the younger ones to watch their children.

The Greens practice a form of schooling called unschooling. It is a child-led education where children get to decide what they study and when. Additionally, they’re what’s called whole-life unschoolers and the green parents take a stance on parenting where they don’t give their children orders. They talk to them and treat them as if they are capable of making their own choices and decisions, except when it is something that puts their health at risk.

Rowan thrives with that educational setting. He learned to read so he could use his brother’s computer, he learned math while cooking and found it fascinating so he learned it more in depth, he learned how to build robots and how to break into the coding of popular websites well enough that he even figured out how to monetize it when he was 12 (he tests websites for weaknesses and when he finds them he points it out and gets paid to do so). He learned how to play keyboard and guitar and began recording and publishing his music on Soundcloud and Youtube.

Within a few months of living with his new family, his new dad built him a beautiful, fully enclosed, treehouse in the large tree in their backyard. Rowan loved it so much he lived in it for almost a year only coming in to use the bathroom or on the most sweltering days when his family insisted he stay cool inside. He took his baths in the kiddie pool since he lived “outside in [his] own house now.”

Around this time he got a pirate costume and a knight costume. He changed his name to Rowan and began to trade off between wearing those two costumes. When he was in the knight costume he insisted on being called Brave Sir Rowan. When he was a pirate he insisted he was Cap’n Ro.

For a period of Rowan’s life you wouldn’t know he went through the abuse he went through. He seemed happy, healthy, well adjusted.

And then puberty hit.

With puberty came deep gender dysphoria. Suddenly his body was changing in ways he hated. He was developing curves and stopped growing. All the mental illness his family thought they had under control resurfaced along with a large new helping of self-loathing triggered by dysphoria.

Rowan began to self harm. It started small. He would lie in bed and fantasize about cutting off the parts of him that didn’t look right when he saw himself in the mirror. One night, he crawled out of bed and grabbed a kitchen knife and tried cutting his breasts just to see if it was possible. The scratch was so small it didn’t bleed. But, relief flooded through him. He was able to breathe and the crushing weight of dread had let up just a bit. He stopped crying and crawled back into bed and slept well for the first time in weeks.

Whenever he was upset he began to run to the sharp sting of a blade. He stole a pocket knife and a pack of razors and hid them in his treehouse. His family discovered the harm almost a year after he started. By then the little scratches had turned into proper injuries. He was immediately sent back to therapy and was diagnosed with gender dysphoria soon after. 

Rowan socially transitioned. It helped a little bit but pandora’s box was open. His brain had tasted self destruction and it was hooked.

The last several years have been a slow but steady spiral downwards. He made friends with other sad, breaking kids and they broke together. They began to experiment with alcohol and substance use young, Rowan would swear he’s fine but whenever you put alcohol in his hands he binge drinks to get as drunk as possible as quickly as possible. Whenever there’s a chance for him to get high off something new he takes it, barring only the most stigmatized of drugs.

Somewhere during this spiral he realized the easiest way to make people leave him alone was to scare them. So he began dressing in ways he thought would scare them and carrying himself like at any moment he could snap.

Personality:

“Sometimes I wonder what his life could have been if he had come to us as a baby and if we had known about his gender. You should have seen him when he was little. He was such a cute kid and was so passionate about, well, everything. And he’s so smart it’s intimidating. But then he hit puberty and we all lost what little stability he had. Last time I talked to mom, I heard he set a trashcan in the park on fire while he was drunk or high or both and it breaks my heart because I know he’s a good kid underneath it all. He’s just a good kid who’s really struggling right now. I hate it because I can’t even trust him to be alone with my kids anymore. What if that comes out around them and he hurts my crew?” – Clay Green, older brother.

“Rowan likes to act like he’s tough shit but he’s not. He can’t sleep unless he has his favorite stuffed animal with him and once I saw him crying over the sounds sloths make. The tough guy act is just that. An act. I mean, look at his cat. He only has the thing because he saw it was scared and got gentle with it. And now he’s the only person that cat tolerates and he has it perched in his tree house half the time so you can’t even go up there if you’re not him. Which, like, not cool when your little brother is practically sprinting to a drug addicted future and you really should be making sure he doesn’t have the worst of it in your parents house.” – Rosemary Green, older sister.

At first interaction it’s easy to think Rowan is all rough and ready to fight. And that’s exactly what he wants you to think. His fighter persona is designed to scare anyone who would hurt him away. Give him some time and a little patience and it becomes obvious that Rowan is much more complex than that. Rowan is confusing. There are so many elements to him that it’s hard for any one person to get a full picture of him.

There’s his brash fighter side – the part of him that stabbed a child for being mean to his sister once. There’s the sweet side of him that takes lost animals and lost people under his wing and cares for them when they can’t seem to care for themselves.

There’s the engineer part of him that builds useless robots constantly just because he’s bored. There’s the witch part of him that has an altar in his bedroom and that celebrates every pagan holiday he knows about so none of the gods feel left out.

There’s still a childlike part of him that hangs out in the tree fort his dad made him as a kid and still holds conversations between his stuffed animals. There’s the teenage part of him that’s looking for any substance to numb the pain of becoming an adult coupled with the pain of his past.

There’s the creative part of him that comes up with bizarre ideas for robots, off the wall pranks (like leaving loaves of homemade bread all over someone’s living space) and interprets almost every song he likes into his own version. And then there’s the part of him that named his cat “Cat.”

Rowan is nothing if not complicated and confusing. He doesn’t mind that though. He’s used to being the smartest person in any room he’s in but he doesn’t make it a big deal. He just watches everyone else and works on mentally figuring out how to fix the coding of whatever website he’s working on at the moment.

He doesn’t love easily but when he loves he loves deeply and unconditionally. If you find yourself lucky enough to be one of Rowan’s chosen few know you will have him on your side for life. He’s ride or die with everyone he cares about.

Hobbies:

Robotics

Singing (he actually has a really good voice)

Collecting stuffed animals

Programming

Baking (he works at a bakery but he also just enjoys it)

Sloths. They’re his favorite thing in this world and he is almost obsessive in his quest to see sloths, collect sloth mementos, and learn sloth facts.

Trivia:

Rowan has a car named Bloody Mary. It’s an old fashioned VW Beetle he spray painted black and red. He got a beetle because he “wanted to inspire violence in children.”

He’s really good with anything that uses his hands. Baking, playing guitar, building robots, etc. If it’s a hands-on, kinesthetic task Rowan excels at it.

He is terrified of butterflies and giraffes.

He collects stuffed animals so intensely that it can be hard to walk in his bedroom because there are so many stuffed animals lying around. He sleeps with a build-a-bear every night who he’s named Floyd and a stuffed animal of the Peanuts character Woodstock (who he has named Oscar).

Health:

Rowan downplays how he’s feeling most of the time. The physical abuse and neglect he faced as a child left him with chronic pain. He doesn’t mention it very often. He doesn’t want to admit to any weaknesses. If you watch him closely enough you’ll notice him rubbing his joints or squirming in his seat. Those are his biggest tells with his pain.

At 7 he was diagnosed with dyslexia and he still struggles to read and code (coding is worth the struggle, reading is not). At 13 he was diagnosed with gender dysphoria. Besides changing his pronouns he doesn’t seem too interested in transitioning (he’ll tell you he doesn’t see a point but in reality he’s afraid of the medical procedures involved). At 15 he was diagnosed with mood disorder not otherwise specified. He was given medication that he promptly threw out but he still attends weekly therapy sessions to try and help.

He doesn’t think it’s doing anything but sometimes it’s just easier to go along with the things expected of you.

Connections:

Bandmates: Rowan can either be the lead singer, guitar or bass/keyboards but the band should definitely be punk/post-punk influenced. I’m super broad within that. Want a sound closer to Pale Waves? Cool, sounds good. You into The Smiths and want that dance depression? kk, you got it. you into old school punk and want melvins vibe? coolcoolcool, love to live hard dude

Friends: Rowan might be a little shit but he’s a little shit who has a handful of friends. Because he’s the youngest sibling in his household, he gets along with older people really well.

Mentors: This lost teen needs people to look up to. It takes a lot to break through to him but he needs someone who’ll try.

Adversaries: These are people who rowan Does Not get along with. This can be for personality reasons or just simply because they try to keep him out of trouble and he wants very much to be in trouble.

Biological Dad: I love the idea of Rowan’s dad watching from the sidelines and watching Rowan grow up but not being able to legally reach out until Rowan is an adult. NOTE: Rowan’s dad needs to be hispanic. Rowan himself is half hispanic and it’s not on his mom’s side bc I wasn’t about to make the brown people abusive and add to that stigma.

Reluctant Romance: Rowan doesn’t want to date. He really doesn’t. BUT! I love the idea of him falling for someone and someone falling for him. I’m even down for an uncomfortable age difference so long as that’s acknowledged in plot. ;)

[lovemesomerafael]

Others Like Me                                 Chapter 7:  The Eve of Battle

Chapters 1-5      Chapter 6      Read it on AO3

The next morning, Bucky finally learns what the team’s been waiting for.  When he and Marya walk into the communal kitchen for breakfast, Scott Lang is slouched in a chair, looking for all the world like a homeless crack addict on a particularly bad hair day.  No one is sitting near him or talking to him, because he's snoring loudly and wetly. 

"Don't mind him," Tony says breezily.  “He had a long flight back from Siberia."

Marya is instantly on him, and Bucky finds it interesting that, although Tony goes into a protective stance right away, it’s all about preserving the safety of his coffee.  The look he gives Marya is offended and indignant, and it’s all Bucky can do not to laugh.

"Siberia?  Did he go to the bunker?  Did he see my brothers and sisters?  Are they all right?"

Tony looks over at Bucky with a raised, sardonic eyebrow.

"She's excited," Bucky shrugs, then turns to her with a grin.  "He doesn't speak Russian, remember?"

With an embarrassed but impatient exhale, she repeats the same questions in English.

Tony quickly explains Scott’s abilities as Ant Man, and insists they let him sleep.  He deserves it.  He’s been checking out the bunker for two weeks, and he’s exhausted.  Besides, he’s also caused a little trouble there - because when does he not - and Tony wants him to have to explain it himself.  

 It's hours later when Scott wakes up.  Bucky's had his hands full all day, trying to counter all the excuses Marya keeps making to go back and talk to him, and find things to distract her.  Sex worked for a few hours, but eventually even that stopped keeping her fully occupied, and he had to suggest a workout.  She’s only gotten more anxious as the day’s gone on.  

Right now, she’s beside herself and trying to work out her impatient irritation by tossing Bucky around in various throws that are making him regret his cavalier offer to play the attacker. He tries not to wince as he goes in again, trying to immobilize her.  She gets a shoulder under him – how does she keep doing that? – and once again, he finds himself pinned with her foot on his neck.  He tells himself it’s just that she’s got so much adrenaline surging through her, and he’s kind of worn out from last night and this morning. And again this morning.  He makes a point not to think about the fact that she’s been in the same bed he’s been in.

Finally, it’s time to get together and hear what Scott Lang has to say.  It’s great intel.  He’s been everywhere in the bunker, learned the routine of the place – as much routine as there is – and created a detailed diagram.  Marya created one when she arrived, too, but Scott was able to get inside walls and machines and fill in some details about wiring and such that she couldn’t know, not being able to shrink to the size of an insect like Scott can.

He was also able to talk with the captives, but only briefly.  That’s where the problem came in.  The Hydra brass are livid that their Asset and Troop Eight escaped.  They’re not convinced they acted alone, and haven’t given up trying to get the other Troops to talk.  The Troops told him that one of them was being tortured at that moment, so he’d hurriedly assured them that “Eight” was safe and with The Avengers, and that he would see what he could do for the Troop being questioned.

Scott shrunk himself and entered the room where the interrogation was happening, to see five goons having a field day with the Troop and a couple of stun batons.  He found himself particularly disapproving of their methods and unable to resist interfering.  He’d thought that he’d figured out how the power was routed in the room, and all he’d meant to do was turn out the lights, fuck with the goons a little, and then open the door so the Troop could escape.  Instead, he’d ended up fried, full-sized, and trying to explain his presence (and his suit) to a roomful of thugs who spoke only Russian.

The Troop, of course, spoke English perfectly well and was pretty quick on the uptake, to boot.  He told the goons that Scott was using a new Hydra invention that allowed him to become invisible in order to do “performance audits” on their behavior.  Off the cuff, the Troop made up a series of imaginary Hydra regulations on the spot and translated Scott’s stinging rebuke for violating them.  In fact, all Scott was saying was that he thought them bad-mannered and questioned their commitment to hygiene, but they didn’t know that.  While Scott recovered and repaired his suit, the Troop had the Hydra flunkies on the floor doing situps as punishment.  

Hearing that, Marya’s face lights up and she jumps up with a shriek from her seat at the conference table to hug Scott where he stands.  He looks fairly happy about that, except that with her enhanced strength, he seems a little sore afterward.  

“That had to be my brother! My true brother, the one who was taken with me.  Did he tell you his name?  Was it Desit’?”

Scott steps back.  “If it was, you’re not gonna hug me again, are ya’? ‘Cause I bruise easy.”  

“Not if you don’t want me to,” she laughs, radiating joy.

“I think that was it.  He looks kinda like you.  Big scar on his forehead?”

“Yes!  That’s him!”

“All right, all right,” Steve says, signaling Marya to return to her chair.  “I’m glad he’s OK, Marya, but let’s get on with this.”

Bucky’s happy she’s happy, and puts an arm around her as she sits back down next to him.  

“They really should’ve taken the dumb ones,” she whispers smugly in his ear.  

 There is now no question that everything Bucky and Marya have been saying about the bunker is true.  With the intel Scott’s provided, the entire team goes into planning mode.  The plan has two goals: rescue the captives, and destroy the Hydra bunker completely. Steve wants absolute destruction, and confirmation that nothing is going to survive this time. Uncharacteristically, for once he’s not even particularly harping on trying not to kill anyone.   

Preparing for the operation takes a long time, because Steve’s determined to wipe Hydra out completely while keeping his entire team safe, and Marya and Scott keep pointing out flaws in the plan.  But it's finally happening.  Bucky feels a sense of satisfaction and anticipation he hasn’t felt about a mission since his days with the 107th.  It feels good.  It feels clean.  

For the first time since Steve found him in Bucharest and brought him, eventually, to the Compound, Bucky thinks he's happy.  Actually happy.  Besides being part of destroying the remnants of the thing he hates above all else, he’s also building something good.  It's so easy to be with Marya.  She's had the serum, just like he has, which means she's as horny as he is, and has the stamina to back it up.  She’s also so strong he doesn’t have to hold back for fear of hurting her.

Because she’s so unsophisticated, having grown up in such an insular world, she has no guile at all. She says exactly what she means, and doesn’t know how to twist him around with the coy, underhanded feminine games that used to make him want to pull his hair out in frustration.  Which isn’t to say she isn’t playful.  She makes him laugh a hundred times a day, between asking adorably naïve questions one minute and, in the next, mocking him like the smartass she is.  

Best of all, he can tell her anything about his patchy, horrific memories of his time as Hydra's mindless weapon, and she understands.  She doesn't judge him; she can't.  She doesn't want to, because she is entirely certain that they are innocent of blame for any of the things Hydra made them do.  And the more they dig through his memories, the more he risks actually thinking about and even saying some of those things out loud, the more he’s able to question his own responsibility in it all.  

Because Bucky simply can’t maintain his belief that he’s a monster at the same time he’s falling in love with someone just like him.  

Maybe he and Marya don't have a lifetime of shared experience like he and Steve do.  Maybe they don't know each other's thoughts before they even think them.  Maybe Bucky still aches for Steve every minute of every day.  But Bucky and Marya also don't have the insurmountable obstacles that loom between him and Steve. 

The one thing he would change if he could is that Steve seems to have no use for him anymore, even as a friend.  Ironically, Steve's closer to Marya now than he is to Bucky.  Ever since Steve showed a willingness to teach her combat techniques, she hasn't been able to get enough, and he seems to be just as glad to show her.  Bucky knows Marya likes Steve, and the feeling appears to be mutual.  Strange as it seems, they seem at ease with one another.  So now, after a month at the Compound, when Bucky finds himself looking for Marya, he's just as likely to find her in the training building with Steve as anywhere else. 

But when he does, Steve gets stiff and quiet and makes some mumbled excuse to get away without looking at Bucky.  Steve and Bucky haven’t just hung out even once since they’ve been back, and Steve's entirely stopped working out or training with him.  It's excruciating, and Bucky misses Steve more than he could ever have imagined.  It’s part of why he asks Marya about their lessons; if he can’t talk to Steve, he can at least talk about him.  Maybe this is the way it has to be, Bucky thinks, so that Steve will move on.  He just wishes it didn't hurt so fucking much he can hardly breathe.

Bucky’s been working a lot with Sam lately.  They’re not close, although they’ve developed a sort of faux rivalry that Bucky really enjoys and thinks Sam does, too.  But Bucky respects Sam’s insights, and he knows Sam doesn’t pity him.  He knows Sam just recognizes him for the psychologically injured soldier he is.  That’s Sam’s wheelhouse, and he’s been willing to spend an hour or so every few days in what Bucky’s starting to think of as their “sessions”.  It’s helping.

This evening, while Bucky’s with Sam, Marya’s in the Training Building with Steve.  They’re done for the night; Marya was willing to keep going, but Steve knows when to quit, even if she doesn’t.  They’re sitting on the edge of the massive mat that covers a good-sized section of the floor, but they’re not talking about combat.  They’re talking about Bucky.  And for the first time, they’re arguing.  Sort of.  

“I think you’re wrong.  You don’t know him like I do.”  Steve winces. “Did.”

“Captain, please don’t do that.“

“Look, I appreciate that you’re lookin’ out for him.  But just…  leave it alone.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s none of your damn business, lady.  That’s why.”  Steve’s not usually rude, especially to women, but damn.  Of all people he does not want to talk to about his relationship with Bucky…

Interestingly, she doesn’t say anything, but she also doesn’t get up in a huff, either.  That’s kind of why he said that, kind of what he wants her to do.  Then again, he doesn’t.  Talking with her is the closest he can get to Bucky now.  

For a surprisingly long time, they just sit, silently thinking their own thoughts, until Steve says, “I’m sorry.  It’s just that, he and I…  it’s a mess.”

“When I first saw you together, it was obvious you love each other.”

Jeez.  What a thing for Bucky’s girlfriend to say.  Any other woman, Steve would think she was baiting him, but he doesn’t think Marya would even know what that is.  “We’ve known each other our whole lives.  Depended on each other.  We used to be closer than brothers.”  

“And you were lovers.”  It’s just a statement of fact.  This conversation’s getting a little weird for Steve.

“Yeah, but that was a long time ago.  Anyway, now he has you.  And I’m glad.  I think you’re good for him.”

“You don’t mean that.  But it was a generous thing to say.”

“Anyway, I’m trying to mean it.  But it’s hard.  I’m still in love with him.”  Steve has absolutely no idea where that comes from, and he sure as hell doesn’t know why he says it to her, of all people.  Maybe he says it to hurt her.  Maybe it’s a challenge.  Or maybe he just needs to talk to somebody about his love for Bucky so bad he’s lost every ounce of pride he had left.

But she’s not hurt, or angry, and she’s certainly not gloating.  If anything, she seems a little… sad?  And now that he’s started, he can’t stop.

“I died when he fell off that train.  I felt like there was no point to anything.  The plane crash after that, you know about that?”

“Yes.”

“I crashed that plane because I had to.  I couldn’t let that bomb reach its target.  And I was scared, I mean, I didn’t particularly want to die, exactly.  But the thing is…  What I was thinkin’ about at the end, was Bucky.  I was gonna get to see Bucky.  And I thought, that’s all right then.  I didn’t particularly like livin’ without him, anyway.”

Marya just nods.  “But you didn’t die.  And neither did he.”

“When I first woke up, and I saw where I was, that I hadn’t died?  I wasn’t happy.  I wasn’t relieved.  I was pissed. Everything about waking up seventy years after I crashed that plane, it all sucked.  But the worst part was that I still didn’t get to be with Bucky.” Steve’s eyes are unfocused, looking back into memory.  “And then I saw him, that day on the bridge.”

“And you found him, and you rescued him.”

“I had no choice.  It was Bucky.  I didn’t know how, or why, all I knew was that somehow, Bucky was alive and in the world somewhere, and I had to get to him.  I knew all the shit he’d done.  I learned everything I could about him.  And I learned even more terrible things once we’d found him.  But I didn’t care.  I still don’t.  All those people, all those governments tryin’ to stop me, everybody tellin’ me he was too far gone, none of it mattered.  All I wanted, all I’ve ever wanted, is Bucky.”  

“He knows that, Captain,” Marya says softly.  She takes a breath, like she knows he’s not gonna like what she’s about to say.  “The thing is, love like that, it can be… heavy, if you think you don’t deserve it.”

That pisses Steve off.  “What the hell does that mean?  I never blamed him for anything.  I didn’t expect anything from him, or try to change him.  So what’s heavy about it?”  He slams a hand into the mat, flat-palmed, making a noise that rattles the windows.  

“It’s nothing you did or didn’t do, Captain.  You’re not the problem.  The problem is what doing those terrible things did to him.”

Steve stands and starts to pace, his voice raising in pitch and volume as he vents more of the  frustration he’s been trying to keep inside.  “He could barely stand to have me touch him.  He avoided even seeing me for a while.  But I couldn’t stay away from him, and he started to let me get closer. I pushed.  I know I shouldn’t have, but I couldn’t stop myself.  We were both alive, and together, and it was a miracle, but that wasn’t good enough for me.  I was desperate for what we’d had before.  And for a while, it looked like we might be able to get there.  We even made love a few times.  But there was always this wall between us.  It was like we were standing on either side, both of us wanting to get to each other, but we just couldn’t seem to break through it. In the end, he stopped trying.  He said he was just too tainted, too defiled.  And he told me I had to find someone worthy of my love.”  He spits the word with an ugly grimace.

“He just wasn’t ready to be loved by someone as good as you are.”

“Doesn’t seem to have any problem accepting it from you,” Steve snarls, unable to contain the flare of jealousy.  

“That’s because I’m as evil as he is.”

Steve scoffs and pulls his hands painfully through his hair, turning away from her.  “He doesn’t think you’re evil.”

“He doesn’t think I’m good.  Not like you.  To him, you’re spotless.  Virtuous.” Marya stands then.  “I’m not like that.  That’s why he can let me in.”

“I never claimed to be some kinda paragon.”

“Maybe not.  But to him, you are.  And that’s why he couldn’t let you love him.”  She waits to see if she’s going to respond and, when he doesn’t, starts toward the shower room.

Steve lets her go.  He knows that if he says anything right this minute, it’s gonna be ugly. Something about this broad who’s known Bucky all of ten seconds talking like she knows him makes Steve want to hurl.  And still he couldn’t keep himself from saying far, far too much.  Shit. He knew they were getting into dangerous territory.  He should never have said any of that stuff, to anyone, and now he’s blabbed it to the last person on the planet who should’ve heard it.  He thinks he hurt Marya’s feelings somehow, too, without a clue what it was he even said, and although he’s irritated as all hell with her, he felt like they were starting to be friends.  Now he’s blown that potential friendship, which will undoubtedly fuck up his oldest friendship even more than it already was.  

It doesn’t get better for Steve for the rest of the evening.  He has to watch Bucky and Marya, looking like they’re ready to tear each other’s clothes off and fuck right there on the table, and he has to listen to Tony and Scott telling him he’s three kinds of wrong about how they’re going to blow up the Hydra bunker once they get everybody out.  Natasha is in a mood, snarling at everyone and Steve in particular.  Clint and Sam are chattering about some inane TV show, which is stomping on Steve’s last nerve, while Bruce goes on, again, about how The Avengers really need to go vegan.

The more he thinks about his life, the more he realizes how incredibly unfair and fucked up it all is.  Why does he have to be Captain America?  Why does he have to lead this ridiculous group of mavericks and freaks who all think they know better than he does and probably do?  When’s it his turn to have someone look at him like he’s made of chocolate and shits rainbows, the way Marya’s looking at Bucky? Maybe he should just hang it all up and let the world be destroyed if it’s going to.  He’s exhausted, he’s up to his ass in world-shattering problems, he’s insanely horny, he’s desperately lonely, and he just wants to be left the fuck alone.

Some days it sucks to be Steve Rogers.  

 It’s late that night when Bucky makes his way from the kitchen back to his rooms, carrying a plate of peanut-butter sandwiches because he and Marya have already burned off everything they ate at dinner.  Steve’s just coming out his door.  From his clothes, it looks like he’s going for a late-night run.  Everything in Bucky wants to confront Steve, to make him talk to him.  He stops as they approach each other, and tries to look casual as he says, “Hey.”

Steve looks like he swallowed a frog.  “Refueling?”  He asks with a cruel sneer.

“Uh… wha-“

“You think I can’t hear you two?”  Steve pushes angrily by Bucky.

“Shit, Steve, I’m sorry…  I didn’t even think-“

“Yeah.  Whatever.”

How are they already arguing?  “No, Steve, c’mon.  I’m sorry. I would never…  You know that.“

Steve turns around and walks back, getting in Bucky’s face.  “You know somethin’, Buck?  I don’t know that.  And you know why I don’t know that?  Because I don’t know the first fuckin’ thing about you.  Because you won’t tell me.”  He steps back.  “So, fine. You found someone you can talk to.  I’m happy for you, I really am.  Hell, I’m crazy about her myself.  But can we please quit pretending we’re best buddies, huh?  We used to be, and it was great.  But we’re not anymore.  With the shit we’ve been through, who could blame us?  We should just be glad we’re even alive.”

“Steve-“

“Just leave me the hell alone.”

With that, Steve starts back down the hall, lifting his forearms and jogging, like he’s starting his run already rather than just getting away from Bucky as fast as he can go.  

Bucky’s in a lousy mood after that, although he tries to hide it.  He’s glad when Marya says she thinks she should practice sleeping alone.  He’s too wrapped up in his own head to even notice the strangeness of that claim, and he’s certainly not currently thinking about the fact that Steve isn’t the only one with enhanced hearing.

He waits up.  He’s not even pretending to himself that he’s not waiting for Steve to come back.  When he hears Steve in the hall, he doesn’t hesitate.

Steve sees him as he turns to shut his door.  Bucky doesn’t ask to come in, just pushes past Steve and shuts the door himself.  

“Bucky, it’s late-“

“Like you give a fuck about that.  Just come off it, Steve.   Talk to me.  Talk to me like I’m your friend.  Talk to me like I’m the guy who used to come lookin’ anytime I couldn’t see you on the schoolyard, and save your tiny ass from whatever bruiser you’d called out.”

“Talk to you.  That’s ironic, coming from you.”

“Maybe it is.  Maybe I’m a complete asshole and I got a helluva nerve, callin’ myself your friend. But I do.  I am.  And this bein’ strangers shit, it ain’t workin’ for me.”

“Yeah?  Tell it to someone who cares.”  Steve goes into his bathroom and slams the door.  Bucky thinks about laying on the bed while he waits, but thinks better of it and just takes a chair.  He’s sitting there, feet up, reading a book when Steve comes out.  He’s wearing nothing but a towel, and Bucky notices.

“You gotta be kiddin’ me,” Steve sighs, seeing him.

“This is a great book,” Bucky says, kind of enjoying Steve’s discomfort.  “You ever read this?”

Steve crosses the room to a chest of drawers and pulls out a pair of underwear. He gives Bucky a dirty look as he rips off the towel and throws it to the floor.  Bucky chuckles.  

“You’re an asshole,” Steve grumbles.

“You’re worse.”

Once he gets his underwear on, Steve pulls on a pair of drawstring pajama pants and a plain white T-shirt and goes to sit on the end of his bed across from Bucky. “What do you want?”

“I want my friend back.”

“Yeah, well, I want world peace.”

“I’d settle for peace right here in this room.”

Steve gets up and starts to pace.  “Bucky…”

Bucky gets up, too.  “Look, I’m sorry.  I’m sorry I’m so fucked up.  What you did for me, I’ll never be able to pay that back.  And I’d do the same for you, a hundred times over.  That’s who we are to each other.  The other stuff…  I don’t regret a second of it.  But it was always a risk.  We said so, remember?  And it didn’t work out, so now here we are.”

“Yeah.  Now here we are.”

Bucky can feel himself starting to panic.  That dead tone in Steve’s voice is killing him.  Aside from everything else, Steve’s the one person who can anchor him in this noisy, smelly, too-fast future they’re living in.  The one person who knows who Bucky Barnes was… before.  If their friendship is dead, like everything else from the world Bucky still thinks of as the “real” one…  “Please, Stevie, just try.  I want it back the way it used to be.  I need that.  I’m not even me if we’re not friends.  I’m nothing. All right?”

The way Steve looks at Bucky, it’s an even bet whether he’s gonna hug him or knock his block off.  At this point, Bucky will take either one.  But Steve doesn’t say anything.

“Steve.  Please.”

Bucky watches while Steve has a whole conversation with himself, which Bucky can practically hear.  He knows exactly what things Steve’s weighing against each other, and Bucky’s heart’s in his throat, because he knows one of those things is whether Bucky’s even worth all the bullshit.  It goes on for an excruciatingly long time.

“All right, Buck.  I’ll try,” Steve sighs, weariness in every angle of his body.

“Yeah?”  Bucky knows he sounds like they’re fourteen again.  He feels like it.  

Steve looks into his eyes from five feet away and shakes his head.  “I swear, you’re the biggest pain in the ass…”

Bucky, ecstatic with relief, rushes him and they hug like they used to. Strongly.  Fiercely.  They both have tears in their eyes.