#you tell these stories to keep others alive... to keep yourself alive.. to stave off death...

[thirdtimed]

unfortunately if i ever developed the lifeseries orv au in my head in earnest i would in no capacity whatsoever manage to be normal about it at all and like. i mean it

[zinismakingthings]

Some pathing updates for retrieval of the deceased.

Original instructions from u/MeetmeforDnD on Reddit

(this post includes information for retrieval past reasonable allowance. Under no circumstance should you attempt this. Extra tips at the end, and may you get what you are owed.)

Bringing someone back is not an easy ordeal, but following these tips can make the journey a little easier :)

Bring a backpack. This isn't mentioned directly in the original instructions, but it makes it so much easier.

Hiking boots are still recommended, but they should be worn with waders, a comfortable shirt, breathable, and a strong antiperspirant. You do not want their water. You do not want them to smell you.

For the boots: get long laces, and tuck them into the boots

Some additional items to bring: leather wrapped metal handcuffs, medical shears, a headlamp (battery powered). weaker flashlight can burn longer by disturbing less. A thumb ring with a saw edge on it. A glass tube for the rose.

Some skills to learn ahead of time, if you can: how to safely put on a handcuff, you'll need bloodflow. Replacing batteries in the dark can save you if you know how to do it. Same with pulling out and turning on a headlamp, just be sure to do it with your eyes closed, to let everything that you shouldn't see move out of the way. They broke your flashlight for a reason. If you're of a green thumb, I've found the white rose is much more helpful if you grew it yourself. Practice breathing, it can stave off fear. Prepare a lot of stories in your mind, or bring a storybook if you're short on time.

Playing little mind games with yourself can help you not to think about what's best left alone, and to focus on your journey. Learn or make some, if you do nothing else.

Carbo load. It helps so much more than the hunger would have you believe.

Forests are hard to come by these days, especially as dense as is necessary, but if you're doing it in late spring it is absolutely necessary, and having the forest on your side can make or break your journey. I'm sorry.

You should accept the old woman's gift of food or water only if it seems she's getting upset, but under no circumstances eat any of it.

Tie the item the old woman gives you to your hand. You can't always trust your backpack, helpful as it is.

Leave the flashlight on when you sleep. Please. I don't know why this isn't mentioned in the original instructions.

Put the rose in a glass tube, big enough for it to sit in comfortably. To damage a gift from the old woman is dangerous.

Hum a song of someone alive, but not your own. The point is to keep yourself sane, not cause a scene.

Before you meet them put their special item in your pocket. This is a risky move but can help greatly, especially if the coat was also once theirs.

You can talk about anything, but it helps if you tell them a story about what happened the other day. Bonus points if it's a story they would remember. A+ if it's a story they've heard a thousand times.

When you tell them their nay, tell them to reach into their coat pocket. It will be harder not to cry when you watch them puzzle with it, but stay steady.

If you can convince them to let you handcuff yourself to them, the extra security can make you feel safer, if nothing else.

If you start tripping on your laces, you're in trouble. Tie them more securely, or use the shears if you have to. Make sure to put the extra pieces in your backpack, leave nothing behind.

If you have enough stories prepared you won't have to revert to the humming, even when you feel the eyes on you

It helps to relax. Fear is an effective motivator, but not as effective as training and determination. If you've followed these tips you are ready

If you aim to retrieve someone past their time, you aim to defy an insult the very laws this world was built on. You are dooming yourself, them, and likely others, more than you can possibly imagine.

Do not go in spring. Spring is for those who are meant to be alive.

Dress like before, but pack light, you'll need the speed. I'd recommend bringing a bright flashlight and about 4 refills on battery and bulbs. Swap out the warm coat for a black rain jacket and the hiking boots for running sneakers. Bring a sturdier rope, leave the shears

Leave food as before, but do it hungry. The closer you are to death, the easier you can sneak in. You have a lot more time to prepare, so I'd recommend building up your fat reserves.

Leave at first dusk of November, the day of the dead.

Go to the largest graveyard you can find with someone buried that new both you and who you are taking. Know that you are dooming them too.

Leave the food outside of the gates and pray no one takes it.

Wander through the graveyard until you meet the soul you're looking for. You should be quite hungry. Do not show it.

Convince them you've recently died. Tell them you're looking to reconnect with the one you lost. Do not let them touch you. Pray they don't ask to see your grave.

When you meet them, they will look more alive than you remember them. You are taking this from them. Keep your mind off the hunger, and off what they're about to do.

When dawn is about to break, go on a walk with them. They will want to leave, it is their time. Do not give them a choice.

Do not touch them directly, else they will take you instead. use the handcuffs if you can.

Make sure you're both on the other side of the gate when dawn breaks. They will not want to eat the food there. They will not want to breathe. Do not give them a choice.

Run, and don't stop running. You've made an enemy of both the spring and the fall, and they'll be after the both of you forever.

Nowhere will be safe, but your best bet is a dense city with little environmental regulations. Keep a low profile. Come to terms with what you've done.

[bonky-n-steeb]

𝑇𝐻𝐸 𝐿𝐼𝑉𝐼𝑁𝐺 𝐻𝐸𝐴𝑅𝑇

𝙃𝙐𝙉𝙏𝙀𝙍! 𝘽𝙐𝘾𝙆𝙔 𝘽𝘼𝙍𝙉𝙀𝙎 𝙓 𝙑𝘼𝙈𝙋𝙄𝙍𝙀! 𝙍𝙀𝘼𝘿𝙀𝙍

𝗦𝗨𝗠𝗠𝗔𝗥𝗬: Bucky and you have loved each other for as long as you can remember, but being who you are, your love story is impossible.

𝗪𝗔𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚𝗦: Unprotected sex, blood drinking, sex in a forest..? (Boy, they must be cold). PWP (porn with a very little plot... wait who am I lying to? It’s porn.) 𝙈𝙄𝙉𝙊𝙍𝙎 𝙋𝙇𝙀𝘼𝙎𝙀 𝘿𝙉𝙄!

For my sake, your sake, your mom’s sake and for the betterment of the entire world, if you are a minor, please do not read this!🔞

ɴᴏᴛ ʙᴇᴛᴀ ʀᴇᴀᴅ, ᴀʟʟ ᴍɪsᴛᴀᴋᴇs ᴀʀᴇ ᴍɪɴᴇ

Guys, I’ve fallen down the hole of smut and can’t get up, so please come pick me, or maybe don’t 🥺😉 I hope you guys like this..!

Your eyes wandered as you took in the beauty of the forest in the dark. The scent of the wet soil below was filling your lungs and the melodic sound of the meek creatures of the night was being absorbed by your ears.

Taking a walk at night was a ritual of yours. Being a vampire limited your abilities to roam in the morning, so you took the liberty of wandering around in the peace of the night.

Due to your unnaturally long existence, you had seen a lot of this world. Not just places, but people too. Some days you had enjoyed the luxuries of castles while some days you had spent huddled up in a cottage, hiding from the people hunting you.

No matter how easy life was living in the cities with access to all amenities, but the ethereal peace the forest brought along was unparalleled. And that’s where you were, tucked away from the noise of the city and into the embrace of the nature.

It had been a few years now from purchasing the lone cabin in the forest. In the beginning you had wondered how long you would stay here until someone caught up to you, and you still did.

Just as that thought occurred to you, as if on cue, you heard twigs snapping right behind you. Quickly turning around, you scanned the forest. Your eyes unnaturally sharp in the dark.

From the corner of your eye, you still could see your cottage. It wasn’t that far for you to sprint to it. You had a gun kept in there for emergencies. If this was some Hunter or any other creature trying to jeopardise your life, you weren’t going to go down without a fight.

But before you could act on your thoughts, a known and inviting scent hit you. You inhaled sharply as a smile spread across your face. He had finally come for you. The only man you ever trusted, Bucky.

You would recognise his scent whenever or however you were. You couldn’t see him though, no matter how much you strained your eyes.

You knew what he was doing. He was chasing you like a hunter chasing his prey. Hiding in the corner at first like a predator, only to pounce when the prey falls into the trap.

He was stealthy, but the blood running in his veins and distinct human smell gave him away. You followed the trail blindly, trusting him, just like you had a hundred times before.

You walked with light footsteps on the soft dirt, so as to not give away your location. This hide and seek was your foreplay. And it excited you more than anything else.

When you reached the place where his scent was dense, your first instinct was to inhale it. The musky and earthy scent, the very proof of him being alive, pulled you towards him.

But before you could ponder further, you were pushed hard against the bark of a tree. Your first instinct was to bare your fangs, but when you realised who it was, you let out a loud exhale.

Bucky had you pinned up against the tree, quick enough to surprise you, but not hard enough to hurt. He pressed his own body to your back and mitigated your movements further by holding your hands at your sides.

With his body pressed up against your back, you could feel his own noticeable bulge rubbing against your ass. You weren’t the only one excited by this chase.

“Hasn’t anyone told you that a sweet dove like you shouldn’t be roaming out in the dark.” His husky voice turned you on even more. His beard brushing your cheek only amplified your arousal.

“You’re forgetting that I’m the thing people are afraid of in the dark.” You retorted back with a snarl. He chuckled at that letting go of your hands, only to curl his arms around you, lovingly.

His demeanour changed quickly from a rough predator to a sweet lover. Though you were still at his mercy, you were now in his embrace, safe from the entire world.

You almost wanted to laugh at this irony. A vampire feeling safe in the arms of a hunter. It was like a deer feeling safe with a tiger. Though you weren’t sure who was the tiger between you two.

You couldn’t help but swoon as he pressed kisses to your throat and cheek. It was his way of telling that he missed you. Though he would never put the sentiment into words, just like you.

Your eyes met each other under the moonlight and just like the first time, you wanted to drown in those steel blue pools. You both didn’t move from your positions as you continued staring.

Your lips were utterly close to each other and neither of you moved yet. Your eyes were conveying the emotions you weren’t able to speak. Or maybe your love was powerful enough that it didn’t need words.

You both knew you loved each other. You always had and you always would. But if either of you went public with this relation, neither the vampires nor the hunters would be pleased. And you weren’t ready to lose your friends or start a war.

You had kept this secret for decades if not centuries, you would keep it a little more. This is how it always had been, Bucky would visit you out of the blue and you would have the best sex ever and then again part ways.

Bucky was the first one to move. He darted his tongue out and slowly, sensually licked your bottom lip, while still looking you dead in the eye the entire time.

You closed the gap between you two and smashed your lips together. You licked his chapped lips as he suckled yours. You titled your head to prevent your noses from clashing.

Still not breaking the kiss, you deftly turned around to face him. Placing your hands around his neck, you pulled him closer.

Falling prey to your instincts, you couldn’t help but pierce his bottom lip with your fangs. Just enough to get small rivulets of blood flow into your mouth.

You moaned the moment his blood as sweet as nectar touched your tongue. You had drank from many people, but none tasted like Bucky.

Using your strength and agility, you swiftly switched your positions around, so that now his back was against the tree. You finally broke the kiss as he panted for air.

“Much too late aren’t we, this time?” You skeptically asked him. You had been waiting for him for months. No doubt you were glad for his safe return, but you were going to get the retribution for all the days you had spent worrying about him.

“I was a little busy doll.” He said giving his signature smirk. You were sure he must’ve been out there hunting your kind. But you snapped out of it before the guilt got too much.

“But now you have me, all to yourself.” He said leaning in for another kiss. This was where he was wrong. You would never have him. He would never be completely yours.

As you began kissing again, you clutched the lapels of his jacket and pulled him down in the soft dirt with you. You both went on your knees and he shifted back so that he could sit with his back pressed against the tree. You crawled ahead and settled in his lap.

Your mouth watered as you took in the delicate skin of his neck stretched over the luscious red blood flowing beneath. His body was so warm, so welcoming, unlike yours. The moonlight was radiating off of him.

You were helpless against your urge to feed on him again. Clutching his short hair in your fingers, you titled his head backwards. Now that you had tasted him, your hunger increased by ten folds.

Wrapping your hand around his neck, you pressed particularly hard around his jugular. Not because you wanted to choke him, but because you wanted to feel the beating of his very living heart.

You licked a long stripe of his exposed neck and his breath hitched at the action. “You like that, don’t you?” You asked as you licked a trail from his cheek to his lips.

You wanted to break the skin near his jugular with your fangs. You wanted to taste the most delicious thing you had ever tasted. You wanted his blood to flow in your veins.

But you knew that if you staved off your hunger for a little more, it would be much more pleasurable for him. Unable to stop yourself from wanting to feel more of his skin, you pushed his jacket back and tore his shirt in half. You definitely felt his cock jerk at that.

As you ground your hips down on his hard on, he clutched your hips hard enough to bruise to stop you from moving further. You knew that though the reins were in your hand, he was in control.

As you sucked and marked his collarbones, you felt his hand sneak in your pants from behind. His fingers first started slowly running through your folds and smearing the wetness.

When he flicked at your clit, you sighed and buried your face in his neck, breathing him in. He teased your entrance for a moment, before finally pushing two fingers in. Your whimpers only fueled him and he started pumping his fingers in earnest.

“All I need to do is fill you up with my fingers and you fucking submit. What a dirty little doll you are.” He snickered. You ground and rubbed your clit against the rough fabric of your pants. He soon felt your walls clenching and he quickly removed his fingers from your heat.

“Fuck Bucky. Please don’t stop!” you grunted at the loss of his fingers. “Remove your pants.” Nodding quickly you both slipped your pants and T-shirt off.

As you both resumed your positions, you dived in for another bruising kiss while rubbing your wet core on his rock hard cock.

Taking his dick in your hand, you pumped it a few times before positioning it right at your entrance. Taking it in inch by inch, you both wailed with satisfaction when you finally took him to the base.

Touching your foreheads, you didn’t move at first, relishing at the fullness. The stretch of his cock as good as the first time. But then you slowly worked yourself up on his dick, only to increase your speed with each thrust.

“Such a slut you are, fucking yourself on my cock like a kitten in heat.” He still wasn’t doing anything except getting mesmerised by the way you moved and the way your core gripped his cock tight.

“Are you gonna do something or...,,.. or just gonna sit there and.... Oh Fuck.” You whined and stopped mid sentence as he thrusted up roughly.

He took your hands that had been scratching his chest and held them tightly against your back. You stopped bouncing on his cock and resorted to just grinding.

Your movements were now restricted as your hands were pinned behind. If you wanted, you would’ve broken free, but in no world you wanted to do that. Holding you firmly, he started rutting up against you.

“Fuck, it... it feels so good.” Your eyes shut close at the sensation and your head fell back. Your moans and whines filled the silent forest. Your legs were covered up in the forest soil as your chest was glistening with sweat. This was downright dirty and primal.

Bucky bent down and licked up a fat stripe of your sweat soaked chest and pressed kisses to your throat. “Mine. You are mine. And I’m yours.” He grunted aloud for the whole forest to here.

“Fuck yes!” You screamed into the night. By now your fangs were out in their full glory. And you were chanting Bucky’s name like a prayer.

“Cum for me doll. Milk my cock. Fuck, just like that.” Hearing his words, your dam broke. Your eyes rolled back as your legs quivered.

Your thoughts had left your mind and the only thing you knew was Bucky as the waves of overwhelming white pleasure overtook you. This was undoubtedly the most powerful orgasm you ever had. You felt warm and alive.

The fact that you were out in the open for anyone to see a vampire fucking a hunter, made you gush with arousal. Bucky grunted loudly and cursed as your walls squeezed him as he kept pounding into you throughout your orgasm.

As the waves of pleasure started subsiding, you looked at his throat and licked your lips. You knew he was close and you also knew what exactly he needed to fall from the edge.

As if reading your thoughts, he bared his throat to you. After every time you had bit him, he had to hide your bite mark. Even though he loved to feed you, the repercussions of someone seeing vampiric bite marks on him were much too severe to ignore.

You simply sucked at his jugular first as his thrusts grew erratic indicating his oncoming orgasm. Finally, finally as you pierced his skin with your fangs, he came deep inside you with a loud grunt.

Red hot fury filled your mouth as his cum filled your pussy. You couldn’t help but moan at the sensation of being so full of him. This, right now was the highest state of bliss you had ever been on.

He was giving and you were taking. His blood to you was like nectar to a honeybee. It was the sweetest ambrosia on earth you could ever taste.

Finally when you had your share, you licked his wound clean and looked up to see him completely disheveled and sated. All this time he had been lovingly rubbing your back to comfort you as you drank his blood. How could you not love this man?

A few droplets of his blood slipped from your mouth, and he shamelessly licked them, collecting them on his tongue and kissed you, rubbing them back in your mouth.

You winced as his cock slipped out. You held him tight as you both laid back on the soil and stared at the night sky. You knew he wouldn’t be there by the morning and then again you would wait for him to come find you.

As you glanced at his face, which was definitely sculpted by the gods, you wanted to plead him to stay. Ask him, or even beg him to be with you, only you. But you didn’t, just like you hadn’t all those times before.

Maybe it was your ego, or maybe it was the knowledge that no matter where he went, he would always come back to you.

[scripts4dreamers]

Just One Drink

Part Two, Part Three

AN: Cases at the BAU wear on you after a while Characters: Spencer Reid Pairings: Spencer Reid x reader Spoilers: None Warnings: Mentions of crime and violence

Prompt: “We’re in this together.”

(Do I want to write a part two for this? Maybe. Do I love Spencer Reid and the Criminal Minds bunch in general with all my heart? Most definitely. So feel free to send in requests!)

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

You sighed, collapsing into the chair by your desk and burying your face in your hands. It had been a long week. Three missing kids, one crazed killer and less than 72 hours to get them back alive; just another week for the BAU. You tried to remember that you’d signed up for this, that you loved what you did and the people you did it with, and that you had managed to save the kids in the end, but your tired brain didn’t care. Right then, all you really wanted was a mug of hot chocolate and to curl up on your couch with a good book.

“Hey, you okay?” you heard someone ask.

You lifted your head slightly and noticed Spencer Reid had appeared beside your desk without you noticing. He was leaning against the divider you’d set up and was trying to look casual and failing miserably. Spencer had been a part of the BAU for a lot longer than you had and he was a bit of a legend in the Bureau but, for some reason, he always seemed nervous around you. He was nice, of course, and clever, and you enjoyed spending time with him but it took a lot for him to seem properly at ease whenever you were nearby and, right now, you were too tired to want to play nice with anybody.

Maybe it was because you were new, you reasoned, maybe he just wasn’t good at adapting to changes in the team dynamic. Still, he was obviously trying, so you forced yourself to give him a small smile and nod.

“Yeah, I’m all good, just tired.” you answered.

Spencer nodded, like he understood, and pulled up a chair, “I was the same when I’d just joined, every case took the life right out of me. You’ll get used to it.”

“I hope so,” you sighed, resting your head in your hands again, “because there’s no way I can keep going on like this.”

For a long moment there was just silence, until he cleared his throat and asked, “Do you wanna talk about it?”

Your head shot up and you tried to hide the flash of confusion on your face, “Wait, really?”

“Yeah,” Spencer laughed nervously, “contrary to popular belief I’m actually a really great listener.”

“And humble too,” you joked.

“Oh exceedingly so,” he joked back, rising out of his seat, “come on, let’s go get a drink and I’ll prove it to you.”

You considered for a moment. On the one hand, you desperately wanted to get out of the office and remember what it felt like to not be miserable, and you’d been secretly crushing on Spencer since your first day at the BAU, on the other…

You shook your head, “I should stay, I’ve got so much paperwork to get done for this case and-”

Spencer rolled his eyes fondly, reaching down and pulling you to your feet, “And it’ll still be there on Monday,” he interrupted, “Come on, Y/N. I’ll help you with whatever you need later.”

Your heart jumped into your throat at the feeling of his fingers wrapped around your wrist, and you felt a lick of heat run up your neck. It was unfair for a skinny white boy who could describe the plot of every star trek episode ever made in detail to be as attractive as Spencer Reid was. You didn’t know if it was the hair, or his cheekbones, or the way he smiled but, whatever it was, you were a sucker for it so you let yourself get pulled up.

“Okay, Reid, but I’m holding you to that. If I’ve forgotten even one important detail that messes this report up-”

“Y/N, I have an eidetic memory. The report will be perfect,” he smiled, letting your wrist drop and scooping up your bag, “let’s go then, I know the perfect place.”

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

The bar Spencer took you to was small and cozy; busy enough that you could blend in to the crowd without being so loud that it became overwhelming. The drinks weren’t cheap, but they were good, and the booth you’d tucked yourselves into was comfortable and out of the way so you could talk freely. Spencer loved it there. He’d been coming to that bar since he’d first joined the BAU and, even though a bar wouldn’t usually be his first choice for a happy place, this one was packed to the brim with happy memories.

Across from him, you were sipping your second whiskey sour in silence, casting nervous glances up at Spencer every few seconds. Something was definitely wrong. It wasn’t just the dark circles under your eyes that worried him, or the way you never really sat still, constantly glancing around the room and over your shoulder, it was everything. Usually you were so...alive at work. You’d joke around with Morgan, swap stories with Prentiss, brazenly flirt with Hotch and Rossi until they’d crack and give you a smile. In every situation you made a point to add value, whether that be by making a poignant connection during a case or just sliding the perfect cup of coffee Spencer’s way without him having to ask for it. But now things were different. It had been happening bit by bit, too slowly for some of the others to notice but, after this last case, it was impossible for Spencer to ignore. You didn’t laugh anymore, or joke or flirt. You still made amazing points, still worked harder than anyone asked you to, but now it seemed like it weighed you down, like every new case chipped just a little bit more of you away. It hurt to watch.

“Y/N, you know it’s okay to struggle with this stuff, right?” Spencer eventually said. He wasn’t exactly the king of knowing what to say but he felt like he owed it to you to try. After all, when he was new he’d had Gideon to help him through it, “You don’t have to be alright right away.”

“You are,” you replied softly, meeting his eye briefly.

Spencer snorted and shook his head, “Me? The recovering drug addict? Yeah, I’m definitely the poster-child for healthy coping mechanisms.”

You chuckled and then looked up, horrified, “I didn’t mean to laugh at the whole addiction thing.”

“I know, Y/N/N,” he smiled, “but you’re allowed to. I was making a joke after all.”

“Really? I couldn’t tell,” you teased gently, leaning back in your seat.

Your shoulders were untensed now, Spencer noticed, and you were fiddling less and he breathed an inward sigh of relief. You were relaxing.

“Yeah, Morgan says I’ve gotta work on my delivery more,” Spencer said.

“Smart man, Morgan.” you countered.

Spencer smiled, “But seriously, Y/N, if you want to talk-” he lapsed into silence, holding your gaze as he let his offer hand in the air.

You watched Spencer for a moment, that piercing look in your eye that always made him feel unsteady, like you were seeing right through him. You weren’t profiling, he knew that, but you were definitely trying to figure him out. Eventually you sighed, seemingly resigning yourself to your fate, and nodded slowly.

“I just-” you started, “I didn’t know it would feel like this,” you blinked quickly, probably trying to stave off tears, “all the worry just-it just eats away at me and I can’t do anything about it.” You paused, sniffing, before taking a deep breath and continuing, “And it’s never enough, you know? We do everything we can but it’s just never enough and the cases keep coming and coming and all these people keep dying and dying and there’s nothing we can do to stop it. We’re the best people for the job and we still spend 80% of our time playing catch up to these guys,” you shook your head again, “it just messes with my head.”

Spencer felt his heart pinch in his chest, affection rushing through him so fast that he didn’t know what to make of it.

He leaned forward, holding your gaze and said, “Of course it does, we spend most of our day trying to think like some of the most disturbed and dangerous people in the country. Honestly, I’d be more worried if you weren’t struggling with it.” Spencer assured you, “Our job is really really fucking hard, okay? It’s rewarding, but it takes its toll on all of us eventually. What’s important is to remember that you’re not doing this on your own, I’ve got your back-we’ve got your back, the whole team.” He hesitated for a moment, before leaning forward and covering your hand with his own, “We’re in this together, no matter what happens.”

For a long while you just looked at one another, something like gratitude glimmering in your eyes as you squeezed Spencer’s hand. His skin felt warm where it met yours and he softly let his thumb glance along the inside of your wrist.

You were beautiful, Spencer noticed, but not in the way he expected. Objectively speaking you were an attractive person, of course, he’d have to be blind to miss that, but there was something more. Just being pretty generally wasn’t enough to make Spencer’s heart race like it did around you, it wasn’t enough to make him want to reach out and touch, to make Spencer so desperate to spend time with you that he dragged you to a bar he loved on the off chance he’d get you to smile. Just being pretty wasn’t enough to explain why Spencer felt the way he did, it had always been more than that.

You nodded, quickly wiping your cheeks and giving Spencer a small smile as you gently detangled your hand from his. His heart sunk, just a little bit, at the loss of contact, but he made sure to keep his face neutral.

“How are you so good at this, doctor Reid?” you asked.

I’ve been practicing what I wanted to say for nearly two weeks now, Spencer thought.

He shrugged, “It’s just the truth, Y/N, that’s all.”

You nodded and lapsed into what seemed like a thoughtful silence.

“Hey, Reid?” You eventually asked, sounding almost nervous.

“Yeah?” he answered.

“Why do you call me Y/N?”

Spencer frowned, suddenly confused, “That’s your name. Is there something wrong with how I say it?”

“No, no you say it perfectly,” you assured him, “it’s just, you don’t call anyone else in the team by their first name. Just me.”

He opened his mouth to say that that was ridiculous, but stopped just before the words left his mouth. You were right.

“Um,” Spencer started, a lick of anxiety flaring up in his stomach, “I don’t-I don’t know, really. Guess I never thought about it. You want another drink?” He took the opportunity to stand up and walk to the bar, returning your empty glasses and ordering two fresh drinks.

He needed a minute to figure out where his head was. He felt unsettled, like maybe something about the way you’d looked at him had struck a nerve. He knew how suspicious he’d sounded just then, like he was hiding something. He knew he had to have a better answer, otherwise you’d just come to your own conclusion and, judging by how good of a profiler you were, you’d probably come to the right one.

Fuck. When he’d invited you out for a drink Spencer had just wanted to make you smile, maybe take a little of the load off your shoulders. He’d never meant to make it so personal, such an obvious declaration of his feelings, but he had. It may have seemed small to call someone by their first name in your line of work, but you both knew different. It signaled intimacy, care, trust. It meant that he felt something for you, something different than what he felt for other members of the team. He had to be smart about this. There were rules against agents fraternizing with other agents, guidelines that had to be followed, boundaries that had to stay in place to preserve the team. Beyond that there was the fact that you were new, he didn’t know you well enough to say for sure how you felt about him, whether there was even a possibility of his feelings being reciprocated, and the fact that he didn’t even really know what his feelings were.

He admired you, he thought you were smart and resourceful, funny, sweet, tough as nails, he liked being around you. He liked you, but that didn’t have to mean anything. He’d liked tons of women in his time, some of them had liked him back, most hadn’t. But the name, the name meant something, it had to.

The bartender handed him the drinks and, reluctantly, Spencer made his way back to the table. You were watching him, somewhere between nervous and expectant, and Reid felt a familiar rush of fondness shoot through him. He collapsed onto the seat across from you, handing you the drink with a small smile.

“Whiskey sour,” he commented, trying to break the tension, “often considered a more masculine drink due to the presence of whiskey and egg-white.”

“Drinks shouldn’t be gendered,” you answered, taking a sip, “and by the way, if there’s egg-white it’s called a Boston sour.”

“Are you from Boston?” He asked.

You shook your head, “Nope.”

“Oh.”

The silence wasn’t uncomfortable exactly, just expectant. Spencer knew instinctively that, if he wanted, he could just avoid the topic completely. You wouldn’t push him. You would leave the bar together, say goodnight, and life would continue on like nothing had happened, but something about that felt inauthentic, like he’d be lying to you somehow, and he respected you too much for that. So he settled on part of the truth

“I call you by your first name because I care about you,” he eventually said, “I-uh-I feel….protective over you, I-” he cleared his throat, “you’re important to me. I didn’t-if it makes you uncomfortable I can call you Y/L/N.”

“No!” you said quickly, “No, I didn’t-it doesn’t make me uncomfortable, I like it. I just-” you looked away, worrying at your lip in a way that made it seem like you were nervous. You took a deep breath and stared down into your drink, “I was worried that it meant you didn’t respect me.”

Spencer’s eyes widened, “What? Y/N that’s ridiculous! You’re one of the best profilers I know.”

You rolled your eyes, “Maybe in other departments, but in the BAU?” You shook your head, “I’m practically an amature.”

“I’m sorry, did you not just solve a case and rescue three kids?” Spencer asked, “Was it someone else who made the connection between De Vos’ childhood arson charge and the kids home the victims were from? ‘Cause if I remember correctly, and I’m pretty sure I do, that was all you.”

You smiled a little, enjoying the praise, but still seemed unsure, “Well none of that would have been helpful if you hadn’t figured out where he was keeping the kids.”

“Yes, it would have,” Spencer promised, leaning forward and covering your hand again, “Y/N, you cracked that case wide open. Without you, those kids would probably be dead.”

“Without you those kids would be dead,” You corrected, nudging his leg under the table and giving him a shy smile.

Spencer felt his heart stutter in his chest and he leaned back, taking his hand off yours but leaving your knees touching under the table.

“Well that just means we’re a good team.” He said, returning your smile.

You laughed and, with that, the tension dissipated. You spent the rest of your time together sharing childhood stories and swapping jokes. You spent twenty minutes just listening to him explain common misconceptions about the story of Tristan and Isolde before he caught himself and, when he laughed and apologized, you just shrugged and smiled, saying that you loved seeing how happy he looked when he talked about it. Spencer nearly swooned at that.

By the end of the night you seemed more like your old self than you had in weeks. Spencer walked you out and waited with you on the street as you called a taxi. It felt different between you now, no awkwardness or strain, just the warm comfort of being with someone you care about. Of course, just under the surface, Spencer could feel the start of something. It was fragile, easy snuffed out if treated poorly, but it was there; potential, the potential for this to be more than a friendship, to be something real, something worth fighting for.

Your taxi arrived before Spencer could figure out how to feel about that. Before he could say anything, you’d pulled him into a warm embrace, leaving him enough time to pull away if he wanted as you wrapped your arms around his neck. He didn’t pull away. Instead, he pulled you close, burying his face in the crook of your neck. You smelled wonderful.

“Thank you for today, Spencer,” you said quietly, so that only he could hear, “I-I really needed it.”

Spencer swore he felt his heart actually melt at the softness in your voice, but he pushed through it.

“Anytime, Y/N.”

You pulled away, smiling bigger than he’d seen in ages, and he couldn’t help but smile in return. You clambered into the taxi gracelessly, because you were looking back at him.

“You won’t be saying that when you’re stuck working those reports with me all of next week,” you teased.

Spencer smiled, stepping forward to close the taxi door behind you, “Wanna bet?”

“You’re on.” you agreed fondly.

He watched the car from his position on the sidewalk until it disappeared, trying to calm the frantic pounding of his heart.

“Spencer,” he muttered to himself happily, “she called me Spencer.”

And by god, he’d never liked the way his name sounded more.

[queenbirbs]

the mountain between us | Ethan x MC

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x MC (Sloane McTavish)

Rating: E

Warnings: language, adult content, N*FW, description of a panic attack

Word count: 8.1k

Summary: In which the return to Edenbrook doesn’t go as planned, or: Ethan and Sloane get the hell out of Dodge Boston. 

Notes: This story continues off my previous fic, waiting for rain , although this can be read as a stand-alone. It is a sort of AU of chapter 12, in which Danny has a separate funeral of his own (I mean, I get why PB wrote it to save time/redundancies, but I don’t see them somehow managing to secure burial plots right next to each other? Anyway, the wonders of fiction aside…). 

------

She makes it to the diagnostic office with two seconds to spare. 

The muffled thump of the door meeting the casing is like a gunshot, echoing in the quiet room. She stumbles past the table and over to the couch, trying to get out of direct line of sight. The leather creaks under her weight as she collapses onto the cushion. That constant undercurrent of dread builds into a wave, washing over her. Her hands start to shake and soon, the rest of her body follows suit. The faux-wood grain of the coffee table before her is the only thing in focus; the rest of the world is warped, as if she’s viewing it through binoculars. Her heart feels as if someone has a fist around it and is trying to pull it free through her throat. 

“Stop… fucking… crying,” she hisses, wiping furiously at her cheeks. But her lacrimal glands pay no mind to her threats, nor does the rest of her when she begs it to stop panicking. 

All this, she bemoans, over plastic wrap -- just a patient’s sandwich that he asked for her help unwrapping. But the moment she touched it and felt it crinkle under her hands, she was back in that tented room, shrouded by the thick plastic draped over the walls, sealed in and suffocated by the opaque sheeting, waiting and waiting and waiting to die.

She doesn’t remember what terrible joke she made about not being a fan of tuna, nor does she remember the trip from the oncology ward to here, several floors down. None of her friends must have seen her, because none of them have followed her in here, at the ready with their hugs and assurances, suffocating in their own loving way.

“You’re the worst… person on earth,” she whispers, clenching her jaw in an effort to stave off another round of tears.

“Sloane?” 

She glances up to see Ethan stepping into the room, his mouth crumpled into that familiar frown of worry -- the one he’s worn ever since she returned. He says her name like it’s a question, as if she has the option to shake her head no and become someone else. It’s a tempting idea. Her reply is at the ready, as natural as breathing now. Not that she’s doing a very good job of doing the latter.

“I’m fine.” 

“I see that.” Though the words should be harsh, his tone is anything but -- weighed down by all the concern in the world, it seems. His gaze roves over her, observing and diagnosing her like the specimen she is, walking through Edenbrook’s halls once more. “You’re having a panic attack,” he says, more to himself than to her.

“Correction: my second. First was in the supply closet. Decided I wanted a change of scenery.” 

Although it’s a struggle to get the words out, her audience doesn’t seem to appreciate the joke.

“Do you want me to sit with you?” he asks.

“Please.” The plea is whispered into her clasped hands. She tightens her grip, trying in vain to stop the tremors working through her. 

Ethan crosses the room and takes a seat next to her, giving her the illusion of space by twisting at the waist to look at her. In blocking her view of the hallway, he also blocks them from seeing her. His hand comes to rest on the space between them, a show of support that doesn’t make her feel crowded or trapped. She could kiss him right now, if it weren’t for the whole world-feeling-like-it’s-falling-out-from-underneath-her sensation. Her lungs ache with each choppy, shallow breath she drags in. 

“I’m here. You’re safe with me.” 

Untangling her laced hands, she reaches down and rests her hand atop his. With a gentle motion, his fingers shift to nestle alongside hers, grounding her with the pleasant warmth of his touch. With her eyes closed, she focuses on the smooth breaths he takes, mimicking them as best she can. Seconds turn to minutes, marked only by his murmured phrases of assurance and his pulse, sure and steady under her palm. Gradually, her breath begins to ebb and flow, rolling in and out of her lungs in languid sweeps. 

She opens her eyes. The office fades into focus. The track lighting is still too bright, so she turns to Ethan. The sympathy welling in his eyes almost makes her want to shut hers again. His gaze tracks over her in a fitful dance; he’s mapping out each tear that stains her cheeks and neck.  

“I’m okay,” she tries this time. 

His eyebrows scrunch down as he studies her. 

“No, you’re not.”

“Okay, fine, I’m not.” Sloane leans forward and rubs at her cheeks. If she puts her hair down, she could maybe make it to the bathroom and wash away the evidence before a staff member notices. “Have you thought any more about Aurora’s proposal?”

“The one you two dropped on me at the private memorial we had on Tuesday morning? No, I can’t say that I have.” Shaking his head, he pinches at the bridge of his nose and sighs. “God, Sloane, I don’t want to talk about the hospital. I don’t give a damn about it right now. I only care about you.” 

The cushion creaks as she shifts, uncertain how to drive the conversation away from her. She goes with the best tactic: avoidance. 

“Well, thanks, then. But I should go. I’ve wasted enough time as it is. I’ve got to pick up some labs and check up on Mr. Evans and see what Baz wanted from--” 

Ethan puts his hand on her shoulder and squeezes, once, then again. 

“Stop. Stop worrying about everybody else for a second.”

She snorts out a humorless laugh at that. “I’m serious,” he continues, pressing on her shoulder and urging her to look at him. “I know that you practically begged Naveen to let you come back to work, even after I told you no, but I think you need to give yourself more time. I think you pushed yourself too hard.”

“I was stuck here for three days, and then stuck at home for another four. I’m done waiting around. I can only take so much medical leave. And I can’t just… sit at home cowering in fear.”

“So you thought doing it at work would be better?” he asks candidly.

“Fuck you.” 

Sloane jumps to her feet and rounds the table, leaving him to throw his pity party for her all by himself -- then freezes. Outside the glass walls, the hallway is teeming with people. Nurses and orderlies and patients mill about, pushing gurneys and cleaning carts and wheelchairs. Several nurses at the station spot her and then, like marionettes on shared strings, turn towards each other at once, their chins tipped low as they converse. She feels like a zoo animal, on display for the hospital to ogle at. 

“Go home, Sloane,” comes Ethan’s voice from behind her. His footsteps drag across the rug as he approaches. “For another day or two, at least. Please.”

She turns from the hallway and brings her arms around her chest to hug herself tight. 

“I… it’s no walk in the park there, either. Being there alone is frightening enough, but when everybody’s home, they walk on eggshells around me. Even Jackie, who I can always count on to be a certified bitch, has been coddling me. It’s... I hate being home. It’s like they’re too afraid to say something that might -- I don’t know, offend me? -- so they don’t say anything at all. It’s like living with a ghost, except I’m Bruce Willis in this scenario.” She stops short, figuring she’ll have to explain that one, but he holds up his palm to keep the synopsis at bay. 

“I understand your reference. You know, I have seen a film or two.” 

“Coulda fooled me.” 

She tries for the usual smile that wants to form when making fun of his limited pop culture knowledge. Her bravado falls away, though, as he comes to stand close to her. His arms cross over his chest, as if attempting to keep his hands to himself in front of their audience. “You know what it was like for me,” she continues, “being in that room, doing nothing--”

He cuts her off, his blue eyes suddenly ablaze.

“That isn’t what I saw. You stood by Rafael’s side. You helped him when you yourself couldn’t walk without falling over. You lost every semblance of control during the worst moment of your life, and you still were able to relay the changes in your symptoms. You saved Rafael’s life--”

“That was all Tobias and the team’s--”

“You know as well as I do that patient care is more than an antidote in a syringe. You think that if we’d stuck him in a room alone, away from you, or inside one of those glass boxes that he would still be alive? Think again, Rookie.” 

The passion and heat in his voice, along with the return of her nickname, sends a tingle up the length of her spine. “I watched you struggle to be by his side. I watched you have all your faculties ripped away. Which is why I’m so worried that you’re pushing yourself too hard.”

“Ethan--” she starts, but he barrels right over the deflection attempt.

“If you had a patient who was experiencing the same symptoms at work, would you tell them to get over it? Would you tell them to push past their fears and their anxieties, in order to stay on the clock?” 

Her lips purse at his point, knowing that he’s right. But she doesn’t want to let him win this one.

“Doctors do a lot of things they tell their patients not to. We’re the biggest hypocrites of them all.”

“No, I think that honor falls on politicians,” he quips.  

The little laugh feels foreign in her mouth. She can’t help but notice the way his eyes light up in response to the noise. 

“I have an idea.” She raises a brow in interest, spurring him on. “Let me take you somewhere. Anywhere you’d like. We can leave today, spend a long weekend away. We’ll swing by your place, pack you a bag, and go.”

“And you think we can just… leave? Slack off on our duties like that? What about our patients?”

The corner of his mouth hitches up in a smirk. 

“You’re talking to the person who does the scheduling. And I happen to know your boss wouldn’t mind. My boss has been not-so-subtly sending me couples vacation rentals after seeing our appearance on national television.” 

Taking a deep breath, Sloane considers the offer as he watches her, not an ounce of hesitation on his face. That tingling sensation returns, banking higher and higher within her. 

“Okay,” she agrees, hating how her heart beats a little faster at the brilliant smile on his face. “I like the way you think. Let’s go.”

------

Within two hours, they load up Ethan’s car and make their way out of Boston, Jenner wiggling happily in the backseat. 

The city center gives way to the urban sprawl. That soon becomes overtaken by suburbia and its penchant for shopping outlets and tract housing. Sloane can’t help the sigh of relief that comes when they reach Medford and the city skyline drops away in the rearview. They leave the coastal lowlands of Massachusetts behind, heading north along the interstate and up into New Hampshire. Though she packed a bag with what little information he gave her, she’s curious still when they stop at a food truck for lunch. 

“You realize you could hit the navigation screen on the GPS, right?” Ethan points out. “It’ll tell you exactly where we’re going.” 

“That’s cheating. I thought you taught me to be a better doctor than that.”

“No, I taught you how to be a smarter doctor. Besides, you’re the one knowledgeable about technology.” When she doesn’t immediately outright ask, he settles back in his chair and pets Jenner when she approaches for attention. “All right, then. Diagnose it.”

Sloane’s fork pauses on its way to her mouth. She shoots him an incredulous look, but when he simply cocks an eyebrow, she takes the bait. 

“We’re headed north. At first, I thought Maine, especially with what you suggested I bring, but we’ve gone too far west now. It wouldn’t make any sense to make a big right turn and head east. And we’re not going as far as Canada, because you didn’t tell me to bring my passport -- which I do have, by the way, though I’ve only gotten to use it one time.”

“I know,” he tells her. “There’s several photos of your semester abroad on your Pictagram page.” 

“Those photos are from my senior year of undergrad. That means you scrolled for quite a while, Dr. Ramsey.” It’s impossible to miss the blush burning along his cheeks and up his ears. Sloane tips her head to the side, eyes wide, her words teasing: “Were you that interested in Stockholm?”

“It’s a lovely city.” 

That thick, bottom lip of his ticks up in a grin. The little cafe suddenly feels too warm for her, but she resists the urge to tug at her sweater.

“Right. So, not Canada. I have to admit, I’m not well-versed in what New Hampshire or Vermont have to offer, other than maple syrup and hiking. Ooh, and Ben and Jerry’s.” Twirling her straw wrapper around her finger, she looks him over for another minute before giving up with a shrug. “Nope, I’ve got nothin’.”

“Some dedicated physician you are.” 

His grin widens as the balled-up wrapper hits his chest. 

------

They leave the interstate behind after entering Vermont.

Instead, the state highway takes them through the proper countryside. When the satellite radio fails to connect, Sloane steals the aux cord and plugs in her phone. Ethan’s protests quiet down soon enough when, instead of the pop drivel he expects, Nat King Cole croons out of the speakers. 

The Taconic mountains roll along beside them, as if shielding them from the outside world; Sloane appreciates the gesture. Clusters of horses and cattle float along in their fenced-in pastures, the grass rippling under a light wind blowing off the mountains. Towns seem to sneak up on them as the road curves through the valley. Tiny stores and tiny gas stations and tiny churches, Johnson’s Hardware and Morgan’s Jewelry and Lee’s Drugstore line up along the roadside. Hanging signs advertise berry farms and local maple syrup, their arrows pointing up into the hills. Then the highway curves again, and the towns disappear from the rearview. 

Sloane watches it all from her reclined position against the center console, her hand in Ethan’s as he drives. Jenner’s wet nose bumps against her cheek when the Boxer mix demands affection. Though they swore off it back in Massachusetts, they talk about work, which leads them to medical articles, which leads them to the inaccuracies in medical dramas. Serenading about her need for a Sunday kind of love, Etta James joins them as they cross into New York. 

It doesn’t take too long before the feminine voice of the GPS announces that they’ve arrived. Sloane does a double-take at the welcome sign as they pass it. 

“Wait -- isn’t this where that horror movie was set?” she asks. 

“The film took place in Maine, actually.”

“How are you suddenly an expert on horror movies from the late nineties? And how did I not know that? Did I finally find your film niche?” 

“My friend forced me to attend his Halloween party in high school,” he admits with a sigh. 

They pass by the shops and bars and restaurants that line Main Street, all the brick facades and rugged decor blocking the view. Locals and fellow tourists clog the sidewalks, meandering in and out of the storefronts as they enjoy the afternoon sunshine. Eventually, the buildings fall away, and the world is filled with nothing but a cloudless sky and clear water that stretches wide beyond the guardrail. Just over a stretch of land, Lake Placid burns a deep blue in the sunlight.

Sloane keeps her eyes on the sights, but shifts her attention back to the man in the driver’s seat.

“Okay, now I have to know: what was your costume?” 

“A doctor,” he says, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world. 

She chuckles at the image of a teenage Ethan in his white coat and his patterned tie, swimming in his tailored shirts and trousers, lecturing his friends on the risks of alcohol poisoning.  

“Oh my god, of course you did. Did you at least dump fake blood on yourself or something?”

“No.” His brow crinkles as he glances over at her, confused. “Why would I have done that?”

“To look scary.”

A smirk appears on his face at the idea. “Right. And what did you dress up as when you were sixteen?”

“I’m pretty sure I went as Daphne. My girlfriend Ruby went as Velma.”

“What, you didn’t douse yourself with fake blood?”

“Honestly, we should have. That would’ve looked badass.”  

Ethan shakes his head at her, but she can see that smirk of his hasn’t disappeared. Turning off the main drag, he takes them down a one-lane road that winds back into the wilderness. After passing the town lodge, the occasional driveway and accompanying mailbox are the only signs of human life among the towering pines.

The house is tucked back off the road, a pretty little cottage painted robin’s egg blue. Two rocking chairs frame either side of the front door. Once Sloane releases her, Jenner darts out and takes full advantage of the lush front lawn, sniffing along the shrubs and tree line. Leaving Jenner to her exploring, Ethan hauls in their bags with Sloane following behind. The rustic decor leans too far towards kitschy for both of them, but she finds the log bed frame and large, dramatic painting of a howling wolf charming. The real draw, though, is the wide back deck, where the sea of trees parts to offer a stunning view of the lake. 

It’s the perfect place, she decides later while sipping from her second glass of scotch, to watch the sunset. From his position, Ethan seems to agree. His arms are wrapped around her waist as they spread out across the porch swing. Bundled up in scarves and blankets to ward off the evening chill, they watch the sky turn from blue to orange to black. The stars, when they fade into view, are thrown into sharp relief against the night. It’s almost dizzying to be able to see so many. 

It reminds her of back home, of lying on Ruby’s hood in her grandparents’ driveway under the pretense of looking for falling stars, but actually making out under the cover of darkness. 

Curled up atop their feet, Jenner sighs in her sleep; Sloane mimics the noise, stretching out against Ethan. Her eyes flutter closed at the sensation of his lips against her temple.  

“Do you remember the Stevensons’ house down in North Quincy?” he asks, continuing before she can respond, because he knows that she doesn’t forget a patient. “This place reminds me of that. But the desire for peace and solitude makes a lot more sense to me, now.”

She shifts in his arms to rest her cheek against his shoulder. 

“It reminds me of where I grew up, in this one-horse town in Virginia.” It’s a detour of the conversation he wants to have, but she can’t help but avoid talking about That for just a little while longer. “I mean, really, a real hole-in-the-wall kind of place. My grandparents lived there for sixty years, though, so that was home. When I was nine, my mom dropped me and my brother off at their house and never came back. So, it became our home, too. They took us in and let us have the run of the land -- which was easy to do, since we were surrounded on all sides by mountains. I was happy there -- happier than I’d been with my mom. But I spent a lot of time daydreaming about living in the big city, going to all the college parties that I saw on television, and travelling the world.” 

His grip tightens around her. “And then you didn’t,” he murmurs. 

“No, I didn’t,” is all she says, knowing he’s replaying her deathbed confession in his head, just as she is. “Though I blame that more on becoming infatuated with this diagnostician who wrote all these amazing books, and who inspired me to go to medical school and one day become one of the country’s greatest doctors.”

“What do you mean?” At her hum of confusion, he clarifies. “You already are, Sloane.” 

Tears spring to her eyes at his declaration, but she hides them by burrowing closer into his warmth. 

“But yeah, despite growing up in the middle of nowhere, it’s nice to be there again. I mean, you can’t get views like this back in Boston.” She waves a hand towards the thick spread of stars above them.  

“Your file didn’t list your grandparents as contacts.”

The invitation to talk about her past lies in the proverbial space between them; she takes it.  

“They passed within a few months of each other when I was seventeen. They left what little they had to me and my brother, and I used that to get to college.” 

She tells him about the farmhouse and how it would become so big and lonely; and the vintage, rose-patterned sofas that would collect dust; and the little kitchen at the back that would never smell of fresh coffee and banana bread again. 

She doesn’t tell him about how it felt like being abandoned all over again. 

Time has healed the wound’s edges, but it flares to life on occasion. Over the years, she’s learned to sit with the grief, to take long moments to study it and inspect it and move through it. It’s how she knows, despite the horrific tragedy at Edenbrook, that she’ll be okay. Maybe not right now, or next week, or next month, but someday. 

From inside, muffled through the French doors, comes Gladys Knight singing about life’s ups and downs. Sloane closes her eyes, focusing on the song and on the steady brush of Ethan’s thumb as he strokes her arm. Across the dark expanse of the woods, a whippoorwill calls out, its warble echoing off the water. 

At some point, she stirs to the sensation of movement, of warm lines of pressure along her back and behind her knees. Ethan is talking to Jenner in that low, gravelly voice of his, as if trying not to wake her. Before she can tease him for it, the blanket of sleep wraps around her once more. 

------

After a lengthy argument on staying in bed versus exploring the town, Ethan takes the loss with a surprising amount of grace. 

Oh, he grumbles a bit as he tugs on his sweater and makes several comments on how proper vacation etiquette does not include rising before nine a.m. But once she gets him downtown to the farmer’s market and gives him the task of finding the ugliest souvenir for her to give to her roommates, he perks right up. 

Under a stretch of white tents, card tables are laden with wares and plants and produce. Buckets of brightly-colored croton and chrysanthemums flare against the white tablecloths. Necklaces, fishing lures, and welded sculptures glint, swing, and jingle, catching the attention of passers-by. Wines and cheeses and honey are bottled and wrapped and canned, their labels touting how local, how fresh, how organic they are. From somewhere along the thoroughfare comes the smell of hot apple cider as it drifts between the stalls. 

Sloane is marveling at a collection of wind chimes that she has no use for whatsoever when she feels a hand settle on her lower back.  

“I found it.” There’s a strange sense of pride in his voice as he lifts a nondescript, brown paper bag up for emphasis. Jenner knocks her body into his legs, as if reminding him of her role in the game. “Alright, well, technically Jenner did.” 

“What is it?”

“As per your request, the most hideous object known to mankind.”

“I don’t think I was that--”

“Fine,” he concedes, “known to this region -- or state, at the very least.” 

Out from the Lake Placid News’s crumpled pages comes a tankard of a coffee mug with Don’t confuse your GOOGLE search with my Medical Degree! printed along the side. Then, stamped underneath as if an afterthought: Adirondack Mountains, NY. Sloane stares at it with a sort of horrified amazement. 

“It’s…” she trails off, unable to form words. 

“I know,” Ethan agrees, turning the mug around to read over it again. Looped around his wrist is another smaller bag.

“What else did you get?” 

“That one’s a surprise.”

Jostling the tote bag on her shoulder, she gestures to the cork sticking out. “I bought us some wine to go with dinner. C’mon, show me what you bought.” It may sound like she’s whining, but she’s not. 

“Are you unaware of how surprises work?” he questions, raising a brow at her insistence. 

“Okay, fine.” She lets the topic slide, grinning and rolling her eyes at his desire for secrecy.

Reaching towards him, he answers in kind by sliding his arm through hers. They spend the rest of the morning strolling through the stalls together. He buys a nice bottle of bourbon for Naveen; she buys a little box of self-care items for Sienna. When Sloane comments to the shop owner on the pretty photo printed around the candle, he mentions that it’s his own photograph of a nearby trail. 

“It’s a short hike, no more than three miles roundtrip,” Terry tells them as he wraps up her gift. “You pass Lake Placid Lodge and keep going about four, four ‘n a half miles, and the trail is at the end of the road. You can’t miss it.” 

------

Terry was right. 

It’s impossible to miss the trail, given that four-hundred feet past their cottage, the road dead ends in a gravel semi-circle. Two boulders and a single post mark the trailhead: Kiver Mountain, 1.4 miles. After dropping off their purchases and changing into more terrain-friendly shoes, they set off on foot from the cottage.  

Despite autumn’s grip on the foliage above, the last vestiges of late summer remain on the forest floor. Thick, leafy undergrowth makes the trees appear as if swimming in a downy sea of green. The hike’s elevation gain is slow and steady, which Sloane is grateful for, considering that eighty percent of her exercise comes in the form of running up and down hospital hallways. The other twenty percent is spent with ‘the boys’ in their dungeon gym that hasn’t seen the wet side of a paint roller since the Clinton administration. The views there, however, certainly make up for the lack of decor.  

It’s the same view she’s enjoying now, what with Ethan in front of her. There is something to be said about wearing the proper apparel for such an activity, she’s finding.

“Sloane?” 

Her gaze shoots up just as Ethan twists to look over his shoulder. “Were you listening?”

“No, sorry, I was--” she fumbles for something to say. The altitude must be getting to her, she reasons, because the next words out of her mouth were about to be ‘staring at your ass.’ “--um, I thought I saw a… snake.”

“They’re usually more afraid of you than you are of them.”

“You’ve never experienced me with a snake before.” 

“I’ll make sure to warn them of your presence if I see one, then.”   

“All snakes in the surrounding area just gave a collective sigh of relief.”

Her poor attempt at humor earns her an exasperated sigh, though she does catch the chuckle that follows. Ethan keeps talking, but she doesn’t really hear him. Mostly due to the fact that Jenner and he keep going, while her attention is caught by a small, branching path through the trees.

It’s been a long time since she spent a weekend away from the city. When her friends spent fall break camping or borrowing a friend of a friend’s uncle’s boat to cruise around on the lake, she stayed holed up at her desk, studying and outlining. Her first copy of Diagnostic Principles looks like she closed it around a rainbow, what with all of the colorful sticky notes peeking out from the pages. That same copy moved with her through every dorm at Duke, all the way across the Atlantic for her semester at Karolinska, and then at every off-campus apartment at Johns Hopkins. 

After she left for college, the closest she came to the wilderness were the views on her Pictagram feed, or the nature documentaries Aurora likes to watch. Here, as Sloane pushes past bristly limbs, the scenery stretches out before her, live and in full-color. Drenched in sunlight, the valley stretches wide to whatever direction she’s facing. A trio of birds swoop down from above her, heading towards the staggering shelves of trees that line the distant hills. At the furthest edge, the blue shadows of the mountains melt into a spatter of gray clouds. It’s all very picturesque, so much so that when she hears a noise on the path behind her, she expects to turn and see a frolicking deer. 

“Did you not hear me calling your name? What are you doing?” Ethan demands, his jaw firmly set as he looks her over. Trotting along beside him, Jenner sniffs at the ground, unaware of the impending argument. Sloane hops down from the outcropping she climbed for a better view.

“Sorry, I was--”

“You shouldn’t go off on your own like that.” The heat of frustration burns along his reprimand, surprising her with its intensity for such a small offense. “This isn’t a walk around the block back home. I was-- you can’t disappear on me like that.” 

Sloane tries to let his tone roll off, but she also isn’t going to roll over for him. She sucks in a breath and mentally counts to five. 

“Wow, okay. You’ve never fought me before about something so absurd. What’s this really about?”

In an instant, the fire is gone from his eyes. Ethan wipes a hand across his face and over his jaw; he gives his head a little shake, as if rousing himself from the spell of anger. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, the blue of his eyes burning cool now. “I hoped that if we got away from the hospital that…” his words trail away under the birdsongs echoing around them. 

Sloane takes Jenner’s leash and motions for Ethan to keep moving up the trail. She gives him an encouraging look when he glances over, embarrassment tinging his cheeks. The gentle slope becomes steep stone steps that they trudge up, climbing higher and higher, wary of the loose ones that wiggle under their feet. 

“I thought that I would get better at this,” he finally says.

“This?” she prods.

“At coming to terms with what happened. And not just with you, although that’s a large part of it, obviously. But when Naveen was sick, when he was damn near death, I could still work. I could still be Doctor Ramsey. But when you…” he swallows and shakes his head again. At his sides, his hands clench into fists. “I was terrified, and I think some parts of me still are. But when I was in that lab with Travis, and I saw him lying on that bed near death, I felt vindicated in some horrible way. I was happy that he was in pain, for what he did to you.” 

“Ethan--”

“He refused to give me any information,” he bowls over her attempt at reassurances, his voice strained. “Then he begged me to ease his suffering. It was his dying request and I walked away. As someone whose friends he had killed and injured, I can compartmentalize that. But as a physician, how can I continue treating patients? How can I work with them when I not only failed, but refused to ease another patient’s suffering?”

They reach the top and step out onto the cliff.

Over the edge, purple-tipped shrubs choke the rock shelves that stagger down the cliff until they reach the forest floor below. The valley dips low before them, cradled by a long line of mountains in the distance. They roll along in a lazy sort of wave, deepening to a hazy blue the farther they stretch. True to its name, the water of Lake Placid is calm and still, reflecting the foliage’s vibrant array of colors, fuschias and reds and oranges peppering the mountains that flank the lake. Pale crags of rock decorate some of their peaks, so bleached from the sun that they almost look like snow.

Keeping a firm grip on Jenner’s leash, she breaks the silence they’ve fallen into. 

“Unfortunately, you suffer from something incurable.” At his answering noise of interest, she wraps an arm around his waist and hugs him close. “You’re human.”

His hand sweeps across her back, holding her tight. 

“I’m sorry.” 

She shoves down her need to use humor as an emotional crutch by mentioning this must be a record number of apologies for him. Instead, she lets her head rest on his shoulder. 

“What for?” 

“For burdening you with my problems, which pale in comparison to what you went through. It’s not fair to--”

“Hey,” she cuts him off, hugging him tighter for a beat. “You can’t work through the trauma if you discount it like that.”

“You sound just like Naveen.”

“Smart minds think alike.” 

Her heart squeezes at his familiar, half-formed huff of laughter. They spend a good length of time at the top, enjoying the peaceful view and watching clouds roll in from the west. Eventually, her stomach growls and he teases her about doing strenuous activity on an empty stomach. Jenner leads the way as they start back down the trail. 

The two boulders and trailhead sign come into sight just as the rain arrives. 

Fat raindrops plod the canopy above, drumming through the leaves and onto them. Ethan lets out an undignified yelp when cold rain lands on him, prompting a full-throated laugh from Sloane. They race down the path, sprinting between the boulders and down the road. Jenner barks with excitement when she tugs free of Sloane’s grip and barrels ahead of them.  

They reach the cottage, Jenner at his heels when Ethan rushes inside for towels. He makes it to the hall closet before realizing that Sloane isn’t following. Retracing his steps, he returns to the little porch and finds her standing out on the front path. Her arms are stretched out beside her as the rain soaks her clothes and hair. He sets the towels down on the rocking chair and approaches her, raising his voice to be heard above the downpour. 

“What are you doing?” 

“It’s silly,” she answers with a shrug. Contentment and grief coat the words; it’s an effort to push them free of her throat. This close, he can see the rivulets of water running along her trembling lips. “But I was waiting for this. It’s been sunny every day since… and all I wanted was for it to rain.” 

It’s not difficult to recall her angry words as they drove away from Danny’s funeral. 

“It’s not silly.” Reaching for her, he takes her hand and guides her under the porch and out of the storm. “Silly would be how I worry about you constantly now -- that if I leave you alone, or you go off somewhere without me knowing, that it could happen again. I’m terrified, Sloane, of losing you again. Every patient room you step into could lead to another disaster, and it might be another one that I can’t fix.”

He keeps busy while he talks, picking up a towel and wrapping it around her shoulders. With another he dries her hair; his fingers clench and release the wavy strands like he saw her do a lifetime ago in their shared hotel room.  

“It’s why I’ve been keeping tabs on you this week,” he says with no small amount of embarrassment. “Why I’ve been following you around the hospital. It’s how I knew to go to the office yesterday. And I know that’s awful and overbearing of me, and I understand on every sensible level that you’re safe. But there’s that one percent of something that keeps me at it.”

Sloane reaches up for the towel in his hands and tugs it away, letting it drop to the ground. He cups the back of her head and settles her against his chest, right against his heart where she belongs. 

“I’ve spent enough years being a cynic and a pessimist, always waiting for the other shoe to drop.” Ethan clears his throat, swallows, and steadies on. “But when I held your hand that night, I didn’t think about what the next hour would bring, because I wasn’t sure if that next hour would include you. And to have to stand there and watch you -- you, who’s always brave in the face of death and danger -- accept your fate in those last hours, that scared me more than anything.” 

“I knew it would hurt more if I begged you all to save me.” She feels the shaky rise of his chest, the tension of the muscles as he goes rigid at her words. “But I’m glad I wasn’t alone.” Her cheeks are wet with tears -- whether his or hers, she isn’t sure. “I -- my grandma, we didn’t make it to the hospital in time before she passed, and she died alone, and I know that hurt my grandpa more than anything. So I’m glad you were with me.” 

When he speaks, the passion and heartache in his tone unfurls something in her chest. 

“I don’t want to waste what time we have left. I’m tired of playing pretend. I’m tired of holding myself back. I don’t know what to do, other than tell you that I care about you, and that I want to be with you. And I know it’ll be messy, and I don’t have all the answers for how we go about it, but I know that I want you so goddamn much, Sloane, that I don’t care anymore.” 

Gripping his wet shirt, she pulls him down for a kiss. He answers in kind, his lips dragging against hers; his hands come up to frame her face, to keep her close as he drops another kiss, then two, then three against the corner of her mouth. The roar of the rain turns to a muffled drum as they fumble their way through the door and down the hall. 

The bedroom is lit only by the tall windows, reflecting what weak sunlight manages through the cloudy sky. A wall of fog floats between the trees, blocking out the rest of the world. Sloane leans down to the nightstand and flicks on the Tiffany lamp. Honeyed shafts of light fill the space, warming the room with their glow. 

Ethan peels their wet clothes away, stripping the both of them bare. His lips cruise every inch of her damp skin; she shivers at the cool, stagnant air of the bedroom, then again at the heat of his mouth as he kisses her shoulder, her breast, her belly. He guides her to the bed and she sinks onto the soft mattress, the sheets smelling of them: his soap and her shampoo, his aftershave and her lotion. It’s a scent she wants to wake up to every morning. 

“I never got to take my time with you,” he laments as he lays her down. Goosebumps follow in his wake as he runs the backs of his knuckles down her throat. He cups one breast and then the other, brushing the pad of his thumb over her pebbled nipples. Mesmerizing, he thinks, of the sweet noises she makes and the way her hips shift in time to his touch. 

“We’ve got time,” she assures him, her fingers trailing up and down his ribs. She’s unable to hide her grin when he squirms, obviously ticklish around his sixth and seventh rib. Lifting up onto his knees just enough to capture her hands, he presses her to the bed and takes a long moment to admire.

Frizzled from the rain, her strands spread across the pillow and dampen it -- no doubt the one that he’ll end up being forced to sleep on. The light dusting of freckles across her nose and shoulders are more pronounced in the yellow light. There’s the scar along her inner thigh from climbing over chicken wire to feed the hens, the burn mark on her inner arm from fumbling a hot pan of cinnamon rolls. He kisses the sharp cut of her cheekbone and the soft skin of her stomach, reveling in every facet of her. He takes a deep breath, and then another; they feel like his first real ones since approaching the window of that damned room. 

Her hands, along with the rest of her, squirm underneath his hold.   

“Ethan.” 

He doesn’t ask what she’s demanding; he takes one of his hands back and urges her thighs apart, pressing the heel of his palm against her and circling her wet heat. Her response is almost as erotic as the act itself; her knees jerk up, her muscles stuttering as her body rolls into his touch. Her freed hand snakes down her body to circle his wrist, her nail digging into his pulse point as she directs him how she likes. Increasing the pressure, Ethan can feel his cock growing harder as he watches her enjoyment. He’s too enthralled by her; his grip loosens on her other hand. In a flurry of movement, she’s got an arm around his neck and hauls him down to her for a messy kiss. He retaliates by changing gears; he slides two fingers inside her, delighted at the strangled moan that escapes her. 

“Is it good?” he asks, unable to stop the smarmy grin on his face. 

“Yes,” Sloane breathes out. She rolls her hips down when he curls his fingers and strokes her with all the precision in the world. “Yes, it’s good, it’s--” the words are lost to the crest of another wave as it pounds through her. She squeezes his wrist in a vice-like grip, keeping him where she needs him, and croaks out his name as she comes. 

He eases the glide of his fingers, but doesn’t stop until he’s got her climbing again.

“God, you’re still so tight.” He nuzzles the arm she has planted against his shoulder, nipping at the sweat-tinged skin. Her fingers dig into his flesh in time with his thrusts. “So responsive, all for me.” 

“Please,” she begs, “please, Ethan, I need--”

In a flash, he slides down her body, scoops up her hips, and drags the flat of his tongue across her. Sloane cries out, arching up into the wet heat of his mouth. His knees ache as he kneels before her and worships, coaxing hymns from her lips until she’s dragged under once more. Ethan eases her down from her high, running his fingers up and over her hip as her equilibrium returns. He rouses from his own arousal-induced haze at the sensation of fingers stroking through his hair.

“Come here.” 

He goes, without question, into the circle of her awaiting arms. She meets him with a messy kiss, her tongue tracing the corner of his mouth. His blood pulses hot underneath his skin, knowing she’s tasting herself on his lips. One of her curious hands skims along his stomach and down to wrap around his cock. 

“I want to make you feel good, too,” she murmurs, stroking him with a quick, little twist at the base, her thumb swiping across the swollen head. He barely holds it together, clenching his jaw to keep from thrusting into her hand like some horny teenager. “I… ever since that last time, you’re all I think about.”

“It’s the same for me,” he admits, too many emotions bubbling to the surface that he isn’t comfortable with declaring right now. Pressed against the long line of her body, he feels the vibration of her laughter when it comes, ringing through the room. 

“Well, yeah, that too. I was mostly talking about when I masturbate, though.” 

“Oh.” The word tumbles out before his brain has a chance to catch up and say something suave. It gets another giggle out of her, though -- and he finds that the taste of her laughter is even better than the sound of it. “Christ, Sloane,” he groans when he breaks their kiss, “tell me what you need.”

“You,” she says in a matter-of-fact way, as if he were stupid for expecting another answer.  

Ethan slides an arm across her back, cradling her close, needing to feel her against every inch of him. He pushes into her soaked heat, his breath escaping him in a moan when she digs her nails into his shoulders. Giving her a moment to adjust to the stretch, he nips at the soft skin of her breasts, pleased with the rosy marks that bloom from his attention. One of her hands drifts down to his ass and squeezes. 

“Move,” she begs.

At her command, he does; he wraps his free hand around her hip and uses the leverage to drag his cock in and out of her with short, heavy strokes. Her legs come up to encircle his waist, her body rocking up to meet his. The new angle is sweeter, deeper than before. Sloane gasps at his next thrust. Words fall free from his lips, nothing more than murmurs of praise. She writhes and keens underneath him; he has enough wherewithal to slide a hand down between them, knowing exactly what she needs. The rhythmic clenching of her sends him overboard with her, the both of them are dragged under the warm sea of pleasure. He pulls out and collapses next to her, nestling close when she slings an arm across him. The room spins around them as they wait for their breathing to turn to normal. 

As his heart rate slows, he finally hears it: the rain, beating steadily against the tin roof, a cocoon of white noise that shelters them from the outside. Before he can speak, he hears another familiar sound. Sloane rubs her nose against his shoulder and chuckles. 

“What was it that you said about strenuous activity on an empty stomach?” 

His laughter echoes through the room. After some poking and prodding, he manages to convince her to get out of bed and meet him in the kitchen. Ethan is reprimanding Jenner for dancing around his feet and gathering ingredients when she wanders in, dressed only in his button-down and a pair of wool socks. He manages to not whack his head against the upper cabinets, but only just barely. 

“Hey, you never showed me what you bought.” 

He follows her finger to the little brown bag, still sitting on the bar where he dropped it off earlier.

“Curiosity killed the cat,” he says. 

“And satisfaction brought it back,” she replies in a sing-songy tone.  

“Go ahead. Open it.” 

He watches her sift through the tissue paper and lift the object out. The snow globe catches in the kitchen’s recessed lights. Inside the glass is an overly-contrasted photo of Lake Placid, looking out towards Whiteface Mountain and the surrounding Adirondacks. “I figured you could add this to your collection.”

Sloane looks up in confusion. “My collection?”

“When I visited your apartment, I noticed the one you had from Stockholm on your shelf. Now, the next time you travel, you’ll know what tacky souvenir to buy yourself.” 

“Why would I do that, when I have you to do it for me?” she teases. 

Setting the snow globe down on the table and away from Jenner’s interested nose, she crosses the kitchen and slides her arms around his waist. The kiss she gives him is gentle and sweet, her lips curled into a smile as they press against his; he wishes for a thousand more. “But that’s a good idea. Too bad I didn’t get one in Miami.” 

He switches on the gas stove, glancing back at her with an impish grin. 

“We could always go back.”

“You know,” she hums, “I like the way you think.”

------ 

Author’s notes and what-have-yous: 

There’s probably a reference to something recognizable in here, but the only one I can think of is a line from an Alan Jackson song (don’t ask, I’m just having fun). 

[buckysgoldenheart]

Partners: August Walker x Reader

Summary: You are partners in the CIA and an injury forces feelings to be revealed.

Words: 2200

Warnings: Gore, i guess. Smut, but not so bad you have to dunk yourself in holy water afterwords, as much fun as that is. Cursing, maybe? I don’t really remember. 

I hope you like it :)

You hated hospitals, you always had. People died in them and who enjoyed death? Only the fuckers you assassinated or put behind bars. Plus, hospitals always reeked of cleanliness. It was nauseating. But you supposed eventually everyone makes it in one, whether it be a pit-stop or your last drop before being buried in dirt forever.

 ---------------

“There is no way that happened!” August laughed, louder than you had ever heard before, and you smiled bright. You loved that sound, and the crinkles in the corners of his eyes, and the way his teeth were laid out behind his lips. All of it was perfect. You made that happen, you realized. The look he had on his face now, the pure elation, completely raw unlike usual, was because of you and the stupid story you told him about your aunt and her cat.

And now you couldn’t remember the last time you were this happy. You certainly hadn’t expected tonight to remind you what extreme joy felt like; not on a typical night with your partner, tracking a man’s location for a couple hours until he finally went home. But tonight didn’t end up typical, not to you. It was the first night August let his guard down around you, really let his guard down. He let you see him and watch as he removed that rough exterior brick by brick.

“It did, I swear! That cat is wicked smart!” You could barely contain your laughter, and the chances of your smile leaving your face was far out of the question. When you looked over at August as you walked side by side down the alley, he was already watching you like he could see every single thing you felt for him. You hoped by the way his eyes seemed to shine that maybe he was thinking of you together, as more than partners in the CIA.

You walked with your bodies close to each other. Even through layers of clothing to stave off the late autumn chill, you could feel the heat radiating from him. It was enough to keep you warm for an entire night. For a minute, you thought maybe you might be able to get to that point. The job was done and you were walking back to the hotel anyway. He could easily move one room over and stay with you.

But then you were reminded why you didn’t get to have things as amazing as a night with August Walker, no matter how much you wanted it. People like you and him, you didn’t get to have each other, and even when you thought it might happen, something always fucked it up.

When you started down that alley, the two of you were alone, laughing and happy. The mission was over for now and somehow, the fact that you were both trained CIA agents was put on the back-burner. So much so that neither of you heard the initial scuff of a heavy boot on the pavement a good twenty feet in front of you. It was the second that had August shooting his head up in the right direction, just in time to catch the thrown knife before it lodged in his chest.

He practically growled at the smaller hooded figure before you and spent no time flipping the knife in his hand and whipping it expertly back at the attacker. The shiny, silver blade landed right between a pair of dark, emotionless eyes and the body fell to the ground, splashing in a couple puddles from the earlier rain.

August said your name before looking at you, but you barely heard it. Your ears rang as you stared down at the hilt of a knife, its thick blade buried deep in your abdomen. When did he throw a second? Or did he throw mine first?

It didn’t feel like much, having a knife stuck in you. You’d been injured on missions, but nothing like this. They were flesh wounds before, in and out, easily fixable. Not this. This was bad, you knew, and it surprised you how little it hurt. Despite your body going into shock, you thought it would at least sting. The bullet wounds had.

Your hand reached for the handle. You knew not to pull it out, that it would have you bleeding out faster, but you now understood the temptation. August stopped your hand before your fingers could wrap around it. He called your name louder as he put his large hands on your cheeks and tried to force you to look at him. He looked hazy, and you were surprised how fast you were losing control of your own body. Then your eyes fell closed despite your attempts to keep them on his face.

 ——————————————————————

Oh right, one other thing you hated about hospitals: that constant, excruciating beeping sound next to every patients’ bed so nurses and doctors could tell if they were still alive or not. It was definitely high on your list of the worst things ever, and right now you couldn’t seem to escape it. It was muddled with a voice in the background, but still rang clear enough to piss you off, like nails on a chalkboard.

“Yes, thank you,” That voice said. You knew that voice. It was not one you would choose to hear if you had the option, but if you were hearing voices at all it meant someone was in the room with you or you were going crazy. In either case it meant you had to be alive, so you guessed that was good. You eased your eyelids open.

“Well, well, she’s awake.” Sloane. You shifted your body and groaned as your boss walked to your side. “You’re quite the sleeper,” She said. “The typical recovery time for this kind of thing is about three days, but congratulations, you made it a whole week.” She sat on your bed in her nice suit. “If you were tired, you could’ve just asked for a day off.”

You did your best to scoff at the lie and Sloane let out a reserved laugh. “We are all glad you are ok.”

We, you thought. August. “When can I get the fuck out of here?”

“As soon as you want. The last few days you’ve just been sleeping off the leftover anesthesia and pain killers.”

“Thank God.”

A few beats passed in silence, then Sloane said, “That guy was hired to take out anyone who spied on the target…He saw you.”

You nodded. It made sense. Your attention was focused on someone else, but if Sloane knew that bit, she would throttle you. Though, the fuck up of being seen would still warrant at least a bit of punishment, which you were sure she would lay out for you soon.

“One thing before you leave here,” She said, and you didn’t like the tone in her voice one bit. “I need you to sign some paperwork.”

Your eyebrows scrunched together. “What for?” She pulled out a packet of papers held together by a large clip and set it down on top of your legs for you to shuffle through. “Just tell me. But skip all the mission details.”

“Walker is requesting a new partner and team. His reasons are spelled out in the forms and I have no reason not to grant his request. There are a couple pages where you have to sign and date.”

 ——————————————————————-

You had asked Sloane when August would be in his office next. She answered the question with a lot of unnecessary information that you paid absolutely no attention to after she said, ‘six p.m., tomorrow.’

You had no reason to rush; this was not going to be some sort conversation, so you waited until six-thirty. He would definitely be in his office by then, and as you stopped in front of the door you saw his form sitting in the desk chair through the fogged glass.

You took a deep breath, calming yourself, then slipped through the door. Before August had a chance to register your presence in his office, you slammed the packet of paperwork on his desk and crossed your arms.

His eyes widened and he quickly looked up at you. “Y/N.”

“You filed for a new partner? Are you fucking kidding me?”

He closed his eyes for a moment then rose from the chair, his hands planted firmly on the cherry wood. “Y/N—”

“We have been partners for two years,” You nearly yelled, holding up your index and middle finger, “And now you decide to just drop me like yesterday’s trash?”

August ran a hand through his dark brown curls. “That is not—”

“You’re an asshole!”

“Just listen to me!” You recoiled at his tone. He had never yelled at you before, not like that. He inhaled slowly then exhaled. “I got distracted,” He said and met your cold stare. “We both know that that is unacceptable.”

“And that all of a sudden makes you not want to work with me anymore? That’s insane, August.”

He shook his head slightly. “It is not insane. Not when what I got distracted by was you.”

You huffed with an aggravated smile. “Are you actually blaming me for this right now? August, we work best together. We have since the beginning.”

He crossed his ridiculously strong arms and you didn’t like it. He was getting mad, yes, but he was guarded now, closing himself off to you. “It doesn’t matter. You almost died.”

“That was an accident!” You groaned and rubbed your palms over your eyes. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“Yes, it was!” He slammed his fist hard against the desk before stepping around it and practically stomping to you. “I would’ve sensed that guy the other night if for one stupid second I focused my thoughts on anything but you! But I didn’t and it almost cost me everything, so yes, it was my fault!”

Everything?

His chest rose and fell as rapidly as yours and he searched your eyes for something. When you figured he found what he was looking for, he closed the two steps between you, wrapped his arms around your waist, and slammed his lips to yours.

You gasped into his kiss but devoured everything he was giving you: the feel of his hands gripping the fabric of your shirt, the way his lips felt, the way his tongue tasted…it was intoxicating, and you soaked up every ounce. When he gripped your sides and lifted you before setting you on the desk, you let out an unexpected squeak. His lips smiled against yours.

You reached for the belt of his black slacks, undid it, unzipped, and slipped your hand behind the layer of his underwear. He bucked against your hand and groaned loud, the vibration on your lips sending heat straight to your core. Fuck, you wanted him.

He pulled away for a second to smile at you, and as you smiled back, he reached for the hem of your top and slipped it over your head. His eyes went wide at the sight of you and you hoped the blush forming on your cheeks was not making its way down your neck to your chest. August leaned down to kiss the top of your breasts peeking out above your bra, then trailed kisses all the way up your neck, to your jaw, under your ear, and as he kissed your lips again, his fingers slowly unclasped the garment.

Straps slid down your shoulders as you kissed. You chucked it to the side before placing your hands back on him and pulling his cock free from his pants. When you stopped him to get a good look at just how big he was and licked your lips, August tilted your chin back up to him and shook his head.

“Not now,” He said, somehow reading your mind. “Later.” He pecked your lips and pushed your skirt up high to your hips. “Now, I just want you.”

You nodded and stroked him a few times, trying to keep yourself from falling apart at the feeling of his fingers rubbing at your clit. “Lean back,” He said, and you did until your spine hit the wood. August yanked your hips forward until you were fully against him, then pulled your panties to the side with a finger. He met your eyes for a moment and you nodded.

As he eased himself inside you, your eyes slammed shut and your brain fuzzed. Every inch was more beautifully agonizing than the last as he stretched you. “Look at me,” He whispered. There was more than lust swirling within the blue and you knew you would be more than happy to see him look at you that way for a long, long time.

August pulled you up until your chest was against his as he fully settled himself inside you. With his hands on your cheeks, his thumbs stroked back and forth. He hummed contentedly and touched his forehead to yours.

“Come home with me,” He said.

You didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

He thrust into you once, twice, then kissed you sweetly.

@agniavateira​

[effable-as-f]

Taakitz oneshot - Memoriam

Tags: The Adventure Zone - Balance, Taakitz (Taako/Kravitz), hurt/comfort, canon-compliant major character death, loss & mourning, negative self-image

Elves outlive a lot of the people they meet. That was a fact of life Taako had to accept pretty early on.

“Relationships with non-elves are tricky,” he could remember his aunt saying to him and Lup, many years ago. “It’s best to avoid them, in my opinion. I mean, you get attached, then blink at the wrong moment, and they’re gone.”

Taako never thought he’d have trouble heeding that advice. After all, he and Lup had each other. Why would they ever need anyone else?

But it turned out that they didn’t need to go looking for anyone to welcome into their lives, because their family found them first. 100 years of fighting and surviving and bonding with the same group of people can change a lot.

Seeing the people he loved die but come back over and over kind of made him numb to the whole idea. So when Magnus died for good, that was the biggest slap-in-the-face wakeup call he’d ever felt.

The others gave him space. The rest of the IPRE team knew that as close as the seven of them were, Magnus, Taako, and Merle were closer.

He went home to the villa he and Kravitz shared in Neverwinter, stared hard at himself in the mirror, and let his Disguise Self spell fall away. His teeth dug into his bottom lip as he brushed away a strand of his hair, which, despite his sacrifice in Wonderland, hadn’t even begun to grey. Magnus, Lucrecia, even Merle had all gotten older, but he was still the same Taako. He was still, in elf terms, fairly young.

Through all his ruminating he heard the familiar sound of a tear in space opening behind him, and he exhaled, a cloud of condensation forming on the mirror and obscuring his reflection for a few moments that he relished in spite of himself. If it were anyone else, he might’ve panicked, but he knew Kravitz didn’t mind seeing him like this, so Taako didn't mind too much either.

Neither of them said a word, but Kravitz was gentle in his approach as if he could already tell Taako was feeling fragile. Taako felt Kravitz carefully pry open his clenched fist and slip his fingers between Taako’s own. The cold from the reaper’s hand seeped down to his bones, but it was familiar now rather than unsettling. Kravitz hugged his arm close, and Taako’s head fell against his shoulder. Taako gradually let Kravitz’s strong arms pull him into a deeper embrace, his grounding presence staving off the tears for a little while longer.

Kravitz let Taako end the silence first. He cleared his throat so his voice wouldn’t break, then asked, “How is he?”

“He’s happy,” Kravitz beamed softly, “He’s with Julia.”

“Right… I remember who that is, of course, how could I forget Julia… she’s…”

“His wife,” Kravitz prompted, holding back a chuckle, not sure if he was joking to lighten the mood or not.

“Of course I knew that. I just wanted to make sure you remembered.”

“Taako.” Kravitz’s tone was assertive without being harsh, but it still almost made Taako flinch. “You don’t have to play games with me. I’m here. You can talk to me.”

Taako pulled away, struggling to find the words, and Kravitz faltered.

“I can give you time, I mean, I-I didn’t mean to push you too hard…” Taako shook his head, holding up a hand.

“The funeral was lovely,” he said finally. “Merle performed the last rites himself, and, uh...” Taako paused to breathe, the corner of his tightly pressed lips curling into a half smile. “All these flowers sprang up from the ground he was buried. Most beautiful ones I’d ever seen.”

“I wish I could’ve been there to see it,” Kravitz said. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there, but I wanted to bring him over myself, it only seemed right. Besides, it’s not as if it’s all over. I’m pretty sure everyone in every plane who still remembers hearing your story is in mourning right now.” He put a hand on Taako’s shoulder. “Magnus won’t be forgotten for a long, long time.”

“I wonder if it’ll happen within my lifetime.”

“I mean, as long as you’re still here, he won’t be forgotten, will he?”

“Will he?” It slipped out before Taako could stop himself. “Honestly, I… I’m not sure. I wouldn’t think I would ever forget, but three, four, five hundred years will change a lot. If I’m the last one left, I’ll be the last for a while, I mean…”

“Hey, now,” Kravitz said, “You won’t be the last one. As long as Lup and Barry stay with the Raven Queen, they’ll still be around. You won’t be alone, and you all can keep your friends’ stories alive. Sure, you’ll meet new people who will... come and go through your life, but you can keep their memories in your heart, and… eventually, you’ll join them again. There’s no need to rush to that, though. You’ve still got lifetimes ahead of you. But if you need a constant, Lup and Barry will be there.”

“That all sounds great, except I didn’t hear you including yourself in that future,” Taako said, finally cracking a crooked smile, “You better not be fucking planning on dying anytime soon, right?”

“Of course not, I just meant… well, I’m not really a part of your group, I mean, I’m sort of an outsider, and I wasn’t as close to Magnus as the six of you… I guess, I didn’t want to insert myself too much into you guys’ loss.”

“Shut up. You’re better than any of those freakin’ clowns.” Kravitz laughed, and it was music to Taako’s ears.

“But, no. As long as I have a say in it, I’m not planning on leaving you, either.”

Kravitz put a hand on Taako’s face, and they went in for a kiss together. Taako felt a few tears finally slip out, and brought his disguise spell back up quickly to cover up the puffy eyes before Kravitz could see.

“Come on,” Kravitz said as they pulled away, “Why don’t we go round up the others and go out for some drinks?”

“To Magnus?”

“To Magnus.”

[popculturebuffet]

Amphibia Reviews: The Shut-In

More Halloween Havoc, whoop woop! The Plantars return just in time for Halloween! It’s Shut-In in Wartwood, their version of halloween, but less of a focus on getting candy and more on getting suplies to protect yourselve and barricade yourself in so the moon dosen’t turn you into a monster. I remain not suprised. To pass the time our heroes tell some true spooky stories and Polly tries to find one they weren’t around for.  Phone-Mo: Anne and humanized versions of Polly, Maddie, and Toady watch a cursed video and soon disappear by one. Nothing ominous about that! Dead End: A young Hop Pop serves as Chauffer for a mysterious man played by george takei and death seems to follow them at every stop. Oh myyyyyyyy.  Skin Deep: Sprig and Ivy go to fetch a lost ball and end up running into the skin stealing seamstress. Arson naturally insues..  It’s Terror Time again, with full recap and spoilers, under the cut. 

Whelp, no dancing around it this airing order is weird. And look airing shit in a weird way has been disney’s past time since the 90′s, Darkwing Duck’s airing order is a waking nightmare, and this very show had all of season 1 air within the span of a month and a week in order to get it on disney plus by launch, star vs had it’s last season burned off in three months, and Ducktales pre-covid flip flopped from airing week to week to just one for some reason and then no others for months. Consitency is not their strong suit is what i’m saying and it’s not new.  And yes I get these holiday special episodes are mecurial: their built specifically to slot in wherever without really upsetting continuity: The Casagrandes recently aired their first season 2 episode before even finishing season 1, so this isn’t just a disney thing, while speaking of disney things ducktales had it’s first proper halloweeen episode air the week before a spring break set episode, with a christmas episode set to air next month. What i’m saying is I get these things sometimes don’t air in production order, but it’s less excuable on Disney’s part here when it’d take airing exactly one episode for this not to be a tad jarring. Not enough that it spoils the episode nor does the episode effect the ongoing story or continuity in any way, so it’s not TERRIBLE but it smacks of lazy incompetence on Disney’s part and I wish they’d do better already. 

Okay that rant out of the way we can dive right in! It’s the annual Shut-In in Wartwood! Basically their verison of halloween but instead of a fun spooky holiday, it’s the annual tradition of getting various things from the neighbors to help stay indoors during the blue moon, which in wartwood turns whoever views into a monster. Because of course their halloween is a fight for suvival. Also theirs pumpkins everywhere with their versions of jack o lanterns being fear gourds which.. okay. Point is instead of candy the kids trick or treating has turned up rusty nails, a hatchet, a first aid kit and anne, winning the night, a flamethrower! On one hand it’s neat these exist in wartwood via fire breathing slugs. On the other I do worry about Anne accidently burning everyone and everything down so please take that from her. 

The Plantars then lock themselves in. To stave off bordeom, Shut-In tradition is to go around the fire and tell each other creepy true stories that happened to them. Polly tries going first but just has the Inn story from last season which they were all there for.. thought hat dosen’t make complete sense as they werent’ awake for all of it and shoudl’ve just let her tell her side of things. But eh it sets up polly’s plot so fair enough. Luckily anne has one. So we get our first tale of terror Terror Tales of the Park/Treehouse of Horror III Styles...

Phone-Mo 

Anne’s story is very clearly made up, though no one really calls her on it and it DOES add elemnts from the domino II story from last season so fair enough.  Rather than use her real friends, which is fair enough since she just sadly had to say goodbye to Marcy and probably isn’t handeling the guilt well and Sasha you know.. tried to stab her a few months back then tried sacrifcing herself for Anne’s own well being. Point is thnking about them is a loaaded issue right now so instead she dreams up human versions of Sprig, Polly, with a bucket on her foot for a shot which is a nice visual gag, as is how we meet them, along with Maddie and for some weird reason Toady. I mean I do get Ivy is in our third story, so fair enough, but they could’ve used.. anyone else. Wally would’ve made more sense honestly and he’s also an adult but he’s also you know Anne’s friend and not some town asshole she vaugley knows. It’s just weird. That said I do love the human designs for everyone and they clearly put a lot of work in knowing the fans would like them, with little touches like Polly having pink hair, sprig having his normal haircut he does under the hat but not covered up and toady’s phone having a little keychain of his amphibia version. Also while they all have diffrent names including Anne I won’t be using them on the grounds that I don’t wanna. 

Anne and the plantars are watching a funny internet video when Toady and Maddie offer to show them one that’s apparently cursed and makes whoever watched it disappear. Sprig talks Anne out of it and keeps her from watching anyway but Polly’s naturally all in. ON the way to class, once sprig is gone, anne ends up watching it and liking it anyway because she has no self control and freely admits it.  Naturally given this is a halloween episode, the others start disapearing, with Maddie coming to anne with support after Toady vanishes which again is just.. weird. It’s just weird to hear anyone car about wether toady lives or dies. It keeps throwing me off. Anne reasssures her but sure enough the second anne’s gone Maddie’s phone eats her alive. Still nice to see her again. Regular Maddie should get a hoodie. Also anne apparently eats the corners of her sandwitch so she dosen’t have to share. Clever girl.  Back at home where Anne continues to mock whoever it is told her she can’t write stories as she makes a gila monster and a flamingo make out, where are they I must hurt them, when Sprig calls panicked that polly is missing and admits i’ts a good thing they ddin’t watch the video.. yeah about that. Sprig is of course freaked, and soon the video pops on anne’s phone and soon the weird cat thing inside comes to life and then turns deadly.. also it turns out it eats the host then forces them to be int he background of the video, which was hinted at earlier with one guy having been in there for 35 years.. despite having a smartphone. Well this is anne’s story I don’t think she knows those didn’t exist once. 

Luckily Anne figures out how to beat it.. in the most hilarious way possible. by disliking it, since liking and commeting linked it to her, she weakens it before finishing it with a rude comment. It’s.. i’ts purespun comedy gold. This frees everyone else and they leave along with sprig.. but eggs are left behind. Dun dun dun.  Final Thoughts on Phone Mo:

First off .. I have no idea what FOMO means so the title left me as lost at first at the plantars... oh okay it’s fear of missing out.. should’ve remebered that from brooklyn nine nine and amy’s legendadrily bad case of it. Aw well a decent story, if the weakest of the three. It does have an incredibly funny conclusion, neat human designs, and an intresting setting given while school stories are common, usually we don’t get that here so it’s a nice break from the norm. But compared to the genuinely chilling with a funny and odd climax next two, it’s just okay. Not bad, but not quite as good.  Back in the present, Polly once again tries this time with children of the spore, once again being shot down though that being said hop pop’s line of “I was responsible for that one” was given a great delvery by charlie addler. Also Anne missed Wally’s birthday and he’s sad. oh Wally. Though i’m sure she’ll make it up to him.. at least he’s back home. So anyways speaking of HOp Pop, it’s his turn for a story...

Dead End:  And it’s a story from Hop Pop’s Youth! Given we’ve never SEEN hop pop beyond his present day and only heard the ocasional scrap, it’s REALLY nice to hear. It dosen’t tell us a ton more granted, but we at least see what he looked like, get to hear charlie adler use a slightly less aged voice for him and get to see him with a luxrious golden mane of johnny bravo hair, which is as hilaroius and glorious as it sounds. 

Back in those days Hop Pop was a coachman. He still had the farm, but given how tight things are now it’s not a stretch to assume he could always use some extra coppers to keep his family we never get to know about besides the grandkids fed. He also prides himself on honest work, not taking payment till the rides finished and the customer is satisfied which is INCREIDBLY risky, but I do kinda get it both for Hopidah’s sense of honor and because it seems clear he mostly does it in town by the fact all his stops this ep are within wartwood or close enough, so clearly it’s mostly people he knows personally.  This time though the rider is the well dressed, crimson red Mr. Littlepot, played by George Takei. Best known for Star Trek, being out and proud and since coming out after years and years in the closet, using his celebrity to help promote gay rights and other good stuff. He’s also known for saying ohhhh myyy and this clip from futurama. 

I got a lot of respect for the guy, He was even in archie comics once after Kevin Keller was introduced. So it’s nice to see him doing some voice work and he kills it here.. pun intended but more on that in a sec. Littlepot has some simple rule: keep driving no matter what hapepned where he was.. and given both places he ends up have someone dying, once by a horrifying looking snake, it’s clear somethings up. IT also nicely builds the tension as hop pop tries to steady himself, but is clearly cracking as he realizes his client might be murdering people he knows.. and he could be next. As Hopidiah KNOWS each person Littlepot visits and it nicely ratches up the tension. But turns out he’s not a killer.. he’s simplyd eath himself come to collect those already about to die. 

It’s a nice twist: The genuine trappings of the guy make you think h’es some form of the devil, the crimson skin, yellow eyes and cultured demanor.. it’s only as he goes you start to realize what the man actually is and even then he easily could still be frog satan. But no he’s just the frog reaper and defends himself to Hop Pop when confronted: He’s just doing his job, just like Hopidiah, getting people where they need to be. Unforutnately for Hop Pop his final stop is the farm.. though thankfully for him he hasnt come for Hopidiah.. just his hair. Yeah it’s a nice comedic twist on an otherwise chiling and well done story that what the devil came to take is his hair.. which he starts wearing hilariously. So Hop Pop lives but sobs, and Anne points out it was pretty fucked up. 

Final Thoughts for Dead End:  Not much to say. This one was dripping with atmosphere, Takei was utterly awesome and need to do more voice work, and the comedic ending twist was really damn funny. Top notch. 

Polly tries again, gets shut down again and is now really understandably frustrated at not having a story. Naturally given the other plantars have gone though, Sprig does. And he dosen’t have at itle at first until one cuts him off ....

Skin Deep:

Ivy’s Back! 

Yeah I was genuinely worried the return ep would break up either her and sprig or hop pop and silvia.. and while the second one remains a horrifying sword of damocles over my head, Sprig and Ivy are fine and Ivy gets a nice spotlight episode here. It was a pleasant surprise to get some fresh info since i’tll be months till we find out anything else.  So the young couple are playing bugball down at the old courts, when a couple of guys they were up to no good, started making trouble in the neghborhood. Sprig got in one little fight and Hop Pop got scared he said “your moving with your auntie and uncle to bell air”. He begged and pleaded day after day but Hop Pop packed his suit case and sent him on his way. He gave him a kiss and then he gave him a ticket Sprig put his walkman on and thought he might as well kick it. First class yo this ain’t bad, drinking orange juice out of a champagne glass. Is this what the people of bel air live like, yo, this might be alirght!   He whistled for a cab and when it came near the liscene plate said fresh and it had dice in the mirror, if anything he could say that this cab was rare but he thought man forget it yo holmes to bell air. He pulled up to the cab about 7 or 8 and yelled to the cabbie yo holmes smell ya later. He looked at his kingdom and he was finally there to sit on his throne as the fresh prince of bell air. 

So then Will walked into the mansion and wait.. wrong show.. so the young couple are playing bugball when they loose their ball, and it goes off into the creepy part of the woods. Ivy also looses her hat and is self concious about her hair. Looks fine to sprig but she’d rather not. Aww she’s insecure. But the two head off with Sprig getting more and more nervous, as Ivy details a legend about the area of the seamstress, a mysterious recluse who steals your skin! Naturally Sprig is nettled while Ivy says it’s fine and does what anyone would do upon finding out the ball went into a creepy abandoned shack in a world where it’s clear murderers are pretty common: kick down the door! It’s the perfect crime. 

Naturally Sprig gets more unernved, finding a set of needles and thread, which gets a great gag as Ivy points out that’s nto that uncommon.. but the giant pile of skin they find sure is!

Oh.. it gets worse me. Sprig finds the ball. and the Seamstress who has a horrifying patchwork of skins on her and wants to add theirs.. the kids are naturally spooked and prepare to flee but she wants their skin and grabs ivy! Thankfully she breaks free and Sprig busts some off.. OH GOD.. and it turns out she’s a glass frog! .. turns out theres a kind of frog that has translucent skin.

But yeah obvoiusly the show takes it a step further, and her skin is entirely see through. Poor girl. Ivy sympathizes shows off her hair.. then puts her hat over the Seamstress’ eyes and tells sprig now, and sprig starts a fire, and the two start to escape when he grabs Ivy’s leg!

Thankfully Ivy breaks free and the two leave her to die. Sprig compliments ivy’s hair, ivy gets him a smooch it’s all adorable and they defintely murdered someone who defintely murdered a lot of people. Horay!

Naturally the rest of the family is freaked out by this with Anne wanting to know if ivy being bitten means sh’es infected and Hop Pop wanting to know if one of her skins was his friend fred he hasn’t seen in a while. Sprig then spooks them by having ivy show up, complete with a burlap frog skin.. maybe. She could’ve been lying. We dunno. Ivy heads home to risk her life for a good gag, depsite the fact her boyfriend’s house is right there and her mom and grandmom clearly had to sign off on this shenanigan given the night. But this life risking prank naturally risks some life as Polly has ran off to look at the moon to get her own story. The rest of hte family runs after her only tfind it did.. ntohing. She’s apparently fine just fine and they assure her the fear they felt thinking she might become some kind of monster was scarier than any story and the rest of them head home with polly following.. after transofrming. Turns out the moon DOES make you into monsters but she’s fine with it. She’s got her legs now! Everyone screams understandably, Anne finally realizes this isn’t quite a holiday the end. 

Final Thoughts on Skin Game and the special as a whole: Easily my faviorite, partly for shipping reasons as I do like Ivy and Sprig together, and partly because it really let Ivy have a roll OTHER than sprig’s love intrest. Sure she still smooched his cheek and their clearly still together, but she got to be proactive, badass and hilariously impulsive and trollish. It was a nice change of pace and the story itslef was the best of the bunch to me becuase of that, though Dead End was really close.  Overall this was a nice treat, a good anthology with lots of fright and humor and a nice wraparound story arc with polly, as well as some nice call backs to previous episodes. An utterly excellent halloween special i’ll probably be revisiting every year and another slam dunk from disney this year. The airing snaufu really dosen’t hurt it any and in the future this one will likely be after Return to Wartwood on D+ anyway so no harm done. Great all around. If you liked this review follow me for more amphibia whenever it comes back, ducktales reviews every monday, and loud house reviews every saturday or sunday depending. And until next time stay safe, stay spooky and happy halloween!

[astoldbycrimson]

Bring Me Back to Life

Summary: You and Din were always protecting each other. It’s never a conscious thought, just a natural instinct at this point.

Pairing: Mando/Din Djarin x f!Reader

Warnings: injuries, mentions of violence, angst, and sweet fluff

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 4.5 | Part 5

———————

The concept of love, for many, was a myth that traversed the galaxy. In a time when there was war and carnage, it was a tale long forgotten, written in a language that no one could understand. Death, chaos, and destruction were all some people knew. Din Djarin had been no different. 

He watched as the Empire destroyed his home and wept as he was hidden within a storage cellar. He was helpless as the droids brutally ripped his parents away from him. They nearly took his life too… While the Mandalorians had shown him mercy and raised him as one of their own, the stories of love had died with his family. All those feelings had been lost in the shadows of his mind, buried deep until he eventually forgot where he’d hidden them. 

But then you came along. First, you were just the kind waitress in a cantina on Dathomir. The one with the interesting eyes and pretty smile. And then, deep in the woods of your homeland, you saved his life for reasons he didn’t understand. Your powers were unlike anything he’d ever seen. Somehow you’d managed to talk your way onto the Razor Crest. And slowly, with minimal effort, you mapped out his mind and found each piece he’d buried so long ago. 

While your life hadn’t been without pain, you knew love from the moment you took your first breath. Your mother treasured you more than the heart in her chest. Your father had broken the old jedi way just to bring you into the world. Love was everywhere you looked. Sometimes so abundant that it suffocated you, like when your mother had passed and your village had wept with you. But you never forgot what love felt like. Not like Din did.

Boarding the Razor Crest had been a massive change for you. The air wasn’t filled with the love you had grown accustomed to. Instead it was filled with deafening silence. It smelled of blaster fire, sweat, and blood. And the taste it left on your tongue was incredibly bitter. Never before had anything left you feeling so cold and lonely. It took over a cycle for the stale air to clear. Then love surrounded you once more and that warmth had finally enveloped Din too.

You reminded him every day of just how real love really was. He felt it when you cooked him a hot meal. When you smiled at him so sweet with nothing but adoration in your eyes. Din felt your love when you’d remove his helmet with the utmost care, as if it were made of glass and one wrong move could destroy it forever. When you kissed with such fervor that you stole the air from his lungs. You sang the tales of love so beautifully. Everything was foreign, but with your help, he slowly came to understand.

Love did not come without a price, however. You became reckless as your feelings clouded your judgment. Din was your priority, so you repeatedly put yourself in harm’s way to ensure his safety. In your mind, it was your job to protect him, no matter the cost. Even if it meant you drew your last breath.

You weren’t alone in that feeling. Din, the normally calm and collected veteran hunter, was ready to throw himself between you and the first sign of danger. Even if he knew you could handle the situation, he was unable to stop himself from taking a hit or two. And it was for that very reason that Din was now in near critical condition.

Fortunately you had ended the fight rather abruptly upon seeing him wounded. You had used far too much force to ensure the ending was swift and absolute. Had he been conscious to see it, you’d likely get a scolding. Because you shouldn’t use your extra abilities unless the situation demanded it. He’d come to know what happened to most of the jedi. Din didn’t want that to happen to you.

The fight had left him unconscious and bleeding. He didn’t hear the curses you muttered in your native tongue, even though he’d come to recognize a few from your frequent use of them. Din didn’t hear you whisper that you loved him and to hold on. But you managed to get him back to the ship in record time. Now he was sprawled out your shared cot, seriously wounded but breathing. 

Given your massive overuse of your force abilities, you only had enough energy to make him stable. You’d have to stop the bleeding without using the cauterizer… you feared your shaking hand and his inability to guide you would’ve wounded him worse. So, unfortunately, you had to rely on the old fashioned medkit to treat his wounds until you fully recovered. 

You carefully stripped him of his armor, taking note of where the wounds were on his body. You applied bacta spray to the more pressing ones and bandaged them accordingly. Then you cleaned up the lesser scrapes and cuts, leaving them to air and heal on their own. 

Once every injury was addressed, you washed the blood and dirt off him. Then you dressed him in fresh clothes and set his helmet beside the cot. The wounds wouldn’t heal perfectly overnight, so you’d be required to keep him off his feet for at least a day. You pressed a kiss to his cheek, grabbed his hand, and waited by his side until he stirred.

You stayed there for hours, struggling to stave off your own exhaustion. When you’d start to nod off, you bit your cheek to jolt yourself awake. And you kept his hand in yours, not only to calm your nerves, but so you’d be alerted when he finally stirred. 

Unfortunately, you didn’t last more than 13 hours before your body slumped and you succumbed to your own exhaustion. So Din woke first, brown eyes fluttering open to find you asleep beside him. It would’ve been cute if you hadn’t looked as though you had just fought a war by yourself. There were bags under your eyes and bruises littered your exposed skin. You were still dressed in your dirty clothes, caked with grime and blood.

He immediately tried to sit up, worried about all the blood on you. But the groan that escaped his lips and the sudden jolt of your arm awoke you instantly. It took you a second to find your senses before you were standing and ushering him back onto his back.

“Shh, mulovda, you’re fine. I’m here. Just relax,” you whispered reassuringly. 

“(Y/N)… are you okay?” Of course the first words he uttered would be to ask about your well being. 

“Din, I’m fine. You’re the one who nearly died.” Honestly if you weren’t so worried, you’d be rolling your eyes at him. 

“You…” a groan as he adjusted his position on the cot, “…look terrible." 

A sigh left your cracked lips before you laughed softly. ”…Thanks, Din. You really know how to make a girl swoon.“ 

He chuckled, but it made him stiffen at the pain. "Kriff, (Y/N). Don’t make me laugh.”

“Sorry, used up all my pity when I played doctor last night. You brought that upon yourself for insulting me." 

”…I didn’t mean it like that, (Y/N/N).“

A smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. "I know. You just really set yourself up for that one… How are you feeling?” Your face turned serious as you raised a hand to rest on his cheek.

You noted how he instinctively leaned into your touch. “I’m alive. Been through this and much worse before. How long have I been out?" 

"I lost count after the first 10 hours… Maybe half a day?”

He hissed through his teeth as he tried to rise. Your gentle, but firm hand on his chest kept him down. 

“That’s way too long. Let me up, I need to get us off this planet." 

Your tone was sweet, but stern as you spoke, "Din, we’re safe. They are all dead. We can stay at least another day. Right now you need to rest." 

He was silent a moment. "They’re all… dead?”

“Yes, dead. We’re safe now.”

You sensed the tilt in his head before he opened his mouth. “…How’d you manage that, cyar'ika?” The way he said your little nickname was accusatory. Borderline patronizing. “I remember a very different situation before I blacked out.”

“Your memory is failing you, mulovda. We were doing fine before you tried to play hero. You must’ve hit your head pretty hard,” you laughed as you carded your fingers through his hair. 

“…You’re lying.”

You tilted your head to the side. “Am I? Last I checked you couldn’t read minds, Din.”

He could tell when you lied. Your face was convincing enough for most, but Din knew you better than that. He wasn’t the most social of creatures, but Maker was he observant. He was ready to fight you on it, but he couldn’t deny that he enjoyed the attention you were giving him. So, for now, he’d let it go. 

“Now that you’re awake, I’ll make us a hot meal.” You went to walk away, but a hand circled your wrist.

“The food can wait. I think you should take a minute to wash up, (Y/N).”

You sighed. “Do I really look that bad?”

“…You’re beautiful, cyar'ika. You just… take care of yourself for a minute, okay? I can wait a little longer.” It was obvious that he meant what he said, which had you flushing lightly. He was always so thoughtful when it came to you.

Denying his request would only cause trouble and a shower sounded wonderful after your day. “I’ll just be a minute… promise me you won’t leave this cot, Din.”

Of course he had planned on sneaking up to the cockpit while you were distracted. But you knew him… too well, at times. So he let out a typical Din sigh and nodded. “…I promise.”

You were true to your word and kept your bathing brief. Honestly, you were far too tired to even think of taking a long shower anyway. So you scrubbed off the dirt and grime before washing your hair. Then you were out and in a clean set of clothes, making a hot dinner for your Mandalorian.

It didn’t take long before he was shoveling his face full of your food. Before you, he never got to enjoy the taste. Eating was a necessity, not a luxury. And time was something he didn’t have a lot of. But with you preparing most of his meals, he tried to give himself a moment to really taste the unique blend of spices. To savor his meal for as long as his hunger would allow. 

You, however, were savoring the moment. While you couldn’t see the face he was making, you knew it was a pleasant one. He always seemed to enjoy the food you made. Always grateful for a meal made with love. But you were just grateful to have another moment with him. Thankful to still have someone to cook for. To kiss and hold and love…

Din had come into your life seemingly out of nowhere. Just a Mandalorian that had stumbled upon your father’s cantina. At first he was just a way off your planet. To hone your skills and maybe make a name for yourself. But he quickly became so much more. He made you feel things you’d long forgotten. Had you thinking that maybe fairy tales existed here amongst the stars, on a ship with a Mandalorian named Din Djarin.

And now… now he was practically your world. A beautiful untouched planet that you had been fated to collide with. He didn’t know it, but he saved you in so many unspoken ways. You’d survive if he hadn’t made it, but you know you’d never feel alive again…

“…Why aren’t you eating?” Din had stopped his consumption long enough to eye your untouched plate. 

“Hmm?” You were quickly brought back to reality. “I’m sorry, just a little dazed, I suppose. Please, don’t stop on my account. There’s plenty more after you’ve finished that." 

He set his plate on the table beside him and reached for your cheek. As if he had been reading your thoughts, he said, "I’m here, cyar'ika. You saved me… like you always do." 

"No, Din, it was you who saved me.”

———————

@spacegayofficial @killtherandomness @thatguythatsshy @emyyjemyy @gothtechie @pandaperson51 (thanks for your request!)

[fullmetalscullyy]

Moms Made Fullmetal Week 2020 Day 5: Advice or Comfort or Bed-time story

thank you @waddiwasiwitch for creating such a lovely event for us to celebrate the mothers of fma

check out @moms-made-fullmetal-2020 for more info 💖

rated: g | words: 1723

read on ao3

comfort

“Mum?”

Gracia stirred on the couch, her eyes opening blearily as Elicia called for her. In her moment of disorientation, Gracia was transported back over a decade, to when her daughter was only three and was calling to her in the night. Fighting off the memory and the brief nap she’d fallen into, Gracia returned to the present.

“Yes, Elicia?” she responded automatically, finally getting her bearings. She was in her living room, but her daughter wasn’t three years old anymore. She was seventeen and was standing by the door, looking nervous. Her hands wrung in front of her and she looked upset. “What’s wrong, honey?” Gracia asked, righting herself on the couch, immediately alert.

She hadn’t meant to nap, but the sun was warm coming through the window and the couch was incredibly comfortable. It must have been over an hour, as the last time she checked the clock, Gracia remembered thinking that Elicia would be home from school within the hour. It was coming close to anniversary of Maes’ death as well and that was always a hard month. Gracia had allowed herself the moment to escape.

“It’s…” Elicia sighed heavily and her hands stopped their ringing.

Gracia’s stomach dropped when Elicia’s face crumpled and she burst into tears. She was off the couch in a flash, rushing over to her daughter.

“Oh, Elicia,” she soothed as Elicia’s shoulders shook underneath her hands. Tears sprang to Gracia’s eyes too, as they always did when someone she loved what upset. “What’s wrong? Why are you crying?” She had a good idea what was wrong, but she needed her daughter to confirm it out loud. It would help her if she did.

“It’s – It’s –” She couldn’t seem to get the words out.

“Come here,” Gracia ushered, guiding Elicia over to the couch. Once seated, she held her daughter close, placing a hand on top of her head as she cradled it, rocking them both back and forth. This always comforted her as a child, and Gracia hoped the same was true now.

While dread was climbing up Gracia’s spine and fear was pickling her skin, she held off on questioning now. Every maternal instinct was screaming at her to find out why her baby girl was so upset, but Gracia knew that would do no good. Elicia could barely get it out earlier and needed to calm down first. When she was ready, she’d come to her. She’d taken that trait from her father, because Maes had been the exact same.

“Take all the time you need, sweetheart,” Gracia murmured, kissing the top of her head. “I’m right here, okay?”

Elicia nodded and wrapped her arms around Gracia’s torso, squeezing tight. Willing the tears away, Gracia held her daughter and tried to stave off the crying right now. She needed her mother to be strong.

“I’m sorry,” Elicia mumbled as she pulled away, finally calm. It had taken a while, but at least her tears were under control.

“You’ve got nothing to apologise for,” Gracia reassured her with a comforting smile.

“It was because of school,” Elicia admitted.

“What happened?”

“In English were we reading and working on a short story,” Elicia sniffed as she dabbed at her eyes. “And the kid lost their Dad.”

“Ah,” Gracia nodded in understanding. Elicia didn’t need to say anymore. She knew exactly where it was going.

“I made it through the class, but I had to hide in the toilets at lunch and I couldn’t stop crying. It just came out of nowhere.” Elicia sniffed hard and wiped at her fresh, wet eyes. “How do you do it, Mum?”

Gracia knew this day would come. She knew her daughter would ask her this question, and she had to be perfectly honest with her.

“I don’t know,” she replied honestly. “I won’t lie to you, every day it’s hard. So hard. Sometimes I don’t even want to get out of bed, even now.” Elicia nodded in understanding. “I miss him so much. But I know I’m not alone.” Gracia smoothed down her daughter’s hair, cupping her cheek. “I’ve got you.”

“I know, but…” Elicia huffed. She wasn’t satisfied with the answer. “I don’t know,” she mumbled sadly. “I just don’t want to burst into tears in school again.”

“I know, honey. It’s hard when it hits us out of nowhere like that. Do you want me to have a word with the teacher?”

Elicia’s expression turned frightened. “Please don’t,” she begged. “I don’t want to cause any bother.”

“It’s all right,” Gracia soothed her. “I’m not going to walk into your class. That wouldn’t be a very “cool Mum” thing to do,” she joked, pushing Elicia’s shoulder playfully. It made her smile and let out a quiet laugh, at least. “I thought about maybe phoning the school and I can let your teacher know what happened. Or, you can approach her yourself in class?”

Elicia looked terrified. “I think if I do, I might burst into tears again.”

“Oh, honey.” Gracia pulled her daughter back against her body in a side hug, kissing the top of her head. “I know,” she murmured. “I’ll phone them and ask to speak to the teacher, all right? You won’t need to worry about a thing.”

“Thanks, Mum,” Elicia whispered.

“Of course, sweetheart.”

The two sat there, comforting one another, for a while. The longer the silence and calm settled over them, the more Gracia wanted to get what was on her mind out there.

“It’s hard to this day,” Gracia whispered. “Sometimes when I’m out I can hear your father’s laugh, or I spot him for a second in the crowd. I thought I was going crazy, but your Uncle Roy told me he experienced the same thing.”

“Really?” Elicia sounded incredibly surprised.

“Your father is never far from my thoughts. Same with your Uncle Roy.”

“Why is he an “uncle”?” Elicia asked for the first time in her life.

“Because he and your father were very close,” Gracia revealed. “Almost like brothers.”

“Oh… I just thought it was because he was good friends with Dad.”

“He was. They went through a lot together in the war and came out brothers.”

“Did Dad ever talk to you about it?” Elicia asked quietly.

Gracia shook her head. “No. Not properly. But I wasn’t blind or stupid. He was doing it to protect me,” she chuckled. “But I could always read Maes very well. I knew when he was struggling and eventually managed to get enough from him so I could help. That was all I needed.”

“Is that why he was so happy all the time?” Elicia asked.

“… Yes and no. Before the war he was the same. He just came back with some extra barriers we had to fight through together, but he was still the same man I’d fallen in love with. The happy-go-lucky guy that wouldn’t let anything get him down.”

“I always remember that,” Elicia murmured. “He was the happiest person alive, I always thought,” she smiled. “I wanted to be just like him.”

“You are, darling,” Gracia reassured her, giving her a quick squeeze. “I’ve never come across such an enthusiastic and happy teenager,” Gracia chuckled. “You are your father’s daughter,” she grinned.

“Thank you, Mum,” Elicia replied, sincere. Her arms tightened around Gracia’s torso before they fell loose. “You’ve been a big help.”

“And I’ll always be here for you, okay?”

“I know, Mum. We’re in this together.”

“We are,” Gracia smiled, giving her daughter another tight squeeze.

“I love you.”

“Love you too, Elicia. So does your father, and he’s so proud of the young woman you’ve become.”

“Do you think he’s up there watching us?” Elicia asked, looking up at the ceiling.

“It’s a lovely thought,” Gracia replied, watching her daughter. “I like to think so. He used to talk about you to anyone who would listen, and to those who wouldn’t as well, so in my head he’s watching you grow up, becoming prouder of you every day.”

“I like to think he’s watching over you while I’m at school,” Elicia replied. “Just in case you–” She cut herself off, and it piqued Gracia’s interest.

“In case of what?”

“Oh, I mean,” Elicia stammered then groaned. “This is going to sound so bad,” she muttered.

“It’s all right, you can tell me.”

“Oh, it was, um, to make sure you weren’t alone during the day,” Elicia admitted quietly, making Gracia pause.

“Do you think about this often?” she asked, concerned.

Elicia looked up at her mother shyly and nodded. “I hate leaving in the morning because I don’t want you to be alone all day.”

“You don’t need to worry about me like that,” she smiled, cupping Elicia’s cheek. “All right? I keep myself busy. Your Uncle Roy comes round for lunch sometimes, and so does Aunt Riza.”

“I thought I wasn’t supposed to call her that,” Elicia questioned.

Gracia smiled knowingly. “You can now, just between us.”

“Why?”

“Well… It’s a secret, but…”

Elicia just gaped at her. “I knew it,” she snapped, clapping her hands together once in victory. “I knew it!”

Gracia chuckled. “I think everyone did.”

“Damn. For how long?”

“They’ve known each other for decades.” Elicia’s eyes widened. “Probably since then.”

“And they went all that time not being together?”

Gracia nodded. “They had to.”

“Wow… What else is going on?” she asked eagerly.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean with them, or with anyone else.” Elicia crossed her legs underneath her and leaned forwards, elbows on her knees. “We haven’t talked about this stuff before.”

She was right, they hadn’t. Gracia had to admit, it was another way to bond with her daughter, now that she was old enough to understand. Plus, Gracia had kept the secret of Roy and Riza being in love since Maes had told her, fourteen years ago. It was nice to finally talk and confide in someone about it.

“How long have you got?” Gracia smiled wryly.

Elicia grinned. “I’ll go get some popcorn.”

Gracia laughed after her as she darted from the room. Shaking her head fondly, she smiled, hearing Elicia rummage around in cupboards in the kitchen.

Yep, Meas. She’s just like you. Nosy as can be.

[starknight-writes]

Saviour

by starknight

The first time she saved you, you could barely keep track of what was happening. You’d been run down, your axe blunted with the skeletons of your foes, the core of your magic drained and sore. The fight was never going to be equal, and you were always meant to die. You saw the rush of steel and threw yourself backwards on instinct, desperately clinging onto your small mortal life. The ocean rushed up to meet you, jagged rocks lurking underneath a sure sign of your doom.

But then the glint of light on the waves was overshadowed by the swing of braids, and your saviour grinned down at you, and you weren’t falling, somehow.

“Need a hand?” she asked, and pulled you up with all the ease of immortality, setting your feet gently on the ground. Where she touched you, you were renewed, the blisters of battle smoothed over and healed perfectly. Her smile, though, was ravaging.

You opened your mouth to say thank you, but she held up a finger to her lips, and when you blinked, she was gone. The battle was over, and you stood at the edge of a field of dead bodies, enemy and friend alike.

It was a couple of months later when you began experimenting with the runes that were, in hindsight, obviously a terrible idea. You traced them onto the cold rock of your small bedroom, and they began to glow. A strange whooshing, humming noise slipped from the stone, and you whipped your hand back, dropping the chalk.

“Hhyyyyyaaasssssrrrr,” a voice hissed. “For whaaat have I beeeeeen sssssummoned?”

Your voice had deserted you, and you were going to die. The ethereal voice began to laugh, a horrible, grating sound echoing through your little room. You inwardly cursed yourself for a fool, but as the light crept towards you on velvet paws, you tried not to flinch. You had gotten overconfident in your curiosity, and would pay the price.

Your door opened, and a warm, dark hand grabbed yours.

“Are you missing legs as well as a brain? Run!”

You stumbled along behind her until your lungs hurt and your eyes watered. When you looked behind, the light had spread through the Mages’ College. You could see it through the windows, pale, menacing, unending. You heard screams, and the sound of something splattering.

You turned back to your saviour. Why, you wanted to ask. Why you, why me? 

She shook her head, and then her hand was gone as quickly as it had come.

You had to leave the village after that, and travelled further South into the mountains. It wasn’t a mild winter, and you didn’t have much experience with the cold. 

You knew enough to curl up tight when the storm hit. You didn’t know about snow digs, and you hadn’t known you’d need snow-boots. You whispered up a fire with the last of your failing magic, in the hope that the warmth might stave off your ending, but it only burnt your coldstiff flesh. You pushed your face into the snow, and waited for it to be over. 

You woke up the next day to a warm cabin, a hot bowl of stew, and re-awakened nerves in your feet throbbing.

“You really are terrible at keeping yourself alive,” your saviour said. She was leaning against the windowsill, weak sunlight watering itself over her head. “You’re a lot of work.”

You tried to speak, but only a faint choking sound came out, and she softened.

“Have some food. Gods know you’ll probably starve next.”

You pretended not to hear and started shoveling stew into your mouth, the bulk and warmth a comfortable weight in your stomach. There was something strange about the taste of the meat, but then again, there was something strange about being rescued for the third time by a stranger.

You looked up, your throat finally clear to speak. But you were alone.

You arrived in the big city of the South a week after your near-freezing. Snowkeep was huge and bustling, and you made the most of the food and the life. You tried out the public baths, and bought overpriced snow-boots, and feasted on roast chestnuts stuck together with caramel as a make-do birthday cake.

One night, you were stumbling home more than a little drunk. Your snow-boots were sliding in and out of focus as they slapped against the snow. It had been a warm day, so the cobbles had become all slushy. You almost slipped once or twice.

You weren’t aware that you weren’t alone. You weren’t aware that several people were following you. You weren’t aware when they moved closer, and you weren’t aware when one drew their knife. What you were aware of was the press of the blade into your back. 

It felt like something out of a dream. You tried to run, but you were still new to the snow-boots, and you slipped onto your bottom. Your pursuers laughed, and grabbed you under the armpits, and the knife returned at your back, and you wanted to cry.

A slam of light, then, and you found yourself back on the ground, your back soaking wet.

Your attackers lay around you, but they did not stir. You got up, and they continued to lie there. You were not surprised, then, when you looked up to see her.

“Thank you,” you said quickly.

She looked surprised at first, and then delighted. “Oh, so you can speak!”

“Yes,” you said, unable to help smiling back. “I just - wanted to say thank you.”

“No need,” she said, waving her hand airily.

“But -” you began again, and her smile turned sad, and she melted into the air. 

You bent down to trace the outline of her footprint with your hand, just to prove to yourself that she had been there. The mushy snow melted beneath your fingers.

The next morning, conscription flyers for the latest Great Battle were up, and you were signed up by midday. You didn’t bother to practice with all the other recruits, instead buying a set of the finest robes you’d ever owned, and embroidering the hood of them with intricate little doves. Then the battle started.

You defended yourself for a little while, casting shields, wrapping tendrils of flame around enemies’ ankles, and sticking to the back of the fight. But you were bored, and your hood had begun to grow sweaty, and you didn’t want her to think you’d been trying too hard. So you marched right up to the vanguard, and held out your arms, waiting for death’s embrace. 

As if on cue, a halfling threw his very small spear in your direction. You watched it come closer, feeling quite smug in the security of your rescue. You started to get nervous as the tip neared, though. It would be quite something, for your saviour to materialize this quickly, to react so fast to the weapon. And as the sharp metal blurred out of focus, as it nudged against the bridge of your nose, you understood.

You were not getting out of this one.

She is waiting for you when you come to. You understand, when she turns to you and does not smile, that you are dead.

“I never learn,” she says. “Sorry for dragging it out like that.”

“No trouble,” you reply. It bothers you that you spent all that money on your nice new robes when they didn’t even make it through here.

She looks at you, properly, the skin around her eyes tensing. You open your mouth to speak, to thank her at least, to tell her -

She snaps her fingers, and your story ends.

[taylart-x]

Whumptober- Day 18

Day 18: Muffled Scream

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go!

Characters: Virgil Tracy, John Tracy, Alan Tracy

Disclaimer: I do not own Thunderbirds or any of the characters form the show (or from TAG). I just want to make cool stories :)

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

For the first time in what felt like forever, Virgil and John were on a mission together. This only happened because John was down from 5 for a bit, much to his chagrin. Alan was up there at the moment, learning how to interact and work with EOS and to train to be able to eventually help John on 5. The training had been Brains’ idea after seeing John come down from 5 for a break and having some of the darkest bags Brains had ever seen under his eyes. 

Which landed the two brothers in this situation.

It was tornado season, and a massive F-4 tornado had ripped through the town of Stinnett, Texas, completely destroying most of the housing and infrastructure in the area, and endangering many people. International Rescue was deployed, and John chose to take Gordon’s place with Virgil, claiming he wanted to do some ground work.

So off the two went to the US. Upon arrival, the brothers were able to assess the surroundings and the new additions from the tornado. Once on the ground they coordinated with the rescue crews already there and sorted out what they were doing. Both of them were sent on search and recovery, either of bodies or of living people. 

Virgil wore the Jaws of Life and John navigated through the desecrated town. Their plan was simple; John would pick up lifesigns in the demolished buildings as anyone alive had priority over body recovery. Virgil would then move any rubble or debris trapping the rescuee and John would swoop in from behind him and help the rescuees, or sometimes have to drag them out. If any needed medical attention, John would secure them to a backboard and get them to Virgil. 

They hadn’t encountered anyone that needed more than that.

And that was about to change.

“Over here, Virgil!” John called out, waving his older brother over. The whirring of his exosuit alerted John to his arrival after helping a mother with a three year old that was crying and she herself was sporting a sprained ankle form where it had been trapped in a support structure. The woman and her child had been quickly seen to by Virgil who had then sent her to one of the paramedic tents in the area. 

“There’s three lifesigns below the rubble, but one of them is steadily dropping,” Alan reported in their ears. “You guys need to get down there.”

“F.A.B.” They both responded. 

They immediately got moving, Virgil removing piece by piece, calculating what next to remove to ensure that the rubble doesn’t collapse onto the trapped people. 

Eventually, he removed the top piece of rubble that was trapping the people below them, spilling light down into the space they had. 

Two people sat hunched over, one with sandy blond hair that resembled that of a surfer, and the other had straight black hair that fell down to the middle of her back. Between them was a boy on his back. He looked to be about fourteen or so. His head lay in the girl’s lap, the top of it adorned with mousy brown hair that lay in curls across his face and splayed across the girl’s legs. His legs lay across the other man’s lap, one very obviously broken. 

The boy was unconscious where he lay, and didn’t stir as the light from outside filled the dark hole. Virgil motioned for John to switch with him so that he could focus on moving the rock away from the hole the kids were in. The eldest of them- the conscious boy- could’ve been no older than eighteen. The girl looked about sixteen or seventeen, Virgil wasn’t sure.

John crouched down beside the hole and looked down into it. “Please stay calm. This is International Rescue. We’re here to help,” he called. “Can you tell me what happened and your guys’ medical status’?”

The blond boy responded. “When the tornado struck, we were in the library, and it almost got lifted, and did a bit I think, but we weren’t going in circles or anything. Then we got slammed into the ground, and everything just started crumbling on us. Jack got hit in the head by one of the concrete chunks going through the air, and Crystal was hit in the side by something similar. And I think Jack’s leg was stuck under one of the shelves, and as he fell with the gravity, it broke his leg. I didn’t get hit with anything.”

“That’s super helpful! Thanks! We’ll get you out first. What’s your name?”

“Mason!”

“Okay, Mason. My brother is just setting up a harness now. Once he has it secure we’ll lower it to you, then you need to clip yourself into the harness. Got that?”

“What do I do about Jack’s leg that’s on me?”

“Is there a pillow near you from one of the couches?” John replied, checking on Virgil’s progress with the line. 

“Yeah. You want me to switch?”

“Yeah, that’d be perfect. We’re just sending the line in now, so get ready to go.”

Virgil came over- his exosuit having been stripped- with the line in hand. “Ready?”

“Yeah. You’re gonna have to go in to get both the girl and the other kid out. One got hit in the side with rubble, so possible rib fractures and risk of internal bleeding or lung collapse. The other kid is out cold.”

“Okay. Let’s get this one out and go from there.”

It was relatively simple getting Mason out of the hole. He easily clipped the harness on and the mechanical winch brought him out fairly quickly. Then, Virgil attached himself to the harness and lowered himself into the small hole. 

He secured Jack with a neck brace and spine support, then moved him off of Crystal. After a quick inspection of her ribs and side, he secured her into a special harness for injuries such as her obviously broken ribs (he could almost see the fractures). The next one was more difficult. 

Virgil checked the boy’s vitals again and then checked the brace he had set for his back and neck before he moved to the broken leg.

Blood was pouring down the side of the leg from where the bone had protruded through the skin. Great, a compound fracture. Just what Virgil needed.

What he needed to do was secure it. He could get it set once they were out of the hole. 

With some quick thinking Virgil used the splint he had for a  regular broken leg and split it in half, then strapped one half to Jack’s thigh, and the other to his calf. He did the same with the other brace he had, but to the other side of the kid’s leg. He then tied it all and secured it with bandages and tape before getting him hooked into a harness that would support him as he was lifted out of the hole. 

Once the three kids were out, it was time for Virgil’s retrieval.

Which is where it all went wrong.

Right as the line was sent down to the medic, the roof gave a threatening jolt. Before he could react, Virgil found himself buried under rubble, without space to breathe and a burning pain going through one of his thighs and one through his lower abdomen.

Shit shit shit.

He tried to reach up for his radio, call someone, anyone, but he couldn’t. He was pinned. Completely cut off from his brothers all because he couldn’t move his arm. “HELP!” He tried screaming, making his voice hoarse very quickly as all he breathed back in was dust. “HELP!”

But no one heard.

-+-+-+-

It was hours before anyone got down to him. The collapse had happened due to the movement of everyone as they were rescued, and had addedstress to the already delicate debris, causing the collapse. Most of the area above Virgil had landed on top of him, meaning it took a few hours for it to safely be cleared, especially without the help from him using the Jaws of Life.

Once the rubble was cleared, John was able to squeeze himself in next to Virgil, and gave his older brother a quick once over. His helmet had a massive crack running through the plexi glass, and he could see blood behind it, mostly from Virgil’s nose from where it must have impacted with the glass. As John got a better look at the trapped and unconscious man, he found the rebar that had punctured Virgil’s abdomen, and the resulting blood staining his uniform. He moved lower down Virgil’s body, finding the second piece of rebar going through the engineer’s right thigh, but it had missed the femoral artery. 

If it had hit it, Virgil would be long dead.

A groan cause John’s head to snap back up. Brown eyes fluttered behind cracked glass, the cocoa unfocused and hazy. “J’hn?”

“I’m right here, Virge. Just stay still, you’ve got some puncture wounds.”

“Th’re a bit more than ‘puncture wounds’, John,” he replied, eyes squeezing shut before they rolled over to focus on John. “But you need to get out of here. All of this rubble is unstable.”

John vehemently shook his head before looking over the rubble pinning his big brother. “No way. I’ll get you out of here, no problem.”

“John, be careful, Virgil’s right,” Alan chirped in his ear. The young boy had been distraught over losing communication with Virgil when the rubble collapsed. He had quickly regained control of himself to help coordinate Virgil’s rescue, but the panic had overwhelmed him for a moment, and the helplessness. He could do nothing from Thunderbird 5, and he really felt for John with all the dangerous situations they got themselves into. “That pile is quite unstable and requires caution when moving anything.”

“F.A.B.”

Slowly, John began to move pieces of rubble, with some of the firefighters from the immediate vicinity coming in to help him with his endeavours. The raw heat in the air caused the firefighters to swap out regularly to stave off heat stroke and exhaustion, with a new person about every fifteen minutes. But John was able to continue working through the extreme heat, his suit keeping him cool and stabilising his temperature when it peaked too much.

Eventually, the rubble was cleared enough to move Virgil. BUt one thing was stopping them from doing so.

Well, technically two things.

The rebar were parts of the floor, or foundations, as they were very deeply rooted in the ground, and because Virgil got slammed on top of them, they weren’t able to cut them away from the floor to get removed in the hospital.

They had to be removed now. 

“Hey Virge, hit a slight complication with the whole saving you,” john informed him as he crouched beside his now helmetless head. “Those pieces of metal going through your body? We have to remove them now.”

Virgil’s eyes locked onto his. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“Okay, then you need to hear this Johnny.” Once he was sure he had John’s attention, he reached up and took ahold of John’s collar. “I am going to scream and thrash as you do this. You need a team of at least three people. One person at least to hold my arms away. But whatever I do, you cannot stop, you cannot let me go and just put me back down. You have to do this slowly, so when I scream and cry, do not speed up, and do not stop. You need to go slow and steady, okay?”

A steel had formed in Virgil’s eyes, a determination and a resignation to what was about to happen. “John? You ready for this? It isn’t going to be pretty.”

The redhead nodded in affirmation, but Virgil shook his own. “No, I need a verbal response.”

“Yes, I understand. I’ll make sure this happens properly.”

Virgil sighed, and winced from the pain, before settling his head back on the ground, arms dropping back to his sides. “Good. Okay, that’s good.” His eyes almost rolled back, but John shook him awake.

“No sleeping, not yet. Not until we have you secure. We still don’t know if you have a concussion.”

John organised the few remaining firefighters, and a paramedic stood off to the side with a backboard ready, along with bandages and saline for a quick wound sterilisation to try ward off the worst of the oncoming infections. Once everyone was ready, he looked down at Virgil. A cold sweat had broken out about ten minutes ago, and his skin had become clammy. He was definitely succumbing to shock, and fast. John offered the cloth he managed to wrangle from a paramedic, and Virgil nodded to him, taking the rolled up material into his mouth and between his teeth.

“Okay, on three,”

“One.”

“Two.”

“Three!”

Everyone lifted, and John immediately clamped his hands down on Virgil’s arms so that they were pinned to his sides. A raw scream was ripped from the injured man, but it was muffled by the cloth. But it carried on for what seemed like much longer than the lift was. Pure pain and torment echoed in that scream, and John’s heart stuttered at the sound. 

Virgil writhed in his grasp, his arms fighting for freedom so that he could try and stop his own pain, to try and get away from the people seemingly causing the intense agony. But John held firm, pinning Virgil into a plank position. Even though Virgil was much stronger than John, and all of the brothers, the astronaut easily held him as Virgil’s muscles were weakened by the blood loss he had already suffered, and the possible dehydration he was facing after being stuck, sweating, in a hold for hours. 

The three men helping John lift Virgil helped to move the screaming man onto the backboard, and some helped strap him in while others cut bits of his uniform away, allowing the paramedic to quickly clean and dress the worst of the wounds for transport. John brushed his fingers through Virgil’s limp hair, but the man had finally passed out once he was completely lifted off of the metal bars. 

A small mercy for the injured engineer.

“We are go for transport,” the medic said, giving John a nod to grab a handle. Each of the people surrounding Virgil took ahold of a handle and helped lift and then walk him up out of the rubble through the path they had made over the hours. 

“Is he gonna be alright, John?” Alan asked in his ear, his voice bouncing around his helmet.

“Yeah, he’s strong. He’ll get through it.”

But looking over his brother, John wasn’t entirely convinced himself.

[leswansong]

Letters To You - A Royal AU

Summary: A story of a Knight and a Princess told through a selection of Letters.

[ A03 ]

   To My Loyal Knight,

October, 23rd, XX43

  My love, I worry for you, I hear the war is getting worse, I wish there was something I could do to help you, but there is nothing I could do from the confines of my white cage, the lords and ladies of the court are growing frustratingly annoying none of them seem to care about the war down south, they continue to worry over petty little things, I've never considered how sharp the stake knives actually are.

  There are some days in which I wish I wasn't who I was, I wonder if you and I would have met, would we have had enough time to form the bond that we did or would we have fallen in love with someone else, these questions plague my mind, more often of late.

  I long for the day your able to come home so I could kiss those red lips of yours, the days we spend running through the forest without the weight of the world on us.

  But I must confess that I'm writing to you for another reason, one that I hate to tell you in this trying time.

  My Father, The king, and lord of the land we call home has started the search for my husband, He didn't even tell me until one of them had arrived, but I must inform you that I put up quite a fight at the dinner table right in front of my intended, I'm glad to say that they retracted their proposal soon afterwards. I won't be able to stave off all of them, I wish this war would end, I wish it would end so that there will be no more bloodshed, I wish it would end so children could have their fathers back, mothers their sons and you, I wish it would end so I could hold you in my arms, I dare not care who sees, I want it to end for you.

  I wish I could end this letter on a better note.

Your Princess, Marinette.

-x-

  My Dearest Lady,

October, 31st, XX43

  Those stake knives have been known to have protected your family from many murders, whether or not they are apart of the same set I do not know but please don't kill them, members of the court, until I return, I wish to see you fight. But if you find that you can not hold yourself back, I know that you want to make them suffer but please make the kill quick.

  I wish I could come running home to your loving arms and whisk you off your feet, but I must confirm that the war is growing worse, we lost 24 men from blood fever last night, I've lost count of how many on the battlefield all for a measly 10 feet. This war will need a resolution soon I fear that I will soon join the many numbers of the dead, but I don't wish to talk of war, your letters although short and so far between are my only glimpse of the world outside this war that I now call home.

  Your Father searching for your husband is not a bad thing, I made peace with the fact that you will never truly be mine no matter how high up the social ladder I climb, my only wish is that your husband treats you like the Queen you are, but I'm sure your wonderful parents wouldn't let you marry someone you weren't happy with, if they don't I know of a small farmhouse up north were no one would look for you. I'd hate to suggest that you leave your duty to the county but if you feel the need, My Lady.

  I passed by a small village today, I've been moved further west closer to bigger fight, we claimed the lands to our north, they seemed to have retreated, I sense a trap being set and I'm the lamb being sent to the slaughterhouse I plan to double back for a few days although I doubt my Sargent will allow me, he will most likely have me shot for cowardness, but maybe I'll fame sickness he might send me back south.

  Hoping to hear your voice soon.

Your loyal Knight, Adrien

  -x-

  My Loyal Knight,

8th November, XX43

  I write this letter to you urgently as I need your council, I write this as I myself am still processing this revelation.

  You, my Love, came to me in a trying time, My older Brother, named after my father, had passed from a riding accident, his body was never recovered, our enemy to the west claims that he is alive and well, they say that he has married their daughter, the weight of what they say has been backed up by a letter written in his hand and a photo of him and his wife and child, their request is that I give up the right to the crown among many other requests, I wish to surrender to that request but I'm still unsure something seems wrong, if they already had the key to the thone why start a war, I know my parents would have accepted the marriage and gladly called her family but this war, this war has made my once soft parents into people I hardly recognize.

  I wish that I could tell you all of their demands it might help you council me better, but I dare not risk it.

I will most likely write another letter before I receive yours.

  Waiting for your response.

Marinette

  -x-

  My Dearest,

11th November, XX43

  If you feel as If something is wrong please trust your gut, we know where its lead us before and it had yet to fail us, but I do think it is od that they started a war, I suggest that you do some digging but please My Lady be discreet, I don't want to have to storm a castle for you.

I wish I could come home, it sounds like you need me there.

  Currently pretending to be a sick soldier.

Your Loyal Knight, Adrien.

  -x-

  My Knight,

13th November, XX43

  Please don't return home just yet, you may just be my only hope of answers, I need you to stay on the front lines, I may just have a plan, I cannot explain it now i need to iron out the details, I want there to be the least amount of risk involved for you.

  Still trying not to kill the members of the royal court.

Your Princess, Marinette.

  -x-

  Princess,

15th November, XX43

  Please tell me that the task you have in mind will be an easy one?

  Have you noticed our letters are taking a shorter amount of time to arrive?

  Hoping that the quest you plan to send me on will be a short one.

-Adrien.

  -x-

  Adrien,

17th November, XX43

  Do you doubt my abilities?

  It certainly seems like it, but I must inform you that is task will be long, it will keep you away from me for many moons.

  If you don't want to do it, I'm okay with that, I could always find someone else.

  I'm having our letters fast-tracked through the ranks, turns out being the Princess gets you special privileges.

  Dreading the thought of attending a ball.

Your Lady, Marinette.

  -x-

  My Love,

20th November, XX43

  I knew that your title would come in handy somewhere.

  I do not doubt your brilliant mind, I know that if you were to put your plan into action you would have plan A though to Z.

  I am disappointed that the cost of this mission may take me away from you for longer, but if it ends this war I shall do so, No price is too steep to pay for you.

  Please tell me that you are going to wear a bright red dress for the ball.

Waiting eagerly for your reply, Adrien.

  -x-

  My Knight,

25th November, XX43

  Just for you I shall wear a red dress, I hope that there will be at least some talk of the war, I can't stand to be in a room of rich pompous fools talking about nothing but the latest fashion, on any other occasion I would love it but not in this dark time, I would much rather talk about the ways to stop this horrendous war.

  My plan is almost complete.

  I hate to ask you but is there someone you trust, someone who would be willing to put their life on the line. I tried my best to make this a one-person job but it would put too many variables into play, a second person would eliminate so many risks. I need to know soon as it is of great importance.

  My handmaiden is growing suspicious of my letters I may grow quiet for a few days, please don't worry about me, I don't want to arouse suspicion from my parents, they seem to suspect that someone holds my heart. Maybe they would approve of us?

  I still have so many thoughts that I have no idea how to put to paper.

  Currently wondering how to hide these letters.

Your Princess in a tower, Marinette.

  -x-

  My Love,

28th November, XX43

  To hear that you'll be wearing red has me smiling, if it is still fashionable please wear the one that stopped my beating heart, I sadly must inform you that my sister is currently married to one of those pompous fools, but please continue to insult them as my sister is currently too chicken to do it herself she doesn't know the power that she now wields, please remind her that she is now a member of the royal court, not a frightened goat and shouldn't be concerned with what she says unless it is ill against you and your family.

  But yes My Lady I do have someone I trust here on the front lines with me; I still consider you my most trusted, but Nino is a close second.

He is still considering the risks as he is the only provider for his younger brothers and sisters, although I believe that he will agree.

  There is little to no action here now, it's starting to worry me, others have noticed as well. We can tell something is happening, maybe our enemy is waiting for a reply?

  I grow wary every day, I fear sleeping, the silence is deafening. There were days in which I wished that the firing would stop now all I wish for is their return.

  I'm going to see if I can return home for a day, I need to return to normalcy for a day.

  Maybe I'll see you soon.

Your tired Knight, Adrien.

  -x-

  Dearest Adrien,

3rd December, XX43

  It saddens me to hear how this war is affecting you, the sweet shy loyal knight that danced with a princess and won her heart within a single song now sounds broken and extremely saddened. I wish I could wave a magic wand and bring you home to me but not even my reach extends that far, the best I can do is fill you with hope and my love from afar.

  I do hope that you could return home but I know how hard it will be, maybe it will be easier if I go to the frontlines. Do you think other soldiers would be happy to see me? I could disguise it as a morale boost, how well my parents believe that is currently unknown, but I highly doubt we would be able to be alone together, my parents would be concerned about my safety over anything else, I fear that I would cause more trouble than help.

  My Parents have considered the deal our enemy has brought of the table immensely as of late, I fear my plan may come too late, I'd hate to stall the resolution of this war but I need time. What shall I do? My heart is torn between a rock and a hard place. What this deal means to our people, I can not begin to describe, it would restore peace for a time but the impact it would have on the poor... it's hard to explain in one letter but I have read and reread the terms, so once again I seek your counsel.

  Please see the attached document.

  I ask what kind of impact this would have on our people. I also ask that you keep this letter hidden from all eyes, even friends, I cannot express the importance of this letter staying hidden.

  I've been inquiring into the lives of, I must express that there is no easy way to say this, My brother's in-laws, I've been stonewalled at every turn. I wish things could be easy for once.

  Your friend Nino wouldn't be Nino Layfayette would he?

  Patiently waiting for your response.

You Lady, Marinette.

    -x-

  Mari,

5th December, XX43

  It's hard to say how this war is affecting me, I too fear for my health, I'm afraid that this war has already changed me and I don't know how to feel. My Grandfather spoke often of how war changed him I never truly knew how much.

  I feel many men here would appreciate your visit, but I too fear for your safety, there are so many horrors that I've witnessed in these trenches, I wish to never expose you to them, but I believe that your parents need to see the effect of this war.

  I find it hard to find time to write, we've been under constant fire for the past 3 days, I fear that you may have rattled the right cages, I have a feeling they may be trying to stop you, Just promise me that you'll be careful.

  My Lady, please don't sign that contract, the conditions of the contract would destroy this peaceful country, but I'm sure you already knew that. I too find it hard to describe the effects in a single letter.

  Yes, My friend would be Nino Layfayette,

  I Await your response

Your ever-loyal knight Adrien.

  -x-

  My Love,

7th December, XX43

  Another suiter has come to ask for my hand in marriage, I dread having to meet them. Maybe once this war is done I could present you to my parents as a war hero.

  Has Nino considered your offer?

  Your Princess, Marinette

  -x-

  My Dear,

9th December, XX43

  He has, he's making some preparations before he officially says yes.

  - Adrien.

  -x-

  My dearest,

14th December, XX43

  Please, Mari, tell me the roomers aren't true, Please tell you didn't renounce your claim to the throne.

  -Your Loyal Knight

  -x-

  Princess Marinette,

18th December, XX43

  I write to you to ask if the roomers in Paris are true. A simple yes or no answer will suffice.

I only wish to know to quell the uncertainty of my fellow soldiers, not much news reaches us here on the front lines.

  I await your response,

Your loyal subject and servant, Lord Adrien of the house Agreste.

  -x-

  My Love,

21st December, XX43

  I write to you on the road to the frontlines, I fear the roomers you've heard a partly true and more complex than you could imagine.

  I'm sorry that I left you in the dark for so long, I barely caught your letters before they reached the castle. It has grown extremely dangerous in the capital. I didn't give up my right to the crown, my parents stripped me of it, I fear they are being influenced by someone, so I fled the capital, I'm sure you can understand where exactly I'm headed.

  you are the only person I trust in the world.

  Please don't worry about me I'm not travelling down the main road, I'm disguised as a nurse.

  I'll soon be with you - Your Princess, Marinette

  A serious tone doesn't suit you.

  -x-

  Mari,

 23rd December, XX43

  You know how I feel about you coming to the front lines, I know I can't stop you but I can urge you to be careful, the roads are dangerous. I hate to think of something bad happening to you.

  Please be safe - Adrien.

  and yes I know a serious tone doesn't suit me, I was worried.

  -x-

  24th December, XX43

  Adrien, I ask that you turn around.

Wanna Buy Me a Coffee?

                                                 Drabble Master List

[hizzalot]

Sethos: 02. My Butler and I by @SecretlyClawed

Driving into the city of Aberdeen usually took us a good couple of hours, us being Gerald and myself. It was a trip we took at least twice a week sometimes more if business or boredom required it. I did have a nice apartment in the city and it wasn’t completely uncommon for me to use it, but being who I was and living in the city with people everywhere wasn't that good of a combination. Besides the city was too noisy and wouldn’t allow me as much freedom to do as I please which my country living did. If you asked my alter ego he would snort and huff you in the face hard enough that you thought a tornado just winded by at the mere idea of living full time in the city because no matter how gullible and unaware many humans were when it came to the existence of other beings, most people would still notices the difference between a large bird and a 10 feet tall dragon, and no matter what you think they don’t scream like they do in movies and runaway. No today the little twats with all their technology want pictures, film clips, autographs and all other sorts of things. I'm being serious, they want it all if they could they want a goddamned interview and any of that is just a big no no. 

I do have full control of my animal, well at least as much control as one can over a partly wild beast. In most cases I can stave him off if I have too but he is a demanding son of a bitch. Unlike me, I'm the least temperamental person you can meet, but don’t tell Gerald I said that because he will most likely get a heart attack he doesn’t like bent facts. Anyway, my dragon if he is denied his time to fly, hunt and play for too long he will eventually force his way out no matter where I am or what I'm doing, he can’t be stopped in those situations. In the early days that happened quite often because I had refused to accept what I had become. Gerald was many time forced to clean up my messes for many years, until one day about 25 years after my dragon first appeared. One day he had enough and sat me down for a talk, if that's what you want to call it. 

After having to use every trick in the book to get me to listen even Gerald patience ran thin. He'd ended up taken me by the ear, and when I say by the ear I mean by the ear. Imagine being a 45 year old man in human years being dragged away by his ear, it was horrifying let me tell you, humiliating and nothing I care to experience ever again. He made me see sense so to speak even if he had to do it while I kicked and screamed like a child. Yes, it wasn’t one of my finest moments. I was young, childish and still blamed my unknown father for making me into a beast and in the end taking my mother from me, so I had cursed him off and refused to take my fate serious. When I still wouldn’t listen and had cursed Gerald too he had left me to my fate. 

Trust me when I say don’t piss off the hand who feeds you especially if it runs your household, take care of all the nitty details that you never have to bother with because if you do you are left to tend to them yourself. It took me a lot of groveling and a hell of a lot more begging to get Gerald to come back, many years later he told me he never really left he just wanted to teach me a lesson, I should have seen it coming but didn’t. I didn’t dare chance it by cursing him off again but I might have grumbled about it for a while. Today Gerald is my one and only true companion, living side by side with me and as long as he does we are linked together. He was my father’s companion for many years and he is linked with both of us by blood. He is this ordinary human, if you can ever call Gerald ordinary, as anyone else but with the benefit of being linked to me by blood he is what you would call my human servant. He can feel me as I can feel him, we have a bond and as long as I live he will live too.  

Gerald as my butler and personal adviser love to drive that was why we never invested in a helicopter to take us to the city. No he wanted to do it the old fashion way, the long way and he even drove an old Classic Alvis, the love of his life. I think he even loved that car more than me and he said he was pretty damn fond of me, but not more than that car. Gerald was the father I never had, no matter if the man who went under the name of Lord Stravos had father me. The irony being that it was not Gerald I was now going to have to save. Gerald said driving calmed him and gave him time to think how to work out the latest mischief I gotten me, us into, as for me well I enjoyed the quiet. If I got too bored I would fired up the laptop and do some work, work being searching for the next object for my personal collection. I both sold and collected antique goods and being 250 years old with more money to spend than I could find things to buy it was a good job and hobby. My money came both from the inheritance my mother had left me in property and money that had been well invested and my own personal wealth.

I had a very large and impressive collection of objects ranging from small coins, rings and bullets up to full warrior armor gear, to swords and my personal favorites, cars. I had built many garages over the decades to be able to store all 150 or so cars that I owned. I had every car that you could imagine a T-Bird original, an Oldsmobile, several different Mustangs; let's just say I have a thing for really old classic cars and Muscle cars especially. I even have a first model ford car, the so-called Ford Model T it was my pride and joy it didn’t race you down the streets but it was the first T Ford ever produced and it was bought by me. It was worth more in sentimental value than money to me. Considering the shape it was in I could probably get a good 100 grand for it but why would I ever need another 100 grand that I had in plenty, First produced T Ford not so much. The most amazing thing with these cars were that they all worked. Then they were all bought by my own hand, most of them but not all hadn’t been owned or driven by anyone but me, family bought and owned. I took pride in that. To others of course I simply let others believe I bought and restored or that they’d been in possession in my family for decades which in itself was impressive enough. Because to claim I bought a car in 1908 when I looked no older than 30 wouldn’t fly. 

Closing the lid on my laptop I put it back in my bag letting the bag rest against the seat next to me. I let out a deep sigh watching the steep mountain of my home disappear before me as we kept heading for Aberdeen. I'm sure you are wondering about this thing with my father. I do too sometimes, it is a story of its own and rather long but for you to fully understand it I better take it from the beginning. My father was the longest living dragon shifter the earth had known. He lived long before what we today call civilization and long before that even existed. Tales of dragons started because of him, and because there were actual sights of him as he flew the skies of earth there were rumors about giant monsters that could fly and had spiky tails. Gerald told me all about it once I had finally come to a stage where I would listen to what he had to say. He told me how my father had pretty much reacted the same way that I had done, but compared to me he was all in alone in dealing with it. He hadn’t met my father until much much later and by then he was all well good and pleasant with his other self, so much in fact that Gerald was the one who had to lure him back into human shape. The first few hundred years alive my father had been so besotted about being this giant powerful creature that he had mostly lived in the skin of his dragon. His dragon so strong that over time he almost completely took over Drake Stravo’s mind and soul. Gerald had found him in the nick of time becoming the man to save my father’s humanity, that was how he had become my father’s butler and human servant. Gerald was the humanity to keep the dragon lord grounded. 

Before Gerald he was a hunter, alone, living out in the wild, surviving day by day the only companion being the smoke that made him high. One night when he'd come face to face with a real life dragon it'd been the stroke of midnight he'd been lying by his campfire fire, and had just finished eating his one and only meal of the day and was high as a kite. That was when all of a sudden the flames of the fire had been shielded by this large shadow and this enormous creature without a name had appeared before him. At this time he didn’t know what a dragon was, and being high as a kite he didn’t even react in fright or other, Drake Stravos lay still on the ground watching the stars while the Dragon spoke to him in his mind telling him that he would be the new lord of dragons on earth, a predator to keep humankind in check and the one chosen to lead the Dragon Clan. That was how he became Lord Stravos 

Some hundred years later here I am, Dragon Shifter extraordinaire, disguised as an antique dealer, the only offspring of the magnificent Lord Stravos his legacy like a chip on my shoulder. It is 2019, leather jacket is on and I have an old fashioned Butler in tow. We look like oil and water trying to mix, me with my 'going with the times' attitude, your average Joe persona. Then we have Gerald who refuse to live in the now with his fancy accent and polite manners that make people look at him like he is from Mars, which to be honest is not to far from the truth. I have a job to do, buying and selling antiques, if you ask Gerald it is to save his Master (I am only Sire) my job is to save a father I never met from the evil Elves in the realm beyond and reunite him with my mother. Because if I don’t his death will kill us all. No pressure!

It all sounds pretty stupid when you say it out loud therefore I almost never do unless it is with Gerald and a dying must to ensure the man I have not forgotten about my real job. Dragons, evil midget elves and heroes saving other heroes and damsels in distress sounds just like a bad Hollywood movie. But for heaven's sake don’t tell Gerald I said that he will have my tail, literary because he takes this hero business very seriously. He takes saving his Master very seriously. My only problem is finding that damn door to the realm where my father is kept and the fact that the damn thing only opens once every decade makes the waiting process a fucking drag. 

“Sire. We are here.”

The window between the driver and passenger was down, Gerald always insisted on me sitting in the back, I was after all Lord Stavos offspring. Do you know how many times I’ve rolled my eyes at this, the legacy of man that is to me unknown is a burden all on its own. 

“Awesome!” I exclaim knowing perfectly well it makes Gerald’s skin crawl using modern slang or words. It tickles me so to tease the man, I mean what else should I do with my time, there’s so much of it to spill. 

“Splendid Sire, Splendid.” He emphasized each word giving me a stern look by using the rear-view mirror. Snickering I get out of the car before he has a chance to get out and open it himself. 

“Sire if you insist on acting like a brat I will have to treat you as such and give you a time out in the corner when we get back home.” He threatens calmly next to me, his exterior never faltering even though I have made him very annoyed. With a pat on the shoulder I turn to him.

“Oh come on Gerald. Take that drivers hat off and dance down the street with me, live a little old man. Who knows you might even get laid.” I say as I hang my laptop bag over my shoulder and start down the street eyes glimmering with mischief. 

“Corner it is then Sire.” Gerald shuts my door with a little extra force to show how serious he really is and all I do is laugh. Life’s good in o 2019. #MyButlerAndI #Eddark

[ikesenhell]

GLITTER & GOLD

GLITTER & GOLD, CHAPTER 1. You can find all other IkeSen works of mine here. NOTES: HOLY FUCK THIS HAS BEEN A LONG TIME COMING. I’d like to thank @velociraptor-detective, @mikablazen, @kerriescreativecorner, and @selenecrawford for hanging out with me, line editing, and helping me find music to vibe with. TIME TO KICK THIS PARTY OFF AGAIN. 

They said if you saw the ship, you didn't live to tell the tale. That didn't stop some from claiming they did. You had a matter of hours, the legend said--and then came the accident. Funny; as with all tall tales, no one could really pin truth to it.

No one even knew where the ship came from. It certainly didn't belong out there in the wastes. The radiated oceans were hundreds of miles away. The closest bodies of water were the Great Lakes (still pure, still freezing, still a graveyard--not even the apocalypse could change their reputation). Those certainly hadn’t borne the kind of vessel that skimmed across the sands. Not even the ancient husks of the silos long ago filled with rainwater were large enough to justify a boat.

It always came the same way, they said: silently. First came the sandstorm, blowing wild drifts across the landscape. Then came the sails--bronze from dirt, streaked with the white it once was. No colors flew on that mast. It hovered like a mirage just beyond reach. No crew mustered at its sides. It just hung there, suspended and desolate, like the rest of the wild places they said it sailed now.

And then--gone.

But it was just a legend. No one seemed to see it first hand to know. The skeptics wrote it off as a folklore. No one had seen it because it didn't exist.

No one--no one except for Masamune Date.

And he’d paid for it.

---

The motorcycle snarled over the plains, the engine echoing. Dirt swirled behind the tires--a self-made hurricane of dust. He liked it that way. It felt fitting somehow. The past hung always a little too close to him--the more miles he put on, the more he put behind him, the farther away he could keep it.

His job helped. Society was only just getting its legs after the bombs so long ago. They’d revived the old railways and worked out some of the kinks in the engines, but the damn things still broke. That was where he came in. From the far-flung reaches of the east and the untamed edges of the north and the irradiated south, he brought the most urgent correspondence.

Hell. It paid the bills and kept him moving. That was good enough.

Usually.

Admittedly, he hadn’t wanted to take this job. It brought him right back to the scene of an old crime: his childhood home. How could he come back? Somewhere out there, somewhere on the wilderness, the ship still lingered--

“Fuck,” he muttered, putting his head down for the thousandth time. “Don’t think about it.”

Another bend in the road. The mountains and buttes around him curved and parted like water, the saplings dotting them just budding in the spring, and there--there was Waŋblí Hoȟpi. Home. He almost shivered at the thought.

“It’s just a ghost story,” Masamune reminded himself. “You’re still alive, aren’t you?”

That was small comfort.

Waŋblí Hoȟpi--the Golden Eagle Nest, as the Lakota called it--was a settlement poised on the cross of two main highways and between two silo wells. One of them had never gone off in the Fallout; centuries later, someone had exploited the clean one and filled it with precious rainwater. It was a rare luxury most towns didn't have. Crops grew well in the fertile ground, and the climate was perfect for staving off rust--well, until the bitter winter came. Until then, they were a trade depot.

And under Nobunaga Oda’s control, no doubt it would be more.

Masamune didn't need to even reach the town to see the influence his old friends exercised. The ancient fencing erected so long ago was replaced with something studier (trampling buffalo were always a problem in the old days). A water tower hovered under construction. As he puttered into town, bringing the motorcycle down to a reasonable speed, Masamune even spotted a new brick library.

“Well,” he whistled softly to himself. “I’ll be damned. Mitsunari convinced ‘em.”

The wide streets of Waŋblí Hoȟpi were clean and spacious. Painted patterns decorated the buildings in bright colors. The beautiful blend of modern structures and traditional art soothed him. God. He’d missed this place more than he’d thought, no matter how uneasy it made him. Flowers bloomed wild along the porches and splayed out into the streets, other small bikes parked around. Swinging off his bike, Masamune parked alongside the Town Hall and dusted himself down.

“Masa!”

He grinned and braced himself. Just in time; a pair of familiar arms snapped around him, pulling him back. Masamune bellowed a laugh and struggled free.

“That’s the most excited you’ve been to see me in ages!”

“It’s been ages!” Hideyoshi’s grin was infectious. All too soon, it turned serious. “How’ve you been? Are you eating enough? Are you keeping yourself safe on the road? You haven’t gotten radiation sickness out there, have you--”

“Shut up.” From the shadows of the porch, Ieyasu emerged, his face set into a hard scowl. Masamune almost laughed at that alone. The blonde always looked grumpier when he was trying not to smile. “C’mere and let me use the geiger counter on you.”

“I’m clean.”

“Like hell you are. You sent me a postcard from the outskirts of West Virginia. That’s close enough to the Fallout Epicenter for me to be nervous. Arms up.”

It was two against one. Masamune released a long sigh and swung off his leather duster, draping it over the seat of the bike and lifting his arms. Ieyasu gave him a sweep with a faded yellow device; it crackled, but didn't screech the way he’d heard it do in some places.

“Not perfect,” Ieyasu sniffed, checking the numbers. “So you’re a liar.”

“But pretty good!” Hideyoshi granted a smile anyway. “At least you’ve been watching yourself.”

“I’ve got half my eyes, not half my brain.” Masamune grinned and tossed his coat over his shoulder. “Where’s the rest of the crew?”

“Meeting upstairs. They’re getting ready to have a bit of a, err, business meeting in a few hours.”

“That sounds ominous.”

“You mean obnoxious,” Ieyasu grumbled. “It’s with the other settlement down south. The new one.”

“Oh.” Masamune paused. “I’m outta the loop. You mean the one with the Uesugi, or the one with the Takeda? I thought the Takeda one got wiped out in a raid?”

“It did. Apparently enough people survived from Kai that they migrated over to Echigo. As for them, they’re holding strong still.”

Masamune didn't say anything to that. Their township was too far out into the mountains for his liking. Instead he stretched out his legs. “Okay, what do they want?”

“The usual shit: railroad business, trade. They’ve got better access to fresh water, though.” Hideyoshi sighed and rubbed his face. “But you know how I feel about this mess. Anyway, it’s been forever. What brings you back? Come on in, take a load off!”

“Oh. You know.” Together, the three of them pushed open the door into the town hall, the familiar scent of pine filling his nostrils. Something about the smell never got old. He took a second and inhaled deeply, letting it settle in his chest like a comforting weight. “The old ‘Pony Express’.”

Ieyasu stared at him. “You’re not seriously calling it that.”

“I mean, I’m not, but Mitsunari said it was a good historic reference.”

“It’s not a great brand name.”

“So, a package?” Hideyoshi rubbed his hands. “Who from? We haven’t gotten any mail that didn't come off the train for a while.”

Masamune patted himself down, producing the letter. “Mitsuhide, apparently. Ask him what he’s doing that merits express delivery.”

The other two just shook their heads.

“I don’t want to know,” Hideyoshi groaned.

“Me either,” Ieyasu huffed. “He’s probably upstairs.”

“Great! Then I’ll just hop on in.”

“Wh--Masamune, no--”

“Masamune, yes!” Laughing, he sprinted through the hallways, dancing just beyond Hideyoshi’s chastising grasp. Up the stairs he bounded, taking them two at a time, the warm sunlight streaming in the windows warming his sore muscles. The past be damned: he’d missed this. He’d missed his friends and the gentle smell of the plains. He’d missed the sound of Hideyoshi scolding him and Ieyasu’s long, ragged sigh. And--as he burst into the office of the mayor and flung himself into a chair--he collapsed in a fit of laughter as he realized how much he’d missed everyone else.

“Well, well,” Nobunaga announced, unflappable as ever. “Look who the cat dragged in.”

“Not what I was expecting, if I’m quite honest,” Mitsuhide chuckled. “But I suppose it will do.”

“Masamune!” Mitsunari clutched his chest. “You nearly gave me a heart attack!”

Hideyoshi dashed into the doorway a beat too late, a thoroughly disappointed looking Ieyasu following a half second later. Masamune draped himself over the armchair and grinned cheekily at them.

“Delivery.” And he brandished the letter. “For one ‘Akechi’.”

“For me?” Mitsuhide smoothed down his jeans with a snakey smile. “You shouldn’t have. I daresay you’ve come a long way with that.”

“Damn straight. Was it your bright idea to make sure and request me, specifically?”

“My. You’ve caught on to my ruse.”

“Wasn’t that subtle. You just missed me.”

Nobunaga settled back down into his chair. The desk before him was littered with a thousand stacks of paper, each as vital to Waŋblí Hoȟpi’s success as the last. “I did wonder how you were going to lure. Well done.”

Out of all the things he expected, Masamune didn't anticipate Mitsuhide to take the letter--and promptly drop it in the trash. “It was too easy.”

“Wait.” He frowned. “Wait! You didn't even--you shipped yourself a letter just to get me back here?”

“Is that so strange?” Nobunaga fished through his desk and poured out a handful of sugar candies, ignoring Hideyoshi’s frustrated groan. “You make yourself scarce otherwise.”

“You know why.”

“Indeed we do.” Mitsuhide brushed down his stark white sleeves. How the man kept his button up and vest so pristine in all the dust, Masamune had no clue. “We’ll have to beg your forgiveness after this.”

That didn't sound promising. Narrowing his eye, Masamune rapped against the armchair. “Why, exactly?”

“We’ve had a rash of disappearances.” Nobunaga brushed aside a number of papers. “They’re all in the same proximity. We’ve reason to believe it has something to do with--”

No.

Masamune didn't even wait for confirmation. He jumped to his feet and immediately charged for the door. Hideyoshi slammed it shut and wrestled his arms into place.

“Let go of me--!”

“No! At least just listen--”

“You don’t--you don’t get it--I’m not doing this again--!”

“Masamune--!”

The two of them toppled over, tangled together on the floor. Mitsunari squeaked in surprise and backed up as they tussled. Mitsuhide just laughed.

“It’s not fucking funny,” Ieyasu snapped. “Hideyoshi, stop. Masamune, will you relax for a second? They’ve got a good reason.”

Masamune wrenched himself free of the headlock he’d been put in. “No fucking way. There’s no good reason you got.”

“Oh, but we do.” Mitsuhide’s yellow eyes glittered in the sunlight. “The ghost ship appears before each disappearance. Your old friend is the latest to spy it. If the pattern holds, she’ll be gone before the week is out.”

Finally he stilled, his heart thumping loud in his chest. “Are you fucking with me?”

“Not in the least.”

Silence. Masamune watched motes of dust flutter in the light, each of them a small world all its own. Maybe this was a bad dream. That was it--this was a bad dream, and if he just focused hard enough--

“Earth to Masamune.” Ieyasu snapped his fingers for attention. “Come back.”

He swallowed, his throat dry. “Are you sure she saw it?”

Hideyoshi looked ashamed. “We wouldn’t have called you otherwise. We all know you had a thing for her--”

“Yeah.” Masamune choked. “Yeah. Where is she now? Anyone keeping an eye on her?”

“Down at the general store, same as always. She runs it now, since her old man passed.”

He hopped onto his feet. “I’m going down there. You need someone to put their eyes--eye--on her. Otherwise--”

No one said a word. They didn't have to. Even Ieyasu averted his gaze from Masamune’s bad eye, as if the whole chasm of the space around them echoed in that one spot. He realized he was clutching his eyepatch; immediately he snapped his hand away.

“She needs eyes on her,” he repeated. “Or shit can happen.”

“Understood.” Nobunaga replied calmly. “But we need to get to the bottom of this. I don’t believe in the supernatural. Whatever it is that causes these disappearances, we must track it down.”

“Gotcha.” Masamune shrugged his duster back on. “Yeah. Well, I guess I’m back in the gang.”

---

The general store smelled like bergamot and old memories. Overhead, the horn bells clanked together, the hollow sound a familiar backdrop against the soft creak of wood. The geometric murals on the beams and the framed beadwork glowed with color. Dense shelves stocked with essentials lined the small building: flour, sugar, yeast, firewood… Masamune hesitated in the doorway and just inhaled it all.

Once upon a time--and it felt like a lifetime ago--the six of them would lounge in the cramped spaces of the general store and sip on lemonade and tea her father made them. More than once he’d clambered on top of the shelving and listened to her hiss protests (he’d only broken one), swinging down only once he’d gotten good and tired of the heat. Now it all came back to him in a gentle tide, like the soft current of the southern rivers at his feet, like the way he imagined the ocean did, were it not so polluted.

“Hello?”

He didn't answer at first. Her voice was the same as ever, and that warmed him all the way through. How did he even confront her? It had been so long, so, so long since they’d last seen each other. Thinking fast, Masamune dipped behind a shelf and rattled a tin of expensive coffee to attract her attention.

“Mitsuhide? If that’s you, it isn’t funny. You can’t scare me again.”

Masamune nearly laughed. Somehow he stifled himself. After a prolonged silence she got tired of waiting, her footsteps creaking over the worn boards.

“If you jump out at me, I will punch you in the face. You’ve been warned.”

He chanced it and did anyway. She shrieked and punched him square in the chest; he staggered backwards and fell, too winded to laugh properly and too entertained to do anything else.

“Fucking hell! You weren’t kidding!”

“Masamune?” She appeared over him like a vision, all dark eyes and dark hair. When had she gotten this beautiful? Of course, she always had been--he remembered that all too well--but somewhere in his absence she’d grown into something almost beyond his heart. “Masa, is that you?”

“That wasn’t my face, you know,” he wheezed. “My face is up here. So you missed a little.”

“Cut it out. I wasn’t expecting you.”

“Mitsuhide is taller than me. You wouldn’t have gotten his face, either.”

“You’re right. That was, what, Ieyasu height?”

Masamune choked another laugh, bracing his stomach. “God, you didn't hold back.”

“No, I didn't!” But she bent over anyway, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. Her hair draped thick and lovely around her shoulders, the sweet scent of ylang-ylang and lavender surrounding her, and without thinking he pulled her tight to him. “I missed you, you big lunk.”

“Of course you did,” he chuckled, rocking her. “Who wouldn’t?”

“Oh! Listen to the ego on you! Did that bike make it swell? I’ve got ice for that!”

“Shit, if I wanted ice, I’d just go drive up to the mountains. You can keep it. That’s expensive stuff to use on me.”

At last she released him. Together they climbed to their feet and picked their way through the aisles. He watched her hands as she pushed product back, practiced fingers straightening labels with casual glances. “I thought you weren’t ever coming back.”

Masamune shrugged. “Mitsuhide had other plans, I guess.”

She cast him a look. “He certainly has a way of making them, doesn’t he?”

“Don’t he, though.”

Her gaze flitted over his bad eye. Right. She’d barely seen him without it. He pressed a hand to the eyepatch and grinned despite himself. “Does it work for me?”

“Does--are you seriously referring to that like it’s a fucking accessory?”

Masamune roared. “Gotta live with it somehow! Does it make me look dashing? C’mon. Do you want me to say like, ‘arr’ or something? I could be a pirate!”

She snapped a towel at him. “We’re not near the coast, and you can’t sail.”

“I could learn! Or I’ll just be a sand pirate--”

“Masa,” she chided. “You came here cause they told you I saw it, didn't they? The ship.”

He paused. “Yeah. Yeah, they did.”

Silence fell between them. He watched her pick her way behind the counter, wiping a hand over the spotless top. What was there to say? A sharp pang of melancholy surged through his stomach as he watched her expression shutter and fold. It had been so many years--so many without her that he suddenly felt the absence float between them.

“Look.” Masamune cleared his throat. “It isn’t gonna take you. That’s just a story.”

She cast him a dubious glance. “It took your father.”

What could he say to that? He ran his thumb over a rough patch of countertop and tried to measure out his words again. “He took him.”

“Are--” Her words caught in her throat. For a second, he was afraid she would ask--but then she didn't. “I guess you’re still here.”

“Damn right.” He shot her a wink, doffing an imaginary hat and bowing before her. “And you’re gonna be here, too. Ain’t nothing gonna take you, not on my watch.”

“Oh? What do you plan on doing, sleeping in my bed to make sure?”

“Sexy. Is that an invitation?”

She flung the towel at him. He caught it with a laugh, shaking it back. “So violent! First you punch me, now you throw things--”

“I warned you with the punch! Do you want some lemonade or something? I’ve got some tea brewing…”

“Tea works, thanks.”

Brushing aside the blanket that covered the doorway, she vanished into the back. For a split second, Masamune was afraid she wouldn’t come back out--that somehow, some way, the ship would appear outside of the general store and ghost her away from him. He cast a wary glance out the window and over the plains, the thick prairie grass bending and swaying in the wind, the dirt swirling like a dancing dervish. All that comforted him was the sweet scent of bergamot and the gentle clink of glasses in the back.

“Honey?” She called out.

“Sure. Not too much, I know it’s expensive.”

Quiet again. Masamune strained for the faint sounds of spoons and pouring water. It was better than the bad memories of his father threatening to break through, better than the archaic smell of gunpowder pervading everything, better than losing himself into the past and dissociating into his worst nightmare again--

She emerged and he almost breathed a sigh of relief.

“Here.” She passed over the cup with a smile. “It’s a little hot.”

“That’s alright.” He wrapped his fingers tight around it and let the scald bring him back to earth. “I like it hot sometimes.”

[blueyemxn]

My Persephone (Pt. 5)

A Broken Exchange

Spoiler Warning: Content below contains spoilers for the lvl 80 Shadowbringers MSQ, if you have not reached this point in the game and do not wish to be spoiled please refrain from reading. Otherwise enjoy my trash shipping at your own risk.

Relationship: Emet-SelchxWoL          

Ao3 Story - Here    Part One: Here    Part Two: Here    Part Three: Here    Part Four: Here    Part Six: Here

“This really is unexceptionable. I gave you very specific instructions.” 

He lumbered sluggishly, still slouched over as he approached the Warrior of Darkness and her companions, eyes ever downcast in disappointment. Disappointment in her, that she would dare share this ancient ground with others. That she would bring her friends to a place only special to themselves. He had known from the moment they stepped into Amaurot that she wasn’t alone, and yet now he complains about it? How so… him.

“Emet-Selch.” There came a growl from Alphinaud, but Nua paid him no mind, her eyes focused on the Ascian before her. 

She took a step, then two, then three and suddenly she was there in front of him, so close that if she took a deep breath their bodies would touch. “Last I checked I didn’t need your permission to do anything, least of all to bring them at my final hours.” 

Her eyes bore into him, challenging his golden stare that didn’t change from its disapproving glance.

Her chest tightened; she hated it when he looked at her like that, like he was trying to make her feel guilty. “Though, all things considered, I did try to come alone, seems my friends are just as stubborn as I.” 

“As if we’d let you confront this bastard alone in the state you’re in,” Thancred said as she heard a click from his gunblade. Cute, but Nua didn’t find it necessary, though it warmed her heart to know they cared about her that much. To risk themselves like this when she was about to turn and probably devour them all.  

“No matter. In the end my invitation was for an abomination, a being ripe with power to bring about this shard’s annihilation. Not this half-broken… thing. Whatever am I to do with you?” He asked mockingly, the last of his words ending in a sneer as he continued to stare down with condescension. She glared back, the word broken echoing within the realm of her mind, digging itself into her heart.

Broken.

Broken.

Broken.

“I’m nothing but broken.”

“Such an odd thing to say, it’s something Emet-Selch would surely debate against.”

“Only because he doesn’t know.”

“You’d be surprised. He may not speak about such things, but he knows, he always knows.”

Cracks began to form beneath her feet, splitting the marble as the beast within grows restless. Her fingers dug into her arms, twitching as she was given the overwhelming desire to slap him across the face with such force his head would come clean off. The only thing that stopped her was a tug at the heart, a long forgotten devotion to a man who wasn’t himself anymore. 

“It took a painstakingly long time to make that and here you are breaking it into pieces. Are you already so far gone that you can’t control yourself?” There came a long, drawn out sigh from his lips as he looked down to the floor with a bored expression before those orbs of ichor went back to hers. 

Her eyebrow twitched and she opened her mouth to say something.

“You’re not going to let him get to you that easily, are you?” Ardbert asked, walking next to her. “He knows nothing about you, nothing about this world. He does not have the right to dictate who lives and who dies. It stands to reason he shouldn’t dictate how you feel, right?” There was a warmth in his voice, as if he were smiling, but Nua dared not break her eye contact with Emet-Selch to look. 

Her shard was right though, giving into her anger would just fuel the rapidly encroaching light within her soul. She had to stave it off as much as possible. And she refused to let the bastard have the satisfaction of tipping her over the edge just because he knew how to push her buttons.

For a moment she closed her eyes and in that time did the cracks stop and the air went back to normal. She opened them slightly to give off the same bored expression he had. “As if I’d get angry over the lies that spew out of your mouth; please.” She scoffed, half turning away.

“As I’ve stated before, hero, I have not uttered a single lie through this entire endeavor; about you least of all. You are what your are, a broken shell, a shattered remnant of what once was and what will be again once the one true god is resurrected.” 

“And how, pray tell, do you intend to bring back the dead? Even a god as powerful as yours couldn’t simply bring back every single one of your people without something drastic in return.” Y’shtola noted, hardened glance on Emet-Selch to see if he had an answer. Such a request was hardly an easy task and even Hydaelyn had no such ability to reanimate, though that was never her intended purpose.

Suddenly he smirked and he lifted his arms as if he were preaching the holy word of the one true God. “Once all the worlds have rejoined, we Ascians are to offer up the Source’s remaining inhabitants in sacrifice, that we might resurrect our brethren who died to bring Zodiark into existence. And thus, everything will go back to the way it was, the way it was meant to be.” He spoke with such lavish and conviction, a duty he was wholly dedicated to no matter what it took to achieve such an end. He had dedicated eons to restoring his people and if the First could be rejoined he was one step closer to that goal. Or at least he thought.

The room stiffened and Nua cursed under her breath as a result of this madness. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” She muttered, though she knew very well that he was not. “Back the way it was meant to be? Nothing is going to go back to the way it was ‘supposed’ to be, not after this. When everyone finds out you’ve killed billions just to bring them back to a doomed world, they will look up to you in horror.”

“You do not kn--”

“I know enough!” She turned to face him again, a very stern look on her face as she tried to keep her temper at bay even when she was hearing such nonsense coming out of his mouth. “I may not have all of my memories but I have enough to recount the tear between our people when you and the rest of the Convocation kept spilling blood for your god. How were we to safeguard the future of our people when you were butchering them in the present?!” 

“This can’t keep going, Emet-Selch, too many lives have already been lost.”

“We don’t have a choice, Zodiark needs more sacrifices so that he may restore the star.”

“Are you so blind that you don’t realize that it's killing the few we have left? We will have no future at this rate.”

“Fandaniel we’re doing the best we can. Zodiark is the star itself, it knows what it needs. Just a little bit more, he just needs a little bit more and everyone will--”

“Even if he does decide to finally answer our wishes, there will be nothing left for them but a city full of ghosts.”

“Where are you going?”

“To find a better solution.”

“Nothing good has ever come out of sacrificing those to a primal and Zodiark is no different.” Nua felt her chest congest as she waited for Emet-Selch’s response, waiting for him to show something, anything. But the bastard was never one to give what she would have wanted, no, he just decided to be his usual uncaring self as he shook his head.

“Even now, after everything, you refuse to listen to reason. You think that it's unfair that you are subject to suffering? That your lives will be sacrificed for the ancients?”

“Of--”

“Look at me!” He demanded as his voice became unmasked and raw while he grabbed at her arm, forcing her to close the small gap between their bodies. “I have lived a thousand thousand of your lives! I have broken bread with you, fought with you, grown ill, grown old! Sired children and yes, welcomed death’s sweet embrace. For eons have I measured your worth and found you wanting! Too weak and feeble-minded to serve as stewards of any star!” His voice trembled as the one unoccupied hand shook with heated frustration as the other holding her in place squeezed with unnatural strength.

Nua did not flinch, not until she felt his soul again, caressing at her, snapping at the edges of her confines as gut-wrenching disgust vibrated through her being. She nearly buckled, feeling the hopelessness he felt for the inhabitants of the Source and the Shards. 

Not worthy. They cannot hope to be so. They are not our legacy. They are weak. They are feeble. Not worthy. notworthynotworthyNOTWORTHYNOTWORTHYNOTWORTHY--

The words spiraled out of control, filling her mind with endless chattering. She could hear her friends in the background shouting, but what she could not understand, nor was there any reason to. Slowly did she put up a hand, bidding them to cease, hoping that they wouldn’t be so foolish as to try and fight when it was obvious that the only person who could ever hope to stand up to Emet-Selch was her.

Then her soul screeched back, pushing back against his, stubbornly unmoving, unyielding. 

They are worthy. They can do this. We can do this. Give us a chance. We are strong. We can persevere. We are ALIVE! WE ARE WORTHY!

She intensified her feelings as much as she could; not that that said much. It was difficult due to most of her memories missing and unused to using her soul in this way. When she saw the small amount of amusement on his face, she knew that her efforts were anything but effective.

“Have you not learned that your ignorance and frailty begets only endless misery?” His voice, though soft, managed to drown out all possible others, causing them to grow quiet and still as his smile faded away. “How long do you mean to perpetuate this farce? How much more must I endure your bumbling interference?” Emet-Selch looked to her, eyes boring into her own, though she had a feeling that he wasn’t talking to her, not directly. He closed them briefly, seemingly contemplating before his eyes met with her other companions.

“Even if the world were to face true annihilation once more, do you honestly believe that half your number would sacrifice themselves to save the other? Of course they wouldn’t. And if you had witnessed history unfold as I have, you would have reached the same conclusion.” He said, still continuing his lecture in a softer version of his voice; of which he was not entirely wrong. 

A quiet sigh left his lips and his grip on her loosened enough where she could easily pull away; she did not. “I will bring back our brethren. Our Friends. Our loved ones. The world belongs to us and us alone.” 

I promise, Persephone. 

His fingers slowly loosened before lazily falling away before he turned his back to her, perhaps unable to gaze at her any longer, tired of fighting and tired of not being able to get his point across. Those words of his, that were meant for her hearing only, echoing in her mind as he started to walk away.

Hades!

Her soul reached out when verbal words would not, trying to coax him out of this fantasy he had been planning to bring about for eons. But he ignored her, heading out towards the door.

“Emet-Selch!” Amidst the buckling silence did Alphinaud manage to find his voice where Nua or the others could not. While the boy looked pained, his resolve was clear within his stable voice. “We understand. Truly. But it makes no difference. The ones you love are in the past. While ours are here in the present. One day, we too will be ashes and dust, but not today. Our time is not yet finished. We share your conviction… and that is why we will not abandon our course.” 

Such a way with words; Alphinaud was always better at them than Nua ever hoped to be. She thought actions were better; to feel, taste, breath, hear and see then to listen to a person speak words that were only made to impress others. Alphie managed that and more most of the time, but knowing Emet-Selch, knowing her Hades, it would not be possible. He was dedicated, he was so filled with insurmountable love that he would do insurmountable atrocities to achieve them.

Emet-Selch was silent, standing there, arms loosely hanging at his sides, posture slouched as if something heavy was weighing them down. At first Nua thought he would not bother arguing further, but then she felt fire. There was no heat, but she could feel something burning from him, his soul flickering and intensifying. She knew it well; the uncontainable rage that threatened to overtake one’s being. His back straightened slightly and Nua felt her gut clench. 

“You think us the same? You think your tattered soul of equal worth to those I lost?” His head turned ever so slightly, golden eyes constricted as he gritted his teeth. “Then come-- earn your place. Prove yourselves worthy to inherit this star.”  The burning pulsed, but within that flame of resentment Nua could feel a deep wound, a hurting chasm that could not be filled or healed. A grief that would not allow itself to be overcome.

And before them the golden doors opened, revealing a wall of fire and beyond a crumbling city full of despair, hopelessness and death.

“Behold, the coming oblivion. T’was the end of our era, and the beginning of our great work. A fitting backdrop… for your final judgement.”