#also side note it’s been nearly a year since I’ve properly drawn any of the daycare attendants

[existentialcrisis-24-7]

Boutta go away on a trip but here’s a doodle of Eclipse without a single reference used

#the blotches on the sides are there bc the ink was bleeding through from the previous page #reminder to not use sharpies they kinda suck #also side note it’s been nearly a year since I’ve properly drawn any of the daycare attendants #which is wild to think about #fnaf #fnaf eclipse #fnaf ruin #art #fnaf daycare attendant

[heartofsnark]

Can You Feel The Sun? (Chapter Eight): Icarus Falls

Notes: Why, yes, I am posting these relatively quickly. This is the last of a backlog since I’m actively still working on the next chapter, This is a doozy of a chapter, both emotionally and length wise, but I’m rather proud of it, if I’m being honest. I recommend settling in a snack and maybe...just maybe some tissues.... 

Word Count: 15327 

Chapter Warnings:  Multiple deaths, violence, gore, grief, angst. 

If you haven’t yet, you can read the previous chapter here!~

V and Jackie get into the backseat of the Delamain taxi. White and tan leather interior, despite looking the nicest she ever has in twenty years she still feels like she might stain the white leather. No driver, instead there’s screens and consoles in the back of the seats in front of them. An avatar of a bald man with stark unnaturally white skin and blue lips 

“Welcome on board this Delamain service. With Delamain, you leave your problems at the door,” the AI avatar greets them in a robotic voice. 

“Son of a bitch! Better fuckin' believe I will!” Jackie yells out, still grinning. V lets out a breath of air meant to sound like a laugh, but the lump in her throat isn’t making it any easier. 

“I see no reason why you should be using expletives.”

“Sorry, he gets… excited.”  Her voice is tighter than she wants it to be, her leg bouncing now. 

“Damn right, I’m excited. Hey, Del, what about that time I wanted to hire you for my cousin's bachelor party, huh?” 

“Unfortunately, we do not take on such contracts.”

“Three months I'd been savin' up scratch… Egh, water under the bridge. Hit it, Del!”

“Before we begin our journey, I must verify the identities of all customers. Please proceed to connect your personal links,” the mercs plug their personal links into the console, “Thank you. "Excelsior" package activated.”

Crisp subtitles for Delamain alight along her contacts, more comprehensive than the lip reading tech sometimes gives. Maybe his AI avatar enunciates more properly than a human, she wonders. 

“"Excelsior"? Hohoho, this just keeps gettin' better!”

Jackie laughs as the taxi cab starts to drive and V finds herself fiddling with her suit sleeve. It’s perfectly tailored, but she still feels like a kid in dress up. Having to pretend she’s a corpo, having to pretend to be a hearing person. Her bright painted nails seem to clash so much with the persona and she curses herself for not changing the polish. What if they’re caught right away? The corps smelling Heywood and The Badlands on them the second they walk through the door. What if the spoofed SID hack doesn’t work, what if the bot malfunctions… What if, what if, what if; spins around her brain. They can’t fuck this up, there’s no room for mistakes. One disaster will destroy their reputations, hell their entire merc careers. And that's the best case scenario. 

When she glances at Jackie there’s no hint of nerves, no hint of reservation or fear, just giddy excitement. Like a kid getting ready to hit up a party. 

“What’s got you riled up?” She asks in spoken English, deciding she’ll mostly speak for the ride since Jackie is the only person really here, that way he doesn’t have to look at her the entire time. And maybe she’s also hoping if she talks enough she won’t clam up too bad in Konpeki.  

“Hang on, watch this… Delamain! Initiate combat mode!”

She can see the bright red ink of his tattoo peeking from his suit sleeve, eyes drawn to it, and something about that scares her more; a hint of his Valentino roots showing, would it be a literal red flag for Konpeki security. 

“My apologies, but you do not appear to be in any sort of imminent danger,” Delamain crushes Jackie’s hopes, a frown replacing his grin. 

“Huh… Oh well. Trust me, he'll mow down an army of ‘Saka ninjas if it comes down to it,” Jackie explains to V and she wraps her arms around herself, resisting the desire to bring her legs up into the seat, trying to get her mind off her nerves. 

“So, what else is included in Excelsior mode?” V tries signing to the AI, curious if it has translation tech for ASL. 

“Comprehensive health coverage, including the handling and disposal of a client's remains should death occur on board,” Delamain responds without hesitation and instantly ruins any chance of her getting her mind off the massive risks within this job. 

“Damn. Shit got dark pretty quick,” Jackie comments. 

“Dex isn’t skimping though.” 

“And thanks to you, we're still gettin' a juicy forty percent.”

“You’re welcome.” 

“Excelsior…This is how you wanna cruise into the major leagues…” He says like the job is already done and they’re hitting up an after party… 

“Wouldn’t get too excited yet, Jack, doing a job not hitting up a party.” And her words are too sharp, voice too venomous and rough in her throat. She regrets it as soon as they leave her lips, as soon as she’s spoken them into reality, wishing she could swallow them back down. His face drops completely, eyes harsh and she knows she fucked up. 

“For real, V…? See me as that shallow?”

“I-”

“Lemme explain somethin' to you, V… My whole life I've spent in this shit around us! And I ain't goin' back!”

“I’m sorry, really, I just… I’m worried and I let my nerves talk for me, I’m sorry.” She quickly tries to smooth it over, those knots in her gut only winding tighter with Jackie mad at her. 

“Swear to christ, V, I will never fucking get you,” he says, shaking his head and looking out the window.

“What do you mean?” 

“Twenty years old, sitting in the back of a Delamain, on your way to do a job for Dex fuckin’ Deshawn and you can’t even muster a fuckin smile? You fuckin’ know what I’d have done to be where you are right now when I was your age, I was still dreaming of seeing The Afterlife! Took you less than a year to be here, took me ten! And you ain’t even happy about it! Then you act like I’m not takin’ it serious, like I don’t got my fuckin’ head in the game, just cause you can’t appreciate where the fuck you are right now!” 

She chews her lip, not sure what to say to him. Guilt coming over her. He’s right, she hasn’t lived in Night City nor been a merc nearly as long. He’s been doing this since he left the Valentinos… For Jackie this has been a lifelong dream, the ultimate goal. She didn’t even consider it a possibility until she met him and now she’s already on her way there. Of course he’s happy, on the precipice of his dreams coming true. 

“I’m sorry, really I didn’t mean to piss on your parade.” 

“Yet somehow you always do.” 

V sighs watching the city pass outside her window for a few more moments, tapping her fingers, that knot feels like a ball of lead now. She wants to claw her skin off,  tear and tear away at herself, at her being, and maybe, just maybe she’ll find someone better under the gore.  Someone who isn’t such a fucking asshole. Someone who knows how to keep their mouth shut and doesn’t ruin everything for everyone else. She’ll never understand why Jackie puts up with her, why he has for so long. She just doesn’t want to fuck this up. The job, her friendship, the little bit of happiness she’s built. V wrings her hands together, tight enough to hurt and she twists them a little harder, nails digging into the skin. If she can’t find anyone better maybe she’ll just claw away until she’s nothing at all. 

She’s already a bundle of nerves over the heist and she can’t stand another moment of the tension hanging thick in the air. 

“Did you fuck my wife?” She says in her best imitation of something between an Italian and a Brooklyn accent, watching Jackie’s face, the hint of a smile tugging at it. Tension starting to melt ever so slightly. 

“Don’t get me started,” he returns forcing the same cheesy voice. 

“Did you fuck my wife?” 

“I think you fucked my wife and got me started.” 

“I got started cause you fucked my wife.” 

“I could trace back the moment I got started it’d definitely be when you fucked my wife!” 

“That is unquestionably when I got started!” They’re smiling now, giggling at every other word as they choke on their cheesy jokes. Tension melts away as a weight is being lifted off her chest. 

“My records indicate that neither of you are married.” 

And they lose it, laughter filling the car at Delamain’s interjection to their stupidity. Its ridiculous and dumb and they sound like children. But, she’s thankful for the moment, the reprieve, where it’s laughter and not nerves tearing at her guts. 

A call notification lights up on V’s optic contacts, T-Bug’s avatar and V answers, the runner’s voice coming just a moment later. 

“Hey. How's things?”

“Eh,” Jackie answers, “been better, been worse.” 

“We’re nearing our destination,” Delamain tells them and V’s throat tightens. 

“Listen, set up a direct, encrypted line to guide you through Konpeki. V, ring Jackie now, see if we're in sync. Can't be too careful.” 

She puts a call through to Jackie, inteface telling her it’s establishing a secure connection.

“And?” Bug asks, expectantly. 

“Got static,” Jackie cringes, “Say somethin', Bug?”

“The greatest crimes issue from a desire for excess and not from necessity."

“Say what now?”

“Yeah, I read you. Not so much your Greek friend, though it was kind of exciting,” Jackie tells her with the ghost of a smile on his lips. 

“Could give it some thought, try to understand…? How 'bout you, V?”

“I want more Aristotle!” 

“Fuck off, both.”

Jackie and V share a giggle at the runner’s expense, V’s going to miss when Bug goes into retirement. If all works out, even on the brighter side, it may be the last time all three of them work together. But at least Bug will be happy and safe, unlike V or Jackie, this was never her dream or end goal. 

“OK, tech checks out, looks like,” T-Bug confirms. 

“Será mejor que sí…”

“Stay in touch”

And V just realizes the taxi has stopped moving, through Jackie’s window she can see the front entrance of the hotel.  The bright red exterior walls, a worker standing at the ready and those nerves are clawing their way back with a vengeance, tearing up her insides and making her want to bolt, terrified that they’lll be found out as soon as they step foot in. They need to get moving, only way to get through the fear is to take control, do what needs to be done. And hopefully avoid puking in the back of an expensive AI taxi. 

“Thank you for choosing the Delamain service. And best of luck. I shall await here for your return.”

“Shit's finally happenin’… “ 

“Its game time, got any iron left on you, time to put it away,” she tells him, tucking her gun and knife into the center compartment. Jackie following suit. V tugs off her suit jacket and rolls her white sleeves to her elbows, making sure her blades are accessible from the start. 

“Alright, Hannah, let’s go.” 

V opens the door of the Delamain, greeted by the view in front of the hotel, in the distance she can see the space travel facility, night settled over the water. The hotel has trees and plants out front, trying to sprinkle some nature into the cement and chrome world of Night City. She carries her suit jacket over her shoulder, keeping one hand busy with it, while the other sits in her pocket. Hoping it will keep her from signing if she needs to talk. 

“Hold on, lemme grab the Flathead.” Jackie pops the trunk of the taxi and pulls out the case with the bot. 

The mercs take the two marble steps up, a vibrant stript of red along the path.There’s long white marble with planters and the name of the hotel inscripted in gold. 

“'Member, reservation's in your name… Ramón. You're there to meet Hajime Taki - military tech department rep. Papers are for the Flathead” T-Bug tells them as they get closer to the double doors. 

“Welcome to Konpeki Plaza,” a man in a red, black, and gold uniform greets them, bowing his head as they pass by.

There’s a large waiting room, white couches along the sides with monitors displaying documentaries and vases with red hologram plants branching out of them. A security gate divides the waiting room from the front desk, scanners to check each guest for weaponry. Beyond it she can see staff with gold plated skin. All non-security personnel of the hotel are gold plated; receptionists, concierge, bartenders, and the like. A requirement for the job, even staff must match the aesthetic. 

“Welcome to Konpeki Plaza. Please come through single file,” The guard tells them as they reach the full body scanner. 

“You got it, holm-- uh, ahem, sir,” Jackie stumbles and V screams internally, watching her friend step forward. Blue light crackles along him, like lightning, then it flashes red. Misty’s warning of mean reds, flaring in V’s mind. 

“Ahem. Hold on got something,” the guard stops Jackie before he can go any further, “Sir, care to explain why you're bringin’ a combat bot onto Konpeki Plaza premises?”

“Arms dealers.” V yells out quickly, hating how forced it sounds, tightening her fingers in her jacket, desperate not to sign on instinct and not realizing she forgot the ‘we’re’ part of her sentence until she finished saying it. 

“Excuse me?”

“Ah!” A gold skinned concierge steps over,  “You are here to see Taki-san, am I right? Please accept my apologies for the confusion.” 

“Pff,” Jackie scoffs as the concierge bows and walks into the lobby, waiting at the front desk. 

V steps into the scanner, guard assuring her it will only take a moment. It distorts her vision, crackling it with blue for just a moment. Then the guard tells her to go ahead and she walks forward, meeting Jackie at the desk. A woman with gold skin, black hair all shaved except for the bangs and sidelocks greets them.  And V is starting to notice that the Arasaka logo is everywhere, the corp hotel owned by them. On the screens, gold emblazoned on marble planters, and on pamphlets. The hotel and Arasaka logo are clearly one in the same. 

“Youkoso. Greetings and welcome to Konpeki Plaza,” she says bowing her head to them and V returns the gesture.

“We’d like to check in,” Jackie says and V sends him a silent thanks for talking. .

“Of course, just a moment, please” the receptionist taps away at a keyboard, “The name on the reservation is…?”

“Victorino.”

“Double room, two adults, one night. Correct?”

“That’s the one,” V tells her, with a tight nod. 

“Perfect… I will go ahead and notify Taki-san of your arrival.”

“Shit, no good, not part of the plan. Talk her up, V, stall!” T-Bug yells out over the call and V is once again wanting to scream. 

“That, uh,  won't be necessary,” she curses herself for stuttering, “We'll go freshen up first, notify him ourselves.”

“But Taki-san is expecting you, no…?”

“Senorita, do you know how long we been traveling? Eighteen hours from New Barcelona. With a delay on Metakey 'cause some cyberpsycho blew himself into bits inside the terminal…”

“Been a nightmare, ugh.” 

“Of course, I understand. You will be in the Lapis Lazuli Suite on level forty-two. Oh, one more little formality… Please validate your SID chip.”

“Honor's all yours, Hannah.” 

A tablet on the table lights up with a bright blue handprint and she’s reminding of her issue getting into her own apartment. Bug said she put a temporary hack on their SID chip, but there’s an extra twinge of anxiety as V lays her hand down on it. She half expects it to show a senior citizen, to be outed as a fraud and tossed out the door. 

“Everything seems to be in order. We wish you a pleasant stay!~” 

“Better get goin'.”

V murmurs a thanks, feeling a bit of relief at having that part of this whole thing done. Playing corpo is somehow more stressful to her than the idea of breaking into Yorinobu’s penthouse. She follows behind Jackie. Large marble planters fill the lobby, some with trees that nearly touch the staggeringly high ceiling. 

“New Barcelona? Really?” T-Bug comments as V follows Jackie up a short set of marble steps. 

“It's called improvisin' - you should try it,” V stares up at a gold framed painting, “Whaddaya think, Hannah"?

“...” V raises an eyebrow at him with a soft noise in her throat. 

“Quaint, cozy. Not like the hotel we had in Zurich for that convention.”

“Don't need that, Jack. Enough.”

“What? I’m takin’ this seriously!” Jackie grumbles when T-Bug scolds him. 

They take two turns through the lobby, guards passing by talking about dolls being left in rough shape as they near what looks to be a bar in the corner. It's an open pathway inside, the bar illuminated in pink and a gold plated woman stands at a podium bearing Arasaka’s logo. There’s a lit collection of alcohol behind the bar, liquor that costs more than V’s rent, which isn’t a hard feat but still rubs her the wrong way. 

“Bar don't look too shabby.”

“We don't do reservations on weekdays, so feel free to grab any available table. Or a couple of stools at the bar if you prefer?” She explains to them, a valley girl accent to her words. 

“Could bring Misty here one day. When we, uh… close this deal.”

“Might take a look around.” 

The idea of sitting down, if only for a moment, and catching her breath after the close call in the lobby sounds nice. Her nerves are frayed already, she’s never wanted to drink so much on a job before. A quick breather before she has a full blown panic attack. 

“Shit,” Jackie curses, “look like some fuckin' travelin' salesman with this case. Go ahead, I’ll go on upstairs.” 

V nods, watching Jackie go to the elevator, a part of her feels guilty, but she doesn’t intend to take too long. And it’s not as if she’s made visiting bars on the job a habit before, she can have this one. She rubs a hand over the back of her neck, feeling the chrome indents of her Mantis Blades cooling the skin. Half of the room is a lounge with black couches and slick pink metallic chairs, terrariums built into the walls. The other half is, gold stools and booths before the neon pink bar. Each side is filled with people mingling, dressed in high fashion, people who’ve gambled away more money than she’s ever seen. 

“And when I say heads're gonna roll, I don't mean it as a fucking turn of phrase,” a half drunk man slurs his speech at the golden bartender. The stench of whiskey clings heavy to his clothes. 

“Had enough guy, don’t you think? You’re making the other customers uncomfortable,” the bartender sends a pointed look towards V, a slight twang in his voice. She was looking for a breather, not conflict. 

“Good! 'Cause this affects them, too! It'll slap everyone in the face!” 

“What’s that?’ She entertains him, figuring it might get the guy gone sooner. 

“You wanna know what a bearer of bad news looks like? What's four hundred yards long, weighs a hundred thousand tons, and is nuclear powered…? The answer's docked in the bay! Hanako Arasaka decided -,” he hiccups, “decided to take a little vacation!

“Big deal.”

“Don't know how big just yet,” her sarcasm doesn’t penetrate the fog of whiskey, “And by the time we do, it'll.. it'll be too late. Screw this. I'm gonna get some sleep…”

With that the man stumbles away, taking the too strong smell of booze with him and the shining bartender turns to her. His shaved hair either red or pink, color distorted in the glowing light. 

“Evenin, what can I get you, baby?” 

Her nose wrinkles at the term of endearment, “little forward, don’t you think?” 

“Suckled it outta my ma's very breast,” he returns, “Fifty percent protein, the other half pure high octane CHOOH2.” 

He presses two gilded hands to the bar leaning forward as he regales his story and she can’t help but raise an eyebrow; he’s implying he’s a nomad, but why would he tell her that? 

“What?” 

“She had wind and dust in her hair, so to speak. Belonged to the Aldecaldos. Before the bombs began fallin'. Her final words? ‘Wherever you go, whatever you do, be yourself, David.’ And so I ended up here. Still no one but myself.” 

He’s full of shit, she decides immediately. Maybe her own distrust or her own frustration, nobody with nomad blood would end up here, gold plated and slinging drinks to corpos. At the very fucking least, they wouldn’t act so damn happy about it. 

“Lovely story if it wasn’t a crock of shit.” 

“Everyone's making something up,” he smirks, “Just like you, baby.”

“Excuse you?” she chokes out, feeling like ice water has been shot through her veins. He’s seen through her, that implication clear, but how? Even regaling to her some fucked up story of being a nomad, like he could smell the dust of the badlands still on her skin. 

“Can I getcha somethin'? At the least, water?” 

“Bourbon and cherry coke.” 

“You got it, baby.” 

The repeated use of the pet name earns him a glare, V tapping her fingers against the bar, his story and perceptiveness making her nerves worse. He sets the drink on the table and she downs it with a gulp, alcohol not quite loosening her how she hopes. She sets the glass down and leaves the bar, it may be petty but she doesn’t leave him a tip, frustrated at the idea he could have seen through her. 

She jabs the elevator button, tapping her foot as she waits and stares at some painting. Its all abstract bullshit, pretty colors, but she’s not sure she sees much else to them. The golden doors open, the back of the elevator windowed with what looks like foliage inside, maybe it’s just a screen. V steps inside and jabs to her level. And after just a short ride, it stops  at her floor. 

The doors open and she sees Jackie, looking over one of the art pieces, walking past a desk and concierge to greet him. 

“About time,” he says, when he spots her, the pair making a beeline to the suite. They walk past a couple speaking Russian, talking about testing on people, as they find the door. 

Jackie opens the door and she gets her first peek of it, stepping in. The furthest wall almost entirely windowed, looking out over the hills. Another expanse dedicated to a terrarium, a large plush bed, white sofas, and a table projecting hologram displays of fish. V tosses her suit jacket off onto the couch. 

“Pretty snazzy. Too bad we ain't stayin' the night. Nice choice, Bug.” 

“Didn't pick it for snazz. Offers quickest access to the dweller and servers.”

“Sí, sí, me acuerdo,” jackie grumbles as he puts the Flathead case down on a table in front of the terrarium. The little spider bot springs to life the second it’s case is opened. 

“Now you fire up the Flathead and find the shaft entrance.” 

“Sounds simple enough…” 

“Simplicity's sometimes toughest to master,” T-Bug tells her. 

“Aurelius? Aristotle? Who's it this time?”

“Yours truly, that one's mine.”

“Go ahead and find the shaft, chica, I’ll get the Flathead running.” 

V nods and begins looking around the room, scanning around, finding the shaft after a short moment. A little square panel standing out on the wall next to the terrarium, scanner telling her it’s Flathead compatible. 

“Found it.” 

“Good. Jackie, how's the Flathead lookin'?” T-Bug asks, he’s put the control shard in one of his neuroports while V was looking for the shaft, eyes now glowing bright white blue. 

“All set. Systems’re operational, charge at a hundred…,” a moment passes his expression furrowing as he shakes his head, “Mierda.  Little gonk's stuck.”

“Just gonna stand there and look at it? Gonna have to switch to manual control. V, take the control shard from Jackie. Gonna link your Kiroshis to surveillance so you can guide the bot.”

“Why me, Jack’s got full blown optics?”  She asks, as he pulls the control shard from his head. 

“Yeah, but you got better tech, unlike someone I ain’t run up my tab with Vik. Got last-gen firmware low flow. May be contacts, but you’re working with top notch Kiroshi tech.” 

“Plus someone already has some playtime with the bot,” T-Bug outs her and Jackie raises an eyebrow at V, a teasing smile on his lips. 

“You played with the bot?”

“Just… give me the shard,” she takes it from Jackie’s hand, “Surveillance cover the whole hotel?”

“Mhm. Even the bedrooms in the suites.”

“Seriously?” 

“You'd be surprised what people're willin' to give up to feel secure. Lucky for us, Yorinobu's an exception. Penthouse is dark, no hotel security.’

“Okay, here goes.” V pushes the control shard into the slot, the interface says it’s connecting her, then it glitches and in a moment she’s looking at herself and Jackie through the surveillance camera. 

“Patching you through to in-cam view. Might get a little disoriented, but don't freak”

Her vision switches between rooms; a man getting a lap dance from a doll in a dimly room, two men in another hotel room. And then it lands on a third room. A meeting of four people; two Arasaka suits and two faces she vaguely recognizes. The view doesn't shift again and she takes the chance to look closer, talks of losing control of Watson, election season. And it clicks, the mayor of Night City. 

“Camera’s set,” V tells Bug, political bullshit isn’t her business, she can see the vague outline of the Flathead creeping into the room.  Only slightly visible to her thanks to her connection, 

“Get him to the next vent.”

V scans and finds the next vent shaft tucked in the corner of the room, sending the Flathead to it. She watches as it crawls and creeps through the room. 

“C’mon little buddy, you got it, yes,” She cheers on the little machine as it skitters across the camera and into the vent. 

“It’s a Military grade combat bot, not your pet, V. Patching you into the next cam now.” 

The next room appears, more brightly lit with two maids working to clean it. V goes to send the Flathead into the vent but the request is denied, detecting one of the cleaning ladies is too far into it’s path. 

“Cleaning crew’s in the way,” V tells Bug, listening to one of the women start drooling over Yorinobu. 

“Gotta distract her. Hmm, let's see what's on the subnet…temp control on the terrarium, sic the bot on it.” 

V follows the runner’s orders scanning and sending the Flathead onto the temp control. Barely a moment passes before the maid’s notice, freaking out about how expensive it is. The merc takes her chance and sends the bot into the unblocked vent shaft. 

“Little guy’s through.”

Next cam flickers into a green tinted maintenance hallway, the bots legs tinkering across the floor. Vent on the other side of the room, V sends it through, smiling as her little buddy makes his way through. And it brings her to a new camera, it looks like where the surveillance feeds lead to. A console and row of screens with a security guard watching them. 

“Dweller's just beyond the door. Flathead can jimmy the lock.”

V sends the command, watching it scamper to the door, tendrils working at the lock. But nothing gives away. 

“He’s having some trouble, poor feller.” 

“Shit… Gotta be another way. Lemme think… Got another cam other side of the door, but it's disabled.’

“Got a CCTV port, might be able to enable it.” 

“Go for it.” 

The Flathead creeps across the room and jacks into the port, giving V access to the other camera. And V switches her vision to it, the next room looks like a high tech runner’s nest. Two netrunning chairs in deep cooled divots within the room. But only one is in use, a man jacked into the security frame, illuminated in blue, screens running code around him. 

“Dweller’s inside.”

“Just as planned.”

“Still don’t get why they only have the one.” 

“Decent dweller's as good as a dozen rank-and-file. Lemme graft a demonoid onto your link, you’ll be able to jack the bot directly into the chair and neutralize the runner.” 

“Got’cha” 

“You'll have to get the Flathead in there first, though.” 

“Got another shaft grate,” V finds when she twists the camera’s view, there had to be a vent in the other room, servers lining the walls. Bad ventilation and the entire operation overheats. 

“Shaft may link both rooms, looks like. Toggle to the other cam.” 

V does so, a moment of scanning and she finds a hidden shaft grate in the floor, “Think I got it.”

“Send the Flathead over there, then toggle over to the second cam.”

She waits until the bot is prying open the vent in the surveillance room, then flickers back over to the runner’s den, eyes on the vent and hoping she didn’t send their tech into the wrong room. A moment passes and she sees her robotic friend creeping his way out. 

“Our friend’s inside.” 

“Flathead into the chair, V, jack in.” 

The bot crawls across the floor and into the netrunner’s cubby, creeping up the chair and scuttling over the man’s body. Deep in the subnet the man doesn’t stir or even notice as the bot hovers over his face and jacks into the chair. And the code across the screen glitches, replaced by a T. 

“Holy shit.” 

“Whoop! Got him! Love those daemons!” Bug cheers, louder and more excited than V has ever heard her. They did it, the bot is in, T-Bug has access to it all. 

“Uh, Flathead buddy stays, right?” 

“To keep an eye on the dweller, yeah. Punching into Konpeki’s main net. Go ahead and log out.” 

The young merc’s vision starts to glitch and flicker red, her pulling the shard from her head, everything spinning. Lightheaded and her body feels both too light and too heavy. Like she could collapse and float away all at once. 

“That's how it's done! How ya feelin'?” Jackie asks, concern lacing his voice. 

“Like I’m about to puke on a rug worth more than my car.” 

“Bug? How're you doin' on time?” The runner doesn’t respond right away, a moment too long passing. 

“Bug?” 

“Yeah, yeah, I'm here. Soooo listen, ICE is thicker than I thought. Piercing it'll take a couple hours.” 

“A couple hours?! Can't do it any faster?”

“Want my brain to burst into flames? Just siddown and enjoy your snazzy suite.”

“Thanks, I will! V, you take it easy, c’mon rest for a bit.” 

V doesn’t need anymore prodding, settling down onto the white sofa, hoping her head will stop spinning and stomach cease churning by the time Bug is done. The merc kicks off her heels and lays across the sofa, softer than her bed. Jackie sitting across on the other side of the table, V brings her hand up to her face, trying to block out the blue light from the holo projector. But catches herself looking at the bracelet Misty gave her, the way the beads catch the light, remembering the name of it. 

“Hey, what was our suite’s name again?” 

“Lapis lazuli, why?” 

“Isn’t that what Misty’s bracelets are? The blue beads with the gold.” 

“Oh...yeah, ain’t that some shit, must be a good sign.” 

“Maybe… she read your cards before this?” 

“Nah, didn’t get a chance, nagged me about mean reds though. What about you, cards in your favor?” 

“All I remember is something about a magician and love, blegh.” 

“Hehehe,” his laughter is warm and fills the huge room, “telling you, one day you’re gonna be head over heels with some chiccy or mano and you’re not gonna know what to do with yourself.” 

“That how it was with you and Misty?” 

“Pssh, knew I was crazy about her from day one, took a while to work up the nerve though one day I just told her the truth.” 

“That you were in loooove~.”

“More like I’d take a bullet for her, chica.”

“Romantic.” 

“Fuck yeah it is, in Night City, that’s worth a billion I love yous.” 

“So you say.” 

“Keep doing that and you’re gonna rub the finish off Vik’s work,” Jackie tells her and she realizes she’s been rubbing and fiddling with her implants, “be a waste for free work to be ruined.” 

“I’m gonna pay him.” 

“You give him anything upfront, even a dime?” 

“I… gave him a hug…” 

“Wow,” Jackie says half laughing and she’s laughing too, “a whole hug for top of the line chrome! Probably wasn’t even a real hug, just your half ass shit!” 

“I may have only used one arm.” 

“Santa mierda, V, gotta learn to hug people like you mean it.” 

“Yes, yes,” she yawns, “blah blah blah, never know which hug will be the last one, blah….” 

“Flathead wear you out that bad?” 

“Maybe a little…” Her stomach feels better, but her head is still light, fuzzy. And in the plush of the sofa, with Jackie close by, she finds herself drifting away. Eyelids getting heavier with each word, each lull of his voice. She didn’t drink much, but she’s sure the bourbon didn’t help. 

“Gonna be a while, might as well catch a cat nap, chica. Though Bug might not like it, haven’t quite managed to get the stick out of her ass.”  

“Yeah..maybe…” 

The world fades away, a soft fuzzy sleep taking over. Time ticks by around her as she catches a moment, or maybe several, to sleep. Her brain is still a little foggy, but the dizziness is gone by the time she slowly starts to wake back up. A bad case of cottonmouth as she wakes, world filtering back in. 

Her suit jacket is tossed over her, a makeshift blanket she didn’t put there, she rolls over to sit, more stable than she was before. The time on the terrarium panel tells her only an hour or two has passed.  Jackie’s back is too her, his eyes staring at the window. And she finds herself staring, standing in a suit and basked in the lights of the city view, he’s never seemed so serious. 

“Whaddaya think? Why'd he give it all up?” He asks after a moment and she blinks, brain still foggy. 

“Who?” 

"Yorinobu Arasaka. The good life, I mean. Old news, I know. Just got to thinkin's all. It's like, think… You got everything, right? Eddies, education. Your pops can snap his fingers and turn half the fuckin’ planet into a nuclear wasteland… But instead you're like, ‘Nah, fuck it,’ and whaddaya go do? Start a fuckin' gang! Steel Dragons or some shit! You ghost from your fam, chip some RealSkinn and play gang leader for a few years. For what?!” 

She can sense the frustration in every word, feel it every clench of his fingers or swing of his hands. Someone like Yorinobu was handed everything he could ever want; tried to piss it away to play edgerunner, then found himself sucking the silver spoon once again.  But, she can’t blame him for wanting out from under his father’s thumb; that alone a feeling she knows too well. Her fingers hover over her wrist, the still branded flesh that Vik saved. 

“Maybe...he just wanted out of the system.” 

“So then why’d he come back.” 

“Tough to ditch the system when the system’s your own family,” V admits, finger still on the mark. 

“Black sheep’s still a sheep, eh?” 

“Maybe…” 

It took her forever to get the nerve to leave, she talked about it constantly, but it wasn’t until her mother’s death, murder, culling. Whatever she’s meant to call it, that she finally was pushed to make that move. Been gone for years now, but… more days than she cares to admit were spent wondering if she ever should have run, if she should crawl back and beg. If a family that hates her is better than no family at all… 

“Crawled back on all fours, tail between his legs, fuckin’ cheap ass rebel. Fuckin’ tourist!” 

Her nails dig into her skin; insecurities brimming, fear that maybe she’s just as much a fuckin’ tourist. Some black sheep nomad who’ll go running back to her dad, beg for another chance, playing pretend merc when all she’ll ever be is the family burden. 

“Tourist or not, he just walked into the lobby. And we are back in biz. Penthouse security is neutralized.”

“Perfecto, let’s start this show.”

And with those words, they’re back in business, the younger merc up on her feet. V grabbing her jacket and following Jackie out of the suite, fiddling with the fabric as she walks, heels clicking across the floor. 

“Hey, Bug…” Jackie says after a beat of silence,  “were, uh… were you on comms that whole time?”

“Three and a half hours.”

“Eehh… about that stick up the ass…”

“Mean the one up mine?”

“Ehh, slip of the tongue, y'know…”

“I know. Now's your chance to make up to me,” T-Bug tells him as they reach the elevator, Jackie pressing the button. 

“This is going pretty smooth right,” he turns to V as they wait, “right?” 

“Really are a silver lining type, ain’t ya?” V teases as the doors open and they step into the elevator. 

“Hey, when are you gonna wave off that dark cloud hanging over your head? Tellin’ you, it’s downhill from on in.” 

She rolls her eyes and hits the button to the penthouse, elevator doors closing and the carriage rumbling, shaking as it ascends. Silence falling over them, only the sound of the elevator. Jackie’s leg shakes and she knows that silence is about to end. 

“Ahh, there's the awkward silence. You, uh, wanna hear a joke?”

“Now? Seriously?”

“OK, so why'd the rockerboy's output kick him out of the apartment? ‘Cause he wasn't chippin' in.” Jackie cackles at his own joke and V rolls her eyes, a slight smile on her lips. 

“Jesus Christ…” 

Bug sounds a moment away from killing him, but thankfully for the older merc’s sake, the elevator comes to a stop. Doors opening up to Yorinobu’s suite. It feel different, seeing it from her own perspective instead of Evelyn’s and outside of a braindance editor. The entire suit feels bigger. A part of her wonders if it’s the height difference between herself and Evelyn, but decides to chalk it up to braindance shit instead. 

“Huh… not bad bein' heir to the Arasaka empire. Sure as shit better'n bein' the son of Raúl Welles,” Jackie comments taking in the room. 

V turns the corner through the room and a tank catches her eye. A slightly red light illuminating an iguana. It immediately reminds her of the only other iguana she knows, Manny. Come to think of it, his original crate was from Arasaka? 

“Hey, Jackie, look!” 

“Whoa, another fuckin’ iguana, not as cute as Manny though.” 

“Manny’s original crate was marked Arasaka; think he might’ve been Yorinobu’s before we klepped him?” 

“Think we stole his iguana and made him get a new one?” 

“Maybe?”  She gently taps the tank glass, watching the iguana’s tail flick back and forth. 

“Guys! Focus! The safe! And make it quick!” Bug yells out, bringing the merc’s back down to earth. V tosses her jacket onto one of the seats in the center, searching around the penthouse. Rain patters outside the windowed walls. They know where the safe is, but how do they get it out of the floor?

“Why, what's the rush?”

“Sig on Yorinobu's gone dark!”

“What is he, a fuckin' sorcerer?”

“Some kinda dead zone's my guess - have him back in a sec. And you do your damn job! Look around for a switch.”

V walks around one of the dividers where Yorinobu’s bed is, the slick metal of a gun catching her eye first and foremost. Black and gray, with purple detailing. She checks it for ammo and finds it loaded then decides it’s hers. 

“Looks like Yori left us a little gift,” she laughs, tucking the iron in her waistband. And on the other side of the bed, she finds a little switch. She presses it. 

“Bingo, got somethin' ejectin’! C'mere, V!” Jackie calls her over to the corner of the room, heart pounding in her chest.

They’re so close to the finish line, each click of her heels feeling like a step closer. This could actually work. A large black safe has risen out of the floor, a small jack in port and two red lights. Jackie stands on one side of it, the gray rainy day behind him. 

“What now, Bug?” 

“Jack in your personal and make us rich.” 

V plugs her personal link in, leaning one hand against the safe. Jackie leans against it from the other side, foreheads nearly touch as they wait for Bug to work her magic. Just get the chip and walk out, that’s all that’s left. All they need to do. She can’t stand still, itching to cross the finish line, minutes away from the major leagues. 

“Gimme two…”

The merc’s interface shows Bug uploading the daemons to crack the case and V watches the number rise. Sixty percent, seventy, seventy-five; each ticking number another shaky breath, a rising beat of her heart, and a chill up her spine. Homestretch, nearly there. 

And there’s a hum, V’s focus drawn away from the rising percentage, to the windows. Flying AV whirring through the gray skies, hovering around. She looks to Jackie, hoping somehow he’ll have an explanation, something to help her ignore the way her stomach is starting to drop. 

“We got winged visitors… Bug…?” There’s catch in his voice, nerves. Jackie’s scared and she swallows the lump in her throat. His face illuminated in the red flashing lights of the case, mean reds, the words flash in V’s mind. 

“Dunno who. But staffs abuzz, all two hundred on their feet, can't keep still…” 

Somethings wrong, the hair on the back of her neck stands up, a chill in her she can’t shake. Something is so fucking wrong. 

“Can't say I like this, how much longer, T?!”

“Shit. Yorinobu's penthouse bound!”

“What!?”V’s voice cracks, digging her nails into the safe, they’re fucked. They’re so fucked. 

“Fuck him!” Jackie slams his hand down, rattling the container, “Open the safe!” 

“Almost got it… Done!”  The safe opens, revealing a cryo-container within. Bright white light and a fog of ice cold air coming with it. V rips her personal jack out. 

“Preem, lets get the fuck out of here!”  

“Lemme look to this, eh?” Jackie says, pulling the container out and looking at the little screens across it. 

“Relic intact?” 

"Bioshard integrity - one hundred percent." Guessin' that's a yes,” Jackie reads off the vitals of the shard, picking up the case. 

“Good,  let’s delta.” 

The pair nearly trip through the center of the penthouse, rushing towards the elevator with Jackie lugging behind the giant cryo-container. So close, so close, so fucking close. An elevator and taxi ride away, then they’ll be at The Afterlife counting their eddies. The homestretch. 

“Fuck, too late!” T-Bug yells before V can hit the elevator button, “Yorinobu's about to walk in - find cover!

“Where in the fuck!?” V swings her hands as she yells, they’re so fucking close. She rakes her nails across her face, leaving red angry marks down her skin. 

“That pillar- try that!” 

“You fuckin' kiddin'?!” Jackie screams as the mercs make a move to the pillar in the center of the penthouse, were she thought servers for the room were kept. The back of it opening up and allowing a tight passageway. 

“No! Inside it! Now!” 

V slips inside as quickly as she can, Jackie following suit. He holds the cry-container close to his chest. The glass barrier is one way, they can see out, but it can’t be seen in. Still not ideal cover, ideally they’d be outside of the fucking hotel by now. The merc presses her hands to the glass, cursing under her breath. 

“We’re in,” she whispers to Bug.

“Which don't solve our problem, T.”

“I fuckin' know our problem's still there! Lemme think for a sec, okay?” 

The lights to the penthouse come on, elevator doors opening as Yorinobu strides in. with mechanical monstrosity of a body guard from the BD taking large whirring steps after him. And he seems even bigger now. He’s a cyber giant, one mech hand larger than  any part of V. 

He’s outlined in red, his eyes staring straight at her,  Vik said her new contacts would highlight if enemies saw her.. No, there’s no possible way. The man has barely set a borged-out foot into the room. She meets his gaze head on, swallowing the lump in her throat as she tries to seem braver than she is. On the off chance he may truly know the mercs are there. 

“Is that… Is that Adam Smasher?” Jackie whispers and V trusts him to look at her hands  as she signs, not wanting to break eye contact with the robotic monstrosity, refusing to show weakness.

“Bodyguard?” 

“Worse,” her trust in her friend is well placed, “Night City legend. Bleak motherfuckin' one, too. What's the plan?”

“We stay quiet and we wait.” 

A flash of movement makes V finally break the stare down, Yorinobu walks to the middle of the room and stops at the seat across from the table, black fabric strewn across it. He picks it up, regarding it for a moment and her heart drops into her stomach. 

V’s jacket. She left her fucking jacket on his chair, like an idiot, she didn’t even have time to consider grabbing it. They’re going to die because she left her fucking jacket out in the open and Adam Smasher is still staring at her. 

She half expects Yorinobu to call a sweep of the room, ring security, that he’ll realize the random jacket must be an intruder. But he shakes his head, tosses it aside onto the floor, not giving it another thought. While his body guard Smasher lingers in the corner, robotic eyes staring straight at V, watching the mercs squirm. 

“Are they here yet?” Yorinobu asks out loud. 

“They approach from the landing pad,” an AI voice responds. 

“Fuck are they talking about?” V resists the urge to elbow Jackie, silence has never been more important. One sound too loud and a borged out psycho will rip their heads off. And if her contacts are right, Smasher may just be waiting for the perfect opportunity. 

“Nuh-uh, no fucking way…. This isn't happening…!” T-Bug whispers over comms and V sees someone coming down the spiraling stairs, a guard it seems, with another older man following him, “Saburo Arasaka.” 

The second man is older, much older than the first. Balding with gray hairs and liver spots across his scalp, glasses perched high upon his nose. Dressed in a mixture of yukata robes over what seems to be slacks and loafers he takes slow measured steps down the stairs. The head capitalist himself, owner of Arasaka. 

“The emperor? Yet another asslickin' legend….” 

V taps Jackie’s side and puts her finger to her lips, encouraging him to be quiet. The man who led Saburo in starts to walk around the room. He’s older than V or Jackie, but nowhere near Saburo’s age. Long graying dark hair pulled back in a bun, cyberware across his neck coming out from under his black suit. 

“I thought I told you not to meddle in my affairs,” Yorinobu speaks in his native tongue, V’s contacts translating and subtitling to English. 

“Oh fuck,” Jackie curses as the long haired guard comes to stand in front of them, silver ringed brown eyes starting to scan them. 

“Leave us,” Saburo orders and the guard stops scanning, turning to face the corporate leader. 

“Arasaka-sama, I still haven't done a full sweep.” The guard turns his back and V can see where part of his hair is shaved, allowing intense cyberware extending beyond his neck and towards his scalp. 

“This is my son.”

“Of course. Should I retrieve what we come here to-” 

“I will handle it. You may go.”

The long haired guard bows and goes to leave the room, finally Adam Smasher’s gaze on her drops, as the borged freak leaves with the guard through the elevator doors. If they’re here to retrieve something… it’s likely the biochip, which means if they go to get it and see it’s gone… They’re fucked. They’re straight fucked. 

“Un-fucking-believable… Saburo Arasaka.” That comment makes V nudge Jackie with her foot, once again begging him to just stay quiet. 

“Did you think I wouldn't know it was taken from me?” Saburo asks his son, barely making eye contact as Yorinobu looks through a datapad. 

“Actually, I don't think of you at all. Ever. You see, that's your problem. You think the world revolves around you. Arrogant.” 

“Yorinobu.” 

“Why did you come? To humiliate me? To personally see to it that your son knows his place?”

“"The nail that protrudes from the wall gets hammered…"

“Couldn't think of anything original to say?” Yorinobu yells in exasperation, standing up and pacing around the room.  He’s on edge, looking ready to jump out of his skin and V can’t say she has a good feeling about any of this. 

“And do you think it ‘original’ to sell our greatest achievement to Westerners - our future to these… barbarians?!”

It’s definitely the biochip Saburo is after, they’re screwed, monumentally screwed. V would laugh if she didn’t feel like dying, of course, of course it all goes to shit. 

“Our future? Ours?! You are mistaken. You've only ever cared about yourself… and your sick schemes.” Yorinobu points and swings his limbs, still pacing, every word coiled tight with barely restrained hatred. 

“I knew this day would come. That sooner or later your impudence would cross the line,” Saburo is calmer, measured, taking soft steps towards his son, “There is much for which I could forgive you, but for treason - no.” 

The two men, father and son now stand in front of the pillar before an audience they don’t know. Stares trained on each other, each hateful, but one furious in it’s spite and the other calm in it’s contempt. Moments pass, no word said, each waiting for the other to light a fuse that will set off the powder keg. 

“I'm just glad your mother didn't live to see this. The heart should break but once.” 

And it goes off. Saburo’s words are punctuated by Yorinobu’s hands wrapping tightly around the old man’s throat. Yorinobu slams his father back against the pillar, cracking the glass in front of Jackie and busting open Saburo’s head. Blood streaking the shards. And he pulls away and for a moment, as Saburo clutches at his crushed windpipe, Yorinobu seems nearly regretful. 

“You shall never have to forgive me for anything again.” 

His hands wrap again, choking his father against the pillar. Until Saburo starts to fall limp, Yorinobu bringing him down onto the floor in a lifeless heap. Yorinobu stands over his father. Saburo is dead, killed before the merc’s very eyes at the hands of his own son. Jackie curses and V watches as Yorinobu paces, mind clearly racing before he stands over his father’s corpse again. 

“I wish… I wish to put the hotel on lockdown.” 

What does that mean? What the hell does that mean?

“May I ask why?” The AI secretary asks him. 

“Saburo Arasaka has been murdered.”

“Code red initiated. Attention! Code Red has been initiated throughout Konpeki Plaza. Please remain in your rooms and follow all instructions given by staff.”

Oh no, oh fuck no. The lights in the room drop, only bright neon red ones glowing angry in the dark. What the hell is going to happen? What the fuck do they do now? The elevator doors open, Smasher and the long haired guard walking in; the latter rushes and comes to a full stop when he sees Saburo’s corpse. 

“What happened?”

“Someone… someone poisoned my father.”

“Poisoned…?” 

“Seems so.” 

“Yorinobu-san… I doubt…”

Yorinobu glowers at the guard, pushing into his personal space, trying to intimdate him. Trying to make him stop questioning what happened, trying to stop him from looking any closer. Anyone who gets a good look at Saburo’s corpse will see the fingerprints around his neck. 

“What is your job, Takemura?”

“I don't follow.”

“It's a simple question. Answer it.”

“To protect the head of the Arasaka family.”

“I do sincerely hope you'll do a better job of executing your duties from now on…”

“Forgive me, Arasaka-sama,” the guard drops his head in shame, “I shall not disappoint.” 

Yorinobu turns to leave the suite. The guard, Takemura, follows close behind. And the still red highlighted Smasher follows behind him. The elevator doors close behind them. Jackie and V left alone in the suite again. But what the fuck just happened? 

“What the fuck just happened in there?” T-Bug asks, exactly what’s rattling around V’s skull as the pillar back opens again. Jackie and V clambering out. 

“Yorinobu just killed Saburo, he fucking choked out his own dad, I didn’t even know you could do that!” V rambles and yells as she turns the corner of the pillar, looking down at Saburo’s corpse. She quickly checks his pockets, stealing some cash and a pair of dog tags off of him. 

“What?” 

“His own fuckin’ pops.” 

“Know what this means?l Security's gonna swarm the place any second. Oh my god, we're so fucked!”

“We need to get the fuck out of here, now!” They can’t just go out the elevator, they’d meet security on the way. They’re beyond fucked. Why the hell did they take this stupid fucking job!?

“Gimme a sec!”

There’s the helipad, but it’s not like they have anything that fucking flies. Think, think, think; she screams in her head to just fucking think, there has to be something, anything. 

“We don't have a sec!”

“Okay, got somethin'! Window - now! Releasing the lock! Should see a ladder… Ladder…” 

V sees an opening in the large windowed walls, double doors practically made of glass they goes onto the ledge. This has to be in, T-Bug can undo the lock and they’ll slip out. 

“Oh fuck.” T-Bugs voice drops and a chill shoots up V’s back, something is wrong. 

“Bug!?” 

“No, no, no, no - not now…! I’ve been made… “ 

And panic turns to agony as T-Bug screams, a shrill cry of pain then she’s gone. Connectuon cut and V freezes in place. 

Bug is gone, just gone… 

Maybe, Konpeki just cut their comms? But the scream rings through V’s mind. She’s heard of how runner’s can die, daemons and quick hacks. Having their entire brain fried, every nerve and neuron set on fire, burned from the inside out... And all that's left to find is a simmering corpse stewing in their own filth. Bug was never meant for that, meant to retire, meant to find peace after years of netrunning. But now… 

“Bug.!? Bug!? Can you fuckin’ hear me, Bug please, are you there!?” V calls out, words slurring together. She just needs to hear Bug one more time, and know everything is okay. 

And nothing. 

“¡Pinche Dios Santo bendito! We lost her, V!” 

“They...scorched her...didn’t they…?” 

“We… we gotta go, V,” Jackie says, voice cracking as he smacks at V’s shoulder. 

Bug’s final hack going through, the window unlocked. V steps out through the window onto the ledge, rain pelting her skin as she rushes around the corner. Bug said there’s a ladder they can use, last thing Bug ever said… There’s no time for mourning, no time to cry, they need to get through this. The ledge narrows around the corner, ride lights outside the hotel window guiding the way, secured against the steel of the hotel. V sees the yellow safety ladder. The merc presses her back to the building, gently side stepping across the narrow ledge, if they just reach the ladder. One wrong step and they’ll plummet. 

“You can do it, Jackie… just don't look down,” jackie tries to talk himself up, following V, “ Yep, that's fuckin' high…!”

There’s a whir of engines, an aircraft vehicle buzzing around the outside of the hotel.

“Shit! That Trauma?” Jackie asks and that’s exactly what they need right now, doctors shooting them. 

“If they’re here for Saburo, they’re a little late.” 

“Just hope they didn't see us! ¡Chingada madre!”

The aircraft carrier flies in close, flashing blinding white light onto the mercs. It sees them, definitely sees them. 

“Suspects in violation of security protocols.” The mechanical voice croaks out. 

“Time to bail!’ Jackie screams and the aircraft starts to fire, drone automated shooting at them. 

The glass around them bursts and V jumps, grabbing Jackie’s hand in her left, she swings her right blade out towards the ladder. It hooks in the bottom rung, creaking in distress as it stops their fall. And there the mercs hang, suspended by a single Mantis Blade and a ladder rung; rain pouring down upon them and a drone still searching for them through the debris. The strain pulls at V’s arm, pain shooting throughout, shoulders ache and left arm pulled tight trying to hold Jackie and the case he holds in his other hand. 

If she could pull them up with the blade, maybe they can get to safety. But her muscles already strain, wrought tight with the strength it takes to hold them up. The blade pulling at the inner tissue it’s attached too, never meant to support more weight than the person it’s attached to. Rain and tears sting her eyes as she forces herself to pull with the blade, use it to lift them up. 

“V! I can’t hold on!’ Jackie yells out, rain slick hand starting to slip from her own. She digs her nails into his skin, holding him tighter. 

“Just a bit more, I can do this!” 

Her throat is raw and she doesn’t know how much she believes her own words. Nerves scream in pain as her cyberware pulls at what’s left of her flesh. Muscles cry as forced beyond their capability. She curses beneath her breath, pulling them just a little further up. Immeasurable pain and brute force of will only amounting to the tiniest bit of progress, not even an inch closer to safety. Her blade is pulling further out from her skin, raising up from her arm in a way she knows it shouldn’t. 

Every nerve in her arms on fire; blade tugging at flesh and the other nearly pulled from socket under Jackie’s weight. Barely an inch closer to the safety, Jackie slipping from her grip quicker than she can pull, blade lifting from her arm quicker than she can move them. Her teeth sinks into the inside of her cheek, hard enough to bleed as she pushes herself further. Closer, closer, she urges herself. 

A bright white light shines across them, illuminating them in the gray night, adding another ache to her eyes. Drone marked Arasaka buzzing around, refinding them within the debris of the destroyed hotel wall. The robotic voice speaking again. 

“Violators found.” 

And her blade breaks, V’s eye blown wide as they begin to plummet, shock blurs her pain and deafens the world.  Slowing it for a moment, only able to stare as metal snaps, tissue tears, and her arm is ripped open. Cyberware tearing out tissue and nerves, viscera left behind. 

Then she hits glass, shattering it as gravity slams her through and shock becomes hurt. She hits metal, body bouncing from impact, crying as the air is knocked from her lungs. Her head bashing against something. V clutches her arm, the pain it hitting her as everything else does, blood sticking to her fingers. Each breath hurts, a labored wheeze as bruised lungs strain to work. 

V blinks, sitting up slightly, regaining her sense of self now that her fall is broken. Across from her is Jackie and the cryo-case. She looks at her arm, A solid rip from wrist to near elbow, nearly an open hole, metal and moving inner parts of the cyberware mixed with gore. It doesn’t bleed as much as she'd expect, the internal mechanics helping block major bleed out. It hurts, metal now working against raw nerves. But, she’ll live… if this is the worst that happens, she’ll live.

The cryo-case is dented, part of it sparking and part of it splatted with blood. But her eye is drawn to Jackie. A tear in his gut, shrapnel and glass caught him well, bleeding more than her. The white of the button up around his stomach turned scarlet. 

“The Relic! ¡Madres! Agh… Oh, this ain't good. Agh…” Jackie curses, each breath pained. 

“Jackie, you’re hurt!” 

“Worry about me later,” he growls, “check the relic… "Container depressurized. Biochip integrity at ninety-four percent." And fuckin' droppin'! Carajo! Parker! Call her!”

“And tell her what!? We fucked up!?” 

“Just do it!”

Evelyn answers after a short ring, her avatar coming across V’s contacts. 

“V?! Konpeki's all over the feeds! What the fuck's going on there?”

“Got a problem! Cryo-case is damaged. Biochip's integrity at… Jackie?”

“Eighty-six percent!”

“Eighty-six percent and droppin'!”

“Shit…! OK, listen to me. There's only one thing you can do. One of you's gotta slot the Relic into your neural port!”

“That sounds really dangerous!” 

God only knows how this biochip could fuck them up, the relic itself is like putting another personality in your head, seeing ghosts. If this one is even half as fucked up as that, they could be putting themselves in serious danger. 

“The longer you wait, the greater the risk we lose it!” 

“Well, someone’s got to do it,” Jackie says, voice a rasp, face steadily draining color as he opens the case, “In the name of the Father, Son, and the Holy Spirit - Amen.”

Jackie crosses his body with the pray and pushes the chip into his neural port and V watches his eyes light up for a moment. And he’s quiet for another, a second too long.

“You okay?” 

“Dunno… I guess… Don't feel any different.”

“Once you're back, we'll take out the Relic and run a full brain scan and sweep. But you two need to get the fuck out of there first!”

“We’re working on it!” 

Jackie and V get back on their feet. He holds his hand to his stomach, trying to press his guts together and she keeps her arm held close to her chest, not putting pressure on it. Jackie calls Delamain. 

“Del, we'll be there in a couple. Be ready, got it?”

“Certainly, Mr. Welles.”

“Better be fuckin' certain.”

“We gotta somehow… reach the lobby. Only chance to hit the garage. And we'd best be quick,” Jackie jabs himself with an air hypo, “ Oh-ho, that's the shit… Great… Now let's get outta here.”

“Wait, take your jacket off, use it to keep pressure on your gut, okay? Should help with the bleeding.” 

It’s minimal first aid knowledge, she knows. Hold something to a wound to keep it from bleeding out as quickly. But it’s all she can offer, helping Jackie get the jacket off with one hand, so he can press it to his stomach wound. She can move her right hand somewhat, but it hurts and she swears she can see the tendons moving around the metal in the gaping wound her forearm has become. She catches herself wondering if she’ll be able to sign with her right hand again. But, there’s no time for those fears. 

She walks down the red lit metal grate, heels nearly catching in it as she turns to a doorway. V leads the way, less injured than Jackie, she pushes the door open. A door lobby with glass banisters and plants, the only light the bright red ones. 

“Great… Now let's get outta here,” Jackie says, each word a stressful choking sound to get out. 

An AI voice speaks repeatedly over the speakers that Konpeki plaza is in code red, as the mercs work to move quickly and quietly. Catching the murmuring of two guards as they reach a marble staircase, speaking of sweeping the floors and checking the lobby. They creep around the corner and past a desk, seeing the back of the men’s through the glass banister. The only sound the pounding of V’s heart and Jackie’s labored breathing. They watch as the two men separate, enough space for each to grab one. 

They move down the last stretch of the stairs, guards talking about evacuating Yorinobu. She lets Jackie take the one closest to them as she moves further to the one at the doorway. V swings her left blade, now her only one, through the man’s gut. Her right arm shoots pain through each nerve, metal inside churching to dispense a blade that no longer exists. She holds back a sound, Jackie’s already choked out the other guard, checking for pockets. Each one armed with a silenced gun. She steals ammo off of them.

They come to another door, each catching their breath. Sweat clinging to V’s brow as they brace themselves for what’s to come next. 

“Careful… security likely to be swarmin' outside,” Jackie warns and V nods, words clumping together in her throat as she opens the door. 

They stay crouched, spotting more guards as they go. The pair hide behind a planter, V taking a scan of the area, spotting a security camera. Remembering Bug’s lessons, she’s quickly able to shut them off. She’s the one to step back out, leading the way for the first time in months of working together. V needs to get Jackie through this, he’s holding on now, but.. 

She grabs a guard from behind and snaps their neck, arm twinging in agony at the movement she throws their body aside, clearing a long stretch of hallway for Jackie to follow her down. All light bright red and screens that once showed commercials now flash the words, Code Red. She leaves Jackie to stay hidden behind a counter when she sees another by the doorway, jumping at his back and dropping him just like his coworker.  

“Ain't doin' too bad… Just a little further…” Jackie whispers as she drops another guy, her arm screaming at her to stop. But she’ll survive without an arm, if worse comes to worse, she can’t let Jackie get hurt any worse. 

They creep through a door, past a desk, hearing a guard yelling out as they sneak and weave through the room. She watches over the top of a planter as the guard walks past them, none the wiser as V creeps around, getting behind him, and taking him down. She can’t risk leaving any behind, leaving one alive and them finding the mercs later. The hotel is huge, a labyrinth of Arasaka guards. 

“Engaging hostiles!” A voice booms out, the mercs spotted by a heavily armed Arasaka guard who nearly trips over V.

Fuck, fuck, so much for stealth. Jackie shoots over a counter, trying to stay somewhat protected from the gunfire, while V takes lead, firing Yorinobu’s gun at the men, only dropping behind cover to reload, she blasts. Fuck it, stealth not an option, she’ll turn the whole damn hotel into a blood bath. 

The guards drop and V knows she’s been shot, but she’s standing so she moves onward. Through a doorway, three more men open fire as the mercs turn the corner. V blasts a bullet through ones head, Jackie blows the second full of holes. 

“One more fucker dead!” 

The third is further back behind a glass door and V charges forward, glass open as she fires at the man. Bullets ripping through his chest in a spray of blood before he collapses, red smeared across the marble. If she gets a chance to sleep tonight, she’ll be seeing red in her dreams. The vivid neon lights of the emergency lit hotel, the burgundy uniforms, and the steady spray of it from every shot fired. 

Jackie and V go running around a corner, through another glass doorway and slide into side of a marble planter. Taking a moment to breathe, she can hear guards talking. Orders from higher up, panicked yells from the less experienced. She can spot two around the corner, but can’t get a clear shot. She runs to the open doorway, catching one off guard as she slams into his view and rips a blade through his gut. 

A full armored worker fires off when he sees it, partially hidden by a linen rack. Another runs in, half hiding behind a planter, firing off around the corner. She presses against a wall between it and a partial doorway, reloading before she looks back through. The less armored man moves around a pillar, peeking from behind cover, and she shoots his head as soon as she sees it, watching him hit the marble. 

She struggles to get a clear shot of the third, still hidden behind the rack and so she runs forward, past the rack and coming to a sliding stop behind him. The guard fumbles to swing around when he realizes where she’s landed. Back turned to Jackie now, her friend fires a shot clean through the guard’s head. 

The room is cleared for a moment and the elevator is nearby, she runs past a desk, when she sees the button screen. A glowing red off symbol. 

“Fuck!” 

“Chingo tu madre! It's shut down! What about the other one?” Jackie yells between rattling breaths, she wanted this to be stealthy, didn’t want to put him anymore danger. 

She runs, heels clicking against blood streaked marble, nearly tripping over a corpse. Quickly trying to stop herself when another guard springs up behind a desk. Two more swarming the room, one in the heavy almost samurai-like Arasaka armor. 

“Orale! Got to plough through them!” 

She focuses on the Saka samurai, pulling the trigger again and again,  Thankful to have emptied the ammo off every body she’s dropped so far. A bullet catches his throat, a gush of blood as he paints the floor,  and she shifts to the other men. A headshot on one, the other already down thanks to Jackie. 

V searches their corpses, pocketing ammo and bounce backs, when she finds an access token on the samurai. V thanks any god that may be listening, if they exist and makes a beeline for the elevator at the end of the room. 

“Got access,” she breathes out, calling the elevator. 

Its doors open and she steps in, the side railing lit that bright red. She waits as Jackie rushes in, he’s still in somewhat decent shape it seems. Not the ideal heist, she thinks as she hits the button, but maybe they can get out of this. Rush Jackie to a ripper, check on T-Bug, collect their eddies, and tonight will be a story to tell later. Remember the Konpeki Heist, how everything that could go wrong did. 

“Hah-… agh! Heh, hng…” She can’t tell if he’s laughing or groaning in pain, maybe both. Blood is coating his hands, has he bled through the jacket? No, Jackie’s bulletproof, said it himself a billion times. He’ll be okay, he has to be. 

“Jackie…”

“Saburo Arasaka, Hundred and fifty years… and today… of all fuckin' days. That's like… some divine comedy shit… hehehehe… agh.”

And he’s laughing, of course he is, holding his guts together and he laughs, because why would Jackie Welles do anything else. She’s not sure if she’s going to cry or laugh along, if she’s charmed or infuriated by it; is he just still desperately searching for that silver lining or does he genuinely not give a fuck if he flatlines? That idea, the thought, makes her throat tighten. He can’t die, he won’t die, she won’t let him. 

“Save your strength, please, we’re not out of the woods yet.” 

“What do you think I’m doing!?” She doesn’t miss the frustration, because if he wasn’t so hurt, he’d been the one leading that battle, charging in to take brunt of it all, “Buuut… chill, V. We'll get out alive.” 

“I know we will,” she says and wants so desperately to believe.

The elevator reaches the lobby, doors open to more guards, more gunfire. She shoots at one that looks out behind a wall, three more in the main room of the lobby. Jackie slides behind a desk, using it for cover between shots. V takes lead, shooting from around a doorway. Its chaos and mayhem, V blasting the four men. One dropping behind a chair, catching one through the green ferns growing from a planter.  Three more Arasaka corpses, splattering blood across marble and the roots of those towering trees. Bullet after bullet, shot after shot, until her ears are ringing and three remain; the mercs and one last guard. 

He throws a grenade across the room at them, V shooting it in the air before it can hit them, smoke and fire smoldering across the ceiling. She uses the chance to close the gap and blows his brains out at close range.  

Room cleared they rush through the rest of the lobby, finally reaching the elevator that will take them to the garage. V slams the button, calling the elevator. The door opens and she runs inside, expecting Jackie to run in after her. His steps are slowing and he leans against the wall for a moment instead, having to catch a second wind. He’s getting worse, but they’re in the homestretch, they can do this. They can do this, he stumbles through, leaning against the elevator wall. 

“Argh… I'm leakin' a little…” His voice a rasp. 

The elevator stops at the garage, so close to safety. Doors opening she can already hear the guards and the mercs step out, eye on them, its a swarm of Arasaka. Gunfire rings out alongside the screech of brakes. The Delamain taxis coming to a stop in the center of the garage, it’s doors flinging open. 

“I advise that you waste no time in entering the vehicle,” Delamain chirps at them, like this is a normal night. 

But she needs no prodding. V grabs Jackie’s hand and runs for the taxi, dragging him through the garage to the open doors. Rather than making him walk around, she shoves Jackie through her side on the right, letting him slide into the left seat before she jumps in; he needs the extra second of protection more than her.  The doors shut, bulletproof shields raising as they the taxi is blasted by the guards. They’re safe? Right?

“Welcome back. With Delamain, you leave your problems at the door….”

“DRIVE NOW!” 

And Delamain does just that, engines firing up as he rams through the garage door like it’s nothing. She leans forward on the two front seats. As the taxi takes a sharp turn, they’re almost there, almost safe. Jackie wasn’t fucking around about the combat mode. 

“Not bad at all.” 

“Client feedback noted.”

“How’s the ride looking?” 

“Tiptop. Though alas, we are being pursued.”

And then she sees him, Adam Smasher, the borged monster of a former man rushes them. No hesitation, no fear, as he slams his entire body into the car. Shattering glass, gnashing metal, and nearly sending the car to the side; slamming V and Jackie to the right. 

“Sweet fuckin’ jesus!” 

Jackie curses as V screams, the hell kind of freak is this guy? The car goes back down on its wheels. Adam Smasher on a metal knee, slowing standing up on front of the car. 

“Combat mode activated. Please remain calm.”

“Calm!!!????” She yells out as Delamain begins to drive backwards. 

 “Road block ahead. I kindly request that you brace for impact.”

“¡Oy, mis huevos! Shiiiit!”

The cab takes a turn, rather than driving through Adam Smasher, it goes through another roadway. A row of cars blocking the way and Delamain slams through through without hesitation, taking them through the Night City roads away from the hotel. Jackie is hunched over, bloody hands still pressing the jacket to his gut, the white shirt soaked through with it. 

“A hostile enemy aircraft has a lock on us.”

V doesn’t need a word more from the AI taxi, climbing halfway out of the window, she spots the drones flying after them. Three of them. Needing steadier aim, she flips off her hearing aids with a thought, steeling herself as the car weaves through the road and she fires at them. This is Arasaka’s last ditch effor to keep a lock on them, if she can get rid of them, they’re in the clear. 

Three shots; first drone goes down sparking as it hits the city streets. Two more kills the second, the metal remains slamming into a streetlamp. And the third goes down with a final shot, smoldering onto the roof of a  BD store. She turns her hearing aids back on as she slides into her seat again; they’re gone. 

“Hostile aircraft eliminated.”

“Nice work there… Del…”

She shifts to look at Jackie, he has one hand on his stomach, the other braced against the door. V grabs his shoulder with one hand and his leg with the other, practically shaking him. 

“We did it, Jackie! We made it!” 

“Heh...guess we did…” It’s not the triumphant excited Jackie, she’d expect to hear. His voice still rough, a rattle barely leaving his lungs. Her eyes sting, no, no. 

“My medical diagnostics indicate that Mr. Welles’ condition is critical.”

“Critical, what- take us to a fucking ripperdoc, now! Vik’s behind Misty’s shop!” 

She reaches to put pressure against the jacket over his wound, hand over his, but the fabric is bled all the way through. Blood sticking to her skin, warmer than Jackie’s skin and he’s looking pale, paler every second. He leans back against the chair, strength starting to leave his body. 

“Apologies, but that will not be possible. Our itinerary has been pre-arranged and paid for in advance. I am not at liberty to alter it.”

“Fuck your itinerary and fuck your liberty, just get us to goddamn doctor!” 

“It's OK, V… I'll hold out…” 

When did his nose start to bleed, when he did he start hacking up blood, red streaking down his nostrils and over his chin. She sucks in a shaky breath, eyes starting to water. No, not Jackie, anyone but him… please.  She doesn’t know who she’s begging; maybe god, maybe fate, maybe just anything in this world that will listen. 

“Yeah, yeah,” she chokes out, nodding, “you-you just got to hold on, okay? And, and, we’ll hit the major leagues. Only the best jobs, swimming in eddies, just like you always wanted.” 

She brings her forehead to his, feeling the cold sweat of his skin, hoping her warmth, touch, her words; anything will keep him alert. The tears flow freely now, wet and hot on her cheeks. 

“Mija...  you’re gonna be rich, I can feel it…” 

“No, we’re gonna be rich, Jackie! You and me, that’s how it’s always been, I-I can’t do it without you, y-you got to stay with me okay! We’ll get back, you can see Misty and your mom, everyone and let them know you made it.” 

“Misty… She knew… She always knew…” he breathes out, eyes glassy with a weak smile, “told me not to take this job, why she always got to be right?” 

“J-just a little longer, please, Jackie...please,” she begs him, like he can stop it. Like he can put his inside back together, stop the color from draining out of his face, and can just stay with her. 

“The biochip…” he holds her shoulder, grasp weak, and takes the chip from his head with the other, “Hold on to it. For me…”

And he slides it into her neuroport, her vision glitching for a moment. She surges forward, wrapping her arms as tightly as she can, burying his head into his chest, crying into him as she clings tightly; wishing she had the strength to just hold him together. 

“Please, please, Jackie, I can’t lose you, just a little longer, please,” she sobs into his ashen skin and blood soaked shirt, begging with every slowed beat of his heart. 

For a moment his hands graze her back and she waits for a bear hug, for him to squeeze the breath from her lungs and lift her from her seat like he’s done so many times. For him to be Jackie; her best friend, her partner in crimes, her brother, her everything. But his touch is faint, the space between each beat growing further and further. Until his hands fall limp, body slack in her arms, and she knows the next heartbeat will never come. 

And she sobs, she holds him and cries out her pain, if only for a moment. No more ‘chicas’, ‘jainas’, or the odd ‘mija’. No more smiles that outshine the sun. No more nagging her to look on the bright side. No more bear hugs or hands the size of her head ruffling through her hair. No more Jackie…. And it’s not fair and it’s not right. 

“Mr. Welles has passed. Where shall I take his remains?” A robotic voice asks and she realizes the car is no longer moving. 

She forces herself to let him go, one of the hardest things she’ll ever have to do. Pulling away, she sees him, truly lifeless. Bright green eyes now dull with no light behind them, limp hands falling away from her. 

“W-what?” She stumbles over the word, brain fogged over with grief. 

“The Excelsior package provides for the disposal of passenger remains free of charge. I merely require a destination.”

“I…he-he’d want to be with his family,” she stumbles across her words. 

“Mr. Welles' closest blood relative is Guadalupe Alejandra Welles, proprietress of the El Coyote Cojo bar. I will make sure to deliver him safely. Mr. DeShawn awaits you in room number two-oh-four. ” 

That’s right… Dex… The chip. The world didn’t stop spinning, only her’s. There’s still a job. And the idea of still going, that there’s a tomorrow beyond today, seems unfathomable. How the hell could she ever move on…  

Because Jackie would kill her if she didn’t and she knows that. He’d haunt her for a thousand years and kick her ass every day of it. She looks at the remains, her friend gone, now limp and bleeding across white leather. And knows if he could speak, he’d tell her to get her ass to that hotel room and finish this job, that he and Bug didn’t die just for V to bury herself alongside them. She squeezes his shoulder, presses her forehead to Jackie’s one last time, feeling the cold of his skin. 

“See ya in the major leagues, Jack…”

V opens the car door and steps out into the backlot behind the motel. Rain pours down across her bloodied skin, soaking her to the bones, a numb chill clinging to her. Painted across brick is the Night City emblem marks the wall, red graffiti altering its slogan.. The city of broken dreams… 

She moves, on autopilot as she makes her way up the stairs and to the back door of the motel, sheltered from the rain once she’s in a trash filled back room. The motel is bathed in the neon red lights, only offset by the white of sign bearing its name, it’s always red. She stumbles up the staircase and then  another, past a tv chattering on about Saburo Arasaka. 

The merc walks down the gloomy hallway, dark except for warm yellow floor lights, Graffiti covered walls, rain washing down the windows at the end of it. And she reaches room 204, her arm leaden as she knocks. 

No response. 

“Its V,” she yells out, knocking harder. 

The door opens but before she can take another step, Dex’s body guard takes a step out. Large hand blocking her from coming further. He checks the hallway, making sure she wasn’t followed. After a moment, he finally pulls away. 

“He waiting.” 

The man takes a step back, allowing V into the room. She pushes through a bead curtain and sees Dex, leaning over a TV screen, another cigar between his golden fingers. She clears her throat, hearing the door close behind her. 

“WNS… N54… Even the pirate networks… You blowin' up everywhere! And the Jackster? He out in the car?” 

“He’s...dead,” her voice breaks, words like thorns in her throat. Having to say it, having to hear it from her own lips… 

“Condolences friend,” he tells her, shifting to look at her rather than the tv, “and the relic?” 

“Here,” she says, voice a murmur as she taps her neural port. 

“Hmm, I was afraid of that…” 

“What?!” 

She got the fucking relic, everyone is fucking dead, but she got the relic! Everyone died for this fucking chip and now he’s disappointed that she has it!?

“Saburo Arasaka?” Dex paces, smoking his cigar, “Dead…?! You got any notion of the shit you pulled me into?! You offed the fuckin' emperor! His majesty! Anyone with so much as a pinky toe dipped in this mess is as good as dead!’

“I didn’t kill Saburo! I- I-” she stalls, wanting to say she didn’t do anything, but can she say that? Can she act like she didn’t fuck up any of this? Like she has no role in Jackie and Bug’s deaths… 

"No shit?l Tell that to the ‘Saka ninjas they send after you!”

“We...we got to leave the city.” 

Badlands isn’t the safest for her, but it will be safer with money, she could settle in another city, maybe. She can outrun her family more than Arasaka. 

“You don’t say.” 

“Call Parker, we close the deal, collect our eddies, and go off the radar.” 

“A’ight, settle down,” he sits down on the leather couch, “Gotta be tactical about this. Parker, eddies, then we leave the city limits behind. But first… Your face… got blood all over it. Bathroom's there. Go get yourself cleaned up.”

He points her to the bathroom of the motel and she nods, in no place to argue, she just wants to be on the other side of this mess. To be able to tell herself at least she made it to the major leagues, at least Jackie would be proud of her, even if he isn’t here to see it. 

V stumbles into the bathroom, legs wobbling. Everything should hurt, her arm ripped open. Bruises mottling every inch of flesh. But she’s… numb. She works on autopilot, only somewhat aware of the door shutting behind her as she grips the sink, streaking blood across the silver.

Her blood and Jackie’s. 

Bile rushes up her throat, stinging as she pukes into the sink, choking and gagging it out. The tears threaten to come again, eyes stinging as he nails dig into the sink. He’s gone, he’s really fucking gone. Her best friend, her brother in everything but blood and name, her rock, and world. The man who took her in, who gave her a goal, a life… 

And how’d she repay him? 

Watch him die in the back of a Delamain. All her promises to keep him safe, to repay back all the kindness he gave to her. And she couldn’t save him, couldn’t protect him, couldn’t do shit but hold him. Fuckin’ only time she really hugged him with all she had and she doesn’t even know if he could really feel it, if his body was too numb. 

If she would have refused the job. 

If she had gotten them up the ladder. 

If she had been stronger. 

If she had been stealthier.

If she had gotten them through the lobby quicker. 

If she could have convinced Delamain to get him to a doc.

If she knew better first aid. 

If….if… if… 

Thoughts spin and whirl through her mind, a thousand reasons why it’s her fault. Why she could have saved him, why she could have done more, why she failed him… 

Misty will never take Jackie’s last name and it’s V’s  fault. They’ll never have kids, they’ll never buy a home together, he’ll never get to take her to that stupid hotel bar with the annoying waiter. 

Senora Welles will be forced to bury her son and it’s V’s fault. She’ll never hold her son again. Never see him smile again. Never see him live out his dream. Never cook his favorite foods for him and nag him not to talk with his mouth full. 

Jackie had a future, a family, people who loved him. He was going to marry Misty one day, have kids. Get enough eddies to provide for them and his mom. And now there’s a hole in all of their lives. The world as a whole now worse off without him, her own world destroyed. It should have been her, she knows that, the world would be better off losing her than losing him. 

Yet here she is and she’s just supposed to keep moving, supposed to keep breathing, supposed to live a life post Jackie. 

When she looks up, she sees her own reflection staring back at her. Red rimmed eyes, swollen  from crying and blood splattered across her skin, stuck in the ends of her hair. And she doesn’t know where it’s from, if it’s her own, if it’s Jackie’s, or if it’s from the people she killed tonight. T-Bug and Jackie gone, yet she’s here. 

A brilliant talented netrunner is gone. But she’s still here. 

The kindest man to walk in Night City is gone. But she’s still here. 

She glares at herself, because she has no right to be here and the world has no right to be this cruel. Her fingers clenches, pulling at her damaged nerve endings and she slams her fist into the mirror. Glass shatters and crackles, shards splintering into her knuckles. 

V washes the blood from her hands and face, cleaner but still a zombie as she turns to the door. Jackie wanted this for her, one of the only people who ever wanted anything good for her. If only for him, she owes it to him to finish this job. She stumbles to the bathroom door and opens it, stepping out.

Knuckles collide with her head, wracking more pain through an already injured merc, she’s sent sprawling to the ground. She curses and twists around on the floor, not sure she has the energy to stand back up, vision blurring as Dex’s bodyguard stomps on her. Heavy foot colliding with her head. She curses and sputters choking on blood.  She twists onto her back, blinking through the pain as Dex’s bodyguard hands him a pistol. The fixer walks closer, standing over her.

“Can't risk it, V,” he says casually, leveling his gun with her head,” ‘Member our first convo?”

“I’ll fucking kill you!” She screams, spitting blood as she stares down the barrel. 

“Seems I've chosen the quiet life, after all. No blaze o' glory for me.” 

The shot rings out, loud and clear, the world going dark as a bullet rips through the young merc’s head. Blood splatters across the dirty carpet, her body going limp, a final breath gurgling forth as she chokes on her own blood, iron taste clinging in the back of her throat. 

Then she’s gone. 

#cyberpunk 2077 #cp2077 #silverv #johnny silverhand #jackie welles #female v #aidan becker #aidan v becker #angst

[kieraswriting]

Making a Magic Harp

Elora, a woman with wings, is trying to make a magic harp. She’s distracted by students causing problems in the school library she works in, and also by a beautiful woman named Asha who seems to really like her. But then things get to be a bit more confusing with a boy who actually isn't a student, and strange behavior from a wizard's cat.

The original unedited chapters are available on Kofi, and you’ll need to be supporting me at $5 a month to access them.

Why I’m asking for paid supporters

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

You can buy the ebook for $2.99, or listen to me read it for free!

About half the first chapter is also available as a sample 😊

The afternoon sun streamed through the window into her little attic room, warming it pleasantly and making the whole room feel bright and airy. It was a small room, but she’d made it hers, breaking up the wooden boards of the floors and walls with cream and pink, curtains and bedspread acquired over years of small wages and meticulous hand sewing. Elora tucked her wings in close, not wanting to ruin the magic she was working with a stray feather or breeze. She’d been working on this for too long to ruin it now. Not now when it was so close. Just five more strings. She took the braid, carefully woven of seven strands of long golden hair, just exactly as long as she needed. The hair had been a gift. She’d asked for it, but that made it no less a gift, as no payment had been asked in return. She tied one end very carefully at the top of the harp, pulling it taut, but not too tight, and fastened the other end. Very gently, she plucked each string she had so far, soft, sweet tones filling her little space. She listened carefully, tuning the new one to the right note.

“Elora!” a familiar voice called, and she quickly threw her blanket over the unfinished harp, dusting her hands off on her apron as if there were evidence on them that might show what she’d been doing.

She ran out of the room, shutting the door very quietly and turning to the side, so it would look more like she had been passing by, not that she’d been inside.

“Coming!” Elora called, trying to hit that tone between eager-to-please and calm, without guilt over having been away from her place.

“Oh good, I’ve been looking for you for ages. You’re needed in the library.” The matron of the first-year class said a bit sternly as Elora reached her.

Elora hid her worry. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll go there right away.”

If it was first-years, they’d probably gone and made a mess of all the books. Again. It seemed no one properly respected the library until they’d been studying at least a full year. But since the school accepted new students yearly, Elora had to deal with an assortment of people that believed ’student’ meant they didn’t have to clean up behind themselves.

Well, it was at least possible that she could get another gift for finishing the harp. She’d have used her own hair, but it was too short, a pale tan-colored fluff more like down than hair anymore, and wasn’t good for any but the first few, smallest strings, even after braiding. And anyway, the magic she was trying to imbue the harp with always seemed to work best with a variety of gifts.

She ran down into the library, her wings fanning out for balance and tucking in so she could get through the door. She didn’t expect someone to be standing directly in front of the door, and her wings shot instinctively to brake, one of them smacking into the door, and making it bang against the wall very loudly.

She winced as every eye in the room was drawn to her abrupt entrance. She really shouldn’t have tried to run in.

The man she’d nearly crashed into was a wizard, old with long robes and thick glasses. He was a frequent visitor of the library, sometimes staying for hours at a time. His eyes were wide, blinking at her with a hand on his chest.

She tucked her wings in quickly, with a very small, “Sorry.”

“She’s cursed…” one of the first-years murmured.

Elora fluffed up in indignation, looking around the wizard to try to see who had said it. “It’s a blessing!”

The man set a hand on her head, which, on top of everything else, seemed incredibly condescending. “It’s alright, dear, they’re young and foolish.”

“Yes,” she bit out. “They are.”

She walked off into the shelves of books, leaving them all behind. Of course there was a wave of whispers as she left their line of sight, but she genuinely didn’t want to hear them.

Her cheeks burned with both embarrassment and anger, and she avoided the eyes of anyone she could see, just picking up books and scrolls that were out of place and collecting them onto the cart, ready for putting away later, when there were less rude people milling around the library.

They left her alone for a while, which she appreciated, still upset that they whispered and judged her, but glad that they at least had enough sense not to bother her directly.

She carried another armful of books back to the cart, and there was a boy standing beside it, watching her silently. She ignored him, stubbornly keeping her gaze averted for several trips back and forth, but finally the cart was full, and she frowned rather grumpily at him.

“What?”

He looked down and shuffled awkwardly. He was young, younger than most first-years that were accepted, with curly black hair and dark skin that contrasted with the light gray of the first-year robes. “Sorry, it can wait if you’re busy.”

Elora sighed and made an effort to relax her frown. “No, go ahead. What is it?”

He lifted the book in his arms. “This references the chronicles of Iphior, and I wanted to try and find them.”

Elora thought for a moment. “Ahhhh, I remember. That one always used to catch me too. Iphior went and called what is more technically a diary his ‘chronicles’. Since they don’t record any historical events, only his own experiments and home-made spells and various musings, they aren’t categorized by the library with the other chronicles. Look in the personal writings shelves, it’ll be under C or I.”

The boy nodded, his expression empty other than a politeness he seemed to exude. “Thank you. Are you a student here too then?”

Elora blinked, and nearly blushed. “Oh. Ah, no, I’m not. But since I work in the library I’m allowed to read the books. And the chronicles of Iphior are pretty well-known.” She leaned in slightly, lowering her voice. “For all your teachers will tell you he was eccentric and dangerously experimental, he’s influenced many great users of magic.”

The boy nodded again, slowly, his dark eyes wide.

Not able to resist, Elora lowered her tone further, leaning in a bit more. “Often, experimenting on your own will get you better results than the kinds of spells they teach you in class. But you didn’t hear that from me.”

He nodded a third time, his face solemn, but a spark of curiosity plain in his eyes.

Elora stood straight again and grinned. “Well, off you go. If you can’t find it after a while, come back and I’ll help you.”

He scurried off, heading right for the correct section.

Elora went back to her book-collecting feeling much better than she had previously.

#making a magic harp #my own work #the stories of sowarrelm #wings

[tenroseforeverandever]

A Bottle of Bubbly

Characters: Ninth Doctor; Rose Tyler

Tags: Human AU; New Year’s; meet-cute; fluff; hurt/comfort;mentions of cheating; non-graphic mentions of war; drinking; strong language

Notes: Well, here I am again… fashionably late, as usual, an entry for the 31 Days of Ficmas. I wrote just two stories for Ficmas this year, and while I used multiple prompts for each, ironically, the Day 1 prompt, Snowed In, and the Day 31 prompt, New Beginnings, were the forces chiefly driving the muse for my first and second (last!) story, respectively.  

The inspiration for this story was a random prompt I found online somewhere (I don’t even remember the exact wording…) The @doctorroseprompts  prompt from the 31 Days of Ficmas, New Beginnings, was also inspiration for both main characters, although the words aren’t specifically stated in the text. But the spirit of them is strong and a guiding theme throughout the story. I also used the Ficmas prompts shopping and countdown, and the Winter Fic Bingo prompt night. 

As always, my love and gratitude to my wonderful betas, @rose--nebula and mrsbertucci. Thank-you for making me better. I’m an eternal fiddler, so I fiddled with this since they saw it… but all mistakes are mine anyway!

Summary: Rose made directly for the liquor aisle, determined that what she really wanted to bring in the New Year was a bottle of bubbly. The shop was nearly deserted, except for the unlucky few employees who had drawn the short straw for the night’s graveyard shift, so she was shocked to find another customer in the liquor aisle, standing in front of the wine shelves, his hand around the neck of the very last bottle of sparkling wine.

Read also on AO3

A Bottle of Bubbly

Rose Tyler staggered out into the night. The pub door swung shut behind her, silencing the raucous shouts and cheers and endless chatter. As she stood on the doorstep, the bubble of silence clung around her like a hug, before dissipating into the city, replaced by the steady rumble of traffic. She took a deep breath, letting the cold air fill her lungs and clear the spinning of her head.

She was alone.

New Years-fucking-Eve and she was alone. Not exactly how she had planned her evening to go, but she swore to herself, it was the last bloody time, Jimmy Stone, her cheating ex-boyfriend, would ever get another chance to ruin her life.

But Rose didn’t want to think about him right now. He was now officially part of her past and could rot in hell for all she cared. What she did want to think about was enjoying the rest of the night and bringing in the New Year properly plastered. She’d already made a decent start of it with a couple glasses of wine and a few shots. She supposed she could try out a few different spots (far away from Jimmy-the-Wanker), and do a regular old pub crawl, solo-style. Dressed to kill, she reckoned she’d never be without a drink in hand and would probably have no trouble finding a bloke to pull. 

A car whizzed by, drunken twats hanging out the passenger windows, catcalling at her, spouting some shite about having her “seeing fireworks all night long.” She tugged her coat tighter around herself and sighed. On second thought, shagging complete strangers wasn’t really her thing. Maybe she could meet up with Mickey, instead, at the local near the Estate. With a little coaxing, he might take her home for a cheeky shag to bring in the New Year. It wouldn’t exactly be fireworks, but it would be safe and familiar. And she wouldn’t be alone. Mickey had never been able to say no to her.

But then – she sighed, and her shoulders sagged – she’d have to explain herself, answer all his nosy questions, admit things she’d rather keep to herself for now. Everyone would know, soon enough. No doubt the Estate would be rife with the gossip of her falling-out with Jimmy by daybreak. Besides, she’d be taking Mickey away from Trisha Delaney. That wasn’t fair, doing to Trisha exactly what had just been done to her.

“For fuck’s sake,” she snorted as she stumbled onto the pavement, her head woozy with drink, “I’m worried about hurting Trisha Delaney’s feelings. The stupid cow! Clearly, I’m thinkin’ too bloody hard about this. More to the point, I’m able to think too bloody hard about this. And I’m talking to myself… Blimey, I need another drink.”

Setting out on her quest for another pub (just for drinks, no pulling, she reminded herself), she tottered down the street, swaying precariously on her too-high heels, tugging down her too-short dress as the bitter wind bit through the too-sheer fabric of her tights. This was rubbish, hopping from pub to pub. All she really wanted was something strong to drink, her warm flat, and her telly. She’d be alone, but she’d be warm and, with any luck, thoroughly pissed long before midnight.

Decision made, she hopped on the nearest bus, and half an hour later, with the effects of her earlier drinks lamentably wearing off, she trotted into the 24-hour Tesco, close to the Estate. She made directly for the liquor aisle, determined that what she really wanted to bring in the New Year was a bottle of bubbly.

The shop was nearly deserted, except for the unlucky few employees who had drawn the short straw for the night’s graveyard shift, so she was shocked to find another customer in the liquor aisle, standing in front of the wine shelves, his hand around the neck of the very last bottle of sparkling wine.

“Oi! That’s my bottle, mate!”

The man turned to her, his brow knit quizzically above his aquiline nose. “Excuse me?” he challenged in a strong Manc accent.

“That’s my bottle,” she reiterated.

“No,” he placed the bottle into his shopping basket with a tight-lipped smile, “it’s not.” Without another word, he turned his back to her and walked away up the aisle with long strides.

“Fuck,” Rose muttered through gritted teeth and rushed after his receding form. “Oi, Mister! Mister!” She caught up with him just as he reached the end of the aisle and she tugged on the battered leather sleeve of his jacket.

He swung around, rolling his eyes at the sight of her. “Oh, it’s you again!”

“Yup, jus’ me. Hello! The owner of that bottle of fizz.” She sidled up to him and flashed him what she hoped was a winning smile. She even poked her tongue between her teeth. That always had blokes dribbling on their shirts.

Much to Rose’s disappointment, the man remained unmoved, stony-faced as ever. Then with a snort, he turned and walked away from her once more.

“Oi! Mister!” she yelped, scurrying to catch up to him again. “You can’t jus’ go swannin’ off like that…”

He didn’t even break his stride. “Yes, I can. ‘Ere I am. This is me, swannin’ off.” He gave the shopping basket a defiant little shake.

Rose knew she should just give it up at this point, go back to the liquor aisle and find something different to drink, but she was determined to have that wine. After having had her night ruined, she reckoned she deserved to have something special. “Hey, Mister! C’mon! You can’t just walk away. That’s not fair. Mister! Mist– Oooph!” She nearly crashed into him when he suddenly stopped in front of her.

He spun around and glared at her. “Seems fair enough to me. W’at isn’ fair is you not lettin’ me do my shoppin’ in peace. Now, scram!”

Rose held her ground, meeting his gaze. He was a striking figure, quite a bit older than she, dark and brooding, his features unconventionally handsome below his military haircut. She should have been intimidated, but instead she found herself getting lost in the blue of his eyes as they flashed down at her.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “I could call security, ya know! Tell them you took it from me. So, it’s your choice. Hand it over, or I’ll start screamin’ for help.”

He scoffed. “Is that supposed to sound tough?”

“Sort of.”

He called her bluff, “Doesn’t work,” and started walking again, but this time she tripped along by his side. She wasn’t going to let him go, not while he still had that bottle.

“Mister… I need that wine! If you knew what I’ve been through tonight…”

“You need to leave me alone. Looks to me like you’ve ‘ad quite enough to drink already.”

“C’mon, Mister. Please.”

“No! An’ it’s Doctor.”

Rose quirked an eyebrow at him.

“You keep calling me ‘Mister’. If you’re so set on using honorifics, you’d better use the right one. I go by Doctor.”

“Doctor? Is that supposed to sound impressive?”

“Sort of, yeah.”

“If you’re a doctor, how comes you’re shoppin’ at a 24-hour Tesco… in Peckham?”

“I live ‘ere. Jus’ ‘round the corner.” He stopped at the deli counter and tossed some packages of sandwich meats and some cheese into his basket.

“What? On the estate? You must be new. I haven’ seen you ‘round ‘ere before.”

“That’s ‘cause I jus’ moved in this afternoon, me, and I’m having this champagne (or whatever the hell it is) to celebrate.”

“Blimey, don’t think we’ve ever had a doctor livin’ on the estate, before.” Rose narrowed her eyes and cocked her head at him, curious. “W’at’s a doctor doin’ livin’ ‘ere anyway?”

He didn’t speak, just stared at her with eyes cold as ice, and his jaw set and tense, and Rose bit her lip, wishing she could take back her brazen words. It was none of her business why anyone might need council housing.

“Erm... Doctor, you’re gonna need some bread to go with that other stuff,” she ventured, attempting to make up for her thoughtlessness, “an’ some milk and tea, maybe some eggs. And a couple cans of beans. Ya can’t go wrong wi’ beans-on-toast.” She linked her arm with his and proceeded to lead him through the shop.

As Rose nattered away to him, he maintained a detached silence, except to offer bewildered grunts to her various queries about the items she heaped into his basket. Finally, as she placed a box of tea on top of the mound, he smirked down at her, and spoke: “I hope you’re not attempting to curry favour so I’ll give up the bubbly.”

“Never gave it a second thought,” she fibbed with a cheeky grin. Honestly, she just wanted to make it up to him for being rude, but she had hoped, maybe…

He pulled the bottle out of the basket to peer at it. “It’s proper British Fizz, you know.”

“Oooh, lovely! Somethin’ a bit posh. Don’t know w’at it’s doin’ here, in a Tesco on the flippin’ estate. Guess they reckoned people wouldn’t be thinkin’ about the cost so much when they’re bringin’ in the New Year.”

“Yeah, gonna cost me an arm and a leg, this is.”

“The price don’t matter to me. Not tonight. I’d be happy to take it off your hands if you’re having second thoughts…”

“Ahem… nope.” He placed it back into the shopping basket. “Worth every penny, this. I have plans for this fizz.”

“Yeah,” Rose muttered, rolling her eyes, “so did I.”

They headed toward the checkout each lost in their own thoughts. “So, what’s your story, then?” he asked after a few moments. “Tell me, what makes you so deserving of this posh beverage on New Year’s Eve?”

Rose shrugged, her problems seeming rather small and distant, now.

“C’mon then. You said earlier, you’d had a rough night of it. So?”

“You sure you wanna hear me rattle on? It’s pathetic, really.”

“I’ve been listenin’ to you rattle on non-stop for the las’ twenty minutes, anyway. So, I’m all ears… and no jokes about these silly things hangin’ off the side of me head.”

“I would never! ‘Sides, there’s nothin’ wrong wi’ them. They suit you.”

He looked unconvinced by her compliment. “Well… out with it then,” he insisted, changing the subject back to Rose as he began to load his groceries onto the checkout counter. “I’m waitin’ on this great tale of woe.”

“Alright, you asked for it.”

“Yes, I did!”

“Okay, so, earlier tonight, I found my tosser of a boyfriend (ex-boyfriend now, by the way, and good bloody riddance!) out back of the pub, gettin’ a leg-over with one of the servers. It was humiliatin’. And you better believe I told him what he could do with his bloody– Well anyway, I ended up slappin’ him (and fuck that felt good!) and walked out. Thought about goin’ to a few other pubs, but I decided I really just wanted to go home, watch the countdown on the New Year’s Eve Fireworks programme, an’ get hammered in peace. I s’pose I jus’ wanted the wine to make me feel a bit more… special.

“And that’s about it. See? Pathetic. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” She wagged her finger at him.

“Oi, not pathetic at all, Miss, erm… Blimey, I don’t even know your name.”

“Since we’re neighbors now, I s’pose I should probably tell ya, yeah? It’s Rose… Rose Tyler.”

“Nice to meet you, Rose. I’m John Smith,” he returned.

“John Smith? That’s it? Pull the other one! John Smith?”

His shoulders stiffened. “Well, if you don’t like it, you can jus’–”

“Nah, nah, nah, it’s fine. It’s nice and, erm… straightforward.” Rose couldn’t help the smile that blossomed over her face at his sudden offence. “It’s jus’ I think from now on you’ll always be the Doctor to me.”

“Fine...” he huffed, shaking his head at her as he paid for his order and gathered his bags. “Anyroad, gettin’ back to your tale: it sounds to me like you’re well shot of that stupid ape boyfriend of yours.”

“Ex-boyfriend. And yeah, Jimmy’s a right arsehole. To be honest, I don’t really feel all that upset about it. Thought I’d be gutted, yeah? But all I can think is that it’s no great loss. Reckon it was a long time comin’; shoulda dumped him ages ago.”

They walked out the doors of the Tesco and headed in the direction of Powell Estate.

She shrugged, adding, “I’m mostly just pissed off that he ruined my plans for New Year’s.”

“Yeah, rightly so!”

They walked in slightly awkward silence for a short time before Rose braved asking the enigmatic Doctor more about himself. “So… you’re a medical doctor, then?”

“Yup. Was a doctor in the military for years. Resigned my commission ‘bout a year back. Figured I’d seen enough…”

Rose glanced up at him, frowning concern at the tenson etched on his face again. “What are your plans now?” she asked, hoping to take him out of whatever unspoken horrors lingered in his past.

“I’ve always planned to start my own practice, me. Thought I could open one right here on the Estate.”

“Blimey, mate, it’s a war zone here too, sometimes.”

He grunted. “All the more reason you need a doctor.”

“Can’t argue wi’ that. We haven’t had a doctor ‘ere for years. The old one jus’ cleared off one day, no notice. He was just gone. His clinic is still there, though, between the chemist and the launderette. No one’s let it. Bet it’s a bargain!”

“You think?” He offered her a smug smile. “Already made arrangements, me.”

“But that’s brilliant!” Rose cheered, grabbing his arm and bouncing up and down. “When do you take possession?”

“Beginnin’ o’ next week,” he said as they strolled into the Powell Estate quad. “But it’ll be a bit before I can get everything set up properly. Plus, I have my flat to sort out. Boxes everywhere.”

“Don’t ya have some mates to help ya out?”

“Nope. There’s no one else. Jus’ me.” His words were blunt, his voice rough with emotion.

Rose watched his Adam’s apple bob heavily and grabbed onto his hand. “W’at happened? Doctor?”

He swallowed again and looked down at their joined hands.  

Rose gripped a little tighter, but he wriggled his hand free of hers, leaving behind an aching emptiness deep in her heart. She ducked her head. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to pry. I jus’… Oh, never mind.”

The strained silence returned for another minute or so as they walked, then he sighed. “Rose, war changes a person. I came back a very different man. I had plans, me. Was goin’ to start a practice as soon as I resigned my commission. Even had a place all set to go in my hometown. But I couldn’t make a go of it. Too much baggage. I haven’t been able to keep a steady job, all this time. And I lost people, good people, because they couldn’t take any more of my shit. My mates, my fiancée. One way or another, they’re all gone, and I can’t say I blame ‘em. That’s who I am, now. I drive everyone away from me.”

Rose’s heart swelled with compassion. “There’s me…”

They paused as they approached the entranceway to Rose’s building, and he shook his head, rolling his eyes at her and offering a guarded smile. “Yeah, you I can’t seem to get rid of.”

“I’m just too good.” She beamed at him, poking her tongue between her teeth again. This time, she noted, his eyes drifted to her mouth.

“No, you’re jus’ too drunk.”

“Uggghh,” she groaned, “I wish. I never got a bottle from the shop, after all.”

Grumbling deep in his throat, he dug in his shopping bag and extracted the bottle of sparkling wine. “There you go. Happy New Year. Take this and go home and celebrate your freedom from that twat. Now, go on, forget me, Rose Tyler.” He pressed the bottle into her hand and turned away, striding off toward the building opposite hers.

Rose watched him go, feeling rather lost. Numbly, she headed toward the staircase of her building, the bottle dangling from her fingers. She had her prize, but somehow it seemed a hollow victory.

She stopped and turned back. The Doctor was halfway across the quad, his figure illuminated by the dim sparkle of fairy lights strung from the balconies above. “Wait, Doctor,” she blurted. When he paused, she wasted no time rushing forward to meet him.

“Thought I told you to forget me,” he growled.

She was undeterred. “I’m not havin’ you sittin’ up in that empty flat by yourself.” Impulsively, she perched up on her toes and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. “Come to mine. Mum won’t be home ‘til tomorrow anyway, and I think we both deserve this bottle of bubbly, wouldn’t ya say? Better with two, yeah.”

“Erm…” He gazed down at her, his gruffness replaced with a sad, gentle smile that teased at the corners of his mouth.

“I’m not on the pull or anything,” she insisted… a little too forcefully. “Blimey!” she laughed, her cheeks burning. “I mean we jus’ met…”

He chuckled too. “And you were trying to steal my bubbly. You’re weren’t off to the best start, anyway, to be honest.”

“Oi!” She grabbed him by his sleeve and tugged him toward her building. “Wait! Hold on,” she paused a few seconds later, sniffing the air, “do you smell chips?”

“Yeah. Yeah.”

“Morrison’s must still be open! I want chips!”

“Me too.”

“And since you brought the bottle, the chips are on me! You’re in for a treat! Best chips on the planet, Morrison’s, an’ they’re right here on the estate. C’mon!”

“All right! Chips it is! And if we’re still hungry later, you can’t go wrong wi’ beans-on-toast.” They both laughed as he held up his bag of shopping. Then he clasped Rose’s hand in his, the gesture warming her to the core. “Lead the way!”

As they walked towards the chippy, Rose leaned her head against John Smith’s shoulder and gave his hand a little squeeze. Her evening, which had started out quite wretched, had completely turned around, and was now looking more promising than she could ever have imagined. Despite his wine-hogging tendencies, she rather thought she was going to enjoy being the Doctor’s neighbor.

“You know what, Doctor,” she grinned up at him, “I bet we’re going to have a really great year!”

#doctorroseprompts #nine x rose #human au #31 days of ficmas #winterficbingo #meet cute #fluff #hurt/comfort #strong language #new year #drinking #cheating #non-graphic mentions of war #ficandchips #tenroseforeverandever's fic

[effable-ineffability]

the risk (of losing what i don't have now)

Two days of silence from Crowley. Aziraphale gets worried and goes to find out why.

[ also on ao3 ]

Aziraphale stood outside of Crowley's front door.

The demon had been inexplicably absent from the book shop for two days now, not even so much as a phone call.  It wasn't exactly odd for them to not speak for days at a time; indeed, in the past, there had been years of silence between them.  But ever since Not-Quite-Armageddon, the longest time they had spent apart was about twelve hours.[1] Most evenings, after whatever dinner Aziraphale had wanted, they would open a bottle of wine in either the book shop's back room or Crowley's living room, and spend a few hours talking about nothing in particular before Aziraphale would find a reason to end the evening - needing to do inventory, catching up on his reading, reorganizing something or another.  And then, without fail, Crowley would appear in the shop between seven and eight the next morning, sometimes with pastries for breakfast, sometimes with coffee or tea, and sometimes with a spectacularly terrible idea for how to spend their day.

[1] - Crowley had dropped him off after a very nice dinner at a Peruvian restaurant around 9pm, and had made an excuse to go back to his own apartment, saying he'd be back in the morning, and had indeed returned around 9am.

But it had been two days of silence now, and Aziraphale was worried.

He wasn't worried in the sense that he was worried that something might have happened to Crowley; he knew Crowley wouldn't be getting involved with anything dangerous or stupid, at least not without telling Aziraphale all about it first.  He also knew that if Hell - or Heaven, for that matter - had come for Crowley, the city would have been leveled before Crowley would go down. No, he knew Crowley was perfectly intact physically. He was worried about Crowley's emotional state.

Aziraphale raised his hand to knock, but hesitated.

The last time they had seen each other, Crowley had seemed a little frazzled.  Every other sentence had trailed off into pensive silence, he had appeared to do everything in his power to avoid eye contact, and when Aziraphale had placed a hand over Crowley's after one of those trailed-off sentences, Crowley had nearly jumped out of his skin.[2]  So his absence was questionable, at best.

[2] - He had laughed this off - "Ah, sorry, angel, let my mind wander a bit too far; here, lemme refill your glass."

Bracing himself with a deep breath, Aziraphale knocked.

After a long moment of nothing, the lock clicked, and the door inched open.  Crowley wasn't on the other side; wherever he was, he had apparently just miracled the door open.  Aziraphale took a small step inside. "Crowley?" he called carefully.

"Yeah," came his voice from down the hall, sounding exhausted.  Defeated. "I'm here."

Aziraphale closed the door behind him softly, and started down the hall.  He wasn't sure what he was going to say. Where have you been?[3] Are you all right?[4]  What's going on?[5]

[3] - The answer seemed to be obvious: right here.

[4] - Crowley had always sneered at this question.

[5] - A bit too direct; he didn't want to scare Crowley away with their first interaction in a few days.

There were no lights on in the apartment.  Aziraphale found Crowley seated on the floor by a window, only the street lamps illuminating him.  "Hey, angel," Crowley said without looking up. He was among his plants, mister in one hand, and the other in his hair.  His knees were drawn up to his chest, and he was wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt. He looked tired. He sounded tired. Something about him seemed… broken.

"Crowley," Aziraphale said in such a gentle tone that the demon flinched as though hit.

"I'm fine," he answered the unasked question.

"Are you?"

Crowley sighed.  His head dropped as he untangled his fingers from his hair, and he finally looked up.  He wasn't wearing his sunglasses, and his eyes were a little bloodshot. "No," he said, his voice cracking.  He cleared his throat and looked away. "I guess not."

Aziraphale paused for a second before he slowly lowered himself onto his knees in front of the vulnerable figure.  "What's wrong, my dear?" he murmured, placing a soothing hand on Crowley's shoulder.

"Nothing," he said automatically.  But before Aziraphale could call him on it, he shook his head.  "It's not… it's stupid."

"Please talk to me," Aziraphale urged.

"I can't."  Crowley twitched as though to get away from the angel's comforting hand, but the result was that Aziraphale moved closer and put his other hand on Crowley's knee.  "I can't," he said again, as if pleading.  He looked up at Aziraphale, and choked on a sob.

Without missing a beat, Aziraphale moved forward to catch Crowley as he collapsed.  Aziraphale pulled him into his chest, wrapping his arms around him, as Crowley took a shaking breath and tears spilled from his eyes.  "Shh," Aziraphale whispered, combing his fingers through tousled auburn. "My dear, it's all right. I'm right here, it's all right."

The mister dropped and rolled across the floor; both of Crowley's hands were fisting into Aziraphale's jacket as he took unsteady breaths.  He buried his face into the crook of the angel's neck, trying to say something, anything, but managing little more than another sob. So Aziraphale just held him, rocking very slowly, and stroking his hair as he murmured comfort.

Something had broken, Aziraphale could see it now.  He still wasn’t quite sure what it was, but Crowley was holding onto him as a drowning man clings to anything that would float.  What had happened?

It took a full five minutes before Crowley's breathing began to regulate itself, and another three before he sat back again.  Aziraphale's hands fell to rest on Crowley's legs, and after a second of consideration, Crowley took them in his own. He still wasn't looking at Aziraphale directly.

Aziraphale waited.

"I'm sorry," Crowley said in a quiet voice.

"There's no need to apologize," Aziraphale assured him, squeezing his hands a little.

"No, not for," Crowley half-gesticulated, briefly raising their clasped hands, "for that.  Not exactly the first time I've cried on you, is it." It was true; but it had only happened twice before.[6]

[6] - The first time had been after the Flood; Crowley blamed it on the rain - "Demons don't cry, angel."  The second time had been the night before The First Sunday Of The Rest Of Their Lives, when they had returned to Crowley's apartment after stopping the world from ending; that, however, is a story for another time.

"Then whatever are you apologizing for?" Aziraphale questioned.

Crowley took a deep, steadying breath.  "It's uh. It's hard to explain." He chanced a glance at Aziraphale, and was correct in assuming this statement caused the angel's brow knit in confused concern.  "It's just…" Crowley sighed, and squeezed Aziraphale's hands tightly. He was readying himself for something; they could both tell this was something Important. Whatever had caused him to disappear for two days, this was it.  "Angel,” he began; then shook his head a little and tried again. “Aziraphale. I can't… I can't keep on like this. Not at this pace, not knowing. I don't want--- Look, I know, and you were right, I know I was going too fast, asking too much, back then.  I know that now. You were right. But. I can't slow down any more. It---" He squeezed his eyes shut. "It hurts," he whispered.

Aziraphale wasn't reacting; he was listening, and was clearly prepared to listen until Crowley had said everything he needed to say.

So Crowley took a breath, opened his eyes, and stared at the planter of orchids above the angel's head as he pushed on.  "I can't lose you, I can't. I won't. And I will keep waiting, I really will, if that's what you need, I would do--- I'd do anything for you, Aziraphale, anything, I really would.  But I need you to know, to understand--- I just want you to know what I'm feeling, what's going on with me. I think it's fair. I think. It hurts, it does, but… but I'll still wait forever, if that's what it takes.  Because I’m not going anywhere, not unless you--- but you wouldn’t, because you haven’t, and I---" A pause. A shallow breath. “It hurts,” he continued, “but that doesn’t mean I won’t wait. I’d like to know, if you want, if you can, I’d like to know how you--- how you feel.  About me. Us. About us. But talking to you about it, it just seems like--- what if that’s too fast again? What if I push you away, by asking? So I haven’t. But it’s been a long time. And I’ve been waiting. And I’ll keep waiting, angel, I will, as long as I can be near you, I will.  But I still--- if you can, if you want, I want to know.”

Aziraphale let out a very long breath that he didn't realize he had been holding.  There was a lot to take in, but he was surprised to find that none of it had surprised him.

Crowley swallowed, and dropped his eyes to their hands.  "So," he said with a note of finality, "I’ve been avoiding you, because I was afraid to ask.  And that’s why I'm sorry. We don’t have to talk about it now." He started to take his hands away.

But Aziraphale held them firmly.

Crowley looked up, and gold eyes met blue properly for the first time in two days.

"So this is what you've been simmering in, all this time?" Aziraphale asked gently.

"Longer," Crowley admitted.

Aziraphale nodded in acknowledgment; he had clearly suspected as much.  "And you've been worried about my response. Which is why you haven't brought this up sooner."

Crowley gave a single, meek nod, unable to drop his gaze.

To his slight surprise, Aziraphale's concern melted into the slightest of smiles.  "I see. Then perhaps I can alleviate some of that worry. Shall I?" He smiled a little wider when Crowley looked taken aback.  "I have been doing some thinking myself. For quite some time, as well. And given recent events, I had been wondering how to properly express myself to you.  But you, my dear, have done the difficult part, by initiating this conversation." He sighed in a satisfied kind of way, and leaned forward until their foreheads were touching.  Crowley twitched slightly, as though this contact was unexpected, no matter how slowly Aziraphale had moved into it, perfectly telegraphing his intention. "I realized," Aziraphale said much softer now that they were so close, "that there is nothing in this world more important to me than you, Crowley.  And I, too, cannot lose you. And I won't. And so I think I should like to take another step forward with you. To show you just what you are to me."

Crowley was forgetting to breathe, but took a shaky inhale.  "What… what I am to you?" he repeated.

"Yes," Aziraphale confirmed.  He slipped one of his hands from the tangle on Crowley's lap and brought it up to Crowley's cheek.  "Everything, my dear.  You are everything to me.  And it's about time that I told you that."

Tears began to fall down Crowley's cheeks again, but this time, he wouldn't take his eyes off of the angel.  "Aziraphale…"

"I'm so very sorry that it took me this long," he continued, wiping away some tears with his thumb.  "You’ve been incredibly patient with me, all this time. You deserved to know sooner, but I was never sure how to say it."

"Oh angel," Crowley breathed.  He reached up to hold Aziraphale's hand against his cheek.  "I don't care how long it took, because--- because you did, you said it, and I can--- I can finally say it too."  A smile was starting to spread across his face. "You are--- to me, you are everything."  He took a shuddering breath, and the smile broke over his face in earnest.  "My angel," he breathed. "My everything."

Sitting on the ground, surrounded by plants, in semi-darkness, after six thousand years of knowing each other, after centuries of wanting each other, after days of worry, an angel who was afraid to love and a demon who loved too much finally opened their hearts to one another, only to find that the only difference was that things unsaid had finally been spoken.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #good omens fanfic #my writing #this is actually a scene from a scrapped project #but i loved it too much to just toss it

[lycorogue]

Graham de Vanily Twin Rings and Gabriel Agreste

I’ve seen these rings come up quite a bit since “Félix” aired. A lot of people seem to be speculating about them somehow being magical due to how much Amelie wants them back and the extremes Félix went to in order to get at least one of them back for his mother.

Another reason people seem convinced they’re magical is because of how adamant Gabriel seems to be about not giving the heirloom rings back to the Graham de Vanily family; his in-laws. Also, the strange ability for the same ring to fit Emilie’s ring finger as well as both Gabriel’s ring and middle fingers...

Now, I will admit the door seems to be open for these rings to have some major significance, and I would love to see the writers explore them more. That being said, can we maybe just explore the idea that they are nothing more than silver bands?

I’m the daughter of a widow, and daughter-in-law of a widower. It feels too obvious to state, but I will anyway: people grieve differently. My father-in-law, after standing beside his wife during a LOOOONG battle with stage-4 cancer, took his wedding band off THREE DAYS after she passed. He had already said his goodbyes when she was declared terminal, and he needed to move on for his own sanity.

My mother, on the other hand, also dealt with a spouse’s long-battle with cancer, but wore both her wedding band and my father’s after he passed. She still refuses to answer to anything other than Mrs. and she’s been a widow for 22 years. She didn’t even really start dating until my father’s wedding band fell off her hand one day and she lost it. She figured it was a sign from him that he let her go and it was time for her to be happy again; that she should try to find someone new.

Before she came to that conclusion, however, my mother was a WRECK about not having the ring. Heck, one day when I was particularly cold, my own wedding band fell off and got lost under MY OWN SOFA CUSHION AT MY OWN HOUSE for all of 40seconds and I nearly had a heart attack trying to find it!

WEDDING BANDS MEAN A LOT TO THE COUPLE THAT WEARS THEM.

Maybe Amelie is an orphan, and with her sister “missing” the only thing she has to remember her family are those bands. Maybe she wants them back specifically because they’ll help her remember her sister. Maybe one ring used to be hers, and the other was Emilie’s, and Amelie is mad she had agreed to give hers up so Gabriel could use it for a wedding band. Maybe she’s always hated Gabriel and blames him for her sister’s disappearance, and wants the rings back because she feels he doesn’t deserve them. Maybe she’s feeling especially sentimental after her husband’s passing and wants to gift Félix key heirlooms from both sides of his family, and is mad she doesn’t really have anything from her side to hand down. Some families, like my husband’s, have more heirlooms than most descendants care to keep, and other families, such as mine, have only a small handful to pass down. So perhaps the Graham de Vanily family is the latter.

Also, when my grandfather passed away there was a MASSIVE battle between my mom’s side of the family and their step-mother/step-siblings because of of THEIR heirlooms - mostly their mother’s jewelry that my grandfather never passed out despite being a widower for decades - were being inherited by the step-siblings (who had no emotional attachment to those pieces; but they had financial value being things like pearls and diamonds). Maybe Amelie is just as concerned about a family heirloom going to Adrien, and then distancing further from the Graham de Vanily family from there. Kinda crappy since Adrien is part Graham de Vanily himself, but whatever. I understand family feuds.

So, maybe that’s all there is to the rings. Maybe the only reason Félix is so interested in them is because of how much his mother treasures them (he’s at least a good boy with regards to his apparent love for his mother and desire to make her happy), or maybe because of the story of how the Twin Rings “came to be” or how they started to be passed down; like all heirloom stories.

As for Gabriel’s obsession with the rings? THEY’RE HIS WEDDING BANDS!

They are his connection to his wife; a way to have her with him when she normally can’t. I hearken back to what I said before about my mother. If Gabriel has any positive traits, it is his undying love for his wife. He misses her. He grieves her. Please note the episode “Félix” and Gabriel’s reaction to Adrien DARING to suggest that Gabe “move on” and start dating Nathalie. This is a man insanely devoted to his wife (emphasis to the “insanely” part). He even told Amelie: “These rings are obviously very special to me.” That doesn’t have to be because they’re magical. It’s because they are his friggen wedding bands!

They are his way of letting the world know he’s still dedicated to his wife, and that there will be no other (his recent softness towards Nathalie notwithstanding). Those rings - at least him wearing one - is his way of showing that, despite being considered legally single, he never will be in his heart; he is firmly still married to the love of his life. The fact that Emelie still had hers on at first was his tether to her, but when the one ring was stolen, he’d prefer to have his connection to her than have her keep her connection to him. It wasn’t as important as HIM wearing a ring.

Could it be because there’s something magical going on and he literally needs the ring? Sure. I’m open for the writers to explore that. But I’m not a fan of so many people seemingly shrugging off the much more simple explanation of HE NEEDS THAT RING FOR HIS OWN GRIEVING. Something he’s clearly purposefully avoiding; stuck in Denial, convinced Emilie can come back to him with the Ladybug earrings and Cat ring.

Now, I have to admit I haven’t taken the time to go back and re-study the timing of Gabriel wearing the wedding band on his middle finger vs ring finger, but I think he switched back to his ring finger right about the time of “Queen Wasp” when his hope is restored and he felt he was closer than ever in getting Emilie back.

Perhaps he wore the wedding band on the ring finger for a while, but slowly moved it to the middle finger as a way of symbolizing that he was distancing himself from Emilie; realizing he’s a widower. But then his hope is restored, and back to the ring finger the band went.

I mean, in “Gorizilla” he is playing with his ring while talking to Adrien about keeping secrets. He could have simply been playing with the ring because they were about to watch Emilie in a movie, and it was a reflection back to his tie to his wife, but it could also be his guilt of hiding Emilie from their son (let alone Gabe being Hawky).

Perhaps as the Gabe/Nath relationship continues to develop we’ll see the ring return to his middle finger as he again starts distancing his heart from Emilie, and start to come to terms with the idea of being a widower. Maybe the ring will bounce around, not for lack of animation continuity, but because certain instances have Gabe be more sentimental than others. He’s thinking more of Emilie and how much he misses her? Ring on the ring finger. He’s becoming more emotionally connected and drawn to Nathalie? Time to distance himself from Emilie: ring on the middle finger. Etc.

It will definitely be interesting to see where the show goes with those twin rings, but I hope more and more people remember that GABE IS A GRIEVING WIDOWER, and MAYBE those rings simply have sentimental value.

TL;DR: Yes, there is a LOT of significance behind the rings, but why must everyone automatically assume it’s because they’re magic? Why can’t the significance be the very real world sentimental value of wedding bands? Also, while I get why Amelie might want the rings back, she’s kind of a bitch demanding a widower who clearly hasn’t properly grieved to give up his wedding bands.

#ML #Miraculous Ladybug #fan analysis #LycoRogue analysis #my analysis #ML season 3 #ML season 3 spoilers #Felix #Felix spoilers #Gabriel Agreste #Emilie Agreste #Amelie Graham de Vanily #Felix Graham de Vanily #Graham de Vanily Twin Rings #significance of the Twin Rings #magic vs sentimental value #wedding bands are important yo #grieving family #grieving spouse #grieving sister #heirlooms #It can actually be a lot more dynamic and complex if the rings AREN'T magic #long post #LycoRogue original

[crqstalite]

SHADOW OF THE SITH, Ch. 11

i have no excuse for not posting this earlier other than being lazy and trying to fine-tune it. _

KHAAK._DROMOUND_KAAS.

Kaas City was the place to be. Really, it was.

Well, with a certain someone in it.

Mrs. Khaak Beniko would be the first person to admit that over Coruscant, she enjoyed it more. Raining constantly, yes, but it has a certain elegance that can't be found anywhere else. The sleek silver buildings, the gorgeous evenings on the balcony, just the entire style of the place...she was a lucky woman to even live here among the blue bloods of Sith society. Had Lana not invited her to accompany her to such a home three years ago, she'd surely still be living on the Clarity, eating gutter trash and chasing it down with cheap whiskey, watching unsavory videos in the privacy of her bedroom. Half dressed and waiting for death to claim her.

And the Clarity most definitely didn't have silk sheets. Up until five or so years ago, it also didn't have the woman of her dreams next to her in bed. Wasn't nearly as clean either, so Khaak counts it as a win. She didn't think it could ever escape it's perpetual junky state after she'd built it from scraps as a child, but her wife had managed it some how. Lifting her hand into her vision, the glint of a silver band against her deep pink skin makes her warm on the inside. Really, how had she gone from meeting pirates every other day to bumping elbows with some of most influential Sith in the history of Sith, she supposed?

Hell, how'd she even go from getting herself off on her own hand to sleeping with and subsequently marrying one of the most powerful in the Sith hierarchy? It really was a miracle, some star had shined down upon her that fateful night and had gotten her to meet one of the most extraordinary women in the galaxy.

One she probably didn't deserve, and had only happened on accident the first time they'd met anyways.

Figuring she has to get up at some time or the other today instead of internalizing the jump in hierarchy status, she groans and stretches her arms over her head, smacking the back of her hands against the headboard of the bed. Hissing out a quiet curse as not to wake her wife, she blinks a few times and pushes herself up into a sitting position. She yawns, taking note that it's still raining, just as it was the night before. Though, it has lightened up a bit compared to how it had been, which means she might actually be able to go out today and not catch a debilitating cold. She tended to run warmer than the Sith she shared the apartment with, which was the only downside of living on the cursed jungle turned city planet. It meant Lana would pay some extra attention to her nearly freezing lekku though, which also stole her away from any important work for a few hours. Wasn't all bad, in that matter.

Rubbing the offending hand over her eyes, she uses the other to gently nudge the woman awake. It takes a few tries, but eventually the Sith groans and rolls over to face her. Khaak cheekily grins as one eye opens, and then the other. Another offended grunt once she realizes who it is, and she pulls a sheet back up around her shoulders, promptly rolling back over. Snickering, Khaak gently brushes a strand of blonde hair from the woman's face. One golden iris looks back up at her, a grimace on her face. Noting the dark circles under her eyes, she lays a hand against her cool cheek, "Lana, babe, we gotta get up at some time or another."

"Surely the Emperor will wait another few hours for us to deal with him." Lana whispers almost incoherently, finally deciding to move onto her back and look at her properly with a tired look in her eyes. It'd been this way for a while, she'd been less and less easily awoken from her sleep, and was more sluggish than usual. Odd, but Khaak tries not to dwell on the behavior, "What was it you said, you ran on Rishi time?"

"Rishi time only applies to times when you're not needed elsewhere, 'ana." Khaak responds, laying back down against her will. Gently pushing Lana back onto her side and then flush against her, she kisses her softly. An almost pained grin crosses the pale woman's face, leaning into the welcome touch, "Haven't you got places to be?"

"I suppose." She answers, still not exactly either awake or responsive. A visible shiver runs through her body, and she buries her head into the crook of Khaak's neck. Inconspicously, she lifts the strap of her tank top, feeling the brushes of exhaustion against her consciouness. Lana was not going to lull her to sleep again, but there were other things that they could get up to in bed if that's where she wanted to stay. Khaak didn't have anywhere important to be, and the way she was acting, nor did her wife, "They can be taken care of another day."

But after a few moments, when Lana still doesn't elaborate upon her answer, Khaak is actually rather curious -- and concerned. Yes, she was typically quiet anyways (she preferred actions over words, something that took Khaak a while to get used to) but her long undercover mission to Rishi and subsequently to Yavin left Khaak nervous about the Sith's mental state right then. Yes, she was jittery person by nature, but she'd deeply missed her wife and the anxiety that went along with never knowing if she was alive until a few months prior. The Kaasian apartment was too empty without her presence, and there'd been at least three times officials had come to the door asking where her 'Master' was.

She'd shot one of them in the leg for that comment alone. Another almost kicked her out of her own home for being a slave without a Master in one of the most expensive apartments in the City. The next, nearly lost an eye for assuming she had broken in and entered. As soon as he'd drawn his pitiful holdout blaster, Khaak had shot him in the arm and sent him crying back to his mother, surely.

Damn Imperials were stupid and weak. At least the meager, civilian police force in the Black Sun sector had more backbone than the Captains in the force here. Lana hadn't been happy about it when someone at the fucking Sith Sanctum had told her about the infractions shortly before Khaak had managed to skirt the issue for a week or two. It wasn't the first time people had commented on her race, but it was the first time without Lana that she wouldn't hold her tongue.

Spending every moment she had with her now meant everything to her, yet she'd been so withdrawn since she'd returned. Khaak had been filled in about the high profile allies that their little coalition had acquired while watching her do her dark magic healing routine, though she was still absolutely pissed that to 'keep her out of harm's way' Lana had decided to keep her in the dark until they landed on Yavin, and then kept her off the mission entirely by her request. (She'd even attempted to land at the space station, and had been denied access by an esteemed 'Lord Beniko'. She considered shooting the operator through the holo, but resigned to sit at home like a child in timeout as not to 'bother' Lana any further) She most literally could not help being terrified for Lana's safety the entire time without a word for so long (two damn years), and even if they both went down (stars help her if someone killed the love of her life) one, Khaak would want to go down in a blaze of glory against some ancient evil, and two, with her Sith Lord by her side. Not waiting in atmo to hear whether she was dead from some stupid SIS agent, or worse, a pansy of a Jedi.

Stupid Theron Shan got to be by her side for two years, but as soon as Khaak offered to go anywhere it was 'too dangerous' and 'a horribly stupid decision to make' and 'self-destructive'. When Theron did it, it 'brave' and 'self-sacrificing'. All said through gritted teeth, as if considering if he even really deserved the compliment, but it was apparently well-deserved and earned from the tone of voice. Khaak did pout about it for a long while, yes, but Lana made a good argument about not pitting herself against an agent. A Republic one at that.

Khaak didn't have anyone on Dromound Kaas other than Lana.

Khaak didn't have anyone in her immediate life other than Lana.

Her life was Lana.

What she would do without her, she isn't sure. Drift aimlessly back into the cosmos, surely. Probably drink herself into a coma within the first three years, tops. Where the Clarity would go after she was gone, she's unsure. The Sith was her anchor, as much as she didn't want to believe it. As much as she was Miss Independent, she was Mrs. Beniko first. She'd gotten attached, and she'd though this was finally it. Finally where she sat down somewhere. Somewhere she at least felt safe, felt she could let her guard down for good this time.

Why couldn't she have come back sooner?

Why couldn't she have brought her along?

Why was a blasted mission more important than her?

"Lana..." Khaak fake whines, pushing down her growing apprehension in favor of admiring the other woman, "I've got upgrades to do on the Clarity today. It'd be a lot more fun to do with you by my side." That was only a partial lie, her small freighter ship didn't need any fixing up at the time being, but having Lana on the ship to lift the things she wasn't able to was always a good help, and at times, a fun distraction. It was never just 'a few upgrades' or 'a few things' to fix. It was their way of indiscreetly letting the other know they wanted time alone to bond with each other, "We could be on Nar Shaddaa within the hour, be back by the week starts. Get up to things I haven't done since I got off that slimeball."

"No thank you, love. Maybe another day." Lana answers darkly, rolling back over. It's an attempt to get Khaak off her case (she should know the tone, she's done it to quite a few other handsy Imperials in her day), and Khaak tries not to make her distaste at the decision known rather unsuccessfully. The other woman is apologetic at the very least once she sees her wife's reaction, a regretful smile on her face, "I apologize if I come off as lethargic or apathetic, I promise I'll make up for it sometime or the other."

"You've been over working yourself since you got back, 'ana. We don't even have to land on any planet, we could just fly around for a few hours." Khaak responds, gently rubbing a hand over the small of her back as Lana looks up at her with mild annoyance. Ignoring it, she continues on anyway, "You like flying with me, don't you? It'd get your mind off this mess for a while, you'll feel better that way."

"I have work to get done later. I just need a few hours more and we can go over to the Sanctum together later if you wish." Lana answers. Khaak shivers at the thought, she had a special hatred for the Sith headquarters. An indescribable cold was always invading her bones, and no matter how many layers she threw on it would always be there. At least on the Clarity she and Lana would be alone, talking about sweet nothings, nowhere to be and no one to bother them. In her office there was always the chance they'd be interrupted by someone, a well-hidden disgusted look if they were holding hands. Khaak stopped the little touches here and there within the year she'd arrived on Dromound Kaas, it made her self-conscious. Typically from the Council, trying to figure what to do with Arkous' old affairs, but often these little trips turned into little more than excursions where Khaak would have to entertain herself as if she were Lana's child instead of a partner. No one treated her as much more than a decorative object, some would ask her name if they were so curious. One of the Amarillis' (there were six of them, the Wrath, her parents and then her three siblings of varying ages), she thinks the oldest brother often came by and worked extensively on reports based upon Yavin.

She was continually shoved to a corner for hours at a time, and even the fanciful dates out on the City didn't ever fix that. Lana was trying, she knew that. Before her, she wasn't sure Lana had even dated anyone before, so it was a learning process for both of them. Khaak had to slow down the progression of their relationship, and that was okay. But after so long, she would've thought Lana would've caught on she didn't enjoy being treated like this, "We could eat at that restaurant you like afterwards if you're so inclined."

"Right." It comes off colder than it should as a recoil, and Lana's concern is written all over her face after she says it. She knows that she shouldn't be angry, Lana came back in one piece. It's more than she could've ever asked for, especially with the odd details of the mission. But it's been this way for months since she came back from Yavin, and her heart feels emptier than it did when she was gone. Yes, now she saw her everyday physically instead of over the holo, but it felt like she wanted to be even less known that she was while she was undercover. Working long hours at the Sanctum, rarely ever interested in running off anywhere like she was when they were first married. Khaak doesn't even bother going up to her office on her own anymore. She can accept that she's Sith and he's busy, but she did at least think Lana would leave time for them. To keep them as an us, not just a Lana and a Khaak.

It was impossible to know what she was walking into on the best of days. A Lana who needed her, or a Lana who could get by without her.

Khaak hated there was even an option.

Hated there was even a chance Lana might say she didn't need her anymore. Yes, she was gutter trash, alien trash by Kaasian standards, but she could always rely on Lana being by her side and never giving into the stereotypes.

But here she was, trusting someone she'd known for maybe two years over Khaak. Willing to go into hiding for years with him. She regrets even the thought, but she can't help but wonder if more happened between Shan and her. Wondered if there was some stupid fling between them that Lana was willing to throw everything away for.

She wishes these thoughts would just stop for two seconds. That she could be like every other Sith spouse and just accept things the way they happened. But that wasn't how Khaak was no matter how much she wished it. Neither of them blindly just trusted people, and she's afraid that it might put a real wrench into things.

Sliding off the bed, she yanks the tank top off with more force than is really necessary. It pulls up on her lekku painfully, and she grits her teeth in pain, a growl building in her throat, "I can do it all on my own."

A moment passes, Lana sighs frustratedly from behind her, maybe observing her actions. This wasn't going to end well, but Khaak doesn't care now. She's just as frustrated, maybe more, and Khaak deserves to be able to go through her own emotions without being yelled at for it-- right? If Lana doesn't care, then why should she?

"Now you're beginning to sound like Theron." The bed shifts and creaks under Lana's weight as she says it, chastisting her for her out of place actions. Khaak moves further away to the dresser that held most of her clothes. She roughly pulls it open at the mention of the name. Khaak doesn't even want to be compared to the stupid agent, and then slides an undershirt on, yanking her lekku out from under the shirt. A light, tight leatheris flight shirt over it, "There's no reason to be sarcastic or withdrawn."

"No reason at all." Khaak mirrors her, though she says it as a growl without even realizing it. Why is she even getting this upset about all of it? Most of this wasn't her situation anyways, she wasn't Sith, she didn't know Marr and had only known Arkous in passing. She was just a free trader from a dirty sector on Nar Shaddaa who'd gotten unbelievably lucky by marrying into a powerful society. She'd always struggled, never having enough credits, never being pretty enough or smart enough or strong enough. Now she was struggling to keep her own wife from self-destructive actions, and trying to keep her marriage firmly out of the hands of her self-doubt.

She almost has her trousers on, moving over to the bedroom door to slide on her boots when she can hear Lana moving towards her. Khaak tries to calm her racing heart, tries to convince herself that Lana's ineptness at even concerning herself with the possible fact that someone did care, that someone was at home waiting for her, that someone wanted her back as soon as possible, that someone did need her, hadn't flown out the viewport.

There are too many parallels to her own family. Too many parallels to the people that tried to take the Clarity from her. They tried to keep her safe, tried to keep her locked in a poorly built cell of security, tried to keep her a child forever. Now it's someone trying to make her independent in the worst way possible. Forcing her to come to terms with her demons, that have unfortunately learned how to swim through the worst of storms.

She's understandably pissed.

Right?

"Khaak...please. There are things I simply can not do for you right now, there are things beyond your understanding I can't even decipher myself." Lana pauses, leaning against her back for support, "I know I've been gone for a long time, and I apologize for that."

"Do you?" It comes out as a rough whisper, Khaak turns her head over her shoulder, still careful enough that she doesn't accidentally hit her with her lekku, "Are you really sorry, Lana? For putting me through all of that?"

"I-" She starts, but Khaak doesn't let her finish. Won't let her finish. Can't let her finish. If she just bows down and rolls over again, this conversation will be closed off again. And if it's closed off, she can forget about ever getting her wife back.

"Lana I waited for two years for even a word from you. I trusted your life in the hands of a man from the opposite faction, trusted that you'd come back to me whole, and you brushed me off as soon as I wanted to come down and help you! Those two years were a living hell for me, it was like being all alone on the Clarity again, but instead all I had were memories of you. All I had were old holos, your clothes, everywhere you used to be! All in favor of what, some stupid fucking SIS agent?!" Khaak whips around fast, a grimace on her lips as her lekku smack the blast door anyways. If she did have hair, she would've been yanking on it by now, "Now you're back and trying to act like nothing has changed, but you were the one who changed!"

"You don't need to yell, Khaak." Lana answers, her gaze darkening as her tone hardens. She's still terribly intimidating in her dark colored sleep clothing, and her hair mussed. But for now Khaak doesn't have a reign on her emotions, she couldn't care less if she was magically the damned Emperor staring her down with lightning at her fingertips, she would not be quieted again. It's all tumbling out, and screw if Lana wanted to hear it or not, "If you had an issue-"

"'I should've just told you'. Do you know just how well that worked out on this front, Lana? Do you know how many times you told me to go home and wait? How many times I did? How many times I had to chase away people who wanted to take me away because I was an alien in one of the most expensive apartments in Kaas City?" She balls a fist, not entirely sure she even wants to hear the rest of Lana's argument. Khaak doesn't want to hurt Lana, and she's not going to, but it would be a firm lie if she said she wasn't going to punch something once she got out of here. She's already heard most of it time and time again, and she isn't going to be shut down again, no matter how childish she seems, "How many times I was terrified you were dead, or worse?!"

"Don't throw yourself into a tantrum, Khaak. I had a mission to complete, and at the risk of seeming apathetic, you had my approval to stay here through my absence. Whatever they did was illegal." She answers, raising her voice to meet Khaak's tone. It wasn't unusual, but she flinches at the change in volume anyways, possibly instinctively, "The Empire was under attack, and I was going to fight for it. I had access to Arkous' files long before they did, I had to fight Revan before he killed us all."

"What about us!? Were you going to fight for us too? Or was this mission and your damned faction more important than what we have?!" She barked. Khaak wasn't stupid, she knew the Empire always came first because Lana was Sith first and foremost. She had grown up a drifter, never tied to one faction or the other. She traded with the highest bidder, not the most morally close to her own actions. She always tried her best to understand the nationalism that most on Dromound Kaas and Lana felt. But she can't help feeling hurt because of it, fuck her original faction and what they asked of her. She couldn't just dedicate her life to her and then turn away as soon as a mission got tough, "Your damned Empire was worth keeping me away from you when you knew I needed you?"

"I wasn't going to let you run out there and risk your life like you always do! That's what I was aiming to do before you tried to shove yourself into a literal conspiracy!" Lana contended back, "This wasn't your war to fight, it was mine!"

"I wanted to fight! I wanted to fight by your side, I wanted to be with you and you denied me at every turn! Your so-called protection was going to get you killed. Sure you came back alive, but that doesn't mean you can just forget about the fact that you left me here! You left me alone, knowing I needed you, knowing that I love you, and yet you turned your back on me, just like you do everyone else!" Khaak can feel herself cracking again, can feel her true colors shining through again. There were many Lana often turned her back on, and while Khaak felt bad about it most of time, she could understand. This, she couldn't and wouldn't. "Lana, what the hell do I mean to you, if not a partner next to you in battle, and in life?"

"You're blowing this out of proportion, Khaak." Lana claims stoically, crossing her arms, "It was one mission. And I'm back now. I'm here for you."

"You're more distracted than you've ever been. You work and work and work and you throw credits at me as if that'll fix the problem! You look at me as if I'm an inconvience, as if I'm nothing but a friend rather than your wife!" Her voice cracks on the last word, and if she didn't know better, she'd say she were about to start crying. But she's not, she's about to fight someone, and thank the stars she didn't have the Force or something would've broken as she tries not to scream in frustration, "I'm not throwing a tantrum, Lord Beniko, I'm letting you know how I feel about the shit you've pulled with me and I'm not standing for it anymore!" Khaak snaps, a shrill yell escaping her.

Lana's dumbfounded for a moment, taken completely aback as her eyes widen. She's visibly surprised, shocked with her reaction. But her fixed gaze doesn't waver, and she sets her lips in a thin line before responding, "Please. Continue berating me for protecting you. Continue telling me I didn't have your best interests in mind. Continue blaming me for putting your life first. As if I didn't want you alive to come home to, because apparently I don't know any better, Captain." Lana exaggerated, clearly frustrated. Khaak winces at the title, Lana hadn't called her Captain in that connotation in years.

"I-Lana I wanted to help! I wanted to be there for you, and you shoved me away. You let the Wrath and Nox fight by your side, but not me. Not the one who knows you best, but instead your fuckin' Sith friends. Is that how much I mean to you?!" Nox, Marr and the Wrath got to fight by her side, and what for? Why did they get that privelege, and not her? There were always going to be lingering thoughts of self-doubt when she compared herself to the force-sensitives that were around her, but this was just beginning to prove the worst of her fears. She wasn't good enough for a lot of things for a multitude of reasons, but not being some eternally powerful warrior wasn't one of them, "Sorry I can't lift a box two times my own weight with some power I'm not pre-disposed to, but it doesn't mean I can't protect you!"

"Khaak, I couldn't care less if you wielded the Force as I did. I didn't give myself up to you because you were force blind, I gave myself up to you because I care for you! If Revan took you from me, if the Emperor took you from me, I don't know what I would do without you." Lana quiets, unable to meet her eyes.

"What was I supposed to do without you?!" Khaak finishes, throwing her hands up in exasperation, "If we go down, we go down together Lana. It's in sickness and in health and 'till death does us part. It's not until you get tired of working with me, it's not until you decide you're too good to be working with me, and it's sure as hell not until you find some Sith partner that's better than me!"

"There isn't anyone better than you! Revan nearly killed the Wrath, one of the strongest Sith amongst us, and left us all with scars we'll never get rid of. If you'd been the one lying in a medbay bed, I don't know what I would've done. If I'd see you sprawled out in the jungle, eyes lolled back into your head and your own blood pooling out around you, you don't even understand the lengths I would go to enact revenge on your death!" Khaak doesn't think she's ever moved Lana to tears in the years that they've known each other, but the way her voice is wavering she's afraid she may have finally done it. And not in a good way either, "I could not risk your life for something I signed up for, Khaak, and I never will. Be angry if you will, but Theron had nothing to do with this! I doubt he even knows you exist!"

For a moment, she's offended. Heavily. By the fact Lana hadn't even bothered telling her apparent confidant she was married. That she hadn't seen her as important enough to tell him about her, that she was happy with her wife. But then, she stops, pausing to look at her broken form. Her wife is exhausted, and she hasn't slept properly since she's been back, tossing and turning and mumbling in her sleep. Lana has just been through maybe the two worst years of her life, hiding her true identity and living on Rishi of all places. Most of what she'd encountered was still a mystery to Khaak, lots of things simply hadn't been disclosed just yet. That worries her, maybe there was something Lana had seen that she wasn't able to get out of her head. Something the Emperor had done to her that Khaak wouldn't ever even begin to imagine.Maybe Khaak is being unfair, maybe her emotions have been invalidated again. Maybe she's overreacting unnecessarily. Something about Theron still bothers her, but he did his job and didn't get her wife killed while she was with him. That was all she could've asked for, especially for someone related to two higher-ups in the Republic.

"You're not invulnerable, Lana. I know that against all the odds, Sith can die just as much as us force blind can." Khaak whispers, staring at a fixed point in the distance. Their lived-in bedroom, that has seen many quiet nights with soft holos playing, loud nights where neither of them want to do anything even close to sleeping, bad days where they can't be bothered to get out of bed, good days where they stay in each other's embrace as long as their responsibilities allow them, stormy days where they yell at each other and can barely look at the other person.

Like today.

The rain is always in the background, the pittering and pattering of the raindrops against the transparisteel as she tries to formulate words to describe how she's feeling, "Maybe it isn't as easy to understand from your point of view, strong as hell, but some wild blaster shot could take any of us, including you. Someday your fancy force healing isn't going to be able to bring you back like it did now. No one is taking you from me again, not even Marr himself."

Lana is quiet, possibly pondering upon her response, and Khaak takes it as a pass to continue, "Yeah, I am sorry for yelling at you. That wasn't fair of me. But I'm not just going to roll over and--I don't know just let you keep risking your life like this and say nothing, pretend everything is okay." Khaak lifts her head again, but closes the distance between them and gently lifts Lana's head to look at her, "I'm not asking for you to give all of this up, I know the promotion to Minister wasn't given lightly. I'm proud of you for it, and I hope you continue earning what you deserve. But I'm asking you to never forget about me like this again. You'll always have me, and I don't want you to forget that."

"I'd never forget you." Lana whispers, eyes rimmed a light pink, "I thought I was protecting you by keeping you here. There were forces at work that I barely understood, much less wanted to put you through. It was never any ploy to rid myself of you, love. For that, I am sorry. Everything with the Emperor, and then the Revanites...I suppose I was trying to do it all myself again. I thought I could do it all myself."

"You tend to do that." Khaak softly chuckles, scratching the back of her neck. In a way, she isn't wrong, Lana tended to take everything on by herself even when it wasn't necessary. That was just how she was, and no argument would get her to stand down immediately, "Lana, I'd go to the ends of the galaxy and back for you, hell I'd stare the Emperor down and flip him off if that's what it took to keep you alive."

Lana raises an eyebrow, possibly amused with the image and thought, before a gentle smile takes the place of the small frown that had been on her lips, "I do hope it never comes to that, because I would never doubt that you would do such a thing."

"For you? Nothing is impossible." She hugs the shorter woman, laying her head on her shoulder. Possibly it's a little tighter than it needs to be, but Khaak needs her, needs to know she's here, that she's back again. "I'm sorry I was angry, I said things I shouldn't have said. It wasn't fair of me to get frustrated like that, especially at you. Everything you do to keep me here, I appreciate more than you know."

"It was partially my own fault. I left you in the dark for so long without considering how you'd feel about it. I shouldn't have assumed everything was okay here," Lana answers, hugging her back, "It wasn't fair of me to think you'd simply be okay with me being gone for so long."

"I'm not asking to be part of every little Sith thing you do, but maybe let me in on some things? I want to help as much as I can, even if I don't entirely understand. Hell, I'd make a shitty Imperial agent, but I'm sure I could learn." Khaak pulls away from her, still with an arm wrapped around her waist, "I don't want you as stressed as you are now. It isn't all work and no play, 'ana."

"I-" Lana pauses, seeming as if she wants to continue but can't figure how to, "The Emperor isn't dead. Not like how we assumed he was. He's alive, and surely planning something horrid for the rest of the galaxy. The Sith are on high alert, the higher-ups in Council are getting antsy and much too quiet. That includes me. We don't know what's coming next, so we have to stay on top of it all. Especially with me as Minister of Intelligence now, taking a day off isn't exactly something I can do, love. Not with the current state of the galaxy."

Shit, Khaak didn't know that part. She's beginning to think any happiness she had before was all a cover up for what was really happening behind the scenes with this new job of her's.

"Yeah...um, can't Lord Amarillis help you with that?" Khaak questions, pulling a few memories out. She wants this fixed, and now, "He screws around with Intelligence from time to time, right? Couldn't he take the mantle for a few days?"

"Not in the way you're thinking. I could surely use his help, but he has his own problems to deal with, especially with his estate the way it is." Lana looks thoughtful for a moment, considering before flickering her glance back up to Khaak, "I have a few other assets I could acquire for this investigation, surely it will get solved soon enough." With a raise of her eyebrow, Lana smiles gently, "And I promise that this time, you can help, love."

"Good, no running off to fight ancient evils without me again, okay?" Khaak asks, pressing a kiss to her lips that Lana leans into, "Two heads are always better than one."

Possibly unnecessarily, both women are still uneasy after this argument. It isn't obvious at first glance, even they've convinced themselves that all is well again. As if nothing has happened. Lana remains at their small apartment more often than not, Khaak is less ready to immediately run off and fight for something she doesn't fully understand. But Lana still hides quite a bit from Khaak, she can tell. Khaak continues to try and push down her true emotions, if only to conform to the mold she's accidentally made for herself to keep Lana around. It has only been the eye of the storm passing overhead, and another is brewing just off the coast. Neither wants to admit they've simply put a bandage over something that has been bleeding for years.

When they do eventually get the call that something horrible is going down on Ziost early one morning, there's a look in Lana's eyes that Khaak won't ever forget. There's another moment when they're flying back over the Sith Intelligence headquarters that Khaak considers that Lana may throw herself back into this and forget about her for real this time. That is mission may be the end all be all if Khaak doesn't do something about it. Firmly, she argues with the 'Keeper' (there isn't a single person in Intelligence who answers to a real name, and that's annoying as it is) and her wife to at least fly her down to the surface and stay on the space station in case she needs her. If Lana doesn't want her on-planet, then at the very least she will stay where her wife can always reach her.

Where her wife can't forget about her.

-

KHAAK._ZIOST.

"So your name is just Cipher Nine?" Khaak questions, turning away from the viewport of the shuttle for a moment. The woman that was accompanying them down to the surface was a piece of work that they'd met at Intelligence at Lana and Keeper's request. Blonde and deep brown skinned with hair in a tight ponytail and in a clean, crisp Imperial uniform. There are a few cybernetics here and there, and Khaak is undoubtedly impressed with just how high-tech they are. She can make a few assumptions on what each one does, but figures she might be wrong. She would've considered her pretty, should she not have been so horribly uptight. Not even a laugh at a few of jokes she cracked, simply standing at a perpetual attention nearby. Any question about Intelligence, answered indirectly, effectively skirting the entire question and returning to absolute silence. Even the little that Lana had told her about the agent was confusing and lead her around in circles. The fact she'd withstood being brainwashed and going undercover for months at a time, it was impressive but also made Khaak very happy that she never went into Sith Intelligence to follow after Lana. The addition of the modded rifle made her a bit nervous, according to Lana she was one of the most talented Cipher agents of her generation (Khaak didn't know what that meant, nor did she really care), though she posed no immediate danger to either of them. Khaak would buy that as soon as she stopped catching her golden-tinged glare every time she turned around. She felt like she was being analyzed from head to toe, or their was a file being made on her, "No nickname like...I don't know, Cara?"

Not even a snicker or a chuckle at the joke, "My designation is Cipher Nine. That is who I am, Captain." She answers, the Imperial accent thick and her expression unwavering from pissed off or possibly apathy. Nine it was then. Maybe Snips if she was feeling particularily annoyed with her.

"I have a name, y'know." Khaak deadpans back, clicking a few buttons to get them ready to land on-planet, then swiveling around in the chair and crossing one leg over the other, "You could address me that way if you're so inclined."

"Don't tease her, Khaak. That's how all Intelligence agents are." Lana responds, stepping closer to the nav controls and adjusting the belt on her armor. She holds back a low whistle in their current company, even going into battle her wife was a certain type of gorgeous that she couldn't put a name on, "I'm sure she has a name that she doesn't wish to disclose with us." Turning from her, she hands Nine a datapad, "Things are getting desperate on the surface, and while we're far from where I'd like us to be, we're safest further from the population centers."

"What about this Wrath of yours? Didn't you contact her before we got down here? Why can't she just slash a path through here for us?" Khaak asks, skirting the fact about the population centers (she'd been on Kaon during the outbreak and had just barely made it out by the skin of her teeth -- insane infections like this terrified her). When she thought of this Sith and her apparently galaxy-shattering abilities, she figured a few Emperor-controlled soldiers wouldn't be too much of a problem for her. Gritting her teeth, she makes the mental note that if the Wrath comes out of here alive but not her Sith,  she might just commit an unsolicited murder.

"The Wrath is powerful, but I'm afraid the Emperor might target her first due to her inclusion in the mission on Yavin and relation to him as his currently designated Wrath. He may see her as a adversary. Her landing out here is the safest place for us to meet her and regroup our efforts to push through and finish Vitiate for good." Lana answers, as Khaak turns back around to land them properly. A look out the viewport, and Khaak hisses in a breath through her teeth at what she sees.

Khaak had been to Ziost before, had even lived here for a period of time with her old crew in tow, but it had never been destroyed like this before. Never. The buildings were crumbling, and there were so many people running about, some stationary though. No ships were taking off, no speeders that she could see. The People's Tower loomed in the distance, New Adasta was dark from what she could see. The Landing Zone was in terrible shape, speeders and transports alike crashed. As they grew closer, Khaak was surprised no one had begun shooting. It was eerie, as if they didn't belong here. As if there was always something waiting in the shadows, and something is beginning to grow the pit in her stomach. Flickering her gaze to Lana, she isn't so sure she wants to leave her alone down here with only two agents and the Wrath behind her, prior fears be damned.

"I will scout the surrounding areas, Minister. Should I run into trouble or find the Wrath, I will alert you immediately," Nine says as they land, pulling the rifle off her back and clicking the safety off. For some reason, Khaak is quick to believe that the trouble will not be Emperor-made, instead the trouble with be Nine herself. Any help would be good help, she supposes and resigns to trust Lana's life in her hands, "Agent Kovach should meet us soon, yes?"

Khaak quietly grumbles under her breath about having an actual name, and Lana lightly slaps her arm in a mock punishment that Khaak pouts at, "Yes, Cipher. You know the coordinates."

A solitary nod from the agent as the door slides open, and she's gone in the cool air, falling into nothingness with only the buzz of a stealth generator ever letting them know she was here. Pushing yet another button to close it again behind her to wait for her return, Lana lets out a shaky sigh once the blastdoors have closed, and Khaak puts a hand on her shoulder that Lana leans into, "Already I've received more reports from concerned officials and worried civillians than I can count. The Emperor is causing chaos left and right, and I'm not even entirely sure why yet. Everyone needs me all at once, as if I haven't been putting out fires as soon as they're set. Evacuation shuttles are being delayed because of attacks, more and more civillians are being turned faster than we can contain those who haven't. Stars, this really is the end of a world, and no one knows what to do about it."

"Hey, we're going to save as many as we can." She says, trying to reassure the other woman and pulling Lana closer to her and pressing a kiss to her lips, knowing that this might just be the last time she sees Lana again. Lowering her voice, she leans her forehead against her wife's, her eyes going cross-eyed for just a moment before focusing again. She's warm, and with the way her eyes narrow in thought, Khaak has got to get this off her chest before Lana does something stupid. Not that she would, Lana remains one of smartest people she knows, but self-sacrificing actions were considered stupid in her book. Any action that could lead to unnecessary injury on her part was stupid, "It sounds bad, but just this once, put your life first."

"Khaak..." Lana says warningly, a skeptical look in her eyes as she leans her weight against her, "I have a job to do. Whether you like it or not,being the Minister means I protect all the Imperial lives that I can."

"That includes yours, 'ana." Khaak answers firmly, leaving no room for any more discussion on the topic, "Protect whoever the hell we're here to protect, but your's still matters most. Don't forget that, got it?"

They kiss again, and Khaak tries to imprint her taste, her smell back onto her. This mission wouldn't drag out nearly as long as Yavin did, but it doesn't mean her concern will wane. It could be as short as a few moments if as soon as she steps out of the shuttle that the Emperor takes aim for her, "I love you, Lana."

"I love you too, Khaak." Her holocom rings, breaking their eye contact as Lana pulls it off her belt, though her hand lingers in Khaak's for a moment longer, "That's Nine. I'm assuming the Wrath has made her presence known once more. I should collect her before the Emperor decides to first."

"If she's the reason you die, she'll have a lot more than just the Emperor to worry about." Khaak is less that ecstatic to see her go, and is beginning to consider that offer to go and scout for Theron herself, if not to have an excuse to still be on planet against Lana's will, "Look, I'll scout around for Theron's ship best I can, and I'll circle back for you if you need me, okay?"

"Are you sure? I know how you are with these situations, love." Lana says, stepping outside the shuttle, lightsaber hilt in hand. A concerned look fills her features instead of one of stress, possibly considering this offer. But, she resigns herself to a nervous smile, "Do not do anything that will jeopardize your survival, love."

"Huh, feel like I just had this conversation with someone I know very well. She didn't listen at first, but thankfully because I love her, I'll listen to her concerns." Lana rolls her eyes good-naturedly at the sarcastic comment, but the incessant ringing of her holocom again spurs her on to kiss her for a final time before igniting her lightsaber and disappearing into the landing zone in a flash of red, black and green. A certain sense of dread fills Khaak to the brim as she closes the blast doors and lifts off again. Essentially, she's leaving Lana on her own, to fend for herself amongst those who have already been controlled. Hell, she couldn't care less if Nine died (Khaak had half a mind to think all her responses were automated or taken straight out of some agent handbook or the other), Kovach could get himself killed and she wouldn't bat an eye. If the Emperor even touched a hair on Lana's head though, Khaak would find someway to fight the ancient Imperial entity. And shoot him.

Switching gears, she refocuses on the mission at hand. Intelligence doesn't exactly have exact information on where Theron is, but he was still on-planet, and would serve as a good distraction from the current situation. She can't stop giving lingering glances to to the landing zone where she'd left Lana, but turns away anyways. The additional Sixth Line was his idea apparently, according to the file Lana had given her, and she rolls her eyes at the mere idea of the action. If Saresh had approved it, it was no wonder the entire mission was going to shit.

Khaak hated Leontyne Saresh. She hated a lot of people, but Saresh topped that list time and time again. Restriction after restriction on trading outside of Republic entities, and even within it once Khaak had applied for Republic citizenship. She very quickly didn't end up renewing it, and probably lost out on hundreds of thousands of credits because of the Chancellor. She didn't do trade in the core worlds that were under her jurisdiction anymore, at least not legally. At the very least with this fascist government, she could trade as she saw fit. Hell, she was pretty sure the Republic was suffering at her hands, but unlike Imperial worlds, they didn't rebel for some reason.

Considering this, she finds that it's smooth sailing for the time being over the rest of the Landing Zone and into the city district of Ziost, much too quiet, which is an an oddity in itself, typically she'd have to dodge speeder after speeder at this time of day. It isn't as if the Imperial shuttle handles oddly either. She considers what she'd even say to Theron should she see him, or even find him. A small part of her hopes he's dead or gone, just so they all can go home and let the Empire deal with it all, like they always do.

She's beginning to near New Adasta when she can feel the pit in her stomach only growing. A glance around what she can see in front of the viewport leads her to believe she's only being paranoid, and takes a shaky breath in to continue on her mission. But a look into the holocamera recording from behind her is too slow to see the aerial guns slowly turning to take aim for the small shuttle. There isn't enough time for her to speed up or even use any defensive manuevers, because the first shot hits one of the main thrusters, thrusting her in the opposite direction, and the next takes out the other. Spiraling into a free fall and losing control over the shuttle entirely, alarms are blaring, red lights are filling her vision and Khaak is panicking. The safeties weren't exactly explained before they took off, and if there is anything to protect her from dying at the hands of a blasted transport shuttle, she doesn't know. Wide-eyed and nearly ready to jump from the ship anyways, she holds onto the straps tightly. It isn't the first time she's ever crashed a ship, hell the Clarity wouldn't fly properly the first few times and she gathered quite a few infractions the first few flights it had. But, this might end up being the last if she can't get out of this. The shuttle hits something hard, probably a building, throwing her off course and smacking her head against the nav dash.

Seeing stars, all she can do now is pray that the steering still works. Flicking her hands back to it, she finds that it does, but she isn't able to pull up properly to avoid a nosedive into the ground, that much is obvious. Lights flash by the viewport in a dizzying array, screaming is growing louder and louder and louder outside the shuttle as the ground grows closer. So this was how it ended, not in a blaze of glory with her wife at her side, but instead alone, in a shuttle she couldn't even figure out how to pilot in the end, trying to find the one person she hoped to never see in person.

A throw of the controls to the left just as she's about to hit the ground allows her two seconds more of consciousness, watching through wide eyes as she and the shuttle roll and the duracrete beneath her spinning before her. Her lekku are yanked painfully different directions as the safety straps snap entirely, throwing her forwar and another hit to the ground breaks the transparisteel, shattering it into pieces and sending her through the viewport onto the ground. Something snaps in her arm as she falls and skids to a stop on the snow covered ground.

She cries out in pain as it registers that her arm has broken in quite a few places after she tries to move. Her ankle is twisted at a despicable angle, and her head is buzzing like the static in a holcom. A string of obscenities escape her as she tries to push herself up into a sitting position, and she falls back to the ground, laying in one of the most painful positions she's ever been in. A quick stock check leaves her knowing she hasn't lost any of the offending limbs just yet. The shuttle is in horrible shape, looming over her and pieces of it scattered about nearby. With her uninjured arm, she fishes her holocom out of one of her pockets (not before biting back an animalistic scream of pain). Flicking one of the switches on the bottom, it begins to beep quietly as she slides it back to sit next to her head. Not even fifteen minutes after leaving Lana, she would need to call upon her for assistance. Chuckling, she wheezes out a laugh, oh the irony.

Glancing about, she can see why Ziost was in such desperate need of Imperial assistance. Alarms sounded everywhere, though she couldn't see anyone in her immediate vincinity. Khaak didn't know what exactly the Emperor was doing, or why, other than that he was controlling average citizens. A bout of panic fills her as her breathing quickens, wondering if he would try to control her. She hadn't seen much evidence of it just yet, but she's worried he's already in her head, trying to take her over. Trying to get her killed. Trying to kill her.

Where does she go from here, until Lana can send assistance or someone to help her? She can't move, she's essentially paralyzed. The ship is clearly non-functional, electricity dangerously close to swinging at her should she grow any closer to the now death trap. Even if she were able to get up on her own, there'd be quite a while before anyone would come for her.

Apparently, she doesn't have to wait long for her saving grace.

"Oi! This ain't a time to die." A voice shouts from somewhere nearby, clearly feminine in tone. Scrambling up from her prone position, her ankle snaps and she slides right back down to the ground, this time smacking the back of her head against the duracrete. Pain shoots up in every direction, and if she wasn't unmovable before, she is now.

Great going, Khaak.

At least she can clearly see who it is now, a woman bundled up in clothing that she would easily mistake for a pirate. A black market electrostaff is on her back, and is quickly sliding down from a line hooked many levels above them. Landing delicately on one boot and then the other, through her fuzzy vision Khaak can see that she's rather short, but blonde curls tumbling down her head. Her jaw and mouth are covered by a tan scarf that is the same color as the rest of her light armor, and she slowly walks up to Khaak. Using her uninjured arm to point one of her blasters at the woman as she tries to pick up the holocom that she had just dropped, the woman stops for a moment, holding her hands up in the universal 'don't shoot' position, "Hey, I don't mean any harm."

An Imperial citizen then, the accent isn't pristine Kaasian, but instead very much one of the Imperial conquered worlds, as Khaak had learned, "Step away...from the holocom."

"Gotcha there." The woman answers, whistling at the ship, "You definitely had one hell of ride into Adasta, huh?"

"You could say that." Khaak coughs, shaking her entire body as she tries to wheeze in another gasp of air. Great, she might've punctured a lung, or broken a rib. With how today was going, she wouldn't put it past fate to be doing so.

"Ships have been crashing for the last couple of days. Don't know what jurisdiction is up to, maybe trying to keep us all contained down here." The woman pulls out a kolto patch, but quirks an eyebrow up, maybe considering even what to do with it, "Jedi and Sith alike milling about everywhere. Wouldn't recommend the scenic tour if you're new here."

"Wonderful, just wonderful." Khaak rolls her eyes, as the woman grows closer.

"I could try to get you back to my apartment. I've been locked up tight since this whole mess started, it'd be nice to have someone else around 'till I die or everything else goes to shit. Or it blows over, who knows?" The woman bend down a knee to be at eye level with Khaak, showing her a grappling gun and then snapping it back to her belt, "How's that sound?"

Khaak considers for a moment, her vision flickering back to the beeping holocom, her only connection to Lana right now, before considering the woman before her. She's an older woman, crinkles around her silver eyes and scars galore marring what she can see. Sighing, she nods solemnly, "You got a name?"

"Do you?" The woman asks back, making a move to help her up. Khaak bites her bottom lip as her ankle drags on the ground and the woman presses down a bit too hard on the injured arm. But she's up, and that's better than she had been a few moments ago. The world spins for a few minutes as she tries to get her bearings back, and nausea is beginning to creep into her senses. A concussion, probably.

"Asked you first." Khaak responds, as they experimentally try a few steps in one direction, and then the other. The woman is much smaller than she is, so it takes a bit to get used to the weight difference, but they are able to walk a few feet to where the woman had just landed only a few minutes ago.

"Asked you second." The woman says teasingly, sliding the grappling gun back out from her belt and taking aim for much higher than they are now. Odd, but Khaak doesn't immediately question their destination. Taking a bit more of her armor in, she can see that the woman isn't underprepared for this excursions, because other than the electrostaff she also has two Czerka blasters on her hips, plus a blaster rifle alongside the staff. She was packing some insane firepower.

"Fine then. Captain Beniko." She answers, knowing this kind of woman, and that chances are she wouldn't be getting the free ride up and promise of rest if she didn't disclose her title at the very least. The woman readjusts her grip on her waist at the answer, the line shooting upwards and clanging to the side of a building. The woman gently tugs on the gun, testing the strength of the line. When it doesn't snap under their weight immediately, Khaak realizes that her apartment must've been higher up in the tiers of New Adasta. Clever, very cleve, "You, mysterious stranger?"

The woman laughs loud and long as they begin their slow ascent upwards, "Mysterious Stranger? Might add that to my list of titles, put that on my gravestone when I die." Her eyes are smiling, the silver turning a sterling grey in the changing lighting. She looks back down at her, "Call me Cadera."

"Alright then, Cadera." Khaak answers, playing with the syllables for a moment before looking out over the horizon. The view from up here would be beautiful if she didn't have to keep blinking her vision back as it swam before her. Ziost was being destroyed, and Adasta was going with it. So many people would lose their homes in this senseless destruction. Cadera is quiet the rest of the way up, maybe considering what to do next. This must've been her home, considering how well-adjusted she seemed to the chaos and her accent. Poor woman.

Once they reach the top, Khaak is pushed up first onto a balcony of sorts, slipping through a doorway and crashing to the ground. Thankfully, nothing of value is broken, and Cadera climbs over the balcony railing and closes the door behind her. Deadbolts are put back into place, and she closes the meager curtains. The low lights of the room come on, and they're in some sort of lounge.

"Nice place you've got here." Khaak comments, taking in the slightly junky room. Cadera chuckles darkly, removing the scarf from around her face. Scars mar her lips in every which of way, and she smirks.

"Welcome to the end of a world, kid."

#swtor #star wars the old republic #swtor oc #oc #original character #fanfiction #khaak beniko #khaak sayare #captain khaak beniko #lana beniko #female smuggler #female smuggler/lana beniko #swtor fanfiction #ziost

[ialwayscomewhenyoucall]

‘til Midnight

chapter 5/6

ao3 | ch 1 | ch 2 | ch 3 | ch 4 

twelve x rose, Into the Dalek coda

*

He isn’t going to sleep.

He’s going to spend this hour memorizing the feel of Rose in his arms, breathing her in, delighting in stolen moments he thought he’d never have again.

The last few hours replay in his mind like a film, from when he first stepped out of the TARDIS and heard Rose’s voice right through a few minutes ago, when he he lied...telling her he’ll never leave her again.

When she finds him again, the other Doctor, he’s going to leave her behind on that beach.

He doesn’t deserve her. He doesn’t deserve these moments of joy. He’s protecting her heart by lying to her, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s lying.

You asked me if you’re a good man, and the answer is I don’t know. But I think you try to be, and I think that’s probably the point.

Is he a good man? Where is the line?

Suddenly everything overwhelms him; his limbs feel heavy and his eyes won’t stay open. No! Not now, he pleads with his body, but it’s no use. He checks and double-checks the alarm clock in his head.

He cannot let her disappear like this.

Just before he succumbs to sleep a series of thoughts drop into his mind like stones into a pond. He’d said goodbye to her once, and it had nearly broken him. He’d said goodbye to her again, given her to himself, as it were, and it had been the hardest thing he’d ever done.

He doesn’t know how he can possibly do it again.

✰✰✰

“Rose.”

His voice is barely more than a whisper but she snaps awake, her eyes full of panic. “Is--am I late? Is it… are we okay?”

Pulling her close--closer, actually--he peppers her face with soft kisses. That treacherous bit of his mind says, “What is this you’ve become, Doctor?” but he quickly shuts it down.

“Everything is fine, my Rose. Everything is fine. It’s just time to wake up is all.”

She relaxes, melting into him. “You stayed.” He hears the smile in her voice.

“I said I would. I even slept, actually.” He pauses, then adds, “It’s been a very long time since I’ve been so comfortable.” She snuggles even closer, and he gives a little hum of contentment.

“Did you dream?”

The ghost of a smile flits across his face. He doesn’t often talk about his dreams, but this one he’s happy to tell. “I did. I dreamed of the first time you saw me. I picture you that way all the time; that brilliant smile, and all the falling snow.”

She sits up and turns to face him, utterly bewildered. “Doctor, the first time I saw you was in the basement of Henrik’s. Remember? Moving dummies, explosions, ‘run for your life.’ Ringin’ any bells?”

“That was the first time I met you.”

He lets the silence linger; they just look at each other, and he sees the exact moment she realizes what he’s saying.

“Doctor!” Her eyes are wide, unbelieving. “You went back into my past? Which one of you? Was it a face I knew? How come I don’t remember?”

At first he hedges. “It...it wasn’t a very memorable moment. Not for you, anyway.” She gives him that look of hers, and he gives in. He’d known he would from the start. “I was feeling sad, alright? It was the end of a hard day and I wanted to see you. I didn’t mean to actually be noticed, but I’m glad of it. I got to see your beautiful smile, hear your laugh. You thought I’d had too much to drink because I didn’t know what year it was. Bit of a common problem for me, actually.”

Realization washes over her. “I remember! When I told you, you laughed and said--”

“I bet you’re gonna have a great year.”

“And that was the year I met you. Properly met you, I mean. The year my life changed forever.” Her eyes begin to glisten again.

“I almost messed everything up that night, you know,” the Doctor says conversationally. “I nearly added ‘Rose Tyler.’”

A laugh bubbles out of her. “You never.”

“I did. I had to bite it back. You know how I was in that body. I had to say your name every chance I got. I rather liked the taste of it in my mouth, I think.”

She leans forward until she’s just a breath away, looking right into his eyes. “Didn’t you ever wonder if the taste of me might be better?”

He swallows. “Every single minute, my Rose.” Clearing his throat, he amends, “Well, nearly. The minutes we were in peril I was thinking about how best to save your life, and then how maybe I could swing you up in a celebratory hug and maybe kiss you afterwards. You know, all caught up in the spirit of celebration. The few times I did get to kiss you, you were the Wolf, or you were Cassandra, or...it was all very confusing. I just wanted you, and to know you wanted--”

His words are cut off by Rose’s lips pressed against his. When she stops for a breath, she whispers, “I’m here now, Doctor. And let me tell you, you’re all I want. You are my past, present, and future.”

You are my present. It’s the only thing he’ll let himself think. Because her future is the other Doctor.

She grins. “Did you really think about snogging me that much?”

He looks away, eyes seeking anything in the room that isn’t her. “I might have exaggerated. Just a bit.”

Her laugh actually sparkles. Another piece of him breaks.

Two hours, thirty-two minutes, fourteen seconds, thirteen seconds, twelve seconds…

✰✰✰

“Well. This is new.”

His ship, yet again. They’d been wandering about, and he’d let Rose lead. Or so he’d thought. But when she’d stumbled upon this particular room…

“New body, new hobbies, you know the drill. It’s just something I decided to pick up again. It’s been awhile, but it’s like flying a TARDIS. You never forget.”

She runs a finger along a coiled metal string, which releases a soft squeak. Looking up at him through her lashes, she says, “Play for me?”

As if he could refuse.

He sits on a low stool and settles the guitar on his thigh, the lacquered wood and metal strings somehow familiar against the relative newness of his left hand. Rose looks at him, expectant, and in that breath he begins to play.

He has no particular tune in mind, only Rose; he thinks of her and improvises. The tune begins playfully, skipping from high notes to low and back again the way they skipped across the universe. He plays the Wolf, dramatic and sweeping, then the mingled pain and joy of regeneration. Sometimes there is fear of losing her, sometimes there is laughter, sometimes it is just the perfection of being with the one who fits so rightly at your side.

He doesn’t want to, but it is part of their story, so he plays Canary Wharf. The utter despair echoes about them, the feeling of losing one of his hearts when she disappeared into the other universe. He plays the beach, the words both said and unsaid. He doesn’t risk a look at her face, but he can feel the tears in her eyes.

He plays her absence, his loneliness, her determination to find him again. He plays their reunion, a ridiculous movie crescendo that ends with a whimper; he recalls lying on the street in her arms and can barely go on.

But he started down this musical memory lane and he can’t stop now. He plays the cacophony of the Crucible, the confusion of the metacrisis...and then the worst goodbye he’s ever said.

It is slow and bittersweet; he plays her happiness and confliction at once, dipping occasionally into a minor key. He plays his heartbreak, the emptiness inside him that could never quite be filled. He lets the song go so quiet it sounds like it may even just ease off into nothing. Rose’s breaths slow with the music.

And then he plays today.

He plays his melancholy, his longing, his attempted self-comfort. There is a drawn out wail when he remembers hearing her voice calling out to him, that moment etched in his mind for all of eternity. His fingers jump along the strings, mimicking Rose’s footsteps in the courtyard. He plays his frustrations with the TARDIS and Rose’s trilling, teasing laughs, the joy in the garden, the bliss of kissing her, of holding her, of being near her. He plays her fierceness, her refusal to let time--past, present, or future--get in their way. He plays hints of the agony he knows is coming, but refuses to dwell on it, not wanting to hurt his Rose. He plays the sweetness of falling asleep with her in his arms.

And winding through it all, a theme that repeats over and over, is love.

His unending, unconditional, heartbreaking love. He can’t say the words to her, but he can play the notes. He hopes that someday she will understand.

At the very end, almost an afterthought, he plays the first eight notes of “Auld Lang Syne,” sweet and pure, no reverb or distortion.

And then there is silence.

For a moment--or actually, 97.32 seconds--he is lost inside himself, lost in a flood of memories. Music may be good for the soul but it can also cause heartache. He’s brought back to the present by a face searching his, a hand on his cheek.

“Doctor, that was…” Rose looks into his eyes as if the answers lie buried somewhere inside him. “That was me. It was you and me and the whole universe and how did you do that with just a guitar?” She doesn’t give him a chance to respond, instead she presses her lips to his, taking his breath away. He returns her kiss with enthusiasm, nearly dropping the guitar in his attempt to pull her onto his lap.

“Hold on, I’ve got to put this up, it was a gift from…” He sees her face: eyes bright, cheeks flushed, lips swollen from kissing him, and he amends his train of thought. “You know what, that’s not important.” He manages to get the guitar onto the stand with one hand and pull her onto his lap with the other. Her fingers thread through his hair as her lips crush against his again.

This, he thinks. This right here is what the present is for.

**

for @doctorroseprompts 31 Days of Ficmas || day 31 - midnight

#lirael writes #doctorroseprompts #31 days of ficmas #twelve x rose #'til midnight #dw fic #into the dalek coda #the twelfth doctor #rose tyler #i love twelve with his guitar #and also snogging #*happy sigh*

[imagine-loki]

Monsters and Magic

TITLE: Monsters and Magic

CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: 31/?

AUTHOR: nekoamamori

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine you’re a vampire who helps the Avengers defeat an evil seethe of other vampires, and Loki befriends you after you end up in their custody

RATING: T (so far)

NOTES/WARNINGS: Also on AO3 click here

 Frigga wasted absolutely no time opening the barrier of your cell. You could barely open your eyes and didn’t bother just for Frigga. Not even when she stepped in and carefully lifted you into her arms. You should have been concerned. You should have cared, but you couldn’t even muster that much. All you could manage was a tiny whimper, while you tried to ignore the call of the hot blood in her veins. A call you were too weak to answer if you’d wanted to.

    You should have also cared that Frigga had lifted you in her arms, but Asgardians were strong, you were small to begin with, and you could barely care about anything but not being in pain, and the call of the hot blood in her veins. It took more effort than you wanted to admit to fight back those thoughts. You knew it was understandable given what you’d been through, and you also knew that it was only because you could scarcely move that you weren’t automatically acting on that impulse, despite that it was something you’d never do.

    You felt the swirl of magic around you and you found yourself laid on a soft bed that smelled of Loki. It smelled so safe and comfortable that you relaxed into it and barely noticed that Frigga was trying to get you to tell her how to help you. She was the strongest healer in the realm, but she didn’t know how to help a vampire. So there wasn’t much she could do until Loki arrived.

    /How is she, Mother? I will be there as soon as I can. Thor and I are on our way to the Birfrost now/

    He found Thor and only had to tell him “She’s been found,” before Thor was running with him wherever Loki needed him to go. Thor would follow him to the ends of the realms if that’s what it to to get you back safely.

    “Where?” Thor asked as they ran past the other Avengers.

    “Asgard,” Loki replied, loudly enough that the rest of the team would hear and know what was going on.

    /She is in dreadful shape…/ Frigga wouldn’t insult her son by mincing her words. /I do not know how to help her and she either cannot or will not tell me. All I’ve been able to do is take her to safety. We’re in your suite/ she added, sounding sad that she couldn’t do more.

    /We’ll be there soon/ Loki promised and broke the connection so he could focus on returning to Asgard as quickly as possible.

    They were already outside and to the Bifrost circle. He grabbed the hammer from Thor and raised it impatiently to the sky to call Heimdall. The Bifrost opened an instant later and they were soon in Asgard again. He finally got his head on straight and remembered there were faster ways of getting places than running and grabbed Thor’s arm to teleport them both to his quarters.

    It didn’t surprise Loki at all when Frigga had a blade drawn at their sudden arrival, or the bolt of golden magic in her other hand. She was prepared to defend you from whatever danger might threaten you. You were her charge. She sighed in relief when she realized it was her sons who had arrived and only long years of training kept her dagger from clattering to the ground.

    “I’m sorry, I did not know how to help her besides to bring her somewhere safe,” she told Loki. He nodded gratefully at Frigga for even that much help before he spotted you on the bed and his heart broke at your condition, how emaciated and frail you were, especially since you hadn’t even opened your eyes at the commotion.

    Loki ran to your side, sitting on the bed next to you. “Darling? Y/N, wake up, dearheart. Come on darling, open your eyes!” he bid you so very worriedly.

    You made a pathetic noise as you fought to crack your eyes open to look up at him. “Loki?” you croaked through a hoarse throat and cracked lips.

    Tears were in his eyes at how frail you looked and sounded. “It’s me, I’m here. You’re safe now, sweetheart. What happened, darling? Tell us how to help you,” he bid you, though he knew. You saw in his eyes that he knew how to help you, of course he did, but he still needed to know what had happened. He needed to know if you were still in danger before he got to helping you.

    You reached up a hand, touching a fingertip to his temple so you didn’t have to try to talk. /Odin tricked us. Sent guards to steal me from Earth. Wanted to study vampires. Wanted vampire einherjar. Tried to force me to turn one. Said I wouldn’t eat again until I did/

    Loki growled deep in his throat, rage sparking in his eyes over what had been done to you. “He will not get away with this. I swear to you, my love. Now, let me help you,” his tone and expression softened.

    Your arm fell back to the bed. It was too exhausting to keep it lifted.

    Loki’s expression fell further at just how weak you were. “Let me help you, darling,” he bid you softly and held his arm to your mouth.

    “No,” you protested in a weak whimper. You couldn’t take his blood.

    “Yes, darling. You can barely move or speak,” he told you gently. He turned to Frigga and Thor. “She is a vampire and has been starved. If she does not consume any blood soon, the results will be dire.” Your eyes were closing in exhaustion. Loki gave a pleading look to Thor. “Brother, I need help,” he told his Thor, heartbreak in his voice at how you were too weak to even take his blood on your own.

    Thor nodded and moved, lifting you into a sitting position, sitting behind you to hold you there, even as your head lulled onto his shoulder. “She is too weak. You will have to make the cut for her,” he pulled his belt knife from his belt. “Or I can give her my blood instead.” He made the offer. It would have warmed your heart that he was willing to spill his blood for you, especially when you knew he didn’t approve of vampires eating people. He would still help you.

    “No. I will do it,” Loki told Thor firmly and drew his own dagger. He trusted his daggers that he knew so well way more than Thor’s questionable belt knife. Thor put his blade away. Loki steeled himself and carefully dragged the blade across his own wrist with a wince.

    Your eyes snapped open when his blood began to flow and you couldn’t help staring at the fresh blood in fascination, your fangs extended. He held his bleeding wrist to your mouth. “Come on, darling. Drink,” Loki nearly begged. He knew how much you hated drinking blood from people, how much you hated drinking from the vein. Despite that you desperately needed the blood, despite that you needed so much blood to recover, you didn’t want to take his. Especially as out of control as you were. “Drink, love. You have to,”

    The scent of fresh blood hit your nose and there was nothing else you could do. Your hands clamped on his arm holding his bleeding wrist to your mouth, drinking his power-filled blood greedily, helpless to the need to drink. You had absolutely no control in your desperation.

    You weren’t counting the heartbeats.

    You didn’t notice his eyes start to glaze. Didn’t notice he was drooping and exhausted.

    Thankfully Thor noticed and pried Loki’s arm out of your grip. “Enough. Even we have our limits,” he told you both. You blinked quickly and the blood haze faded, leaving you exhausted, but stronger and more stable.

    Loki shook his head to clear the haze of bloodloss as he looked down at you, trying to gauge if you were doing any better. He pulled you from Thor’s grip and held you in his arms. “Are you alright, darling?” he asked you gently.

    “You’ll yell at me for lying, noodle,” you told him softly. His sigh of relief that you were speaking coherently and clearly again encompassed his entire body. He kissed the top of your head, holding you to him, afraid to let you go. Frigga slipped over to heal the cut on Loki’s arm as you curled yourself more comfortably in Loki’s arms. He kissed your head again, nuzzling your hair, so relieved that you were moving, even that much.

    “Get some rest darling. I need to speak with my mother and Thor for a moment,” he bid you and laid you back on the bed before he kissed your forehead. He tucked the blanket around you and was so relieved that you had color again, were breathing though you didn’t need to. You’d recover. He stroked your hair as your eyes fluttered closed in exhaustion. “Sleep, love. You’re safe now,” Loki bid you softly.

    He didn’t leave your side until you were asleep. When you were properly asleep, asleep not unconscious, he stood and took a few steps away to discuss the situation with Frigga and Thor. He quickly told them what you’d managed to tell him. “What do we do now? The Allfather can’t get away with this. She nearly died!” Loki was fuming, rage making magic spark around his fingers.

    Frigga and Thor were both fuming as well. “What your father did was unconscionable…” Frigga agreed, but hesitated on what to do about it. She was always in the position of holding the family together and a thousand years of instinct wasn’t broken so quickly. Though this time, this time she had to take a stand against Odin. What he had done was wrong. That didn’t mean she had to get her sons involved. She still wanted to keep them safe. “I would suggest you take your lady home. Get her home safely. Leave your father for me to deal with,” Frigga told them both. She could rip Odin a new asshole when her children, all three of you, were safely out of his possible line of fire.

    Thor also wasn’t looking pleased, because while you had nearly died, you also could have easily taken Loki’s life before Thor had intervened to stop you from drinking more of his blood than he could stand to lose.

    “She is in no shape to be moved right now. She needs to rest after that ordeal. I wouldn’t risk taking her by Bifrost for at least a day,” Loki protested. He also wanted to beat the shit out of Odin himself for this injustice.

    Frigga made a decision and shoved up her sleeves. “Then stay here with her. I’ll rip Odin a new asshole myself for this insult,” she snarled and stormed off without waiting for either of her sons to agree to stay, or get over their shock that their prim and proper queen of a mother had just cursed.

    Loki sighed heavily when she was gone. “I never should have never let Y/N come to Asgard,” he said miserably.

    Thor clapped his shoulder consoling his brother. “It is not your fault. We had no way of knowing Father’s reaction or that he would dare do something like this,”

    “I should have known better!” Loki protested, looking over at you worriedly. “He would have starved her to death in his attempt to force her to turn on of the Einherjar. If we had not returned to Midgard, we wouldn’t even have known she was missing!”

    “She will be fine, Brother. She is already recovering. Even if she did take too much of your blood to do so. What Father did was wrong, but she has been found and she’s safe now. So you should lie down too. You need to recover from that much blood loss,” Thor grumbled, but was being the reasonable one. He was worried about Loki. They didn’t usually have to worry about blood loss, but you’d taken more than you should have and more than was necessarily good for him.

    Loki sighed heavily in exhaustion. He couldn’t think straight like this. If he couldn’t think straight he couldn’t come up with a good plan for murdering Odin. “You’re right. For once,” he told Thor, giving him a small smile before he crawled into the bed with you, pulling you into his arms before he’d consent to getting some rest himself.

    “Of course I’m right. I’m the older brother. That’s my job,” Thor replied with a smirk. He looked over you and Loki worriedly. You were both in bad shape, but he decided to just make sure the blanket was tucked around you and went to the chair near the bed to stand watch and make sure nothing happened to either of you.

#Loki #Lover #Submitted fic #submission #monsters and magic #chapter 31 #nekoamamori

[lywinis]

Writing Meme! B, G, M, N & Z! :3a

This got pretty long, so I’m gonna pop it under a cut.

End of Year Writing Meme

B. Who’s your favorite side-character from something you wrote?

Nooooooo, you can’t make me choose. That’s so mean. Okay, instead of picking my favorite, I’m gonna rank them.

1. Lucy Sheffield (Morgana) – Mum is best. She’s the very epitome of patient and caring mother figure but she still won’t take your shit. Either lie still so you can heal properly or be lashed to the bed, Harry Hart.

2. Thomas Brampton (Lancelot) – he’s a shit and a kinda terrible father figure, but Harry and Lucy love him very much, so he has that going for him, I guess. He’s also a credible mentor, but he’s really kind of shit if you back up and look at the big picture, based on some of the interpersonal lessons he tries to impress upon Harry. But he’s my shit and I love him.

3. Mortimer Gainsborough – bruh I don’t think you understand how much of a hate boner I have for this asshole. He is the fucking worst but he’s also a pretty compelling villain, at least he will be once we have P&M and History Book fully underway.

4. Mickey and Maddy – God, I love them both so much. They’re good kids, Brent.

5. Wesley Emerson Wallace (Tristan) – We intended on making a neutral character that was divided up the middle between loyalty to Chester and respect for Galahad and Merlin, and ended up hurting ourselves in the process lolol

6. The Sons of Liberty – This is more your baby than mine, but I like them and I’m keeping them. They’re all so good, from Mina and her love affair with Champ down to Diani and Teagan being work wives. (And actual wives :D)

7. War – I can’t wait to bring her back into the equation. She’s very compelling to me. She and the Lion are going to be very fun.

G. Where do you think you grew the most this year?

Honestly, I don’t think I’ve grown a whole lot, so much as I have expanded sideways? My vocabulary has improved, and I’ve worked on a couple of turns of phrase that I like a lot. It’s just harder to quantify this year when Bon Dia! was my capstone for the fandom and that was completed in November of 2017. It doesn’t feel like I can top it. I’m honestly not satisfied with how In Bloom is turning out. It went…somewhere I didn’t really want it to and I wrote myself into a corner. For 2019 I’ve determined that I’m going to finish a fic in its entirety, give it an editing pass, probably pass it off to you to beta, and then publish. It means slower writing, but a more polished product, I think.

A couple of rather nasty anons left me wondering if I should even write for the fandom at all. Then I decided that I don’t care and I’m gonna do me. If they don’t like it they can sit down to a steaming plate of dicks and I’ll continue to do what I’m doing.

M. Meta! Have any meta about a story you’re dying to throw out there?

Hahahahahahaha I have SO MUCH meta. Most of it is spoilery for P&M and I really feel like a lot of people who read our stuff would chew off an arm to get at our Discord logs, just for a chance to read through the shit we spitball at each other.

N. Anything you were planning to write that never got written?

Oh, lord, yes, lots. There was that Spies and Prejudice thing in Regency AU I was planning on doing, but I lost the thread for it and just never completed it. There’s a couple of things I want to take a whack at – one of them is a one-shot that isn’t even for Kingsman, it’s a capstone ‘what happens after’ for the movie Hardcore Henry.

Z. If you could choose one work and immediately finish it, what would it be? How would you end it?

I know a lot of people probably expect me to say Douleur La Exquise, but honestly, I’d have to say Poison the Wellspring. It’s pretty deep in my archives, two chapters written of Phil set up to be a pawn in Loki’s attempt at destroying the Avengers from the inside. It was meant to read like a thriller, and I think I was far more ambitious than I am now when I started it. I had a gameplan to bring Thanos into it, way back in the dark ages of 2012, and I meant to bring in all these Marvel IPs that no one would have recognized, like Doctor Strange. With a lot of the choices Marvel has made, I’ve lost a lot of interest in writing it as a whole, but I’d still like to take another whack at it, next year.

If I could finish it right now, it would be thirty chapters of slow burn Capsicoul topped off with Phil’s rising paranoia and urging from Loki to push more of the Avenger’s secrets into his waiting hands. Soon, however, he stops hearing Loki and starts hearing a far more compelling voice, one with more strength of will and conviction in it. He starts hearing Thanos and the last vestiges of Phil that remains the loyal man he was before Loki’s capture rally together and provide him with a single moment of clarity. Deep in the watches of the night, he leaves his bed in the Tower and goes to the gymnasium. Tony’s built them a pool for laps, and Phil sinks himself to the bottom to drown himself – only to be saved by Steve. He can’t explain why he’s done this, thanks to the geas placed by Loki, so he’s pushed into therapy.

Soon, however, it becomes clear when Thanos arrives on earth looking for the stones, and Phil basically hands over the Avengers compound to him on a silver platter, admonishing Steve that he should have let him drown. Thanos, amused at the anguish this causes, imbues Phil with enough power to incapacitate the Avengers himself. It’s with a sense of horror that Phil complies, as all the team realizes he’s been planning this from the start – and Phil knows all their weaknesses, because that’s what he’s trained to know.

Thanos gains the gauntlet and nearly cripples the Avengers, until the geas, its purpose fulfilled, breaks – because Loki is nothing if not clever, and he placed that failsafe long before Thanos took over Phil’s thoughts and actions. Phil manages to take the gauntlet in a moment Thanos’s guard is down, when he’s communing with Death, and he banishes Thanos. He’s so tired, his will drawn so thin, he can’t muster the willpower to kill him, only bind him elsewhere. He brings back the Avengers, and then collapses, shattering the gauntlet into pieces and scattering them across the universes. The stones remain, for the Avengers to protect.

When Phil wakes up, it’s with Steve hovering over him in the hospital. Phil asks him where they stand, now that everything has come to light. He betrayed them all, perhaps against his will, but he didn’t fight near hard enough to break free. Even his relationship, while it had made him happy, was built on lies. He doesn’t know how or why Steve would still trust him, or even want to look at him.

Steve just tells him that he’s got a long road to rebuild that trust, and maybe they should wait before resuming what they had – even still, it won’t ever be the same. But Steve? Steve loves Phil, and knows that being compelled to do something isn’t the same as choosing to do it of one’s own free will. Steve, if Phil will have him, will be waiting for Phil to be ready. And if he never is, that’s all right, but they don’t have to talk about it now. Phil should get better, and should take some time just to be himself, since he hasn’t been able to do that in a long time. It ends on a bittersweet note, but there’s a mutual understanding between them that it isn’t the end, it’s more of a tabula rasa for them – the slate wiped clean, and they have to relearn about themselves and each other once again. But both of them are willing to put the work in.

That’s what makes it a relationship. Because it takes work. It takes wanting to see the other person happy, to see them grow and be complete in their own way, with or without you. Tribulations and pain do come, but they also go, and taking someone’s hand and promising that you’ll be there for them, well. For me, it doesn’t really change. And it never will.

#lywinis writes #lywinis memes #end of the year meme #Kingsman #Capsicoul #tagging it that because there is indeed Capsicoul under the cut #bearfethers

[fangirl-who-writes-shit]

The Girl Who Cried Wolf: Peter Parker short fic:PART 1:

Girl Who Cried Wold

Peter Parker x Stark!Fem!reader. (Described as curvy but obviously can be any body type and gender, just change the words in ur head x)

Masterlist

This is just going to be an info filler chapter, readers back story and some personality traits. The story will begin properly in the next part. Also not written well as I’ve rushed it a bit.

Also I’m British so sorry for anything wrong with areas or using British slang/humour 😂.

Warnings for all parts: Mental health, swearing, probs some violence at some point, emotional/physical/sexual abuse/assault, sexual nature (consent), emmm emotional rollercoaster throughout. I think that’s it?? Please tell me if not.

If part has any triggering subjects for sensitive reads I will say.

In this one has mentions of abuse.

Also part 2 is already up, please tell me if you want more.

Readers p.o.v

“Dad, I’m going now!” I yelled gathering up my weekend bag from the floor next to the kitchen where my dad was.

“Okay Princess, call if you need anything. Happy is waiting downstairs” Dad said walking over to me. I smiled looking up at my father, I only see him every other weekend as he’s always busy. But of course he would be, he’s Tony Stark aka Iron Man.

“I will, em call me when you can have me next” I mumbled pushing some hair behind my ear.

“Course I will, probably will be in about two to three weeks. That okay?” He asked and ran a hand through my y/h/c hair.

“Perfect” I lied. I stood on my tip toes to kiss his cheek.

“Bye!” I shouted again as I walked out of the door and to the elevator. Once I reached the ground floor I saw Happy waiting for me.

“Hey Happy” I said with a smile, he sent one back putting his phone away.

“Hello Kiddo, come on cars outside ready” I nodded and followed him as he lead the way, as we were walking I pulled my hood up and put my earphone in to block out the world. Happy opens the door to the back of pitch black car with tinted windows.

I slid into the car and buckled up my seat belt then turned my music up, the song playing was ‘The Girl Who Cried Wolf’ by 5 seconds of summer. I let out a small sigh dreading going back home to mum and her new boyfriend Bobbie.

'Every time you say to me it’s over You just wanna start again, it’s just lies The girl who cries wolf every day Ignored by gravity, but in the end, don’t ask why.’

I’ve been trying to hint to dad that I want to live with him but he just isn’t getting it. My mums an alcoholic and so is her new boyfriend. Mum and Dad were youngish  when they had me, Dad was nineteen and mum was twenty one.

(A\N I know Tony Stark is older than 34 but for some reason I’ve just always imagined him in his 30’s sorry)

My father didn’t know anything about me until I was around five, my mum found out she was pregnant and broke up with him but after I was born she turned to the drink and ran into dad again at a night club and she told him about me as she slurred on her words. Not the best way to find out you have a daughter I must say.

'You say you wanna, but do you wanna run away? Your great escape, oh yeah. Where you going? Always running Find a way to call it quits again.’

I ripped out my earphones with a sigh and turned off the music not in the mood to listen to depressing music I relate to. I stared out of the window watching the world whizz by as Happy drove me home, to Forest Hills.

Dad pays for our apartment, he offered to pay for a big fancy house somewhere closer to him but mum said no, she doesn’t like it when dad buys us things. I don’t know why, it’s not like she’s earns enough money to pay for our apartment.

I felt numb as the thought of going back to mother and Bobbie over took my head. Bobbie isn’t afraid to shout at me or hit me sometimes. Mum doesn’t stop him she just opens another bottle of JD or whatever she’s drinking that week. They’ve only been together for two months but he acts like he’s lived with us for two years.

Soon the buildings turned more familiar as we drove into Forest Hills, I’ve lived here since I was six. Before we moved here we lived in Brownsville, Brooklyn with one of mums ex boyfriends Jackson. I don’t really remember it much but I do remember men coming in and out of our apartment twenty four seven.

Once dad find out how mum was raising me (around drugs, sex and alcohol) he tried to make us move closer to where he was living at the time, Stark Tower. But the best he could was Forest Hills which was actually further way from Stark Towers but it is a nicer place. Dad now lives further upstate with the rest of the Avengers, well what’s left of them.

“We’re here Kiddo” Happy said cutting me out of my thoughts, wow really? That went by quick.

“Come on Happy, I’m fifteen. I’m not a kid anymore” I giggled and grabbed my bag from beside me.

“Still young Y/N” He said turning back to see me, I sent him a small smile not wanting to get out of the car and for him just to drive me back to dad’s.

“Bye Happy” I said with a sigh and went to open the door.

“Call if you need anything, I’ll always drop everything for you mini Stark” I let out a laugh with a nod and stepped out of the car. I waited till Happy had turned and out of site.

I turned round to my apartment building, it wasn’t fancy but it was one of the best around. Not that you could tell if you walked into my actual apartment that my mother can keep clean and with me being so busy with school I can’t do it all the time.

I walked up the stairs to the third floor and got out my keys from my coat pocket knowing mum won’t be up yet as it’s 4pm and she’s normally passed out still.

As soon as I opened the door and was hit with the smell of booze, I let out a groan when I saw empty cans and bottles everywhere. But to my surprise there was a note on my bedroom door that I had reached after nearly tripping over the mess.

'Gone out, be back at 6 or something’

I snatched the note down from the door and tore it up then threw it on my ground. I fiddled with my key ring and tried to find the right key for my door. I installed a lock myself after I came home from detention on a Sunday about a year ago to find a random guy in my bed snorting coke.

I unlocked my door and walked into my medium size room before shutting it again and locking it again from the inside. I pressed my back against the door to look at my room, the walls were grey and I had a bed in the middle of a single and a double.

I set my bag down on my bed and collapsed next to it. I can’t be arsed to go to school tomorrow, don’t get me wrong I love school it’s my escape and I’m good at it but sometimes I just want to stay in bed all day and sleep. I don’t know how long I sat there just looking at the ceiling, thinking about life and how other people have it a lot worse than me, but when I finally looked away from the same spot of damp or something above me it was dark.

I sat up pushing my hair out of my face then reached over to my bedside table and switched on my lap. I let out another sigh looking over to my desk at the other side of the room, it wasn’t very big but I could still do homework on it. Next to my desk was my book case which took up over half of the wall, I smiled to myself as I saw all the books in colour coded order and it brought me slight satisfaction.

I walked over to my desk and put my homework in my school rucksack that I had finished two days before. I sat down on my office chair and got my sketch book and started to add details to my latest drawing, recently I’ve been seeing his face all over the news and I’ve been kinda drawn to him. I added a bit of shade to the mask of the famous Spider-Man.

I’ve been building the guts to ask dad about him, but I’m scared he’ll get all protective and shit. But I want to know more about him. I looked down at my watch to see it’s 7pm, I turned back around to stare at my door. Mum should of been home by now, I got up and unlocked my door once again to see if I’d just not hear her come in.

“Mum?!” I called out as I stepped out into the living area of our apartment, the TV was off as well as the lights. I walked over to mums door before knocking on it.

“Mum?!” I yelled again but still no answer. I opened the door and all I saw was empty cans and a untidy bed. I rolled my eyes and slammed the door shut before stomping back into my room and locked my door once again.

I let out a scream to myself and kicked my door over and over again until a crack was developed and I stopped. I harshly wiped my tears away and started to strip out of my clothes to get into my nightwear, which was one of Steve’s old jumpers and some joggers, I miss Steve I thought to myself. I let out a small sigh as I calmed myself down by putting on some music, it was the same song I was listening to in the car.

'So look at me in the eye, is anyone there at all? Is anyone there at all? Cause I’m not dreaming. So look at me in the eye, is anyone there at all? Is anyone there at all? Cause I’m not leaving’

I slowly felt my eyes start to shut as more tears escaped, just think Y/N. People have it worse, people always have it worse than you was the last thought that ran through my mind as I fell into a dreamless sleep.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

I shot up from my bed with a groan as I rubbed my eyes that were a little sticky from the dry tears. I rolled my eyes slightly as the annoying noise of my alarm clock still echoed around my room. I leaned over and pressed the 'stop’ button to making it stop ringing.

I got up and started to get ready for school, I went into my closet to pick out a comfy outfit. It’s starting to get a little chilly in temperature again so I picked out a dark emerald green and black checked jumper with some blue, slightly, ripped jeans with a pair of fishnet tights underneath. I finished my outfit off with black combat boots.

I decided not to wear a lot of makeup today as I couldn’t be fucking bothered, all I wore was some nude lipgloss, a light warm toned brown eyeshadow and clear mascara along with some concealer for my under eye bags and a faded bruise near the corner of my lip. I brushed my hair but then left it as I  picked up my bag to go to school.

I locked my door behind me and walked toward the kitchen to get an apple. As I went to take a bite I remembered about my mum. Shit is she back?

“Mum!” I shouted walking out of the kitchen to look at the sofa to see if she was passed out but she wasn’t, I walked over to mums room without knocking and she still wasn’t there.

I got my iPhone 7, what dad got me, out of my pocket to see if she had text or rung me but she hasn’t. I let out a groan and tried not to let any tears fall. This has happened before but normally she’s back by the time I wake up. I tried to ring her myself but it went straight to voicemail.

I took a deep breath and told myself she’ll be back by the time I get home. I headed down the stairs of my apartment block to get the train to school. It was sunny out but there was still a breeze in the air making me glad I wore my jumper. I started to jog slightly around people as I checked the time once again, 7:45am.

I let out a sigh of relief when I arrived five minutes early, I got my phone back out to put my earphones it and put my music on shuffle. I felt my cheeks start to heat up as I thought who was going to be on this train. It soon pulled up and I took a deep breath before walking on into the cramped train. I soon saw the face I recognised out of all the unfamiliar ones.

Peter Parker.

——

Thank you for reading, part 2 is up!

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker imagine #spiderman #spiderman homecoming #tom holland #tom holland imagine #imagine #imagines #my writing #peter #parker #tom holland x reader #peter parker x oc #peter parker x you #peter parker x michelle jones #fanfic #marvel #2017

[kdinthecity]

Confessions of a Teenage Sugar Queen: Starstruck

I think this one was meant to be “starlight,” but it’s really not. So, after this, I’ll stop tagging as @zutaraweek​ because it’s really not. I’ll keep posting here on tumblr and on Ao3, too.

Chpt. 1 | Chpt. 2 | Chpt. 3 | Chpt. 4 | Chpt. 5 | Chpt. 6 | Chpt. 7 | Chpt. 8

I wake up the next morning with images of fire lingering from my nightmares, and four sinister faces looming over my bedside. A rise of panic seizes me, and a scream nearly escapes my throat when I remember where I am. The masks on the wall in Noren’s guest room are still creeping me out, though, so I roll over and reach for my phone. Without Zuko’s sweatshirt to comfort me, I resort to another one of my pathetic daily rituals. I scroll through every text he’s ever sent me. We exchange a few messages now, and I wonder where he ended up spending the night.

The door slowly creaks open, and I pull the covers up to my chest. I’m dressed decently enough, I suppose, and I secretly hope my unannounced visitor is Zuko. Of course, it isn’t, because he would most certainly knock first.

“Hiya, remember me?” A blur of pink pajamas and dark brown pigtails enters the room.

“Oh. Yeah. Hi there, Kiyi.” She is so close to me now that I catch a whiff of maple syrup and something else vaguely familiar. Mmmm, pancakes for breakfast?

The young girl’s attention shifts to the mysterious décor on the wall, and a wide grin spreads across her face. “I like the dragon empress the best.”

I rotate to look at the masks again, and my eyes are immediately drawn to a blue and white one bearing intricate tribal carvings.

“That’s the Blue Spirit,” Kiyi announces. “Is it your favorite?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Why does everything remind me of Mom? I sigh and bury my face in my pillow, so she won’t see the tears forming. Of course, the fabric smells like moonpeaches.

“It’s my mom’s favorite,” she says without skipping a beat.

Kiyi smells like moonpeaches, too. I bolt straight up in bed. “Is your mom here?” I ask.

Noren knocks softly at the door. “Kiyi, sweetheart. Don’t bother our guest. She had a long day traveling and needs her rest.”

“Sorry, Daddy.”

Once the child leaves, I launch to my feet and quickly dress myself. I stop short before opening the door, though, because I can hear their conversation outside in the hallway.

“And what is our rule about talking about Mommy?” Noren asks his daughter.

“To not to,” Kiyi replies.

“Good girl.”

“But when is she coming home?”

“Soon, Kiyi. Very soon.”

“But Daddy, I think Mommy would like Zuko and Katara. They are nice.”

“I know, sweetheart, but they are not staying here long. We are just helping Uncle Iroh.”

“Mommy likes to help people, too.”

“Kiyi… that’s enough.” Noren’s tone is weary, like they’ve had this conversation before.

Dad and Sokka are not scheduled to arrive until later this afternoon, so I ask if I can show Zuko around Anchorage since I’ve been here several times before. Kiyi keeps slipping up by talking about Mommy, so Noren seems relieved by my suggestion. Good, he’s not suspicious of my plan, then.

I was able to get the information I needed from my perfectly innocent, yet very obliging five-year-old accomplice. I did a little snooping—I mean, investigating around their house, too. Zuko would disapprove if he knew what I was doing. He keeps making these comments about how normal this family seems, and what a loving father Noren is.

Sure. Normal and loving and LYING.

“You weren’t lying to me, were you Katara?” Zuko frowns when we step off the bus.

“No, why?” I say sweetly. OK well, sorta. Not really.

“I thought you said we were going to the library.”

“There is a library somewhere on the Northern Pacific University campus, I’m sure.” My voice breaks, and I’ve given myself away. Zuko can read me just as well as I can read him.

“Katara… what are you up to? Where are we going?”

I make up some fluff. “Yue said this was a great school with lots of emphasis on ecology and stuff.” Hmm, maybe I would be better at public relations than investigative reporting. Then I remember a piece I read in one of the forgotten files on the mystery USB drive. “My mom wrote an article about it. I just… wanted to see it.”

Zuko laces our fingers together and pulls me toward him. I shudder as he kisses my temple and whispers in my ear, “If it’s anything to do with your mom, then I’m right there with you.”

“Thanks.”

I sure hope the feeling is mutual.

At the student center, I send Zuko to buy me a NPU sweatshirt at the campus bookstore while I interrogate the front desk clerk about summer class offerings.

“I’m sorry, miss, but Professor Noriko is not teaching here this session.”

“Are you sure? Check the English department listings,” I persist.

The man glowers at me from behind the counter. “She doesn’t teach English, young lady. She teaches social justice.”

“OK… so when is her social justice class?”

“Not. Offered. This. Session.”

The man is visibly frustrated, but aren’t my intentions obvious by now? “Ugh, so when is it offered!?”

“Are you even a student here, miss? You look a little… young.” He stands to survey me, but I won’t fall for that intimidation tactic.

“Not yet! But I will be… and… you’re not being very helpful! Maybe I don’t want to come here after all.” I stomp my foot and put my hands on my hips, like I’m scolding Sokka for leaving his stinky socks lying around. OK, maybe it’s not the most mature response, but he did peg me. I’m only fifteen, dammit.

Surprisingly, he relents. “Fine. She’s teaching a fellowship at Ba Sing Se University for the summer. Happy now?”

“Ba Sing Se?” Zuko interjects. “That’s on the other side of the world.”

I didn’t see him walk up, but probably because tears are starting to blur my vision. How could we come this close, yet still be so far away?

“Hey, what’s wrong?” he asks, gently grazing my elbow with feather light fingertips.

I shake my head and pull my arm away. “Nothing. Let’s just get out of here.”

Once outside the building, I plan to storm off like I always do, and I expect Zuko to let me, like he always does. But he firmly grabs my wrist instead. When I resist, he pushes me back into a nearby tree. Something burns inside me, but the words, LET ME GO, die in my throat when I see Zuko’s face. I can’t read this expression AT ALL.

I think it might be… desire? Oh fuck, now I’m really on fire.

He kisses me, thank God, but painstakingly slow and sweet despite his vice grip on my wrist and his weight pinning me to the tree.

He steps away suddenly, and sadness returns to his eyes. “Katara, I—“

I lean against the rough bark and try to steady myself. Every part of my body is thrumming with a sensation I’ve never felt this strongly before. I debate between shortened breaths on whether I should run from this or tackle him to the ground for more of those amazing, addictive kisses.

I tilt my head to the side. Zuko looks almost shy now, and I wonder why. Then, he reaches into the bag from the campus bookstore he’s been holding this whole time.

“I bought you something.” He extends shaky hands to reveal a necklace.

I gasp. The pendant is a whalebone carving suspended by a velvety blue ribbon, very similar to the necklace my dad made for my mom except that instead of a wave pattern, it has… stars? It looks like a constellation—maybe the Big Dipper, if my memory serves me correctly.

“It’s supposed to be a bear,” he says. “The school mascot… I think?” He shrugs then gestures toward my neck. “May I?”

I bite my lip and nod. When Zuko’s fingers brush against my skin, chills run up and down my spine. “Thank you,” I whisper.

“They didn’t have a sweatshirt, like you asked for,” he continues. “But since you like cuddling with my sweatshirt, I thought you might like this?”

I have mere seconds to feel embarrassed that he somehow knows about the sweatshirt thing before he pulls out a fluffy white stuffed animal. I helplessly and girlishly squeal when soft fur brushes against the raised flesh on my neck where Zuko had just touched me.

“It’s also supposed to be a bear,” he mumbles. “But I think it looks like a dog.”

“A polar dog!” I declare. I laugh at his furrowed brow of utter confusion. Maybe someday I will share my fictional world with Zuko. “What else is in the bag?” I point at the bulge in the bottom of it.

“Um, you might want to sit down for this next one.”

Alright then. First we had sentimental, then sappy, and now… serious. We settle comfortably in the grass, and I wonder, if he’s lavishing me with gifts and all that, does this mean we’re boyfriend and girlfriend? We haven’t really properly talked about it, yet.

Zuko clears his throat and hands me a book. “I… saw this on a display near the checkout line.”

Everything comes to a halt—those typical teenage feelings of friendly flirting and hormonal hopefulness, all notions of normalcy. I skim a trembling thumb across the title, “Blue Spirit Crashing.”

“Is it… a collection of your mom’s poems?” I ask, noting the author’s name. If so, this confirms my suspicions about Professor Noriko.

“N-n-no. It’s… a story about your mom.”

“What!?” I flip through the book frantically, but I don't know where to begin. I can't even comprehend what I'm looking at right now. Without reading the words, none of it makes sense, of course.

Nothing has ever made sense about any of this. Especially Zuko’s next statement.

“I… read it already. Or well… most of it.”

“You had time to… just now?”

“No. I read the draft.” He turns away from me and tucks his knees under his chin. “In the Painted Lady folder.”

“Oh.”

“So… this Noriko woman. She must be… my mom.” Zuko lets out a strained and awkward laugh. “Or impersonating her.”

“I think she is,” I say. “That’s why I wanted to come here.”

“How did you know?”

“I read about it. In the Blue Spirit file.” And since we’re dropping bombshells, I might as well tell him about Noren, too. Or is it... Ikem?

But Zuko launches himself to his feet and shoots me with another expression I’ve never seen before.

Rage.

“And you didn’t think to tell me about this!?” he yells.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t know she was in this city… or at this school until…” I start sobbing uncontrollably, because he looks so hurt and angry, and I was just trying to help. “I wanted… to be sure… I didn’t want to… give you false hope… and Iroh said that…”

“Uncle!? He was in on it, too!?”

I think about running away for the third time, but we are finally talking about this, a conversation long overdue. It would be better if he wasn't shouting, though.

But this time, Zuko does the running. And I let him go.

It’s a beautiful summer day in Alaska, and I’m spending it sprawled out on the grass in the middle of some college campus crying. I wish I was simply having boy problems, but it's more than that. Zuko is the first person I've ever gotten this close to—and I’ve broken his trust. I also miss Mom so, so much. But I can’t bring myself to open that book.

I hug my polar dog tightly with one hand and clutch my new necklace with the other. I notice a rough indention on the backside of the pendant, so I unclasp it and read the inscription. It’s the name of the constellation—the “great bear.”

Ursa.

#zutara #zutara week #zutara week 2017 #zkweek #zkweek2017 #hs au

[nerddface-has-moved]

Team (Building?)

Characters: Loki Laufeyson, female!Avenger!reader, Phil & Co. are present

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1621

Notes: ????Two posts in one day???? What is this???? #woah

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“Glad to see we could all make it.”

Y/N settled into an office chair, tapping her fingers on the wood of the conference table before her, stifling a yawn.

“I’m missing an amazing yacht trip for this.” Tony lamented, drumming his fingers on his cheek, chin resting in his palm, propped by the elbow on the table.

Natasha propped her feet up on the edge of Clint’s seat. “I thought you loved us.”

“Where did you get that preposterous idea?”

Steve butted in. “Enough. We didn’t come here to argue.”

“What did we come here to do?” Clint asked, looking up from the arrow he had been examining.

“It’s a team-building thing, featherbrain,” Y/N spoke. “We are, in fact– brace yourself, this may be a shocker–  a team.”

“I have heard of these team-building exercises!” Thor exclaimed, tapping (slamming) the table with his palm. “I have a particular interest in the two-lies-and-a-truth game.”

Clint slid the arrow back into the quiver hanging off the back of his chair. “It’s two truths and a lie, big guy. And that’s for middle schoolers. Besides, what about reigning-champ over here?” He gestured sweepingly to Loki, who raised an eyebrow innocently. “He’s got an eight-legged horse for a kid. Who knows what he’s actually lying about?”

“I strive to live a full life,” Loki explained nonchalantly, and Y/N kicked her chair in a circle absentmindedly.

“I vote no in advance for trust-fall,” Tony called. “I trust none of you.”

“Excuse me,” Y/N returned with a lilt in her voice, placing a hand over her chest and furrowing her brow.

“Except you, doll. But not that much.”

Y/N scoffed and spun the chair again.

“We’re here to have a talk,” Phil announced. “About anything. You need to communicate in order to function properly as a unit. This is a good way to really break the ice and develop some friendship between the lot of you.”

“Oh, the old family dinner dynamic.”

“My team does it just fine.”

“We’re not your team,” Tony pointed out.

“No, they’re normal.” Y/N pointed loosely at the billionaire. “We’re nowhere close to that. Half of us are aliens, or otherwise somehow enhanced or manipulated. Plus I’m pretty sure Clint is actually part bird.”

“Moving on!” Phil barked, not letting the conversation sidetrack before they even started. “I’ve compiled a list of tactical advantages of…”

Y/N tuned him out, propping her chin up on her palm. She got up way too damn early for this.

After a moment of Phil’s voice droning in the background, her chair was tugged gently. She paid no attention to it, and a moment after that, familiar fingers traced up her thigh. It wasn’t until her lover’s hands grasped her knees and pulled her closer, jerking her out of the beginnings of her daydreams, that she focused on him.

Come here, he beckoned silently with one hand. She moved her hand to her jaw, rested her elbow on the table again, and shot him a sideways look, but otherwise didn’t move.

Footage of one of Steve’s latest assignments was playing on the screen at the end of the wall, and a couple members of the team were putting in some comments about it. Loki, despite being with her for a good year, now, still enjoyed toying with her, especially when it irritated the rest of the Avengers, and his hands were moving to her knees and her hips, making a move to pick her up.

She almost protested as he lifted her easily, sliding her into his lap, but since they were towards the back of the table, with only Natasha behind them, at the head, she allowed it. It wasn’t doing any harm, anyways.

Y/N sighed and crossed her legs, using her now unoccupied chair as a footrest. The subject had changed, on to a new assignment that piggybacked the one they’d apparently just been talking about.

“Agent L/N, we may put you on that assignment,” Phil turned his head to her, and she lolled her head to the side.

“‘Agent L/N’? This is an informal meeting. We’re friends, right?”

The older agent pursed his lips. “Yes, but we are still on the premises, and protocol–”

“Oh, come on, mom, loosen up.”

This earned her a warning look, and she laughed.

“See?” Tony challenged from across the table. “I am not the only one who calls you that!” he shoved Bruce, who sat beside him, with his elbow. “Bro, back me up here.”

Bruce, who had up until that moment been enveloped in his own world and not paying attention in the slightest, stuttered, looking as though he’d like it very much if he should simply vanish. “Oh, n– I don’t– um–”

“Lay off, Tony. My poor cinnamon roll is shy, you know that.”

Tony huffed indignantly and leaned back in his chair, glaring at her, though it meant little. “Cinnamon roll?”

“Yeah. Steve’s a Dorito.” She made a triangle with her thumbs and forefingers, and held it up in the direction of the blond, squinting one eye closed. He made a face, and Tony snorted.

“What does that make me?” Clint asked. Y/N turned her gaze to him with a smile.

“You, my bird-brained companion, are a burrito.”

Natasha broke into laughter, and Clint frowned. “What the hell is that even supposed to mean?”

Y/N felt Loki’s lips brush her neck. “You’re a big mess of things and stupid ideas all wrapped up in a soft shell.”

“When have I ever come up with a stupid idea?”

“There was that time when you turned everything green for St. Patrick’s day,” Tony offered. “Including my poor science brother here.” He slung an arm around Bruce, who retreated deeper into himself.

“Or the time you replaced all my guns with nerf weapons,” Y/N added.

“You sicced fangirls on Steve because you wanted to ‘find him a date’,” Natasha put in, using air quotes to emphasize her point. The supersoldier nodded in remembrance, looking vaguely terrified at the memory.

“You also put giant Santa hats on the helicarrier,” Phil joined.

“Actually, that was my idea,” Y/N admitted. “But I think you get the point, Clint.”

By this point, Clint had sunk deep in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest and his shoulders drawn in, an indignant frown on his face. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I get that I have no friends.”

By now, her seat’s mouth had placed a series of lingering kisses up the column of her neck. The hand that wasn’t around her waist and linked with her hand tapped her knee and pinched the sensitive tendons at the top of it. She yelped, kicking her leg up in reflex.

His chuckle sounded through her body as he placed an open-mouthed kiss above her collar, in the curve of her shoulder.

Tony spoke up from down the table. “Come on, reindeer games, can’t you satisfy your guilty pleasures somewhere else?”

Loki gazed coolly at the billionaire from over the curve of his lover’s spine. “You see, Stark, I do not feel guilty about my pleasures.”

Tony deadpanned. He looked up at Y/N after staring at her seat for a couple more seconds, and she shrugged and shook her head lightly with a hopeless look. She felt Loki’s lips curl into a grin as he returned to his ministrations. Phil across from them cleared his throat.

“Anyway, does anyone have any questions or concerns before we move on?”

“I would like to inquire as to whether we will be provided with the excellent catering of Sir Chang,” Thor asked.

“Who?”

“I think he means P.F. Chang’s, mom,” Tony called. This prompted Phil to remind him that he was not mom, and Thor clarified he would still like an answer. Steve butted in to try to shut everyone up, but ended up only exacerbating the problem.

Sometimes I find it difficult to comprehend how they accomplish anything, Loki’s voice sounded in her mind as the men before them conversed. She smiled, huffed laughter.

Same. His mouth traveled a little higher, gravitating to where he knew she was weak, as one of his hands gently caressed her thigh.

Careful, she warned.

What ever do you mean, love?

She wiggled a little. I mean, we’re in a meeting, and oh wow God okay. His teeth had grazed her earlobe, and she shifted in his lap, glaring. What did I tell you?

Did you not hear me when I informed the Iron Idiot that I do not feel guilt in things I find pleasurable?

And putting me at the gun is fun for you?

Loki chuckled softly. Have you met me, darling?

“What are you two up to?” Natasha’s voice sounded in Y/N’s ears. Tony, Thor, Clint, Steve, and Phil paid no attention; now they were arguing over which fast food was better. Bruce had very nearly vanished into his sweater.

“I’m trying to tell him something and as usual he isn’t listening to a damn thing I say,” she responded flatly.

“On the contrary, it is you who clearly does not listen.”

Y/N closed her eyes and let her head fall back with a short groan. “And now I’m wondering why I’m dating him.”

Loki tried to take advantage of the situation, sliding his hand higher and craning his neck to reach her exposed throat. She shoved his face away with her hand and stood, looking at the thin watch on her wrist. “Oh, gee, look at the time! I ought to get up to the gym before dark. Thor, we can get whatever food you want. This has been fun, we should do it again sometime. Goodbye, various food items, bye mom.”

She skipped out, pointedly ignoring the shouting that her team dissolved into. They’d never be like Phil’s team, but families rarely work together so well.

#loki x reader #avengers x reader #kinda??? #anyway it's raining buckets outside #which is good bc california needs it #but like goddAMN is it a pain in the ass #work is slow as shit this week #so i'm sitting here with very little to do but listen to the vinyl printer screech #and binge-listen to horror stories on youtube #so HAVE SOME FLUFF #Loki Laufeyson x Reader #loki

[sewsarahsmith]

  Since we launched the #sewtogetherforsummer  sewing challenge over on Instagram, a number of sewers have said that they’re really keen to participate but the thought of sewing buttonholes gives them the heebie-jeebies! So, with that in mind, here’s a post full of tips and tricks to get you confidently sewing those dreaded buttonholes into your shirtdresses! I’ll admit I’m no ‘buttonhole expert’ myself so in putting together this post I’ve drawn on a wealth of knowledge from two other very experienced sewists, Diane and Suzy; happily I’ve now learnt some great tips too!

If you haven’t met the lovely Diane yet, you can follow her on Instagram or visit her blog Dream. Cut. Sew. She has been a sewist for over 30 years and really knows her stuff!

To cover as much ground as possible, Diane talks you through creating buttonholes generally whilst specifically advising on how she creates them using the 4 to 6 step buttonhole dial on her Bernina; Suzy (@Sewing_in_Spain) steps in and offers a great tip too regarding buttonhole placement and I talk you through using an automatic buttonhole foot.

Please, if you’ve any great tips to add, in the spirit of #sewtogetherforsummer, could you kindly share them in the comments for others readers to see!

So, over to Diane…

Thank you so much for having me as guest blogger on your blog Sarah!

So let’s talk buttonholes. I think, as with all things sewing, the fear of any new technique is worse than the actual process itself. ‘The only way around is through’ as the saying goes and I believe that good preparation and practice are key.

First of all, make sure that the area you’re doing the buttonholes is properly interfaced for stability. Your practice piece of fabric also needs to have the same interfacing and amount of fabric layers as your actual garment so that you get a good final result.

Now, some machines have a 4 to 6 step buttonhole dial and others have a long buttonhole foot attachment that your button fits into for measuring the length. My machine’s a Bernina and fits into the first category…I have 6 stages on my dial shown here…

The long foot attachment does work out the buttonhole length from the button held in it, but isn’t infallible….getting the right length for a domed button for instance…so I’ll address that problem later.

Onto marking out and measuring then: using either a special fabric pen that wears or washes away, chalk, or basting thread, you need to mark the position and length of your buttonholes. Note: the buttonhole markings on a pattern are there for position only and not to indicate the length of your finished buttonhole….they are either vertical or horizontal on the centre line. Horizontal markings always cross the CF line to account for the button shank/thread and the end of the buttonhole.

A good way to measure the length of a button is to get a narrow tape or ribbon and wrapping it around your button, pin the ends together. This is really good for domed buttons which end up needing a much bigger buttonhole than you might think. Fold the ribbon you pinned in half and then add a small amount of ease of about ⅛”, maybe a smidge more … that will be your finished buttonhole length. If you were to use a domed button in a long foot attachment I suggest you measure the button and then find a flat one of the same diameter as the length that you measure and place that in your attachment instead to get an accurate final buttonhole length*.

Regarding machine and stitch settings, it’s really important to get your bobbin tension right. No lower thread should be showing from the front at all so a tighter bobbin tension is essential. On my Bernina there is a small hole on the little arm of my bobbin case that I have to pull my thread through to create a tight tension. If you don’t have this you should be able to use a small screwdriver to adjust the tension on the case itself.

For those of you with the long foot attachments always make sure that the lever on the (usually left) side is pushed into the correct position before you start each buttonhole and refer to your instruction manual for getting the right stitch length and width settings. Those of you without that foot, will most likely have a machine foot like mine that has grooves on the bottom to accommodate the ridge of the stitches when you sew. I always notice a difference if I inadvertently forget to change feet because the process just isn’t as smooth running. Oh, and I nearly forgot to say that if you have a 4-6 stage dial setup like mine…don’t forget to have your needle in the up position before changing your dial, because you might break a needle (don’t ask me how I know!) Now is the time to start practising a couple of buttonholes before you do your final product. Don’t be scared…just practise till you’re satisfied you feel confident and, above all, don’t rush.

Assuming you’re happy with all of your finished lovely new buttonholes, you now have to cut them open. You can either place a pin at one end as a stop and use a seam ripper or use a buttonhole chisel and a wood block.

Then comes the button position marking. I always do this after I’ve cut all my buttonholes. Laying my garment over the ironing board, I overlap the fronts aligning the centres and I poke a pencil through the end of each buttonhole to make a little dot on the other front…and then it’s just a matter of sewing on the buttons.

So there you have it. I hope I managed to cover most things for you. Best of luck with all those wonderful shirtdresses!

Diane

Suzy´s tips for effective buttonholes

Patterns always mark the buttonholes but, as we are all different shapes, that spacing might not be the best for you. Before you start sewing your buttonholes, try on the garment and mark the widest point of the bust on the button band – here marked with a red pin. If necessary, you can also mark the widest tummy point too. This means you need buttons at those points to prevent gaping. Using the bust mark (and tummy mark, if used) as a starting point, work out the spacing of your other buttonholes, between 3 and 3.5 inches or 7.5 and 9 cm. This way you will have a shirt or shirtdress which never gapes! If you have a Buttonhole Gauge  that makes it even easier to determine!

It’s easy to remember that women’s clothes are ‘right side over left’ because a woman is always right! Sorry chaps!

Suzy

The Automatic Buttonhole (aka…my two-pence worth!)

A lot of machines these days come with an automatic buttonhole setting as standard   to be used with the automatic buttonhole foot.  As Diane says, check your own machine’s User Manual, but in general this is how they work:

First, choose your button! Put it into the designated slot in your foot and make sure that the holder is pushed up tight against the button and that the button itself is laying flat. (*Remember Diane’s tip if your button is domed, to insert a flat button that bit bigger than the button you will actually be sewing onto your garment). Then attach the foot to your machine (with the button at the back) and position your needle over your  first mark. Mine stitches the bottom bar first then sews up the left channel, top bar and back down the right hand side to finish at the starting position.

Janome automatic buttonhole foot

Before you start sewing it is vital that you have pulled down the buttonhole lever/sensor located on the left hand side. This works in tandem with your buttonhole foot to determine the size of the buttonhole your machine will produce. And sew away! I have to click to ‘reset’ my machine after each buttonhole so that it doesn’t get confuddled.  (I could do with a reset button myself too sometimes!)

The last thing to add is, before I tackle any new sewing task, I automatically Google and/or search You Tube. There is always someone out there who will have covered exactly what you’re wishing to learn. The online sewing community is a sharing and open space. Post a query on Instagram; I’ve no doubt you’ll get your answer!!

For example, I posted that I was planning to sew McCalls 6696 as my first Shirtdress for the Challenge (my first Shirtdress ever, in fact) and the lovely Jane of Handmade Jane kindly commented that she had needed to sew an extra buttonhole into the waist of this dress to prevent gaping. This reminded me of another great tip of Jane’s about sewing inward facing buttonholes in any area of remaining gape on the inside of the button band so it’s invisible from the front. Genius! You can find her whole post here.

So, until next time, I hope this was helpful (please do leave your own tips for others in the comments!)

  My Instagram Feed

        Buttonholes : Tips n Tricks! Since we launched the #sewtogetherforsummer  sewing challenge over on Instagram, a number of sewers have said that they’re really keen to participate but the thought of sewing buttonholes gives them the heebie-jeebies!

#sewtogetherforsummer #Buttonholes #Handmade jane #jane marland #sew Sarah smith #sew together for summer #Sewing blog #Shirtdress