#Wednesday: I am going to find out how to set water on fire | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

peterparkers-bad-youtube-apology · 2 years

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Hello!I have a summer prompt request if you don't mind. Can you do prompt 96 with the characters Peter Paker? I don't know, Peter sounds like someone who would be scared to swim Ina pool or ocean... since he's a spider and all and spiders don't do well in water? Thank you for reading this and I hope you have a great summer!

Okay love here you are! It was funny writing for me because I'm scared of water so like I would be Peter in this scenario lol. Anyways I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think and as always reblogs and feedback are greatly appreciated, love you xx

Can’t Swim

96 - "I can't, I don't know how to swim."

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of fear

Summary: Peter is embarrassed to tell you that he can't swim

Regular Masterlist

Summer of Love Prompts

Summer of Love Masterlist

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A heat wave had struck New York, bringing blazing hot temperatures that you were almost certain you wouldn’t survive. You were desperate to find some way too cool off but every local pool and swimming spot was so packed you wouldn’t even be able to make it into the water. Luckily though, you had an aunt in Jersey with a large pool in her backyard. It was a bit of a drive but after talking to Peter and some of your friends you all agreed it was worth it. Wednesday was slated to be the peak of the heatwave so you decided that would be the best day for you to go. Your aunt agreed to let you all over while she was at work, promising to even barbeque for you all once she got home. In your mind it was going to be a perfect day, and everyone seemed just as excited as you were to be there. FInally laying eyes on the pool felt like spotting an oasis in the middle of the desert.

“I am so excited,” you squeezed Peter’s arm as you tossed your towel down onto one of your aunt's lawn chairs, “It’s gonna feel so great in there.”

Peter nodded in agreement and set his towel down beside yours, “I’m sure it’ll feel great.”

“I know it will,” you kissed his cheek before tossing your shoes off. You squealed suddenly as your feet hit the hot pavement, “Shit, the pavement feels like fire, I gotta get in P,” you ran for the edge of the pool, jumping right into the deepest part of the pool.

Peter held his breath while he watched you disappear under the water. You bobbed up just a second later with a big smile on your face, you swept your hair out of your face while you urged your friends to come join you.

“You good?” MJ raised a brow at Peter, noticing how apprehensive he was to move anywhere near the pool.

He nodded, “Yeah, yeah, I’ll be fine,” he assured.

“Alright, well I’m getting in, but take some time if you need it,” she patted his back before pacing over to the edge of the pool.

You taunted her for a minute before she jumped in beside you and you started splashing water at each other. Ned and Betty opted to get in the more shallow end first and swim over to you. Peter still hadn’t moved from the lawn chair.

“Peter,” you called his name sweetly and waved over to him, “Come on, aren’t you gonna get in?”

He swallowed and nodded, ‘Yeah, coming,” he walked up to the edge of the pool and stopped right at the edge, “You know I think I’ll just hang out here for a little bit actually, we just ate a little bit ago,” he explained, “I don’t wanna cramp or something.”

Your lips tugged to a pout as you waded towards him, “Okay, but you should at least dip your feet in, it’s like a million degrees out.”

“R-Right,” he cleared his throat before nervously sitting on the ledge of the pool, he shivered as his legs hit the water, “Yeah, that’s nice.”

“So nice,” you agreed, crossing your arms over his lap, “Love you.”

“I love you too,” he smiled down at you, his nerves starting to ease just a bit.

You grabbed the edge of the pool and pushed yourself up with puckered lips. Peter leaned down to give you a quick peck.

You pushed off the wall, gliding back over towards your friends, “You guys wanna play some games or something?”

Betty was quick to nod along, “We should have a chicken fight, oh, oh, or shark and minnows?”

“A chicken fight would be fun,” you turned to MJ, “We’d totally kick their asses.”

MJ nodded in agreement, “Yeah you guys wouldn’t stand a chance.”

“Oh you’re so on,” Betty grinned.

Peter watched from the edge of the pool while MJ hoisted you onto her shoulders and you and Betty began to try and push each other over. All of you were laughing and yelling and splashing each other, it looked fun, but Peter was content to just watch. He laughed harder than anyone when you wobbled off of MJ’s shoulders and both of you fell into the water. Betty and Ned cheered and high fived while the two of you began demanding a rematch.

After your second loss you and MJ began to turn on each other, both of you claiming that the other hadn’t done their job properly.

“If I was on Peter’s shoulders I totally would have won,” you argued, turning suddenly to your boyfriend, “Right Peter?”

He blushed, “I-I don’t know.”

“Well come over here, we can try,” you flashed him your best puppy dog eyes, “It’ll be fun.”

“Uh,” he could feel his cheeks burning while he wracked his mind for some kind of an excuse, “You know that’s okay, I’m actually really comfy here. I-It’s more fun watching you guys anyway.”

You knit your brows for a second before nodding, “Okay, but later, after Peter gets in, I’m gonna wreck you guys,” you threatened.

It continued like that for a while, with you all splashing around and playing various games. You tried a few more times to get Peter in the water but he continued to tell you that he was fine just watching. You tried not to show it but you were disappointed. You’d never gone swimming with Peter, and you were excited to spend the day in the water with him. He’d seem excited too, but now he was refusing to leave the edge of the pool. Everyone was getting ready for a round of Marco Polo when you swam over to him and decided to try once more to get him in the water with you.

“Hi,” you crossed your arms over his lap and smiled up at him.

“Hi,” he smiled back.

“You should come play with us,” you drew small shapes on his thigh while you spoke, “It’ll be fun,” you sang.

“That’s okay, I like watching,” he gave you the same answer he’d been giving you all day.

You knew Peter well enough to know when something was wrong with him. You had no idea what was going on though, as far as you knew you hadn’t upset him, but maybe that was it. Maybe something had rubbed him the wrong way and he just wasn’t in the mood to be around you, but that wasn’t very Peter like. He was always quick to bring up issues and talk them out, and even during his alone time he liked having you there with him. Plus he had been his normal, happy self all morning, things had only changed after you got into the pool.

“Peter?” your lips suddenly fell to a frown, “Are you okay?”

His cheeks flushed again, “Of course I’m okay.”

“Really? Because you’ve been acting weird since we got out here.”

“I’m fine,” he insisted, “I’m totally fine, don’t worry about me alright? I don’t wanna hold up your fun.”

“But if you’re not having fun we can do something else,” you pursed your lips.

“I am having fun,” he brushed some of your wet hair away from your face. He hated the idea of you missing out because of him. Sure he would have liked to have fun with you all, but he didn’t mind sitting and watching as long as you were having a good time. “I think everyone’s waiting on you to start the game.”

You let out a shallow sigh before covering your eyes with one of your hands and turning around, “Marco!”

You waded around the pool in search of your friends, all of them trying to throw their voice and knock you off their trail. It was fine at first, Peter sat back and laughed while he watched you struggle to chase after Betty. It wasn’t until you ran into one of the pool railings that he started to have an issue with the game. While the small event had caused everyone else, even you, to burst into laughter, it worried Peter. It hit him all at once and suddenly he couldn’t believe how calm he’d been previously. Wandering around a pool with your eyes closed was dangerous. You could hurt yourself, hit your head and slip right into the water, and then what would Peter do? Normally he had the confidence that he could save you from anything, protect you from any threat that presented itself, but he wasn’t sure he could at the moment. What if he froze up as soon as he hit the water? What if you drowned? What if he didn’t freeze up but you hit your head on the cement pool ledge and bled out? It all started to play out in his head like some sort of horror movie.

“Uh, Peter?” Ned raised a brow at his friend, noticing how intensely focused he was on you, “Are you okay?”

Peter snapped back to reality in a second, “Uh, yeah,” he forced himself to nod as he dragged his eyes away from you, “I am totally cool, just thirty, like really thirsty. I should probably go get some water,” he laughed awkwardly, “Anyone else want anything?”

Everyone had turned to look at him. Ned and MJ seemed to have some idea as to what was going on, but you and Betty both looked puzzled. When no one answered he pushed himself up and went pacing into the house.

“I’m gonna go with him,” you declared as you swam towards the edge of the pool.

You ran back to your shoes and pulled your towel around yourself while you chased him inside. Peter had gone straight to the kitchen and began guzzling water, hoping it would calm his shot nerves.

“Peter?” you raised a brow while you watched him down a glass of water.

“Hey,” he slammed the glass down on the counter with a forced smile, “W-What are you doing in here?”

“Checking on you,” you crossed your arms, “Was there some sort of emergency or..?”

“No,” he pushed his hand through his hair, hoping to seem casual, “Just dehydrated.”

“Peter come on,” you sighed, “I know somethings going on, you’re not a very good liar.”

“I just want you to have fun today, I don’t want you to have to worry about me.”

“Peter I don’t want to have fun if you’re not okay,” you took his hands in yours, “Will you please just tell me what’s going on? If you’re upset about something we can talk about it. I don’t really know if I did something or-”

“What? No, (y/n),” he groaned, “I am not upset with you, not at all.”

“Well what’s going on then?” you pressed, “You seemed excited for this all week, what changed?”

“I was excited, I am excited,” he let out a frustrated sigh, “I-It’s just…” he trailed off for a second, “I really want to get in there with you and have fun with everyone, but I can’t, I don’t know how to swim,” he stared at you like he’d just admitted some sort of awful secret.

“You can’t swim?” you raised a brow, “Like you never learned how?”

His cheeks were burning hot and bright red, “No, I learned when I was younger, I just can’t anymore. There’s just been a few times when I’ve got caught up underwater, Spiderman stuff you know? I had this really close call, I got stuck under all this debris and I almost blacked out. Every time I’ve gotten in the water since then I’ve just sort of froze…”

“Peter…” you frowned and set your hand on his arm, “You could have just told me, I wouldn’t have planned this whole thing if I knew.”

“I don’t want you to not do the things you like because of me though,” he leaned back on one of the counters and ran his hand through his hair, “Plus it’s sort of.. You know… Embarrassing.”

“Embarrassing?” you knit your brows, “It’s not embarrassing Peter, you’re a hero, you save lives and you put yourself in danger for the sake of others all the time,” you wrapped your arms around his waist, “It is totally understandable for you to have some trauma from that, and it’s nothing to be embarrassed about, especially when you’re talking to me. I’m your girlfriend Peter, it’s my job to take care of you and help you with that stuff. Please don’t ever feel embarrassed to tell me about this stuff.”

The corners of his lips threatened to tug to a smile as he leaned in and kissed your head, “I should have told you about the water stuff before, you just seemed so excited. I thought maybe I’d feel better after we got here or something.”

“Yeah but I can always just go swimming when you and I aren’t hanging out. I’d rather do something we both like when we’re together,” you hummed, “I promise I won’t drag you out swimming again. I’m sorry about today.”

“I love you,” he pecked your lips quickly, “And you don’t have to be sorry, you didn’t know. I still had fun anyway, I like seeing you all have fun, and even just sitting on the edge is nice for the heat.”

“And we’re gonna have a little barbeque later, that’ll be fun too,” you laid your head against his chest, “I love you too by the way.”

He pressed his lips to the top of your head, “I love you more.”

You hummed, “I love you most.”

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Taglist:

@spideyssunshine @spideyspeaches @niallsvirgosun @namoreno @roseke @collywobbl @thevery-firstpage @zspideyy @emistrash @andreagf956 @tomsirishgirlx @peachyafshawn @agbspidey @nj01 @sleepybesson @misshale21 @prancerrparkerr @raajali3 @ellabellabus07 @mayal0pez @xoxomaterialgirl @minjix @inthegetawaycarwithtaylah @blankspaceblankday @holyhumorliteraturelight @graciexmarvel @edgycatx @secretsthathauntus @kbakery @negasonic-teenage-asshole @lnmp89 @mcushvft @maytemurillo @liltimmyst @gloomynigvts @cest-la-vieve @itscaminow @katiaw2 @afro-hipswriter @chrissybang @plshie @book-lover20 @hem-lemon @princessria127

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decafdino · 1 year

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wip wednesday

...Ignore how late it is in the day lol. I'm not gonna lie, I've been a little burnt out lately, but I managed to make (small) additions to my medieval au. enjoy :) once again accepting the open tag from @alrightbuckaroo

He pauses a few feet from the shore, stopped in his tracks by the sight of TK's bare back. The skin is somewhat paler than that of his arms and face, suggesting he's begun to tan as they continue on their tour. A few moles break up the smooth surface, and Carlos finds himself smug in the knowledge that TK's royal blood does not exclude him from the randomness and beauty of human imperfections.

Just as his stare begins to dip lower, he's interrupted. "Going to join me?" he calls over his shoulder.

Carlos sets his face back to neutral and mentally chastises himself. "There are bandits in these woods," he says by way of an explanation.

TK simply hums. "Of course, Sir Reyes."

When he slips off his boots and begins to untie his trousers, Carlos forces himself to turn around, face heating up. "You shouldn't be out here alone."

There's the sound of water being disturbed, and then: "I'm not alone. You're here with me."

His face must be on fire, the way it warms so quickly. He commands himself to be stoic. "How did you find the stream so quickly, anyways?"

"I asked," TK says matter-of-factly.

"I didn't know Paul was familiar with this part of the land."

"Well, I didn't ask him, did I?" He snorts. "The earth is a fantastic guide, provided you know how to listen."

There's the sound of more water being disturbed, and he hears TK laugh. "Carlos, what are you doing?"

He shifts, now embarrassed in a way he didn't expect to be. "I'm not going to invade on your privacy." He shrugs. "I'm keeping watch."

"You're pointed the wrong way, then." Carlos feels a tap on his shoulder, and he turns to see a branch leaning over him, clearly TK's doing. "See?" he says, letting it flick back up to the edge of the canopy. It rains leaves over Carlos in its wake. "Perfectly safe."

He sighs. "TK, I'm being serious."

"So am I. You need a bath." He wades closer to the shore as Carlos steps forward and cocks his head to the side.

"Are you saying I smell?"

"No," TK says, a mischievous glint in his eye, "I'm saying you might as well get in, seeing as you're already wet."

His brow furrows in confusion. "What—"

A wave of water hits him square in the chest. Carlos stands there in shock at his damp clothes as TK laughs at him.

"Find it funny, do you?" he finds himself saying.

"No, no. Of course not," TK says, wiping a mock tear from his eye. "It's hilarious."

#tarlos #911 lone star #tarlos fic #tk strand #carlos reyes #floggyfics #wip challenge #fanfic

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pbandjesse · 1 year

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Today was a pretty nice day overall. Like I felt a lot better. More like a person. Like it wasn't perfect. But things felt a little more normal.

James continued to worry me. I ask them if they are okay constantly. I am sure they are lying to me to not upset me. But I worry.

Sleeping last night was fine. I woke up when I heard them on the phone. But I wouldn't get up to find out what was going on for a while.

James had called the surgeon to find out about getting more pain relief. And they just said to talk to our PCP. Something we told them we did not have. So we had to scramble and James was able to find someone near the museum accepting new patients and so we were able to switch around our work on Thursday to get an appointment. It's not perfect. But it's something. And we have enough for James to take something when they are hurting but it's not weening them off like I hoped. I don't want them going off of it and suffering. It's frustrating but we are going to make it work.

I had crackers for breakfast. My poor eyelid was still swollen and was honestly worse then yesterday. But seems a little better now. Still hurts if I squeeze my eye shut but doesn't look so angry.

We would leave here around 1030 when James took their medication. And we drove out to puhtok so I could set up for tomorrow. James didn't bring a jacket and was colder then they expected. So after we chatted with Elizabeth and Heather, James would meet me at the eyrie. I drove the gator over there and stopped to say hello to Joe. But when I finally got to the eyrie James was very cold and the door was locked.

So I called Elizabeth. And sent James to the lodge to warm up. Joe and Elizabeth would help me load the gator and that made it go a lot faster. I appreciated them.

I went to the lodge first. James helped by collecting rocks for crushing chalk. And I got everything set up. James asked where they should go next. And I decided to give them my totebag and asked them to go get walkies to drop off on the lodge. There was some concern that it would be to heavy for their 10 lb limit. But James thought it would be okay.

I drove off and got everything else set pretty quickly. I did forgot to fill the water jug for putting out the fire tomorrow. So when I went to set up the arts building I checked and the well was still on there. Excellent. I would only have to backtrack a little and then I was back at the office checking in.

Heather and Elizabeth made me feel a little more secure about how I'm looking after James. Elizabeth said getting a different style of sling was a good move. That should be here on Wednesday. I hope I got the correct size and it makes James comfy.

James was still at the lodge. And I called them to come back to the office where the car was. I would have driven to them but they had my keys. So I waited for them in the car.

When they got to me they looked a little pale. They were very very tired. So I said we should get lunch. James requested something greasy and cheesy.

We decided to go to the Iron Rooster. I had never been before but I will request it again because it was great. James got a patty melt and I got a spicy omelette. And while I worried for James's tired face, the company was good and the food was better.

We would walk over to the Marshalls so I could look at the body oils. But I didn't like the choices. I made James laugh telling them I was sticking to my budget this week. My budget that started yesterday. And I promised to transfer my part of the bills over ASAP. Which I would remember to do when I got home. Usually it's all my market money that goes to rent, but hopefully I'll be able to fill in the gaps easier this year. I have already been contacted by the nursery for the spring. We'll see if I actually do it. It was a little daunting last year, but if the museum picks up I probably won't need it. Good to have in case though.

We went home after that. We took the bike rack off the back of the car. And drove back here. Cleaned the trash out of the car. And came inside.

Me and James would play video games a lot. All the Pokemon, including the last 6 that were gods we didn't yet have, are caught. And now it's just. Requests. We beat the final god. Who is now in my party, with the given name Qod. James would get a little over upset trying to help me get one but with teamwork and checking the internet for tips we got them all. It was fun to do together.

James made bread. And I worked on my first trial batch of cookies. Which tasted great but didn't hold their shape well. Ah well. I'll try again tomorrow.

We started another game, called DokiDoki literature club. Which is apparently very dark but looks pink and bubbly and cute. James is narrating all the voices and it's fun so far.

We have just been spending time together. James is real tired and frowny. But at least we have each other. I am trying my best to take care of both of us. Even if James says that wasn't what they promised in their vows. It is what I promised in mine.

Now though I want to wind down for bed. I have to go back to puhtok tomorrow for my probably last Native American program of the semester. 2nd graders. I'm looking forward to the day.

I hope you all have a good night. Sleep well and stay safe. Talk to you tomorrow!!

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referenceable-ramblings · 7 months

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Let's break activities into four groups: - Maintenance activities: these are things like eating healthy going to bed on time making sure you're drinking water does showering and being hygienic and keeping the area around you clean you know just real basic functional human stuff. - Energizing activities: things like studying a skill, or like watching some piece of educational content that's like 30 minutes to an hour that's really engaging, reading a really good book, working on project, things like that - Restful things: for me, stuff that involves no communication with any other people. I love doing alone-ass things man, like putting in headphones listening to music and just walking around know. Getting a massage where the masseuse doesn't try and talk to me - Time filling: just BS time filling this is like playing a multiplayer game with friends. This is like firing up Slay the Spire. Surfing. Reddit. Derping on twitter. These are things that they're not growing my brain and giving me new stimulating things to talk about, they're not really letting me unplug and rest fully they're just sort of things that you do at the end of the day for a little bit of mild stimulation Let me just say everything I'm saying in these categories can be different for different people you might find going on a hike for three hours to be wildly energizing to you some of you might find that to be restful and relaxing it all depends on you I'm just describing examples for. Now the key thing is like not these BS time fillers are not bad. It's not bad to just kind of hang out and play games with your friend. It's not bad to dick around on Reddit or Twitter. The problem is if I was like "Okay I gotta rest, because I'm feeling burnt out", I was kind of letting the BS time fillers balloon up all of my time. I wake up and I said instead of going to the gym, I'm just gonna open the news and read that. And then two hours would pass and it'd be like "Oh I feel like shit". I hop on my discord and play DOTA and just kill time. Just killing time. Just killing time. So upon identifying this, I said "Okay, how do I set aside time to make sure I am choosing what to do?" Again, it's okay to rest or to do energizing things or to just do maintenance or to just do BS time killers, but let's make sure it's a choice not just my brain just just saying go to some dopamine and do more BS time killers. I said, "You know what? I really haven't done any of my programming stuff. What's a fun little thing that I could just work on for like two hours?" So I picked really simple just new little project to get me in the habit of opening up the thing and making thing again. You know what, how about spending some time alone? Yeah, I'm gonna set 30 minutes aside just go on a walk and listen to music. After work on Wednesday, that was a tough stream I was really roasted, and I was trying really hard, and I was playing like shit. So I felt a little bleghh, and I was like "You know what? I'm just gonna do BS time wasting", and it was very satisfying.

~ Sean Plott (Day[9]) in [Highlight] What are One's Needs as a Person? (2018)

#quote #youtube

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yukichouji · 2 years

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(Actual) Work in Progress Wednesday!

Thank you so much for the tag @heniareth! I took so long to get to it that I actually made it to Wednesday! Will you look at that xD Ah, I am excited because I am like this close to finishing the first one-shot for this thing that is haunting me. Just need to figure out this one last tiny little scene and go over it one more time to make sure the characterization is what I want it to be. Though I have already shared so many snippets from this it was hard to find something new for the tag oh, no! But here we go :)

William makes short work of the fastenings and it doesn’t take long until William is gingerly lifting first the sheath holding Pero’s swords, then the leather cuirass, chainmail and all, up over Pero’s head and setting it down beside the cot. Pero almost protest – the blades need tending to and so does his armor, need to be cleaned of the mud and blood, the cuirass oiled to keep the leather smooth and the chainmail functional – but that’s when the healer finally finds him and he is distracted away from the thought as the healer gestures for William to make room and moves in to look Pero over.

“Your face and your shoulder, yes? Any other wounds?” The healer is a tall, almost waifishly thin man a good decade or so older than Pero with a graying mustache and severe eyes the same washed-out color as the overcast sky outside. His voice sounds faintly tired but his mannerisms leave no room for protest and Pero’s in no mood to get in the man’s way either, so he just shakes his head and then holds still as the healer leans in to tug at the tourniquet around Pero’s shoulder.

As soon as the man peels the cloth back form the wound it starts to leak again and Pero bites his tongue at the fresh hurt. The healer gives a displeased huff, then turns to wave one of the apprentices over, a young boy hardly older than ten summers. “Put some cauteries into the fire and bring them as soon as they are hot enough.”

Pero curses under his breath and grits his teeth until he can feel an ache spread through his jaw, the discomfort a small but welcome distraction. Out of the corner of his eye he can see William wince in sympathy. “You don’t happen to have any drink on you, eh?” Pero glances at William while the healer starts working on the cut on his face. The man dabs at the broken skin with a bit of linen dipped in a strong smelling tincture and Pero hisses in a breath at the sharp burn of it, the scent doing almost as much to make Pero’s eyes water as the pain. If he’s going to have his shoulder cauterized he’d much rather not be sober during.

I swear, no matter how much proofing I do every time I look at my writing I find some new mistake or thing to fix alsdkjflsk Anyway! I am tagging you right back @heniareth if you like :) And @fade-and-loathing-in-thedas as well, in case there is anything new you would like to share :)

#me things #my writing #I don't know if it's going well but it's going at least xD #look at me getting sucked back into writing by a fandom so tiny it basically does not exist #the great wall

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roman-catholic-mass-readings · 2 years

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15th June >> Mass Readings (Except USA)

Wednesday, Eleventh Week in Ordinary Time

(Liturgical Colour: Green)

First Reading

2 Kings 2:1,6-14

Elijah is taken up to heaven.

This is what happened when the Lord took Elijah up to heaven in the whirlwind: Elijah and Elisha set out from Gilgal, Elijah said, ‘Elisha, please stay here, the Lord is only sending me to the Jordan.’ But he replied, ‘As the Lord lives and as you yourself live, I will not leave you!’ And they went on together.

Fifty of the brotherhood of prophets followed them, halting some distance away as the two of them stood beside the Jordan. Elijah took his cloak, rolled it up and struck the water; and the water divided to left and right, and the two of them crossed over dry-shod. When they had crossed, Elijah said to Elisha, ‘Make your request. What can I do for you before I am taken from you?’ Elisha answered, ‘Let me inherit a double share of your spirit.’ ‘Your request is a difficult one’ Elijah said. ‘If you see me while I am being taken from you, it shall be as you ask; if not, it will not be so.’ Now as they walked on, talking as they went, a chariot of fire appeared and horses of fire, coming between the two of them; and Elijah went up to heaven in the whirlwind. Elisha saw it, and shouted, ‘My father! My father! Chariot of Israel and its chargers!’ Then he lost sight of him, and taking hold of his clothes he tore them in half. He picked up the cloak of Elijah which had fallen, and went back and stood on the bank of the Jordan.

He took the cloak of Elijah and struck the water. ‘Where is the Lord, the God of Elijah?’ he cried. He struck the water, and it divided to right and left, and Elisha crossed over.

The Word of the Lord

R/ Thanks be to God.

Responsorial Psalm

Psalm 30(31):20,21,24

R/ Let your heart take courage, all who hope in the Lord.

How great is the goodness, Lord, that you keep for those who fear you, that you show to those who trust you in the sight of men.

R/ Let your heart take courage, all who hope in the Lord.

You hide them in the shelter of your presence from the plotting of men; you keep them safe within your tent from disputing tongues.

R/ Let your heart take courage, all who hope in the Lord.

Love the Lord, all you saints. He guards his faithful but the Lord will repay to the full those who act with pride.

R/ Let your heart take courage, all who hope in the Lord.

Gospel Acclamation

cf. Colossians 3:16a,17

Alleluia, alleluia! Let the message of Christ, in all its richness, find a home with you; through him give thanks to God the Father. Alleluia!

Or:

John 14:23

Alleluia, alleluia! If anyone loves me he will keep my word, and my Father will love him, and we shall come to him. Alleluia!

Gospel

Matthew 6:1-6,16-18

Your Father who sees all that is done in secret will reward you.

Jesus said to his disciples: ‘Be careful not to parade your good deeds before men to attract their notice; by doing this you will lose all reward from your Father in heaven. So when you give alms, do not have it trumpeted before you; this is what the hypocrites do in the synagogues and in the streets to win men’s admiration. I tell you solemnly, they have had their reward. But when you give alms, your left hand must not know what your right is doing; your almsgiving must be secret, and your Father who sees all that is done in secret will reward you.

‘And when you pray, do not imitate the hypocrites: they love to say their prayers standing up in the synagogues and at the street corners for people to see them; I tell you solemnly, they have had their reward. But when you pray, go to your private room and, when you have shut your door, pray to your Father who is in that secret place, and your Father who sees all that is done in secret will reward you.

‘When you fast do not put on a gloomy look as the hypocrites do: they pull long faces to let men know they are fasting. I tell you solemnly, they have had their reward. But when you fast, put oil on your head and wash your face, so that no one will know you are fasting except your Father who sees all that is done in secret; and your Father who sees all that is done in secret will reward you.’

The Gospel of the Lord

R/ Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ.

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chadillacboseman · 3 years

Text

^Pic from @autumnleaves1991-blog 's writer wednesday prompt.

Pairing: Cal Kestis x F!Reader Word Count: 950 Warnings: Unprotected sex, some indulgence of my praise kink. A/N: As we all know, I am obsessed w/ my beloved poncho Jedi. He deserves to fuck.

Cal Kestis had to admit that sometimes the view in the scrapyard wasn’t so bad- at least when you were around. When the Bracca sun hit your face just right, you looked like a painting, perfect and radiant. Even when your skin was smeared with dirt and grease, or when you were spouting curses like a pirate, you were beautiful.

Sometimes, you’d catch Cal staring and you’d shoot him cross-eyed face, sending him into a fit of laughter. He wondered if you knew, deep down, how he felt. But those were dangerous waters- he was a Jedi in hiding after all.

So for now, he was content with watching you and longing from a distance.

The ride back to the Scrapper City was long, and Cal often found himself drifting to sleep with the gentle sway of the railcar. Occasionally, you would let him rest his head on your shoulder while he dozed, chuckling as he softly snored.

This night was the same- the long trip through the pouring rain and the railcar swaying gently in the Bracca storm.

Scrapper City was ugly- all high rise buildings and smog-filled skies. Prauf, Cal, and yourself shared a dwelling on the 14th floor of a bland, metal building that had far too few windows. It had three bedrooms, but only one bathroom, which sometimes led to mornings filled with angry yelling and pounding on doors.

Cal was just happy to have you and Prauf close to him. Bracca was more tolerable with friends, and he wasn't sure what he would do without the two of you.

Nighttime had fallen in earnest by the time the railcar arrived in Scrapper City and the three of you stepped out into the rainy darkness. Prauf loudly declared that he was headed to the nearest bar, and you yawned and mumbled something about turning in early.

Cal thought about joining Prauf at the bar- a stiff drink would soothe his aching muscles. But more of him wanted to join you in the apartment- to be close to you for the hour or so before you fell asleep.

The two of you rode up the lift in silence, all yawns and stretches of sore bones as the machinery ground along to the 14th floor. Cal snuck small glances at you, watching the way you fidgeted with your shirt and wiped at the grease marks on your knuckles.

Once in the apartment, you went to the kitchen, rummaging in the fridge for a late night meal. Cal shuffled behind you, trying to reach the water bottle he left on the counter just as you bent lower to clasp the handle of the jug in the back.

Cal's breath hitched in his throat when you brushed against him. You turned your head at the sound, tousled hair hanging in your eyes and a puzzled expression on your face.

"Sorry," he whispered, his voice thick with want, "Just trying to get my water bottle."

You didn’t move.

“Cal…” your voice was soft, and your eyes remained locked with his, “Do you want me?”

The next moments were a blur; Cal followed you to his bedroom, heart thudding in his chest, shedding his poncho and shirt as he went. You dropped your clothes to the floor and Cal tried to stop his jaw from doing the same- he had seen you in minimal clothing before, sure, but this was different.

You were in his bed.

Cal felt like his brain was on fire when he freed his erection and climbed on top of you. You cupped his face with your hand and he let out a shaky breath.

“It’s okay, Cal,” you murmured, “you deserve this.”

The Jedi pushed into you with a groan and you cried out his name, clutching at his broad shoulders. He pulled out slowly before snapping his hips back into you with a low moan.

“You look so beautiful,” he grunted between thrusts, “I’ve wanted this for so long.”

Cal dipped his mouth to yours, teeth nipping gently at your bottom lip as he fucked you. His kiss was frantic, desperate, as if he thought he was going to wake up from a dream at any moment. His pace was growing erratic as he came closer to the edge, barely able to contain himself any longer.

Cal pulled back and snaked a hand to your clit, the rough pad of his thumb working in gentle, tight circles on the button of nerves. You whimpered his name and he grinned, “I like the way that sounds.” You slapped weakly at his chest and he chuckled.

“Cal, please-” you were practically whining, “I’m so close.”

Your words set the Jedi’s mind into a frenzy. He continued his movements on your clit as he thrusted into you mercilessly. You let out a strangled cry as you clenched around him, and the sound was enough to drive him over the edge. His hips stuttered as he spilled inside you with a groan.

Cal stayed like that for a moment before pulling out slowly, savoring the sight of himself covered in both of your releases. He collapsed beside you, sweat-covered, and you sat up on your elbow to look at him.

“Prauf cannot find out about this,” you muttered, “he will never shut up if he does.”

Cal chuckled and turned on his side to face you, “He won’t.”

“He might-” You lowered your voice and Cal raised an eyebrow, “He came home about 10 minutes ago.”

#Cal kestis #cal kestis x reader #jedi fallen order #writer wednesday #oops i wrote smut

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n00dl3gal · 3 years

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Expiration Date (Father-Son Bonding AU Version)

More of the dad!Spy AU because I’m hooked, y’all. Thanks again to @thetriggeredhappy for spearheading the AU and letting me bounce ideas off of them.

As the name suggests, this is the AU version of the Expiration Date short. I recycle some of the dialogue, too. Basically everything is the same except I guess the final wishes bucket didn’t happen? Warnings for references to canon-typical violence and talks about death.

Reblogs are appreciated!

Spy flipped to the next page of the Spy Tech catalogue. His whiskey sat to the side- a rare indulgence. Typically, he stuck to his roots and drank wine. But with less than a hundred hours left… might as well live a little.

There was a knock at the door, and Spy sighed. “Go away,” he yelled. Silence. Then the faint but unmistakable sound of a lockpick. In an instant, Spy stood, pulling out his knife. He opened the door to grab the intruder before- “Scout, there are easier ways to get my attention.”

Scout smirked. “Gotta keep my skills sharp,” he replied, slipping the lockpick into his pocket. He sauntered in, arms behind his head. Spy shut the door.

Jeremy’s arms fell to his side as Raphael took off his mask. “So. Three days. You scared, old man?” Jeremy asked. His voice was light, but his face was contorted with concern.

Raphael thought. “No, not scared,” he said finally. “Nor am I particularly surprised. I figured tumors would get me in the end, if not in this way.”

Jeremy snorted. “Told ya you smoke too much.”

The mirth was short-lived, however. “How about you?” Raphael offered. “Are you afraid, mon lapin?”

“Nah, not really. But… I dunno, I have some regrets? Stuff I wish I could’ve done.” He scratched at his cheek. “Ask Miss Pauling out properly, finish fixing up that bike with Engie…'' His voice trailed off as his eyes widened. “Um. I-I would’ve liked to meet my Ma.”

Raphael swore the tumors took him then, the way his heart froze. Every paternal instinct he had fired at once as Jeremy started to tremble. Jeremy took in a shaky breath. It wasn’t enough. The tears began as he croaked out “papa.”

Raphael quickly pulled his son into a hug, removing his cap to smooth his hair. Jeremy sobbed into his chest. Raphael felt his own eyes water. “I was wrong. My death does not scare me, but yours, Jeremy… that would terrify any father.”

“C’mon… at least we’re goin’ down together,” Jeremy joked, still crying.

They couldn’t get off base without a proper ceasefire. Engineer was occupied with testing the teleporters with Medic. But three days was enough to make at least one of his son’s wishes a reality. “And before we do,” Raphael said, “we will be winning Miss Pauling over. Even if it’s just for one date. What do you say?”

“Dad, you don’t-”

“Let an old man fulfill his dying wish, s'il te plaît?” Raphael interrupted. Jeremy sighed, but he was smiling. “Then let’s get to work.”

. . .

Scout blinked as Spy flicked on the light. This damn seat was too small- where the hell did he find a school desk like this, anyway? Scout shook his head, trying to focus on Spy’s dialogue. “Final question. You have a dinner date for seven. What time do you arrive?”

“Seven,” Scout answered automatically. “AM. Case the restaurant, run background checks on the staff. Can the cook be trusted? If not, I have to kill him. Dispose of the body, replace him with my own guy no later than 4:30.” He smiled.

Spy grimaced. “Jeremy, that’s what you do when having a meeting with a known rival. I’m very glad you remembered, but that is absolutely not what you do in this scenario.” He glanced down at his death watch. “And we’re out of time.”

Scout groaned, banging his head on the desk. “Then I have no hope, do I?”

“Hmm… the area you set up is fairly nice, but it’s all a matter of getting Miss Pauling here,” Spy said. “If you can figure that out, you might have a shot.”

It was quiet as both men fell into thought. “Wait- holy crap, that’s it! Thanks Dad!” Scout yanked himself from the desk- not without some effort- and ran out of the training room. 45 seconds later, the briefcase alarm went off.

Spy pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled. He had raised his boy better than this. And yet… well, the security booth would at least let him keep an eye on things.

. . .

“I was furious. Oh my God, you set off the briefcase alarm and you were having a prom for some reason. But then there was this monster and we shot it and we built a bomb and I think my leg's broken,” Miss Pauling said in a rush, gingerly pushing herself off of Scout. “Can we do this again?”

“Yeah! Yeah- wait,” Scout replied before pausing. “We can’t. I’m going to be dead.”

“Wait, what?”

Light poured over them as Soldier lifted the bread monster’s corpse. “Good news! We’re not dying! We are going to live forever!”

“I didn’t say that!” Medic yelled in the distance. Heavy held the monster up as Soldier and Sniper helped Scout and Miss Pauling stand. “I just said we’re not filled with tumors!”

“Oh thank God,” Scout sighed, grinning. “So yeah, Miss Pauling, I guess it’s a date.”

Miss Pauling had been smiling, but her expression suddenly fell. “Wait, you mean- oh, oh Scout, I’m flattered, but… you’re not really my type,” she said quietly.

Scout felt like a bucket of cold water had been dumped down his pants. “Uh, wh- what is your type, then?” he asked awkwardly.

Miss Pauling looked away, straightening her glasses. “More… feminine,” she replied. Her voice was barely audible.

It took Scout a moment to fully process it. “Oh. Oh! Well that- I mean, that sucks for me I guess, but- um, well, if ya ever need a wingman or something-”

She blinked, frowning at him. “Scout, are you- are you saying you’re not straight either?”

“Eh, labels, not really- I’m flexible,” he said dismissively. He shrugged, bouncing on his heels. “But yeah! Next time ya head to the Gravel Pit or something, lemme know, alright?”

“I would love to, but today’s my one day off this year. Maybe I can squeeze something in… oh, it looks like I’ll be seeing you on Wednesday,” she said.

“Really?” “Yeah, that’s the day I have to feed the guy who pressed the briefcase alarm to my woodchipper.”

. . .

As soon as it was obvious Scout and Miss Pauling were not dead, Spy walked away. The base had sustained heavy damage during the fight with the bread monster. Enough that a ceasefire was most likely inevitable. It would be tight, but Spy prided himself on working on a deadline.

Jeremy’s regret about Miss Pauling might not have come to fruition, and there wasn’t much he could do about Engineer being preoccupied…

But there was one of his son’s dying wishes he could still fulfill.

Sequel? Sequel. Also fun fact: this fic totaled 1,111 words exactly.

#father-son bonding au #dad spy #Team Fortress 2 #team fortress 2 au #tf2 scout #tf2 spy #tf2 miss pauling #tf2 fanfiction #expiration date #thetriggeredhappy #noodle writes

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ladyartemesia · 4 years

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Fic recs for taehyung? I love your stuff btw I’ve read them all uwu

As a beacon of extra-ness in an already extra world, I am entirely incapable of just recommending fics like a normal blog. No. I’ve got to wax on like a bloomin connoisseur. I have compiled some (but not all) of my favorite works in several different categories and sorted them accordingly. This crazy list is so long I had to add a “keep reading”... but I simply couldn’t bear to leave any of these off the list. They are all so good!

Fics have been divided into 8 categories. Some are under the cut.

▨ FRIENDS WITH BENEFITS and FRIENDS TO LOVERS ▨ ▨ ARRANGED MARRIAGE ▨ ▨ FANTASY ▨ ▨ ANGST WITH A HAPPY ENDING ▨ ▨ HYBRID and ABO (alpha/omega) ▨ ▨ MULTIPLE PARTNERS ▨ ▨ NEIGHBORS AND ROOMMATES ▨ ▨ TABOO THEMES and DARK FIC (Sex Work/Power Imbalance/Very Unsafe Sex) ▨ ▨

▨ FRIENDS WITH BENEFITS and FRIENDS TO LOVERS ▨

Insomnia by @hobiwonder

This is one of those fics I read and literally could not stop thinking about. It is wildly hot and honestly hilarious. Poor reader cannot sleep and the beautiful bro she’s tutoring offers a rather unconventional solution.

(Ego) Hoe Chronicles: KTH by @suga-kookiemonster

Listen. If you find a niche fan blog devoted entirely to Ego Tae... I’m not gonna say it’s mine. But it’s probably mine. I once told suga-kookiemonster that I would literally read a story about Ego Tae going grocery shopping on a Wednesday night and I stand by that. In this lurid romp, the reader falls into the clutches of everyone’s favorite bohemian sex lord and he rails her into another dimension.

Falling, Falling, Gone by @johobi

Pining (mutual or otherwise) is not really my thing, but I would straight up read Jo’s laundry list if she posted it. As usual I was blown away by how everything she does seems somehow better than any other version of it. This reader is really unique as well, and her relationship with the wildly popular soccer star Tae comes to a sexy and hilarious head at a sort of bachelor auction. With sharp dialogue, delightful subtext, and fantastic side characters, you really shouldn’t miss it. It’s pretty much perfect.

A Friendly Favor by @baeseoul

This is the classic “teach me some sex for another woman” trope and it is done so well. Sweet best friend Tae is looking to benefit from your experience, but his is not the only world about to be thouroughly rocked.

Officer Kim and the Criminal Crush by @ddaengyoonmin

This is one of the best twists on childhood friends to lovers I have ever seen. Tae grows up to become a cop and reader grows up to be a societal menace. I won’t spoil it, but it’s the perfect blend of nostalgia, tenderness, and smut. This fic technically doesn’t have a name so I had to give it one to link it. It’s part of an AMAZING series Zoe did that I also highly recommend.

Out of the Blue by @jimlingss

This is one of those stories that blooms throughout the narrative until you are left with this gorgeous flower at the end. I loved the journey of these two characters. It was real and it perfectly captures the experience of finding your soulmate in the person you least expect.

Sin Pijama by @brilliantlybasicb

This fic is a switch culture fic. It is wild wicked hot and this Tae is unreal. I love the way he lets the reader think she is in control just long enough. It is a wild romp with an adorable sequel and honestly you should read it.

Girls Like You by @jjiminah

I was in jjiminah’s asks IMMEDIATELY about this fic because I had FEELINGS. The reader begins wordlessly teasing and tempting Tae on their morning bus ride every day until he is literally losing his mind. Everything that follows is fire. Jjiminah has hinted she will wrote more for these two and I NEED IT.

Sighs and Sonnets by @btsaudge

This fic is beautiful. Like it’s basically art. This is a bad boy who is bad for you. But he has the soul of a poet and the stroke game of a renaissance master. Bittersweet and seductive, this fic is a full experience.

The Text by @taetaesbaebaepsae

Tae is your friend with benefits but it looks like feeling may have been caught by one or more parties. When you attempt to soothe your aching heart with another pretty boy, Tae decides to stake his claim. This was very sexy. The whole fic was sexy.

▨ ARRANGED MARRIAGE ▨

Monster by @neonlights92

Monster and all of its companion series about each of the boys is one of those fics that I reread constantly and also just think about constantly. This is one of the best mafia AUs out there and it’s characters are vivid and unforgettable. Tae’s stubborn resistance to his lovely new wife in contrast with her quiet, clever strength really brings this story to life. A word of warning. The masterlist links are a bit messed up. To read part two you must click on part three. And to read part three must click on part four. The link to part four is at the bottom of part three (or you can just search it on her site. It is definitely all there though).

Dichotomy by @kpopfanfictrash

There is a reason the incomparable Shanna is on this list three times. She is truly incomparable. This is childhood friends-to enemies-to spouses and it is wonderful. I adore this Tae. He is sharp and vulnerable and occasionally heavy handed, but truly a gem. This fic also features one of the best angry sex scenes I’ve ever run my eyeballs across.

▨ FANTASY ▨

Chism by @kpopfanfictrash

The world-building in this story is genuinely awe inspiring. You could write series upon series within this vivid universe. The god of Winter is missing and Summer’s heat burns unchecked for many years. The reader is a warrior with a unique ability tasked with guarding a very interesting prisoner. This story is so good. I mean it is really bloomin incredible. It’s hard to say what I liked best about it, because it was stellar across the board.

Obsidian by @kpopfanfictrash

In the pantheon of delicious Tae incarnations, Obsidian Taehyung is essentially unrivaled as a grey witch who moonlights as a sexy rock star. His extremely erotic clash with a white witch detective plays out as the two of them track down a sinister killer (with the help of some truly memorable side characters).

Out of this World by @ddaengyoonmin

This one is really unique. Tae is a merman scientist on the water planet of Neptune and when the reader and her misguided crew crash into his sea, he takes it upon himself to improve inter-species relations. This fic features excellent world building alongside several twists and surprises. Clever scientist Tae is downright irresistible.

▨ ANGST WITH A HAPPY ENDING ▨

Picking Flowers by @jamaisjoons

So this story is a journey - truly a beautiful one and it’s a gorgeous addition to the hanahaki genre. There is real pain and I cried real tears, but gosh it was so sexy and so worth it. I was surprised by how truly immersed I ended up in this piece. I lost track of everything else. The end is insanely satisfying, but the journey is really what makes this fic unmissable.

Until Yesterday by @jimlingss

This fic destroyed me slowly then slowly put me together again piece by piece. When I say I went through it - I WENT THROUGH IT. The story is loosely based on the movie “The Vow” and it is just fantastic. Beautiful and tender till the last word.

The Foolish Muse by @bibbykins

This is the story of someone who is deeply in love, but knows they deserve better. It is a sexy and evocative work with allusions to mythology that fit seamlessly into the narrative. I think my favorite part is Tae discovering how much the reader meant to him and what choices ultimately lead them to a really delicious conclusion.

Back to You by @ladyartemesia

The last time I did a fic rec list, it got like 700 notes. Ya girl is not makin the same mistake again. I spent hours on this list. My work is comin along for the ride. Kim Taehyung is the love of your life, until one day he disappears without a trace.

Vacancy by @ppersonna

This one is the only idol AU on the list and I normally don’t read those, but Lindy’s work is too good to miss in any setting. I am thrilled I took a look because what I found was a glimpse into a beautiful relationship that weathers and eventually overcomes the challenges of loving in the limelight. There is a LOT of emotional depth and symbolism which really elevates everything about this lovely story. The reader’s internal struggles in the face of her lover’s fame are extremely well done.

▨ HYBRID and ABO ▨ (alpha/omega)

Eye of the Tiger by @opaljm

I am beyond hype about this story which is (very) loosely inspired by Zootopia and features a cocky tiger Taehyung and a fiesty prey hybrid he needs to fake date in order to keep panther Jimin from murdering him. (Tiger Tae got a tad too frisky around Jimin’s mate and now things are dangerously awkward.) This story is already so freakin good. I cannot wait for the rest.

Silver and Blue by @taetaewonderland

What happens when you get on the wrong side of the right werewolf? Very sexy - very crazy times. Chronologically this is the first of the Silver and Blue series which follows barely civilized were-Tae through his courtship and eventually his relationship with the spunky reader. Holla to all my impreg kink homies. This is the fic for you.

Heat Run by @ladyartemesia

As I said before, the last time I did a fic rec list, it got like 700 notes. Ya girl is not makin the same mistake twice. I spent hours on this list. My work is comin along for the ride. Alpha lawyer V is a man of many secrets, but his well ordered reality spirals wildly out of control when he crosses paths with a fiery omega set on saving the world from his wicked ways.

Beautiful Stranger by @interludemoonchild

This was a wild ride from start to finish. Taehyung is a tiger hybrid shifter who escapes from the circus to be close to a veterinary student he bonded with. There is a lot of interesting twists and surprises in this one. I was definitely screaming at the end.

Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell by @jingabitch

A very young wolf hybrid Taehyung adopts you as his pet human when you are just a kid. After Tae leaves to serve in the military he returns to an adult version of his sweet little princess and chaos ensues. Mind the tags for this one folks. It’s excellent, but there are very triggering themes throughout.

▨ MULTIPLE PARTNERS ▨

Level of Restraint by @lemonjoonah

This is not strictly a Tae fic in that he is only one of three major players in this twisted masterpiece. Lemon is the undisputed queen of the surprise twist and this one is truly brilliant. People dropped this fic in the discord calling it the best fan fiction they had ever read and I am not here to argue with them at all. Fair warning, every word - every inch of this fic is sexy and it’s delicious brand of titillation is wrapped around your psyche good and tight by the end.

Four by @luxekook

The quadruplets next door are fueling your very lurid fantasies. It turns out they have some fantasies of their own... You will need water if you read this fic. This is the original patented Kim Taehyung Horny Hive Mind 4D Experience™

▨ NEIGHBORS AND ROOMMATES ▨

The Heat Wave Series by @curly-bangtan

The original story (chapter 1) in this series is definitely famous, but I don’t know how many people have read all 9 chapters and if you haven’t, you are really missing the incredible journey of two very horny idiots stumbling recklessly towards real and amazing love. Everything is set off when the air conditioner breaks and a pair of wild roommates shed their inhibitions along with their clothes.

Flicker by @chimoona

So this fic started out with adorable neighbor dynamics and ended with erotic rope tying. Baby I was ABOUT IT. This was so bloomin hot and also like sweet and tender. Really a sexy and sentimental treasure.

Not Your Typical Flower Shop Story by @jungtaeyoongles

This story goes from “aww” to “WHAT THE-” real quick. Fast paced plot and twist after twist turn the whole flower shop au upside down and then inside out. I can’t say more because spoilers but like - WOW.

▨ TABOO THEMES and DARK FIC ▨ (Sex Work/Power Imbalance/Very Unsafe Sex)

Extracurricular by @ppersonna

One of my favorite professor-student AUs. The reader writes her gorgeous professor a borderline erotic analysis of several major works of art and he feels compelled to discuss it with her privately. Lindy really outdid herself on this one. It is scorchin. Professor Tae is actually really sweet and somehow that just makes the whole thing hotter.

Akrasia by @nitaescence

This is insanely hot. Emphasis on the insane because it’s basically a super erotic romp where you have sex with a man you don’t know (Taehyung) on a crowded public bus. I literally felt my blood pressure going up the longer I read. Whew.

The Client by @jungkookiebus

This one hit me right in the feels. Taehyung is a sweet and lonely man who has a standing Wednesday appointment with an upscale sex worker. As the story progresses, feelings become involved on both sides. When I say I am checking her page thrice daily for part three... This is so engrossing. And this Tae. I just want to hold him.

Daffodil Dreams by @sombreboy

Tread carefully ladies and gents. This story is excellent, but it is easily the darkest fic on the list and, if you choose to read it, please read the trigger warnings carefully. The reader is a psychologist called in to analyze a very dangerous criminal. As their sessions progress, however, several boundaries are crossed.

Obey by @jjkfire

Taehyung is the most feared and ruthless member of the local mafia and you are the world’s most inept escort. You needed a job, but had no real interest in sex work and you’ve managed to fly under the radar as a glorified waitress until Kim Taehyung himself walks into your agency and decides that you’re the only girl he wants. Oh my gosh I loved this story so much. It was downright amazing and there is a surprise at the end that makes everything even sweeter.

#kim taehyung #bts #kim taehyung smut #kim taehyung x reader #kim taehung fanfiction #viola recommends #fic recs #I CANNOT BELIEVE TUMBLR FORMATTED MY POST SO MY BANNER IS HIDDEN I WANT TO LITERALLY CRY #TUMBLR we are FIGHTING oh my gosh

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janekfan · 3 years

Text

Duress

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30665933

As ever, Jon’s timing was impeccable.

Impeccably awful.

Barely a month into his new “promotion” and already he could feel a toll. If he was completely honest with himself he hadn’t expected quite this level of work despite not being a stranger to long hours. To put it bluntly, the archives were a mess. Gertrude hadn’t left any clues as to how filing was done and it all seemed so haphazard he had to wonder if it wasn’t on purpose. He was up to his elbows in files he’d found in a water stained cardboard box when Tim sauntered up, looking down his nose at the papers in disgust. Jon wished he would help and didn’t know how to ask for it with their relationship as strained as it currently was. Tim had silently allied with Sasha when Elias made the announcement and they were all navigating the current situation gingerly. Jon didn’t blame him. She needed support. The statements and recordings and organization could wait until they were ready.

“Hey there, boss. Was wondering if you wanted to come out with us tonight.”

Oh, of course. It was Friday, wasn’t it.

Jon looked around his office, strewn with papers and post-its and worse off than it was this morning. Guilt welled up in him like blood from a wound. Tim was losing his already limited patience with him.

“Uh, yes, that would be nice. It has been a while.” He leaned back and wiped his dusty hands off on his trousers adding to the light streaks already there.

“Yeah, I’ll say. Too important to hang out with us now, ey Jon? Now that you’re a corporate bigwig?”

“I am not!” Tim held his hands up in supplication.

“Just kidding, yeah?” It didn’t sound like it was just anything; certainly not the jokes Tim used to tell. This just felt cruel, probably because Tim thought it was the truth. Jon could admit he was prickly and difficult and knew he never won over many. If he lost Tim and Sasha over this he didn’t know what he would do. “Usual place.”

That exchange happened hours ago and Jon didn’t feel well. He couldn’t go out like this, pulse pounding, head throbbing, vision swimming. He’d have to cancel. But he’d canceled at the last minute on them so many times before and he could tell their patience was wearing thin. How was he supposed to choose between his new job and his old friends? Why couldn’t he just be normal for once?

Why did Tim choose now to forget this sometimes happened?

Any moment they’d be by to collect him and Jon was so dizzy he wasn’t altogether sure if he could stand. He hadn’t felt like this since Uni when he and Georgie spent many a late night studying for exams. He’d crashed shortly after, struck down with some illness or another, and barely remembered more than a glimpse of her face staring down at him with concern. Surely they would understand?

“Ready, boss?” Casual with his jacket over one shoulder, Tim leaned into the office, scowling when he laid eyes on him, exasperated. “Really, Jon?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Tim scoffed. “S’sorry. I know it’s rude, I’m just. Tired.” That was a part of it anyway.

“You know, Jon, you say you still want to be friends and then never hang out with us.”

“I know, I’m--”

“You’ve cancelled so many times at this point I don’t know if it’s even worth inviting you.” Jon’s heart nearly stopped, a painful lurch that all but choked him.

“...Please.” Bare more than a whisper, Tim raised an eyebrow in question.

“What?”

“P’please keep inviting me.” If Jon wasn’t so sure he’d pass out upon standing he’d be springing to his feet. “I, I, I’m there. Next Friday, bells on, I swear.”

“And tonight?” Cold sweat slipped down his spine. But if he rested this weekend, took it easy next week, maybe asked them for a bit more help-- “Sure, boss.”

The weekend came and went and Jon tried every trick in the small volume of self-care tips he actually paid attention to. He wanted to show them what they meant to him, even Martin, new and bungling as he was. If they were to be a team, he needed to get to know him. And besides, Sash and Tim enjoyed his company. Had been inviting him out the whole while. Unfortunately, Jon was still exhausted from not sleeping well for bad dreams and restlessness, not eating enough because anxiety turned his stomach. But he’d made a promise and he vowed to make good on it.

Monday saw a fresh pile of work stacked neatly in the center of his desk blotter, old assignments shoved off to the side and a note in Elias’ neat scrawl informing him that this was the priority. Jon spent the next hour putting together the things he’d been in the process of collating and jotting down a list of instructions that even Martin could follow before dragging it out to where his assistants were working.

“Hullo, Jon.” Bright and cheery, Martin chirped a greeting and Jon forced a small smile.

“Morning.” Tim and Sasha nodded back, expectant looks on their faces. “I, um. Well, Elias brought in some more documents for me to take a look at.”

“Promotion came with some extra obligations, did it?” Tim laughed, elbowing Sasha good naturedly.

“Yes, I suppose it, it did.” Jon shifted nervously, anticipating the answer even before he’d asked. “I was hoping you would be able to help me with these ones?” He lifted the stack and Tim made a show of whistling.

“Wow, I mean. I would, boss, but I’m in the middle of this other thing you gave me last week.”

“Oh. I was. Well I was rather hoping you’d have wrapped that up by now.” The room began to tunnel and Jon staggered just a step even though he was standing still. He hadn’t been able to use his cane and handle this veritable mountain.

“You and me both.”

“Jon?” Martin’s worry was more embarrassing than anything else and he forced himself to focus despite the trembling in his hands. “I can take some of them.” But the messy heap on the corner of his desk in danger of toppling hardly seemed smaller than it had the week before. It wouldn’t do to add even more to what the other man couldn’t seem to handle but...

“Th’thank you for the offer.” He selected a few slim folders and handed them off and somehow the work in his arms became heavier.

“No problem!” Martin was beaming so he must have done something right and it sparked a bit of warmth in him. “I’ll make an exchange for another, soon as I finish this up.”

Tuesday went much the same, though Jon’s insomnia and sore joints forced him out of bed and he decided to use the gift of time to come in early to get a bigger start on the old mess so he had more time for the new mess and while Martin was slow it helped to have someone else tackling it with him. He suspected that Tim and Sasha were making a statement in their being shiftless and Jon couldn’t find it in himself to address it instead hoping that once he proved himself they could move past it. Using the stairs proved foolish as Jon nearly took a header from vertigo and he thanked the stars he was early and alone so he could sit down and wait for the episode to pass. Lord, he hurt. Joints on fire, white-hot fire pokers of pressure needling his hips. He hung his head when tears of frustration began to fall.

Wednesday found Jon buried alive and struggling. He had to stay late in order to finish out the day and by the time he made it home he could barely stand, falling into bed and waking the next morning still dressed in his wingtips and work clothes. Marginally better for the rest, Jon used the boon to plow through the rest of Elias’ assignment, skipping lunch he knew he wouldn’t eat anyway to finish.

“Oh, Tim!” He called out his door as he passed, relieved that he wasn’t ignored. “When you have a moment could you take these up to Rosie?”

“Sure thing, boss.”

Jon pushed away the disappointment when the end of day came, his assistants left, and the box still sat on the corner of his desk.

No bother, Tim probably forgot and Jon searched the stacks for the department’s hand truck with its one sticky wheel and found it loaded up with more of Gertrude’s chaos. He didn’t have much choice than to shove at it unceremoniously until it toppled over, papers fluttering out of their folders and under shelves. He’d just have to deal with it later. What’s one more thing? When he tugged, his shoulder very nearly came loose and his yelp of pain was swallowed up in the dark and the dust. Noone around to hear him anyway.

More tears.

He was a mess.

He went along more carefully, cursing the squeak of the blasted wheel, cursing Tim for his forgetfulness, cursing Elias for letting him even steal the job from Sasha to begin with. Cursing time itself because he wanted to go home and it was already an hour past.

“Rosie, I’m so glad I caught you.” She was just starting to collect her bag. “Can I leave this for Elias to collect when he gets in?”

“Of course, Jon!” She helped him lift it to her desk and disguised his taking a rest with interest in her writing a note of explanation.

“Thank you, you really are a lifesaver.” Jon chuffed a weak and humourless laugh. “I don’t know what I would have done.”

“Of course, dear. Just take that along with you so I don’t have to hear about it from the night staff.” The dolly. Yes. It would have to go back down with him wouldn’t it?

Thursday Jon could barely lift his arms. The debacle from the day before had taken whatever they had left and he was scared that at any moment, his arm would drop from its socket. That happened sometimes. So far, no doctor had figured out why.

“Ready for tomorrow?” Tim jolted him out of staring at his pen cup and the surprise set his heart to racing. Jon didn’t know how many minutes he’d lost.

“Ah, uh.” Absently, he rubbed at his chest, willing the battering tempo to slow before it shook him apart.

“Boss.” It sounded too much like a warning and felt too much like his last chance to prove he had what it took to be their friend.

“I’m not backing out!” Quick to cover up his fumble. “Don’t forget to collect me.”

“Never!” Jon couldn’t help but hope he did.

It was a short walk to their usual pub and Jon pushed himself to keep up, breaking out in cold sweat as the nausea from his laboring heart rocked his stomach. He couldn’t wait to sit down. They were regulars enough that the first round appeared before them as if by magic. Jon sank into the conversation around him, sipping from his pint, wishing it was water, and interjecting when he felt up to it. Martin kept staring at him. Jon didn’t have the energy to pretend.

“Oh come on, boss! Our company can’t be that boring!” Tim was three drinks in and clapped Jon hard enough on the shoulder to rattle his bones. Jon bit his tongue so hard he tasted iron.

“Ah, no, just a long week.” His voice was papery as a wasp nest, thin and drawn. “Looking forward to a lie in.”

“Aren’t we all?” Tim drained his glass and Jon looked down at the worn scratched surface of the table to hide his irrational irritability with the statement. He didn’t corner the market on sleeping in. The others deserved a restful weekend just as much as he did.

“I’m surprised you managed to make it through Elias’ busy work.” Sasha murmured, selecting a chip and using it as a means for sauce delivery.

“Martin helped a great deal.”

“That’s kind of you to say, Jon, but we know who worked his way through the majority.” They exchanged a warm smile.

“Yes, well. Any you did, I didn’t have to. It was very much appreciated.” Martin was bright red and Jon’s cheeks were warm, from alcohol or otherwise, and Tim’s cawing laughter rang bright as a bell over the cacophony around them.

“You’ve broken him, Jon!” They caroused well into the evening until Martin mercifully faked a yawn and explained he had an early morning. Jon almost hugged him and if it weren’t for the state of his shoddy joints he may well have. Holding up a very drunk and very affectionate Tim, Sasha nodded to him.

“This was lovely.” Her grin beamed. “We’ll have to do this again.”

Jon dreaded it.

That month they dragged Jon out to the shops for lunch a few times each week. Catching dinner after work became a regular occurance. Sasha hosted a movie night one weekend. Friday nights at the pub continued.

Jon wasn’t sure which was worse; the exhaustion or the steadily increasing pain, but it felt worth it when the frosty attitude began to thaw. They were still friends. That’s what counted even though the littlest tasks had become huge when faced with choosing which ones to do at the cost of himself. He knew better and still he was overspending, going into the red just to collect more and more debt with no way to catch up other than lose his friends. Something was going to break. Jon hoped it wouldn’t be him.

Groggy, slow, Jon came to with his cheek mashed into the statement he’d been skimming. Something was...wrong. His heart. Racing, pounding against his breastbone, trying to hammer its way to freedom or jump straight out his throat. He blinked hard, trying to bring anything into focus and failing. The first attempt to stand had him face down on the desk again, the next he took in steps.

Sit up. Let the room stop moving.

Breathe. In. Out. Count them.

Ignore the agonized beating. Ignore the fear that came with it.

Stand. Slow. Wait. Patient.

Let the world fall still.

Jon didn’t bother picking up his bag. His phone, wallet, keys, all in his trouser pockets.

“Sorry all. I. I think.” He paused, gulping for air, swallowing none. “Need to go, go home.” If what made it out of him were even close to words he’d consider himself lucky. His tongue was thick and clumsy in his mouth, tripping up the syllables fighting their way past the rabbit-quick hammering,

hammering,

hammering.

“What’s wrong?” Sasha was at his elbow, Tim halfway out of his seat.

“Not feeling well.”

“You sure you can get home, boss?” Nodding absently Jon made his way carefully to the lift before Martin could offer to call him a cab or something equally ridiculous.

Muscle memory got him back to his flat and it wasn’t until he collapsed into bed that he remembered it was Friday and he’d again ducked out on drinks again. Tears collected on his lashes, slipping down his temples when his trembling got the better of them. They. This. All his hard work and he’d undone it. Before the encroaching black overtook him he fumbled with his phone, tapping out an apology to the group chat and barely managing to hit send.

He slipped in and out. Lucid one moment, hallucinating the next, burning away to nothing and ending up on the floor more than once after passing out attempting to, to…didn’t matter. There wasn’t enough in him to attempt it again, opting to lay flat on his back in the sweat soaked sheets trying not to move for the pain. For a wild, hysterical moment Jon was sure he would die here, alone, phone just out of reach, melting in wretched heat and so uncomfortably hot it was difficult to remember a time when he wasn’t.

Jon hurt.

Everything was darkness and agony. Each tremor an earthquake threatening to tear him apart. He was trapped in treacle, done up in bits of twine, strung together with razor wire and unable to move. It was a familiar voice that clawed its way down to him. Lifted him up, low and soft, a stone tumbling down a mountain and catching Jon up in the landslide. He thought he answered, made some attempt at a response, drawn out of him like water from a well. Hurting and disoriented Jon drifted. Consciousness slipping in and out through his fingers like the surf, breath like coals banked beneath his ribs. Jon’s body wouldn’t cooperate as it should and time seemed to skip from one moment to the next between long bouts of nothing.

A heavy palm, cool and comforting, came to rest over his forehead and Tim materialized out of nowhere, startling Jon enough that he keened when each joint shrieked and protested at his moving.

“Sh, sh, shh.” Tim. That’s right...he wasn’t sure it was true, but he was wiping down his over sensitive skin with a damp flannel to quell the coals for a handful of moments.

“Wha’s..?”

“When you didn’t come in yesterday or this morning, we figured we should check on you.” So many words. Too many to parse more than a few but the flood came anyway, streaking into his greasy hair because he’d been sure no one would come and Tim kept applying the cold compress; wrung, applied, repeated, and Jon sobbed with the simple relief of it, tears cool against the incandescence of his skin.

“Are you...l’leaving?” He winced at the raw scrape of his voice against his vocal cords. “Been. You’been s’so angry with m’me.” Tim’s face fell and Jon wanted to apologize. It was the illness, that’s all, lowering his defenses and simmering his many insecurities just below a fractured awareness that refused to keep them in where they belonged. Instead his breath hitched and he choked on a whimper of defeat. “Tri’tried so hard ‘nd still. M’sorry.”

“It’s alright.” So unbelievably soft. Jon thought he’d ruined this long ago and the tears came somehow faster. “I think we need to call an ambulance, bud.”

“No...nonono…” Jon didn’t want to be poked and prodded by strangers and stuck full of needles alone in a cold sterile room. Even in his ragged state Jon could see Tim was torn. “Pl’please.”

“Okay, okay,” he soothed, gentling him with a touch. “But if you can’t keep this down we have to go.” Medicine. Lucozade. Fed to him mouthful by mouthful in the intervals he was awake.

Quiet sounds he recognized, Martin. Sasha. Hushed. Martin tipped the next sip into him and Jon wasn’t aware of much, but he was aware enough to know he was disgusting after having slept and sweated in the same bedclothes for days. Martin wouldn’t hear of it and Jon didn’t know where to put all the feelings and he was so tired of crying and couldn’t seem to stop.

Sasha, they told him, has gone out for supplies and they asked if he’d like help getting out of his uncomfortable trousers and button down, now missing several buttons no doubt from his restlessness. Jon didn’t trust his voice, only nodded, trying and failing to sit up, losing consciousness entirely when one of them levered him up with an arm behind his shoulders. Tim was explaining it to Martin when he came around, peering up at them through fluttering lashes.

“S’al’...” Clumsy, the words wouldn’t come to him.

Together, they shift his limbs, passing him back and forth between, one moment resting against Martin’s chest, another tucked into the hollow where Tim’s shoulder and neck meet. He should be helping but he can barely stay with them, just concentrating on the pulse currently beneath his ear to ground him. Carefully, as though he is some precious thing, they rid him of the awful, disagreeable stickiness and their low murmuring seems such an intimate thing. He isn’t worth it. This. And then soft, clean clothes, well worn and familiar and when Jon surfaces again he’s with Tim on the sofa, bundled up and more comfortable than he’d been in months.

Martin is changing his sheets.

“I’m sorry, Jon.” He didn’t know what for and shook his head, or tried anyway. “Made you think you had to push yourself like that. Ignored how exhausted you were and guilt tripped you into not telling us ‘no’.” Lord, so many words, Jon dizzied himself trying to catch them, hold them, decipher them. “You should be able to trust us, and I.” A suspicious sniff. “I’m sorry.” Jon relaxed into him with a hum he hoped conveyed something.

“I think I remembered which meds he tolerated best.” Sasha elbowed her way into the flat, face lighting up when she saw he was awake. Kind of. “Jon! Thank god. You were in such a bad way.” Whispery and rushed, the same feeling in it as with Tim. “Let's get you dosed up and back to bed, okay?”

It was late evening judging by the window. The reading lamp was on. Martin sat beside him with a book he couldn’t recognize by cover alone.

“Mah’in..?” So it hadn’t all been a hallucination after all.

“There you are.”

“Miss’d work.” He nodded, uncapping a bottle of sports drink and holding it to his chapped lips. Jon drank what he could.

“Not important right now, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Gave us a scare.” Easy, like it was nothing in the world to do it, Martin laid the back of his fingers against his neck, against his throat. “That’s a relief. Tim called us in a panic.” By way of explanation. “But I think you’re past the worst of it now.”

“Don’, don’ remember.”

“Probably for the best. We’ve decided, if you’re alright with the arrangement, that one of us should stay with you.” That sounded okay even if normally Jon would fight it tooth and nail. He did remember being alone and scared. “Tim and Sash are talking. I get the feeling we missed something very important.”

“Mm.” Jon tried to sit up and swooned, came around with a pillow behind his back.

“Dunno if I’ll get used to that any time soon though, I’ll be honest.”

“Happens sometimes. Th’that’s why…” Martin picked up the thread.

“You cancelled on us. I understand. And I hope, I hope you know you can always tell me, us, I hope, when you need to. There’s no shame in it. I’ll admit, I’m upset with Tim.” He fussed with the quilts, smoothing out imaginary creases. “He knew this was something to look out for and he didn’t tell me.”

“No, it’s--”

“Nothing to be embarrassed about.” Martin spoke with conviction. “Ever. I don’t want you to, to push yourself like this for a blasted game night. We can do other things as a department. Things that don’t jeopardize your health like this again.”

“Martin’s right.” Sasha sat at his feet, draping a hand over his ankle, and Tim stood at the foot of the bed. He looked proper chastised, eyes rimmed in red and swollen from crying.

“I’m so sorry, Jon. So sorry. I should never--I was angry and frustrated and used it to. To hurt you. Make you think we’d stop being friends over a stupid night out. Not like I lifted a hand to help you! When I knew you wouldn’t ask a second time!”

“S’okay.”

“It’s not!” Tim was a staunch friend. The type who got to know you so well and sometimes aimed too precisely at your soft parts. He didn’t need another telling off. Exhaustion lapping at his limbs, Jon curled his fingers in poor imitation of a come hither gesture. Willingly, Tim allowed himself to be pulled along by it, slotting himself beside Jon on the mattress to hide his own tears in his chest. Graceless, Jon managed to tug a hand over the back of his head, tangling fingers in Tim's hair, surrounded by friends and not alone.

“Will be, then.”

#TMA #the magnus archives #season one #jon sims #martin blackwood #sasha james #tim stoker #insecurity #lack of communication #sickfic #sick jon #fever #chronic illness #ehlers danlos syndrome #postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome #EDS #Pots #undiagnosed chronic illness

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insomniamamma · 3 years

Text

Rain: Ezra X F!Reader w/Cee

A/N: Prickle ‘verse. Takes place after Prickle but before Clean Dirt. Can be read as a one shot. Reader is established crew with Ezra and Cee. This was written for @autumnleaves1991-blog ‘s Writer Wednesday. I am woefully behind. I legit don’t understand how some of you write fics so fast!

Warnings: Mentions of war, a little bit of angst, but mostly gentle fluff. Feelings.

"Hey, Ez," Ezra is engrossed in grading the latest haul, testing for clarity and hardness. The surface of CJ's World is cut through with oxbow rivers, fantastic hoodoos of striated sandstone slashed with valleys deeper than any found in Sol system. You're digging for fossils. These rusty carved out plateaus were once the bed of an ancient ocean. Through some trickery of mineralization and chemistry the fossils of CJ's world shine like the fire opals of Old Terra. Big or small, they all have value. "Ezra," says Cee, "She's doing it again." "Doing what, birdie?" Ezra takes off the loupe and rubs at his eyes. Rain pelts on the tent, even sheltered the humidity soaks through. "Look." Ezra draws open the tent flap and sees you, standing in the rain, your head tilted up, no gentle shower this, rain that pelts down hard, turns the view across the sharp-cut canyons to silver curtains. Your clothes are plastered to you like a second skin. The rain actually aids your cause, washing away loose sediment, making the fossils easier to get to. You bow your head and let the stinging rain hit the back of your neck, let it fall on your closed eyes, your outspread arms. You laugh at the sky.

"What do you know about Falnost?" Cee's eyes go distant for a beat. She has a memory to rival Central computers.

"Hmmm..about two thirds standard grav, class C5, would've rated lower if not for it's primary. Dustball." "Mmm-hmm." "She's not used to real weather," says Cee. "Observant as ever," says Ezra. The rain is not gentle. It is chilly and hits your skin like handfuls of flung sand, but is so different from anything you've known, so new that you can't help but stand there with a huge, dumb grin plastered on your face, even as your teeth chatter with the cold. Ezra comes and gets you. "C'mon, Artichoke, while the rain does feel slinky and delicious it is not worth hypothermia." "Sorry, Ez," you say and allow him to take your hand and lead you back to shelter. This has become something of a habit. Many worlds in the fringe are dustballs like the one you fled, algae and fungus growing on every bit of pipe that condensation beads on. On Falnost they had a deal with the ice-miners, discounted accommodations on world or on station in exchange for chunks of ice from your primary's lush rings de-orbited, burning and evaporating as they fell. The idea was that, eventually, there would be moisture enough in the atmosphere to trigger rains. Someday Falnost will have an ocean, but you won't be there for it, half your life spent harvesting rills of water from sail-traps, careful irrigation channels covered over with plastic sheeting, calorie vs water consumption ratios discussed every planting season. How many credits do we net vs wha† we have to spend? You got fucking sick of dreaming of an ocean your great grandchildren might paddle in. You skimmed enough to buy your way off world and since then you have seen things that you never would have believed as a child. The first time you heard thunder was on a world called Ingwy. Your first thought was artillery. Ingwy was a contested world, Karoclan and Lussia Collective skirmishing over land rights, while small stakes droppers like you and Ez and Cee swooped in to reap the spoils while the big corps and clans fought each other. It was the middle of the night and you were on your feet instantly, railgun in hand, screaming that there was incoming, to take cover. Someone had flicked on a utility light hanging from a cord that swung, illuminating the inside of the tent in sickening arcs, and there's another explosion, this one so loud you feel the pressure change in your ears, hear your own voice crying out in tandem, white hot light even through the thick weave of the tent. "It's just thunder," Ezra yells over the sound of rain slamming against the tent. "That was an explosion!" He presses gently on your arm until you lower the rails. "It's just loud," says Ezra, "It can't hurt us. We're safe here. Put the gun down." You set on the edge of your cot and put your face in your hands. "Kevva. You must think I'm the dumbest dirt-farmer this side of the Great Arm." The cot dips as Ezra sits beside you. "Not at all," he says, squeezes your shoulder, "I come from a backwater as well. First time I ever saw a proper ocean I nearly lost my breakfast right there on the beach." Thunder peals again and you flinch, shrink against him slightly. "Static electricity," says Ezra, "That's all it is. Builds up in the clouds and discharges into the ground." He keeps his hand on you as he speaks, fingers gently squeezing the juncture of your neck and shoulder, "The sound you hear is the air in the path of the lightning instantly heating and expanding. It makes a sonic shock wave, like any explosion." "Like the boom when ships lift," you say. "Just like that, Artichoke," he says, "Storm's already moving off, see?" The rain pelting the tent has settled into a steady drone. Thunder grumbles, a low, almost soft sound, not the air-rending explosion that shocked you out of sleep. "We should try to rest," says Ezra, gives your shoulder one more firm squeeze and a little shake, and when you look up, he's smiling, dimple just beginning to sink into his cheek. "Yeah," you say, "Okay." He kills the utility light and settles into his cot. You can hear the music from Cee's headphones, the tinny, fast pop she favors, threaded through the white noise of the falling rain. She slept through the whole thing.

The ancient life of CJ's world favored heptagonal symmetry, long-dead mollusks like seven-sided shields shine out of the rusty ground, the smallest the size of a fingernail, the largest the size of dinner plates. This is a good deposit. The small ones are fashioned into jewelry and buttons. "They take these great big ones and slice them micron thin," says Ezra, "Use them for window-glass in the temples of the Ephrate. They say it is like standing inside Kevva's very beating heart." "I can see why," says Cee, and so do you. The minerals that limn the shells shine translucent red with brilliant streaks of orange, yellow and even thin threads of green and blue. "They say that Kevva's first heart-beat ignited the explosion that became the universe," says Ezra. "You really believe that?" Asks Cee. "I don't know if believe is the right word," says Ezra, "We all grew up with these stories, why my grandmother..." You smile and tune him out. The back and forth banter between Cee and Ezra is a pulse that underlies every harvest. Cee has grown more talkative with each drop. Their relationship has a growing ease to it. You don't know exactly what happened between them before you joined up, but Cee's initial skittishness and Ezra's new healed scars tell a story you can guess the shape of. You let their conversation fade into the background, focus on the work of your hands, the meticulous scrape of soft sediment away from the hard glitter of the fossil, working around the seven sided edge, loosen enough up to get your fingers under the shell and you can pry it out, focus on the sounds of the world around you, no birds on CJ's world, but there is a range of bug-music, hidden in crevasses in the midday heat, all metallic clicks and creaks. Your rail-gun rests within easy reach, as always. You worm your fingers under the edge of the shell, wiggling it like a loose tooth, pops out of the sediment suddenly and you plop on your ass in the sandy dirt. "You all right there, Artichoke?" Ezra grins at you. "I'll recover." You dust yourself off and take your prize over to the tub that sits in the shadow of the pod. Further cleaning and grading can be done after dark. Nights are long at this latitude. You stretch in the sunlight. This job is a milk-run compared to other drops, but hunkering in the dirt still hurts your knees and you feel every bit of it when you stand. There's a familiar sound, like a rumbling stomach, thunder, you think and glance up. "Ezra!" Your voice is urgent and sharp and he's scrabbling up in a heartbeat, hand on the thrower at his hip, but when he stands there is only you pointing out across the vast expanse of sharp-carved valleys and hoodoos, lined in sharply delineated shadows and rusted cliffs where the light catches. The rainbow swoops skyward into grey cloud-bellies, a luminous curtain against the grey clouds, distant rain falling across the canyons.

"Ezra, look!" Ezra exhales, tension leaching out of his shoulders. His hand drops away from the thrower. "Oh, hey, a rainbow," says Cee. You lower your arm and just stare, transfixed at the glowing phantasm, brightening and dimming with the movement of clouds between it and the sun. "It's beautiful," says Ezra. But he's not looking at the rainbow. He's looking at you. Your eyes are wide, lit up with wonder, an unconscious smile creeping across your face, crinkling the corners of your eyes. The stiff professionalism that you wear as close as your body armor momentarily set down, forgotten. Ezra's heart squeezes. There you are, he thinks. He can count on his one hand the number of times he's seen you smile like this, open and carefree, rare and precious as the gems the three of you pull from the ground. Part of him wants to kiss you, but he suspects he would end up on his back in the dust with the barrel of your railgun jammed beneath his sternum, so instead he brushes his hand against yours and your fingers find his and squeeze hard. "I've never seen one before," you say, barely aware of Ezra's hand linked with yours, "I mean, I know what a rainbow is, but I've never seen one. Not in the real, just in vids." "They don't have rainbows on Falnost?" Says Cee. "They don't have rain on Falnost," you say, "Get's a little hazy sometimes after the ice-haulers make a drop, but that's about it." You shake your head as if just waking, the rainbow still shimmers, a bit duller now, and you are suddenly aware of Ezra's hand clasped with yours, the gentle pressure of his grasp. "Sorry," you drop your eyes, "I got distracted. We got work to do." Ezra gives your hand a squeeze and then lets you go. "Not to worry, Artichoke, rainbows are fleeting things. You look your fill while you can." And so you do. So does he.

#writers wednesday #ezra x reader #ezra x f!reader #ezra prospect x f!reader #ezra (prospect) x f!reader #ezra and cee

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peaceoutofthepieces · 3 years

Text

Tracing Time

Disclaimer that I am not a therapist nor bipolar but I have had a therapist so I’m hoping it’s not too awful of a depiction. Also want to add a minor content warning for the ending scene for homophobia, nothing explicit or even verbal, just a woman with an icky vibe.

Wednesday, 16:04

Song: Haux - Youth

Sander tips his head against the back of the couch and stares at the fan in the corner. It drones in slow circles, doing little more than disturbing the air right in front of it. It still makes the air in the room chilly enough that Sander is glad he’s wearing a sweater, though.

Between it and the window is an ‘abstract’ painting of the brain. Abstract in that the supposed organ is actually scattered in pieces throughout the canvas, all in various states of destruction. One has trees growing out of it, for example. Another is on fire; it’s Sander’s favourite.

He’d stared at it with an absurd sort of fascination in his first session, almost two years ago now, and his therapist, Agathe, had simply smiled at him and asked if he liked art. It was a sneaky way in, but he supposed that was the point. These meetings have gotten fewer and farther apart over that time, now that he can supposedly manage himself to a high enough standard on his own. Well, not quite enough, he supposes, or he probably wouldn’t be here at all. He can practically hear Agathe’s rebuke that they are just ‘casual check-ins’, and Sander is free to go whenever he pleases.

At every one of those reminders, Sander debates doing exactly that—getting up and going. Instead, he usually ends up slumping sullenly for a few minutes before Agathe prods her way back in.

They haven’t been mandatory in a long time, these sessions, but now there’s just something...reassuring. There are still times he doesn’t bother making an appointment, but knowing he can, and knowing that someone with the right knowledge doesn’t see any reason to worry about him, leaves a pretty damn good sense of relief.

And he did have a bit of a blip, at the start of the year. A few days in which he had to be prodded and coerced into just taking a drink of water, and had spent the majority of in his room. It had overlapped the holidays, so he’d let Robbe come and cocoon himself with him for a good chunk of the time.

It hadn’t made him better. But it made him...safe, or something similar, and that was the most he could hope for.

It was the coming-out-of-nowhere aspect that had shaken him a bit. He’d felt better, just keeping up his sessions then, being sure that he was at least doing alright with his medication. It’s working okay, the sitting and talking, so he shows up and just lets Agathe keep making sure.

The door cracks open now and she slips back in, dropping into the couch across from Sander and shooting him her usual calm, too-happy smile through light lipstick. It brings out her dimples. She’s not yet marred by wrinkles, but there’s something soft and aging about her face, anyway. Maybe it’s the graying roots. “Sorry about that, I forget this thing way too often.” She holds up the clipboard she’d carried in with an exasperated sigh, murmuring under her breath as she flicks through it and gets settled.

It’s all painfully familiar. It makes Sander smile.

He does like her. He’s never bothered denying that.

“So, how are we today?” It’s the same way she always starts, though it’s usually accompanied by—ah, there we go—clasped hands and another smile.

“Good,” Sander says. It’s automatic, but he also means it. Today is fine. It’s good.

She raises her brow when he doesn’t offer anything else. “Alright, good. Belated birthday wishes are in order, I believe?”

“Yeah, thank you. Just yesterday.”

She nods, and Sander does not think about how that was dumb when she obviously already knows. But she just settles back and crosses her legs. “Did you do anything to celebrate?”

Sander’s lips finally stretch in a smile of his own. He thinks it’s probably a little dopey, a little lovestruck, and she probably knows exactly what he’s going to say before he opens his mouth. “I had breakfast with my parents because Robbe took me out for dinner. Then he had a surprise party planned at our friends’ flat.”

“A party on a school night?” Agathe’s brows raise, and she shakes her head with a small laugh. “How do they deal with that today?”

“No clue,” Sander breathes out a huff of his own, trying not to feel overly amused by how Gilles had been in the class they shared with Sander earlier in the day. For once, they hadn’t said a word, just sat with their head down for the entire lecture, wincing every now and then when Sander laughed. He hadn’t even heard from any of the others, but Robbe had looked dead on his feet this morning, as well. He’d sent Sander a slightly sunnier selfie about half an hour ago, though, so he’s probably fine. “Not very well, I imagine.”

She tilts her head. “You seem well enough.”

“Well, I wasn’t drinking,” Sander shrugs.

At this, her serene little smile returns and her nod seems approving, and even though Sander hadn’t been looking for it, he grudgingly admits that it feels good. “I know that can be a difficult choice, and I’d rarely be able to make it myself,” she laughs again. “It’s great that you feel strong and comfortable enough in that group to do your own thing.”

Sander can’t help a little snort. “Are you kidding? It was one of them that had me drinking mocktails.”

“Really?” Agathe grins.

“Yeah, but then he got kinda drunk, and the last couple he made me were just disgusting because he thought these awful mixtures would be a really good idea.”

She laughs gently. “Well, it seems like it’s not the worst. ‘He’ isn’t Robbe?”

Sander shakes his head. “No, but one of his friends.”

“And what about Robbe, then? How is he?”

“Good.” A soft smile steals over his face. “The best, as always.”

“Treating you well.”

Sander’s smile widens, and he raises his brows without saying anything.

Agathe points at him. “Not what I meant, and not what I need to know.”

“I thought we can talk about whatever I want in here,” Sander says innocently.

“Alright, then,” she acquiesces. “Tell me all about it.”

Sander blanches. He thinks about it, opens his mouth, and then thinks about it some more. Closes his mouth again.

Her smile is downright devious. “That’s what I thought.”

He huffs. “It’s very healthy, just so you know.”

“I am sure.”

“Explorative. Always consenting, of course. Frequent.”

“All very normal and well for teenage boys,” she nods, and it would be completely serious if Sander couldn’t see her eyes twinkling. She pauses. “Although, I can’t call you that anymore. How does it feel to be twenty?”

Sander narrows his eyes. “Nice change of subject.”

“Oh, if you had more to say, please continue. Just a thought that occurred to me, I don’t mean to steer you, you know that.”

He does know that, and it makes him pause, because. How does it feel to be twenty? He realises he hasn’t thought about it. He realises that’s probably a good thing—that he didn’t get stuck on his birthday this year, that it was something he just enjoyed. Maybe it was simply going to sleep next to Robbe that helped, but no anxiety had taken over at the end of the day.

Even after his conversation with Jens. It’s not the most prominent part of the day of Sander’s mind even now. Instead he finds himself tucking his hand into his pocket and grasping Robbe’s key, running his thumb over the already familiar ridges.

He hadn’t even been worrying about his major fuck-up with his assignment. He’s still not.

He’s not really giving himself the chance.

Should he be?

“It feels the same as being nineteen,” he says finally. “I didn’t become a different human in a day, sadly.”

He can see her latching on. “Why do you say it like that?”

“Like what?”

“‘Sadly’?”

“It’s just...a joke.”

“Okay. But why do you think it’s funny?”

It annoys him, because she’s not judgmental. She’s neither amused nor disappointed. Just curious, earnest, all focused and attentive as she gazes calmly, patiently at Sander. Even his attempt at throwing her off, making her awkward, hadn’t shaken her. She remains unfazed, as always. It’s annoying.

“I don’t,” he admits, “I guess. I don’t know what I’d consider it.”

Agathe nods, softening in her understanding, and it makes something twist in his chest. “Are you not happy with the human you are, Sander?”

He gives her a bland look. When she keeps waiting, he shrugs, gesturing at the room.

“I know,” she says gently, “that of course, you feel you would be happier without your illness. But who you are now—what you study, what you’re passionate about, who you surround yourself with, how you live your life day to day. Do you wish all of that was different?”

Sander doesn’t have to think about it quite as much. “No. But I—“

He cuts himself off, hesitating. She raises her brows and nods, prompting him onwards but not pushing. If he really wants to wait her out, she’ll move on.

“I just wish that it was easier,” he says.

She tilts her head. “Easier how?”

“I messed up. At college. I completely missed an assignment because I mixed up the dates with another one.”

She winces in sympathy. “And what happened in that case? Does that mean that assignment is marked as a fail?”

“No,” Sander admits. “He gave me the time I thought I’d have to do it. Marked it down as an extension. It’s due on Friday now.”

“And is it going alright?”

“Yes.”

“You aren’t struggling with it too much?”

“No.”

“Then it seems like a fairly simple mistake. Easy to make and also, thankfully, easy to fix for you. It’s not unusual. But do you see it as an effect or consequence of your illness? Is that why it bothers you?”

Sander is quiet.

She sets her clipboard aside and leans forward, clasping her hands again as she considers him. “You have to remember, Sander, that all humans are not without fault. That regardless of who we are or what we may have to deal with, we will inevitably make mistakes. Not every slip up is a reflection of you, or a sign of failure, of failing health. You’ve actually been doing very well for a long time, now. But this belief, or this worry, that it is taking a hold of you again can sometimes help it take on that direction. Do you know what I mean?”

He takes a moment to absorb the words before nodding, knowing that if he answers too quickly she won’t believe he’s listening. But he does know. He understands. He hates that she’s probably right.

“So in a situation like this,” she continues, “do you not think, that it is more beneficial for you to focus on correcting your mistake and the fact that you have that ability? Not only mentally, but overall. That your professor is so understanding must mean he thinks well of you.”

He shouldn’t ask. He does anyway, quietly. “You don’t think it’s just pity, or something?”

“No,” she huffs. “No, I do not. Did he give you the impression that that was why he was doing it?”

Sander rolls his shoulders, adjusting his position. “No.”

Her smile returns. “I think,” she says slowly, “that this all shows just how well you’re doing. That you can acknowledge your doubts are likely just that—doubts—and that you take responsibility when you mess up and try to rectify it. Do you not think those are all good things? Things just as healthy as your sex life?”

It shocks a laugh out of him, and he sees her eyes crinkle. “Maybe,” he allows. “But it really is very healthy. I don’t know if anything else should be forced to live up to the standard.”

She represses a smile. “I remember there was a time when you would never have even spoken about this in such a kind way.”

She’s right. It still freaks him out, sometimes, the hypersexuality that can be induced by his mania, and it even made him hold back from Robbe after his episode, at the beginning. The last thing he wanted was to freak Robbe out, or disgust him, or make him uncomfortable. Then Robbe had seemed downtrodden for about a week before hesitantly asking Sander if he’d done something wrong or if Sander wasn’t actually attracted to him, and Sander had corrected his doubts and behaviour fairly quickly, because how dare the most beautiful boy in the universe think that?

“How do you feel you’re doing, Sander?” Agathe asks. “Because although I can observe, only you can feel what you feel. If you are genuinely worried, we can talk about it.”

“No,” Sander admits, after a moment. “I think everything is okay, actually.” Which is the best it can ever be, really.

Now her smile is genuinely happy. “I think so, too. And I think, even if it comes about that it’s not, you have a better support than ever. Do you agree?”

That one’s easy. “Yes.”

“It’s important to remember,” she adds, “maybe more than anything else, that if a lapse or an episode or whatever does occur, it’s not the end of the world. It’s also not a reflection of you, or a failure. Bad days, bad weeks, that’s all a part of life, and something we know you’re more than capable of dealing with and getting past. I’ve watched you do it many times before now and it’s an admirable, wonderful thing.”

Sander doesn’t actually know what to say to that. He just swallows, and feels oddly emotional, and offers her a slight nod.

The rest of the session passes in a lighter atmosphere. She lets him ramble about his assignment to alleviate what stress he does feel over it, and they spend the leftover minutes discussing his party.

Sander considers talking to her about the other thing on his mind, but ultimately decides against it. She’s already taught him how to work through that, and he really doesn’t think it will help to be putting it back into open air. Instead he leaves with a fairly upbeat farewell, and heads in the opposite direction from home.

Robbe had texted him about where he was meeting with Yasmina for a study session, and it takes Sander less than ten minutes of walking to get to the small cafe from his appointment. He sees the two of them as soon as he enters, but neither of them notice him, so he moves to the counter to buy himself a coffee before making his way over.

He’s a couple of feet away when Yasmina catches sight of him and offers her bright smile, and then Robbe is looking over his shoulder.

“Hello,” Sander greets them both, grinning as he cups Robbe’s cheek and leans down to kiss the crown of his head. “I can see we’re very busy.”

Robbe has his hand wrapped around Sander’s wrist, preventing him from pulling away. He turns his head and presses a sweet kiss to Sander’s palm, nuzzling lightly against it. Sander lets his fingers slip over and tug gently on the boy’s earring before Robbe tangles their hands together and offers Sander his crinkly smile. “Hi.”

“Not anymore, I guess,” Yasmina says dryly, but she’s still grinning when Sander glances back at her.

He raises his hands; well, his free one. “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt.” He hadn’t, really, he’d just wanted to be here when they were done to take Robbe home. He always likes being in the other boy’s company after a therapy session. Despite them not being quite so heavy at the moment, it’s always draining. Robbe is always able to replenish him with soft touches and soothing kisses, providing Sander with a silent, comforting company.

“Don’t be silly,” Robbe rebukes, predictably, swinging Sander’s hand idly now. “How are you?”

Sander squeezes his hand. “Good. I’m surprised you look so healthy, though.”

Robbe groans and buries his face against Sander’s arm. “Don’t. I’m suffering in silence.” He tilts his head ‘subtly’ at Yasmina.

Yasmina raises her brows at him, somehow managing to look wholly unimpressed and teasing all at once. “At least you can stave it off with sugar and coffee.”

Robbe has the sense to look sheepish, ducking his head in a nod. “You’re right, sorry, sorry.” He lets out a sigh. “You’re on too high of a level for me, Yasmina.”

“Queen shit,” Sander agrees, just to earn one of the girl’s unimpressed glances for himself. “Should I run now?”

She rolls her eyes. “Just sit down and drink your coffee. And keep your hands to yourself, if you can manage it? I still need my study partner, thank you.”

Sander grins and obeys, swinging a seat from the next table around to join them, dropping into it happily. He doesn’t place it as close to Robbe’s as he’d like, but Robbe leans into him for a moment anyway before refocusing his attention on his friend.

For the first while, Sander is content to listen and sip his coffee, feeling tiredness begin to creep into his bones. He lets his head loll against his own shoulder, trailing his eyes over Robbe’s profile and drifting into a sort of daydream. He can see the boy’s lips moving, but he has no idea what either of them are saying. They only let out the occasional comment, trading questions and answers and sighs and mutters. Robbe’s eyes are still red and a little puffy, a sign of his lingering exhaustion. He rubs at them absently as he looks down at his book and lets out another sigh, and leaves an eyelash on his cheek.

Sander reaches out and gently swipes it away with his thumb, an entirely mindless action that has Robbe looking at him in surprise before breaking out into a smile. He catches Sander’s hand before Sander can withdraw it completely, laying it on the table next to him. Instead of holding it, Robbe runs his hand along Sander’s sleeve, rubbing the soft seam between his fingers as he continues his work.

For some reason, it makes Sander blush. He’s sure his smile is unbearably happy, and he flicks a glance at Yasmina just to make sure she doesn’t know, only to catch her eye. She’s already smiling at him, and she purses her lips and raises her brows, teasing. Sander pulls a face at her, and she simply shakes her head as her smile widens.

“Can you work on your assignment while you’re waiting for us?” Robbe questions suddenly, drawing Sander’s attention back with a tilt of his head.

Sander glances at his bag, which he’s carried with him all day since he had to go straight to his session from a class. He considers for a moment but ultimately shakes his head. With yesterday being an exception, he usually prefers working at night—and when it’s not cutting into time he could otherwise spend admiring Robbe. “I’ll work on it when I go home,” he promises. Then, because he can’t help himself, “You’re too distracting.”

Robbe’s grin is small, and exasperated, but he yearns towards Sander, leaning across the table. Sander meets him and presses a quick kiss to his lips, then his nose, his cheek, before resolutely sitting back and waving at the textbooks and notes strewn in front of them. Robbe’s grin turns into a pout for half a second before he squeezes Sander’s wrist and focuses again.

Sander sinks back with a sigh, enjoying the feeling of Robbe’s fingers brushing against his wrist and skimming his hand, but he doesn’t feel quite as settled. There’s a prickle skittering over his neck, and he looks to his side and finds a woman staring at him.

Her nose is screwed, and there’s a vague curl to her lip. The disgust in her expression only heightens as Sander meets her eye and she flicks her gaze down to where Robbe’s hand rests over his. Sander can only stare back, dumbfounded.

When she looks at his face again, he raises his brows, as utterly bored as he can manage, and it only takes a moment for her to look away and get out of her seat across the cafe.

Sander tenses as she gets closer, hand enclosing around Robbe’s entirely, but she merely offers him another look before leaving. He deflates, squeezing Robbe’s fingers. It’s only when Robbe squeezes back that he panics again and quickly looks at the boy. But Robbe is in the middle of asking Yasmina a question, neither of them having noticed a thing.

“I meant to wish you a happy birthday,” Yasmina says, breaking him out of the moment. His mind has fogged over, and it takes him a moment to process the words. By then, she’s already moving on. “How was the party, anyway?”

Robbe and Sander share a look, and Yasmina waits. “Jens hardly said a word to me the whole day,” Robbe tells Sander, but he seems more amused than upset, so Sander allows himself to laugh.

“You didn’t tell him we didn’t actually do anything?”

“I did!” Robbe raises his hands. “He didn’t believe me.”

“What, what did you do to Jens?” Yasmina asks, confused. Then, after a second, “You know what, no, I probably don’t want to know.”

She cringes, and Robbe apologises profusely as Sander bursts into laughter, the weird incident from moments ago already forgotten.

Totally forgotten.

~^~

previous/next

#wtfock #sobbe #rosander #robbe x sander #sander driesen #sander season #tracing time #had to have yasmina in here at some stage!

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ginger-danica-snapps · 3 years

Text

WIP Wednesday. A snip from my back in time, fix it Jonsa story and my Ned marries Cersei instead of Catelyn AU.

"Here,” the child said and while Sansa was kneeling another person slipped from between the trees. This time a woman in a long flowing, tan dress, but her hair looked like the bark of the weirwood. She held something in her hands.

Jon watched as Sansa realized what it was and began to stand and protest, but Jon placed a hand on her shoulder to keep her kneeling.

“þú eru dawninn bringer, protector ór fólk,inn móðir ór allr hverr eru eigi dauðr. Vargr dróttning fran Norðririnn,” the child intoned as the woman came to stand before and raised a crown of weirdwood branches somehow petrified into a glistening, smooth crown with wild branches reaching to the moonlight.

Old tongue again, Jon realized and began to work through the translation, suddenly more grateful to his time among the freefolk.

“You are the dawnbringer, Protector of the People, Mother of All who are not dead. Wolf Queen from the North,” he murmured quietly, but kept his hand on her shoulder when she immediately began to protest.

The crown was nestled onto her head and Jon was moving to the front, pulling Dark Sister from sheath again and laying her tip down onto the ground with his head bowed.

“I swear to be the sword that guards you till there is no breath left in my body. Night gathers, and now my watch begins. It shall not end until my death. I shall take no other to wife, hold no lands that are not yours as well, and father no children that do not call you mother. You are the queen I choose. You are my queen, now and always.”

It was a cold morning when Cersei Lannister pulled her cloak around her shoulders and slipped out of her room. Melara and Jeyne already waited for her patiently and she slipped past them without a word of greeting. They followed silently as Cersei expertly navigated her way outside of Casterly Rock without running into nary a servant or soldier who would scamper off to tattle.

They reached the woods without speaking and Cersei turned with a sharp grin. She held her hands out to the two girls and they smiled back and reached out to clasp hands. Turning they ran into the forest, laughing, as Cersei led them to the small creek.

“Where did you say she was?” Cersei asked as they cautiously stepped onto slick rocks, never letting go of each other.

“A good walk down the creek and even longer into the dark of the woods. Cersei, are you sure we should do this?” Melara whispered.

“Of course,” Cersei answered automatically and turned to go deeper into the woods while tugging at their hands.

“Your father, Cersei, we would be in so much trouble,” Jeyne added as she slightly resisted.

Cersei sighed. What use was having companions if they weren’t willing to take chances? As always Cersei struggled with the idea that these were her childhood friends, but that they were first put in place by her Aunt Genna and likely reported much of her adventures. She was still pretty convinced that it was Jeyne who had reported Cersei and Jaime switching places every other day in his training.

She missed the physical exertion of swords play and the way she was able to hit the mark every time she released her bow string.

Still, it was her responsibility to soothe her companions when fearful.

“You will almost always be the highest ranking woman in the room, Cersei. One day, you will marry a Prince of Dorne if all goes as planned and only the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, her daughters, and the wife of the Prince will outrank you. You need to always be the calming presence for your ladies. They must never see your fear, because then they will remain calm and know all is well,” Joanna Lannister brushed Cersei’s hair back from her face in soft, strong strokes.

Her mother was always soft and strong. Cersei wanted to be just like her when she married and took over her own household.

“I heard father say he wished me to marry Prince Rhaegar, Mother,” Cersei answered quietly.

Her mother’s hands froze for a second, but then she began her strokes anew.

“Your father thinks he can sway Aerys, yes, but I fear, little light, that Aerys will only seek to enrage your father. Lions were not meant to marry Dragons, my daughter. Remember that, if you remember nothing else. We may work in service, even be close in friendship as I was once to Queen Rhaella, but we must never join with the dragon,” Joanna whispered, “I would not have my little light burned by a dragon’s fire.”

Cersei spun around again and squeezed her companion’s hands.

“You need not fear my father, Jeyne,” Cersei assured her, though she also felt her very heart tremble at the idea of being caught.

They continued into the forest, following the stream till it ended in a pretty little waterfall, before tipping deeper into the forest than Cersei had ever traveled. They found Maggy the Frog’s house tucked into a dark clearing, behind a small pond. Moss grew over the old stone and the roof was thatched.

Badly, Cersei noted to herself. There were holes and water gathering in a way that her father would never have allowed Lannisport to weather.

Her mother would have cared about the witch in the wood, but her father would likely burn her out if he realized she was here.

“I…,” Jeyne stuttered and Melara and Cersei turned.

Jeyne wrenched her hand from them and looked around with wide, frightened eyes.

Cersei nodded and gave a slight shoulder shrug, “Walk back to the water, Jeyne. Melara, go with her. I will speak to this Maggy the Frog and come meet you.”

Jeyne barely dipped a slight curtsy to her liege’s daughter, before lifting her skirts and running back the way they came. Melara gave Cersei a concerned look and Cersei thought she could see real concern. She motioned her away.

She waited till both girls were gone and turned back and set her shoulders with determination and marched up and knocked on the door. If her companion’s had stayed, Cersei would perhaps have marched in with no regard to the owner just to show her seniority on her father’s land.

“A humble lady will always garner more loyalty among her compatriots than a prideful one,” her mother’s voice whispered in her ear.

“The lion does not lay down and sleep with the sheep,” her father followed.

“Come in, little lion child,” a voice called out and Cersei opened the door and softly stepped in, her boots already ruined from the walk.

“Are you Maggy the Frog?” she asked, forcing strength into her tone.

The woman cocked her head and Cersei was at least glad to find the woman did not resemble anything like a scary monster. In fact, she was quite boring.

“We wanted to see the monster,” Oberyn Martell said and Cersei rolled her eyes.

Everyone wanted to see her little imp of a brother.

“He’s just a baby. An ugly baby, but a baby,” Elia added and Cersei resisted the urge to snap back with a cutting remark.

He might be the curse upon her life, but he was her little brother and no one else was allowed to speak ill of a Lannister.

No one understood that Tyrion was a monster because he killed her mother, not because he was a misshapen little thing.

“Often go into your thoughts, girlie? I’m the one you call Maggy the Frog and I assume you’ve come to hear your future?” the woman said.

Cersei’s eyes widened. That, however, was not boring.

“Yes. I have. My father and aunt say I am to marry Prince Rhaeger, but my mother wished me to marry Prince Oberyn, though my father refused the Princess of Dorne. I want to know if I am to marry the prince and one day be Queen? How many children will I have?” Cersei eagerly stepped forward.

She would love her children and they would love her. They would never fear to whisper their secrets, hopes, and fears.

Maggy the Frog tilted her head and stared at her before reaching down and pulling a small dagger from beside her. Cersei took a step back, fear dogging at her step, before forcing herself to stand tall again.

“This is my father’s land and if you harm a hair on my head then he will gouge your eyes out and you will not see any future again, certainly not your own,” Cersei said coldly and startled when Maggy tilted her head back and laughed uproariously.

“Oh, little lion girlie, you are quite the opposite of what I saw for today as it is. Let us see what else has changed. A little taste of your blood girl to be able to see what is going to happen. To see if gold crowns and cold shrouds no longer lay across the lion spawn,” the woman explained and held the knife hilt out.

Cersei took a deep breath and stepped forward to take it. She laid it down easily onto her thumb and gave a slight whimper when it cut into her skin and blood welled to the top. She went to hold the knife back out, but found herself being yanked forward and her finger in the witches mouth.

Cersei had barely had time to react before she was released and she cupped her hand to her chest.

“Three questions, girlie, but most do not like my answ…” the woman made a sudden sharp noise and gripped at her head, gasping for breath, and Cersei started to move forward to help her.

The woman suddenly sat up and completely still, eyes shut, and back ramrod straight.

“Maggy?” Cersei whispered, fear starting to creep into her.

Maggy’s eyes flew open and Cersei gasped at the milky white expanse that existed where muddy, dark brown eyes had.

“The song of fire and ice comes, and nothing will stop the stag from killing the dragon. The wolf brother of the stag will help without knowing, without seeing. The wolf’s sister will die so their son may live. The gods give another choice not given before, eyes were open, but could not see. Winter comes, winter comes, and the wolves must live. A Queen she shall not make, but a mother of a King she shall be. Remember, learn, live, and roar. The Lioness will triumph if the last dragon son thrives,” Maggy gasped and then she collapsed.

#jonsacentric #jon x sansa #stark strong #jonsa fic #fixit #sansa #ned/cersei #jon/sansa

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elen-aranel · 3 years

Text

Golden/Alone

The Engineer’s Adventures

1-1 • 1-2 • 2 • 3 • 4

For: @autumnleaves1991-blog Writer Wednesday. I am aware that today is Thursday; this was longer than I expected! Pairing: Captain Christopher Pike x F!Reader (no Y/N) Warnings: violence, references to violence, drug use (kind of), minor character death WC: 7.3k words Tag list: @jusvibbbin - to be added to my Pike x Reader Taglist please let me know <3 A/N: The Engineer is back! And why does she go on away missions? WHY? I genuinely had so much fun writing this. I hope you enjoy!

“If I were piloting, Number One, I would have flown us through the eye of that storm cell. We would have gotten here quicker,” Chris jokes to Number One as they unstrap themselves from the co-pilot and pilot’s seats, respectively.

“And that is precisely why I was flying and not you, Captain. We may have been slower, but I got us here in one piece.”

“Lieutenant, back me up here. My flying was great in that speeder on Eloma.”

“You kept us ahead of our pursuers, yes sir,” you say with a smile.

“And staying ahead of pursuers is not a valuable skill in an atmosphere like this one where we are not being pursued,” Number One states with some finality, as she presses the control to open the back of the shuttle and extend the ramp.

You are on Caylara, for what you hope will be a boring mission. The captain and Number One, along with security officer Ensign James, are here to open negotiations for Caylara to join the Federation.

You are here because of the atmosphere – it is notoriously difficult to traverse. You can’t transport living things through it, unless you want them to be merged, dead, or both, and even flying through it is a challenge because of the electrical storm layers. There are windows of time when it’s safer, when shuttles and communications can get through, and windows when they can’t.

At Louvier’s instruction you had prepared a shuttle (and a backup – you don’t like to take chances) to travel through the atmosphere. Standard procedure for Caylara was to have an engineer accompany the shuttle to perform any repairs needed on the ground. You had tried to argue your preparations were good enough that you wouldn’t be needed, but Chris had seen straight through you.

“You find diplomacy boring and you don’t want a repeat of Eloma. That’s what’s really going on here, isn’t it?” His mouth had twisted into that smile you found irresistible, and even though you pouted, adopting your best puppy-dog expression, he had just laughed. “It’s all right. I won’t make you go to the reception. I won’t even make you wear your dress uniform. You can stay with the shuttle.”

You hang back as the captain and Ensign James pass you, Chris brushing his hand against yours as he passes. You smile a little, and get your tricorder out – you need to check to make sure the shuttle didn’t get damaged and will be all right to make the return trip. You look down the ramp as you scan, seeing the Caylarans for the first time as their delegation greets the away team.

They are very tall. You estimate the shortest is well over two metres and they tower above the away team, even over Ensign James who is tall for a human. But given the slightly lower gravity of Caylara their height isn’t surprising, you think. They have skin varying from very pale through to olive toned. Their faces are smooth but they have scales around their hairline extending down to the rest of their bodies. Well, their hands, at least. They are wearing long robes.

Your tricorder beeps as the away team starts to move away; there seems to be a charge buildup in one of the EPS controllers, but that’s all and it’s an easy fix. You pop the relevant panel and discharge it, without shocking yourself for once, and replace the panel.

Then there’s nothing left to do but wait. The reception is due to last two, perhaps three hours – short enough that you’ll be able to make your return trip through the atmosphere with time to spare before the current window closes.

You’ve brought some reading, of course, but first you want to get to the bottom of why the EPS controller picked up a charge. You take it as a personal insult, really – you were sure you had accounted for everything from the data you were given to prepare. However, when you compare the preliminary data with the scans the shuttle took as it went through the atmosphere you can clearly see the discrepancies. You’re puzzled for a moment – but of course you had enhanced the sensors to the latest specs when you adapted the shuttle, and you don’t know how old the original readings you were working with were. You almost wish Chris had piloted you through the storm cell; then you would have more data to work with.

You busy yourself combining the shuttle’s readings with your existing model, and calculating how much it was off by. After some time you are pretty sure you’ve got to the bottom of where the charge came from, and you modify the shuttle so that it doesn’t happen again.

You also think you may be able to make predictions with your new model, and perhaps refine your timings for the atmospheric windows. The Caylarans know the timings pretty accurately, but you aren’t at the stage of sharing data on that level as yet.

You run a new set of scans, and frown – there’s only ninety minutes until the window closes. You compare with the original estimates and—

Hang on. When did it get so late? You were supposed to be on the way back by now.

“Shuttle Hubble to away team? Come in please?”

Silence.

“Shuttle Hubble to Captain Pike?”

More silence.

Silence when you try to call Number One and James, too.

“Enterprise to Hubble. Come in, please.”

“Shuttle Hubble here, Lieutenant Spock. I was just about to call you – I have lost contact with the rest of the away team. They should have been back here by now, but they aren’t.”

“I have also tried to contact the captain but to no avail. Three unknown craft have appeared in the system, and have locked weapons on to us and the planet. They are not responding to hails. I have placed the Enterprise on yellow alert and raised shields. We cannot get a sensor lock on individual life signs through the atmosphere, and—”

“They’re firing some sort of energy weapon!”

“Taking evasive action!”

“Lieutenant, I—” Spock sounds uncharacteristically strained as he’s interrupted by what sounds like an overloading console.

“I understand. I’ll look for them. I’ll keep you updated.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant. Enterprise out.”

That’s it, you think.

You’re on your own.

You take a deep breath: what do you need? Communicator. Tricorder. Emergency medkit.

Phaser.

You put the medkit in a backpack, and since there’s space you add a water bottle and some emergency rations. You clip the tricorder to a utility belt, and holster the phaser, set to stun. Your communicator goes in your pants pocket; you’ve got your usual tools in your jacket.

Then you remember your terrible luck with communicators, so you grab a spare and shove it in your backpack. That should do it. You can’t carry the kitchen sink and you don’t have time to keep second guessing yourself.

Okay. Plan: find the away team, bring them to safety.

You exit the shuttle and shut the ramp – you don’t need strangers damaging it.

You take in your surroundings next. The shuttle has landed in the grounds of a large building, elevated on a hill in the middle of a city. It’s only three or four storeys high, but quite wide, and you think it extends back a long way. There are decorative metal accents spaced at regular intervals – lightning conductors, you realise, as you head toward the most important looking doorway – you see burnt grass at their bases. This building isn’t tall, but it is the tallest around; the atmosphere must affect Caylaran architecture, you think.

There’s no one around, which surprises you; shouldn’t there be guards?

You push the door and it opens with a whisper. Inside is the most ornate room you have ever been in. The walls are gold coloured stone, there are dozens of columns in mottled golden marble, and there are decorations finished with real gold leaf everywhere. There are bronze statues and hundreds of warm coloured lights. The ceiling is as decorated as the walls, and the whole effect is beautiful. Imposing. Stunning. Overwhelming.

But again, no one is here. You get your tricorder out, but you can’t resolve anything. Perhaps something is blocking the scan? You look at the stairs. The steps are high, designed with Caylarans in mind, and go up before dividing. There are flights down, too. There are corridors to the left and right, and you have to take a moment to weigh all your options. The largest doors are ahead, though, up the main staircase and over. Perhaps that’s where you would take guests that you wanted to impress?

You think back to what you read on Caylara in your mission briefing as you climb the stairs. Their head of state is Crown Princess Nanren, but although the title remains the same, a princess many generations ago passed laws to end the hereditary monarchy. Now a new crown prince or princess is elected for life when the previous one dies, and you think they have an elected senate too.

Beyond that, you don’t really know anything, you think as you reach the top of the stairs. You cross the landing, trying to stay aware of your surroundings. And as you look down the stairs, you lock eyes with the first person you’ve seen.

A guard is sitting on the ground next to the doors. He’s armed, and the stairs in front of him show signs of having been fired on. But he’s slumped back, his green-blue swirled eyes staring up at you.

“Why’s it so dark? I can see you in the dark. Why did you bring the dark with you? You shouldn’t—” he tries to lift his weapon, and you draw your phaser, but his head lolls and he closes his eyes, dropping the weapon in front of him.

That was unsettling.

You proceed slowly down the stairs, but he doesn’t move again. You kick his weapon away and get your tricorder out. You’re not a medic, this isn’t a medical tricorder, and you don’t know much about Caylaran physiology, but you do have field medic training and you can see that something is terribly wrong. You scan him, and then the air. It seems like there are traces of a molecule around that your tricorder program flags up as having features in common with known hallucinogens. It didn’t flag up on your general scan so it’s probably dissipated enough that it won’t affect you, but still you wish you’d put on an EV suit. There’s no time to second guess yourself now, though.

You put the tricorder away in favour of the phaser, and you gently push the next door open.

If you thought the foyer was large, this room is even larger. It’s all gold again, and should be as beautiful, but it looks like there’s been a fight in here and furniture is in haphazard piles on the floor. It makes you think of playing forts with your cousins in your grandparents’ house as a child. You’re not a strategist but you can easily see that these piles aren’t much better than that – they provide barely any cover.

You pick your way over gilded chairs and past carved wooden tables inlaid with gold, keeping an eye out. About a quarter of the way into the room, under a table with two chairs on top you see a Caylaran. She looks young, wearing what looks like it could be a staff uniform – it’s a plain warm toned brown dress with an embroidered hem, far less fancy than the delegates who had welcomed the others of your team. She’s staring straight ahead, hugging her knees to her chest, rocking back and forth. She pays you no attention as you kneel down by her.

“What’s your name?” You ask, softly.

“My name is Lararen and I’m going to kill the queen, going to kill the queen, going to kill the queen. My name is Lararen and I’m going to kill the queen, then the Genai are going to kill me.”

She smiles broadly as she finishes her little song, still staring vacantly straight ahead, and you shudder. You shake her shoulder and she blinks, slowly, but she doesn’t move.

You straighten up, thoughtfully, wondering what the Genai are. Some sort of bogeyman, or an alien race? Not that it matters.

Next you find a pair of guards, asleep, holding hands. You move their weapons out of sight and continue through.

But then you find a dead Caylaran. He looks like someone important, but his red robe embroidered with a golden floral patten has a scorch mark right in the middle of his chest. You’re not sure if that killed him, because there’s a pool of blood beneath him too. Either way, you think as you close his grey-purple eyes, he probably didn’t deserve whatever it was. You take a moment to pay your respects before moving on.

You don’t find any more dead bodies in this room, but you find several more Caylarans, either sleeping or talking nonsense. One male asks you where your flowers are, and tries to give you some from a fallen flower arrangement, but most of the rest are just scared.

You think they probably have good cause, as you push another door open. You pick it because the largest number of guards were close to it, so you figure it probably leads somewhere important.

It leads on to a stair well, small but lavishly decorated with tapestries, depicting Caylarans standing in outdoor scenes, sometimes with animals you don’t recognise. They deaden the sound of your footsteps as you climb the tall stone stairs.

Then two things happen: you pause as you notice one of the hangings is moving a little at the bottom, as though in a breeze. And then you hear voices above you.

“She’s not up here,” says a female voice, annoyed. Lucid.

“Well she’s definitely not down there.” The second voice is male. Defensive. “I’ve got a message from Alara. She wants us to look again.”

“Fine. But I want it noted for the record that this is a waste of time,” the first voice says, sounding suddenly quieter – she’s probably passed through a doorway.

“Like anyone cares, Nerela,” the second voice says. You risk a peek up the stairwell. You don’t get a good look as the second person disappears through the door, but they are definitely not Caylaran – he has blue skin.

You lean against a tapestry. There are aliens here, separate from your away team. There are aliens in orbit, too. The odds are good that they’re the same species. And “she” must be the crown princess. But what are they planning?

Regardless, you still need to find your people. It’s been half an hour; you could get back to the shuttle faster if you went straight there, but there isn’t much time left in this window.

You eye the tapestry again. You’re definitely not going to follow the aliens, and this breeze must be coming from somewhere. You push it aside.

This door is the first plain thing you’ve seen in the building. It stands slightly ajar – hence the breeze – and it’s painted beige to match the stonework, but otherwise it’s featureless. It swings as quietly as all the other doors when you push it, but it has some kind of bolt on the other side. Interesting. You try to work it, but you can’t. You think of the tools in your jacket; you could probably figure it out, but no. There’s no time. You push the door to, making sure it’s as shut as it can be, and continue.

You must have entered the service part of the building, you think, as you walk along a corridor. This is functional and plain, like the door. You feel a little more comfortable here; if you’d been interested in fancy, you would have joined the command track. Or Diplomatic Corps. You get your tricorder out again, but it doesn’t show you anything still and you didn’t expect it to. But then you approach a door, and hear whimpering from the other side.

You have your hand on your phaser as you push the door open. It’s dark compared to the rest of the building; there is a small window but there’s not much light coming through the Caylaran atmosphere right now. You take a moment to let your eyes adjust, then head toward the whimpering.

The room is small; some kind of office, perhaps? There’s a desk in the room, and behind it—

“Number One?” She’s crying. Number One is sitting on the floor crying, hair a mess, dress uniform dirty, cradling Ensign James in her lap.

You can barely believe it, but you squat down, reaching for your tricorder. You can see James breathing, at least. You look around, but Chris isn’t anywhere to be seen.

“Number One?” You scan them both. They both have traces of the drug in their systems, but a lot less than the guard you scanned earlier. As your eyes adjust you can see though that James has hit his head; there’s blood in his hair and on Una’s uniform. He’s also been hit by a energy discharge, but to the side.

“Una? What’s wrong?”

“I failed everyone. I didn’t protect my captain. What first officer doesn’t protect her captain? They’re going to throw me in the brig. They’re going to court martial me. I lost my captain, and he’s dead, I—”

Suddenly you’ve had enough. You slap her, hard. “Number One!”

“Lieutenant! What did you just—”

“Oh my goodness! I’m sorry, I—you—” You breathe. “Are you all right?” You strip your backpack off for your medkit. You’re going to need to try to bring Ensign James round.

“I—I’m not sure. I don’t know what happened; everything was normal and then suddenly it wasn’t. I was so scared, Lieutenant. It was—I can still feel it. But it doesn’t feel like me.” She shakes her head, eyes still a little wide, and you pass her the water bottle. She takes a drink as you inject Ensign James with a hypospray. He starts stirring immediately, which is good, but you still think he needs a proper exam to rule out any brain problems.

“Una, you’ve got fifteen minutes to get back to the shuttle with Ensign James. There are alien ships attacking the Enterprise, and I’ve seen aliens here too. I think they may be called the Genai. You go down the corridor, down the stairs, through the big room, through the foyer, and out. Do you think you can do that?”

“Back to the shuttle. Genai.” She shakes her head again, blinking a few times. She squares her shoulders. “Yes, I think so. I can. What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to find the captain. You can tell the computer to run on autopilot, if you need to – I updated the climate model, so the computer should be able to handle it.”

Together you help Ensign James to his feet.

“Do you have your communicator still?”

“I don’t,” James is still groggy as he pats himself down.

“I do,” Number One brings her communicator out and opens it. “Number One to Enterprise, come in please.”

Static.

“I think there’s a blocking field throughout this building. The tricorder isn’t working for some things either. You’d better get going.”

“Good luck, Lieutenant.”

“Thanks. You too, Commander.”

You put your medkit away as Number One and James leave. You’re relieved that they’re both okay, and you’re confident in Una, now she recognises her fear isn’t hers.

Back in the corridor you check the door to make sure Una shut it. You push it, but it’s locked. Weird. You could probably unlock it, but you don’t want to go that way anyway.

You turn your back on the door and continue along the corridor. Number One had said the captain – had said Chris – was dead. But he can’t be. She wasn’t, and you think she only had blood from Ensign James on her uniform. But... what if he is?

If he is, you do your duty as a Starfleet officer first. Find his body. Survive. Get out of here. Then mourn him second.

You pass three locked doors on the corridor, but the last opens to more stairs. Still functional, but just going down this time. You go down, listening, hand on you phaser.

Back on the ground floor – you think, but it could be a mezzanine level – there are several rooms that are open.

You go into the first one, hand still on your phaser. It’s a bedroom, and there’s a Caylaran male cowering in the corner, wearing the service uniform.

“Have you come to end it?” He asks, staring past you. You don’t answer, but your heart aches; you think he means his life. The next room is empty, bed neatly made up.

You listen at the door to the third room, and you think you hear breathing. You push the door open slowly. You don’t see anyone at first, but as you head into the room you see the edge of a gold robe, protruding out of what must the en-suite. You think you’re getting a feel for Caylaran fashion, and this is easily the fanciest thing you’ve seen so far. The robe is made of gold fabric, whereas all the others you’ve seen have been colours embroidered with gold. This one has gold and silver embroidery, and multicoloured gemstones picking out the centres of the flowers.

“Crown Princess Nanren?” Your pitch your voice low. Gentle. You remember how Chris spoke to you on Earth in the past, when you were panicking, and try to convey that calm, that confidence, to her. And in that moment you know you can no longer focus on looking for him. If this is the crown princess, more hinges on you looking after her.

“Crown Princess? I’m a Lieutenant from the Enterprise. From Starfleet – the Federation. I’m not a dream or a nightmare. I’m here to help. Will you come out?”

“The Genai are here. They’re going to kill me. I—I can’t—”

“We will find somewhere you can call your people. I will look after you. We will call in your people and they will deal with the Genai.” General Order One doesn’t apply here, you think. Not if the Genai are already interfering. Not that you care about diplomacy anyway. You’ll do what’s right now, and face the consequences later.

“I don’t—Why aren’t they here already?”

“I don’t know, Crown Princess. But we will figure it out. Please trust me.” You put all your belief into your tone, all the hope you still have left... and she steps forward.

She looks every bit the princess. She is tall, even compared to the other Caylara you’ve seen, and her dress is as exquisite as you expected from the tiny part you’d seen. You wonder, briefly, how many she has like that and how many months, perhaps years, it took to sew. She has a gauzy golden cloak hanging behind her, also embroidered, and her dark hair is braided and pinned up into an elaborate style. The only things that are not Princess-like about her are her purple-blue swirled eyes. They are wide, and anxious.

You recall your briefing notes, and bow. “Princess,” you say, staring at the floor.

“Arise,” she replies, and there’s the ghost of a command tone there. Good.

You straighten, looking up at her again, and pause. This is not how you dress if you might need to make a run for it.

You exhale, surveying the room. It’s a bedroom – a staff bedroom.

“Princess, I can get you out of this, I think. But first... you need to change.”

You find staff robes in the wardrobe that fit her, even if they’re a touch short. And sensible shoes. You have to sit her on the bed to take her hair down, but, you reflect with a little smile that she can’t see, taking her pins out is not unlike taking tiny components out of a circuit board.

“You get used to it, you know,” she says as she stands after you’ve finished. “The pomp and ceremony. The robes. People expect it of their princess, and you get used to it.”

“They are lovely,” you say, following her gaze to where her robes are hung up. “But we should get moving. Where can we call your people?”

“That sort of thing is in the wing on the other side of the Room of State,” she says. Right. The other side of that big room. Of course. And there’s a locked door between you and it.

Even so you retrace your steps. She’s much faster up the stairs than you, and you think bad thoughts about differing alien physiologies. But then, she would find the chairs on the Enterprise a bit small, you think. And the beds.

Soon you’re on the corridor with the door at the end, and you finger your jacket’s zipper as you get closer – it’s time for you to brush off your lock-picking skills. You hope the lock is easy like the ones on Eloma.

But the princess pushes the door and it opens with a whisper.

You can’t say anything. But you thank your lucky stars for small favours.

“Let me,” you say, as you approach the bottom of the stairwell. “If anything happens, go back the way we came.” You look the princess in the eye and she nods.

You crack the door open the tiniest bit, and you hear a voice.

You turn back to the princess, reach out and take her hand. You know it isn’t protocol but you squeeze gently, feeling the scales on her skin and a ring round her finger, hoping the touch will keep her calm.

You push the door open again.

“—everywhere. Yes. Me personally. I don’t care what you—yes I know scanners aren’t working. I wish you hadn’t got voice comms back. But she’s not here; she must be on your floor. Fine, Nerela. She could be in the south wing. No don’t come down here, you idiot. Go round. Ugh. Put Yaima on. Yes tell Nerela she’s being a pain. No, they’re still with our vessel, so she can’t be in the garden. It’s the storm cycle; of course we can’t—To the East, yes. I’ll see you there. But tell Nerela she’s done after this. No I don’t care. Alara out.”

You hear footsteps stalking down the room, getting closer. Your heart is in your mouth, one hand on your phaser, as you hold your breath. The steps falter slightly... and then they continue. You stay frozen until you can’t hear them anymore, then you give it a minute after that before you move the door.

The Room of State has changed since you saw it last; almost all the furniture has been pushed to the sides of the room, apart from a chair cushion in the middle of the floor; that’s what made Alara miss her step.

You take a step forward, and the princess follows, still holding your hand. She gasps, and you follow her gaze; at the end of the room are rows of Caylarans, lying on the floor. You look around, but the coast seems clear. You take your tricorder out one-handed, and you scan them. From here you can pick out their life signs – they may be unconscious but they’re still alive.

“They’re okay. They aren’t dead. Probably stunned with an energy weapon.” You feel the princess relax, and you drop her hand. “We can take care of them later. You need to show me where to go.”

She nods, and you follow her across the room and through the door on the other side. You have time to check on the way across: Number One and James aren’t there. Neither is the captain.

The stairwell on the other side is like the first, except this has paintings rather than tapestries, and your footsteps are louder as you climb.

“I don’t know who any of them are,” the princess says, looking at the paintings on your way up. “I suppose I should, but... they’re not my ancestors, I suppose. Just... predecessors. In a way.”

You resist the impulse to shush her.

On this stairwell a painting opens to the service corridor. You take the lead going through, but the corridor is empty. And when the princess shuts the door, you hear its lock click.

You walk along the corridor, listening carefully, but you can’t hear any signs of life. You have to hustle to keep up with the princess, but you push a couple of doors as you pass them. They’re both locked.

The stairs down at the other end of the corridor carry on further than they do on the other side, and your calves are beginning to ache when you reach the bottom. Your discomfort doesn’t matter, you tell yourself. It’s cooler down here, and you think you must be underground. Some kind of bunker.

“My real office is in my suite. My ceremonial office is downstairs, but this”—she opens the second door you reach—“is for emergencies.”

The office is dark as you go in, but she presses a control and it lights up. You close the door behind you and look around. Unlike the other rooms off the service corridors, this one is lavish once again. The wallpaper has gilded highlights, and the desk is made of a golden brown hardwood and is intricately carved. There’s no window since you’re underground, but the light fittings are made of bronze and remind you of the statues in the foyer. You realise the room is probably this nice in case the princess needs to do an emergency broadcast – her surroundings will still look the part.

The princess sits at the desk, pressing her palm to a sensor. A computer apparatus lifts up, and she enters some commands. You walk round the desk and stand a little way to her side, as a Caylaran man appears on the screen. His expression is blank, confused.

“Is this some kind of joke? At such a time? Using Princess Nanren’s—wait—”

He frowns, tips his head to one side.

“Your highness, is—is that you? The Genai—we were sure they’d killed you. That’s what they said. And the blocking field is on so we couldn’t scan—we had no idea—I—” He closes his eyes and bows his head.

“I am so sorry, your highness. I didn’t want to risk your people on a dangerous mission with no intelligence if you were already dead. But I should have trusted in you, and not believed the Genai without proof.”

Staff robe or not, Crown Princess Nanren straightens up and looks every bit the princess once again.

“Arise. Guard Leader Daymen, I am glad to see you. Please do not apologise; the time for analysing our decisions and learning from this situation is not yet here. First I must survive, and you must take back the palace. The Genai are still here; they have a vessel in the garden and people throughout the palace. Our people have been drugged; most are in the Room of State, but there are likely others dispersed through the palace.”

“They have three vessels in orbit too, I think,” you say, quietly.

“They have vessels in orbit too, although”—she presses a control, and a little data window appears—“they won’t be able to send any reinforcements through the atmosphere for a few more hours. What do you need to retake the building?”

“I will bring my guards now, highness. If you could turn the blocking field off it would make things safer, but—no. You are the most important. Enact the safe-room protocol, and remain where you are until we secure the building.”

“I may be able to lower the blocking field. But I shall keep safe. Do you have any news of our Federation guests?”

“Their shuttle left before the window closed. I was unable to talk to their ship at that time, but...” his expression goes thoughtful. “We use a limited range of communication frequencies. The Genai in orbit could have blocked them.”

You nod to yourself; the Caylaran frequencies had been in your briefing, and they were very different to Federation ones. The blocking field in the Palace was wide-band, but it would take too much power for a block like that over a bigger area. Much more sensible to just block the Caylaran frequencies.

“Thank you. May the skies protect you, Guard Leader.”

“May the skies protect you, highness.” He bows once again and cuts the connection.

“Lieutenant, thank you for all you have done for me so far. May I ask this last favour?”

“To take down the field? Of course, your highness. What do I need to do?”

She slides a ring off her finger and hands it to you. It’s a very narrow band of gold with a small red stone set on it. It’s big for you, though, so you slip it on to your thumb.

“You can use that to gain access to the systems. The security office is down the corridor to the right.”

“Lock the door behind me, your highness.” You smile as you turn to go.

“May the skies protect you, Lieutenant.”

“And you too.” You go through the door, closing it behind you. You hear a loud thunk a moment after you do; it sounds like more than a lock – probably blast doors. At least she’s safe, you think. Even if that means you’re alone.

You wonder about Chris, and where he could be. You have to hold on to hope, don’t you? You can’t think... no. You mustn’t. Instead you think about what he would do in your place. You think he’d be cautious. You’re nearly at your goal, but if you don’t succeed people could get hurt if the Caylaran Guard can’t tell who is who, or where they are. You’ve heard people complain about security officers being trigger happy; you think it’s probably the same for the Guard.

And you’re in a strategically important part of the palace; you don’t know how many Genai there are but they’ll probably find this area eventually. You draw your phaser, and make sure you walk quietly.

There is only one door left between you and where the corridor splits, when you hear a voice. The door opens a little, and you freeze. The voice is familiar – one of the Genai.

“—last time, no. I genuinely, and I am completely sincere on this, do not care what Alara thinks. Not even a tiny little bit! She missed this entire section! Yeah whatever, Yaima, you go tell her what I said. But when I find the Queen—Crown Princess, whatever, and she doesn’t, she’s the one that’ll get fired, not me! Nerela out!”

The door slams open, and Nerela stomps out. It’s her or you, but you are ready and she is not. Her black eyes widen as she sees you, and her weapon is in hand, but before she can aim you shoot. She grunts as she falls back, stunned.

Happily, Genai are shorter than Caylarans, although Nerela is wearing high heeled boots which make her look taller. You drag her back into the room she came out of, take her weapon and communicator and leave her lying in the recovery position. You shut the door behind you and it clicks a second later.

You shake your head; the doors are one mystery too many. You put Nerela’s weapon in your phaser holster, and tuck her communicator into your belt. Then you head to the right, toward the security office.

The first thing you notice as you push the door open are the screens. Dozens of them. The second—

“Chris?” He’s frowning, pointing a phaser at you. He looks at you like he can’t believe his eyes. Like you’ve stepped out of a nightmare.

“Chris it’s me. I’m real. I’m really here.” You take a careful step through the doorway, keeping eye contact with his bloodshot blue eyes, letting the door close behind you.

“You don’t need to be afraid any more.” You think about what Number One had said. “This fear... it isn’t really you.” You stoop down and put your phaser on the floor. You take Nerela’s weapon and put that on the floor too. And as you do, something clicks into place in your mind.

“Chris, you’ve been helping me, haven’t you? Locking doors to keep me safe? To help me get where I needed to go?”

“I’ve been so... afraid. I—I needed to keep her—to keep you safe.” He relaxes his grip on his phaser a little, and you reach for your tricorder.

“You were drugged, Chris.” You scan him. “Number One and James are safe, they got a lower dose than you.” A much lower dose, you realise, looking at the numbers. “I sent them back to the shuttle and they returned to the Enterprise. I’m going to end all this, get us home. But I need you to stop pointing that phaser at me.”

He looks at his hand, holding the phaser, then back at you.

“But is she—are you real?”

Your heart melts for him. You haven’t said these words, but you’ve felt it for a while. And—you worried, you genuinely worried, that you would never get to say them. This may not be the moment you planned, but he has to believe you.

“Chris, I love you. I’m real.”

“I—” he drops the phaser, and it clatters to the floor. The next thing you know you’re in front of him, arms around him, holding him. You can’t think; you can speak. You just hold on, letting your body feel his warmth, his solidity. You may not have been drugged, but you had been so afraid

. After a moment he puts his arms around you, too, and you just stay there for a moment more. Holding him. Letting him hold you.

As much as you’d like to forget everything else right now, you still have a job to do. You pull back, take hold of his hand, and look at the security console. You can see feeds of the Room of State, the foyer, the other rooms you’ve been in, and other places, too. Beneath the monitors is a schematic; this is how Chris was locking and unlocking the doors, you realise. But how did he have the credentials to do so?

You look at the desk and see a ring like the one the Crown Princess gave you, nestled in a groove.

“How did you get that?” You ask.

Chris frowns. “I was in that big room, but I was so afraid. I came through the door. Went upstairs. Along the corridors. Looking for somewhere safe enough. I got here and the Caylaran... we struggled, he tried to shoot but I took his weapon.” You follow his gaze to an energy weapon on the ground. “Then he ran. And I stayed. I could see everything. Not get caught out. And then I saw you.”

You squeeze his hand, and work the controls with your other hand. There is a glyph that looks like a shield; you turn it off. You check your tricorder – finally you can detect life signs. Both Caylaran and Genai. As you do, Nerela’s communicator chirrups to life.

“Nerela? I swear, if this was you—! You have the worst timing! The Caylaran guard are here. Put the blocking field back up immediately. That’s an order! Nerela? Nerela, answer me! Ne—”

It lapses into static for a moment. Then silence.

“The Guard are here, Chris. As soon as the atmosphere clears we can go home.”

When you return to the Enterprise you go to the captain’s quarters. You know he won’t be there, but you need the sense of his presence. His smell.

Chris had to stay on the planet to complete the original negotiations and help deal with the Genai; the drug’s effects had faded by the time the atmosphere was passable again, and you’d got some water and rations into him. Spock came down and stayed, but you had only left Chris because he ordered you to.

You have a shower, put on one of his sleep shirts, and curl up on the sofa under his throw blanket to write your report.

“Sweetheart?” You wake up to Chris kneeling in front of you, hand on your shoulder. His hair is damp and he’s out of his uniform. Your brow creases for a moment – you don’t remember him using that endearment for you before.

“Chris,” you say, stretching. Pushing the throw away, and leaning into his touch. “You’re back.”

“I am.” His mouth quirks into a smile. “There was a lot to sort out; it seems the Genai and the Caylara have a dispute over a world on a system between them. The Genai thought if Caylara joined the Federation, we would take their colony from them. They thought if they disrupted the negotiation and killed Crown Princess Nanren, either we would give up, or the Caylarans would be too afraid to continue.” He moves his thumb along your shoulder.

“Spock put the fear of God into the Genai in orbit. I’m not sure how,” he adds, at your incredulous look, “but they and the Caylarans have requested mediation. And now the Genai want to work towards joining the Federation, too.”

“I wish they’d chosen to talk to us first,” you say, frowning. Thinking of the dead Caylaran. “These breakthroughs always seem to come at such a cost.”

“They do,” he says, gathering you into his arms. Holding you against him.

You stay in his arms for a while, just breathing. But eventually he pulls back, and moves to sit beside you.

“You were amazing today. You’ll be getting a commendation, but Crown Princess Nanren wanted me to convey her thanks, too. You saved her life.” He reaches into his pocket, then leans forward and fastens a chain round your neck. It’s delicate, golden, and from it hangs the ring that she had lent you for the computer. That you had given back before you left. “She wanted you to have this. But she thought a necklace might work better.”

You shake your head, taking hold of the ring. “Saving her was as much you as me, Chris. Locking those doors.”

He looks at you, thoughtful. “I don’t think so. I—I have never felt fear like I did today. Now I look back at it I can tell it wasn’t real, but at the time, seeing you on those screens, moving with purpose, helping our people and the Caylarans... you gave me hope.”

He pauses, blue eyes meeting yours. Hand reaching out to touch your face.

“When we were down there... I remember what you said to me. I love you too.”

You lean forward, meeting him for a kiss, gentle at first but it goes passionate almost immediately, both of you pouring your feelings for each other into the connection between you. You didn’t know it could feel like this, you think, before he pulls you into his lap and thoughts flee away.

“Lieutenant, I want to thank you.” Number One says, sitting at her desk. “I was not myself down on Caylara, but you did yourself proud. You saved us.”

“You’re welcome, Commander.” You smile. “I’d say any time, but right now I’d be happy if I never left the ship again.”

“That being said, if you tell anyone—”

“If I tell anyone you were crying, I can expect to spend the next month of duty shifts degaussing the transporter with a microresonator?”

“Oh that’s a good one. I must remember that. Yes. You will be degaussing, Lieutenant.”

“Understood.”

#writer wednesday #Christopher Pike #Christopher Pike x Reader #Captain Pike #writings of the girl from outer space #fanfic #fanfiction #Star Trek Discovery #Star Trek Strange New Worlds #The Engineer's Adventures

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haloud · 3 years

Text

things we could burn in one go (eminence) - chapter 9

also on ao3

Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Isabel Evans & Max Evans & Michael Guerin, Michael Guerin/Alex Manes, Forrest Long/Alex Manes Additional Tags: post-s2, Canon Compliant, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Starts Forlex Ends Malex, Other Characters May Appear, Tags Subject to Update, Mutual Pining, Breaking Up, Getting Together

Chapter Summary: Michael and Isobel reckon with the fallout from Michael’s choices; Maria and Max catch up with him post-recovery.

Excerpt:

Maria sat on the steps, an old CD radio of Rosa’s beside her playing a classic Rosa mixtape, a Third Eye Blind track Michael only half-remembered flowing around her, her humming running under it, glittering minerals in a riverbed. She was surrounded by papers, pinned under painted rocks to keep them from being snatched away, her hair tied back by a rainbow scarf, and she bent over to write in a binder propped on her knees.

Michael rapped on the pillar behind him to get her attention, and when she looked up she smiled and set the binder aside.

“Guerin! You’re up! What brings you here with the sun in the sky?”

“Where else am I gonna go to get my sea legs back?”

“Well, come pull your ass into port and sit with me.”

She patted the low stair beside her and Michael did as he was told, swiping his hat off his head as he approached her. For her it was wordplay, but Michael cradled to his chest something more true than maybe she’d intended—Maria was a safe harbor, a port in a storm. No matter how bad things got, her warm heart and practical mind were a reminder to never give up. Just sitting beside her was enough to make him smile, even though he sat with a good six inches buffer between them, still unsure what boundaries were appropriate, still navigating the uncertain waters of being friends with an ex who meant something.

(Wednesday, 11:00 am)

Michael flipped Alex’s key over and over in his fingers, running it along his knuckles, pressing his thumb into the teeth until they left a locking-imprint on his skin, then doing it all over again. At some point, maybe it would start to feel real, if he reminded himself of the thing often enough.

The repetition and stimulation of the rough teeth, the cool, smooth metal, soothed him as he waited on Isobel’s porch. She’d called him here in the first place, so eventually she’d open the door. Until then, he waited. And as he waited, he thought of Alex, because what else was there to think about these days?

(A thousand things, like Jones and Project Shepherd, Max and Liz, and all the work piling up at Sanders’s, but Alex had a way of blotting everything else out, and, no matter how much his brain tried to get him to feel stupid or naïve or childish for hoping yet again, he was going to let himself bask in that shade for once in his life.)

He hadn’t left Alex’s house, still, except to go to work and get things from his own place. At Alex’s, he was still sleeping in the guest room, the both of them afraid that they’d fall back into their old patterns too fast if they fell right into bed. But during the day they shared that space, a kitchen, a den, existing alongside each other as they read or cooked or composed, and the routine wasn’t so different from the tense and quiet days right after Michael’s injury, but at the same time they were nothing alike, not when each tiny glance could mean so much, not when fingers on the soft rasp of turning pages were fingers he could touch, that could touch him.

Everything was different. It was terrifying, and exhilarating, brand new and nostalgic. It had only been a day; it had only been half their lifetimes.

“Ew, you’re glowing.”

Isobel’s voice started Michael out of his thoughts, and he jumped, shoving Alex’s key into his pocket. She was glaring at him, but still he relaxed, because Isobel’s snark was a form of love and her turning scorn in his direction was a sign things were getting back to normal between them.

“It’s all natural,” he drawled as she stepped aside to let him inside.

“Right. Did something happen, or is this just some lesser known side effect of being brought back from the brink of death.”

“Uh…”

In a way, sort of, if only because Michael’s own stupidity had driven him and Alex closer together, but that wasn’t exactly a direct correlation or anything admirable.

“Nope,” he said, popping the ‘p.’ “Just…”

He fell silent. How was he supposed to talk about being in love? He’d never done it before, and this was a first he hadn’t anticipated facing.

“Alex and I…” he tried again, but found himself only able to smile, still without words, and he raised his arms in a helpless shrug.

Isobel’s eyebrows raised. “Oh my god.”

“Yep.”

“I’m still pissed at you, but if Manes is making you his side chick after everything, I’m going to rip his spine out through his—”

“Isobel, no! It’s not like that,” Michael laughed, shaking his head.

“Well what’s it like, then? I cannot handle him breaking your heart again when we’re already dealing with Max.”

He replied, “My heart is fully intact,” as he headed in and dropped down on her couch, throwing a hand over his heart for dramatic effect. “No, uh, Alex and Forrest had a fight, which sucked, but it led to us getting a chance to talk more about, y’know, us, and what we wanted, and each other, so…”

“So this is rebound,” Isobel snipped.

“Can you stop?” Michael said, half-laughing. Even her pessimism on the subject of love couldn’t pop the bubble around his heart right now. He patted the couch beside him, and she hesitated for a few seconds with her arms crossed, before capitulating and joining him.

“Oh, fine,” she groused, leaning against the arm of the couch farthest away from where he was sitting. “Your funeral.”

The words landed like a lead balloon, and Michael winced as her face grew stormier.

“I’m—”

“Don’t,” Isobel held up a hand in his face. “Don’t you dare say you’re sorry. I don’t want to hear it.”

“Well, what do you want to hear?”

“An explanation, Michael! What the hell were you thinking? Why would you do that? What if he’d just straight up killed you, did you want us to find your body in a cave somewhere or, or never, blown to smithereens by a man who literally breathes fire! You’re so stupid, and selfish, and—” She cut herself off, furious tears welling in her eyes even as the rest of her face didn’t change.

“I know! I know, you’re right, it was stupid. I wasn’t thinking, or, well, I was thinking, but my head was all messed up.” He rested his forehead in his hands and running his fingers through his hair. “I don’t think any explanation is going to make any sense now, out of the moment, but I just…everything was going to shit, and I couldn’t do anything for Max, and I thought Jones might have answers, or could help me unlock new powers like you’ve done on your own. So I could protect everyone.”

Isobel threw her arms up and got to her feet, pacing around the couch; Michael tracked her, anxiety dipping and spiking every time she circled him. Her anger pulsing when she passed behind him made his skin crawl, and he shifted in his seat.

“I don’t even know what to say to that,” she finally spoke, stopping in front of him.

He kept his head bent forward, staring at his knees.

She continued, “I really don’t. I’ve been trying for twenty-one years, but I still don’t know how to get through to you. How to convince you that you’re not alone, that people want to protect you. To help you. But I’m not Max. I’ve never pushed or pried or fought to cling onto you when you shook us off. I just hung around because I knew you’d always come back.” She took a deep breath. Her voice stayed steady and deliberate. “But Michael, this has gone on for too long, and you went too far this time. You have to let us help you. Otherwise—I don’t know. I just don’t. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do anymore.”

Drops of water speckled the tops of Michael’s knees, and he sniffed, swallowed, mouth dry, throat tight and aching. His sister’s gentle hands threaded through his hair, cradling both temples, right hand over Max’s lingering handprint, but no matter how careful that touch was, he flinched.

Isobel tipped his head up so he had to look her in the eye and said, “You’re my brother, Michael. I love you so much. And I would do anything for you, just like you would—and have—do anything for me. But you need to let me! From here on out, I need you to fucking work with me. We’ll figure this out, okay?”

Tears trickling down his face and dripping from his chin, Michael nodded, not trusting his voice, and Isobel fell forward, his arms opening up to catch her, and they stayed like that for a long time, Michael rocking her back and forth, her clinging desperately to his shirt.

“I’m sorry,” he finally croaked, wiping his eyes with the heel of his hand. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. Or Max. I just, I can’t stop myself, sometimes, I know it’s not an excuse, I know it was stupid, I know—”

“I know,” she interrupted his stream of self-loathing, sitting back to look him seriously in the face. “I was in your head, remember?”

She’d found him beneath a vaulted ceiling, stained glass in shifting, alive, alien colors, walled in with his demons. Defining himself inside the devouring maelstrom by the battles he understood. His whole life, he’d sewed himself back whole, and his work wasn’t pretty, but the patterns made sense, and they kept him sane even when the odds demanded otherwise. The image flashed behind his eyes, but that’s all it was, an image. He shook his head.

“Not really.”

“Well. I didn’t really go snooping, no matter how tempting it was,” she said with a self-deprecating roll of her eyes. “But let’s just say…you don’t owe me any explanations you aren’t willing or ready to give. Those belong to you. I know I haven’t always understood that in the past. We both have things to work on, okay?”

“Okay,” Michael rasped, squeezing her tight again. “I…want to work on them with you.”

“Then it sounds like we’re going to be okay,” she softly replied.

(3:00 pm)

Isobel didn’t let him leave the house until both their eyes stopped being red and puffy from crying; It took multiple episodes of some Food Network show he’d never heard of before she agreed to let him out of her sight, and, in deeply un-Isobel-like fashion, she followed him to the door and pulled him into another hug for the road before she let him leave.

The drive from Isobel’s to the Wild Pony wasn’t really long enough to fully ruminate on how bad he must have scared Isobel to warrant this level of reaction. Logically, he’d known, but emotionally it was just beginning to sink in.

Over the past year, he’d been faced with losing Isobel and with losing Max multiple times—had lost Max, in fact. He knew how it felt. Why should the loss of himself be any different to them? In low moments, sure, thoughts shifted beneath the murk of his mind, lurking demons from childhood, that they didn’t need him, they had each other, a more special bond, he was the odd one out, outside, out in the cold. But on the day to day, he didn’t devalue himself like that, not in so many words, did he? But—

To be surprised? That Isobel was afraid, that Max was afraid, that the both of them stood on the precipice of grieving him and had to process the horror of that fall after snatching themselves back at the last minute? It was a slap in the face, a rude awakening. A lesson that for all these years he’d resisted learning.

The first step to protecting those who loved him was to protect himself. He couldn’t keep shelving it as the lowest priority. They were one and the same.

It sounded fake to his own ears, but he’d just have to say it until the lesson sunk in.

With the windows rolled down, the idle breeze tugged Michael’s hair across his face and cooled the late-summer stickiness from his skin. It was just after lunchtime, a little early for Max to be at work, but since he wasn’t at Isobel’s house, it was faster to check for him here than to drive all the way out to his own place.

If there was one positive to his near-death, it was the way Max was invigorated by a purpose. The healing drained him, of course it did; it could have killed him, and that weighed on Michael’s conscience, but afterward, after it worked and he’d pulled Michael back from death, he smiled. He slept. He bustled around Alex’s house babysitting Michael while Alex was at work, and now, with a little distance from fragile death, that didn’t chafe as badly.

Max deserved a better thanks than Michael had thus far been able to render, and with Isobel’s words still ringing in his ears, there was no better time than now.

He pulled up to the Pony, the fairy lights strung across the patio dancing in the wind, the wood of the old building all pale and real in the sunlight. The old, familiar sign above the door was off as long as the bar was closed, but Michael still took a moment to glance at it nice and long, remembering the feel of fixing it under his hands so the whole place felt less liminal, less like a mirror vision of the beating heart that was the Wild Pony glowing under the night sky, lit from within rather than from the sun.

Faint music played as Michael parked and left his truck, so he rounded the corner of the building to suss it out and smiled at what he saw, leaning against one of the trellis supports.

Michael rapped on the pillar behind him to get her attention, and when she looked up she smiled and set the binder aside.

“Guerin! You’re up! What brings you here with the sun in the sky?”

“Where else am I gonna go to get my sea legs back?”

“Well, come pull your ass into port and sit with me.”

“What are you working on?” he asked.

“Oh, you know me.” She gestured vaguely to the arrangement of papers and tucked her feet up beside her, leaning toward Michael, cutting the space between them in half like it wasn’t worth noticing. Some of the tension in Michael’s chest unwound at her ease around him.

“Hustling?” he prompted.

“Yep. I’m just organizing the events I have planned for the upcoming season and making sure I have space set out for scheduling, details, budgeting, the works. High school me would die with envy; my system was never this good when I was trying to study.”

“I’m definitely impressed. Let me know if there’s anything I can help with, anything you need built, or an extra set of ‘hands’ for decorating.”

“How is that going?” she asked, brows furrowing.

“I’m still getting my strength back. Just gotta keep pushing through and hope whatever Jones did didn’t mess me up for good.”

“I’m sure he didn’t.”

Her hand extended but stopped before touching him, until he turned his hand palm-up, asking her to take it. She did, squeezing him.

“You’ll figure it out,” she said. “And the TK aside, have any of the other powers cropped up? The light, the teleporting? Those were the ones Alex told me about.”

“That’s all I remember, really. And no. I haven’t even tried, honestly.” He looked at their joined hands, her wrist bare of the pollen bracelet he’d promised her and wasted, thrown away like trash in a corner of Jones’s cave. This is blasphemy…

“Do you think you will? Try?” Maria asked, head tilted.

“I…hadn’t thought about it. Been focused on getting back to square one with the TK, but…”

Was doing more with his powers still an option? Was he willing to try, and fail, and fail again, without folding and submitting to all the voices in his head that told him every failure was proof positive of the erstwhile adage that he was worthless?

“Well, you have time,” Maria said, squeezing his hand again.

“What about you?” Michael asked. “Any visions?”

Her face shut down. She let go of his hand to smooth both hers down her knees then fold her arms around herself, turning her head away. “No. Still nothing. A few dreams, but it isn’t always easy to tell what’s a normal dream and what’s a vision, and with you out of the woods, the most dire ones are already Jossed.”

“What about Mimi?”

“Huh.” Maria pursed her lips for a second, then said, “I haven’t noticed any change in her? But I’ll have to ask and see what she says. I’m not even completely sure our powers work identically, with the things she’s said about being unstuck in time…I don’t always get that same feeling.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Michael promised her. “Even if it means having to go back to Jones and ask what he knows—”

“No!”

She wheeled on him and smacked his arm lightly.

“Absolutely not! Michael!”

“Not alone, obviously!” He defended.

“Not at all. Jesus Christ. I’ll tell Isobel you said that—I’ll tell Alex—”

“Maria, c’mon,” Michael whined, taking her hand again in an attempt to connect them and calm them both down. “I just don’t want to rule out that he’s meddling in more ways than we know. I still think he’s fucking with Max. You deserve answers, if that’s what’s going on.”

“Not at the cost of your life. Not ever. It could be a hundred other things, too. Stay away from him, Michael, I’m serious.”

“I will. I promise.”

“Good,” she said firmly, wrapping her arm around his again and leaning into him. He let out a long, slow breath as she relaxed.

“You know, in Jones’s cave…”

“Mm?”

Michael carefully encircled her wrist with his fingers. “I lost the bracelet I made for you. The backup one I promised.”

“Are you feeling guilty about that? Because please, don’t,” she replied, covering the hand on her wrist with her other. “That is the last thing on my mind.”

“But I—”

“Hush. I’m glad you had it with you, whatever happened to it. It’s good that you opted to protect yourself, even if it didn’t work.”

“I thought your powers were offline.”

“The visions, maybe. But I don’t need to see the future to read you, Guerin.”

“You are something else, DeLuca.”

“Oh, I’m aware.”

“Hey, Maria—oh! Michael!”

The two of them turned toward the backdoor at the sound of Max’s voice.

“Hey, Max,” Maria said. “Is the inventory finished?”

“Yeah, I was just coming to report back.”

“No need to be so formal,” she teased, standing up and brushing dust from the seat of her pants, looking at the papers around her with her hands on her hips. “I was hoping to get your opinion on some plans, Number One, but someone interrupted, so they’re not quite ready yet.”

“Guilty as charged,” Michael drawled.

Max reached out a hand, and Michael took it to humor him, letting him haul him to his feet.

“I’ll let you off the hook this time,” Maria said as she led the way back into the bar, cool and dim in the daylight. “You can sweep up to say you’re sorry.”

“My pleasure,” Michael said, reaching out a hand, hoping he could summon the broom as nonchalantly as he once could. It sat unresponsive until a spike of formless frustration zipped through him, at which point it flew to his hand fast and hard enough to sting his palm when he caught it. Great. Just what he needed right now—puberty flashbacks.

“I need to run,” Maria said, stowing her binder behind the bar. “Late lunch with Rosa. I’ll see you later, Max—Michael, it was so good to see you. Say hi to Alex for me, okay? I know you’re gonna see him before I do.”

She left with a wink while Michael was still pink and stammering. Maybe Alex had told her already—or maybe that was just Maria, putting him so at ease it was easy to forget how much she saw. His chest glowed so warm he couldn’t stop blushing at that casual acknowledgement, that easy validation, that he and Alex—that Alex and he were what they were to each other, now, again.

“Wait, is she talking about you staying over there, or does she mean—dude!” Max grinned ear to ear and bounded out from behind the bar to pull Michael into a back-slapping hug. “Congratulations!”

Old, brotherly habit had Michael squirming out of Max’s affections, but it didn’t dent his exuberance; he retaliated with a swipe through Michael’s hair, making him duck further out of range, huffing and laughing all at once as he tried to fix it again.

“Yeah, um, Forrest and Alex broke up, and then one thing led to another, so.”

“I’m really happy for you, man.”

“I—thanks. I’m…I’m really happy, too.”

The sudden urge to comfort Max gripped him, a strange survivor’s guilt that things would be working out for him and Alex and Max and Liz would still be so far apart. But it wasn’t his place to throw that in Max’s face now, so he bit his tongue and basked in Max’s honest happiness for him.

“Could you feel, uh, any of my emotions through the handprint?” Michael asked. He ran his hand through his hair over the spot on his temple where Jones had held him, erased by Max’s healing hands, then dropped it back to his side abruptly, flexing away the phantom stiffness that still plagued him, that probably always would. He gave it a shake as if to chase away nervous tingling.

“Nah. But it’s not like I’m looking; I respect your privacy, man.”

“’preciate that,” Michael snarked, and Max just shrugged.

“Any particular reason you ask? I don’t need to know what you and Alex are up to,” Max joked.

Michael considered his answer for a little bit as he made his way between the tables. After all, it wasn’t as if this was the first handprint Max had ever given him. The ones on his neck and hand cut off by his death aside, dozens of times over dozens of years, Max had practiced healing on him and they’d explored that connection. Michael was always the guinea pig; he never wanted for injuries to work on, after all.

But there’d been a lot of handprinting over the past year and change. Max felt something from Liz; Liz felt something from Noah; Rosa and Max had a connection strong enough to tether Max to the world of the living. And then there was Michael, with Jones’s voice in his ear, dripping condescending words about his lack of psychic ability being phenomenal, considering.

At various times in his life, Michael had looked up at the stars and wondered in the silence what it was in him that was irreparably broken.

“Just curious. It’s been a while, and all juiced up like I was, I was wondering if anything felt different.”

“Nothing different. Just you.”

Max smiled like that was a good thing, a comforting thing. And you know what? In between the adrenaline of change, good and bad, in between the rock of Project Shepherd and the hard place of Jones, on an afternoon in a closed bar, a home to both of them, alone with his brother, Michael let it be.

He cleared his throat. “Good. So there’s no…interference or anything? Nothing weird lurking around up there?”

“Not that I can tell; Isobel would probably know better than I would. Whatever he did to you was bizarre, man. It wasn’t like the way, uh, the way I’ve killed people before. Or the way Noah killed.”

“I don’t think he was just trying to kill me.”

Michael made his way over to a booth and beckoned Max over; he lingered over his work for a glance at the clock and then came and joined him.

He continued, “He kept going on about teaching and knowledge and this being the wrong way but the most efficient. He knew it would hurt me, but maybe it would have worked better if he did it to someone more, uh, receptive than me.”

“What are you talking about?” Max leaned over the table, brow furrowed. This close up, the dark circles below his eyes were more noticeable. “Michael, what he did to you wasn’t in any way your fault—”

“I know, I know, that’s not what I mean. Just…look, I saw the security footage from Caulfield, from the day of the Valenti incident. The way that alien approached Jim Valenti and put his hands on him was identical to what Jones did to me, and I think maybe that guy was just trying to communicate but it fucked up a human in a way he either couldn’t expect or was too out of it to realize. And, well,” Michael gestured to his own head. “I’m the most human of the three of us up here.”

“I…huh.” Max sat back and drummed his fingers on the tabletop as he processed that. “Well, whatever the case, it proved you and Isobel were right about him. He can’t be trusted. Nobody should have any more contact with him. We’ll start doing our monthly drop offs contactless until we all figure out what should be done with him.”

His voice was firm, businesslike. Traffic Stop Max was Michael’s least favorite version of his brother and he’d hoped that his turn to the civilian would’ve put that guy to rest, but he had a tendency to rear his head in a crisis.

But in this case, he saw through him, and that façade was hiding something.

“How do you feel about that?” Michael asked, leaning back and slouching, reflecting Max’s rigid body language the way he had for a decade, cops and robbers style.

“It doesn’t matter how I feel about it. He almost killed you; we’ll do what has to be done.”

“Uh, it definitely does matter. You’re the closest thing to a next of kin he’s got, as far as we know. If anyone gets to decide what happens to him, it’s you.”

“That’s what I’m doing.”

“Is it? ‘Cause, look, I know I fucked up a lot of stuff running off to Jones half-cocked like I did. I don’t want to set off a chain reaction of more bad mistakes that rips us apart again when we’re just startin’ to…” Michael trailed off with a self-conscious shrug. It was realer than he’d intended to get, but it was the root of the issue, wasn’t it?

Max’s face softened, and Michael slumped lower in the booth.

“You’re not. You won’t.”

“You’re just saying that—”

“Michael.”

That tone was always a coin flip if it’d get right under Michael’s skin or if it’d shut him up. It landed on the second one this time, to Michael’s relief.

Max said, “No chain reactions. What we were doing before wasn’t working, okay? I knew I wanted something from Jones, but I couldn’t bring myself to reach out and take it. All you did was force us to make a choice when I would’ve dug my heels in and not been able to for a long time otherwise.”

“The answers you’re looking for, though, you deserve to look for them if it’s what you need,” Michael forged on, battling his clumsy tongue. ��I should’ve said that before. You deserve to know who you are and to learn who that is in whatever way you can. Everybody deserves that.”

“Thank you. I mean that. But I was getting so desperate—the things I was thinking of doing—I scared myself, okay? I didn’t think—I don’t think I am that person. And being this person I am right now and who I want to be right now is more important than any answers about the past, if that’s what it means to find them.”

Michael sat with that, looking Max up and down, sitting with his own feelings as much as Max’s words. Parsing his own reactions to Max was something he took steadier, more carefully than most other things in his life. It was a set of muscles he needed to practice with as much as he needed to get power back to his telekinesis.

“Okay, man. I respect that,” he said finally, leaning over the table to punch Max in the shoulder. Max made a face and rubbed that spot.

“Ow, man, thanks, I guess.”

“Damn, did I get you in your writing arm?”

“Try my drink-mixing arm. If I’m off tonight, I’m ratting you out to Maria.”

Michael let out a scandalized noise and slipped out of the booth.

“Where are you going?” Max laughed, dark eyes shining with life in a way Jones’s never could. For all they were identical, Michael barely saw the resemblance.

“To lay low, what do you think? You’re makin’ me a fugitive.”

“Uh huh. Good luck; you know she’s just going to ask Alex.”

“Damn it. The things I do for love.”

A smile on his own face as soon as he turned his back, Michael was almost at the door when Max called his name and he turned to face him again.

“Michael? Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Asking. Listening.”

Those two words held a lifetime of desperate loneliness between them, and Michael would be sitting with that, too, as long as he was holding it in his head, making it a conscious decision, to do right by his brother.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he said.

“I wanted to,” Max replied simply.

“Well in that case…I guess you’re welcome.”

Michael’s phone buzzed in his pocket, not the single pulse of a text but the longer jangling of a phone call. He fished it out, smiling when he saw the name, and he didn’t even wait to get privacy from Max before answering.

“Alex—”

“Thank God. Where are you, Michael? Are you okay?”

“Alex? I’m fine, I’m at the Pony, what’s wrong—”

Max hurried to Michael’s side.

Alex repeated, “Thank god. Don’t come home, do you hear me? Do not come back to the house until I give you the all clear. Stay with Max and Maria.”

“What? No!”

But the line cut off midway through his protest, leaving him with nothing but the dial tone.

#my fic #malex fic #michael guerin #alex manes #malex

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