#and when moira grabs his arm!!!!! yeah i cry about it

[raysofcrosby]

Can we maybe get a sneak peak of the next chapter????

of course 🥰💛

“No, that’s not how that works,” she laughed, shaking her head. “And Moira didn’t tell me not to date, she just...she suggested that maybe before pursuing anything with anyone, that I should take the time to really try and understand why I did what I did in the terms of why I broke up with you and then chose to date when I wasn’t ready.”

“Hm, okay,” Matt nodded, crossing his arms.

“Okay?” She asked, turning towards him and holding the blankets closer to her chest. “That’s it? Just...okay?”

“Yeah? I mean, I’m not going to tell you or ask you to ruin whatever progress you’ve made since you started seeing your therapist, just because I want us to be together officially.” He shrugged, reaching out and tucking some hair behind her left ear. “So, I’ll just wait and whenever you’re ready to make it official, all you have to do is say so and I’m down.”

“I don’t…” she spoke softly as she furrowed her eyebrows, shaking her head slightly. “I can’t ask you to do that, Matt. I don’t know how long it’ll take and–”

“Good thing you don’t have to,” he smiled, cradling her face with both of his hands. “And I’m willing to wait for however long it takes, because I want you. Just like I told you…it’s always been you I want my future with. Nobody else.”

Caroline nodded, looking at him. “I promise I’ll try my best to figure it all out so you don’t have to wait long.”

“Don’t rush it, Care,” he said, leaning in and kissing her before resting his forehead against hers and looking at her. “Take care of yourself first, put yourself first. I’ve got E, we’ve got our parents to help if there’s anything serious and you’ve got E and me if you ever need anything. Just, take your time and do what you need to do because I’m not going anywhere.”

She reached up and cupped the right side of his face, leaning in and kissing him, pushing herself into him and lying him back against the bed. Her left hand dropped the comforter and moved to the left side of his head as she straddled over him, deepening the kiss.

Matt started to laugh once she started to kiss down his jaw, leaning his head away and looking at her. “Now who’s the insatiable one?”

Caroline rolled her eyes, resting her forearms on his chest and propping her chin down on top of them. “Can you blame me? Not only have you given me the best sex since well, since 2015, but you’re being sweet and saying all these things.” She reached up, brushing her thumb beneath his eye, wiping away an eyelash and holding it up between them, smiling. “Make a wish.”

Matt sat up, his right arm wrapped around her waist as he closed his eyes for a few moments before opening them and blowing the eyelash off of her thumb. “Aren’t you going to ask me what I wished for, Miss nosey?” He mumbled, leaning into her palm as she cupped the left side of his face again.

She shook her head, a small smile on her face. “I think I’ve already got a good idea.” She leaned in, kissing him again, and again, and again until she felt out of breath and needed to pull away. “We should probably get ready.”

“What time is it?” He asked, pressing his lips against hers again.

She leaned over and reached for his phone since it was closer and tapped the screen, Matt’s background lighting up to show a picture of the three of them from Matt and Ethan’s birthday when they were at Brady’s game. It was when their entire family group went down to the ice for warm ups– which is most likely how Matt had even been spotted by the media in the first place– and Keith had told the three of them to turn around so he could take a picture. Ethan had yet to get his nachos, but had finessed Andrew out of buying him a bag of cotton candy, so he was trying to hide the bag behind him as he smiled, leaning back against Matt and Caroline who were both leaned in towards Ethan and against the glass, smiling too. She remembered this moment, because not even a single second after they took the picture, Brady had shot a puck at the glass, breaking up the peaceful moment and laughing about it soon after.

“6:45,” she said, turning the phone towards him. “Since when has this been your background?”

He held his hand over hers, never taking the phone from her as he laughed. “Since we took it,” he replied, shrugging. “Better than the one of me, Johnny and Gio at the All-Star game last year.”

“Speaking of,” she replied, putting the phone down onto the side table. “Are you sad you missed out on that? I know that's the first one you’ve missed since 2020.”

“Oh you do, hm?” He smiled, fanning his fingers over her hips. “But no, it’s fine. There’s always next year,” he shrugged. “Besides, it’ll be more fun next year than any of the last ones.”

“Why?” She asked, furrowing her eyebrows.

“Because I’ll get to bring E with me, like how my Dad would bring Brady and I when we were younger and then Taryn when she was old enough. Don’t you remember how fun it was when you went that one year? What was it? 2004?”

“Mhhm, I also remember you and Brady leaving me behind in the hallway because you saw Mark Messier and you grabbed Brady’s hand and Brady couldn’t grab mine because you were dragging him off and your Mom thought I was with you cause she saw you guys running off, so she tried to catch up.” She laughed, looking down at him. “I had no idea who any of those people were, so I just stood there crying in the hallway because you guys left, I didn’t know where your Dad was and I was six.”

“What?” Matt laughed, shaking his head. “Nuh uh, that’s not what happened.”

“That’s exactly what happened,” she replied, nodding. “You guys left me, and the only reason why anyone knew where to take me was because some player saw that I had the Tkachuk all-star game jersey on and took me to where your Dad was.”

“Oh shit,” Matt laughed, leaning his head back. “I do remember that! Because Mom asked where you were when we were getting ready to take the picture and then right after Mom took our picture, we went back to the locker room and you were sitting in Marleau’s locker and he and his wife were comforting you because Dad had to do an interview.” Matt’s laughter faded out as he sighed. “Yeah, I remember getting the disappointed look for that one. But sorry, it was Mark Messier.”

She rolled her eyes, taking a deep breath and exhaling. “Yeah, yeah, well whatever you do, don’t lose our kid please.”

“What? You’re not coming too? Chaperone and take pictures? See me in all of my all-star glory?” He frowned, sticking out his bottom lip.

“Oh...I mean, if you want me to go, I will.” She replied, shrugging. “I didn’t think you’d want me to, considering who knows what our relationship will be by then. We could still be just friends.”

“I don’t care about that,” he replied, shaking his head. “I want you and Ethan there. Plus, Emma will probably be there too so you’ll have a friend. Not to mention my parents will probably want to go...but I just really want you and Ethan there.”

Caroline laid down against him, wrapping her arms around his neck and feeling the cool fabric of the pillow against them as she closed her eyes and kissed him softly. Matt exhaled as his arms wrapped around her, holding her against them before they pulled apart, Caroline resting the right side of her face against his chest, hearing his heart beat against it and Matt pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“We really should get ready,” she replied, her fingers playing with the nape of his neck. “There’s no telling when Ethan will wake up and try to come wandering in here.”

“Also speaking of Ethan...when should we tell him that we’re...thinking about this? Or should we keep it on the downlow until we’re even sure anything is going to happen?” Matt asked, reaching behind her and taking the blankets off of them, their naked bodies exposed to the room temperature.

“Maybe we should wait,” she said, kissing him one more time before pushing herself off of him and getting out of bed, turning around and grabbing his hands to pull him out of bed. “That way he’s not constantly badgering about it.”

“Mhhm,” Matt replied, getting out of bed and wrapping his arms around her again just as she turned around and placed his chin in the crook of her shoulder. “Because then you know what comes next? Him badgering about when we’re getting married, when we’re going to have another baby and on and on and on,” he said, blowing a raspberry into her neck, causing her to try and wiggle away from him.

“Sh, don’t make any excess noise, we don’t even know if he’s asleep,” she replied, lightly smacking his arm as they both walked into the bathroom.

Caroline walked ahead towards the shower while Matt closed the sliding bathroom door, locking it in case Ethan happened to make his way through the locked bedroom door. He walked back towards her, just as she set down their towels before opening the glass door and he followed her into the shower. He closed the door behind him and hung back towards the back of the shower, smiling to himself as he watched Caroline keep her back towards him as she reached forward to feel the temperature of the water, bringing her hand back towards her and hugging herself as she turned around, a sheepish smile on her face.

“It’s a little cold,” she laughed, walking towards him. “Guess we should’ve waited a little longer.”

Matt opened his arms, still smiling. “I’m willing to keep you for until it warms up. A burden I’m willing to sacrifice that.”

She rolled her eyes, walking into his arms and wrapping hers around his waist as she propped her chin up onto his chest, looking up at him. “Is it possible for me to already miss you when you haven’t even left yet?” She whispered, a frown on her face.

He brought his hands up to the sides of her face, brushing his thumbs along her cheekbones, nodding. “Yeah,” his Adam’s apple bobbed as he tried not to think about how his days back in Calgary would differs so much from his routine the last six months. “It’s definitely possible.”

#anon #answered #wltay

[brianamorganbooks]

The Tricker-Treater

This is a teaser of the titular story from my upcoming horror collection. You can learn more about the project and help me bring it to life here!

Moira kicked spilled candy corn off her front step. The remnants of another weeknight massacre. This time, all in the name of a holiday.

She’d stopped keeping track of the holidays.

They meant nothing, after all. Just another day full of shit, another day without Norman in it. What was the point?

She looked over at the garden gnome that Norman had polished every St. Patrick’s Day. The ghost of an old conversation floated back to her as she picked it up from where the kids had knocked it over.

Moira closed her eyes and savored the memory.

“It’s a gnome, Norm. Not a leprechaun. It’s not his holiday.”

“I know that! But don’t you think what matters is doing it?”

In the present, Moira sighed. This St. Patrick’s Day, she’d grab a rag and polish the years of grime away. So far, she hadn’t had the strength.

It was the day before Halloween. She’d picked up trash all week, and if those damn kids tried their tricks tonight, she’d give them more than treats.

Movement on the sidewalk at the mailbox caught her eye. Riley stood there, all tousled blonde hair and sleepy brown eyes. His hand-me-down sweatshirt needed elbow patches. She’d see to that soon.

“Don’t stand there gawking at me. C’mon.” She waved him forward, but he looked at his shoes. She put her hands on her hips. “What’s the matter with you?”

“He’s coming here tonight to get you,” he said.

She squinted in the morning sun. “Who’s coming to get me?”

“The Tricker-Treater,” Riley said. “He’s coming here tonight. I made a deal with him.”

“What?” Riley never spoke in riddles. He wasn’t one to loiter at the end of her driveway either. “Peanut butter cookies inside. Tell me later.”

“No, he’ll be here later. That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”

Moira frowned. “Stop listening to your brother. Come inside and have some cookies with me and we’ll go from there.”

Without waiting to see if he’d follow, Moira headed back into the house. She went straight to the kitchen. The storm door slammed shut not too long after, and Riley pulled up a chair at the kitchen table.

Moira carried the plate of cookies over to him. Up close, he looked like the same old Riley as always. All she saw was the haunted glint in his eyes he got from spending time with Taylor. Now school was back in, all he had was Taylor until their mother got home from work. Retail was hell, Moira remembered. When Riley’s mother got home, the last thing she’d want to do was scold Taylor for tormenting his little brother.

Norman would have scared Taylor shitless, given the chance. He would have protected Riley.

Norman had always been better with kids.

“Lots of trick-or-treaters coming here tomorrow,” Moira said. “So what makes yours so special? Why’s he coming here tonight?”

Riley froze with his hand halfway to a cookie. “Not trick-or-treater. Tricker-Treater.”

Moira shook her head. “I said that.”

“No, like… hang on.” He scooted the chair back from the table and dashed across the room to where the landline rested. There was a small pad of paper beside it. He snatched up the paper and a pen and ran back to the table. His brow furrowed in concentration. Sticking out his tongue, he leaned over the paper and spelled out the difference for her:

T-R-I-C-K-E-R

T-R-E-A-T-E-R

He set down the pen and waited for her to read his writing. Moira shook her head again. He didn’t know how to spell it.

“No ‘or,’” he said. “Tricker-Treater. He’s both.”

Something icy pricked the back of Moira’s neck. She brushed her fingers over the spot and found nothing. Her gaze drifted back to the paper.

“He’s both?”

“Mmhm.” Riley grabbed a cookie and took a bite. He devoured it, careful not to make eye contact with Moira. It was a sophisticated strategy for a seven-year-old.

Moira leaned on the table and stared at him. “Riley.”

He scooted his chair away. “I gotta use the potty.”

“Do you, or do you not want to talk to me?” she asked.

He stuffed another cookie in his mouth, and when he spoke, he sprayed crumbs everywhere. “I don’t want to talk about him.”

“You mean the Tricker-Treater?”

“Yeah.” He choked on the cookie and coughed. Moira grabbed a glass and filled it with water from the sink. She patted him on the back and slid the glass to him.

Riley chugged the water and still couldn’t stop coughing. Moira took the plate of cookies from him, because no way in hell was he going to choke to death on her watch. Not if she could help it.

“You’d better head on home,” Moira said. “You’ll worry your mother sick.”

Riley scooted back from the table again. “Don’t call her. She doesn’t know.”

“She doesn’t know you’re here? Did you stay home from school, or did you skip?”

“I...”

His eyes darted to look over her shoulder. Moira spun around. Nothing there. When she turned back to him, he was heading for the front door.

“Riley!”

“I messed up, I messed up!”

She lunged for his sleeve and missed. He was through the front door and across the yard before she had time to try again. Damn it. What was wrong with that boy? He’d been in no hurry minutes before with a plate of cookies in front of him. The minute she’d mentioned his mother though…

Moira sighed and leaned against the door frame. Something was off with Riley, and she wasn’t going to let him out of her sight until she got to the bottom of it.

When he returned a few minutes later, Moira stood between him and the front door. “Riley, please. Tell me what’s going on.”

He chewed his bottom lip. “I don’t wanna. I’m scared. It never goes well.”

“What do you mean, ‘it never goes well’?”

“Every time I tell you, it… I messed up,” he repeated.

Moira sighed. She was getting nowhere fast. Whatever he had on his mind, it upset him so much he wasn’t making sense. If she couldn’t get him to focus, she would never figure out what was going on. And, seeing as how it involved her…

“Riley.” Moira grabbed his shoulders and held him there, stooping to look into his eyes. “Whatever you think is going to happen, I can face it better if you tell me about it, okay?”

His lower lip quivered. “Even if it’s bad?”

“Even if it’s bad.”

Riley gulped. “The Tricker-Treater is gonna stop by your house tonight. You gotta meet with him and do what he says, or else.”

Moira quirked an eyebrow at him. “Or else?”

He hesitated. “Like I said, I’ve told you about him before, and he… he always makes sure to catch you. Even if you run away, he finds you and he…” Riley’s voice trailed off into a sob. Shiny, fat tears bubbled over his lashes and rolled down his face. Moira pulled him against her and wrapped her arms around him.

Shit, she hadn’t meant to make him cry. Jesus Christ, that was the last thing she wanted.

Moira’s chest tightened. “It’ll be okay, Riley. We’ll figure it out together, all right?”

Riley pulled away from her. He shook his head. “I dunno.”

“I’m older and wiser. Humor me, huh?”

He sniffed and wiped his nose. Moira debated getting a tissue for him, but it was too late—he was already rubbing the snot with his sleeve. As perceptive as the kid could be, he was still a kid, and he was gross.

Sometimes she wondered what it would have been like to have children. Sometimes she watched Riley and was glad that time had passed her.

“You should run home now,” Moira said again. “Even if you did skip school, your mom won’t be angry as long as you’re safe.”

His gaze jumped over her shoulder again. She waited for him to refocus. He’d come there in such a hurry, and now he kept drifting away. The urgency had waned. That was good.

“Are you feeling all right?”

Riley nodded. “I’m… a little better now.”

“No more getting upset over the Tricker-Treater, okay?”

Hesitation, then another nod. A slow exhale. “Okay.”

“You want a few cookies to take home? You can share them with Tyler.”

Riley wrinkled his nose at the mention of his brother. “He doesn’t deserve cookies.”

“I suppose he doesn’t.”

Moira patted him on the head and went back into the kitchen. She eyed the half-empty glass in a pool of condensation, the cookie crumbs Riley had sprayed on the table. She looked back at Riley, still standing where she’d left him, and her chest ached. She flattened a hand against her collarbone.

She and Norman could’ve tried a little longer.

“Riley?”

His head jerked up. “Huh?”

“You still want those cookies?”

“Um… no thanks.” He wiped his nose with the sleeve of his sweater again. “I’ve never stayed this late before. I don’t wanna see him.”

The poor kid was talking in circles again. Better send him off to someone much more qualified.

Moira propped a hand on her hip. “Go on, get outta here before I call your mom. And be careful tomorrow.”

Riley cast a long look at her before putting his hand on the doorknob. That was all it took? No fight? No begging her for cookies, saying he had changed his mind?

She should have insisted he take some.

If he’d still demanded some, that would have been proof things were normal.

Instead, Moira frowned at the back of his head as he walked out and left the door open.

* * *

Moira tossed popcorn into her mouth and watched Bill Murray fail to woo Andie MacDowell. There was no reason for the network to broadcast Groundhog Day on October 30, but she wasn’t complaining. It had been one of Norman’s favorite movies. They’d gone to see it in theaters the day it came out, which seemed so long ago now.

Without Norman, time dragged on. How had it only been a year since his death?

Watching a movie she’d seen more than a dozen times soothed her ragged nerves. That the movie was itself a perpetual, familiar cycle was not lost on her. In fact, that was a large part of Groundhog Day’s charm—especially tonight, when there was so much on her mind.

Riley’s behavior had left her shaken and confused. Sure, he was a kid, but he’d always been perceptive, and she trusted what he said. He usually meant what he said. At that age, it was rare for children to have ulterior motives. Whatever Riley thought was going to happen to her, it was worth considering.

The Tricker-Treater was coming to get her tonight.

Moira’s gaze jumped to the glow of the streetlight that permeated her closed blinds. Outside, the air was cold and crisp. Inside, she was cozy.

She drew the knitted afghan tighter around her midsection. Andie had slapped Bill. Normally, the moment made Moira laugh. Normally, she wasn’t wound up like a coiled snake.

The chiming of her doorbell made her jump out of her skin. She jostled the bowl in her lap, spilling popcorn everywhere.

Why was she so jumpy? It was likely Riley and his mother, coming to check on her after their talk. Riley’s mom Adriane was nice—she apologized for Riley with baked goods and wine. When she wasn’t working, she tried to come over for tea and pour out her soul to Moira.

In another life, they could have been mother and daughter.

In another life, Norman might still be alive.

Another ache struck Moira’s chest. The doorbell chimed again, demanding her attention.

She set the bowl aside and stood. Whoever it was, they were insistent. She doubted they’d go away if she ignored them.

Probably some damn kids, anyway. God willing, they wouldn’t egg her when she opened the door—for their sakes as well as hers.

She didn’t feel forgiving.

Moira crept over to the door and pulled back the curtain on the window beside the door. She had to see who had come knocking.

There was no one there.

Puzzled, she let the curtain drop and stood on tiptoe to look through the peephole.

No one.

Moira stepped back. She flattened a hand against her chest.

The doorbell chimed again.

Icy dread stuck its fingers down the back of Moira’s shirt. Her hand settled on the cold metal doorknob. After a breath, she twisted it and pulled the front door open.

And gasped.

The man—if the thing could even be called a man—stood at least seven or eight feet tall. It had to double over to fit under the awning of her porch. Pale red skin stretched tight over pointed features, most notably a bear skull. At least, she thought it was a bear skull. Norman would have known for sure. Norman always—

Coal-black eyes glittered at her as the thing bared its teeth—razor-sharp—in some semblance of a smile.

It wore nothing but a top hat, which it tipped before it spoke.

“I hope you were expecting me.”

His voice was low and smooth, like a jazz singer’s, and she shivered. Moira supposed she should have fainted or had a heart attack by then, but once he spoke, all her fear disappeared. It was like he had swallowed it up with his words.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“Riley didn’t tell you? I’m the Tricker-Treater. Would you mind if I came in?”

Moira froze with her hand still on the doorknob. What was she supposed to do? The Tricker-Treater offered the illusion of a choice. Was it merely that—an illusion—or would he let her decide how the evening would progress?

Moira let her gaze wander over the creature’s form again. He had the gaunt, emaciated look of a feral dog, and the tightness in her chest only tightened even further.

Nothing about him made her think he’d give her any choice.

“C-come in,” Moira said.

The Tricker-Treater kept his eyes locked on her as he stepped over the threshold and into the house. Moira swore he brought the smell of decay inside with him, but a moment later, it was gone.

Rotting pumpkins, she thought. That was the smell.

Moira gestured for him to sit on the couch. Eldritch horror or not, he was a guest.

The Tricker-Treater sat, bones creaking and popping as he did so. Moira tried her damnedest not to wince at the noises.

She sat in Norman’s favorite armchair and waited for the Tricker-Treater to speak.

“Has Riley… told you all about me?” he asked.

Moira paused. “How do you know Riley?”

“We made a deal. He’s a special child, isn’t he? Perceptive. Tenacious.” The Tricker-Treater flashed her another chilling smile. “Fragile.”

The blood dropped out of Moira’s face. “What are you getting at?”

The Tricker-Treater steepled his long, bony fingers. “It would be a shame if any danger were to befall Riley. If you could prevent such a tragedy, wouldn’t you want to, no matter what the cost?”

Moira rubbed the goosebumps on her arms. “Don’t you dare hurt him.”

“We made a deal,” the Tricker-Treater repeated. “He asked for money so his mother could be around more often. I told him I could give him anything he wanted—such as money—for a price.”

The Tricker-Treater’s eyes made Moira’s head swim. She broke eye contact. “So that’s why you’re here. You’re going to kill me.”

She should have known this was how she would die. Norman, with all his superstitions and wonder of the paranormal, had died of a stroke in the kitchen. A nice, normal death. Meanwhile, here she was, whisked away by a monster for the sake of a child’s wish.

“Not quite,” the Tricker-Treater said. “Well, only if I must.”

Moira’s head snapped up, and she met his gaze again, even though it dizzied her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

The Tricker-Treater tapped his claws against the coffee table. Click, click, click. “If you play by the rules, everything will be all right.”

The sinking feeling in Moira’s gut returned. “What rules?”

The Tricker-Treater’s unnerving smile returned too. “Every game has rules, Moira. Do you want to play?”

Her stomach had dropped to her ass, and she didn’t think it would resurface anytime soon. Whoever this man—or creature—was, he wasn’t going anywhere until he got what he wanted from her.

“What happens if I don’t want to play the game?” she asked.

“You lose.”

“And what happens if I lose?”

“Then Taylor wins.” The Tricker-Treater’s smile tore across his face. “And I take you away forever.”

Moira’s throat constricted. So he did want to kill her. Even if he acted like she had a choice, she didn’t.

Riley had already chosen for her. He had sealed her fate.

But what did Taylor have to do with it?

“Taylor?” she asked.

“To fulfill Riley’s deal, I must receive a sacrifice. He had to present me with someone he loves and someone he hates to play the game. I balance the scales. The loser dies.”

Jesus Christ, she thought, what had Riley done?

“He’s too young to make a deal like that,” she said. “You’re taking advantage of him.”

“I don’t discriminate,” he said. “A wish is a wish, and I must grant it. You must play the game, or die. These are my conditions.”

“What if Taylor and I both refuse? You only need to kill one of us, right? And you seem reasonable. You wouldn’t kill us to prove a point.”

“No.” The Tricker-Treater’s smile twisted into something darker, more feral. Moira wanted to scream, but panic kept her gaze fixed on his face. “In the case of two refusals, I take the wish-maker instead.”

Moira gulped. “You’d kill Riley.”

“Kill is such a boring word for what I do, but yes. Riley would become the sacrifice.” He steepled his fingers again. “But of course, you always have a choice.”

Did he think she’d let Riley die? She must have been Riley’s “someone he loves,” which meant the Tricker-Treater had to know she loved him too. She couldn’t damn him.

Only one thing to do.

“I’ll play,” Moira said.

“Wonderful. Let’s go.”

The Tricker-Treater snapped his fingers, Moira felt a tug, and the whole world went dark.

* * *

The reek of iron pulled Moira from unconsciousness. Her eyelids snapped open, pupils unfocused as they sought the light. Only a spare bulb hung overhead, struggling through the shadows. A familiar teenage form swam into view, fastened to a chair by ropes.

Taylor.

A shadow skulked off to Taylor’s left, and Moira’s gaze floated over to it. A long, lanky figure broke from the blackness and formed a solid shape. Sharp teeth glittered in the light as the creature grinned.

The Tricker-Treater.

He snapped his fingers again, and the lightbulb shattered. Moira went to shield her face from the exploding glass, but ropes restrained her. The Tricker-Treater had tied her down too.

A brilliant light enveloped the room, blinding Moira for a minute. The light faded to a ball that hovered over the Tricker-Treater’s head. It was small, but somehow bright enough for her to make out everything in the room, including Taylor.

She looked back at the boy. Blood dripped from ragged scratches in his cheek and stained the front of his shirt. That must have been the source of the iron smell—Taylor’s blood.

Moira looked to the Tricker-Treater for an explanation.

“He struggled,” he said, “so I had to be rough. But he’s learned his lesson. Haven’t you, Taylor?”

Taylor groaned and twisted against the ropes. The Tricker-Treater clicked his tongue and wagged a finger at Taylor. He froze.

“Think it’s time for me to explain the rules of the game to you both,” the Tricker-Treater said. “But no cheating. Is that understood?”

Moira still didn’t know what was going on, but she nodded nonetheless. Whatever game he had in mind, she had to win, for Riley’s sake.

She didn’t know what would happen to Taylor, except that he might die. She’d cross that bridge when she came to it.

Across the room, Taylor grunted.

The Tricker-Treater gave a wet, hacking cough. Moira watched it rattle his prominent ribcage. Had he not been so frightening, she might have worried for him. As it was, she wished the cough had been worse.

The Tricker-Treater pulled another chair away from the table. It scraped across the floor with a sound that bit Moira’s eardrums. She flinched.

He lowered his long body into the chair and removed his hat, exposing his shiny, red baldness.

“I will now explain the rules, and I will not repeat myself. You both must pay attention if you want to win.”

“I don’t give a shit about winning,” said Taylor. “I don’t even want to play. I don’t give a shit about Riley.”

A muscle jerked in Moira’s jaw. What an asshole. Did this kid understand what he was saying?

“That’s not what you said to me earlier,” the Tricker-Treater said. “You agreed to play the game because you wanted him to live.”

Moira almost didn’t believe it, but the Tricker-Treater had no motive to lie.

The Tricker-Treater stretched a hand toward Taylor, and Taylor’s eyes widened. The Tricker-Treater’s razor claws glittered in the light.

“You’ll play,” he said, “or Riley dies.”

Taylor shut his eyes. “Okay, okay, but please don’t hurt me.”

“It isn’t me you should worry about.”

Moira swallowed a curse. As much as she hated to cooperate with this… thing, it seemed like they had no choice. If she didn’t play the Tricker-Treater’s game, Riley would die. She wouldn’t let that happen.

"What do I have to do?" she asked.

The Tricker-Treater's smile widened. Moira withheld a shiver. Taylor flattened himself against the back of the chair, trying to get as far away as possible.

"Once I untie you both," the Tricker-Treater said, putting his hat back on, "you'll have fifteen minutes to choose a weapon and determine the sacrifice."

Moira frowned. "Kill each other?"

"So vulgar," he replied.

"I don't want to kill an old lady," Taylor said.

Like he even could if he wanted to, Moira thought. In her own way, she agreed—she didn't want to kill him, and she didn't want to die.

Riley couldn't die, either. She'd do what she could, whatever she had to. It wasn't a choice.

"Where are the weapons?" Moira asked.

Taylor gaped at her. "We don't have to do this!"

“I detest idle chatter,” the Tricker-Treater said. “Such a waste of precious time.”

Moira stiffened at his words. Did that mean they’d started? Were they supposed to get going? Why was she still tied up, then? The Tricker-Treater had said—

A click of his fingers and her bindings dissolved. Fuck, she had to get moving. She liked the word fuck, although Norman never had, and the way his face used to scrunch up when she said it to him—

“Moira,” the Tricker-Treater warned. “You don’t have time for reminiscing.”

She chose not to dwell on the discomfort of having him inside her mind in favor of finding a weapon.

But where the fuck were they?

Taylor was squealing something she didn’t care to listen to because she didn’t care more than for any other reason. She didn’t want to kill him but they would soon be out of time, and if she didn’t do anything—whether he killed her or not—Riley was in danger.

Moira dragged herself out of the chair and looked around the room. It was still difficult to see, with the only lighting coming from the flames conjured by the Tricker-Treater, but they were surrounded by several different boxes of all shapes and sizes.

Taylor leaped up from his chair and dove headfirst into the box behind him, digging like a dumpster-diver in search of castoff treasures. Shit, she had to get a move on or he’d kill her with whatever he found.

Moira started with a box on her left, plain cardboard on the outside, unassuming enough. As she dug through a pile of moth-eaten clothes, the sharp edge of something bit the palm of her hand. She cried out. Upon further, much more hesitant, inspection, she discovered the source of the wound—a Japanese samurai sword.

That’s a katana, Norm corrected in her head.

Moira didn’t have time to smile. She wrapped her fingers around the base of the sword and pulled—

Right as Taylor came sprinting toward her with a hatchet in his hands. The metal glinted as he brought it down, right as Moria darted out of the way.

“Jesus, Taylor!”

“Stand still!”

He lifted the hatchet and swung it down again, with Moira only narrowly dodging it this time. She was close enough to hear the whoosh of the blade as it came down past her face. As she ducked to the side, so did Taylor. His third hit struck her shoulder. White-hot flames lit Moria’s muscle fibers and leaked pain down her arm. Warm blood dripped off her elbow.

Jesus fuck, that hurt.

Movement caught the corner of her eye and she whirled around, still clutching her injured shoulder. Taylor had raised the hatchet again. She had to get out of his way.

Still carrying the sword, Moira feinted left. Taylor took the bait and swung. She moved right, raised the sword, hesitated—

The light went out. Moira couldn’t see one inch in front of her face. Distantly, the Tricker-Treater’s claws clicked against a hard surface. Dragged against it, more like.

Moira shivered.

Mooooiiiiraaaaaaaaa…

She jabbed with the sword, wincing as the blade bounced off the wall. She was almost relieved that she hadn't hit Taylor.

Something rough brushed her calf. She jerked back, swallowing a cry. Something metal clattered to the ground, and Taylor yelped.

"Don't move, Taylor."

"Are w-we out of time?" As brave and seemingly bloodthirsty as he'd been moments before, there was no denying the way his voice shook. Hatchet or not, he was only a kid. He had his whole life ahead of him.

And she'd tried to kill him.

Moira let go of the katana. It, too, clattered to the floor. "What's up with turning the lights off, huh? Not fucked up enough as it is?"

"I assumed it would be easier for you to kill him with the lights off," the Tricker-Treater said. "That way, you wouldn't have to see him."

"Whose side are you on?" Taylor countered. His voice had an edge to it that scared her, sharpened by fear into pointed rage. It made him sound dangerous.

She didn't think he had the strength to kill her, but fear could drive someone to do the unthinkable.

And she'd let go of her weapon.

"I believe in leveling the playing field," the Tricker-Treater said. "Moira is, shall we say, more experienced in life, and Taylor has more energy. We correct this discrepancy with darkness."

Moira swallowed. In theory, everything he was saying made sense. But all she could think about was that there must be something she’d overlooked—something the Tricker-Treater had overlooked. In other words, a loophole.

Some way to save Riley without having to kill his brother.

She had to pick up the katana again. Without it, she was powerless. And, there was still a chance that Taylor would rediscover his bravado, would run toward her again with the hatchet raised, would bring it down and—

The Tricker-Treater chuckled in the gloom, and Moira knew he’d been inside her head again. Shit, that was… inconvenient, to say the least. How could she try to find a loophole if he was listening in on everything she thought?

Get the fuck out of my head, she thought.

Again, the Tricker-Treater chuckled. “Manners, Moira. But… I would be remiss not to heed your request, as vulgar as it might have been phrased. All you had to do was ask.”

Moira gaped at him in the darkness—or, at least, she gaped in what she assumed was his direction. It was still impossible to see anything, and though the Tricker-Treater had claimed he was just leveling the playing field, Moira couldn’t understand how this was supposed to help her.

Distantly, Taylor whimpered. Could he be afraid of the dark?

“Please,” he said. “Turn on the lights.”

The Tricker-Treater’s claws clicked together as he contemplated Taylor’s request. “Moira, what do you think?”

What did she think? She thought this whole twisted game was a goddamn mess. She thought it was ludicrous that this… demon expected her to kill a child, or the child to kill her. She thought she would do almost anything to save Riley because she loved him, but she wasn’t sure she could do this.

Most of all, Moira thought she had already lost. She had to change her mind somehow, or else she really would. Find the loophole, she reminded herself. There had to be an angle she hadn’t yet considered.

Moira shuffled her feet. The point of the katana bit into her shin and she fought the urge to cry out. Warm liquid seeped from the wound—not too much, but not too little to escape her notice. The darkness heightened everything. Tentatively, she bent over and fumbled around for the handle, praying her fingers wouldn’t graze the blade. At last, they closed around fabric—the binding on the handle—and she pulled it up with both hands as she rose to a standing position.

“Moira,” the Tricker-Treater prompted again. And… the idea came to her.

If she could kill the Tricker-Treater, she could end the game. She’d win, without killing Taylor, and Riley would be safe.

Of course, she knew next to nothing about the Tricker-Treater’s fortitude, although he seemed like a formidable foe. She had to give it a shot. Anything was better than plunging the blade into Taylor.

“Turn on the lights,” Moira answered.

She tightened her grip on the blade and widened her stance to give her more stability. Sweat trickled down the side of her neck. Her heart beat so loudly it threatened to deafen her, but she stayed grounded. She didn’t have a choice.

The Tricker-Treater snapped his fingers, and the lights flickered on again. Moira coordinated her attack with the fluorescent flash. She ran full speed, katana thrust forward like a jousting lance. Taylor gasped, eyes widening in horror—until Moira jabbed the sword into the Tricker-Treater’s gut.

“Shit!” Taylor yelled.

The Tricker-Treater didn’t flinch. He didn’t scream, nor did he give any other indication that he had been struck. Instead, he wrapped his clawed fingers around the blade and looked right at Moira. The twisted grin he produced was the worst thing she’d ever seen.

“Well, now. Isn’t this exciting?”

Moira trembled, but she didn’t let go of the handle. If she did, she was afraid he’d find a way to turn the blade on her. Taylor crept closer to the scene, face ashen. He was trembling, too, even as he reached out to take the sword from Moira.

She shook her head vehemently. “You’re not responsible for this. Taylor, if anything happens—”

“It isn’t polite to speak about others as though they aren’t there,” the Tricker-Treater chimed in. He was still holding onto the blade, still the picture of tranquility even as the sword stuck out of his stomach and black blood dripped from the wound onto the floor. “I wonder if you two have forgotten your manners.”

“Fuck you,” Taylor spat.

Moira had to agree, though she couldn’t find the words. All she could focus on was the blood, the way it poured from the Tricker-Treater’s stomach even though the wound was technically still sealed up, and—

The Tricker-Treater flexed his claws, and his grin widened. The blade slipped out of Moira’s hands.

“Taylor!” Moira shouted.

The blade shot backward out of the Tricker-Treater’s stomach and whirled around to point at Taylor. He reacted a second too late. Moira stared in horror as the black-bloodstained tip pushed into Taylor’s chest. He stiffened, limbs flying out, mouth open, eyes the size of galaxies—

And then, his body dropped. It made a sick thwack as it landed.

Moira turned her head and puked. When she turned back, the Tricker-Treater was hunched over, holding his hat in his hands. He had the decency not to grin.

“Oh, dear,” he said. “This is… less than ideal.”

If she weren’t so afraid, she would have smacked him. “‘Less than ideal’? A child is dead! You fucking killed him, you son of a bitch.”

“If I hadn’t, you would have.”

“I wouldn’t have,” she insisted. “You’ve been inside my head. You must have known I wouldn’t.”

“Hmph.” The Tricker-Treater twisted his hat in his hands. He was having trouble looking Moira in the eye. “Well, this does present a challenge.”

She wrangled the urge to strangle him. “What are you talking about?”

“The rules of the game were clear. To save Riley, there must be a sacrifice.” He paused, as though waiting for her to remember the rules. “One of you must kill the other.”

“But we can’t now. Taylor’s dead.” Realization dawned on Moira, eclipsing the fear. “You killed him. That’s the loophole.”

“So it would seem.” If he was upset about Moira’s admission of looking for a loophole, it didn’t show. If anything, he was so lost in contemplation he paid her no mind. She could have attacked him then. Taylor’s hatchet lay on the floor not far from his body. If she leaned forward a little—

But what would happen to Riley? If she killed the Tricker-Treater, would she forfeit the game? She couldn’t wager Riley’s life on a spur-of-the-moment choice.

Instead, she had to bide her time and see what the creature decided.

“Unfortunately,” he said. “Riley must perish.”

All the blood drained from Moira’s face. Like hell he must, she thought. “What are you talking about? I played your stupid game. Taylor… well, that means I won. Those were your rules, remember?”

“Alas, Moira, that isn’t the case.” The Tricker-Treater clicked his tongue. “Neither of you did as I asked, as was required of you, so there is no winner. And, as there’s no winner, Riley’s life is forfeit. I’m afraid those are the rules.”

Moira’s stomach roiled. There had to be another way. She had to save Riley somehow, otherwise, Taylor had died for nothing. She refused to lose Riley, refused to let his mother bury both her sons.

“Take me instead,” she pleaded.

The Tricker-Treater hesitated. “That wasn’t part of the deal. Your life is only forfeit should the other participant take it. As the other participant is dead, there is no reason for your life to end.”

His logic and politeness made her want to tear her hair out. “Taylor shouldn’t have died. I didn’t kill him. Doesn’t that change up your shitty rules somehow?”

Again, he hesitated. His face twisted up as though he were in pain. “I concede that Taylor’s departure was unnecessary, given the game’s objective. Reckless, even. However… there must be some punishment for you.” The Tricker-Treater looked pointedly at the hole in his gut. “You also broke the rules.”

“You never said I couldn’t attack you,” she argued.

His mouth twitched. “Fair enough. Hm… let’s do this. What do you think I should do to you, Moira? What sort of fate would be equitable?”

Moira’s tongue sat like lead in her mouth. How was she supposed to make such a strange decision? The question wasn’t one she’d planned for. He wasn’t in her head anymore, so she wondered if she could just throw something out there, something far from “fair,” in terms of extremity. Or, perhaps he already knew what he would do to her, and he was just playing another sick game?

“Tick-tock,” said the Tricker-Treater.

Moira swallowed. Hard. If Norm were here, he’d have the perfect idea. He was always so wise, her Norm, even when he was being silly. The last time they’d watched Groundhog Day together, he’d said—

Groundhog Day. Yes, that was the answer. It was the only way for her to atone, while still paying homage to her husband. And, it was the only way to make sure Riley’s mother got her son back—and got to keep Riley, too.

It wasn’t a fate Moira looked forward to, but it was a fate she accepted.

She gave the Tricker-Treater a watery smile. “Have you seen any Bill Murray movies?”

* * *

When Moira came to, she was covered in sweat. Sunlight streamed through the blinds, and birds chirped outside. Jesus. She felt like she’d been run over by a train.

Out of habit, even after a year, she rolled over to look at Norm’s side of the bed. She smoothed a hand over the blankets and sighed. “Miss you more than ever, hon.”

Outside, the distant hum of a mower pierced the air. She must have slept in much later than usual. A glance at the clock on her nightstand confirmed her suspicions, and she groaned. That would teach her to go through a whole bottle of wine by herself.

A weird pain flared in Moira’s shoulder. When she reached for it, the feeling vanished. She checked under her shirt. Nothing.

Must just be part of getting old, she thought.

It seemed like it was going to be a nice day, what with the birds chirping and sunlight and all. Maybe she’d crawl out of bed and do something fun for a change, bake some cookies to give to the neighbor kid, Riley. Maybe he’d share with his overworked mother. The poor dear was working more than she was home, and Moira knew she was exhausted.

An hour later saw Moira dressed and pulling fresh cookies from the oven, the smell filling the house like a bug bomb—albeit a delicious one. While she waited for the cookies to cool, she slipped on her shoes and went outside to fetch the paper.

Moira kicked spilled candy corn off her front step. The remnants of another weeknight massacre. This time, all in the name of a holiday.

She’d stopped keeping track of the holidays.

tag list: @bauliya, @howdy-writes

#writeblr #writerblr #ttaos #horror #my writing

[zayray030]

Barry was in a coma and Iris was tired of constantly being strong for her father. She just wanted to cry.

So when Thea and Roy showed up at her house one day with ice cream and a new girl she didn't say anything she just collapsed into Thea's arms and cried.

She wasn't sure how long she cried but she felt tired. And sick. And hungry. She felt a lot of things but most of all she felt lost without Barry with her.

Thea just sat there and held her as she sobbed while Roy tried to be supportive. The new girl wasn't looking at her in sympathy or pity. She was looking at her in empathy. She wanted to know how. This girl looked barely old enough to be 15. How could she know? Then she remembered Barry and realised that age didn't matter.

“It's going to be okay.” soothed Thea as she ran her hands through Iris's hair. The dark skinned girl didn't seem to be able to hear her because the tears didn't stop. However she did stop sobbing.

“If you want, when Allen wakes up, I could punch him.” offered Roy, emphasising his point by cracking his knuckles. This caused the new girl to shake her head at him and mutter about idiot pretty boys.

Iris couldn't keep her snort back at that. The tears slowly stopped coming down and Iris slowly sat up.

“Thanks Thea.” Iris said as she turned to the brunette.

“Anytime Irey” Thea replied as she gave her one last hug before pulling back.

“And no thanks Roy. I can do it myself.” Iris said as she turned to the inky other male in the room.

“Eh. But if you want, you know who to call.” replied the boy, ducking slightly at being the center of attention.

“And you are?” Iris asked as she turned to the new girl, who hasn't introduced herself yet. She quickly looked the girl up and down and appraised her outfit. Tight leather pants and a leather jacket.

“Sin. Abacrombe and Queen said that you were trustworthy and dragged me to meet you.” the girl replied. Blunt and straight to the point. Iris needs more people like that in her life.

“Nice to know that they say nice things about me when I'm not there.” replied Iris

“Anyone who says anything mean about you is a dick.” said Roy, and Iris saw the hurt look in his eyes. She just rolled her eyes and pulled him down for a hug.

“Thank you, Roy.” Iris muttered in his ear before releasing him. He just blushed red and turned away.

“Anyway. Now that the Princess has let out all her emotions, what's gonna happen now?” asked Sin, fidgeting uncomfortably at the silence.

“We are going to watch housewives until we fall asleep, snuggled under blankets.” replied Thea already picking up the remote that was on the coffee table and handing it to Iris.

“The food?” asked Roy.

“Mint chip in the freezer.” replied Iris already grabbing the blankets on the coffee table and snuggling up to them. Sin actually got a small spark in her eyes before it disappeared. Iris made it her mission to atleast get a smile from the small girl before the night was over.

After Roy quickly grabbed the ice cream, they all quickly situated themselves in their places. Iris moved so that she was in between Thea and Sin and Roy sat next to Thea.

Iris quickly turned on the show and they all sat there watching.

However mid way through the season did everyone start to get tired. When Iris noticed Thea and Roy asleep and cuddling she turned off the TV and lied to her side next to Sin. The girl however was still not asleep.

“So why were you crying on Queens shoulder before?” asked the girl, not particularly caring if it made her sound rude.

“My boyfriend is in a coma after getting struck by lightning.” she replied, glad that someone was being blunt with her for once.

“Oh. Cool I guess.” replied Sin. She looked slightly awkward and bashful.

“Yeah. It's annoying however when people keep trying to steer away from the topic.” replied Iris to the girl, hoping she would take the hint. And take it she did.

“How did he get struck by lightning?” asked Sin, turning to her side to face Iris.

“Harrison Wells particle accelerator.” Oh how Iris desperately wanted to kill the man for doing this to her and Barry. “Harrison Wells actually offered to take Barry to his lab to fix him.” said Iris in disgust.

“So the dickwad, who probably ruined everyone's lives, suddenly has the tech to save your boy? I call bullshit.” muttered Sin, huffing slightly.

“Me too.” began Iris pulling the blankets over their bodies “but, he has a doctor there and the current hospital he's staying at is saying there's a low chance that he'll live.” said Iris as they cuddled under the blankets.

“Mhm. Still. Sounds sketchy when the asshole who caused a thousand others pain is worried about this one guy.” muttered Sin.

“Yeah. But my dad and I don't exactly have much hope right now. We might as well listen to him.” said Iris, hoping to sooth the small girl. It must have worked because she stopped pouting but she looked slightly worried.

“Where is your dad anyway? I doubt he'll be pleased to see either me or Harper. He'll take a piss on Queen though.” asked Sin.

“He's taking a week off to get back in the game.” said Iris as she ran her hand through Sin’s short locks. Sin didn't say anything but leaned in to the touch.

“Good night Iris.”was the last thing the small girl said before she fell into deep slumber.

‘Good night indeed’ thought Iris as she settled down for her first restful sleep since Barry fell into the coma.

*

Flash Forward a Few Years later

*

Iris really didn't want to escape the situation she was in. The ‘situation’ being her holding her goddaughter Moira Anaya Queen Harper.

‘Truthfully, all the pain, tears and blood to get to this moment was worth it.’ Iris thought as she held her goddaughter tighter.

She still remembered the day that Thea found out she was pregnant. It was a mix between funny and horrifying.

Truthfully every moment that Iris and Thea had sisters was either funny or horrifying. But that's what made it amazing.

“Are babies supposed to be this small?” asked Sin as she looked at the baby in Iris's arms.

“Yup. But depending on who's genetics she's going to get, she's either going to be short or tall.”

“Here's hoping she gets Thea's genetics. There's enough idiots as it is.” muttered Sin, still entranced by the baby.

Iris just grinned. That was just Sins way of saying that she cared.

“Yeah.” Iris replied. Suddenly there was a crash and a call of ‘Don Henry Allen and Dawn Nora Allen. You two are going to be grounded if you don't behave’ from her husband.

“Do you think it was the best choice to let our husbands deal with them, or should we go to them and help?” asked Felicity as she slunk into the room.

“I think they'll manage. Plus they'll all get terrified at the idea of holding a 2 month old.” commented Lyla as she walked in behind Felicity, Sara following her.

“Hey, Kid” Sara said when she saw Sin and Sin quickly came to hug the girl before retracting her arms.

“I agree with Lyla. Plus, Sara still needs to catch us up on her pregnancy.” said Iris already settling down, keeping the baby in her arms.

“They're already kicking…” began Sara and suddenly everyone was lost in her words as she talked about her unborn baby.

Iris sometimes wondered if she'll ever take away how this all happened. And truthfully, the answer is no. Because even though the way this all started wasn't the best, it ended up being the best thing in her life.

So. My first ever story. I liked it. Sorry for any of the errors. I'm thinking about turning this into a series. Basically the series is all about Iris interacting with Characters in the DC universe.

Part 1

Part 2

#iris west #iris west allen #westallen #barry allen #dctv #Sin #felicity smoak #lyla michaels #Sara Lance #thea queen #roy x thea #roy harper #dawn allen #Don allen #Iris West friendship

[stars-hearts-gems]

Into the tall grass! 🌿💕

(Postwick/hpyu/angst/cute/etc...)

Synopsis: Gloria is nursing a crush on her neighbor, friend and fellow Pokemon trainer Hop, and she’s thinking about telling him how she feels. But the pair run into a spot of trouble in the tall grass, and Hop gets injured. Sparks fly when Gloria nurses him back to health.

The heavy air smelled of petrichor as Gloria and Hop left the train station and ran toward Postwick. Thunder rolled as the storm distanced itself from the town dotted with puddles, which the pair dodged and jumped as they headed home, drenched to the skin after a fast and furious rain.

Gloria pushed her damp bangs out of her eyes as she worked her legs hard to keep up with Hop, whose height lent him an advantage on speed. She wore her pink shirtdress and boots for the day’s exploration of the Wild Area, and her bare legs were spattered with mud from dashing across the wet ground.

“Didn’t expect we’d have to leg it home today, or else I’d have worn something a little... better,” she grumbled, conscious of how her short skirt flapped in the wind. “Jeans, I mean.”

Hop looked over his shoulder at her and slowed, realizing how far behind she’d fallen.

“Does this mean I win? Seems like no contest!” crowed Hop.

“We weren’t even racing!” said Gloria, annoyed. “Not everything is a competition, Hop.” The two slowed to a stop near a patch of tall grass, where Gloria bent down to retie the flapping laces of her boots.

"Nearly home,” Hop said bracingly. “Do you want to come over my place tonight? I have that match of Lee’s recorded, we could watch it together!”

These words sent a tingle through Gloria’s body, as if she’d grabbed a bit of metal electrified in the storm. “Yeah, that sounds great,” she said, looking up at him from where she knelt.

“Cool! Mum’s making her veggie lasagna, I know you love that,” Hop replied casually. Gloria straightened up to look at him, a little hopeful he might say something more.

But Hop’s attention was suddenly diverted -- the grass next to them twitched.

“Aw, is that -- ?” Hop breathed. “No way, Gloria, hold on! I thought I saw a Hoothoot -- I’m still missing one of those.” And off he dashed into the grass. Thunder rumbled again as Gloria squinted at the place where Hop had disappeared, the grass flowing smoothly in the breeze.

“Only be a minute!” Hop’s disembodied voice called.

Gloria sighed, waiting. Sometimes Hop would say things that made her think he liked her -- like, he properly fancied her -- but then off he’d run, as if he had felt none of the surge of feelings she just had. Did he just say these things, things that indicated he enjoyed her company and paid attention to her preferences, and not think twice? How thick! Or, an even worse scenario -- was it possible he knew she liked him, yet he acted indifferent because he didn’t feel the same way? Gloria didn’t think she could bear hearing him tell her that painful truth, so she had tried to never let on to Hop that she liked him more than just as a friend. But she also sometimes felt like her heart would explode with longing for him to like her back. Maybe, tonight, she could try...

A sudden yell broke her out of her reverie. It was followed by an even louder cry from a wild Pokemon. A horrible sound, fierce and gutteral -- not at all like the sound of a Hoothoot. A startled flock of Rookidee took flight from the grass.

“Hop? Hop?” Gloria called, peering nervously at the tall grass, but seeing nothing. “Are you alright?” She dashed forward, feverishly pushing aside plant matter. The tall grass grew higher than her head in places, obscuring her way forward, but a flattened trail showed her where Hop had been.

Bursting out of the vegetation, Gloria found herself in a clearing of flattened grass. It had clearly made by something large that had thrashed about before it ran off. Hop leaned against a rocky outcropping to the side of the open area, clutching his arm.

“My God, Gloria, are you okay? It didn’t get you, too?” Hop asked.

“I’m fine! What happened to you?”

“Wild Mamoswine!” exhaled Hop, looking shaken, but excited. “Here! I can’t believe it...”

“What? That doesn’t make any sense! What would a Mamoswine be doing here?”

“No clue! I was about to catch that Hoothoot when it came charging in. It scared off the Hoothoot and next I know it, its coming for me! It was totally cheesed off, just running around the place like mad. I tried to get out of the way, but it got me with a tusk, see...”

He pulled his left hand aside to reveal a long graze from the tusk on his outer right forearm.

“Oh, no!” Gloria moved closer to examine it, carefully taking hold his elbow and moving aside the torn sleeve. Hop winced. “We’ve got to go take care of this,” she said. “No telling what kind of an infection you can get from a Mamoswine tusk. Who knows where they’ve been.”

Hop chuckled softly, shouldering his bag with his natural bravado, though Gloria noticed he was careful to avoid brushing his injury. “What, you don’t think it’d be wise to go after that angry thing?” he said. “You don’t think I could catch it?” Hop rolled his eyes in what was clearly meant to be exasperation, but he was smiling broadly. “Come on, Gloria, have you no faith in me?” Gloria smiled, albeit a little stiffly, at Hop’s lighthearted approach to danger.

“Nah, you know I’m not serious,” he said, noticing her pained expression. “Let’s get out of here. I would love to catch a Mamoswine, but I know when I’m outmatched.”

Gloria led the way out of the clearing and back through the tall grass, Hop following close behind. The two made their way up the road and over the bridge, heading for Hop’s house. The thunder had subsided now, and their clothes were well on their way to being dry. Evening had come, and a few rays from a setting sun had begun to stream through the cloud cover, giving the landscape a weird, ethereal glow.

Gloria glanced over at Hop as they walked, and he shot back a reassuring smile. The feelings she had been contemplating before Hop’s brush with danger had returned, it seemed, tenfold. The way the sun’s rays lit up Postwick like it was their own magic kingdom, the air full of the smell of rain and soil... it was so wonderful. Her throat tightened and her heartbeat quickened as she fought back an urge -- a wild, inappropriate, terrible, wonderful urge -- to reach for Hop’s hand.

“Hey, are you any good at first aid?” Hop asked as they approached his front door, again drawing Gloria’s attention away from her internal battle. “My mum is probably going to go bonkers if she sees this. No, never mind Mum, it’s my Gran who will never let me out of the house again if she knows what happened. Let’s go upstairs first and fix me up, then come down for dinner.”

Gloria agreed, and Hop whipped open the front door. “Hey Mum, it’s me! Gloria’s here too!” he called, running for the stairs and taking them two at a time, Gloria close behind. “We’re just going to wash up, be down for dinner soon!”  

They scampered upstairs, past Hop’s grandparents, who were reading in the living room, breathing in the delicious smell of lasagna cooking. Hop’s mom, Moira, had the oven light on and was in a crouch, frowning at the baking dish therein. “15 minutes!” she called back.

Upstairs, Gloria found stick-on bandages, hydrogen peroxide, and cotton balls in the medicine cabinet of the bathroom Hop shared with his brother, Galar Champion Leon. She had him take off his jacket (”Real shame about that sleeve,” Hop said. “I love this jacket.”) and they both sat on the edge of the tub.

Gingerly, she took his arm again and inspected the wound. It had bled pretty profusely on their walk home, and was a little deeper than she had originally estimated out on the route.

“I’m really sorry, but this is going to hurt,” she said, inverting the bottle of hydrogen peroxide over a cotton ball. Hop nodded, “Don’t worry about it, and thanks for helping me,” he said softly. As soon as the peroxide touched his arm, Hop gave a quick intake of breath. But he didn’t pull away. Gloria gently dabbed the disinfectant the length of the cut, and used another cotton ball dampened with water to wipe away the blood. Then, grabbing the box of bandages, she began applying them one by one, whispering “sorry!” each time she accidentally pulled one of his arm hairs, until the entire cut was covered.

Gloria had expected Hop to crack a joke or prattle on about the match of Leon’s they were planning to watch later on while this was happening, but he was quiet as she worked. With the last bandage pressed gently on, Gloria set the box aside and looked up. Their eyes met for a long moment. Hop smiled, suddenly looking awkward. “Thanks, mate, I owe you one,” he said, flexing his arm as if to prove it still functioned. But he didn’t move from the tub’s edge. Gloria found that she couldn’t say anything for a moment. Her heart was in her throat.

“Oh, it was nothing...” she croaked. Still so casual... He doesn’t feel the same way, she thought.

Hop’s eyebrows furrowed into a look of concern. He blinked a couple times. Then, he put his hand on her shoulder. “No, I’m serious,” he said. “Gloria...” Gloria’s heart pounded ever harder, and she breathed in sharply. Hop’s hand moved from her shoulder and paused on her elbow. Then, he moved his hand over hers, which she had resting on her knee. His face wore an uncharacteristically serious expression. Barely daring to breathe, Gloria grasped Hop’s hand. “Gloria, I’ve been wondering,” Hop said quietly, “if you might see me as... ha, I don’t know, this might be silly, but -- if you might see me as... more than just your friend? I mean, not, like, in a weird way, I just, you know, I really like you...and I thought ... well--”

He cut off as Gloria leaned in to kiss him. The kiss was chaste and quick, but not without passion. As she pulled back, Gloria’s brown eyes stayed locked on Hop’s gold ones, and both were grinning in a weird, sideways way. Neither seemed to know quite what to say, but were spared the need to make further conversation by Hop’s mum’s call: dinner was ready.

Gloria and Hop stood up, Gloria giggling a little to herself. A wide smile crossed Hop’s face as he bounded across the room and quickly rummaged in a drawer for another long-sleeve overshirt to hide his healing arm.

Each was still smiling as they headed downstairs to seat themselves at the table. As she dished herself up some lasagna, Gloria hoped none of the grandparents would ask what they were grinning about.

--

<3 oof, I love them! ❤️

Hope you enjoyed :)

XO, Esme

#pokemon swsh #pokemon hop #pokemon fanfiction #pokemon gloria #pokemon #my writing #swsh #rival hop #postwickshipping

[fanficsaremylifeline]

Fandom: Captain America (Movies) Relationships: Rebecca Barnes Proctor & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes & Rebecca Barnes Proctor & Steve Rogers Summary:

Rebecca's calm life in the retirement home is turned upside down once more, when all of a sudden Steve, who to her recollection died about seventy years ago, stands in her room, here to make good on a promise he made to her 81 years ago.

***

“Ms Barnes?” After a soft knock, Nurse Moira poked her head through Rebecca's door.

“What is it, dear?” Rebecca looked over at the woman and put her book down.

“You have a visitor.”

“Oh, I thought Adelaide wasn't going to come around this week.”

“No, Ms Barnes, there is a charming young man here, who'd like to see you”, she smiled.

Huh. Rebecca was pretty sure that the only charming young men she knew, worked here at the nursing home. Well, except for Philip, her godson. Though it would be very unlikely for him to visit on a Wednesday morning.

Nurse Moira turned around, probably to the man in question and gestured at Becca's door.

“Thanks.” He stepped into the room. And Rebecca could not believe her eyes. “Hey Becca.”

“Oh, you gotta be kidding me!” With what was probably a new record time for her, she jumped up from her chair and dashed straight towards the visitor. “Steve? Is that really...” She cupped his face, pulled him a little down, so she could properly inspect who she was pretty sure was a) dead and b) six years older than her, even though the man standing in front of her didn't look older than thirty. “Is that really you?”

“Yeah”, he nodded with the widest smile. “I know it's weird, but it's me.”

“Oh my!” She wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug. “I missed you, so, so much!”

“I missed you, too.” Steve held her tight, leaning down just enough so he could rest his head on hers, while she pressed her face against his chest. It may have been 70 or so years, but Becca basked in the familiarity of his touch, his scent and her eyes filled with tears.

“Becca, you know damn well that if you start crying, so will I”, Steve laughed, but he was clearly choked up.

“Tough”, she sniffled, “that's just what you get for coming back from the dead.”

“Fair enough.”

Becca leaned back and looked up at him. “Steven Grant Rogers, you always were an impossible punk.”

“I think that's a compliment.”

“Yeah.” Without missing a beat, she boxed against his arm, as hard as she could.

“Ouch!”, he cried out, his face falling into offended confusion. “What was that for?”

“For dying after promising me you'll come back home! And this”, she hit his other arm, “is for you and Bucky needing to be self-sacrificing idiots!”

“I'm so sorry, I really am! We...”

“I'M NOT DONE YET! This”, she boxed against his stomach, “is for taking seventy years to come back.”

“Are you done?”

“One more. How DARE you look that good at 94?”

“That isn't actually my fault”, he defended himself, his arms raised up defensively.

Not that she had actually managed to hurt him; as fit as she was for her age, she was an old woman in her late eighties and Steve was – apparently still – in the prime of his life. Whatever Howard Stark had cooked up back then, it still worked wonders.

“Well, how about you and me go for a nice cup of coffee and you can tell me what the hell happened.”

Becca grabbed her purse and her walking stick and linked her free arm with Steve's.

“I don't suppose Mildred's is still open?”

“'Fraid not. But the one here in the park is just as good.”

After Steve had finished his story, Rebecca could only stare at him. “So, let me get this straight: you didn't actually die, you were just... deep-frozen?”

“Something like that. Don't ask me how they defrosted me, though; Bucky was always the science nerd.”

“Yeah... They didn't thaw my brother out with you by any chance?”

His smile dropped and he shook his head. “I'm sorry.”

“Not your fault.” She put on a smile, but Steve saw how much it pained her, and he got it. He felt just the same. Not exactly the same, to him all that was only weeks ago, not seventy years... “Besides”, she added, “I have made my peace with that. With losing you as well. Thank you, for that very unnecessary heartbreak.”

“I can't tell you how sorry I am.”

“I know you are. I know my Stevie after all”, she added with a grin.

“Yeah, you do. So, tell me about your life! What happened to you? Did you become a lawyer?”

“I did”, she smiled proudly, “eventually. I didn't get into a lawschool until '61, I tell you, it was a lot of work and fights to get through. But it was definitely worth it, I was one hell of an attorney.”

“I don't have any doubts, because you, my dear, are fierce.”

“You have no idea...”

“Oh, yeah I do”, Steve laughed, “I have been on the receiving end of your fierceness plenty of times.” She could get down right scary; almost as much as Steve's Mum.

“Well, you deserved it every time. I didn't get married. I don't feel like I missed out on anything though, all my nieces and god-children were enough for me.”

“Oh wow. Lizzie, Ruth... Are they...”

“No”, she shook her head, “you missed Lizzie by about four years. Ruthie, she… she got sick, just after the war ended.”

“Oh.” Steve’s heart just broke into a million pieces. The Barnes-girls were like sisters to him, and knowing he’d really never see the two again really hurt.

“Yeah... Lizzie did the whole housewife thing though, got married, has two amazing daughters, Jamie and Stephanie. Can you guess after whom they are named?”

“She named her daughters after us?” Oh, Steve felt his eyes starting to sting and filling with tears. This was so bizarre yet so amazing!

“Yeah. Jamie is 57, works in Seattle at an advertising firm, she has two sons, Richard and Martin, wonderful boys, both in college at the moment, Richard doing IT and Martin becoming a teacher. Stephanie is 55, lives in Washington, she studied politics and works actually in the White House. Being named after Captain America probably helped with that”, she giggled. “Anyways, she has a daughter, Melissa, who works at a publishers, and she is going to be married soon!”

“Wow.” So much information about so many people Steve should know but didn't. “I can't wait to meet them”, he just smiled.

“They'll be ecstatic to meet you too, Uncle Steve.”

He couldn't keep the snorted laugh in anymore. “Uncle Steve?” That sounded somehow weirdly nice, yet all kinds of wrong at the same time.

“That's you, believe it or not.”

“It is not the most improbable thing that happened in the last few weeks… So, Lizzie’s husband… Do I know him?”

“You do”, she grinned, “on the third of April 1954, she became Mrs George Davis.”

“No.” Steve’s jaw hit the ground. “She married little Georgie? Seriously?” Little Georgie… He lived just down the street, was a year or two under Steve and Buck, and an adorable fellow. “Buck always assumed that he was gay.”

“He wasn’t. Steve, you should have seen him, he was one hell of a guy, protective of Lizzie and the girls like you wouldn’t believe and such a wonderful father… A guy like George I might have married”, she smiled. “But that guy, who promised to make an honest woman out of me if we both were still single by 35 just had to dive an airplane into the ocean, didn't he?”

“Oh my”, Steve laughed, “I did promise that, didn’t I?” After he caught his breath again, he smiled over at her. “Well, I can’t help but notice that we are both over 35 and still single…”

“Steven Grant Rogers.” He braced himself for being cussed at for such a ridiculous comment, when she raised her eyebrow. “If you think that this counts as a proposal you are sorely mistaken.”

“Wait, what?” His eyes went big as he tried to comprehend what she just insinuated.

“I might be a badass lawyer, but I’m also a romantic woman”, she continued, keeping their eyes locked. “So, until you go down on one knee, don’t expect me to even consider it.”

Huh. “Alright…” He cleared his throat and took a deep breath before smiling at her again. “Duly noted.”

“Good. Then, how about you escort me back to the home? I should be back for lunch.”

“Of course, my lady.” Steve got up and held his arm out to her and together they walked back through the garden to the home’s dining room, where they were greeted by some curious looks.

“My, Rebecca, who’s your friend?”, one lady asked, looking Steve up and down, which only made him a tad uncomfortable.

“That’s Steve”, she explained as he helped her into her chair. “You could say I’ve known him my whole life.”

Steve came by almost every day. He was offered a small apartment in Brooklyn, only a few streets from where she lived; it was like back when they were young. With the difference, that them meeting went over a lot calmer and quieter; they mostly spend their days out in the park or in her room, talking, catching up.

“So, my dear”, Steve smiled, as they sat out on a bench on lovely Tuesday afternoon, enjoying the sun beaming down on them, “I have made a promise to you, a long time ago. And well, I am a man of my word.” He searched his pocket and got up, before kneeling in front of her and holding out a simple silver band with a red gem on top.

Rebecca was speechless, which was quite the unusual feeling for her, as Steve took her hand. “Rebecca Dorothy Barnes, would you do me the honours of becoming Mrs Rebecca Dorothy Rogers?”

“Steve… you punk are impossible”, she smiled and nodded happily. “Yes, I would love for you to become Steven Grant Barnes.”

With a laugh he put the perfectly fitting ring on her finger and nuzzled into an embrace.

“If Bucky could see us now”, she laughed, “he’d be so jealous!” She grabbed his hand and squeezed it gently. “I always assumed he’d be the one Barnes you’d put a ring on.”

“Yeah…” Steve softly stroked her hand. “Wait.” He stilled suddenly, turning to her with wide eyes. “You… You knew?”

“Of course I do”, she chuckled, “I know my two idiots after all.” She looked up at him with an encouraging smile. “I don’t know when it happened that your friendship turned into more, and I also don’t know if you two ever were together, but know that I support you.”

“Thanks”, he sighed, clearly relieved.

“At least you're gonne be a Barnes, one way or another.”

“Well, first of all, I was under the impression I became an official Barnes the day Buck adopted me in... fourth grade I think it was. But more importantly, you are not some leftover, because I can't marry your brother. I could not wish for a more awesome, fierce and beautiful bride.”

“Aw, Stevie”, she cooed and, to keep from blushing too much, she cupped his face and put a soft kiss on his forehead.

“Besides, you'll look so much more lovely in a wedding dress than Buck ever could.”

The visits became a little unregularly, once Steve became an Avenger. And here Rebecca was, thinking her worrying about that boy had ended with the second world war, but no, he was back in uniform, fighting aliens and so many more unimaginable things.

“You are my fiancé”, she scolded him, “I do not appreciate you putting me through this torture again!”

“I know. It’s my job, though.”

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it.” Softly, she stroked the bruise on his face.

“At least we won.” Steve offered her a shy smile and damnit, that just got her every time. “Fine. You are forgiven.”

“Phew…”, he grinned. “And I promise to do my best to always come back, alright?”

“You made that promise once before”, she reminded him of the last time they had seen each other, back in the forties.

“And I kept it, didn't I?” With a skew grin he tried to mask the pain of his memories, but Rebecca knew him well enough to see right through it.

“This time 'round I might not have 70 years to wait for you anymore”, she just shrugged and went to inspect his bruised and battered arm. Sure, some of this country's best doctors had taken care of Steve, but she was damned if she didn't properly look after her fiancé.

“Never say nev... OUCH!”, he cried out, when she got a little too close to a particularly bad bruise.

“Wuss”, she just scoffed. It did look extremely painful though. Whatever those Alien-robots had been doing to the Avengers, it was effective. As aware as she had been all these years, in this moment she knew it more so than ever before: she couldn't live through mourning him a second time. “Promise me something else”, she asked of him.

“Anything.”

“Promise me not to die again. I don't care if you come back again or not, but do not make me mourn you, not one more damn time. You got that?”

“Yes”, he nodded and squeezed her hands. “I promise.”

“Hey Becca.” Steve put his head through her door and smiled at his fiancée.

“Steve”, she sighed and waved him over. “Come on in.”

He stayed in the door. “I have a surprise for you.”

“Are you finally marrying me?” Not that they were ever going to be married. It was however one of the greatest joys of her last few years and months, to have their fun with a promise they had long outlived.

“Better.” He opened the door wider and pulled someone in after him. All she could see at first was long, brown hair; when it was brushed away, her heart skipped a beat. “Wha…”

“Hey Becca”, her brother smiled and after a push from Steve, he walked over to her bed.

“James? Is that…” With all the strength she had left, she pushed herself up, Bucky holding out a hand, helping her sit up.

“Yeah”, he smiled and immediately the siblings were in a tight hug. “I missed you.”

“I missed you more”, she cried, holding tight onto him out of fear he’d disappear again if she let go.

Eventually, they did break apart; his face just as tearstained as hers; from the corner of her eye she saw Steve wiping the tears off his cheek.

“I love you, James.”

“I love you more.” He took her hands in his and softly kissed them; until his eye fell on the ring on her finger. “Hold up.” He straightened himself out and looked from Becca to Steve, back to his sister. “Steve told me about Ruthie, about Lizzie, but he never mentioned you being married… Please tell me you didn’t marry Arthur Thompson.”

Yup, there was her big brother, protective of Becca and the guys courting her. “I did not”, she clarified and smiled at Steve. “So, you didn’t tell him. Interesting.”

“Didn't tell me what?”

Steve turned a few shades redder and cautiously walked over, sitting himself besides the siblings. “Well...”

Buck held his hand up to shush Steve and turned back to Becca, who couldn't suppress the wide grin any more. “Seriously?”

“Back in the day he promised to marry me if I were still single by 35. I was still single by 88, so, being a man of his word, he proposed to me.”

After a short moment of silence, James just burst out laughing. Until now, Becca hadn't even realized how much she'd missed that sound and was happier than she ever thought she could be that she got to hear it again. “You guys are impossible... Did you get married?”

“Unfortunately, Captain America over there was too busy saving the world”, she commented with a roll of her eyes.

“Of course...”, he scoffed before turning towards Steve. “You better do right by my sister or I'll go all Winter Soldier on your pretty behind.”

“What's Winter Soldier?”

The way both Steve and James' faces dropped at her question, left her to be sure that it was nothing good.

“Nothing you need to worry about”, Steve smiled. “But Buck is right. I made a promise that I'd like to keep. What do you say, doll?”

“That I am not the one to make an honest man of you”, she answered with a warm smile. Steve and Bucky always were the dream team. And now that fate had given them a second chance, it was not on her to stand in their way.

“You met somebody else?” With wide eyes, James turned back to Steve. “Are you cheating on my little sister?”

“Of course not!”, he defended himself, “I would never!”

“I should hope so”, Buck grumbled and turned back to Becca. He took her hands back in his and softly brushed his thumb over her fingers. “I know that punk over there didn't ask me, but you two would have my blessing.”

“Aw, sweetheart!”, Becca smiled and pulled him into a hug. “And you two have mine”, she whispered into his ear. By the way he jumped, it was probably not what he had expected to hear from her.

“What?”, he choked out with wide, unblinking eyes.

“You heard me.”

“Heard what?” A little confused, Steve looked between the two of them.

“Nothing”, Bucky was quick to answer, blushing just enough for Becca to know that the past eighty years didn't change too much.

She smiled up at Bucky. “Just hurry, I'd like to see you get it sorted out and I don't think I have too much time left.”

“No, please don't say that! I just came back!” The insinuation about Buck and Steve's relationship was forgotten, as the tears filled his eyes once more.

“It's only fair. I had to mourn you, too.”

“Yeah, but you're stronger than me and Stevie put together...”

“Now that's some bull”, she laughed and took Steve's hand in her free one. “You two are gonna be fine. You got each other and that got you through the war, it'll get you through living in the 21st century.” Looking from one of her boys to the other, both with tears in their eyes, she got emotional as well. “Stop crying, you two. You know that when you cry, I'll start as well.”

“Sorry”, Steve chuckled and wiped his eyes.

“I'm not”, Buck made clear. “I love my pain-in-the-ass little sister.”

“I should hope so”, Becca laughed and, with the boys' help, she lay back in her bed. All that excitement was just a little too much, and maybe a nap would do her good.

She wasn't afraid to close her eyes, either; her two boys barely left her side and whenever she woke up they sat next to her. With Steve's celebrity status, nobody made too many problems for them ignoring all rules of visitation hours. They even stopped going on missions and as little as she would want to keep either from doing their jobs, Becca was eternally grateful not having to worry about them.

It took about two weeks for the boys to get their heads out of their asses and finally admit to the other how they felt and walked into her room hand in hand.

“Please tell me this means what I hope it means”, she sighed.

“Yeah, it does”, Buck grinned, his cheeks flushing a bit and looking over at Steve who had the biggest heart eyes.

“Finally”, Becca smiled. “Now I can die in peace.”

#rebecca barnes #steve rogers #captain america #bucky barnes #winter soldier #stucky

[unfolded73]

How Do We Get Back (15/16) - schitt’s creek ff

Summary: In a literal alternate universe where the Roses escaped financial ruin, David and Patrick struggle with loneliness and a sense that something isn’t right. A chance meeting in New York and a terrible tragedy drive them to question whether the timeline they are on is the right one. Explicit, this chapter 3.6k words.  (ao3)

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14

_____________________________________

Chapter 15

David opened his eyes and stared at the stained popcorn ceiling overhead. He sighed and closed his eyes, ready to fall back to sleep, but nagging responsibility kept him from drifting off. He had a lot to do, and not much time left to do it in. Groaning, he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

The bed next to his was empty. Giving it a quick glance, he gathered up some clothes and went into the bathroom to shower and get ready for the day.

While the water warmed up, he stared at himself in the mirror, touching the dark circles under his eyes and wincing. He hadn’t been sleeping enough lately: too many worries to get a good night’s sleep. Testing the water, David slipped off his pajamas and got under the inadequate spray.

After so long in this motel, he had his shower routine down to about seven minutes, which his old self would have died to think of. But the hot water was limited, and the weak water pressure wasn’t particularly pleasurable to stand under, and so he’d paired it down to the basics of washing, shampooing, and conditioning. At seven minutes exactly, he turned the water off and groped for his towel.

Face shaven, hair blow dried and styled, daytime moisturizer with sunscreen applied, and clothes on, he stepped out of the bathroom and went over to the door to the adjoining room. He tapped and listened for a ‘come in’ before he entered.

His mother was sitting at the round table in her pajamas, sipping a cup of tea and reading a book. His father was pulling on his suit jacket next to the wig wall.

“Hey, I just wanted to let you know, I should be ready to open the store in just a couple more weeks.”

“Oh, that’s great news! A grand opening!” Johnny said.

“It’s certainly taken long enough; we’ve been waiting with bated breath,” Moira said.

“Okay,” David said in acknowledgement of his mother’s negativity before turning to his father. “I was thinking about a soft launch, actually? Like, Gwyneth soft launched the Goop newsletter and now it’s a thriving lifestyle publication?”

“Who?” Johnny asked as he adjusted the collar of his shirt in the mirror.

“I don’t know, David, that sounds meek!” Moira proclaimed, setting her book down and looking at him. “You’re looking very tired, dear. The bags under your eyes would barely fit in the overhead compartment.”

David huffed, throwing his hands up. “Getting the store ready to open is a lot of work.” And more importantly, he’d been lying awake worrying about all the things he needed to do, and worse, all the things that he probably didn’t know that he needed to do.

“You should probably hire some help, son.” Johnny sat down with his wife at the table and picked up the newspaper.

“I intend to, eventually, but I don’t have the money to pay anyone at this point. Hiring someone means you have to pay them.”

His mother was looking at him pityingly, as if maybe she was wondering if they wouldn’t have all been better off if Christmas World hadn’t changed their mind about moving into the town. In his darker moments, David wondered that too.

“Anyway, I’m thinking I’ll do an exclusive opening for friends and family only. Maybe I’ll offer a discount.”

“On the first day? Sounds a bit defeatist.” His mother shook her head, picking up the book she had been reading and opening it. “Well, David, we’ll be happy to come and support your modest little vigil, if ever the day for it finally arrives.”

“Great. So glad I came in here,” he said, going back to his room and leaning against the closed door, taking a second to wallow in the shaky feeling of inadequacy that his parents were so good at mining, even if it wasn’t intentional. He took some deep breaths, trying to calm himself down.

The outside door to the motel room opened and Alexis came in, dressed in her running clothes.

“I’ve just about had it with Mom and Dad,” David said.

She pulled out her ear buds. “What?”

“I said I’ve just about had it with Mom and Dad.”

“Why?”

“Hey, can you help me at the store today? I have a list of things to do that’s like a mile long and I really don’t know if I can do it all by myself.”

Alexis put on a wincing expression. “I need to study, actually.”

“It’s Saturday morning; you can’t need to study that badly.”

“I have a history test on Monday, David,” she insisted, flipping her ponytail. “But fine, I can help you. I’m not carrying any heavy boxes, though.”

“Ugh, fine.” He watched Alexis as she went over and set her phone and ear buds down on the table between their beds, then pulled her ponytail holder out and shook out her hair. “Are you done in the bathroom? Because I need to shower,” she said, moving over to the closet to pick an outfit.

“Yeah, I’m…” Something was bothering him, like he’d forgotten to tell Alexis something. He felt a sudden, keen worry for her in the pit of his stomach, like when she used to send word to him from a sultan’s palace that she needed a new passport, a wig, and some colored contact lenses.

Alexis turned, a dress on a hanger in one hand. “You’re what?”

David shook himself. “I’m done in the bathroom.” Looking at her face, the sudden urge to cry took hold of him. “I think I might need a hug?”

“Ew, David. I’m sweaty right now,” Alexis said. “What’s wrong with you?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t know, I feel…” He couldn’t articulate it. “I think I might just be really lonely,” he said, which didn’t have anything to do with the anxiety about Alexis that had grabbed hold of his throat a minute ago, but it also wasn’t untrue.

Alexis laid her dress on the bed and came over to give him a very hesitant hug, but David overruled her, pulling her into a firmer embrace. “I’m glad you’re my sister,” he said, swallowing against a lump in his throat.

“David, you’re being very needy,” she said, slapping gently at his shoulder until he let her go. “But I’m also glad… that you’re my brother,” she said, pulling away and looking anywhere but at his face. “Okay, if you want my help today, then you have to let me go get ready.”

He watched her until she shut the bathroom door.

~*~

Gwen was late to Jazzagals rehearsal, and so when she arrived and ducked in behind Twyla and next to Ronnie, vocal warm-ups were just ending.

“Now,” Moira Rose said, clapping her hands. She had on a white-and-black vertically striped dress, similarly striped tights, and white shoes with heels so high, Gwen couldn’t imagine how anyone could walk in them without snapping an ankle. “Everyone please get out your sheet music for ‘It’s Raining Men’; I’d like to begin with the bridge today.”

Gwen tapped Twyla on the shoulder. “Do you have a minute to talk after rehearsal?” she whispered.

Twyla winced. “I have to get to my shift after this; can we talk on the way to the café?”

Moira shot them a disparaging glance for whispering during rehearsal, and so Gwen quickly found her place in the music and began to sing.

It had started with dreams, several weeks ago, that she was living out on the street in a strange city. She would wake up shivering, convinced that the cold and damp was sinking into her bones and freezing her from the inside out, only to awake to find herself safe in her warm bed with Bob. Dream after dream, the same — cold winters and rain and homeless shelters or the unforgiving sidewalk for a bed. Then she began to dream that she was chasing after David Rose, of all people — she didn’t think she’d ever exchanged two words with the man in all of the time that the Roses had lived in Schitt’s Creek, and yet he was plaguing her dreams. Either him, or another man that she didn’t recognize.

She’d been documenting the dreams on the message boards from the very start — all of them were encouraged to do that. Dreams could be powerful portents for what was to come, particularly for people who lived at weak points like Gwen did, and a lot of her fellow technopagans had much to say on the reason for these dreams, none of it useful. Until yesterday.

The rehearsal dragged by, Moira’s exacting standards and occasionally thoughtless comments bringing out a few passive aggressive mutterings from Jocelyn. Finally, it ended, and Gwen made the usual pleasantries with her fellow townswomen for a few minutes before hurrying to follow Twyla out the door.

“Sorry to bother you, Twyla, but I wanted to talk to you about your grandmother,” Gwen said.

“Oh yeah?” Twyla flashed her an easy smile. “What about her?”

“The stories around town were that she had powers.” Gwen glanced around to make sure no one was close enough to hear them. “That she understood what Schitt’s Creek is and how to exploit it.”

Twyla looked at her, surprised. “Yeah, there were always stories, but I’m not sure how true any of them are. She certainly believed she had powers to touch other dimensions. Which, I know, sounds crazy.”

“Not so crazy.” They were almost to the café, and Gwen knew she had a limited amount of time with which to speak before she risked being overheard. She put a hand on Twyla’s upper arm and stopped her. “We can’t feel it, but people with powers that greatly exceed my own have confirmed it — there was a huge shift in the timeline a couple of years ago. No one knows why, or how, but they believe that the universe was almost headed down a very dark path and that someone set it right.”

Twlya’s eyes were as big as saucers. “Really?”

Gwen nodded. “Or, almost right. It was a patch job, that was the way my coven— er, someone I know on the internet described it. So some things are still out of place. Some threads were dropped. People have been working to set them right, no matter how trivial they might seem. And now it seems I’ve found another dropped thread.”

“What is it?” Twyla asked in a hushed tone.

“Someone who is supposed to be here in Schitt’s Creek, but isn’t.”

“Who?”

“Don’t worry about that,” Gwen said, not wanting to get into more detail. “When you get off work, can you bring me everything you have that belonged to your grandmother? Letters, diaries, anything like that?”

Twyla nodded. “Of course. I have a box of her stuff, although I don’t remember what’s in it, exactly.”

“Perfect. Go, get to work before you’re late,” Gwen said, indicating the café. “And Twyla? Don’t tell anyone we talked about this.”

Twyla frowned, and then wiped the frown from her face and replaced it with a smile. “No problem, Gwen.”

~*~

“What’s this?” Alexis said, picking up a large white envelope from the counter.

David glanced up. “Oh, it’s got my business license in it. I guess I’m suppose to… display it?” He looked up at the wall behind where the cash register was going to go. “I don’t know, I don’t really have time to think about it.” He went into the back to get another heavy box of hand cream to have Alexis put the labels on for him so that he could focus on setting up the cases where the fresh vegetables were going to go when they were in season.

They worked all day, or David worked all day while Alexis intermittently worked and sampled products that weren’t really samples while David restrained himself from slapping them out of her hands. Stevie stopped by after her shift at the motel, and although her goal in coming by was to drink with him, David managed to press her into service as well, putting bottles of body milk onto the shelves. Alexis took that as her cue to leave, flouncing out the door and heading over to the café.

“Can you drink this?” Stevie asked, holding up one of the bottles.

“It’s liquid moisturizer,” David replied with an eye roll.

“It says milk, though.”

The bell on the door rang again, and David looked up to see Ray Butani coming in.

“David, I looked over your business plan,” he said without any preamble, “and I have some concerns.”

Stevie gave David a questioning look.

“Ray is helping me with some of the business stuff,” David explained.

“For a nominal fee,” Ray said quickly, like he didn’t want any rumors to get around town that he was doing work for anyone for free. “Anyway, David, while I think eventually you’ll have enough money coming in to sustain you, I don’t think you have enough start up money to get you through the first year.”

David’s heart sank. “But I’m not buying the products, I’m selling them on consignment—”

“No, I know that, David, that’s the reason that I’m not coming in here and saying your business is going to fail. Which I would do if you weren’t selling on consignment.” Ray smiled at him, and David recoiled at the Ray’s toothy grin. “But there are still start up costs that you have to deal with while you’re building the business.”

“So where do I get this start up money?” David asked.

“I don’t know!” Ray cooed cheerfully. “But that’s my assessment. I wrote it all up for you,” he said, handing David a folder. “I’ve got to run; I’ve got a date.” Ray turned to leave, and then stooped and picked something up from the floor. “You dropped this,” Ray said, handing David a small card.

“Must have fallen out of one of the boxes,” David said, slipping it in his pocket since he didn’t have a trash can handy.

“See you later!” Before David could say anything else, Ray had gone again.

“Well, fuck,” David said. “My business is going to fail.”

“He specifically said he wasn’t saying it was going to fail,” Stevie said.

“But he also said I needed more start up money, which is basically the same thing,” David set the folder down and shook his hands out, feeling his heart starting to race. “I don’t have more money.”

“Okay, you’re freaking out.” She set her bottle of body milk down and pulled something out of her pocket and held it up. “I found this under the bed in room two this morning, so do you want to take a break and share it with me?”

David winced, looking at the joint in Stevie’s hand. “That’s disgusting. And yes. Yes, I do.”

~*~

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” David murmured, tipping his chair back and letting his head recline to look at the ceiling. The store had a really nice ceiling, but no one was going to look at it, probably. What a waste.

“You do know what you’re doing,” Stevie said from the floor. “You’ve walked me through it a million times.”

“I know what I’m doing with the whole…” He gestured around at the store. “I don’t know what I’m doing with the money.”

Stevie propped herself up on an elbow and held out her hand, snapping her fingers until he handed her the mostly smoked joint. “Well, don’t ask me to help you with that. I don’t do math.”

“You’re useless.”

“And your stained glass back there looks like they have dicks on them,” Stevie said, pointing at the decorative hangings on the back wall.

“That’s why I like them.”

Stevie inhaled a long drag and handed the joint back, lying flat on the floor again. “You need a partner.”

“I should start with a first date, maybe,” David said.

Laughing, Stevie rolled over onto her stomach. “Not that kind of partner, you complete idiot. A business partner.”

“Oh, a business partner. Okay, well where am I going to find that here?” David slid down off of his chair onto the floor next to Stevie. The ceiling really was beautiful. Not like the ceiling at the motel that he’d been staring at for years, water-stained and horribly textured. Maybe he could just sleep here. He could live in the store, amongst his perfectly ordered bottles of facial cleanser and lotions and baggies of tea until they hauled him away for not paying his taxes or not making the lease payments on the store. One of the hundred financial things that he was guaranteed to screw up because his parents hadn’t prepared him for any of this.

Stevie reached over and threaded their fingers together. David was touch-starved, and it felt good to hold his friend’s hand. “I wish I knew. I really want you to succeed at this.”

He snorted. “You get so sincere when you’re high.”

“Take that back.”

They lay there in silence for a while, and then Stevie let go of his hand and reached for his pocket.

“What are you doing?” David asked.

“There’s something falling out of your pocket.” Her hand withdrew, and she was holding a card up to her face. “Who’s Patrick Brewer?”

David was watching the way the sunlight played over the bottles of toner. It was one of the most beautiful things he’d ever seen. Belatedly, he registered that Stevie had asked him a question. “Who’s what?”

She was clumsily waving the business card in his face now, risking a paper cut on the bridge of his nose, so he snatched the card. “This business card from your pocket. Patrick Brewer. Who’s that?”

“I don’t know, Ray picked this up off the floor earlier. It’s not mine; it must have fallen out of one of the boxes.” He squinted at the business card.

Patrick Brewer, B.B.A. Freelance Business Consultant

“Huh.”

Stevie grabbed the card back. “It’s a card for a business guy.”

“That’s kind of spooky, given what we were just talking about,” David said.

“You should call him!” Stevie said.

“What, and ask him to come work for my failing business?”

She rolled her eyes and struggled up into a sitting position. “No, but it says business consultant. Maybe he’d give you better advice than Ray.”

David didn’t say anything to that, and after a few seconds Stevie shoved on his shoulder and put the business card on his chest. “Call him.”

Closing his eyes, David sighed. “Maybe later.”

“No, I know you — you say ‘later’ but you won’t do it. Call him right now.” Stevie tapped on the card and on his sternum underneath it. “I’m not leaving until you call him.”

With a groan, David sat up, grabbing for the card as it fluttered into his lap and pulling his phone out of his pocket with the other hand. “Fine.” It took longer than it probably should have for him to remember how to dial a number on his phone, and then longer still to squint at the small numbers and type them in correctly, but he finally managed it. He listened to distant ringing, followed by a nice voice saying he’d reached Patrick Brewer and to leave a message. It was a short, no-nonsense message. No frills. Unremarkable. Still, the brief sound of that voice made his heart race.

“Hi David, it’s Patrick,” he said at the beep, and then immediately winced while Stevie laughed silently at him. “I found your card… your business card… in my store, and I was wondering if you… umm… no. I think I called you David, and that’s not your name. I’m David… David Rose, and I own a store that… well, we sell local products and crafts, and I was wondering if you’d be interested in consulting with me. For me. Okay. Ciao.” He pressed the button to end the call. “Ciao. I said ‘Ciao’ to that person.”

“Masterful,” Stevie said, standing up.

“You’re the one who made me call when I was high.” He was staring at his phone again. “I forgot to tell him where the store is. And I didn’t explain it well enough.”

Stevie grabbed her messenger bag and threw it over her shoulder. “Well, better call back and leave another message,” she said as she headed toward the door. “I’m gonna go home and crash. See you tomorrow?”

David waved absently at her, pressing the button to call Patrick Brewer and leave another message.

~*~

“Well?” Twyla said as she put Stevie’s ticket for her takeout on the order wheel.

“It worked. I had to slave over containers of hand cream for a couple of hours and smoke half a joint, but I finally managed to get him to do it,” Stevie said, her head starting to ache as she sobered up. “Now are you going to explain why it was so important that David call that guy? And why I had to be so sneaky about it?”

Twyla gave her a cheerful shrug as she wiped down the counter. “I’m not sure I understand it either, and I’m pretty sure Gwen wouldn’t tell me if I asked. It’s just… important for David. And for Schitt’s Creek. That’s all I know.”

Stevie shook her head. “And they call me the creepy one in this town.”

Chapter 16

#schitt's creek ff #schitt's creek fic #david x patrick fic #david x patrick ff #hdwgb fic #my fic

[saras-almanac]

vic & robert, 10 may 2019 episode coda

So this is not so much an actual fic as it is just little moments. When I have more time I’d love to write this in a more fully fleshed out thing. And sorry anon who asked for this. I totally forgot about it this weekend and have just been crazy busy with other things. I hope this is okay for you for now. (And if you want something more, just let me know and I’ll find some time in the next couple weeks!)

Written for this ask. There’s not graphic descriptions, but vic’s storyline is mentioned. 

Robert felt helpless, standing there watching as his little sister—his baby sister—sobbed in Moira’s arms. He wanted to kill whoever laid a hand on her. He wanted to hold her. He wanted to cry. He just… wanted to go back in time and fix this, protect her the way that he should have done.

Aaron’s hand landed on his lower back, his fingers gripping Robert’s jacket slightly. He turned to look at Aaron and could see the grief that haunted his husband. Of course this would bring up issues for him too.

Robert should reach out to him. He should do something—anything—for the people he loves but he can’t do anything but stand there, rooted to the spot.

Diane mentions something about tea or water or coffee, and Robert jumped at the chance to help. He just needed to keep his hands busy, stop himself from thinking about what his sister went through.

Robert stood in the kitchen, doing some washing up for Vic, trying to not listen to whatever she was saying to Moira and Diane. Aaron had left hours ago, the atmosphere too intense that he needed some time. Vic had tried to convince Robert to leave as well, but that was a lost battle from early on.

The only thing Robert could do right now is be here for her, wash some dishes, and just wait for her to tell him what she needed.

Did he feel this helpless when it had been Aaron? It feels like a lifetime ago, like it happened to someone else now. But this isn’t about him. This isn’t about what he’s thinking or feeling. It’s about Victoria and giving her the support and protection that he can.

“Rob,” Vic said as she walked into the kitchen, clutching a mug between her hands. “You don’t have to do that.”

Robert just took the mug from her hands, washing it gently. “It’s no trouble.” One less thing you have to worry about or deal with.

Vic nodded and stood in the doorway, biting at her lip and twisting her hands anxiously. Robert turned off the water and dried his hands but made no move to get to close to her.

“I know I can’t understand, not really,” Robert told her. “But I’m here for ya, whatever ya need.”

Vic nodded and reached out to him, pulling herself close and Robert just held on. Vic was one of the strongest people he knew and she would get through this, but it killed him that she was suffering at all.

Diane had gone home after both Vic and Robert told her that sleeping on a sofa wouldn’t be good for her. She had promised that she’d pop round in the morning, make some breakfast and something. Victoria had looked at him and he had made it clear that he wanted to stay, to be there for her during the night if she wanted him to be.

Vic had nodded and then told Moira to go back home for some sleep. She’d said that she’s be fine and she had Robert here. She had eventually gone off to bed, saying that she was exhausted, which Robert didn’t blame her for. But she didn’t stay asleep or in her room long that night at all.

She went to her room the first time. Then came down to get some water, double check the locks, and then headed back upstairs. Robert was on the sofa and pretended not to hear the locks sliding back and forth, just said he hoped she’d be able to get some more sleep.

The next time she came down it was to use the bathroom. Neither of them commented on the fact that she had a bathroom upstairs she might have used.

The third time it wasn’t an excuse more that it was just a wander through the house, double checking rooms and doors and corners on where someone might be hiding. Robert had walked with her through the house, opening doors and cupboard and cabinets for anything that might be there.

After that, Robert saw that Vic hadn’t been sleeping in her room at all. And he could only imagine how many times she wandered the upper floor alone. He went to grab a blanket off one of the beds and draped it over himself as he sat on the floor outside the door to her room.

Vic came out what felt like minutes later, shaking and crying and stressed because she just couldn’t sleep.

“Then let’s go watch a film or something, yeah?” Robert wrapped the blanket around her and walked with her down the living room.

She squished herself into the corner of the sofa, the blanket still clutched tightly around her.

“How about some hot chocolate?” Robert suggested. “I’m told I’m the best at it.”

“That’s cause Liv’s got your sweet tooth,” Vic said, sniffing a little. “I don’t think I have anything to even make it.”

“I’ll see we’ve got,” Robert said.

“Will ya check the door on your way?” Vic called out.

“Sure.” Robert loudly flicked the lock backwards and forwards and finally back to lock. He even moved some items in front of the door to make sure they’d hear it if it opened at all.

She only had enough stuff for one cup, so Robert made one up for her and made himself a cup of tea. He passed her the hot chocolate and went to double check the locks on the other door as well, moving thing in front of it as well.

“We’ll get the locks changed tomorrow if ya like,” Robert said as he sat down on the other side of the sofa.

“It’s stupid, I know,” Vic said.

“It’s not,” Robert assured her.

“I just can’t stand being  here,” Vic said. “I keep seeing him out of the corner of my eye.”

“He’s not here, Vic, I promise ya,” Robert said.

“I know, but I can’t stop checking,” Vic said.

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Robert said. “Whatever you need to do to feel safe.”

She drank her hot chocolate, neither of them paying attention to the film anymore.

“I don’t want you in there, but will ya come with me tomorrow?” Vic asked.

“Where? To the police station?”

Vic nodded. “I can’t have you or anyone be in there while they ask me questions but I just…”

“Of course I’m gonna be there for ya,” Robert promised. “Whatever you need, I swear.”

Vic nodded.

Robert watched her as she slowly fell asleep on the sofa. It was nearly five in the morning when she finally fell asleep, but at least she’d get some rest. Tomorrow he might suggest she come to stay at the Mill with him so she didn’t have to have another sleepless night here.

#i just have a lot of sugden sibling feelings always #robert and vic #robert sugden #victoria sugden #emmerdale fic #the sugden siblings #my writing

[biotic-raptorian-angel]

Angst, #11, and if i can ask for it, Trans!Fareeha!

ANGST11: “Nobody’sseen you in days.”

Caramel eyes stared back at him as helooked in the mirror, running fingertips along his jawline andtilting his head from side to side. Dysphoria was a bitch when it hitnearly every morning, but he was taking steps to minimize it finallywith the help of Angela.

Grabbing up the olive green binder, hepulled it over his head and tugged it into place. The squeeze it hadon his chest was comforting in a way, flattening it and hiding someof the things that plagued his mind behind fabric with enough tech init to power his Raptora suit. Taking a deep breath, he hit the smalluplink button on his prosthetic and a pattern glowed across his chestwithin the fabric of the binder. It squeezed then loosened thenadjusted itself properly to his size. Six more deep breaths confirmedthe setting and that it was tight enough to do its job withoutcausing him any harm in the process.

Lifting his chin up, his gaze fell onhis uniform that had been hanging on the back of his door for whatseemed like an eternity. But four days had passed. Four days he hadto come up with excuses for why he needed to keep visiting Angela inher med bay and her personal lab. Four days that he spent hiding awayuntil the binder was finished. Today was the testing day. Today hegot to feel more like who he was on the inside, now on the outside.

Sliding his legs and arms into theuniform, everything fit like normal. Everything except his shirt andbutton up half. They seemed far too loose for regulation and at firsthe was confused until he stepped back in front of the mirror. Theimage he saw brought him to tears instantly.

Running his hands over his now flatchest, tears streamed down along his cheeks.

Finally he looked more like himselfthan he had in the past thirty two years of his life. He quicklywiped away the tears and tucked his shirts into his pants, pleatingcertain areas to look less messy. One final satisfied look in themirror gave him the courage to step out from his personal quarters.

A shaky hand now reached for themechanism, squeezing it into a fist and taking a deep breath, he slidthe door open. Looking up and down the hallway, it was empty andsilent. Void of anything except the occasional announcement over thespeaker systems, his heart was the loudest thing now, beating heavyand rapid in his chest so badly it felt as though it'd burst.

Rushing now down the white tiled hall,his boots produced a staccato that kept him lost in thought as hetook turn after turn to end up in the med bay area. Turning down thehallway that split Moira's and Angela's personal labs, he looked leftand saw the Irishwoman through glass windows and glanced right to seeAngela within her lab tinkering with something herself.

Angela's bright blue eyes caughtsomeone standing in the hallway out of the corner of her vision andas she turned, a soft smile crossed her plush lips.

Finally.

She set down herclipboard and pen to motion for Fareeha to follow her down the hallto the doors. Sliding the one from her own lab open, she wrapped herarms around his waist and pulled him into a soft hug.

“It's nice tofinally see you out of your quarters Reeha.”

Taking a step backto examine her handy work, she smiled larger.

“I see the binderadjusted properly and has worked wonders. I think you need a newwardrobe though, you don't fill this out as much as you did before.”

Her delicate handsgathered up the extra material of the shirt and a soft giggle escapedher.

He blushed slightlyat her hug but wrapped his own strong arms around her, the comment onhis uniform caused a bit of anxiety to spark up.

“yeah, I wasn'texpecting THIS much of a difference, but yeah I guess it's time toadjust to how things will be now. I wonder how much of my clotheswill end up in the same boat. How has Moira been? I know I haven'tbeen around these past few days and we never told her anything. Howdo you think she'll take it.”

Angela glanced overat Moira who was buried deep into her own experiments which meant shewouldn't stop until hunger or sharp distraction struck.

“Considering whoshe is, I'm surprised you're worried about how she will react at all.She will always see you as her love. You are the strong, loyal andbig hearted soldier we both love without end. I know she is brash andblunt wit her comments, but you know she will always love you nomatter what.”

“I know. I justalso know how much she struggled being the kind of woman she is aswell. The things she has told me of how harsh people can be. I don'tknow if I'm strong enough for that.”

“Come on Reeha.You've survived explosions that tore apart your body. A motorcycleaccident that literally killed you. You've got no worries withsomething like this. Stand strong like you always do and know thatyou've got both of us to lean on as well.”

Angela rubbed herhand along his back to try and calm him, she could see in his eyesthe struggle his mind was having with itself.

A deep sigh gavehim the courage to step forward and leave Angela in the hallway andenter the older woman's lab. Clearing his throat, his prosthetic handrose to rest on Moira's shoulder with a soft squeeze.

Moira was so caughtup in typing in some data that she never heard the lab doors open,but the hand on her shoulder instantly drew away her attention. Shewas expecting Angela to be bothering her again about having lunch anda break, but her mismatched eyes were met with that of Fareeha.Something seemed a bit different but she couldn't put her finger onit. Standing up fully now, her eyes traced over that of Fa and theysettled on the uniform that was very ill fitting now.

“Are...are youalright daor? You seem thin and your face says you're worried aboutsomething. Nobody's seen you for days, I got worried but hoped it wasjust you needing time away because of a trigger. How are you?”

Fareeha looked upat her and listened to the genuine concern in her words, taking herhand and pulling her to the private office, he sat her down on thecouch.

“I know I've beengone for a few days without any contact, but it was something Ineeded to do. Something for myself. I know we've talked about yourandrogyny before and I showed far more interest in your stories andexperiences than most. It wasn't just me trying to be an ear orsupport for you. It was because I've known something about myself foryears now and only until recently have I decided to live out thatpart of my life.”

Moira sat on thecouch and listened with concern and attention to every word out ofFareeha's mouth. But where those words were leading to had her heartbeating faster than usual.

“Fareeha it's ok.You can tell me anything, you know that. Angela and I will be righthere. Please.”

Blurting out thewords without a second thought, he winced once they left his lips.“I'm trans.”

His caramel eyesshut, as if waiting for some adverse reaction. But he was met with asoft sigh and long arms wrapping around him.

“I knew thisalready. You've always shown far more masculine interests than anyfemale soldier I've known. You have shown signs of this since I firstmet you. But this was something you had to come to a conclusion aboutyourself alone. I'm glad you finally see it and have the strength totake those first steps. Which by the way, I see you already have abinder. Angela helped you didn't she?”

Tucking fingersaround the collar of his shirts, she tugged it down slightly and lether nails drag along its surface.

“Yup. My gelsuitbody armor redesign with her Valkyrie vitals sensors built in.Brilliant Angela. Simply brilliant. Well, that's not the intended useof this design but I think you are far more worthy of it than somefoot soldier who would wreck it the first chance he got. I'm glad youfinally came to me Fa.”

His dark eyesclosed and he buried his face into her chest and began to cry.

Finally he had lethimself be himself.

#pharah #trans pharah 2k19 #ask prompts #thank you for giving him a chance to be written #little-olliepop

[blueboxesandtrafficcones]

Defining Forever

Based on the 300 words prompt list - went a little over 300 though, haha.

Rose and TenToo hit a bump when it comes to labels.

@doctorroseprompts​ for the 300 Words or Less prompt list; @timepetalscollective​

AO3

After an hour of tossing and turning Rose gave up on sleep, instead sprawling on her back as she stared up at the ceiling.

In hindsight, the pub night had probably been a poor idea; they weren’t ready.  The Doctor had only been part-human for several weeks, each day filled with awkward silences and longing looks.  They hadn’t talked properly yet; the words I love you were floated freely, and there was plenty of delightful, heated snogging, but there had not been a conversation about their future, about what they were to each other.

When Jackie had suggested going out with some of Rose’s friends, having a pint and spending time away from the house, she hadn’t been able to come up with a valid reason to not. Her mates were naturally insanely curious about this mysterious man suddenly turning up in Rose’s life, but if she had to pinpoint one exact moment everything fell apart, it would be when Moira asked So, is he like your boyfriend? and Rose hesitated a beat too long.

The Doctor, a reassuring presence at her back, had stiffened in hurt and confusion.  It only took seconds for her to mumble out something along the lines of yeah, of course, but the damage had been done.

The night only went downhill from there – as soon as he’d excused himself to the bar her friends swarmed, pelting her with questions she didn’t have the answers to for herself, let alone them.  Her sour mood did nothing to reassure him, and they spent a long hour suffering in silence, side by side, before he whispered in her ear that he was going back to the mansion.

Grabbing her purse and not bothering to say goodbye to her friends she hurried after him, only to find him standing lost on the sidewalk.

“I don’t know the address,” he’d admitted softly, so she’d hailed the next cab, never letting go of his hand.  Once home they’d walked up the stairs together, but instead of following her into what had quickly become their bedroom he continued on without a word, entering the guest room they’d futilely set up for him.

Rose had entered alone and promptly fallen to the bed crying her eyes out, before changing into his t-shirt and curling up with his pillow, still sniffling.

Now, restless and all cried out, she sat up to stare around the room.  She’d lived in this space for almost five years, and yet it was only the last three weeks it had actually felt like home, and that had far more to do with the man sharing her space than the personalized touches Jackie had put up.

Deep down, Rose knew that her unwillingness to have that conversation, to put a label on their relationship and expectations on their future was not because she doubted them, but because she wanted it too badly.  They’d been on top of the world, literally and metaphorically, stupid-happy and in love when it crashed around their ears the last time.

She was terrified it would again.  But, lying alone in their bed, she realized she could never forgive herself if it fell apart because they gave up.  Because they didn’t fight hard enough.  They were six inches from the finish line.

Well, fuck that.  Rose clambered out of bed, not bothering to grab her dressing down as she hurried to the door, flinging it open wide -

To reveal the Doctor standing before her, one hand poised as if to knock.

“Hi.”  He blinked, gaze darting between his raised hand and her face, brow furrowing in confusion.

“I love you.”  Rose stepped closer, wrapping her arms around his waist and burying her face in his chest.  “So much.”  She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to hold back tears she hadn’t known she was capable of at this point.

“I love you too,” the Doctor murmured, arms slowly coming around her, holding her gingerly to him. “I don’t want to screw this up.”

“Me neither.”

They stood in the doorway holding each other until he finally asked, “Were you headed somewhere?”

Rose stepped back, giving him a considering look before shaking her head.  “Hang on.”  Darting back inside, she grabbed her dressing gown and tugged it on as she brushed past him. “Cuppa?”  She led him to the kitchen, and in a once-practiced move they flowed around each other, prepping mugs and biscuits.  The routine was calming, and when they were ready she led him to the den.

She gestured for him to sit, before immediately snuggling into his side with a happy sigh.  “I was coming to find you,” she finally answered his question.  “I couldn’t sleep without you.”

“Neither could I,” he admitted, holding her tightly against him.  “I just…”

“Can I explain?” Rose asked when he didn’t continue.  “Why I hesitated?”

“Sure.”  Nestled as she was against him she couldn’t see his expression, but didn’t need to to know it was defeated.

“You are… so much more to me than a boyfriend.  ‘Boyfriend’, in my mind, is more like my relationships with Jimmy and Mickey.  Juvenile, and fleeting.  We are so far above that, because of what we’ve been through alone, that to have us boiled down to such a… a trite relationship status was jarring.  Plus, we haven’t discussed that – labels.  And I’d hate to overstep, but I’m also sorry if my hesitation made you doubt us.  Cause I don’t have any.  Doubts, I mean, about you and me.”

“I do,” the Doctor answered honestly.  “This isn’t what you wanted – it’s not what you spent all those years working for. Staying here, living a normal life. Me, a human, with rubbish human physicalities.”

“Yeah, but don’t you see?” Rose pulled away to come up on her knees and face him, eye to eye.  Tucking her hair behind her ears, she grinned brightly.  “I quite literally get the best of both worlds.  Would I have given Mum and Pete and Tony up for you?  Yes, in a heartbeat, obviously.  But the fact that I don’t, that I get all of you… I am in absolute awe that this is my life.  And it doesn’t matter what that looks like, as long as the four of you are front and center.”

“Do you really believe that?” he asked shyly, earnest eyes searching hers.

“Yes.”

The Doctor nodded, looking away for a long moment before turning back to her.  “How long are you going to stay with me?”

This time, there was no hesitation, no doubt in her answer.

“Forever.”

#bbatcfic #doctorroseprompts #timepetalscollective #ficandchips #doctor who #tentooxrose #TenToo #rose tyler #defining forever #prompted #anonymous #300 word prompts

[piratekane]

missing scene: june 1 (vanessa/charity)

Picking up where Vanessa and Charity left off, with Vanessa heading into work (and Charity definitely babysitting Johnny)...

“Nothing else matters,” she says, looking across the table. The words feel sticky in her mouth, the lie lukewarm against the back of her teeth. Everything has tasted like tar since DI Simmons told her the truth. Her son - Ryan - is alive. She takes another sip of her brew and swallows, wincing. The tea has cooled and gone bitter.

Vanessa pauses, half in and half out of her jacket. “Are you sure you don’t mind-”

“‘Ness,” she says wearily. She rubs at her forehead. “I said I don’t mind, yeah? Anyway, Johnny’s down now and I was just going to catch up on some light reading.”

Vanessa snorts. She picks up the book Charity brought over with her, tucked under her arm as she nervously slipped through the door, hoping no one would be watching. She’d told Debs and Noah she was going to work and they’d take the mickey if they knew she was sneaking into Tug Ghyll instead.

Skiving work for a fumble, Debs would say, rolling her eyes.

“I wouldn’t call Pride & Prejudice ‘light reading’,” Vanessa says.

Charity blinks, frowning slightly. “Think it’s above my levels?”

“Above mine, more like,” Vanessa says. She frowns and reads the back cover. “Never liked Jane Austen much.”

Charity softens. She knows she’s looking for a fight; looking for something to spark through her and make her feel like herself again. But she also knows that Vanessa isn’t the person to pick on. Maybe if Vanessa meant less; maybe if they were just a ‘bit of fun’ instead of ‘girlfriends’; maybe if there wasn’t an undercurrent of something like love rippling through Charity every time Vanessa smiled at her.

But she doesn’t and they aren’t and there is.

So Charity takes a deep breath instead and stands up, crossing the space between them and sliding her hands under Vanessa’s jacket. “I don’t mind,” she says carefully, meeting Vanessa’s eyes so she understands. She glances away as she speaks again. “Don’t know why you trust me with ‘im, though. I’m not-”

“Stop it,” Vanessa says sharply.

Charity’s heart skips hard in her chest. There’s something about an assertive Vanessa that makes Charity’s knees weaken enough so they’re at the same height.

“You’re a good mum,” Vanessa says. Charity looks away and Vanessa clicks her tongue, her hand at Charity’s chin. “You are,” she says, softer. “And I trust ya. More importantly, Johnny does. It’s not often he doesn’t want me to read him a story before naptime, but you’ve outranked me, yeah? He thinks you’ve hung the moon just for him.”

Charity scoffs. “I’m new. Just because he wanted me to put him down this time doesn’t mean he likes me. He’ll get bored of me.”

Vanessa shakes her head. “You are anything but boring, Charity Dingle.”

Charity leans in, resting her forehead against Vanessa’s. “Are you sure you have to go in?”

She’d much rather stay here, with Vanessa, trapped inside Tug Ghyll where reality has to come to them, and they can decide if they open or the door or not. With Vanessa around, the weight on her shoulders gets a little easier to carry. And when she’s gone, the rooms are just a little dimmer.

That’s love, a voice in her head says.

She tampers the voice down for now.

“I have to now, I’m sorry,” Vanessa says, her shoulders sagging.

Charity sighs and pushes out her bottom lip. “Well, you better get on so you can get back, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Vanessa echoes, leaning in for a kiss. Charity’s grip tightens on Vanessa’s hips, holding her close for a moment before she lets her go. “I’ll be back before you know it,” she promises.

“I won’t wither away,” Charity grumbles.

“Like your Elizabeth Bennet?”

Charity frowns. “Have you even read Pride & Prejudice?”

Vanessa shrugs a shoulder. “I saw the movie. Colin Firth is fit.”

Charity wrinkles her nose. “And you didn’t know you liked men, yeah?”

Vanessa makes a face her, rolling her eyes. “Oi, he’s a fox.”

Charity lifts an eyebrow slowly. “Sure he is, babe.”

Vanessa pinches her side gently. “You’re lucky I like you.”

“As blessed as the Queen, I am.” Charity kisses Vanessa one more time, and pulls away reluctantly.

The house is quiet as the door shuts behind Vanessa. She stands in the middle of the living room, soaking it in. At the Woolpack, there’s never a moment of peace. There’s punters in the pub and a hundred people in the living room. They leave her well enough alone; been giving her extra space, since the news about Bails broke. But it’s not like this: absolute stillness, absolute quiet.

Quiet is different than silence, Moira had said. Charity never had the words to put to that feeling before. Living in that apartment Bails paid for, the hospital room after she delivered her baby - Ryan - and he didn’t cry - that was silence. But Tug Ghyll is quiet. Charity likes it here; she did even when she lived with Cain and Debbie, too. But something about it being Vanessa’s now, about her being in Vanessa’s space, makes the quiet easier to manage; easier to sink into and wrap around herself and still feel safe.

Safe, she thinks. What all these children deserve to be.

She’s on the stairs before she knows she’s moving, down the small hallway to the door of Johnny’s room. She hesitates there, leaning against the doorframe.

Johnny is exactly where she left him, snuggled up under the Paw Patrol duvet Vanessa got him a few weeks ago, when he moved from a cot to a bed with rails. He sleeps like Vanessa sleeps, curled up one side with enough fluff under his head that she almost doesn’t see his face. He’s got an overstuffed pillow and his Johnny stuffed toy and he looks so content that Charity wishes he would never get older than this moment right here.

She used to think her son - Ryan - would never get older than the moment he was born.

She watches the rise and fall of his chest and wonders what it might have been like to do this in a different room, in a different town, with a different boy. He had a small tuft of hair, just like Johnny’s mohawk. He had been so little, too; so small that she was sure he would break if she had touched him.

She would gotten him a big duvet like Johnny’s, and all the stuffed toys he wanted. She would have scraped together the money and given up wine gums and she would have boughten him pillows so he felt like he was sleeping on clouds.

She watches Johnny breathe: up and down and up and down and she wonders what it would have been like to watch her son - Ryan - breathe, sleep, dream.

She would have been a good mum.

She would have tried.

*

Vanessa slips through the front door, an apology on her lips. She frowns as she takes in the empty living room, Charity’s mug still on the kitchen table. A ripple of fear runs through her, but Charity isn’t Adam; there’s no reason she would take Johnny and run. He must have fussed, Vanessa thinks. Or he’s awake and Charity is scooping him up. It’s been about an hour since she left for work after her lunch and his naps are getting shorter these days.

She’ll just grab the file she left on the table and be off.

But when she waits a minute, to maybe sneak in one quick kiss before she hurries back to the surgery, she doesn’t hear Charity moving around upstairs. She doesn’t hear Johnny babbling or the sound of footsteps coming. She frowns and moves to the stairs, peering up to the empty landing.

She climbs them slowly, listening closely for something - anything.

Vanessa gets to the top of the stairs and pauses again, eyes narrowing as she takes in the figure at the end of the hall, just inside Johnny’s room. Charity comes into focus as she gets closer and Vanessa’s frown deepens.

“Charity, what’re you-” She stops herself, clapping a hand down over her mouth.

Charity is asleep, sitting on the floor in Johnny’s room with her back against the frame. Her mascara is dried on her cheeks and she’s clutching the Marshall stuffed toy that Johnny demanded but never prefers.

She came up here, Vanessa thinks. She came up here to… She...

Vanessa sobs once, the noise echoing in the quiet room. She backs up out of door and into the hallway, her body heaving as she cries. She covers her mouth with her hand, biting down on her fingers to stifle the cry building in her chest and bubbling up through her mouth. Her cheeks are wet and hot as she slides down to her knees, one hand on the wall.

She came up here to watch him sleep, Vanessa thinks. She fell asleep watching over him.

Her lungs ache and her chest burns and her stomach is in knots, but she can’t stop looking at Charity’s profile; at the dip of her head and her chin against her chest; at the grip she has on Marshall. She can’t stop looking at the woman she loves watching over the only thing she’s done right in this world and she cries.

She cries for the years Charity lost to Bails. She cries for the years Charity lost with Ryan, and with Debs, and Noah, and Moses. She cries for the people who took and took and took from Charity, giving her nothing back in return. She cries for all the times Charity didn’t; all the times she couldn’t.

Vanessa hears Charity hum sleepily and she hurries to her feet, wiping at her face as she creeps down the stairs and back into the living room. She collapses onto the couch, her body folding in half as she tries to catch her breath. It comes back to her slowly and she sits up, swallowing down a fresh wave of tears.

Be strong, she scolds herself. Be strong for her.

Not that Charity needs strength; she has it in spades.

Vanessa takes a deep breath, wiping her hand across her face once more for any remaining tears, and grabs the door handle. She opens and closes the door, slamming it loud.

“Hiya!” she shouts.

She hears something thump upstairs and the sound of heavy footfalls on the stairs. She buises herself with shuffling through the file she’s come back for as Charity hurries into the living room.

“Is it tea time already?” Charity asks, her voice hoarse. She clears her throat quietly.

Vanessa turns, a bright smile on her face. “Not quite. I forgot something,” she says. She holds up the file. “Got it.”

Charity looks past her, distracted. “Okay,” she says absently. She runs a hand through her hair and shakes her head, clearing the sleep in her eyes. “Uh, Johnny’s fine.”

“I didn’t worry he wouldn’t be,” Vanessa says.

“Right,” Charity says.

Vanessa aches to go over to her, to wipe the mascara off her cheeks and hold her. Instead, she gives her a wider smile. “Alright?”

“Yeah, babe,” Charity breathes. She smiles back and Vanessa almost believes it to be real. She takes a deep breath and tries again, her smile a little more believable. “Come ‘ere.”

Vanessa meets Charity halfway, kissing her hard. Charity moans softly, tensing for a moment before kissing her back.

“What was that for?” Charity asks, her smile pressed against Vanessa’s.

For everything, Vanessa thinks.

“No reason. Missed you,” Vanessa says.

Charity husks a laugh that Vanessa feels warm the pit of her stomach, pushing away the knots. “You’ve been gone an hour, babe.”

“I can miss you,” Vanessa says defensively.

Charity leans forward, her head resting against Vanessa’s shoulder. Her hands slide to the small of Vanessa’s back, her fingers kneading into the tension there. “‘Course you can. Just… people don’t usually.”

“I’m not most people,” Vanessa whispers.

“No, you’re not,” Charity mouths against her neck.

Vanessa strokes her hands through Charity’s hair, letting her eyes close as she breathes in Charity’s shampoo. She winds the long strands of Charity’s hair around her fingers and tugs gently, humming Charity’s name.

“We might take that walk,” Charity murmurs back.

Vanessa smiles against Charity’s temple. “Johnny loves the ducks.”

“Wonder where he gets that from.” Charity lifts her head. “A little you, isn’t he?”

Vanessa smiles proudly. “Poor him,” she teases.

Charity thumbs Vanessa’s hip, one corner of her mouth turned up as she looks down where her hand rests over Vanessa’s trousers. “I reckon he’s lucky, yeah? You’re alright, you know.”

“Just alright?” Vanessa asks, fighting a smile.

Charity shrugs a shoulder. “I won’t be taking out an advert, mind you.”

Vanessa laughs. “What would it say? Vanessa Woodfield. She’s alright.”

Charity smiles properly now, wide and bright. “Get you a proper nametag and everything.”

Vanessa rolls her eyes. “What a romantic.”

“That’s something I’ve never been accused of before.” Charity leans in, nipping at Vanessa’s lower lip. “And I’ve been accused of quite a bit in my day.”

“Like amazing,” Vanessa breathes.

“That was a first,” Charity admits.

“Won’t be the last,” Vanessa promises.

Charity looks down at her hand again, curling it over the waistband of Vanessa’s pants. “What are you like?”

Vanessa shrugs a shoulder and kisses Charity again before she unwinds from Charity’s hold, smiling regretfully. “I’ve got to get back before Paddy thinks I’m skiving off to have a snog.”

Charity arches an eyebrow slowly, reaching out to wind a hand through Vanessa’s hair. “Well, if he already thinks it…”

Vanessa dances away from Charity’s hand, holding the file between them like a shield. “Don’t you dare.”

Charity follows after her, eyes dark and her smile wicked. “Just a quick one, yeah?”

“Charity,” Vanessa warns. She backs up towards the door, feeling behind her for the knob. She laughs loudly as Charity pins her to the wall, kissing her neck, nipping at the spot she knows drives Vanessa crazy. “Charity,” Vanessa says, the name stretching.

“To give you something to think about,” Charity rasps. Her teeth scrape over Vanessa’s neck and up behind her ear.

“I think about you all the time,” Vanessa admits, tipping her head back.

Charity’s mouth finds hers, two fingers pulling Vanessa’s chin down. “”Ditto, kid.” She kisses Vanessa again. “Ditto.”

#vanity #charity x vanessa #emmerdale #charity dingle #vanessa woodfield

[tacticalgrandma]

Okay so last year @collophora predicted the Blackwatch pilot character and then made an amazing comic for her. Whatever Blizz ends up doing with her isn’t going to be nearly as cool as Coll’s shit, so I wanted to write something for her before canon shat the bed. Here’s Fio, hanging out with the rest of Blackwatch. Published with Coll’s permission– thanks again <3

"What with all the post-Crisis cleanup you did, we may have crossed paths already," Commander Reyes said. "I did a lot of work in France." Across the desk from him, Fio straightened and cleared her throat. "Martinique fared much better than Europe," she said. "And we take care of our old-caught, sullen mother." She thought she saw Reyes's mouth quirk at that, but he immediately returned to utterly impassive. "And you have extensive experience piloting in disaster conditions, it appears." "Yes, sir. The Caribbean's experienced an severe uptick in hurricanes and tropical storms, the past few decades." "I'm aware." Reyes flipped a page in her application. "Overwatch has been conducting research into those climate anomalies. If you're selected for the job, I could put you in touch with Dr. Zhou, if you'd like." Fio nodded eagerly. "It'd be an honor, sir!" Reyes just hummed and tapped his pen against his desk. "You're exceptionally well qualified," he said. "But for the position you're interviewing at, experience and credentials aren't all we look for. We need to be sure our personnel are temperamentally suited for the job as well." "I'm aware, sir, Overwatch has a tremendous responsibility in the world–" "I'm not interviewing you for Overwatch," Reyes said. Fio stopped and frowned. "Sir?" "I'm going to give you a hypothetical, Ms. Carvana," Reyes said. "Would you be willing to facilitate fastroping personnel onto a hypertrain going at full speed?" "That's against all regulations," Fio said automatically. "And would almost certainly be suicidal." "That's true," Reyes said evenly. "But what if there were hostages aboard that train, if the personnel in question their only hope, and you would face no consequences for your actions?" Fio stared at the commander. His face was still neutral, but her instincts were good. "Then that sounds like a good, stupid way to die, sir," she said. For the first time the whole interview, Reyes's facade broke, and he smiled widely. "Welcome to Blackwatch, Carvana," he said, reaching a hand out over the table. - Fio didn't even remember how it came up, but she remembered when she told McCree she liked to cook, his eyes lit up. "And you're from Martinque, right?" She nodded, instantly suspicious and unsure why. "You make anything spicy?" "Of course," she said, because while she may have had no idea what was going on she did have her pride. "Well, we here at Blackwatch just love spicy food," McCree said, transparently smug. "You be willing to make something for us, some time?" "I'm a pilot, not a chef," she said, and his face dropped. "Ah, no, Fio, that's not what I meant, I–" He cut himself off and bit his lip. She raised an eyebrow. "Just– trust me, okay? I'll make it worth your while." Fio had known this was a dangerous job going in, and that was the most dangerous thing she had heard yet. But McCree finally seemed earnest. And her jerk chicken was amazing. "Thank you, Fio!" He said, when she walked into the break room the next day, a big pyrex container in her arms. "You're a saint." "Yeah, yeah." She opened the fridge door, balancing the chicken on her hip. "You all have at it, but let 'em know it's hot." "No, no, Fio!" McCree grabbed her arm and immediately let go when she looked at him. "That's why you have to stay here and wait. Look, just–" He pulled out a chair and gestured to it magnanimously. "Trust me, okay?" Fio looked at the chair, the chicken, and McCree, then sighed and sat down. It only took a couple minutes of awkward chewing before his plan came to fruition. "Commander, you would not believe what Fio here did for us!" Both Fio and Commander Reyes jumped at McCree's cheery outburst, but Reyes settled into a tired tolerance while Fio remained on edge. "She made her grandmother's famous chicken recipe! You got to have some!" "It's not my grandmoth–" McCree elbowed her and she cut herself off, confused. Reyes finally stepped out of the doorway and settled at the table, and peered into the container. "Well, it does look good," he said. "And it's better than another power bar for lunch." "That's the spirit!" McCree almost spilled half the dish on himself in his rush to make Reyes a plate, and thrust it into his hands eagerly. Reyes took a bite and his face dropped immediately. "It's very good," Reyes said in a weak voice. Fio frowned. He was right, was the thing. Her cooking was unimpeachable. He wasn't reacting because it was bad. "Do you have any ah. Rice or bread? By any chance?" the commander asked. Fio glanced around the break room and shook her head. "Okay. Cool. Cool." "Do you not like spicy food, Commander?" she chanced. Reyes choked on his second, tiny bite. McCree barely stifled his giggle. "What?! No! I'm– I'm Latino, Carvana." For a man already sweating, Reyes projected a deeply wounded pride. "I love spicy food. It's my heritage." "Right," Fio said. She glanced at McCree and smiled. He winked. "Well then I'm sure you'll love this." "I do," he said. His voice cracked at the end. "And it's not just because you're new," McCree said after the commander had left, and after they had gotten through the worst of their laughter. "He does this with everything. Everything. One time I put ghost pepper powder in his coffee and told him it was a Guatemalan chai latte and I swear I saw him crying towards the end." "Oh man," Fio whispered. She was tearing up a little herself. "I'm going to like this job." - "What are you two doing?" Genji asked. McCree and Fio looked up from the floor of the Blackwatch locker room. Genji was leaning against the wall, his LED eyes narrowed. "Well, what are you doing here?" Fio asked. "It's not like you shower." "I still have to use the bathroom," Genji said. McCree and Fio tried to hide their surprise and he sighed. "Seriously, what are you doing?" "Dying her hair," McCree said. Fio elbowed him. "What? It's kind of obvious, and it's not like anyone thinks you're a natural redhead." "I have an Italian name. I could be." "In any case, why are you doing it here," Genji cut in. "Where else would we do it?" McCree asked. "Fine." Genji stepped around the and McCree and Fio glanced at each other again. He had been here for a couple of months now, and this was about as much as he ever said to them. And not through lack of their own effort. Commander Reyes had asked them to make him a part of the team, told them he had gone through something awful. But Genji had never responded. "Do you want us to dye your hair too?" McCree asked suddenly. Genji stopped in his tracks and Fio looked at McCree, confused. "Orange is not exactly my color," Genji said after a moment. He pointed to the red wires looping around his arm, and McCree winced. "Right. Well, just thought I'd ask. I remember in the pictures in your profile, you always had green hair, so I thought you might like." "Well." Genji looked down at the tiled floor. "Green clashes with red, too." "Ooh. Huh." Fio hummed in sympathetic agreement and Genji coughed. McCree took his gloved hands out of her hair and clasped them. "You know, I could talk to Reyes. See if we could get you into something more green." "Blackwatch colors are red and black," Genji said. McCree cast Fio a calculating look. She narrowed her eyes. "Well," he said after a moment. "Reyes really wants you to feel like a part of the team. So maybe I could get him to change ours colors." Genji perked up. "Really?" he asked, at the same time as Fio flatly stated, "No." Jesse gaped. "Fio, come on–" "Green would look terrible with orange." "She would look like a carrot," Genji affirmed. McCree frowned. "So you don't want me to ask him?" "No, I do." McCree's brow furrowed and Fio tugged at his sleeve. "Jesse, remember everything with been through, how many missions we've survived together–" "Jesse, remember that like 15% of my body is knives–" "I will cook for you every day–" “I will kill anyone you want me too–" McCree abruptly stood up, peeled the gloves off, dropped them to the floor, and turned to the door. "I'm done," he said. "Wait, you still need to finish dying my hair!" "Done!" McCree called over his shoulder. Fio sighed and stared at her half combed-through hair in the mirror they had leaned up against the wall. Then, she saw Genji drop down behind her. "Really?" she asked as he pulled on the gloves. "You don't have to." "Yeah, yeah." He carefully moved the comb through her hair. "If Dr. Ziegler gets mad about me staining the metal, I'm blaming you." - "Fio, could you please pass the ketchup?" Moira asked. Fio glanced at the bottle, right next to her plate and just a few feet from Moira, across the table from her. "No," she said. Reyes sighed and passed the bottle for her. 

#blackwatch #gabriel reyes #jesse mccree #genji shimada #overwatch #fic #orig

[howlljenkins]

Where We Go From Here

Nick x June centric multi-chapter fic: June and Nick finally make their escape from Gilead with Hannah in tow but things don’t go quite to plan. In the months that follow June is forced to confront the fact that she is no longer the same person she was pre-Gilead. Rated M. 

Chapter 2: Adjustment Period

I am surrounded by white light. I can't feel my body. Do I have a body anymore? Perhaps I am dead. Perhaps this is heaven. A subtle scent tickles my nose. Like lemon disinfectant. Do they use antiseptic in heaven?

My eyes flutter open. I’m in a bed in a hospital room with white walls. Tubes flow in and out of me like tree roots, connected to a machine by my head that beeps softly in time with my heartbeat. A chair is pulled up to the bed and in it--

“Luke.” My throat is raw and his name comes out like a croak.

Read on AO3

His head jerks up. He looks like shit. His glasses are missing and dark shadows float beneath his eyes. For a moment we simply hold each other’s gaze. Then he’s moving, leaning forward, gathering me up in his arms, and we’re both crying. I cling to his shirt, not caring that I’m getting it wet, that my nose is running like freight train, afraid that if I let go he’ll disappear. Finally we break apart. He continues perching on the edge of the bed. Both of us laugh as we wipe away tears.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” I say.

He raises an eyebrow. “Right back ‘atcha. That was some escape.”

I smile and dab my eyes with the back of my hand. “What happened? I mean, I remember most of it, at least until-” I wave my hand toward my torso which, beneath the hospital blanket, is covered in bandages.

“You were shot crossing the border. The bullet lodged between two ribs. Thankfully it missed all of your vital organs but you lost a lot of blood. According to the doctors you’re out of the woods now though. They say you should make a complete recovery.”

I let out a long, shaky breath. “And Hannah?”

His face brightens. “She’s fine. One of the nurses took her down to the cafeteria to get some ice cream. You got her out.” He squeezes my hand. “You did it, June. You’re amazing.”

“I had help,” I say.

“I know. I couldn’t believe it when Nick called me to tell me you’d made it out. I am going to owe that guy for the rest of my life.”

I hesitate. “Nick called you?”

“Yeah. That’s how I found out. At first, I thought it was a joke.” Luke shakes his head as though he’s still having a hard time wrapping his head around things. “Then he put Hannah on the phone.”

“Is he… is he here?”

“Nah, some government people came by and took him.” At the panicked look on my face, Luke adds quickly, “I don’t think he’s in trouble. They said they just needed to ask him some questions. Makes sense. I mean, he must have a ton of valuable intel, working for Waterford that long.”

Someone knocks on the door. “Feeling up for a few more visitors?” Luke asks.

The door creaks open and Moira steps into the room. She’s not alone, either. My breath catches in my throat as my best friend approaches the bed with my daughter perched on her hip. The last time I saw Holly she was eight weeks old. That helpless infant is gone, replaced by a chunky 7 month old with blue eyes and dark, softly curling hair, wearing the slightly cross expression of someone who’s just woken up from a nap.

“I brought someone to see you,” Moira says.

I open my arms and Moira leans down and deposits Holly in my lap. Rocking back and forth, I bury my face in her hair. “Hi, baby,” I murmur. “Hi, sweetheart.” Pulling back, I hold her a bit away from myself. “Let me look at you. God, you’re so big!” I try to take it in all at once. The long lashes. The rolls of fat around her ankles. Whoever dressed her put her in a onesie embroidered with the words I love my mom. I press kisses to her forehead, her eyelids, the tip of her nose. Clutching her to me, I glance up at Moira through watery eyes. “Thank you.”

Moira raises an eyebrow. “Girl, you are lucky your kids are cute cause this one has been waking me up every night for months.”

“You've been taking care of her?”

“Yeah, me and Luke.”

I swallow the thick lump in my throat and nod. “Thank you,” I say again. Because what else is there to say?

“Shut up,” Moira says. “You know you’re family.” She reaches out and tickles Holly below her chubby chin. “So are your babies.” She looks down at me, smiling. “Thanks for not dying on me.”

I smile back at her. “Yeah. You too.”

Eventually my visitors are shooed out by concerned nurses parroting something about too much stimulation. I fall asleep soon after they leave. When I wake up again morning light is falling through the window of my room and Nick has replaced Luke in the chair beside my bed.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi,” I say.

“How are you feeling?”

“Just peachy,” I say, wincing as I struggle to sit up. “I was worried. Luke said some government people took you away.”

“They just had some questions for me.”

I raise my eyebrows. “That’s it?”

“I’m going to work for the American Consulate. Tell them everything I know I about how Gilead operates. I don’t know how it’ll help but I have to try.”

“It’ll help. Every bit helps.”

He nods. It’s not lost on me that he won’t look me in the eye.

“Holly was here yesterday,” I blurt. “Luke and Moira are going to bring her back to visit this afternoon. You should stay.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” Standing, Nick wanders over to the window. The sunlight gilds his edges, turning him golden. “He’s a good man. Luke.”

I had to know this was coming. That if our escape was successful we would have to deal with the complicated nature of our entanglement eventually. Grabbing love wherever you can find it is good advice when you’re living under a totalitarian regime. It’s not so simple in the real world. I can’t have a lover and a husband. I made a vow to Luke. And more than that, I love him. Still, none of this lessens the pain that I know is coming.

“I think we should take some time. Figure things out.” Nick glances at me over his shoulder. Is he waiting for me to argue? When I don’t I can’t tell if it’s regret or relief I see in his eyes. Whatever happens next I know I will never forget this moment. The soft beeping of my heart monitor. The morning light that fills the room like a cathedral.

I shake my head, then nod. "I think so too."

Nick's Adam's Apple bobs as he swallows. He crosses the room, leans down, and presses his lips to my cheek. I turn my face toward him, drinking in his smell. Cigarettes and pine. My hand rises of its own volition, curling into the collar of his shirt, as if I can hold him there forever. But I can’t and we both know it.

He pulls away. My hand falls.

“Goodbye, June.”

I can’t bring myself to say it back.

Then he’s gone.

I don’t realize I’m crying until I taste the salt on my tongue.

~~~~~~

The day I get out of the hospital I am weighed down by balloons and flowers from the nurses. Luke used my time in the hospital to find a new place for him, Hannah, and I. He drives straight there from the hospital. I watch the world go by from behind the car window. A woman walking her dog. A young couple strolling hand in hand on the sidewalk. A man lugging his groceries up the steps of an apartment building. Mundane acts of everyday life that seem strange, almost unnatural, when viewed through Gilead tinted lenses.

The place Luke found for us is in a small apartment complex on a street lined with tall oak trees. Across the street is a park with a slide and swings, and a few blocks over is the school that Hannah will attend once she’s ready to go back.

Our apartment is on the fourth floor with a nice view of the park. When I walk in, leaning on Luke’s arm for support, I am greeted by a banner strung across the doorway that reads Welcome Home, June! in brightly colored letters.

They say that home is where the heart is but what if you heart is in multiple pieces? What if you’re not sure you even have one any more?

“June?” Luke is holding open the door waiting for me to come inside. “You coming?”

I force myself to smile. “Yeah. I’m coming.”

~~~~~~~

A week after I get out of the hospital Moira takes me shopping. It’s kind of unavoidable as I have no clothes. Scratch that. I have one set of clothes: a sweatshirt and sweatpants combo purchased from the hospital gift shop. I used to love shopping. I was there so often all the clerks at Anthropologie knew me by name. Now the myriad choices overwhelm me.

Staring at rack after rack of items, I find myself longing for my red dress and the simplicity of knowing what I was going to put on when I woke up in the morning. Then I realize what I’m thinking and feel like I’m going to puke. To combat the feeling, I buy far more than I need. I specifically choose things that would get a woman killed in Gilead: low cut tops, tight jeans, above the knee dresses, brightly patterned sweaters. When I get home I try on one of the dresses, a purple wrap dress that highlights the curve of my waist. It looks garish and I can’t take it off fast enough. I select a few pairs of jeans and a couple of plain t-shirts and fold them neatly in a drawer in the bureau. The rest of it I shove into the back of the closet.

If Luke notices the pile of unworn clothes he doesn’t say anything. In fact, we don’t talk much at all. We both try but it’s like we no longer speak the same language. I hate Gilead for doing this to us. I hate myself for letting them.

I rarely leave the house. Random things bring it all back. A slammed car door. A siren. The city bells tolling the hour.

After three months I am beginning to go stir crazy. A kindly old woman lives next door. She adores Holly and has offered several times to watch her if I need to go out. Her family lives far away and I think she’s lonely. Finally I take her up on the offer. After dropping Holly off, I rush back in the apartment and pull a suitable outfit from the pile in my closet. Before I can change my mind I march myself down to the American consulate and ask if they have any use for a very out-of-practice editor. Turns out they’re desperate for extra hands. They put me to work editing stories for Radio Free America. Surprisingly, it helps. I can’t live inside my head when I’m busy. I lose myself in the red marked pages, a dead Martha displaced by an erroneously used semicolon. Eden’s body hanging from the wall nothing more than a dangling participle.

It is not lost to me that Nick and I are now working in the same place, that I could run into him at any moment. I go about my days expecting to see him around every corner, but I never do. It’s for the best, I tell myself. It would only complicate things, make trying to readjust even more difficult.

~~~~~~~~

One day I’m in the small staff kitchen at the Consulate making coffee when I bump into a petite, mousy haired woman with an AIN (American Intelligence Network, essentially the CIA in exile) badge fixed to the front of her blouse.

The question falls from my mouth before I can stop it.

“Nick Blaine?” she says, placing the creamer back in the fridge and turning toward me. “Yeah, I know him. He works in another building off-site.”

All the time I walked around expecting to see him and he was never here. I feel like a fool. “Can you give this to him for me?” I scribble my address on a scrap of paper and hand it to her. “Tell him June needs to talk to him. Will you tell him… Just tell him it’s important.”

The woman looks at me curiously, as though waiting for me to identify myself or at least clarify my relationship with Nick. When it becomes clear that neither thing is going to happen she tucks the paper into her pocket. “Sure thing. I’ll give it to him.”

“Thank you.”

A week passes. I start to think he’s never going to show up. That he’s cut us clean out of his life and that's it. Maybe he’s relieved to be free of me. It’s one thing to tell a woman you love her when a guillotine is hanging over both of your necks. It’s another thing entirely when loving her means navigating a minefield of pre-existing relationships.

The day I’ve made my peace with this (not really, but that’s what I tell myself), the doorbell rings as I’m warming up a bottle for Holly. Hoisting her onto my hip, I pad to the door and pull it open fully expecting to see Doreen Bancroft from down the hall come to return Luke’s KitchenAid.

It’s not Doreen Bancroft.

Several seconds tick by as we stare at each other.

His hair is slightly shorter than the last time I saw him that day in the hospital. Instead of the all-black of a Guardian, he wears jeans, work boots, a white t-shirt, and a navy bomber jacket. His hands are stuffed in his pockets as though he doesn’t know what to do with them. I grateful mine are full of Holly because I wouldn’t either.

“Hi,” he says.

I hike Holly up my hip. “Hi.”

Worry is etched into the lines around his eyes. “Alice told me you were looking for me. She seemed to think there was some kind of emergency. Is everything alright?”

I missed you. I don’t know what I’m doing. What should I be doing?

“She must have misunderstood," I say, surprising myself with the smoothness of my voice. I have to credit Gilead with this: it turned me into an effective liar. "Everything’s fine. I just… thought we should catch up.”

Nick raises his chin thoughtfully. He doesn’t believe me, I can tell, but thankfully he doesn’t press it. “Sure.” His eyes shift to Holly and his mouth curls into a smile. “She’s so big.”

“Tell me about it. Look… do you want to go get coffee or something?”

There’s a small coffee house around the corner. It’s a grey, rainy day so we run. The bell on the door tinkles cheerily as we step into the shop. We find a table in the back and a barista brings us a high chair for Holly then comes back a few minutes later with two large mugs of coffee. I wrap my hands around the mug, the hot ceramic warming my chilled fingers.

We make small talk. The weather. Our jobs. What did I think this would be like? I study his face the way a small child studies the contents of a puddle, prodding it for secrets. He gives away nothing. How is he doing really? Does he have nightmares, wake up panicked thinking he's back in Gilead? Does he regret our relationship? Does he miss me like I miss him?

His hand lies inches from mine on the table. The urge to reach out and take it is overwhelming. I busy my hands adding too much sugar to my coffee then instantly regretting it.

I find myself telling him about the pile of unworn clothes in my closet. About how Luke and I don’t speak about Gilead at all, except in a detached, academic way when the occasional news story pops up on the tv. How not talking about it makes it worse.

Nick listens without interruption. He doesn’t try to soothe me, tell me everything’s alright, that everything I am feeling is a normal response to extreme trauma. I stare down at my now-cold, too-sweet coffee. “Do you think we’ll ever feel normal again?”

“I don’t know,” he says softly.

The fact that he doesn't immediately say 'of course' or 'time heals all wounds' is oddly comforting.

I find myself looking around the shop, scrutinizing the other customers. It’s getting toward lunchtime and the coffee shop is filling up with women carrying yoga gear, men in suits talking on their phones, college kids with earbuds stuffed in their ears. Normal people going about their normal lives. Is that what we look like to them? Father, mother, baby. Just a regular family out for lunch on a rainy Tuesday in autumn.

It stops raining just before we leave the shop and we stop at the park across the street from the apartment so Holly can watch the dogs.

“I think we’re going to get her first word any day now,” I say.

“What do you think it will be?”

Holly shrieks with laughter as she watches a small dog chase a larger one around the monkey bars.

I smile. “Luke and I have a bet: he thinks it will be dog. I think it will be no. He’s says I’m a pessimist.”

"I wouldn't say that. A realist maybe."

We stay until it starts to get dark. Nick walks us back to the apartment, rides the elevator with us up to our floor. I gather my courage as we stop in front of the door. “Maybe we could do this again sometime. For Holly,” I add. I immediately feel guilty. I’m a coward, hiding what I want behind our daughter.

What is it that I want, exactly?

He looks at me for a long while. I wait for him to tell me it’s a bad idea, that we’re playing with fire and someone is going to get burned. Then I realize he doesn’t need to; we’re both thinking it already.

“I’d like that,” he says, and despite the guilt and uncertainty swirling inside of me a swell of hope burgeons in my chest.

“I’ll call you,” I say.

He nods. Then he kisses Holly and turns to go.

It’s dark by the time I let myself into the apartment. Luke is still at work and Hannah is at a sleepover. I worry whenever she’s gone overnight. The first time she went to a sleepover she called me at 9 pm sobbing, begging me to come get her. Since then she’s gone to two more and been fine at each of them. Confronting the thing she’s scared of… she’s a lot braver than I am.

I give Holly dinner, read her a story, and put her to bed. Once she’s asleep I wander around the dark apartment, stopping at each of the framed pictures on the walls. Luke managed to get a few of the three of us in the pre-Gilead years from our old social media accounts. There are a couple of newer ones as well. Hannah and I on the swings in the park. Me holding Holly outside our apartment the day I got out of the hospital. Moira, Luke, and I cooking a meal together. Well, Luke is cooking anyway. Moira and I are drinking, our arms around each other.

Between the two sets of photos, four years are missing. It’s like we all ceased to exist four years ago only to pop back into the world a few months ago, an extra baby in tow. It's a strange feeling, to be able to see in such stark way exactly what has been done to us.

When Luke finally gets back I heat up leftovers for him and sit at the table while he eats. He’s almost finished when I say, “I saw Nick today.”

“Oh yeah?” Luke’s voice is carefully casual. He knows everything. That Holly is his not Waterford’s. Even that Nick and I exchanged I love yous. Despite this, he’s never once said a bad word about Nick. If anything he’s heaped praise on the man. Somehow that makes it worse.

“We went for coffee.”

“What’s he up to now?”

I tell him about Nick’s work. How he hopes he can make some good out of all the shit that’s happened. Luke looks at me a long time, as though waiting for something more. When I don’t add anything he stands and puts his plate in the dishwasher. “Well, I’m gonna go get ready for bed. You coming?”

That’s it? part of me wants to ask. That’s all you have to say? Another part of me is grateful he doesn't say anything more.

“In a minute,” I say.

Later I sit in bed watching Luke sleep, the steady rise and fall of his chest. I remember watching Nick in much the same way. A small furrow often appeared between his brows as he slept, as though he were deep in thought. I used to kiss it.

“What were you dreaming about?” I asked him once as we lay tangled together in apartment over the garage.

The corner of his mouth quirked. “You.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Really? You looked confused.”

“That’s because you confound me.” He dragged his thumb along the curve of my cheek. “I never know what you’re thinking.”

I remember pulling him on top of me, his hard length pressing against my thigh as I wrapped my hands behind his neck. Wiggling against him, I asked, “Can you tell what I’m thinking right now?”

He buried his face in the crook of my neck. I gasped as he pressed inside, my core still wet from our previous night’s lovemaking. Nick groaned.

“Yeah,” I panted. “Yeah, something like that.”

I flipped us so I was straddling him. His hands grip my waist as I sank down, taking him fully into me once more. Our bodies moved as if they were made to fit together. I loved to watch his face as he came.

Luke snorts in his sleep and I snap back to reality. My face burns. How messed up do I have to be to think about fucking another man as I watch my husband sleep? Sliding out of bed, I go to the bathroom and lock the door intending to splash cold water on my face. Instead my fingers slip beneath the waistband of my shorts. I touch myself, thinking of Nick inside of me.

After I come I slump down on the closed toilet seat and drop my head into my hands. I don’t know who I am anymore. Am I Luke’s wife? Nick’s girlfriend? I am Hannah and Holly’s mother. I was a Handmaid. A daughter. A sinner. A friend. A slut. I am a woman. I am broken and bloodied. I am out of Gilead but I am fighting still, only this time my enemy is myself. Somehow that’s almost worse because now there is no one to blame but me.

I flush the toilet and go back to bed.

#tht #nick x june #tht fic #the handmaid's tale #nick blaine #june osborne #*

[reapers-carino]

Can I request a mix of two of the soft angst starters? "Can I hug you?" And "Go on, cry." For a fem reader with a Gabriel who just got his powers from Moira? I feel like this could be a feels trip :'D

“A pinch more salt…and a little basil…and done!”

A pleased smile had settled on your lips as you added the final touches to the pasta sauce that was simmering away on the stove. Tuesdays and Thursdays you cooked dinner for Gabriel, giving him a break from the mess hall and his role as big bad boss. Behind the closed doors of his officer quarters, he was simply Gabi, your boyfriend and someone who deserved a break from all their work. Cooking was something simple and fairly quick that you could do, something that the man appreciated and made you feel like you were doing something to alleviate the mounting stress on his shoulders. 

Blackwatch had been facing increasing scrutiny by the UN due to their latest ‘aquisition’, the shamed geneticist Moira O’Deorain. She was a genius, you could give her that and Gabriel had said as much, comparing her to Overwatch’s ‘angelic’ Angela Ziegler. But her tendency to tiptoe the line of ethical egoism made her dangerous, the Irish woman often conducting experiments with or on Blackwatch agents with no clear definition of what the outcomes might be. When her experimentations were successful, they were impressive, but when they failed the responsibility of the maimed or dead fell directly on Gabriel. Gabriel, for the most part, was mum about what went wrong, seeing as you were not only a civilian but also someone he wanted to keep separated from the lifestyle he had found himself in. You were his refuge and he didn’t want to endanger that or you by letting you know too much. You figured you could respect that if that what he truly wanted. 

You jumped up onto the counter as you waited for the water to boil, legs swinging and feet kicking as your fingers typed away on your tablet. Your eyes lit up as a notification popped up on the screen, alerting you to the fact that the door had just been opened. 

“Gabi”, you cried out happily, jumping from the counter and dashing from the kitchen to the small foyer that led into the apartment. A wide grin settled on your lips as you rounded the corner, eyes catching sight of your boyfriend. “How ar–?!”

Your words died in your throat as you looked the man over, a hard knot of concern forming in your throat. Gabriel was leaning heavily against the inside of the door, body hunched over as he wheezed painfully. He looked disheveled, his hoodie and beanie missing, dressed in only his combat boots and cargo pants, hands clawing at the door. Or what was left of his hands. Black and gray smoke curled off of his body in steady plumes, rising from his shoulders and head and arms and fingers. His eyes darted between his hands, frantic, clenching and opening his fists, the smoke only intensifying as his panic increased. 

Your brow was furrowed tight in confusion, your own eyes dancing over his body, trying to wrap your mind around what might be going wrong and how you could help. Gabriel’s eyes jumped to yours, the sheer unabashed terror that danced across his features grabbing your heart in a vice grip. Now wasn’t the time to wonder the whats, he was drowning in his own thoughts, obviously frightened of what was happening to him and he needed you…

“Hey”, you called out, moving closer to the man, his eyes growing fractionally wider. A comforting smile settled onto your lips, both palms faced upwards and arms opened. “It’s okay…hey Gabi focus on me…yeah?”

Gabriel flinched when your hand reached for him, your reach stopping but hand still extended to the man to show you weren’t afraid. Even his brown eyes seemed to have taken on a smokier hue, black lapping at the warm brown of his irises. This was a look you had seen before, albeit rarely; Gabriel was in the throes of a full-blown panic attack. Gabriel was open about his lifelong struggle with anxiety that was further exacerbated by PTSD from after the war. Even after therapy, he was plagued by nightmares of what he had gone through during the war, the things he had both seen and endured. 

Those nights he would wake up alert and anxious, mind battling against reality as he tried to come to terms that he was battling an enemy that wasn’t actually there. You had learned through long discussions and experience that Gabriel craved an anchor, something that he could feel and touch, something that could ground him to the here and now. You’d gently place your hand in his and he’d slowly lean into you, bit by bit moving closer and closer to you, your arms eventually wrapping around him as his head would come to rest on your shoulder. Time would tick away bit by bit until he found his footing once more, the two of you rearranging your schedules and spending the day recuperating with one another or members of his team he considered family. And you would do the same now. 

“Gabriel”, you repeated softly, lowering yourself to the ground carefully and settling on your knees. His eyes continued to follow you, his back sliding down the door as your hand reached out, taking his smoking limb into your own. 

His hand felt both solid and cushiony, his palm resting against your, his fingers squeezing at yours before giving way to light whispy touches against the back of your hand. You smiled warmly, openly, Gabriel’s eyes darting between your eyes to your intertwined hands, the amount of smoke pouring from his lips with each breath decreasing as he stared at you. You watched the tension in his shoulders slowly ebb, giving way to all-encompassing exhaustion, his body pitching forward and his head falling to your shoulder. Slowly, carefully your fingers slid from his, your cheek nuzzling against the side of his head gently.

“Can I hug you”, you asked softly, waiting for the slightest nod before your arms wrapped around his body gently, carefully, his own arms wrapping around you bruisingly tight. Your hands gingerly rubbed up and down his spine, his body pressing even further into yours, the man sucking in a shuddering breath of air as his fingers clawed at the back of your shirt. He hiccuped once, twice, before your left hand smoothed up his spine, fingers combing through his thick black curls as you pressed his head closer to the side of your neck. “It’s okay Gabi…go on, cry. I’m here for you.”

The fragile dam that had been up finally broke as his shoulders completely sagged and a ragged sob escaped his lips, the hot warmth of tears touching your neck before running down into your shirt. You softly hummed and shushed in the back of your throat, letting him have this.Whatever he had been through, he needed to let this out and you would be there for him to help pick him back up when needed.

#sayalee46 #Overwatch #OW #Overwatch fic #Gabriel Reyes #Reaper #Gabriel ReyesxReader

[alexguerinss]

Cold Feet and Broken Ankles

(crossposted to ao3)

Summary: David realizes his feelings for Patrick and runs.

David was nervous.

He hadn’t been this nervous since he crushed on a girl in 7th grade and made a fool of himself in front of her when he asked her out in front of his entire grade at one of the many private schools he attended. She had started laughing and walked away without even giving him a response, leaving him with an empty feeling in his chest and a bitterness towards the world.

Until Patrick.

Patrick was not like anyone he ever met before. He was sweet, kind and didn’t look at David like he had grown two heads. He also didn’t want to just hop into bed with him, which was refreshing and new.

A little too new for David, who didn’t know how to handle a real relationship. He’d ignore how sad that fact was later.

When he first met Patrick, he felt an instant attraction, which scared him. How the hell would he be able to handle working with this man when all he wanted to do was kiss his face?

Lucky for him, after embarrassing phone messages and working together to make the store a semi-success, he kissed him and Patrick didn’t run away screaming.

Which did happen once when he was 21 and at a bar. He didn’t like to relive that experience.

But he would love to relive this one.

“David?”

Oh god.

David looked up, shaking away his thoughts to focus on the man in front of him.

Patrick.

He let a smile come across his face and he felt Patrick’s eyes on him, confused and slightly worried. The other man smiled as David kept looking at him in adoration.

David really needed to calm down. He felt Alexis’ nagging voice in the back of his mind telling him to relax and not overthink anything. He let out a breath and opened his mouth to reply when the door opened and a customer came in.

Patrick looked at him briefly, before turning to help the woman who came in and David cursed quietly to himself.

He hated feeling like this. He really liked Patrick, but he also didn’t know how to handle the feeling that everything was going to fall apart and Patrick would leave him in the dust, ripping the gift he gave him off the wall with no thought.

He suddenly couldn’t breathe and the sweater he had on felt really tight around him, suffocating him.

He remembered this feeling. He felt it a while back and Ted explained that it was a panic attack.

Oh god he was panicking.

“David?” The older man suddenly realized Patrick was in front of him, concern his eyes as he took in his boyfriend’s state and before he could think about it, David ran out of the store.

Without a sense of direction of where he would be going, he didn’t take notice of the fallen tree branch in front of him and he fell down. Hard.

He heard his ankle snap as he went down and he cried out in pain.

“David?” A familiar voice spoke up nearby and he winced through the pain and looked up to see Stevie kneeling down by him.

“Yeah?” He responded, nonchalantly, ignoring the blinding pain in his ankle. His best friend rolled her eyes and pulled out her phone. David watched as she sent a text to someone and he closed his eyes, trying to breathe.

“Jesus David,” Patrick’s voice filled the air a minute later, and he opened his eyes to see his boyfriend, well ex-boyfriend at the rate this relationship was going. He was pretty sure Patrick would break up with him after his panic attack and sprint out of the store.

“Hi,” he spoke meekly, trying not to move his ankle. Patrick rolled his eyes, before lifting David into his arms, much to the shock of the older man.

Patrick was stronger than he thought.

He cried out in pain from the movement and Patrick muttered an apology, before he carried David over to his car. Much to Patrick’s surprise, David barely made a scene at him getting carried. The pain from his ankle must have overpowered any feelings of David being embarrassed about looking like a damsel in distress.

Stevie was right beside them, David noticed. She opened the door to the backseat and he felt himself being placed down on the seat and Patrick elevated his leg so it wouldn’t cause him so much pain. He suddenly felt really tired and he heard the two front doors of the door opened and close and he fell asleep before they even made it out of Schitt’s Creek towards to the hospital in Elmsdale.

--

“David?” A voice whispered in his ear and David tried to swat at the person. He just wanted to sleep.

“David, come on. You have to get your ankle looked at. It’s the size of a balloon,” Patrick stated, knowing that the comparison would wake up his boyfriend.

Suddenly alert, David opened his eyes and looked down at his ankle.

He glared at Patrick, seeing that it was not the size of a balloon.

Maybe the size of a golf ball and he was in a great amount of pain again.

He really needed painkillers for this.

Stevie had rushed inside the hospital to get help and David found himself being pushed up gently into a sitting position and helped out of the car by his boyfriend and a nurse.

Suddenly, the embarrassment he hadn’t felt before came back full force and he wanted the ground to swallow him whole.

“David Rose?” An unfamiliar voice called out to him and he opened one eye to see the nurse next to him. He realized he had been placed on a gurney and was being taken further and further away from Patrick into the hospital.

“Yeah?” He asked, suddenly wanting a familiar face near him. He felt a prick in his arm and suddenly everything fell away.

--

“He needed surgery?” Alexis asked Patrick about an four hours later, watching as her older brother slept away in the hospital bed. The entire family was there, along with Stevie and the Schitts. Even Ted was there, for reasons Patrick didn’t really know, but he wasn’t going to question it.

A nurse appeared in the doorway and smiled gently, taking in the scene of all the people in the room.

“I’m sorry folks, but only three people can be in the room as one time.” She looked apologetic, Patrick took note, but the glare that Moira sent her, had her practically running out of the room.

“Apparently his ankle was severely broken and they needed to add screws into the bone to keep it in place.” The entire room shuddered at the explanation.

“My poor boy,” Moira dramatically sat down in the seat next to his bed, putting her hand out to reach her son before she pulled away. Johnny laid a hand on his wife’s shoulder, contemplating reaching out to his son as well.

Patrick looked at the family, taking note that they were definitely not a touchy feely family.

There was an awkward silence filling the room, the only noise coming from the machines attached to David.

“I think we should head out,” Jocelyn stated, looking at her husband who shrugged and bid them all goodbye.

“Oh thank go-od they left,” Moira said. She felt all eyes on her and sighed. “I can only take so much of Jocelyn looking like she was about to cry. David has a broken ankle. He isn’t dying.”

“I think I should go too,” Ted said, noting that he wasn’t particularly close to David and felt incredibly out of place. He wasn’t even dating Alexis anymore, but she insisted he come with her for emotional support.

“I’ll walk you out,” Alexis spoke up, grabbing Ted’s hand and practically dragging him out of the room.

“Dear, why don’t we go to the cafeteria and leave Patrick and Stevie with David,” Johnny suggested to his wife, who looked put out before sighing and grabbing her bag.

“If we must,” she got up and followed her husband out of the room.

“That was incredibly awkward,” Patrick stated bluntly and Stevie let out a laugh.

“You get used to it.”

Patrick sat down, looking over at his boyfriend who somehow looked smaller in the hospital bed. He bit his lip, before grabbing David’s hand, careful of the IV sticking out of it.

“So what happened exactly?” Stevie and Patrick both asked each other, before chuckling at the well timed question.

“I saw him running down the sidewalk and was too far away to call out to him before I saw that tree branch he tripped over,” Stevie explained, concerned as to why she saw David running like he was being chased.

Patrick frowned, “He looked like he was having a panic attack at the store and I didn’t want to spook him, but before I could get another word into our very limited conversation, he ran out of the store. He looked like he was going to run through the door if he wasn’t careful.”

Stevie was about to speak up again, but they heard a groan from the bed.

“David?” Patrick whispered, putting his hand on his boyfriend’s head, trying to soothe him.

“Wha?” The older man mumbled, confused. He blearily opened his eyes and winced against the light.

“Hey there friend,” Stevie said from where she was standing at the end of the bed.

“Ugh, my ankle.” David whimpered, trying not ignore the pain.

“Hey, hey it’s okay,” Patrick tried to ease his worries. He grabbed a button and handed it to David, “You can press this to get the pain meds.”

David quickly pressed it and in 15 seconds, felt the pain go away.

“What happened exactly?” He asked warily, looking between his best friend and boyfriend.

“You kind of had a panic attack, ran out of the store...and tripped over a branch,” Patrick explained, “only you would break your ankle to the point where you actually needed surgery,” he chuckled.

“Oh my god I’m such an idiot,” David grumbled, pouting.

Patrick smirked lightly and caressed David’s cheek, pulling David’s focus on him and away from his mortification.

“You have to tell me if you’re hurting David. That’s how relationships work,” he reminded his boyfriend, who tried to look away.

Stevie coughed, breaking the awkward moment. “I’m gonna go. I’ll see you both later. The doctor said you could leave in a few hours. So you won’t be stuck here for much longer.”

“Thank god.” David mumbled, earning him a kiss on the forehead from Stevie.

She bid them both goodbye and walked out and David was left with only Patrick.

The reason for all of this mess was Patrick.

Well not really. The reason for all of this was David’s feelings for Patrick and not knowing what to do with those feelings to start a healthy and stable relationship.

“David?” Patrick asked, letting his fingers card through David’s hair.

The action soothed his boyfriend, who looked like he was going to fall asleep again.

“I don’t know how to do this.”

“This?” Patrick asked confused, before realization hit him in the face. “You mean...us?”

“Yeah…” David responded quietly, grabbing the blanket and fooling around with the thread of it.

“Do you want to...break up?” Patrick asked, pulling his hand away.

David felt his eyes tear up, not knowing what to do.

“No. I don’t,” he responded. Patrick quirked an eyebrow at him, lost as to why David suddenly felt this way.

“Then what David?”

“I’ve never been in a relationship with someone for more than three months. I’ve never felt this way about someone before and I don’t know how to make it stick,” he let out a breath before continuing, “Alexis tells me I overthink everything which is why my anxiety spikes and why I ran out of the store today.”

“David…” the younger man started, but David wasn’t finished.

“The last relationship I had was unknowingly with two other people. My relationships end in disaster, but I’m hoping ours doesn’t. I just don’t know how I can make sure that ours will last because I love you.”

Patrick’s mouth fell open at the proclamation and David’s eyes widened at what he just confessed.

Patrick cleared his throat, grabbed David’s face and kissed him. David fell into the kiss and returned it happily, before Patrick separated their lips. The older man felt his boyfriend kiss him on the forehead and Patrick finally pulled away.

“I love you too,” Patrick proclaimed before grabbing David’s hand and squeezing it.

Unbeknownst to them, Johnny and Moira had been standing outside the door to the room and heard the entire conversation.

“Oh my son is in love!” Moira cried out dramatically and David groaned from inside the room.

“Mom!” “Moira!” The two Rose men exclaimed at once, leaving Patrick to laugh at the absurdity of the situation, but knowing he would gladly take this eccentric family any day if it meant he would be with David.

#so i had started watching schitt's creek 6 days ago #and finished catching up yesterday #i love this show so much #everyone should watch it #and i looooove david and patrick #and there's like...no fic except for one really good one #so i was like damn it i need to write my own #and i haven't written anything in like a year #so enjoy #schitt's creek #david x patrick #david rose #patrick brewer #schitt's creek fic #my fic

[dovesandsparrows]

D & S Fab Collab Part 8 (Season 2 Finale)

( first entry - previous entry )

She was smirking. Angela was not.

The bar on the bottom left of the screen filled quickly as the files sent. Every piece of her ‘research’ on nanotechnology and cellular and molecular regeneration travelling through the secured server. Every piece of research painstakingly edited, words replaced, numbers crunched differently. They would create results if followed, of course, but it would be flawed. Flawed enough, hopefully, to ensure that actually attempting anything would result in disaster. At the least, frustration.

“It’s a pleasure doing business with you, Doctor Ziegler,” Moira’s voice was as smooth and arrogant as she remembered. And to think she used to admire this woman and her tenacity, her contribution to scientific advancements. In hindsight, she should have seen something like this happening. 

She wanted Genji home.

“Where is Genji?” Her voice was quiet. 

Moira stepped aside, gesturing with a flourish at Genji strapped down behind her. He had no visor as he stared at Angela through the screen, giving her a glimpse of the frustration and the worry in his eyes.

“We did what you asked, Moira,” she said. “Now give him back.”

“Such a lack of patience,” Moira mused as Sombra materialised beside Genji. “What else about you has changed while I was gone, I wonder?”

“Hey Doc,” Angela’s eyes were drawn to the hacker standing beside Genji. “You know, we never said we’d give him back unharmed…” 

She froze as Genji snarled. Her hand, hidden from their view, twitched. Her thumb hovered over the holographic button, a signal that would send the strike team in to attack. “Don't…” 

Sombra howled with laughter as Moira’s smug look worsened. “Can’t you take a joke? You got to live a little, Doc.” 

Sombra patted Genji on the shoulder, “In one piece.” She waved her hand, prompting a map onto the screen with a location pinpointed. “We’ll drop him off here. Tell your attack team to grab him, or you can go pick him up yourself, whatever.” 

The screen blinked out, Sombra’s infamous logo flashing for the briefest of seconds. 

It was another hour before the strike team, led by Jack and Lena, made contact to inform them that Talon had arrived at the rendezvous location. Another three hours before the Orca arrived on the base, creating a grand total of four hours for Angela to worry that something might go terribly wrong just when they were so close. 

Zarya was the first to disembark, followed by her hacker friend who had agreed to help ensure that no part of Genji’s cybernetics and internal database was tampered with. They handed Winston three micro-locator chips.

“Sombra must’ve attached them to him at some point,” Lynx Seventeen said. “I’ve triple checked to ensure that their last recorded geolocation was at the rendezvous point, if not about a kilometre out to when we left.” 

Hana and Lucio were the next to disembark, patting her back and telling her that see, everything’s okay and that he’s okay. 

Jack and Genji were the last to leave the Orca, talking quietly. Angela could clearly see Genji’s beautiful scarred face, almost all the tension she felt in the last God knows how long finally leaving her.

Almost. 

They made eye contact and she felt her heart fall to her stomach and jump itself back up again. She barely noticed the clack of her heels as she ran across the hangar and up into Genji’s arms, practically shoving Jack out of the way.

“We’ll leave you to it, then.” Jack said quietly, rubbing the shoulder she barrelled through as he walked off.

Genji ran his hands through her hair as she pressed closer to the cool metal of his cybernetics. He murmured softly into her ear, even going so far as to press kisses against her head. He had never done that before.

“Angela…” 

She would not cry. He had come back to her in worse conditions back in his Blackwatch days, and she never cried then.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” she said against his shoulder. “I should probably run some diagnostics on you just in case, though.”

“To your lab, then.”

“Yes.” 

Neither of them moved. They stood there, wrapped together so tightly it was like they’d never separate.

“Um…” Angela murmured.

“Oh, right, sorry.”

“No no, it’s okay.”

“We should probably-”

“Yeah, we should-” 

They awkwardly disentangled themselves, smiling shyly at each other before walking away from the hangar. 

It was a few minutes walk to Angela’s personal lab, filled with small and discreet touches here and there; polite, happy and sly (Angela would have to have a word with Jamison about that) smiles from friends and agents they walked past; and longing glances, each trying valiantly to avoid getting caught by the other. 

They walked at a respectable distance from one another, but by the time they arrived at the lab’s door, they walked closely, Genji’s hand against the small of Angela’s back. It made her heart race and her face flush. 

Genji sat on the reclinable chair, one he often joked that was personally his because of how often he came to visit her, both for checkups and just to spend time together. He would bring her warm tea or coffee, sometimes roping her into a conversation for hours about anything and everything, other times simply sitting in his chair meditating while she worked away. 

The scanners worked quickly, bringing Angela a holographic view of Genji. No bits were highlighted in red, which was good, though there were a few scratches and abrasions here and there. Three little areas were highlighted in green to show tampering, presumably the three micro-locator chips Lynx Seventeen had already removed.

“Well, you’re in full health, it seems. I’ll have Torbjorn and Winston make a new visor for you.” Angela smiled, looking away from her monitors. Genji sat facing her, staring. He blushed when their eyes met, looking away quickly.

“Right, yes. That’s good,” he coughed. “Thank you.”

“And Genji…” she bit her lip, glancing down. “I’m sorry all this has happened to you. I should have known that sooner or later, Moira would have done something to get to my work. I’m sorry it had to be you.” 

Genji shook his head, standing to place his hands on her shoulders. “If Talon were predictable, they would not be such a big threat. It is not your fault, Angela.”

“But Genji-”

“No,” he said firmly. “I won’t have you blaming yourself for this.” 

The conviction in his voice made her nod, pressing closer as he held her to him. She felt his lips on her hair as his hands slid to her waist.

“You are a remarkable woman, Doctor Ziegler,” he whispered fondly. “There is no other who can do what you do, because there is no one like you.” 

It was like instinct, and it was long overdue instinct, when she pressed her lips to his. The tingles reached all the way to her toes when he kissed her back, and everything felt right.

Hi all and welcome to the second D&S Fab Collab event!

Season two is centered around the prompt: Kidnapped. The eighth  addition is authored by @ Luminox! ♚ Applications to participate for this season or “arc” are now closed! Thank you to all our writers and artists! Stay tuned for Season 3! ♚ If you want to join our server to be in the loop for more events like this one, join here !

#gency #emergenji #genji shimada #mercy #overwatch #d&s fab collab #submission

[ptw30]

Awesome art by xblackpaladin

Fic: Scar Tissue - Part One/Part Two/Part Three/Epilogue

A part of the Blade!Shiro series

Summary: After Shiro’s former life is revealed to Kolivan, the youngest Blade copes with “help” from the Black Lion and Keith. 

Special Thanks to Chris White, whose thoughtful review led to a great exploration into pack dynamics. 

Warning: Mature. Past sexual acts are implied but not discussed explicitly.

Shiro’s chaotic thoughts threatened to pull him asunder as he dashed through the halls of the Blade of Marmora’s headquarters. He eventually came to the silent observation deck on the fourteenth level, and a quick scan found the room empty. He kept the deck dark, the wall-length viewer screen creating the only light. It showcased the blue star directly outside of the headquarters as well as other breathtaking space-scapes, and Shiro used its light to find his hiding place – the small alcove between the couch and the wall where no Galra could fit. Shiro managed to squeeze into the space, knees to his chest, face pressed against them, and while Keith could fit in the area and be completely consumed by the shadows, Shiro managed to blend into the scenery where someone would have to know of his presence to find him.

Quiet, raw, wounded, Shiro watched the star-scape scene shift to an outer galaxy with brilliant purple and blue stars, and glowing amber and turquoise planets. The calming colors soothed his aching soul for only a few minutes before the sucking void returned to his chest.  

His first name. Kolivan called him by his first name. He’d never done that before. 

Panic pulsed deep and true in Shiro again, and he clutched his legs tighter. His face bore a mating mark. Sendak had carved his ownership into Shiro’s skin and across the bridge of his nose for every Galra to see, which meant every Galra he ever encountered, every member of the Blade, knew he had been claimed.

Shiro vaguely remembered the scar across his father’s eyebrow, the one he’d gotten less than a year after Moira crash-landed on Earth, and Shiro’s heart ached.

He guessed he should have felt anger towards his parents – for leaving him and Keith alone in the middle of the ruthless Galra Empire, for giving him no other way to make a living, for forcing him into sexual chattel. Instead, he trembled at the thought of them finding out. Of Moira discovering just how weak he was, of Ryou discovering just how far his son had fallen. Of his birth mother back on Earth, from whom he received his charcoal eyes, pale skin, and name. Did she ever miss him or wonder where he went?

And Keith…What would his little brother say if he knew what Shiro endured to ensure their survival? Would he shun Shiro for his sordid past, or would he cry for his brother’s sins?

Shiro’s eyes squeezed shut as sorrow bubbled up his throat. Sobs threatened to choke him, and he blinked as a warm glow of something fierce and powerful, wise but uncertain, brushed against his side. His eyes snapped open, and he no longer occupied his treehouse. Instead, he gaped at a soothing indigo star-scape upon a bed of cosmos – the astral den of the Black Lion.  

Shiro kept huddled upon himself, knees to his chest, back pressed against a rock formation. He wasn’t sure how kept falling into the den, but during the few and far between missions when Kolivan left him back at the base, he came here, to his own little sanctuary in the middle of hell, to be with the one being who wanted him.

He wanted to hide from the universe, and he suspected this was the best place for it. No one could access the plane as far as he knew, and if his body disappeared from reality, so be it. Kolivan thought him a lower lifeform and would no doubt rescind Shiro’s position as Son of the Blade. He’d probably eject Shiro from the Blades for putting them all at risk.

Maybe Kolivan wouldn’t let him see Keith.

Shiro’s cheeks burned with fresh tears. His fists trembled, locked about his knees, and he wanted nothing more than to grab Keith and leave. They were older now, Shiro trained and able to fight any commander in Zarkon’s fleet to a standstill – but Keith would be safer here, away from the Galra Empire’s influence and safeguarded by the Blades. Shiro couldn’t take Keith from the only stable home he’d ever known, from his pack…could he?

A soft rumble of welcome sounded just over Shiro’s shoulder, followed by a warm caress of his jaw. The Black Lion’s concerned face hovered in Shiro’s vision, wondering, demanding what had hurt the other half of his soul. Shiro responded by brushing the lion’s mane and petting the side of its face, and despite being a majestic, metaphysical beast, the lion flopped into Shiro’s lap and panted with pure delight.

Shiro couldn’t help the wet smile he felt crinkling his face. He loved the Black Lion, and it adored him in return. Though his times with the majestic beast lasted only a few minutes each visit, Shiro longed to lay next to him, using its velvet mane as a pillow and enjoying the true affection they shared.

Why couldn’t he just stay here forever?

“Takashi?”  

Keith. Right. Part of him wished to bring his brother to the astral plane and introduce Keith to the Black Lion, but Shiro couldn’t even control his own visits, let alone bring someone with him.

“Takashi?” Keith sounded more desperate now, just on this side of panicked, and then a hand snatched his glove, tugging him back.

Not yet. Shiro wasn’t ready to face reality – and Kolivan – but when Keith called, he came. He would always come, so he latched onto Keith’s soul once more and allowed it to lead him back. Suddenly awake and there, Shiro blinked at the irritated glower upon Keith’s baby face only inches away.

“You did it again,” his little brother accused.  

Shiro sighed as feeling returned to his arms and legs, which were heavy and stiff from his time away. He wanted to tell Keith he wouldn’t do again, but he cherished his time with the Black Lion, perhaps the only being in the universe that actually sought his company.

Keith’s amber eyes glowed in the darkness of the treehouse, scrutinizing Shiro. Then he plopped onto the floor before his brother’s boots, crossing his legs and wrapping his tail loosely about Shiro’s ankle. “The Blades are looking for you.”

Shiro tensed. “You didn’t tell them where I am, did you?”

Keith’s gaze darkened. “No, but they seemed pretty pissed. What did you do this time?”

More like whom he did, though Shiro refused to follow that train of thought. “It’s-It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

“Yeah, right.”

Keith reached to hit off Shiro’s mask, and without thinking, Shiro seized his wrist. Keith’s eyes immediately rounded before shifting to his hand, which shook in Shiro’s grasp. Shiro released him immediately but couldn’t stop his hands from shuttering. Kolivan’s shouts, Ulaz’s pleas, Sendak’s soft, velvet fur swiping across Shiro’s cheek – everything surfaced at once.

“I’m…” Keith hesitantly started to get up, tail whipping nervously. “I’m going to get the pack.”

“No!” Shiro’s hand shot out again, seizing Keith’s tail and stopping him from leaving. “I’m fine. Really. I just – I just need a minute, okay?”    

Skepticism crept into Keith’s gaze, interrupted by a healthy dose of fear, and Shiro cursed himself but couldn’t stop shaking.

Keith sat again, ears drooped, tail lethargic. “Takashi, why can’t I get the pack?”

Sixty seconds. He asked for sixty freaking seconds of peace. “Keith, not now, okay?” His fingers slid back to knot behind his hood.

“But…you won’t take off your mask.”

Ancients. “Keith!”

“But Kolivan and Thace and Ulaz can – ”

Even as the heated words rushed from his mouth, Shiro cursed himself, but he couldn’t stop them from sounding. “They’re not my pack!”

Keith flinched; Shiro swore.

Silence reigned in the treehouse for a good three seconds before Shiro recoiled. The words that followed rose no louder than a sacred prayer. “I’m glad they accepted you into their pack, kiddo. I am. I want you to be loved and celebrated and – and to embrace Mom’s side. But Ulaz and Kolivan and Thace and Antok are your pack. I’m your family.”

“But you are pack,” Keith argued.

Shiro sighed and dipped his head back against the wall. “No, I’m not.”

“…yeah, you are.”

“No, Keith, I’m not.”

“Yeah, you are.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yeahyouare!” 

He couldn’t handle this right now. “Keith!

“Then why do you smell of pack!” Keith challenged, tiny claws clutching Shiro’s knees as he hissed in his brother’s face. “If you’re not part of our pack, why do you smell like it?”

That wasn’t the response Shiro expected. “I-I smell like what?”

“Like pack,” Keith insisted again, tail squeezing Shiro’s calf. “Thace said Galra packs mix their scents until it becomes one, and then they use it to mark each other. You smell like our pack.”

Shiro was done hoping for an inevitability that would never, could never be. Perhaps the Blades scented him for territory. Perhaps they scented by accident. Whatever the cause, he ruffled Keith’s hair and tried to keep the tears from his voice. “Keith, I-I’m not. I can’t be part of your pack.”

“You’re being stupid! Of course you can be pack,” Keith hissed, tail lashing behind him as he reached for Shiro’s mask, only for Shiro to catch his hand again. “Why can’t you be pack?”

Oh, wow. That hurt Shiro more than he ever thought possible. He’d been fortunate so far with many of the Blades accepting him in the ranks and as the Son of the Blade with very few questions and minor resistance. The fact that he was human was not an issue – other than with Kolivan – and outside in the empire, Shiro and Keith always accompanied one of the Blades. He might have worried, but he never feared he would need to fight for his freedom as a lower lifeform and an undocumented citizen. And Keith had been too young before to understand the power dynamic of the empire and how low Shiro was revered as a human. Now, though, older and more mature – Keith needed to understand Shiro’s chaste and how it differed from his own, even as a half-breed.

But Ancients – that smarted.

“Takashi,” Keith asked, low and wondering, hand still held in Shiro’s grasp, “what’s wrong your face? Why can’t I see it?”

As if burnt, Shiro let go of Keith’s hand.

In all truth, the mark across his face meant one thing – just another chaste to be trapped in. First, lower lifeform and now mate.

Shiro might not have been able to explain that tidbit yet – maybe he never would be able to – but he could address one of Keith’s questions, even if it was the second hardest thing he’d ever have to do.

“K-Keith …listen…it’s…there’s something you need to know…about me and the empire and – ”

“Ah, Keith. You found him,” Ulaz greeted, tone fond and indulgent as he entered the treehouse. He no longer wore his mask, his eyes fluffed out and twitching as he came forward. “Shiro, you ran out of the meeting before we could finish our discussion.”

So Kolivan could kick him out of the Blades faster than a Galra cruiser could make a hyperjump? No thanks.

Ulaz didn’t seem menacing at least. As he approached Shiro and Keith in a calm, reserved stride, he typed a few quick keys into his gauntlet before resting a gentle hand upon Keith’s nape.

“Cub, would you mind giving us for a few minutes alone? We have some developments to discuss.”

Shiro would have snorted if his heart hadn’t jumped into his throat.

Keith glanced up from under his dark curtain of bangs. “Does it have to do with Takashi’s mask?”

“Keith!” Shiro shrilled, but Keith just rolled his eyes – or the Galra equivalent.

“Whatever.”

Shiro forced himself to remain still as Keith trotted out, though his frayed nerves remained raw. Would this be the last time he saw Keith? No, no. He was stronger now. He could fight and he would fight for his brother. The Blades couldn’t separate them.

Ulaz took a seat on the couch, far enough away not to intrude on Shiro’s personal space but still close enough to be of comfort. His hood bunched upon his shoulders, allowing Shiro to see the complete look of pity on the Galra’s face. It wounded him in ways he didn’t want to admit.

“Kolivan handled the situation wrong, Shiro,” Ulaz began, soft and soothing. “You deserved better, but please listen to him. He cares very deeply for you.”

But not enough to make him part of the pack. Not enough to accept him into the Blade as an equal. Not enough to overlook his past as a body seller.

Shiro strained to keep his voice steady, and somehow, it still came out tight. “Ulaz, I appreciate all you’ve done for Keith and me, but please don’t patronize me. How long do I have until Kolivan kicks me out?”

Ulaz jerked, eyes rounded and shocked. “What!”

“You know he’s not going to stand for this. I’d appreciate at least a transport for Keith and me, maybe to one of the Faraway Systems? And maybe I can take a change of clothes with us, if that’s possible.”

“You’re not going anywhere.”

Kolivan’s caustic voice thundered through the small treehouse and fueled Shiro’s trembles again. The Blades’ leader stood in the doorway, flanked by Thace and Antok. The three newcomers all shed their hoods and masks, and perhaps that made the situation worse. At least with the masks, Shiro faced an emotionless continence that relayed no judgement. Now, he had to endure the silent apology in Thace’s eyes and the fierce protective glint in Antok’s sharp features.

But Kolivan was furious. He wore the harsh expression of a leader damning his subordinate for a failed mission, and Shiro, despite all the strength he possessed in order to survive in Drule Central, couldn’t hold that gaze for long. When he averted his eyes, he felt the weight of Kolivan’s heavy, condemning glare upon his shoulders, pressing down upon him with extreme disappointment. He ducked his head, teeth clenched, hot tears coursing his cheeks, and he appreciated his mask once more for hiding his shameful reactions.

He didn’t want to leave. Even if he wasn’t part of the Blades’ pack, he liked living in the headquarters, safe and protected with Keith at his side. He no longer worried about food or clothing, or where they’d spend the next night – if he could sleep at all. Out in the empire, alone, he always needed to make sure Keith was safe, but would they ever be safe again?

Perhaps he shouldn’t have indulged, but Shiro enjoyed hanging with Antok, doing nothing but sharpening their daggers or playing a round of hide and hunt. He looked forward to greeting Ulaz in the hanger when the Galra scientist returned from Central Command or learning new hacking techniques from Thace or accepting Kolivan’s hand upon his shoulder during meetings when he’d devised a good battle strategy. He wanted so hard to be accepted by the Blades, and he never wanted Kolivan to find out about his past life. And to think all this time, he’d carried on his face the evidence of it, exposed and unveiled for everyone to see and judge.

Ancients, Kolivan and the pack knew he’d fucked Sendak.

Booted claws stopped in front of his knees, and Shiro wanted to sink back into the astral plane, fleeing Kolivan’s bitter disappointment.

Never, in his wildest imagination, did he expect Kolivan to fall to the ground before him and sit there cross-legged and unassuming, waiting for Shiro to look up at him. When Shiro refused, tugging his legs closer to his chest and hiding behind his bent knees, Kolivan took a sharp inhale and reached out, his large claw all but encompassing Shiro’s boot.

It took a long moment for Shiro to gather whatever courage he retained, but Kolivan didn’t rush him, just sat there painfully patient and understanding. Shiro thought he could wait him out, but as the ticks continued and Kolivan sat motionless and unmoving, Shiro snuck a sideways peek at the leader.

Kolivan ruthlessly refused to let Shiro escape his gaze again.  

To Be Continued…

More from the Blade!Shiro series

#shiro #keith #voltron: legendary defender #voltron #ulaz #kolivan #blade of marmora #blade!shiro #ptw30 pens #scar tissue