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stillebesat · 4 years

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Scales (2/7)

Sanders Sides: Logan, Deceit, Virgil, Roman, Patton Blurb: Deceit hadn’t expected his absence from the Mindscape to be noticed by the others…until Logic knocked on his door. Fic Type: General Warnings: Shedding (snake style), Minor Injuries, Minor Pain, Touch Starvation Taglist in Reblog.

To Catch Up: Prologue

“Lyal?”

It was the muffled sound of the name he’d given to the others that jerked Deceit awake more than the knock on his door.

He gave a soft groan, letting his head rest back on his sodden pillow as he closed his human eye. Who in the world would want to come disturb him? His nostrils flared, gathering in the visitor’s scent as the person on the other side knocked again. Deceit shifted his head so his inhuman eye could look at the door and to the faint heat signature standing just beyond it.

Straight backed and Cool Yellow in shade. Smelling of Old Books and Blackberries no-it was sweeter. So...Jam… That could only mean it was--

“Lyal? It’s Logan. I have Pizza.”

Pizza? Deceit frowned, pushing himself up on a shaky elbow, disturbing the mist drifting through his humid room. Pizza night wasn’t until Friday. Why were they having it early?

“Lyal. Please. We’re worried. Open the door.”

Worried? Why in the world were they worried? Usually his absences from the Mindscape were celebrated by the others.

Deceit took a breath, steeling himself before he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood. He swayed as the vision in his good eye tunneled, but forced himself to move towards the door only to have his uncoordinated feet tangle in his cape he’d left on the floor.

He bit back a yelp, barely managing to avoid banging his head on his desk as he fell, catching himself with his good hand as the other curled up tight against his chest to avoid antagonizing it further.

He groaned, cursing under his breath as he pushed shakily back to his feet. Ugh. It was bad this time. Deceit brushed at his sweating forehead, the fingers of his good hand delicately touching the left side of his face and the leathery texture covering his scales. Stiff. He was only halfway through the shedding process, which meant--he glowered at the door. Were the other Sides really so worried about him to come bribing him with pizza after being absent for twenty-four hours? It’d only been one day for crying out loud! They could leave him in peace that long. What had happened to not caring about when he was there or not?

The doorknob jiggled. “Lyal?”

Deceit closed his human eye. Right. The name. How could he have forgotten? Things were different now that he’d given the Light Sides a name to refer to him by after they’d nearly tricked him into revealing his real one four months ago.

Four months ago when he’d just come out of the last shed. When he was more vulnerable to…trickery. Not that the others had known. They’d just lucked out in timing.

He hadn’t thought a name would have such an effect on them though, not even after their invitation a couple of days after the event to come join them for their ‘family’ dinners.

Ha. Inviting the bad guy to ‘family’ dinner. He’d laughed. Accepted. Come…and kept coming because he...he liked the change in tone towards him. Liked the homemade food. Liked the banter he could participate in without worrying about it coming back to bite him.

But after all that…Deceit hadn’t thought disappearing for a couple of days would result in the Light Sides worrying for him. He edged his way carefully to the door, shuffling his feet so he wouldn’t trip over anything else.

If he had known how...sensitive the others would be to him vanishing, he would have made better preparations for his disappearance. But how could he have known? Creativity vanished all the time into the Imagination with barely a reaction and the others actually liked him.

Deceit ran a hand through his hair, fingers jerking away from the waxy substance coating the strands on the left side. A newer addition to the shedding process thanks to when Thomas made the decision to dye his hair a couple years ago.

Another knock. Another jiggle of the door knob. “Deceit. I can hear you in there. Please. Are you alright?”

A please? From Logic? What was wrong with the Side to use that around him? Deceit glowered at the heat signature as he fumbled his way to the door, unscaled hand held out in front of him. He didn’t like moving when his depth perception was skewed like this, it made him feel vulnerable, not being able to tell when objects were getting too--he slipped on his gloves he’d also left scattered on the floor, hitting the door with a loud thud.

Ow.

“Lyal!”

Deceit groaned, wincing as he pushed himself upright, the left side of his body screaming at him with large red flashes of agony. Too sensitive. Too much---He growled mentally pinching himself. Suck it up. He’d had worse pain during his sheds.

He couldn’t think of any instances at this particular moment, but he was sure he’d had worse.

Deceit fumbled with the series of locks keeping Logic out, his right hand less skilled with the mechanisms than his left would be if it were functional at the moment.

A final click.

There.

Deceit exhaled, gathering his flagging energy. Just a brief interaction. He could do this. Reassure Logic. Then he could go back to bed. He pulled open the door a crack, peering at the Side with his human eye, careful to keep his left side out of sight.

Logic stood there, a paper plate with four slices of pizza on it held in his hands. Relief flashed across his face as he leaned forward, his amber eyes sharpening like a snake about to strike as he held out the plate to the small gap. “Here.”

Deceit swallowed, his nostrils once again flaring as the scent drifted to him. This was so unfair to have his mouth watering even as his stomach twisted in knots. “I’m not hungry.” He said, keeping his voice low. He tightened his grip on the handle. He never was during this time.

Logic frowned, adjusting his glasses with one hand. “Not hun--” He shook his head, holding the pizza up higher.

As if that would change his mind.

“How can that be a truth, Lyal?” He demanded, eyebrows furrowing with confusion. “It’s been far too long--”

Twenty-four hours wasn’t that long. “I’ll be down in a couple of days, Logic. Don’t worry.” He said, trying to reassure the Side, though Deceit couldn’t quite hide the weariness in his tone as he edged the door shut. The process only ever took three days max, even if this time around had left him feeling weaker than normal.

The others could survive without his presence that long. They had before.

He jumped, an involuntary hiss escaping his lips as Logic slapped his hand on the door, keeping it open before Deceit could fully close it.

Logic shook his head, arm stiff. “It’s been six days, D--Lyal.” He said, meeting his eye. “As much as a nuisance as partaking of substance is, we do need to eat too in order to fully function for Thomas. You have to eat something.” He tilted his head to the top slice that had pepperoni on it. “At least take a bite from one of them.”

His heart skipped a beat. “Si-Six…Days?” Deceit repeated, numbly. The fingers of his left hand twitched, their movements stiff under the leathery texture. No. That couldn’t be--the shed would have finished in six days. He wouldn’t be---

The pizza.

They were going to have pizza on Friday.

Logic had pizza in his hands.

It was Pizza night!

He inhaled sharply, swaying as his vision tunneled. No. NO. He couldn’t have lost six days! It felt only like ONE.

But the weakness to his limbs, the dizziness when he stood---

“Lyal?” Logic asked, concern strong in his tone as he leaned forward trying to peer through the crack to see him better. “You...didn’t know?”

“I...I….No---” Deceit shook his head, careful to keep Logic from seeing the shed. “I’m...I’ll be fine. It’s nothing to worry about.” He lied as his mind raced. Six Days?! He hadn’t struggled with a shed for that long since Thomas had decided to come out of the closet!

What had gone wrong? He had the humidity and the heat in his room set up like he always did at this time. The process should have gone on without issue. Even the newer addition of his waxy hair hadn’t caused major problems before now. What had he done wrong?!

“I...can believe you hadn’t noticed the passage of time, but that last part is a lie.” Logic said in an undertone, drawing Deceit’s attention back to him. “What has you worried? Why are you avoiding us?” “I’m not avoi--” He grimaced, drawing back so that Logic could no longer see him. He needed the other Side to leave so he could work on fixing this! Sheds should never last this long. The left side of him shouldn’t feel so constricted still. Not after six days! If he didn’t fix it soon there could be so many issues, deformities. He already was a freak among the others, he didn’t want to make it even more obvious.

“You are. Is it because--”

“My reason isn’t what you think it is.” Deceit interrupted, hand trembling on the knob as he stared at Logic’s cool yellow heat signature through the door. “And I don’t want to talk about--” Deceit cut off again, inhaling shakily, hearing the lie in his words. How...Why would he want to talk about it?! He never talked about this. He always dealt with this alone. It’s not like the others could help him in this even if they wanted to. They didn’t have scales.

Logic tilted his head, finally dropping his hand away from the door to fidget with the paper plate. “The others, despite what they might say otherwise, are worried for you, Deceit--ah Lyal.” He said. “I am worried about you. Extremely worried. I-” He shrugged. “I wish I came up sooner, but you never miss pizza night, yet you did tonight and that’s--I wouldn’t have brought some up to you otherwise.”

Deceit snorted, hoping it didn’t sound as hysterical as he was feeling. If Logic hadn’t knocked on his door...how much longer would it have been before he realized his shed wasn’t going well? A freaking week had passed by and he hadn’t noticed!

He closed his human eye, the film covered snake one continuing to stare at Logic’s heat signature. The fact that he came at all was...gratifying in a way. He would never have realized something was wrong otherwise.

He edged forward so he could see Logi---Logan with his human eye. “Yah...that’s usually Morality’s thing is it not?” He whispered. Not that Morality had ever brought him food when he’d been consistent in coming to the family dinners, but Deceit had seen the father figure do it multiple times for Anxiety.

“Correct.” Logan gestured, the paper plate of pizza vanishing from his hands. “But the fact is, whatever you wish to tell us, we can handle it.” He leaned forward again, eyes earnest. “At this point the others and I would prefer to know why you are hiding out in your room so that we can take measures to prevent this series of events from occurring again.” He gestured to Anxiety’s door. “We did the same thing for Virgil, we can do it for you. We can help you, Lyal.”

Deceit sighed, letting his head fall against the door with a dull thunk. “Cute speech, Logic” He mumbled. “But it’s not that simple.” Deceit grimaced. It wasn’t! Yet he wanted it to be. Could Logan help? Could Logic tell him that his shed was something the others could help him with? He couldn’t see how. “This isn’t something that will go away. It’s--It’s--” His breath hitched as tears welled up in his good eye.

Gah. Stupid. So stupid. He shouldn’t be crying about this! Stupid shed. He shook his head. “It’s a part of me. This won’t change.” He accepted it long ago, but he doubted the others would.

Logan’s heat signature pressed a hand against the door, right where Deceit’s head rested. “Then shouldn’t we know?” He asked. “Virgil struggles with anxiety, Roman with his self-esteem. When they have bad days we do what we can to help them. We support each other. It’s what family does. Through thick and thin. We’re there.”

Deceit grimaced. Family? Ha. It was a nice thought. But that was them. The Light Sides. Not him. Not a Dark Side. “That’s not--that’s different...than this.”

“Lyal.” Logan exhaled. “You know as Logic I’m not as prone to emotional outbursts like the others.”

Yah right. “Crofters.”

He huffed, adjusting his glasses. “Granted there are exceptions. But I could, if you are willing, give my opinion on whether or not this issue of yours is something we should continue to remain uninvolved with.”

Deceit closed his eye, pressing his lips together, his shoulders slumping.

“Lyal please.” Logan said, dropping his hand to the doorknob. “Let me help.”

Deceit drew in a shaky breath. Logic wasn't going to let this go. The others wouldn't either. Not now that they’d noticed something was off. It was how they worked, unfortunately.

Anxiety hadn’t been left to his own devices once he was accepted. He should have realized sooner that the others were doing the same to him. Especially when he made the choice to give them a name to call him by. Gave them a reason to think of him as something more than his job. He should have realized when they invited him to the dinners. When Morality had referred to him as part of the...family.

“You don’t have to struggle alone, Lyal.” Logan continued in a soothing tone. “We’re family. We can help you. If you let us.”

Family.

Deceit exhaled.

Logic--Logan just had to use that word.

He lifted his head. “Alright.” He said, flicking on the light before he moved back away from the door. He couldn't hide this. Not for much longer at any rate. Deceit cleared his throat, stomach writhing as he crossed his good arm over his bare chest, turning the scaled side away from the door as it swung open.

To Be Continued Chapter 2

#Scales #stillebesat #Sanders Sides #Deceit #Logan #Logic #shedding tw #minor pain tw #minor injuries tw #touch starvation tw

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terreisa · 3 years

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Love Down the Line: Chapter 12

The last thing Indie musician Emma Swan needs is a gigantic wrench thrown in the workings of her biggest tour to date weeks before its launch. When her backing guitarist that caused the problem says she has the perfect solution Emma is skeptical but left with little choice but to accept. Unfortunately she isn’t really prepared for said solution to be former Rock Star and leading man of Emma’s teenage fantasies, Killian Jones. With no other options and a month of performing across the country ahead of her Emma just hopes she doesn’t come to regret letting Killian onto her stage and into her life.

Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4, Ch 5, Ch 6, Ch 7, Ch 8, Ch 9, Ch 10, Ch 11, AO3

~*CS*~

Boston, June 8th

Emma shifted from foot to foot in front of the door marked 520. It had taken her over a week to get her shit together and make the trip that she’d originally intended to make the morning after her show in Vancouver. Of course that had been before her phone had blown up with calls and texts about Killian’s video, which had hit a million views before the sun had even risen. It had also been before the small gaggle of paparazzi had grown to a crowd and forced her to use the same back door to leave the hotel that she’d used to enter it the night before. Those were the excuses she told herself in the light of day. She was much more honest with herself at three in the morning when she couldn’t sleep.

In the dead of night it was easy to admit that she was a fucking coward. Killian had laid his heart bare for the entire world to see, and judge, and all she’d done was call her manager. Granted she’d had to take a dressing down and listen to a frustrated rant meant for someone else but that was nothing compared to the self flagellation she’d been doing since she’d landed in Portland and driven north instead of heading south. To add an extra layer to her guilt she watched Killian’s video two or three times a day and that didn’t even count how many times she only pulled up the song portion. That, in the end, had been what decided it for her.

She’d tried finding the song on every streaming service and on every platform that sold downloads but it wasn’t anywhere. For the entire week she’d checked every morning when she woke up and every night before she went to bed but the song only seemed accessible in the video he posted. The temptation to illegally download it had crossed her mind once or twice but she’d been able to hold herself in check, mostly because she knew the audio quality would suck but even more so because it felt almost cowardly. That that would be the thing to somehow tip off Killian that she would rather torture herself with a shitty copy of the song he wrote for her than to actually talk to him.

It took far too long for her to piece together that because it couldn’t be downloaded or streamed meant that he wasn’t making any kind of profit from it. When she finally did she felt like her heart had been plucked out of her chest and was on the precipice of being ground into dust. She’d been out the door and on her way to Boston within five minutes of her realization and long before she could talk herself out of it.

The four hour drive had given her plenty of time to think over some things. How she felt about him, really, truly felt about him, for one. While Killian had pretty much said that he loved her she wasn’t so sure that was what she was feeling in return. She definitely liked him, a lot, so much so that the weeks since she’d practically ghosted him she’d grown used to the constant ache under her breastbone. The restless nights and obsessing over his video seemed a bit much but she could easily admit to herself that she missed him. It didn’t necessarily mean that she loved him, they’d really only been together for a matter of days after all.

Then there was the slight issue of what the hell she was going to say to him. An apology was a given. On the flight back to Portland from Vancouver she’d finally admitted to herself that she might have possibly, slightly overreacted when she’d heard about Killian’s record contract. She wasn’t completely in the wrong, he had lied and hidden things from her, but she definitely could have at least listened to what he’d had to say. That was another thing, she was going to keep her damn mouth shut after she apologized and let him say whatever it was that he needed to say to her.

Her planning and imagined conversations got her into Boston but once she’d parked her car she’d begun to worry. There was every possibility that he’d refuse to speak to her, that he’d take one look at her darkening his doorstep and slam the door in her face. He might not even open the door at all, just see her distorted image through the peephole and decide not to bother. By the time she’d reached his apartment she’d worked herself up so much with the ‘what ifs’ that she couldn’t bring herself to even knock on the damn door.

She’d been psyching herself up for at least ten minutes, raising her fist in a burst of courage only to drop it as another wave of unease washed over her. As she lifted her hand for the fifth or fiftieth time one of his neighbors slammed their door shut. Startled, her knuckles tapped the door, softly but enough to make a definite sound. Resigned and relieved she sucked in a deep breath and soundly knocked twice, stepping back quickly so if he did look through the peephole he’d clearly see that it was her on the other side.

For a few agonizing moments she stood, waiting. The neighbor who had slammed their door passed her by, giving her a curious look but kept walking. She briefly wondered if he knew he lived on the same floor as potential rock legend. The thought fled her mind when she heard the slide of a lock disengaging and the door in front of her slowly opened.

She could tell that Killian hadn’t been sleeping as soon as he stepped into view, there were dark purple shadows under his eyes that hadn’t shown up in his video. His hair was even more of a disheveled mess than it had been in the video too, and longer. He was wearing a pair of thin blue flannel lounge pants and a threadbare grey t-shirt with a rip at the collar and a faded Led Zeppelin logo. She’d never seen a more heartbreakingly beautiful sight.

“How-”

“Regina mostly,” she rushed to explain. It was way easier to tell him how she found him instead of why she had wanted to, “Robin helped with the doorman though.”

“They’re old friends,” he murmured absently. His gaze darted all over her, as if he couldn’t quite believe she was there, “Tuck put in a good word for me with the board when I decided to move here after rehab. Why are you here Emma?”

She winced, “Can we, um, go inside. I really don’t want to do this out here.”

Something flared bright in Killian’s eyes as his mouth tightened. She almost expected him to cross his arms and refuse. Saying everything she needed to say out in the hallway would have been embarrassing and awkward as hell but she was prepared to do it. In fact, she realized she would do almost anything to just get him to give her a chance. He must have seen that in her own eyes as he gave her a terse nod, stepping back into the apartment and opening the door wider for her to pass through.

As she walked by him she resisted the urge to reach out and brush her fingers against the back of his hand or worse, stop completely to wrap her arms around him and never let him go. Every ounce of courage she’d lacked before was suddenly filling her from root to tip. She was still nervous as hell but she wasn’t about to destroy everything for once and for all by chickening out at the last second. If things didn’t go the way she wanted it wouldn’t be because she decided that giving up was easier than fighting them.

Her steps slowed to a stop as she fully stepped into the spacious apartment. One of the living room walls was floor to ceiling shelves filled with books, cds, and vinyls while the second had an impressive entertainment system with a giant tv that had a soccer game frozen on its screen. There was a cozy looking couch and matching chair facing it that broke up the space between the living room and breakfast bar and the kitchen. What really caught her eye was the view from the sliding glass doors behind a round dining table that opened to a small balcony. It wasn’t full dark but the facade of the State House was already lit, its golden dome gleaming dimly.

“Nice view,” she muttered quietly.

“You were more excited by the one in Malibu,” Killian said flatly, startling her as he stepped up beside her. He gave her a wry grin, “Bit jumpy there, Swan? Don’t worry I won’t bite.”

She turned fully towards him and held his gaze, “I’m more nervous than worried.”

A muscle in his jaw ticked but he didn’t look away. After a moment he gave a small sigh and moved toward the kitchen.

“I’d offer you a stiff drink but chamomile will have to do.”

He brushed past her, moving into the kitchen. When she didn’t move he huffed and pointed to one of the high backed stools tucked under the breakfast bar. She gave him a small smile and when he turned his back to her to open a cupboard she shook her head at her nervousness. Silently admonishing herself she sat down and watched him move around the space, a defensive set to his shoulders as he gathered the things for their tea and set an electric kettle to boil. Once there was nothing left for him to fiddle with he turned back to her, leaning casually against the far counter and crossing his arms over his chest.

“So it took you ten days to ask Regina where to find me?” He asked in that same flat voice.

Despite his attempt to sound indifferent she could hear the hurt in his words. As much as she knew her answer would only serve to harm him more she couldn’t lie to him. There was enough of that between them already.

“I called her as soon as I finished watching your video-” she dropped her gaze to where her hands were folded on the bartop, not quite strong enough to watch him react to her answer, “ten days ago.”

Her confession was met with silence. She could hear the water in the kettle start to boil and the gentle hum of the refrigerator but that was it. After a few seconds of quiet torture she steeled herself and looked up, needing to know exactly how pissed he was at her. What she saw didn’t disappoint.

He hadn’t moved an inch, still leaning against the counter but there was nothing casual about it. Every one of his muscles were tense, his fingers digging into his bicep with enough force to turn them white while his eyes were two chips of ice, cold enough to burn as he stared her down. She was almost relieved at seeing the signs of his anger, anything was better than the indifference he’d been displaying before. The kettle clicked off but he showed no sign of noticing aside from the slight tightening of his jaw.

As he glared at her she tried not to let her own frustration and anger flare up. There were still so many things that they needed to talk about and any one of them could have him throwing her out of the apartment. She wasn’t about to be meek or amenable but she sure as hell wasn’t about to keep poking the beast that she’d awakened.

“Honey?” He growled.

She blinked, “Wha- what?”

“In your tea-” he uncrossed his arms and gestured to the mugs beside him, “Honey?”

“Um, yeah, that’s fine.”

He gave her a terse nod and began fixing their tea. With his back turned to her she took a deep, calming breath. She was no longer nervous, his reaction had been pretty much what she’d expected and that part was over with. Instead a hollow ache of longing had settled in her chest. There was nothing she wanted more than to talk like they used to, open and without pretense but also with a bit of teasing and flirting thrown in for good measure.

Killian topped his mug off with a splash of milk before turning and handing hers over. It was a white mug with a line drawing of a guitar and the words ‘I’m a kettle head’ written over it. She couldn’t help her snort of laughter at the sight of it.

“Something funny, Swan?” He asked with a raised brow, his cup of tea halfway to his lips.

She spun the mug so the graphic faced him, “Gag gift or did you buy this yourself?”

He rolled his eyes and took a sip of his tea but she could see his ears turning red. She let her own eyebrow tick up as he swallowed, shaking his head.

“Gift from a fan, actually. I made mention in an interview years ago that I enjoyed a good cup of tea in the afternoon. I’m still receiving packages of tea and its related wares on a steady basis-” he tipped his head towards her mug, “That was one of the more clever ones.”

Spinning it back so she could grasp it by the handle she hesitated. The opening was clear for her to start the conversation that needed to be had. She knew she should take advantage of it but he was no longer glaring at her and she wanted to bask in the small reprieve she’d found herself in. To prolong the moment she took a sip of her tea, humming at the soothing warmth and delicate flavor that danced over her tongue. The corner of Killian’s mouth ticked up and her heart skipped a beat at the sight.

“Not as good as my hot chocolate but it’ll do,” she teased.

Emma knew she’d pushed his patience to its breaking point a half second too late. Killian’s smile flared for a second before he pressed his lips together in a thin line and turned his gaze away from her. Her own small grin slipped and she berated herself for expecting too much too soon. She waited, quiet and still, until he looked back at her.

“I’m sorry.”

His eyes widened and he let out a little huff of surprise but she barreled on, needing to get it all out.

“I’m sorry for so many things, waiting ten days to show up, not calling the second I finished watching your video, blocking your number so you couldn’t call me, fighting with you when I answered Ruby’s phone-”

“Swan-”

“I get that you’re mad at me. Good, you should be. I was terrible to you and I know it’s no excuse but I was hurt and you lied to me, but I still should have given you a chance to explain-” she gave a little hiccuping laugh, “God, if you’d done that to me and showed up at my house I would have slammed the door in your face and been done with it. And you? You invited me in for tea? Why?”

Killian shook his head with a huff. She could see his smile threatening to break loose again and the sight mystified her. He saw her bewilderment and pushed off the counter behind him with his hip, setting his mug in front of hers and leaned into her space, gently taking her hand in his.

“Don’t you know, Emma?” He asked, painfully earnest. “You said you watched the video, so you must know.”

“You’re mad at me,” she pointed out, even as she gripped his hand.

He tilted his head, considering her, “I am but that doesn’t change how I feel.”

“I’m not sure how I feel,” she confessed in a whisper, “I know I hated not talking to you late at night or being near you almost constantly but…”

She trailed off, unsure how to proceed without stoking either of their tempers again. Killian’s thumb ran over the back of her hand, encouraging her, and she reveled in the feeling. He gave her an encouraging nod and she took a fortifying breath.

“You lied to me-” he winced and tried to pull his hand from hers but she held on fast, “You lied and if whatever this is between us is going to work I need to know why. I promise to actually listen this time.”

He gave her a pained smile, “And if you don’t like what you hear?”

“I won’t know until you tell me,” she countered softly.

“Alright,” he said with a nod, one that seemed more for himself than for her. “Alright, but can you promise me one more thing?”

“Anything,” she agreed quickly.

“No interruptions. I think it’ll do us both good to have it all out in one go.”

She used her free hand to mime that she was locking her lips and throwing away the key. He gave her a small snort of a laugh, no longer looking pained or apprehensive, which had been her goal. As she gently squeezed his hand in encouragement she really hoped she’d be able to keep her promise.

Killian blew out a harsh breath and began, “Are you familiar with Cora Hart?”

Her eyebrows shot up and she bit the inside of her cheek to keep her mouth shut. Cora Hart was the agent of all agents. Her firm was the one every struggling artist wished would represent them because every one of their clients was a superstar or on their way to being one. To be one of her personal clients was like getting a golden ticket to everlasting fame, fortune, and the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. However, it came with a price and Emma wasn’t entirely convinced that it wasn’t someone’s soul. Plus Cora Hart was known by everyone in the industry as ‘that cold hearted bitch’. It was an unpleasant surprise to hear her name coming from Killian’s lips.

“Yes, I can see that you are,” he sighed. “She’s my agent.”

She grimaced. As much as she’d been prepared to hear it it still made her stomach drop. There were only so many ways his story was going to go and she wasn’t sure she was entirely ready to hear it, but she would, because she promised.

“I’ve been with her since the beginning. She found us playing at a small pub in Liverpool and snapped us up. If it weren’t for her we’d probably still be playing pub gigs but only on weekends-” he gave her a wan smile that didn’t last long, “I owe a lot to that woman, not everything but enough to know not to question her decisions on where to take my career. Even if I wanted to seek different representation she’s got me in an iron clad contract for at least three solo albums.”

“What?!”

She couldn’t help her outburst. While it was normal for a record label to offer contracts like that, she’d signed one herself for that matter, she was pretty sure it wasn’t standard for an agent to do the same. Then again she didn’t actually have an agent of her own. Regina was an employee of her label and didn’t need a separate contract with her and seemed more than happy to take care of everything herself. Emma thought that things had been working out alright, aside from the fiasco that had put her right where she found herself at that very moment.

“I have been bound by this contract for quite a while, Swan,” he said wryly. “Since even before the accident.”

“But that’s gotta be extortion or something, right?” She asked indignantly. “I mean, it’s been almost fifteen years!”

He gave her a warm look, “There are plenty of people who have been with their agents for much longer and I thought I said no interruptions, love.”

“Sorry,” she said sheepishly.

“Realm of Jewels made Cora a very rich woman and an equally hot commodity in the industry. I had already planned to do a few solo albums and signed with her because she was someone I already knew. Back then I thought three albums was nothing, I had written material for at least six,” he said with a shrug. “After the accident and pulling myself out of the bottle she was gracious enough to allow me to do whatever I needed to do to get my life back on track. Even if it meant nothing more than doing recording sessions for other artists’ work. Of course, her patience could only be pushed so far and I’m sure I’d far exceeded the limit. She started not so gently reminding me of my contractual obligations about a year ago.

“At the time I figured I could piecemeal something together from my old lyrics and maybe a cover or two to get an album together. It wouldn’t have been great, fair to middling if anything, but it would have been enough to satisfy Cora for the time being. I wasn’t excited by the prospect and in the meantime I was still being hired for session recordings. One of which was for your album.”

Emma smiled and ducked her head. He’d made it sound like it was some great honor instead of a few hours work on a couple of songs. She didn’t even get to choose the musicians that got to record, that was all left up to the label, though she did get final say on how it sounded. That didn’t mean to say she hadn’t gone back to listen to those backing tracks almost as much as the song he’d written for her.

“It was the day we were recording for Snowdrops and Buttercups that I first met Regina. It just so happened to be the same day that Cora had come to the studio to once again remind me of my obligations. What I wasn’t aware of was the fact that Cora is Regina’s mother-” Emma’s head shot up at that and he nodded, “Whatever you do try to avoid being in the same room as them, especially when business is involved. I left the studio that day with my three album contract inexorably attached to the record label that Regina represented. There was also the small inconvenience of a series of deadlines being imposed. The first of which was having enough songs written to begin recording an album within six months. When Ruby called about needing a replacement I had about two months left to put something recordable together.”

Emma bit her lip. It was getting harder and harder to keep her comments and questions to herself. Especially with the bomb he’d dropped about Regina and Cora. She decided to take a sip of her tea instead. Before her mug even made it to her lips Killian was grinning widely at her.

“Go ahead, love,” he said with a bow of his head.

She slammed her mug down, splashing tea over her hand. With a hiss she shook off the droplets impatiently, ignoring Killian’s outstretched hand, not wanting to be deterred.

“Cora the heartless is Regina’s mother?! And if you had only two months to write an entire album why the hell were you allowed to come on tour with me? Is that why you had that lunch with Robin and Regina? For the album? Why didn’t you tell me all of this already?”

Killian’s expression immediately dropped into one of regret as she sat back, stunned at her directness. She absentmindedly rubbed at the reddened spot on the back of her hand that the tea had spilled on. The lingering pain was an excellent distraction from the tension that had sprung up between them. With a click of his tongue Killian moved to the sink, wetting the corner of a dish rag. When he turned back to her he paused and she gave him a nod, holding out her hand to him hoping he would see it as the olive branch she was offering.

“At first it didn’t seem as though it would be an issue,” he said quietly as he gently pressed the rag to her burn, “You only needed a temporary guitarist and as I mentioned earlier I had dozens of notebooks already filled with lyrics that would suffice. Regina was the one who scheduled the meeting with Robin as soon as I was officially attached to the tour. I believe her intention at the time was for me to hand over the completed songs and get the ball rolling as it were. She, of course, had no idea that you and I would become what we did.”

“Did you, um, have any idea?” She asked hesitantly, dropping her gaze to where his hand was still holding the damp cloth to the back of hers.

He used his other hand to tip up her chin and looked her in the eye, “I’d hoped but I could never be quite sure how you felt. Until Chicago.”

She wanted to confess that her hopes had started long before Chicago. That he had somehow snuck past her defenses into her heart with his charm and unwavering support but she couldn’t. He still hadn’t answered the question that mattered most to her. With a sigh she pulled away from his gentle touch.

“I still don’t understand why you didn’t tell me any of this,” she said a bit sharper than she intended, her frustration and confusion bleeding into her tone. “We talked for hours on that damn bus. I listened to you talk about how much better felt tip pens are than ball points three separate times! Was it really so hard to say ‘by the way, Swan, I’ve signed with your manager and have to get an album written while we’re on the road’?”

He let out a heavy breath and ran a hand through his hair, “I didn’t want to upset you.”

“And look where that got you,” she said with a humorless chuckle waving her hand between them. “If you’d said something off the bat I would have been pissed at you for, like maybe a week, and I also wouldn’t have gotten my heart broken.”

Emma froze. She hadn’t meant to make that confession, especially when she wasn’t even one hundred percent sure what it was she felt for him. Killian seemed caught off guard too, as he stood staring at her with wide eyes and not appearing to breathe. He blinked and closed the small distance between them but made no move to touch her.

“I’m glad to hear it,” he murmured.

“You’re glad to hear I got my heart broken?” Her voice cracked and she pulled as far back from him as she could.

“If it can be broken, it means it still works,” he said softly but she could hear the hope in his words all the same. “I know I hurt you immeasurably, love, and I’ve earned no right to a second chance but if you can see it in you to do so I’ll gladly spend the rest of my days earning your back your trust and, perhaps in time, your heart.”

“Killian…”

“Finish your tea, Swan,” he said with a tight smile though his eyes were sparkling with the same hope she’d heard, “Don’t want it to get cold.”

She stared down at the amber liquid and watched the curling tendrils of steam as though they’d give her some kind of sign of what to do. They didn’t, of course, not that she really believed it would be that easy. There were still so many questions she wanted to ask but only one really mattered. Guarding herself against a final blow she looked up at him with determination.

“Were you ever going to tell me about any of it? Or was it always your plan for me to find out from someone else?”

Killian jolted back, as though she’d slapped him. He shook his head with a sigh before running a hand over his face. When he caught her eye again the hope had been replaced with pain and a flash of the anger she’d thought was behind them.

“I’d intended to tell you everything the night of the interview over the dinner we were supposed to share at my home. I suppose it was fortuitous that I’d listened to it or I would have sat with our meal laid out on the table, waiting for hours for your arrival. As it was I had to endure one of Regina’s assistants traipsing through the house, gathering your items and ignoring my pleas to explain what the hell was going on. Then, of course, there was to be no explanations forthcoming for nearly three days and absolute devastation once I’d received them. But after all that my feelings for you never changed, not once.”

Emma sucked in a breath at that. Even as he was justifiably dressing her down for what she’d done he was still playing it safe. He’d never stated outright what he felt for her but she knew without a doubt what he wasn’t saying. Funny thing was, his caution made her realize exactly what she felt for him with startling clarity. She gave a little laugh that bordered on manic but she was helpless against the sudden euphoria she was feeling.

Killian glared at her, “I won’t have you laughing-”

“I love you.”

The words seemed to hang between them in the quiet kitchen like a line cast out to the unknown. She could only hope that Killian would grasp onto them and tether her heart to his. As the silence stretched out she found she only wished she had told him sooner instead of dragging out both their heartaches. Shaking her head at her own stubborn foolishness she gave him a tremulous smile.

“I love you and I’m sorry. I was trying so hard to protect myself from getting hurt again that I just hurt us both so much more instead. I’m so tired of feeling like I tore a piece of my own heart out. You said your feelings haven’t changed. I want this. I want us. Do you?”

Instead of answering her with words Killian moved at a speed that surprised her. Almost before she had finished the question he was standing in front of her, his arms bracketing her with his hands on the back of the chair and the counter. His expression was deadly serious but his eyes were lit with joy as he leaned into her space.

“Swan, I want nothing more.”

Her smile was cut off by his lips pressing to hers. She gasped as one of his hands delved into her hair while the other banded around her waist, his thumb stroking at the skin above the waistband of her jeans. It was as if he was pouring every emotion into the kiss. His passion, his elation, his fervor, and most of all his love. With a moan she pulled him impossibly closer, hooking her ankles around the back of his legs to draw him in.

To her surprise he broke away, leaning his forehead against hers, breathing heavily, “There’s one last thing that needs to be said.”

“Now?” She panted, arching up slightly to nip at his lower lip. “Can’t it wait?”

“Not really,” he groaned. He kissed the corner of her mouth, then her cheek, sliding his mouth to her ear where he quietly sang to her, “But I wouldn't trade a day for the chance to say, My love, I'm in love with you.”

Tears welled in her eyes as he pulled back, looking at her as though she was the best thing that had ever happened to him. He gently brushed away the few tears that had fallen with a finger, following closely behind with soft kisses that travelled across her cheeks, leaving her wanting more. By the time he moved to her mouth the heat between them had returned but she leaned back before he could press more than one delicate kiss to her lips.

“Emma,” he growled, his hand flexing on the back of her neck, his eyes hot.

“You know, you never gave me a tour of the place-” she gave him a teasing smile and gave an exaggerated look around, “I bet there’s all sorts of interesting rooms.”

He caught on quickly, his smile unfurling into something wicked, “Indeed there are, my love. Shall we begin with the bedroom?”

He didn’t give her the chance to answer as he swiftly pulled her up from her chair and tugged her quickly down the hallway.

Much, much later Emma was seated back at the breakfast bar in nothing but her underwear and Killian’s Led Zeppelin shirt. Her feet were perched in Killian’s lap, which was covered by dark blue boxer briefs that he’d only pulled on when the pizza they’d ordered had arrived. She tried to smother a giddy grin behind her crust but he caught sight of it and raised a brow at her.

“Something you’d like to share, Swan?”

“I’m just-” she gave a little shrug, “happy. I guess I’m still trying to process it.”

“I know what you mean, love,” he agreed, his hand dropping to her ankle to give it a squeeze. “If someone had told me yesterday that we would be here tonight, like this, I wouldn’t have believed them. Now, if they’d predicted us reconciling by the end of the week I wouldn’t have questioned it.”

“No?” She asked, humming in pleasure at the confidence in his voice.

“You’re not the only one who can wheedle an address out of Regina,” he said with a wink. Then he grew serious, “If I hadn’t heard from you by the end of the week I was planning on driving up to Maine to plead my case.”

“I’m surprised she gave it to you,” she mumbled around a bite of her crust. “She was all worried about you breaching your contract because of deadlines two weeks ago. A side trip to Maine would definitely eat into your studio time or something.”

“Oh-” Killian scratched behind his ear and then said offhandedly, “I’ve, er, been in breach of my contract since I posted that video, love.”

Her last bite fell from her fingers as she gaped at him. A flush was rising along the back of his neck and he gave her a sheepish smile.

“What?”

“Well, according to some of the very fine print in it I was forbidden from releasing any music by means other than through the label-” he shrugged and waved a hand as though dismissing the seriousness of the situation, “My lawyer assures me that at most I’ll only have to pay a minimal fine.”

“Pay a…” she brought her palms to her temples, “Killian that’s still going to be thousands of dollars.”

“I would have posted a hundred unsanctioned songs and paid every cent I have to my name just to get you to talk to me again,” he said matter of factly. He leaned over and plucked the piece of crust from her lap, tossing it into the open pizza box before fixing her gaze with his, “And it would have been worth it. You are worth everything.”

She dropped her hands with a huff, “Stop being romantic when I’m worrying about you.”

“Never,” he said with a wide grin that made his eyes crinkle. “And you don’t need to worry about me, Swan, I’m a survivor.”

“I love you,” she said with a shrug, “I’ll always worry about you.”

His grin mellowed into something that made her feel warm and cherished. He leaned over and grasped her stool, dragging it towards him until the already small distance between them was narrowed so only a puff of air could pass through. She gave a wayward thought to the state of his floors at the abuse they suffered but it vanished as his hand came up to cup her jaw, his thumb drawing a delicate arc across her cheekbone.

“I love you too,” he murmured just above a whisper, his eyes intent on hers, “I always will.”

Her happy sigh was swallowed by his lips on hers. The kiss was far more gentle than any of the others they had shared, even the ones from before their separation. With a slight thrill she realized that they would have hundreds, even thousands, more kisses of all sorts in the years to come. As they parted she couldn’t help her giddy smile at the thought.

Killian raised his brow at her, his gaze teasing, “Already, Swan? We’ve only just surfaced.”

“What? No!” She laughed, pushing him back, “I mean, yeah but not like that. I was thinking about us kissing but years from now kind of kisses.”

“Years from now,” he repeated in awe. He leaned back towards her, “I like the sound of that.”

“Me too,” she sighed. Then she crinkled her nose at him, “Even if I do end up supporting you because you have to keep paying fines since you’re a big YouTube star now. I know how you guys gotta keep posting content.”

“Har, har, love. Just so you know, Cora has already spun this in my favor,” he said smugly. “She’s convinced the label that it’s the perfect way to garner attention for my forthcoming album. Which is why I’ll only be paying a minimal fine instead of what it easily could have been.”

Emma sat back, “So you’re still going to do it? Record the album?”

“Not exactly, no,” he said with a crooked smile, “The songs I was planning on recording before are, quite honestly, rubbish. I’ve had a wellspring of inspiration these past few weeks. Robin is quite pleased with them as a matter of fact and he’s not hold back over the years when something of mine is only worthy of a bin. I’ll be heading to the studio once the whole contract debacle is taken care of. That is, of course, only if you agree.”

“Agree to what?” She asked, confused.

“The songs, my love-” he dropped his eyes for a moment and when he looked back up his gaze was wary, “You, us, what we’ve been through? Well… you know.”

And she did. She’d written dozens of songs about the man who’d left her in jail and pregnant and just as many about her lonely childhood in foster care. There was more than one notebook filled with longing ballads about the son she’d never even held. Hell, the notebook in her purse was pages of scribbles and half formed lyrics about Killian and their time together. So she knew exactly what he was getting at. She also had one niggling thought about it.

“Yeah, I do,” she said with a slow nod. Reaching towards him she took his hand between hers, “I think you should record the songs you’ve written, even the ones that I know don’t paint me in the best light, but I do have one request.”

“Anything,” he breathed, his hand flexing in hers.

“I don’t want to hear any of them until the final mix-” she let go of his hand to cover his mouth as he tried to protest, “No, hear me out first. I’m sure the songs are good, great even since Robin is excited about them, and that’s exactly why I want to wait to hear them. I know how much work goes into making an album and thanks to Ruby you know exactly how big a fan I am of your music. I just- I think I want to have that giddy moment listening to your first big solo album as the finished thing.”

Killian tugged her hand away from his lips and gave her a wry grin, “So you want to enjoy the sausage without seeing all the unappetizing steps of how it gets made?”

“Uh, weird analogy but yeah,” she said, relieved that it hadn’t caused another fight, “I wouldn’t mind seeing the pigs before slaughter though.”

“So you’ll berate me for the initial analogy but then proceed to take it to a much darker place. I see how your mind works, Swan,” Killian said with narrowed eyes and a look of mock sternness.

“I work with what I’m given,” she said with a shrug.

Killian huffed out a laugh before he grew serious, taking the hand that was still in his and placing them both over his heart, “You can look at every song I’ve ever written, love. Even the shit ones from primary school.”

She gave him a smile she knew was giddy, “Oh, I definitely want to look at those but I think for now I’ll stick to your most recent ones.”

“Wise decision,” he murmured,half rising from his stool, “Shall I go get them now?”

“No, it’s late, I can look at them tomorrow-” she flexed her fingers on his chest and when he looked back at her she tried to let him see every ounce of love she was feeling, “I’m not going anywhere.”

His smile unfurled slowly but adoration and love was bright in his eyes, “Good.”

#captain swan #cs ff #cs fan fic #cs fanfic #captain swan fan fiction #captain swan fan fic #captain swan fanfic #captain swan ff #ouat ff #my writing

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ihaveatypeanditstrickstergods · 3 years

Text

Operation Hearthfire Chapter 1: It’s Better Warm

Finally, it’s up!

Post-Avengers canon divergent. Loki is exiled to Earth, placed under magically binding house arrest in a SHIELD safehouse, watched by a bevy of highly trained agents... and one "caretaker," who up until recently had been a low-level archivist. Heather Seagin doesn't know why she was chosen for this job any more than anyone else seems to, but she'll be damned if she isn't going to do it to the best of her abilities, even as surrounding circumstances and Loki himself endeavor to make it as difficult as possible.

Read it on Ao3!

@loki-yoursaviourishere

(if you want to be tagged for this, just let me know! If you asked before and I forgot, I’m sorry! if you thought you wanted to be tagged for this and changed your mind, also let me know!)

It was one of SHIELD’s smallest facilities: an archive, built in Upstate New York sometime in the 1950’s, filled with reports, both news and scientific, then left mostly alone. It was tended by only two low-clearance staff members, who were each only at the facility a few times a week (rarely on the same day), or by appointment if one of the files there needed to be consulted. A woman who, until her recent recruitment for a more... unusual job, had been one of those two staff members was seated in a chair facing her former desk, looking over it at her supervising agent.

“Long-Term Operation Codename Hearthfire, Verbal Status Report 3,” Agent Richardson said into the pocket recorder, “27 August 2012, present Level 6 Agent T. Richardson and Exceptional Level 1 Archivist H. Seagin. Recorded at 0900 hours at archival building designation 023.” He set the recorder down on the desk and sat down in the chair. Heather always thought that Richardson looked like he’d just stepped out of an episode of Law and Order, which didn’t help her nerves when they met at the archive for these status reports. It made her feel like she was being interrogated.

“Alright, let’s start with general thoughts. How have things progressed with the Subject since the last report?”

“They haven’t,” Heather replied bluntly. She was now into her third week as Loki’s caretaker since he’d been exiled to Earth, and she could count the number of words they’d exchanged without taking off her shoes. Or well, words she’d spoken to him. He had yet to acknowledge her existence past a few glares, never mind speaking to her.

“Loki--sorry, the Subject,” she was still getting used to the phrasing SHIELD wanted her to use for these reports, “is still just staying in his room all day. I did try staying up until when he usually gets up Wednesday night, but he didn’t leave his room then either, so I think he’s waiting until he’s sure I’m asleep.”

“So, no progress, okay...” Agent Richardson nodded as Heather winced, then he went on to the next question.

“Have you been able to make any contact? You were talking last week about leaving notes.” Heather let out an uncomfortable chuckle.

“I tried,” she admitted. As far as she was concerned, part of her job as the exiled god’s caretaker was helping him adjust to the minor details of life on earth. At the time, leaving post-it notes explaining how to use various items across the isolated SHIELD safehouse where they’d been placed seemed like a good idea, but in practice, well...

“I do think he read some of them, anyway, at least it seemed like he was able to successfully use the shower, but there was no response, unless you count me finding them torn up the next morning.”

“Well, that’s something, I guess.” He folded his hands, “Alright, elephant in the room. Let’s talk about the attempted perimeter breach.” Heather sighed. “I think I already said what I wanted to say in the incident report,” she remarked.

“Can you just humor me and go over what happened again? I need to have this on the record.”

“Fine. So four days ago around 5 AM, the Subject,” she emphasized the last two words with a frustrated gesture, “attempted to leave the house and was knocked unconscious, I assume by his inhibitor cuff.” The cuff was Asgardian, part of the provisions for Loki’s house arrest. Neither Heather nor anyone else in SHIELD knew how it worked, and no one wanted to risk taking a closer look at it in case that disabled it, but it was supposed to keep him from using magic and, apparently, from leaving the house.

“I was asleep when it happened,” she continued, “since, you know, he only leaves his room when I’m asleep, but the team watching the house was able to bring him back in without incident,” even if it had taken six of them. “One of them woke me up and brought me in, so I was present when he woke up about five minutes later, but he didn’t say anything and went back to his room pretty quickly.”

“Have there been any changes in the Subject’s behavior since then?” Heather had to think about that question, but only for a second.

“Yes, actually. He’s stopped making messes every night.” At first, Heather would often wake up to find one room or another turned upside down--couches taken apart, drawers removed, the works, but she hadn’t since Loki had attempted to leave. “At least for now. It’s only been four days. He might just be giving me a break.”

“Interesting. What about changes in his psychological state?”

“I wouldn’t know. He’s been avoiding me and refuses to make contact with me.”

“That’s fair. Anything else?”

Heather hesitated. She did have one more thing to say, but if she did, either Agent Richardson would shoot her down or she’d be committed to this course of action, and at this point, after talking over what a bad job she was doing, she wasn’t sure which she was hoping for.

“There is one thing,” she said, deciding to go for it, “I want to try to directly attempt to establish contact tonight. I have a plan.”

“I take it the plan’s more involved than post-it notes?” Richardson raised an eyebrow, causing Heather to internally roll her eyes.

“Yes, it’s more involved than post-it notes,” she said with a small annoyed sigh, “You watch the house at night, right?” She had trouble keeping track of the monitoring squads’ shifts, but he’d been there during the attempted perimeter breach.

“Some nights, yes. Why?”

“Is there a usual time that he eats? I know that he has been pretty much every night.” At least if the dishes she found in the mornings were any indication.

“It varies, but usually between 0200 and 0400. So you’re gonna try to get him while he eats?”

“Yeah. Last time I stayed up it was in the living room, which is closer to his room... I think if I stay up in the sitting room by the kitchen, he might think the coast is clear and go about his business, then I can approach him when he enters the kitchen to eat.”

“And what, you’ll ambush him while he eats and try to get him to talk to you?”

“Hopefully.” To Heather’s surprise, Agent Richardson leaned forward and paused the recording.

“Look, Heather,” he said, “I can tell you’re trying, and I appreciate that you’re taking this job seriously, but honestly? You shouldn’t feel like you have to do this. Given what Loki’s done and what he’s capable of, no one would blame you if you just let him sulk.”

While she could sort of see his point--they both knew that she wasn’t qualified for this, that there wasn’t anybody really qualified to share space with a demigod war criminal--something in his tone made her temper flare. Only three weeks in, and he was already telling her to give up?

“I appreciate the thought,” she said, trying her hardest not to scowl, “but y’all brought me in to be Loki’s caretaker. Last I checked, that meant more than just letting him eat my leftovers while I sleep.” This job was aggravating, a little terrifying, and more than a little potentially dangerous, but she’d be damned if she wasn’t going to try her utmost to do it.

“Hmm,” Agent Richardson tilted his head, and if Heather hadn’t known better, she might’ve picked up the slightest hint of a smile on his normally inscrutable face. He leaned forward and turned the recorder back on.

“Alright,” he said, “sounds like a workable plan. Puts you at a bit of risk, though, so I want to go back over contingencies for if he reacts negatively.” Heather was silent for a moment, surprised at the agent’s change of attitude, but decided to continue on with her plan before he tried to talk her out of it again.

“So, first off, the sitting room by the kitchen is connected to the back door. The perimeter breach proved that he can’t go too far outside the house, and if I come in while he’s eating, he’ll probably be sitting down, so as long as I stay by the door I’ll have a decent chance of making it out if he reacts physically.”

“Uh-huh. And if he’s faster than you anticipated?”

“I say the cuff’s command word.” It was the ultimate failsafe, a single word she could say to make the cuff knock Loki unconscious as sure as if he had left the house. The perimeter breach had proved that the cuff acted quickly enough that she’d most likely be fine.

“Good,” he said with a nod, “Sounds like a plan. Hopefully we’ll have some more positives to talk about next week. End recording.” Agent Richardson turned the recorder off and stood up, pushing the chair out behind him as he asked, “Was there anything else you needed to take care of here?” causing Heather to shake her head.

“No, I don’t need to do any of my fake job today,” she joked with a small grin, tension reduced now that she wasn’t actively being interviewed. Officially she was still employed at the archive, although she only ‘worked’ in the building once a week. “Got some errands to run, though, so I’d better head out.” If she hurried, she’d be able to get a nap in before her stakeout.

“Are you alright, Heather?” She was almost out the door and nearly missed the agent’s question, but turned around when she did. There was a look of concern on his face, the most emotion she’d seen him express since they’d met when she first took the caretaker job.

“I’m fine,” she assured him with a small smile, “frustrated more than anything, but hey, maybe I’ll actually accomplish something tonight.”

“Alright. Just... be careful. This is Loki we’re talking about.”

“I know. I will.”

***

After a grocery run and a couple of other stops, Heather did, in fact, make it back to the safehouse in time for a nap. The house was tucked into a forest just far enough away from civilization that people were unlikely to come looking, although not so far away that cell service was nonexistent. Until she’d been recruited by SHIELD, first for the archive job, then as Loki’s caretaker, she had lived in the downtown area of a small city in Virginia, so the quiet still weirded her out a little--although it was very nice when it came to napping. When she woke up a few hours later--hopefully enough sleep to get her through the night--she had something to eat in the kitchen, took care of both her dishes and the ones Loki had left the night before and headed through the door on the far side into the sitting room.

Despite more or less having the run of the house, she didn’t usually bother with the small sitting room by the back door--she was pretty sure the most time she’d spent there was putting the armchairs back together after Loki had trashed the room one night--but it was perfect for her stakeout. It was adjacent to the kitchen, on the far side from the rest of the house, and the door between the two rooms created a blind spot that would hopefully keep her hidden. Leaving the door just ajar enough that she could hear what was happening in the kitchen, she settled herself in a chair with a book. Soon it would be too dark to read, but she could at least get some in now before she had to try to keep herself awake on nerves alone.

One hour crept by, then an hour and a half, then two, each easily seeming twice its actual length. Bringing a book had seemed like a good idea at the time, but she was so focused on the night ahead that she’d barely been able to pay attention to the words in front of her. It was after two hours, around 9:40, when it finally got too dark to even pretend to read. On the bright side, even if she hadn’t taken that nap, she was pretty sure her nerves would keep her from falling asleep. As she sat in that chair, watching the door and waiting for any sign of life, she found herself wondering what if he didn’t come into the kitchen, what if he left as soon as he saw her... And what if she succeeded?

According to her phone, it was 2:27 AM when she finally heard footsteps entering the kitchen. Heather sat upright, muscles tense, the drowsiness of a moment ago forgotten. She could go in now, she supposed, but she wanted to wait until he was eating. Hopefully a plate full of food in front of him would make him less inclined to leave as soon as she came in the room--or at least put a table between the two of them if he reacted violently. The footsteps stopped, replaced with the sound of the refrigerator opening, followed by a drawer. Heather waited for the buzz of the microwave, but it never came. Instead she heard more footsteps, then a chair being pulled back.

Oh god, she thought, has he just been eating cold leftovers? She mentally ran through a list of everything she’d put post-it notes on and internally facepalmed as she realized that she’d forgotten about the microwave.

She slowly began to stand up, her brain rapidly running through all the things she’d considered saying during her wait, only to freeze when she heard a voice--his voice--through the gap in the door.

“I know you’re in there,” Loki’s voice was hoarse, rougher than she’d expected, although she supposed that no one sounded their best after not speaking for three weeks, “Did you really think to hide from me?”

For a moment, Heather remained frozen part way through getting up from the chair, unsure of how to respond. Somehow, all the times she’d run through this moment in her head, she’d never thought he might notice her--or at least if he had, she hadn’t thought he would acknowledge her. For a moment, fear spread over her mind and she regretted even coming up with this plan in the first place. But no. She’d stayed up this late so she could try to talk to him, and dammit, she was going to talk to him. Slowly, cautiously, as if approaching a skittish animal, she opened the door and stepped into the kitchen.

“I just wanted to talk to you,” she admitted as she closed the door behind her, “this was the only way I could think of to do it.”

Moonlight shone through the window, hitting Loki like a spotlight. The god sat at the kitchen table, arms loosely folded across his chest. His blue-green eyes stared intently at her as she emerged into the room, the casserole dish of baked ziti sitting on the table seemingly forgotten. As he watched her, still as a statue, she struggled to remember even a single word she’d planned on saying. For a moment, the two just stared at each other, he in interest, she in apprehension, until finally the god spoke.

“Who are you?” he asked, his eyes scanning her face as if it was a book in a language he couldn’t quite comprehend.

“My name’s Hea-”

“No, who are you?” Loki stood up from the table and took a slow step towards her.

“I had wondered,” he continued as he slowly and casually walked towards her, “if Odin would choose to exile me to Midgard.” Unconsciously, Heather took a step back, backing herself against the door.

“I had even considered the possibility of being turned over to my previous captors,” his stare broke away from her for a brief moment as he looked into the room's camera, adding, “never mind that they only held me briefly, and only because I willed it. But I never anticipated you.” He turned back to her, closing the space between them as he asked, “What are you meant to be to me, hmm? A jailor? A servant?" He leaned a hand on the doorframe, looming over her, "A sacrifice to an angry god?"

Heather looked up into Loki’s face, her eyes meeting his. She was sure he could see her fear, her wide eyes, her trembling legs. Her fight-or-flight instinct was screaming for flight, urging her to back through the door to the sunroom and either make a run for the perimeter or use the newly gained space to say the cuff’s command word and drop him. But instead, she took a quick breath, steeling herself. If she ran now, she knew, she may as well leave the house, because she’d never get another opportunity to really talk to him.

"Your caretaker," she answered his question with only a slight tremble in her voice, "So a little bit of all three, depending on who you're asking."

Loki’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment that seemed an eternity, he said nothing and stared into her face, his head cocked in what Heather hoped was just curiosity and not anything more sinister. Finally, the god let out a sharp exhale through his nose--she wasn’t sure, but part of her thought it might have been the smallest hint of a chuckle--and shook his head.

“A caretaker?” he asked mockingly, “Your masters would throw a rabbit into a wolf’s den to, what, leave me notes explaining the obvious? To wait up all hours of the night, for naught but a chance to speak with me? No, you’re no caretaker.”

Any other time, the way he sneered the last word would have been enough to demoralize Heather then and there. Her report that morning had been a reflection of how little an idea she had of what she was doing, and even now, the situation she’d engineered, one she’d intended to have full control over, had been all but usurped by the god who was now practically pinning her to a door. By all accounts, she could be doing a lot better. But then, that was why she was there. After all, how the hell was anyone supposed to know what kind of caretaker she was when her charge made it this hard to even try? Heather took a breath, straightened her shoulders, and began one more attempt to shift the conversation in her favor.

“So,” she said, pointedly looking past him to the ziti on the table, “you’ve been eating cold leftovers this whole time?” Her nerves made the question spill out of her mouth more quickly than she’d intended, and she wasn’t sure if the confusion on Loki’s face was because the question was abrupt or because it was unintelligible.

“What?” the god asked, glancing over his shoulder to follow her gaze. She continued while she had him off balance.

“I can heat it up for you,” she said, gesturing towards the table, “The ziti, I mean. It’s a lot better warm.”

He actually did laugh at that, a rolling chuckle that seemed to come right from his chest as he turned back to look at her.

“Such tenacity,” Loki murmured, more to himself than to her. She tensed, preparing for more insults or possibly even threats, but instead he stepped back, finally giving her some blessed breathing space.

“Very well,” he said, “if you’re that dedicated to your role, by all means, show me.”

Heather took advantage of her newly-gained space to make her way towards the cupboards, still tense as she braced herself in case Loki tried anything. The god remained still, but she could feel his gaze following her as she opened a cabinet and a drawer, removing a plate and butter knife--anything sharper was locked up, and she didn’t really want to deal with that at the moment--and approached the table. The fork he’d had was still sitting next to the casserole dish, and between that and the butter knife, she managed to put what she thought was a good-sized serving of ziti on the plate. She carefully walked the heavy-laden plate to the microwave, put it in, and pushed a few buttons, wondering once again how she had forgotten to leave a post-it explaining that--although, she didn’t know if it would’ve done much, given the shredded paper she’d found all over the house the morning after she’d placed them. As the microwave buzzed, she turned back to face Loki, who was still standing by the door.

“It’ll be ready in a moment,” she informed him, “so you can sit back down.” To her surprise, he complied, although his eyes continued to follow her intently as she removed the now-steaming ziti from the microwave. As she set it in front of him, he gestured at the chair across from his.

“Sit,” he ordered. When she hesitated, he added, “You wished to speak with me, did you not? You may as well sit where I can see you.”

“Oh, okay.” That made sense. Heather sat down, looking at the god now seated across from her. Despite his claimed desire to look at her during their conversation, Loki was barely paying her any attention, instead focusing on the steaming plate of food in front of him. He almost looked human now, a tired part of her brain noted. As that thought ran through her head, he looked back up at her, one eyebrow cocked as if silently asking Well? Right. He wasn’t human. He was a god, he was her charge, and this was quite possibly her only opportunity to talk him around.

During the silent hours she’d waited for him to come into the kitchen, she’d mentally run through this conversation dozens of times. She’d put together a speech she was confident would have had Loki understanding her position, and of course she could only remember it in scrambled bits now. But she could tell that his patience--such as it was--was running thin, so she let as much as she could fall out in whatever order came to mind.

“Look,” Heather said, “I’ll admit that a lot about this situation is... weird. I don’t know if there’s any sort of precedent for it, I mean, I’ve never been a god’s caretaker before, but I want to do the best I can for you. To help you out here, I mean.” As frustrating as Loki’s avoidance was, she understood why he would be wary of her--she was, after all, working for the organization that had helped to assemble the Avengers to defeat him a few months ago and now was overseeing his confinement.

“Obviously I don’t expect us to be friends or anything,” she continued, “but I do think that things would be a lot more comfortable for both of us if we communicated... or at least if you didn’t completely avoid me. I get if you need space, but...”

“Enough.” The sudden clatter of Loki’s fork hitting the table cut off whatever she was going to say next.

“I’m impressed with your persistence,” the god pushed his now nearly empty plate forward, “I’m sure that some would even find it admirable.” He picked the fork back up, idly playing with it in one hand, “But you needn’t treat me like a fool. We both know that you didn’t consent to being locked up here to ‘do your best for me’. You’ve all but given yourself to a god who invaded your world not one of your years ago.” His eyes narrowed as he stared directly into hers, “I would know why.”

“Why?” Heather hesitated. Shit. She’d hoped he wouldn’t have asked that. Up until this point, she had been completely honest with him--she was sure Agent Richardson would say too honest, given Loki’s reputation for manipulation. But she’d even kept her full reasons for agreeing to the caretaker job from SHIELD; there was no way she could tell Loki. It would leave her far too vulnerable. Maybe she could tell part of the truth, just enough to--hopefully--satisfy him.

“I mean...” she began, looking up to meet his eyes, “I was offered the opportunity to live with a literal god. I knew that it was going to be dangerous, but, well... if I’d said no, I would have regretted it. I would have spent my entire life wondering what would have happened if I’d agreed.” Her words hung in the air between them for a moment, and she was afraid she’d said too much, but then Loki shook his head, a smirk twisting across his face.

“And you never thought you might regret agreeing?” he asked. Before Heather could come up with an answer, or even properly register the question, Loki stabbed his fork into the table, leaving it standing straight up. She started, almost knocking her chair over. Before she could even right herself, she was looking up at the camera, shaking her head and hoping that Richardson or whoever else was watching wouldn’t come barging in. If Loki had meant to hurt her, some part of her brain that wasn’t panicking reasoned, he would have hurt her, and she didn’t want to ruin whatever miniscule progress she’d made.

The god snickered, flashing his teeth in a vicious grin.

“That’s what I thought.”

By the time Heather turned away from the camera, Loki had stood up and was silently making his way to the doorway. Before he left, he casually said over his shoulder, “You were right, by the way. It was more... palatable warm.”

Supplemental Status Report 08/28: Subject S has successfully made verbal contact with Subject L. L seemed unaware of any significance S may have to Asgard, although he and footage can both be deceiving. For the time being, continue observation and noninterference unless Subject S appears to be in imminent physical danger.

- T. Richardson, Level 6

#mcu loki #mcu loki fanfiction #loki x ofc #mcu loki x ofc #operation hearthfire

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chelsfic · 4 years

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Part 6 Trustfall - August Walker/Reader - Mission: Impossible Fallout fanfic

Part One; Part Two; Part Three; Part Four; Part Five

A/N: Here is the long awaited final part of Trustfall. I debated writing a more G-Rated ending, but I felt I kinda owed my readers some smut, lol. So this part is rated Explicit. Also, there is just a touch of Fem!Dom in here. It’s not really kinky, though, it’s more about the reader regaining control after August has been messing up her life for so long. I can’t give enough thanks to everyone who has liked, reblogged, commented and started following me. You guys are the best.

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: A touch of Fem!Dom, Smut!

Your leg flares up worse than ever in the days following the disastrous meeting with the Russians. You’re not sure if the cause is psychosomatic--maybe the pressure and terror of that situation brought up feelings from the past--or if you re-injured the muscles running up the stairs. Either way you’re in pain. And August is acting more distant than ever which doesn’t do much to improve your mood. Every time you start to think you’ve made progress, moved forward into a new phase of being with him...he pulls away from you.

Not a word has passed between you regarding your kiss. Instead he shuts himself in his room and only emerges at meal times. But despite this distance he’s also been overly considerate for the last few days. One day you come home from work to find that he’s done all the grocery shopping for the week. You can’t remember how many times you’ve put off shopping and loudly proclaimed your disdain for the chore. And though he’s been staying up in his room, when he does emerge he finds you wherever you happen to be and brings you cups of tea without you asking. He finds you curled up with a book and drops an afghan blanket over your shoulders then walks away without a word. It’s just weird.

***

August stands over the stove stirring a pot of spaghetti. No one would call him a gourmet cook but he can manage pasta. Y/N is due home any minute and he’s already feeling the flare of shame and guilt that stabs at him whenever he sees her. It’s not just that he hurt her, shot her in the leg causing permanent damage. Although, yikes, that is a big part of it. But then he came back, forced himself into her life and started to fall for her despite his best efforts. Worse than that he watched as she developed feelings for him. Knowing all along how cruel it was to attach this girl any further to his life. Knowing that just being in proximity to him would put her in danger. And then he’d betrayed her again. Inviting that danger into her home and nearly suffering the ultimate penalty as a result. He should walk away. A good man would walk away.

All week he’s been struggling to keep himself from her. To insert distance between them to make it easier to...leave. But he hasn’t left, he’s lingered like a love sick coward. He’ll tell her tonight. Over dinner. It will be easier for both of them this way.

***

By the time you get home from work you have just enough energy to collapse onto the couch and reach for the remote control. Your eyelids are already drifting shut when August walks in balancing two bowls of pasta, a bottle of wine and two glasses in his arms. You scoot up a bit to allow him room on the couch and watch with an amused smirk as he sets everything carefully onto the coffee table.

Today was the class trip to the aquarium. With your leg hurting all week it had been close to torture having to spend four hours chasing around a bunch of seven-year-olds, but you made it. It feels absolutely luxurious to just stretch your legs out on the couch toward August and lean back into the cushions. You let out a long sigh and absently rub your calf, groaning in a mixture of pain and relief. You glance up at August to find him staring down at your leg, his mouth twisted in a frown.

“August?” you murmur, reaching out to lay a hand on his shoulder. “Please talk to me, you’ve been so...quiet all week since…”

He looks up at you and you see that his eyes are glassed over with unshed tears. Your heart catches in your throat and you shift closer to him, wrapping your arms around his trembling shoulders. August collapses into you, pressing his face into the crook of your neck and clenching your blouse in his fists as if he’s afraid you’ll run away if he doesn’t hold onto you.

You can feel his tears, wet on your neck and he whispers your name into your skin, “Y/N...I’m...I’m sorry.”

You stay silent for a while, just holding him and rubbing soothing circles into his back. The man is over a foot taller than you and twice as wide, but he’s curled up in your embrace like a child. You press your lips into his curls and whisper, “I know, August... I forgive you.”

***

You take him to your bed and it’s not at all like you’d imagined. And you have imagined it. In your fantasies August is always in control. His fierce violence broiling beneath the surface as he slams into you, pinning you to the mattress and taking his pleasure with masculine ferocity.

Instead he’s soft, quiet, compliant. He lets you hold his hand and guide him up the stairs and into your bedroom. You nudge him toward the bed and he falls onto his back, boneless, looking up at you with eyes that shine with adoration. You understand without him saying a word that he is giving over everything to you tonight: control, power, himself. He won’t take one more thing from you that isn’t freely, joyfully given.

In this room--only feet away from the place where you’d lay bleeding on the floor, where you’d begged him not to hurt you--you will reclaim your power.

You stand at the edge of the bed, looking down at this man--his divine body, his achingly beautiful face. You catch his eyes and smile, reaching out to hold his hand. You’re not sure why, but you think he needs the reassurance of physical touch as much as you do.

“I want you, August,” you whisper, voice ragged with emotion. “I’ve wanted you for a long time. I don’t want you to feel sorry or ashamed anymore. Do you understand? I’m giving myself to you.”

August’s lips part in awe at your words and at your overwhelming goodness and bravery. He doesn’t deserve you. But it’s not up to him to decide if he gets to have you. You’re giving yourself to him and he must accept you.

“Yes,” he hisses, sitting up and placing his palm flat against your hip. “I want you too, Y/N.”

“Take off your clothes,” you whisper with the hint of playful authority in your tone.

August unbuckles his belt, squirms out of his blue jeans and pulls his shirt over his head. His body is like a prayer. You want to worship it. With trembling hands you start working at the buttons of your shirt, but your movements are slow and clumsy. August kneels before you on the bed and shoos your hands away, making quick work of the shirt and your bra underneath. He brushes his calloused fingers under the waist of your skirt and you moan in desire. You’re not sure when you first started wanting this. But it feels like it’s been forever.

He pushes the skirt down and grasps your hips in his large hands, guiding you on the bed until you’re both kneeling on the soft mattress facing each other. Your breasts brush against his chest hair and you feel your nipples harden in response. Even kneeling, August is still a head taller than you. He dips his face down to yours and presses a soft, firm kiss to your lips. You twine your arms around his shoulders, climbing onto him and deepening the kiss, stroking your tongue into his mouth as you wrap your legs around his waist. He cups your ass in his hands, holding you up and kneading you with strong fingers. You grunt against his lips, his fingers are electric, sending waves of pleasure straight to your wet core.

August lets his balance shift, falling onto his back with you straddling his waist on top of him. Your hair falls in a shower around his face and you toss it to once side, desperately laying kisses on his lips, his cheeks, his neck, chest. You can feel his rigid cock brushing against your ass through the fabric of your panties. You rock your hips, rubbing against him and eliciting a hiss of pleasure from his lips.

“You are beautiful,” you whisper into his mouth as you capture his lips in another fierce kiss. When you pull back his pupils are dilated in wanton pleasure and his mouth is hanging open as you continue to rock your ass backward against his rigid length. “You want me, August?”

He nearly cries with desperation, “Yes, yes, I want you.”

You move off of him for a moment, shimmying out of your panties and tossing them to the floor. He does the same with his boxer briefs letting his thick cock spring free, straining into the air and begging for relief. Your eye’s gleam with delight and you shift downward, hovering over his cock and letting your hot breath brush over the head. August keens in need but he doesn’t move an inch, merely balling his fists into your comforter. He wants you so badly, but he’s determined to let you make all the first moves tonight.

You brush your lips along the length of him, just the barest contact, rubbing his penis over your mouth, your cheeks, worshiping him. You’re throbbing with painful desire and you can’t wait any longer. You crawl up his body, swing your leg over his hips and sit back, guiding his cock inside you in a swift sudden motion. The intrusion is a delicious shock to your senses. You cry out in pleasure at feeling so full. August brushes his palms over your hips, begging for motion. You oblige, rocking on top of him and building up to a rapid pace. There will be time later to go slowly. Right now you can hardly bear the sweet ache of your building pleasure. August grips your hip with one hand and delves the other one into the space between you, brushing his rough fingertips over your clitoris and eliciting a shuddering whimper from you. He presses harder, circling the bud as you ride his cock. He’s about to come, rigid and twitching inside you. He vigorously rakes his fingers over your flesh, urging you over the edge with him. You let go.

You fall forward into his arms, muscles shaking and sweat coating your skin. He hugs you against him, pressing your face into his chest and grazing his fingers along your spine. He lays a soft kiss on your forehead and sighs. He can’t remember a time he’s felt so content.

You stroke your fingers through his chest hair and smile slightly, craning your neck to look up at him, “You’re mine now, you know. There’s no getting away from me now.”

August smiles down at you. Only an hour ago he’d been planning out how to tell you he was leaving. Thinking it was the best thing for both of you. Now, holding you in his arms with the aftershocks of your love panging through his body he rethinks things. Maybe it’s time to stop making decisions for you instead of with you.

“I’m yours,” he whispers with a contented smile, tightening his arms around you. “I’m not letting go.”

That’s it, that’s end!

Tags:

@thorins-queen-of-erebor @viking-raider @onceuponathreetwoone @angelic-kisses13 @afangirldaydreams @peeyewpeeyew @calwitch @scuzmunkie @its-laurie-mercier @together-all-alone @blablatiti @multi-fandom-ficrecs @ohjules @suueeeeeee @strangerliaa

#august walker x reader #august walker imagine #august walker #mission: impossible fanfic #henry cavill imagine #chelsfic

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rboooks · 5 years

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Dimension Hoppers Part 2

Part two of this since I have no impulse control. May be the last one hoenstly.

Again you should all go read the fic C’est La Vie by the ever talented @cywscross It’s so good!

The wind chimes released pleasant twinkling sounds when he pushed the door open. The noise had quickly become familiar to the young werewolf over the last few weeks he’s been visiting the establishment.

His tense shoulders relax instantly, taking a second to breathe in the calming scents of the store, his new safe haven from the many pointed stares of Diagon Alley. He picks up one scent in particular that has his heart racing and his hands sweaty.

Right on cue, Orion hears Hadrian call in a friendly voice from behind the counter “Welcome to Dimension Hoppers. Please have a look around. If you need anything don’t hesitate to ask.”

He turns to find his best friend - isn’t that a crazy thought? He, Orion Black, has a best friend!- standing on a step stool. He was attempting to push a box onto one of the shelves, but it wasn’t going all too well, seeing as Hadrian’s hands could barely even reach the top shelves much less push something upwards onto it.

Orion could barely pick up the other’s soft swearing with his werewolf hearing, nothing that would make Father’s nose wrinkle, but frustrated none the less. “Stupid heavy box. Stupid Fate making me short again. Stupid Will, and his stupid long legs. Stupid no underage magic law. Dang, it get up there already!”

A smile quirk onto his lips as he is unable to fight it completely. Luckily Orion was able to swallow the chuckle that wanted to escape his mouth as Hadrian started to hop up and down in an ill-fated attempt to ram the box upwards.

He was fortunate that his friend hadn’t seen the smile yet, giving him time to shove it off his face as best he could. Marlin knows Hadrian’s dislike of comments on his hight.

Will took lots of pleasure in pointing out his height any chance he could because of said dislike. The oldest Evans didn’t seem all that faze by Hadrian’s admittedly terrifying wrath, consistently comparing it to “being threatened by a cupcake with a knife”. (How Will had survived this long Orion may never know)

He rounded the counter, barely aware of soft hum as the Barrier Runes. They recognize him easily, deeming him a non-threat and letting him pass without much fuss. Will had coded him into them a few days back when the store got a large rush and Orion had jumped in to assist the overwhelm brothers.

Seeing as he been here every day for nearly three weeks beforehand, he was far familiar with the layout of the store and after a few instructions, was cashing out customers like a pro.

Orion had been an unofficial employee ever since. They paid him by the hours he worked, and even giving him a discount of “Take whatever you want from the shelves.”

Dad had been ecstatic about that particular benefit. This was the only Wizarding store that sold his favorite Muggle band shirts and he wasn’t shy about letting his excitement show. Father, on the other hand, had simply picked up entire chocolate basket acting as casually as he could while doing so. Hadrian had been highly amused.

“Need help?” He asks taking the box before Hadrian could answer. Since the other didn’t so much as twitch, he knew that his friend had been aware of his presence behind him the whole time. Sometimes that was a bit scary, other times it was humbling.

Green eyes narrowed with a warning even as he steps back to allow Orion to climb up. “I’m not little.”

“You’re not. You just need to hit a growth spurt is all.”

Hadrian’s frown would have made his stomach twist with cold uncertainty when they first meet but now nearly three months of their friendship he knows he’s done no real offense. “Once I hit puberty, you will cower”

“I’m shaking in my boots” Orion mocked, smiling when it causes a snort of amusement from Hadrian. His heart did a little flip in his chest. He tries not to think about the why as Hadrian starts talking about the new shipment of rare exotic hair products Will has ordered.

While doing so Hadrian is already handing over a white apron that has the store’s logo printed on the front without prompting. The young werewolf often compares this to when Dad knows what Father wants without words and the content feeling of Pack almost makes him dizzy.

“He thinks it’ll help with the frizz. I told him it’s useless but he’s still convinced he will have silky smooth hair if he tries hard enough-” Hadrian cuts his words off turning to the door as the chimes sing once more. “ “Welcome to Dimension Hoppers. Please have a look around. If you need anything don’t hesitate to ask”

Orion never says the greeting himself but the brothers were nearly religious about it. Will said that his old boss beat it into his head to always be polite even when the customers weren’t. Apparently, said boss never lets go of grudges and he had learned to listen quickly.

Hadrian went along with it but he wasn’t very willing to be polite if the customer wasn’t. (Already he’s thrown out three families after hearing the remarks they said about Orion. Will had made the wards not allow them back in and officially “banning” them from the store)

Orion felt his smile fall, retreating into himself when he recognizes the family of redheads. He had been lucky, having never run into anyone in his school year, just some upperclassmen who had all avoid him as much as he had them. For the most part, they left him alone if he did nothing other then stand behind the counter.

Dimension Hoppers may be one of the greatest stores he’s ever seen but it was still relatively new and most people haven’t wandered in yet. Just a few regulars who happen to find the rare exotic selection by chance.

It may not be the best for business but it was the best for him.

But looking at the expression of Ron Weasely his luck was about to run out.

“You know them?” Hadrian asks softly, voice lowered so only Orion can hear. There is a strange emotion in his words, something that says sorrow but not quite. The Evans brothers sound like that at odd times.

“Something like that” Orion mumbles back. He shifts to stand closer to Hadrian wanting to protect him even though he knows there is nothing to protect from. The wolf in him just felt Orion’s unease and demanded to make sure the pack was safe.

The Red-haired family has dispersed throughout the store. The Twins all but tripping over themselves for the joke section while Percy had stopped before the books and not moved, looking like he was going to self combust from excitement. Mr. Weasely and Mrs. Weasly were looking at the children potions kits while Grinny had dragged a narrow-eyed Ron to the Quidditch section.

The eldest, Bill, was calmly looking over the hair products with a thoughtful air about him. The only one misses was Charlie. He lost sight of the youngest two when they rounded one of the aisles but the store Runes was keeping track of them.

Hadrian hummed in a non-commenting way before his hand shoot out and squeezed Orion’s own. For a heart-stopping moment, the werewolf almost squealed. “Whatever your history is with them I’ll make sure they leave you alone.”

His fingers pulled away and he instantly missed their warmth. Marlin, what did Hadrian say? Orion’s brain wasn’t really working right now. “Ugh. Yeah. Protect. Sure”

Hadrian smiled at him, never judging him for his fumbling words. It eases the nervousness in his chest a little.

The door leading to the upper apartment, where the Evans lived, open then. Since the doorway was placed in a little hall it was kind of far from the counter. It was only because he was watching Hadrian’s face, that he saw the flash of worry melt over his face before it was gone in a blink of an eye. “Will, you need to go back upstairs.”

Orion is used to being surprised by his friend but the command in those words really throw him for a curve. It was the first time he ever heard anything resembling an actual fight between the brothers and it baffled him.

Apparently, Will felt the same way. “Why? I felt the Runes flare that a shoplifter-”

“Will, I can handle that but you aren’t in the mental state to deal with-”

“Mental state? What the hell are you talking-”

“How much for these?” Orion jerked his head over the counter. He was mentally kicking himself for being so distracted by the drama unfolding before him than paying attention to the customers. Will had said the shoplifter rune had flared (though that may due with the person holding the item too close to the door. It tended to happen sometimes), he should be watching them!

The Weasly Twins had piled a bunch of prank objects onto the counter, mischevious glee etched into their grins. Next, to him, Will made a choked sound that sounded suspiciously like “Fred” but was too low for him to be sure.

Hadrian had snatched him by the arm yanking him further into the back before his brother could move to the counter. Briefly, his eyes meet Orion’s, his brilliant green nearly pleading.

Orion took the initiative and stepped forward. If Hadrian wanted him to serve them instead of Will then he would. “That will be seven Sickles for everything together on our Back-to-Hogwarts Sale. ”

“Back-to-Hogwarts Sale is my new favorite words,” Said one of the twins (Orion can never tell them apart) eagerly plopping three Sickles on the counter while his brother placed the last four. He eyed Orion with a look that meant a nasty prank was on the way. “Do you work here now, Starlightkins?”

Orion tried not to show how the nickname, filled with mocking, stung “I volunteer here. Would you care for a bag?”

“Volunteer? Why that-”

“-Sounds very interesting. What exactly-”

“-does one do when volunteering?”

“You manage the counter and sell things.” He puts as much sarcasm as he can into his words, gently bagging the items.

At once the twins stand straighter. Together they say “Sell things? You can sell here? Anything? What does one do to be able to sell their products here and how much do they make?”

“You’ll have to ask management.” Do they know how creepy it is, when they speak perfectly simultaneously? They should stick to finishing each other's sentences that won’t give nightmares. “I can’t make those kinds of calls”

One twin tilted his head. “Alright. Where is management?”

“Right here,” Will says finally coming out from the back. Orion does a double take. Will’s eyes are glossy, not enough to gather tears but not unnoticeable to him. He’s never seen the Evans show anything other than calm friendly, so seeing the man he’s come to see as a big brother close to crying- or as close as he’s ever been- is very upsetting. “What can I do for you boys?”

The twins look like cats standing over a mouse. “We got an offer you can’t refuse. How would you like to be one of the first stores to ever sell Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes?”

Will looked confused for a moment before his eyes light up. “The owl-ordered prank items? I read about them but haven’t had the chance of ordering yet. Impressive potential. Are you two the brilliant minds behind them then?”

One of the brothers beams “We are in did. Care to do business?”

Well, they certainly don’t miss a chance, do they? Orion wonders what it’s like to have that much confidence.

There is a moment while the eldest Evans considers them before shrugging. “Eh what the heck. Sure, come into my office and I’ll hear you two out but I won’t promise anything yet. Hadrian, can you stock the new Mermaid Locks for me?”

“Give up Will,” Hadrian answers sounding normal again and Orion relaxes. Whatever had happened a while seems to have passed. “You’ll never have straight hair. Stop ordering new products that promise you lies.”

“ These ones will work.” The twenty-two-year-old smooths out some of his hair almost subconsciously. The strands stick out of his ponytail even more by the action, making him frown. “Just go do it, you brat”

Hadrian gives him a cheeky grin, patting Orion’s shoulder on his way to do as he’s told, bending down for the shipment box.

The werewolf’s lips quirk when he sees Will shoot Bill a longing look as he leads the twins away. Surprisingly the Weasleys say nothing but they no doubt saw the same look their new possible business partner had.

The grins on their faces are knowing enough.

Once the party of three are out of earshot, he leans in to tell Hadrian. “I think your brother has a crush” He jerks his head to the eldest Weasley who is stocking up on all kinds of hair products as if though it’s going out of style. “Must be the hair.”

Hadrian looks honestly startled before he roars with laughter. It’s the first time he’s ever laughed this hard or this long, his voice gaining the attention of the rest of Weaselys.

Orion has never seen anything more beautiful than that smile so he’s a little too stunned by it to really notice the pairs of eyes now watching them.

“That was almost as funny as the time we went to get ice cream without telling him” Hadrian wheezes. “Do you remember?”

Orion does remember that day, how could he possibly forget? It was the first time he went out with a friend for ice cream.

The two had finished a shift early, the younger Evans famished with the urge to have something cold and suggested ice cream. In their excitement to have some, the twelve-year-olds forgot to inform Will, leaving after locking up.

Will had been in the workshop which was located in the basement testing out new products, specially designed for Cruse Breaking work. It was only about an hour later that the young man stumbled upon them eating at Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour looking half craze in worry.

“Empty store! You two gone! With No note! No sign! Not even a verbal warning! What were you two thinking!? You could have been kidnapped! You could have died! And I would have been none the wiser!” Will had shrieked at the boys before suddenly looking horrified. In a small voice he had whispered “Oh no, I’ve become my mother”

Hadrian had nearly snorted his ice-cream through his nose.

Orion grins at the memory. “How do you think he’ll handle us going to Hogwarts next week? Think he’ll go insane?”

“Not with Remus checking up on him,” Hadrian says with a soft smile. “Your parents seem to really care for him.”

“For both you.” Orion corrects firmly. “They care for both of you”

Hadrian tilts his head but says nothing, shrugging in an uncaring matter. Sometimes Orion really hates that about his best friend. Does he not know his own value? How can he not see just how wonderful he is?

Again, the Black Heir swears to himself he will do everything he could to make Hadrian Evans know he’s important. Even if he has to spend the rest of his life doing so.

Secretly, he hopes he will able to spend the rest of his life at Hadrian’s side, be it as a best friend or as something...more.

Mrs. Weasely puts five potion kits on the counter then and he turns to her without fuss, aware that Hadrian has gone over to stock up the bottles of Mermaid Locks.

Her buying her kids' school supplies remind him that in only five days, Orion and Hadrian would be boarding a train for Hogwarts. All the fun new adventures that the castle could bring him now with a friend by his side, not to mention no longer having to stay near Harry.

Who knows what this year will be like. But whatever the case may be, whatever the future may bring, he would gladly spend it by running Dimension Hoppers with the Evans.

#harry potter #C'est La Vie #Au: Dimension Hoppers Store #Part 2 #OrionXHadrian #Slight angst for Will #Yeah Orion is crushing hard right now #Sirius and Remus are beaming in pride #The Evans have been adopted into the Black/Lupin family #Orion's Pov #Will was staring at his old hair #Oh how he misses it #Dimension Hoppers is the magical verson of Walmart #Will has become Molly Weasly #Summer jobs you know? Perfect time for young love #This one was just shippy

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ask-runaan-anything · 5 years

Text

Perchance to Sleep

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Dragon Prince Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Runaan/Tinker | Necklace Elf (The Dragon Prince), Runaan & Rayla Characters: Runaan (The Dragon Prince), Tinker | Necklace Elf (The Dragon Prince), Rayla (The Dragon Prince) Additional Tags: Baby Rayla, Unprepared Dad Runaan, Sleep Deprivation, Runaan is so tired guys, Tinker to the rescue, Runaan & Tinker are barely dating, soft Runaan, Sleepy Runaan, take your shirt off for science, Shirtless Runaan, Baby Snuggles, cute af, Cute, Sweet, soft Summary: Runaan's entire body begged for sleep. But the exhausted, yowling little one in his arms had other ideas. Had had these other ideas for hours. For days. For weeks. “Please, Rayla, go to sleep,” he pleaded.

For all of you involved in the Moonshadow baby asks, this is for you.

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

Runaan paced barefoot back and forth along the cool flagstones of his back porch as the waning moon arched slowly overhead, indicative of the wee-est of hours. His shoulders sagged. His hair hung limp and unkempt in its hair cuffs, untended for far too long. His entire body begged for sleep. But the exhausted, yowling little one in his arms had other ideas. Had had these other ideas for hours.

For days.

For weeks.

“Please, Rayla, go to sleep,” he pleaded, pressing the thousandth kiss atop her tiny white head. He’d tried everything—again—from a big meal of sweet milk to singing all her favorite songs to putting her in her softest teal onesie. “You need more sleep than I do, and neither of us are getting any.”

Her only reply was an angry hiccupping cry.

“I know, I know. I’m sorry.” You have no idea how sorry. But I can’t shoot horn-budding with an arrow and make you better. This mission is beyond my skills. And so we both suffer.

Rayla’s horns had begun to bud around this time last moon-cycle, but he’d begun to worry that they were growing in at a very difficult angle because they caused her more and more distress and still hadn’t broken through. He didn’t know what to do, and he wasn’t about to take a carefully applied dagger to her tiny head to try and help them along. I am in no way hard enough for that kind of thing. I’d rather die; just kill me now.

Runaan was so exhausted that he stumbled over nothing and nearly fell. The adrenaline spike that rocketed up his spine woke him fully, and he jerked to a stop in the thin moonlight of the porch, stiff with fear and guilt. I’ve only had this baby for two full Moons, and I just nearly dropped her! What am I doing? I’m not cut out for this.

The baby in his arms sensed his tension and wailed even louder. Runaan was just about to give in and join her when a knock came at his front door.

At three in the morning.

Runaan’s ears perked, and he shifted into a ready stance. Miraculously, Rayla quieted. Her violet eyes studied Runaan intently.

“Shall we see who it is?” he asked her.

“Mmm-ba,” she replied.

Taking that as agreement, Runaan stealthed through his kitchen on pure muscle memory and protective instincts, lifting a knife from its rack on his way through. At the front door, he paused, weapon in one hand, baby cradled in the other arm.

“Do you have any idea what time it is?” he asked through the door.

“Not really. But I bet you do.” The lilting voice belonged to Tinker, and it radiated with a fond smile Runaan could hear through the door.

The sound of the cute elf’s voice sent a burst of energy through Runaan, and he opened the door with his knife hand. He hadn’t seen Tink in… how many days had it been? Two? Three? He was truly too tired to be certain anymore.

The sight of the well-built craftsman, with that easy stance, those twinkling eyes, and that good humor that always lifted Runaan’s spirits no matter how dark his mood, was a balm to the assassin’s sleep-deprived soul. “What are you doing here?” Runaan’s exhausted voice came out curt, judgmental even, when he felt anything but. “I mean…”

“Well, someone hasn’t slept,” Tinker said blithely, pushing his way inside. “Hey, cutie berry. Are you keeping your Uncle Runaan awake? Are you? Silly girl. Don’t you know you should be sleeping? Even Moonshadows have to sleep sometime. Right, Runaan?”

“Mmmff.” Runaan’s reply was less a response than his shoulders simply surrendering to gravity and forcing a tired sound past his lips.

Rayla studied Tinker with wide eyes as if trying to remember if she knew him or not. He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, disarmed Runaan with an ease that would be alarming—and impossible—if he’d been fully awake, and took the assassin by his now-empty hand. “Come with me, you two. I have just the thing.”

Runaan was too bone-weary to argue, and Tinker was such a welcome sight that he let himself be led unprotestingly to the kitchen, where Tinker put his knife back in its place. “What thing?” Runaan asked.

“The thing I went to get. Don’t you remember?”

Runaan honestly couldn’t. He blinked hard and squinted one dazzlingly turquoise eye at Tinker. “It’s been a rough couple of days.”

Tinker’s eyes lingered on Runaan’s face. “Oh dear. Runaan…”

“What?”

“I’ve been gone four days, Runaan. You haven’t slept at all since I left?”

Runaan slowly nodded. “That would explain why I’m so tired.”

“Moon and shadow,” Tinker cursed under his breath. The craftsman unslung a shoulder bag and set it on the table, rifling through it with sure fingers. “My mother knew exactly what I was talking about, but it took us an extra day and a half to harvest and strain enough extract to last until Rayla’s horns push through. I know I said I’d be back sooner, but I only wanted to make this trip once.”

Rayla seemed entirely fascinated with Tinker’s voice, and though she was wriggly, she let Runaan hold her in relative silence as he talked.

Runaan, on the other hand, nearly drifted to sleep standing up. He liked the sound of Tinker’s voice, too. It had a lovely soothing effect, and he found himself swaying on his feet.

Tinker’s hand on his arm brought him back from the fuzzy edges of sleep. Runaan let out a tiny cough of frustration. “So tired.”

“You really are at the end of your rope, aren’t you? Don’t worry. I’m here, and I’m taking care of both of you. I’ll have you both asleep in twenty minutes.”

A tiny whimper escaped Runaan’s lips. “Please, I will give you anything you want if you can manage that.”

A saucy grin tugged at Tinker’s lips. “I’ll remember you said that. Even if you don’t.” He parked Runaan at the table so he wouldn’t fall over and pulled a cool crock of fresh milk from the icebox. While Runaan swayed Rayla in his arms and hummed into her hair, soothing her exhausted whimpers, Tinker busied himself mixing some pale golden extract into a small cup of milk and swirling it around with a flashy flick of his wrist.

Runaan sighed in jealous amusement. The cute elf had no business acting so perky at three in the morning.

As Tinker approached the table, Runaan eyed the cup. “Remind me what that is again.”

Tinker paused and studied him with concern. “It’s extract of brightsleep berries. They grow on the slopes of Smoke Mountain. I told you all of this before I headed out. You really are far too tired to be left on your own, Runaan. I’m staying here for the rest of the night. And the next few nights, too.”

Runaan’s cheeks took on a faint pink hue. “You’re far too cute.”

Tinker blinked. “What?”

Runaan’s eyes flared wide as he belatedly grasped what he’d said. “Kind. Kind. I meant kind.”

“Of course you did.” Tinker’s cheeks darkened just a shade, but he reached for Rayla with his empty arm. “Give her to me.”

“I’ll do it. She’s used to me.” Runaan held out a hand for the cup.

“No, I’ll hold her while you— My mother told me about this soothing technique you should try.”

Runaan’s fingers paused in their pursuit of the cup. “What’s that?”

“Take off your tunic and your shirt.”

Runaan’s face heated further. “Now really isn’t the time—”

With an exasperated chuckle, Tinker set the cup on the table and dared to reach in and lift Rayla from Runaan’s arm, turning her in his arms so she could still see her long-haired guardian. “No, you goose. That’s the soothing technique. Take off your shirt and hold Rayla against your bare skin.”

Runaan’s blink was achingly slow as he struggled to follow Tinker’s logic. “Are you sure…?”

“Yes.”

A note of deep certainty in Tinker’s voice finally convinced Runaan that the craftsman wasn’t having him on. Deciding that Rayla’s comfort—and the siren call of sleep—were more important than his dignity, Runaan flexed up from his chair and stripped off his tunic and the green shirt he wore under it, draping them across the back of his chair.

Though Tinker’s eyes roamed appreciatively across Runaan’s heavily muscled chest, he promptly settled Rayla in Runaan’s arms, picked up the milk cup, and herded the two of them into the next room. He pressed Runaan into a comfy padded chair and knelt by his side, holding out the little cup for Rayla to drink.

Rayla’s eyes focused intently on the cup, and she began to sip at it eagerly. One tiny hand sneaked up and grabbed Runaan’s near side tail. Her tiny warm fingers flexed aimlessly in his soft white hair as she focused on the sweet milk Tinker offered.

Runaan dared not move his head in the slightest while she had him by the hair. It was the first time she’d been totally quiet since her last meal, and he nearly sobbed with relief.

Tinker’s clear eyes found his fluttering ones. “Relax, Runaan. You’re doing great. Just keep holding her against you.”

Runaan caught himself breathing too quickly and took a long, calming breath. “Sorry.”

“No, you’re good. Look, she’s almost done already. Hungry little thing. Good girl, Rayla.” Tinker brushed the back of one finger down her little cheek.

“You do realize you’re saving my life right now,” Runaan commented softly. “If this works, I will owe you forever.”

“I may just collect it from you, then,” Tinker murmured, keeping his eyes on Rayla.

Runaan blinked hard and forced his eyes to stay open. “Collect what?”

Those bright eyes shifted to Runaan’s turquoise ones again. “Forever.”

“Hmm. Cute. Nice. Funny, I meant funny. You’re funny. And sweet. …Did I say sweet?”

Tinker’s voice was fond. “You’re quite the charmer when you’re sleep deprived.”

Runaan managed a sleepy raise of his pale eyebrows, attempting to appear flirtatious and ending up somewhere west of drunk. “You have no idea.”

Tinker couldn’t keep the smile off his face. “I’d like to.”

Runaan merely nodded, as if Tinker had said the most reasonable thing in Xadia. “Good thing you’re staying a few nights, then. You can find out.”

“I’m staying because you need to sleep.”

“I might be persuaded not to sleep the entire time you’re here.” Runaan got his winks confused and ended up blinking owlishly at Tinker, who desperately tried not to laugh and distract the baby.

As Tinker leaned in over Rayla’s head for a kiss from Runaan, she sipped the very last of the brightsleep milk from the cup Tinker held, smacked her little lips happily, and let out a startlingly massive burp that made Tinker twitch back in alarm before he got his kiss.

Runaan, too exhausted to react, simply nodded along. “Well said, Rayla.”

She tugged gently on his side tail, and he leaned into it as if he were about to fall asleep with his head tilted.

Tinker’s heart utterly melted. He shifted Rayla so she curled right against Runaan’s chest, resting her cheek just below the hollow of his throat, her chubby little legs folded up and pressed warmly against his abs.

Runaan’s bare feet stilled against the wooden floor, and his long toes relaxed. He laid his head back against the chair, wrapped his arms around her with infinite gentleness, and smiled down at her fluffy hair. She smelled of milk and berries and moonlight. Her tiny weight was warm and precious and pure, and he could feel her little heart thrumming away against his own. Rayla’s tiny baby noises grew softer and more content as the brightsleep berry extract eased her discomfort.

Tinker fetched Runaan’s green shirt from the back of the kitchen chair and draped it over the snuggled baby like a blanket, tucking it in around Runaan’s shoulders, while leaving room for Rayla’s head to peep out like a soft dandelion from the grass.

“There you go. All cuddly and warm. Look, Runaan, she’s drifting off.”

Runaan’s eyes were already shut. “Mmmm.”

Tinker waited by Runaan’s side, and together they listened to Rayla’s breathing ease into a pattern of sleep, her tiny breaths evening out into short, soft puffs of sweetness.

“You sleep too, Runaan. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Runaan’s whisper was a bare shiver in the air. “I love—thank—actually, I do love you.”

Tinker’s response brushed against Runaan’s left ear after a short, sweet pause. “I love you, too. Now sleep.”

A tiny, soft sound of assent was Runaan’s only reply. In moments, the only sounds in Runaan’s house were the soft, sleepy breaths of the tiny baby and the big assassin. Tinker dropped a silent kiss onto one of Runaan’s horns and tiptoed over to a nearby chair, where he curled up and watched them sleep until his heart overflowed.

#runaan #runaan x tinker #runaan and rayla #runaan fanfic #tdp fanfic #tdp oneshot #moondad #soft runaan

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raendown · 4 years

Link

Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 4307 Chapter: 16/? Summary: Not all wars are fought on the battlefield. Some are fought at the conference table, with whispers in the shadows, or even in the bedroom.

In a world where the Senju and Uchiha traditional lands were too far apart to have ever made them enemies, Butsuma and Tajima are the ones who come together and sign a treaty of peace. Madara isn’t happy to have his life signed away for him in a political marriage to strengthen the bond between their clans. He is even less happy to have Tobirama make assumptions of him from their very first night together. What follows from there is a journey of healing, of learning, and finding the places to belong in the places least expected.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI and commission info in the header!

Chapter 16

They were tired and hungry, their bodies sore, both of them bleeding sluggishly from at least three places each, but Tobirama took a mild sort of satisfaction from the fact that Izuna looked utterly ridiculous with his long ponytail drying in to a stiff cast of mud. He tried not to imagine what his own head looked like but, still, no matter how stupid he looked it could not possibly compare with the hard little tail hanging from the back of his partner’s head.

Chakra flared in the distance and Tobirama struggled up from where his body had almost entirely merged with the thick mud cradling them. Loud, wet suction noises announced his movement and Izuna groaned but did not look up to watch him crawl his way over to the entrance of their hiding spot. He’d told his mission partner they were taking shelter in a cave but in reality he had shoved their battered bodies down in to a hollow area he’d found underneath one of the massive redwoods that made up the forest surrounding the capital city. Their dirty little cavern had only one entrance, easily disguised by stuffing it full of branches and leaves, but in the fog of exhaustion and pain Tobirama realized he’d forgotten to conceal their chakra.

“Abandoner,” Izuna mumbled, barely enough energy left to speak let alone work himself up for a proper accusation.

“I’m not leaving,” Tobirama said. “I’m just- do we have anything sharp left?”

“Your needle?”

“Oh. Yeah.”

A minute of digging brought out the needle he’d used to sew Izuna’s wounds shut. Now he turned it around and dug it in to the wood of the tree, carving a chakra dampening seal in to the root closest to the blocked entrance. Honestly he wasn’t sure either of them even had enough chakra left for someone to sense them without standing on their heads but it was better to be safe than sorry.

When his carving was done he let his body slump back down in to the mud again. Dirty and cold it might be but it was also surprisingly comfortable, something that should probably worry him a lot more than it did. If he had more energy for such thoughts he was sure this situation would seem a lot more serious but right at that moment the only pressing matter on his mind was whether or not he could fall asleep yet and whether Izuna would still be alive when he woke up again.

“How much blood do you think you’ve lost?” he asked. Izuna grunted.

“Dunno. Lots. Probably more than a liter.”

“Ah, you’ll be fine. So long as the bleeding is at least slowing down then we should be able to get some rest before we get the fuck out of here.” Tobirama let his eyes fall closed with a heavy sigh.

Squelching noises accompanied by a few irritable grunts almost convinced him to open his eyes again but Izuna fell still again quickly, clearly giving up on whatever he’d been trying to do. Probably roll over. In the silence that followed it was all too easy to let the dim lighting and the heaviness of his limbs work together to pull him down under the veil of consciousness. Tobirama didn’t so much fall asleep as he did pass out with an utter lack of dignity.

He woke again an undetermined amount of time later. By the solid darkness in their hole he supposed it must be night, although he couldn’t have said whether it was that same night or if they had slept for more than twenty-four hours. Either option seemed as likely as the other. A quick internal scan told him that his body hadn’t recovered quite as much as one might hope but he felt a few steps farther away from death’s door and that was a victory at the very least. It did take a bit of extra effort to free his head from the mud cast that had dried around him as he slept but eventually he was able to haul himself up in to a sitting position and look around for Izuna, forming a weak tongue of flame with a single hand sign.

Covered in dirt as they had both been when they crawled in here, he almost thought Izuna had disappeared so well did the man blend in. It was seeing the faintest reflection on the necklace he always wore that differentiated Izuna from the rest of the lumpy mud. Tobirama fought to free the rest of himself from the dried mess and crawled over to shake his brother in law gently.

No response. Whether that was because he was just too tired or too unconscious Tobirama couldn’t say without a medical diagnosis. Too tired himself to think of a better plan, he figured the best thing to do was for them both to get out of here and at least get some fresh air, maybe dunk themselves in a river if he could find one. Surely all the rain that churned up so much mud would have collected in a few pools here and there. For once the heavy fall rains were good for something other than keeping him awake at night. Breaking Izuna out of his earthen cast took a while with so little strength in his arms and Tobirama had to give himself a few minutes rest before dragging the man’s unresponsive body up out of their hole.

If he hadn’t been monitoring Izuna’s chakra for fluctuations with what little he had gained back himself Tobirama would have suspected it was deliberate that the man chose to finally wake up just as he got them both out in to the open air. After all that hard work he couldn’t decide if he was thankful or irritated to see dark eyes fluttering open and cracking the brown film of dirt that had dried over top of them.

“What in all the bloody hells did I drink last night?” was his first question. Tobirama paused.

“Nothing. Which is bad. Dehydration. We need to find water.” Ironic when last night it had dripped from every surface around them. Autumn was such a garbage season.

“Can I go back to sleep?”

Squinting in the darkness, his light gone out since he needed both hands for all that manual labor, Tobirama wondered if his partner had a concussion after yesterday’s battle. “No sleeping. We already slept. We’re going to find water and I’m dunking you in it.”

Amazingly, Izuna failed to argue with him for the first time since they set off on this god-forsaken mission nearly a week before. If he hadn’t been worried about a concussion before he certainly was now. Up until their track and observation mission ended up in an ambush they barely escaped with their lives Izuna had been questioning his every word and choice, sometimes for no viable reason other than that he seemed determined to fan the flames of his own hatred. It was honestly quite tiring to deal with and if Tobirama hadn’t promised himself he would try to make nice they would have come to blows with each other days ago.

Now there was nothing but silence as he sluggishly worked Izuna’s deadweight on to his own back like a meaty knapsack and staggered forward with lumbering steps. Soft breathing ruffled the few strands of hair that weren’t plastered and dried to base of his neck. For the first little while his only clue that Izuna hadn’t fallen unconscious again was the miniscule fluctuations in his barely-there chakra whenever something caught his interest or a misstep caused pain to flare through both of their bodies. Eventually Tobirama realized his own eyes were drooping as well and if he didn’t find something to distract him he might pass out himself, probably sending them both crashing against a tree.

He didn’t really want to talk about this disaster of a mission, though. The less time spent thinking about yesterday’s ambush the better. Which, of course, left him with very few conversation options so it was no surprise that he turned first to the only thing they seemed to have in common.

“What was he like as a child?”

“Nn?”

“Madara. What was he like when you two were young?”

Silence dragged on after his question to the point when he began to wonder if Izuna were simply ignoring him. Then finally there came a quiet huff of amusement from beside his ear. “He was a dick. Liked to throw me in the koi pond behind our house whenever I was winning an argument.”

Tobirama smiled, almost surprised he still remembered how to.

“A bully, then?”

“No, not really. He just didn’t like it when I was right because he was older and he thought that made him right all the time. I think…he wanted me to know that he would always protect me but he tried to show that by always knowing more, always being stronger, and as a kid that was just really annoying.” Izuna shifted against his back. Tobirama wondered what he was doing for a moment before he realized the man was laughing quietly.

Eager to know more, he prompted his companion to keep going. “Sounds like he was pretty protective of you.”

“He still is,” Izuna mumbled. “He worries over the smallest papercut, he asks if I’m eating right all the time, he’s always reminding me that I can come talk to him if I ever need to. Yeah he can be grumpy and his social skills could definitely use a bit of polish but I’ve never doubted that he loves me. Not once.”

“That sounds nice,” Tobirama admitted wistfully.

“It is. He is.” After pausing for a minute to think he added in a tone that suggested he had almost forgotten who he was talking to for a minute, “You don’t deserve him.”

Whatever reaction he was waiting for, he didn’t get it. Tobirama had hoped they could stretch out the good will for a little longer but he hadn’t bothered to let his hopes get too high. The half-hearted attack was more than anticipated.

“I think I deserve to be happy just like everyone else, although I would agree with you that I haven’t done as much as I should to earn his good will.”

“Damn straight,” Izuna said. He sounded irritated that he hadn’t been able to start a fight.

“You know he would be much happier if we didn’t scream at each other quite so much.” Although he knew the other couldn’t see him, lifting one of his eyebrows in a pointed expression was like a natural instinct.

“Go fuck yourself,” Izuna retorted almost cheerfully. “He would be happier if he wasn’t trapped with you for the rest of his life. Don’t talk about deserving happiness with me. You want him happy? Then let him go. Let him find someone that he actually wants to be with; then he’ll be happy.”

Tobirama didn’t answer at first. He forced his legs to continue stumbling on while he let his thoughts settle, unsteady beneath their combined weight yet refusing to give in so easily. There had to be some water around here somewhere, his instincts told him that he was close and his instincts had never lied about water, not once in his life. It was easier to think about how nice it would be to finally rid his body of all the dirt crusting his skin rather than what Izuna had said to him, especially so since it was something he had already spent a great deal of time thinking about and he had come to his own conclusions a long time ago.

“It is the tradition of my clan to allow an arranged partnership to seek divorce after five years. If, when that time arrives, Madara still wishes to be free of me then I will not stand in the way of him seeking his own path.” He wondered if he should make that more clear to his husband or if bringing it up would only remind the man of how trapped he was for the time being.

“Wait, seriously? Just like that?”

“Much as you seem to enjoy painting me as the villain, yes. Just like that. This match was made originally to cement our clans together but I don’t think either of our fathers could have anticipated just how well the Senju and the Uchiha would integrate. Give our people less than a year and I don’t think anyone will even remember what it was that kept them together in the first place. Certainly none of them would turn their heads if Madara and I…ended our marriage.” Just saying it made all the deepest parts of his insides ache but he refused to allow his voice to waver.

“Ha! See! I knew you didn’t care about him at all! You just married him because you were told to!”

“Of course I only married him because I was told to! We’d never met!” Tobirama scowled down the forest path ahead of them. “It’s what I grew up expecting to do. That is how things are done in the Senju clan. We’re told who to marry and then we make it work.”

Izuna scoffed. “Disgusting.”

“Just because it’s different doesn’t make it disgusting,” Tobirama snapped back.

Then he snapped his head to the left and barely held in a whine of longing. Water. He could feel the water in that direction. He changed course without even thinking about it.

“Doesn’t matter what you say, I think the whole practice is gross. But whatever. As long as Madara has a way out of this garbage then I guess I can put up with you for a few years.” Izuna sniffed delicately. He sure had a lot of attitude for someone entirely reliant on the person they were sassing.

“How generous of you,” Tobirama ground out.

A few steps later they closed their eyes to let a few low hanging boughs brush over them and then there it was, the most glorious sight either of them had ever set their eyes upon even in such low lighting. It wasn’t a very large stream, not even deep enough to go over their heads if they sat down, but the burbling water was crystal clear and it was perfect for two exhausted men who could barely stand the thought of keeping themselves upright for a second longer.

Tobirama staggered drunkenly as he splashed in to the center and a few new bruises blossomed on his knees when they folded to send him crashing down with Izuna still heavy across his back. A sigh of near ecstasy parted his lips as cool water rushed over him. It was almost more than he could process just to keep them both from lying flat out and drowning themselves in blissful relief. Behind him Izuna groaned and rolled away, the first movement he’d made for himself since waking up. The two of them splashed and rolled and rubbed at all the most important spots until finally they felt less like they were wearing an itchy second skin, more like they were human again.

“I’m alive!” Izuna declared with his usual dramatic flair.

“And I’m thirsty,” Tobirama mumbled. Blithely ignoring the screaming protests of his muscles, he dragged himself a few inches upstream to where their filth hadn’t polluted the water and dunked his head for a long drink, just barely holding in a moan as his parched throat finally received the hydration it had been crying out for.

He wasn’t surprised to see Izuna follow suit, dunking his face for a few long droughts of water. Then the two of them were left sitting upright in the center of a small stream without the energy to pull themselves back out.

“Well now what?” Izuna demanded. Tobirama blinked at their surrounds.

“Think you can shuffle over to the bank? Looks like the angle would make a decent backrest.”

“Hn. I can try. But if I slip under the water and don’t come up I will haunt you for a decade if you let me drown.”

Tobirama snorted even as he began his own awkward shuffling. “Noted.”

After a bit of uncomfortable maneuvering they were able to plant themselves in to semi-reclined positions on opposite sides, facing each other across the burbling stream. Their gazes locked and Tobirama tilted his head to contemplate the similarities between Izuna’s bitchy face and Madara's bitchy face. He was pleased to note that, while there was indeed a resemblance, there was enough details different that he wouldn’t be seeing echoes of Izuna every time he had a disagreement with his own husband.

“What do you even want from him?”

“Hm?” The question didn’t seem to have a connection to anything they’d been talking about but, then again, Tobirama’s mind felt pleasantly emptied by the bath and the drink.

“My brother. What do you want from him? Why can’t you just leave him alone?”

“It’s strange to me that you assume I must have some sort of alternate agenda in my own marriage.”

Rolling his eyes, Izuna scoffed. “Don’t act like this is a real marriage to you.”

“How is it not real?”

“You don’t love each other!”

“But we could,” Tobirama pointed out softly. “And that opportunity is what interests me. We could love each other.” Speaking so openly about this sort of thing with Izuna of all people was about as painful as he would have expected it to be but he forced himself not to flinch away from the subject at hand. Clearly these were things that the man needed to hear.

And just as clearly they were things he didn’t want to hear. His already taught expression tightened even more until he turned his head to mime gagging in to the river. “That’s bullshit. As if my brother could ever love you.”

It took every scrap of self-control Tobirama had in his arsenal not to react in any visible way to one of his greatest fears given voice. He had barely even given himself much time to come to terms with that fear, that he might have made himself a failure of a husband, that he might be so unlovable that a man like Madara could turn him away even after they had come so far and he had put in so much effort. With every day that passed he grew more and more attached in the way he knew a husband was meant to but without the power to crawl inside Madara's mind there was no way for him to tell if those sentiments were returned.

“He won’t love you,” Izuna declared in an icy voice. “I know my brother. He could never fall in love with someone like you.”

“What is that even supposed to mean?” Tobirama snapped.

“Someone cold! Someone who doesn’t know him like I do! Someone who doesn’t care about him! Or care about anything!” He opened his mouth to keep going but Tobirama had taken about as much abuse as he thought anyone could be expected to take several days ago and now he finally decided that enough was enough.

“I dragged your sorry ass to safety, didn’t I? You talk about me not caring but I’m the only one between us thinking about how our fighting affects the one we’re fighting over! If you had listened to a word I’ve said for the past week you might have noticed that I am trying damn hard to learn about him – but no! How am I supposed to ‘know him like you do’ if you won’t tell me anything? Do you know what I think, you spoiled fucking child? I think you’ve gotten too used to being the most special person in Madara's life and you feel threatened that someone else might come along and dethrone you!” Turning his head, Tobirama spit downstream to show his derision. “Well let me tell you something, princess. That’s stupid. If Madara falls in love with anyone that doesn’t mean he’ll stop loving you. You’re his brother. So get over whatever dumbass complex you have and let him decide what makes him happy!”

Exhaustion settled over him anew in the wake of his outburst. He could hardly remember the last time he’d said so much at one time outside of the meetings when he gave presentations. Even Izuna seemed shocked in to silence, completely still and staring back at him with both eyes open wide, jaw hanging loose. It was a hilarious and fitting look for his stupid face.

Tobirama lifted both hands out of the water to drag them down his own face. Despite how satisfying it had been to vent all the frustration that had been building over the course of their time together he was more than aware that he had probably just driven an even bigger wedge between them than ever before. Yelling at the brother in law he’d been looking for a way to schmooze definitely wasn’t the way to win himself any forgiveness.

And yet there was something contemplative in Izuna’s silence, a fragile note of tremulous realization. The silence lasted for a long time after Tobirama’s impassioned speech. Neither of them spoke for so long that he actually felt like his body had begun to recover and the current of the river they were still sitting chest deep in had time to work like a gentle massage, rejuvenating him the way falling unconscious for several hours hadn’t. He’d just started thinking about the possibility of moving to find actual shelter where he could bandage both of their wounds properly when Izuna finally spoke again.

“Madara can fall in love with whoever he likes,” he began slowly, “and I won’t try to stop him. It’s my opinion that I don’t think he will ever love you but if I’m wrong then I’m wrong. Just as long as he’s happy.”

“That is all that I hope for as well,” Tobirama said.

“Fine. So here’s the deal. I don’t like you. The way you guys were forced together feels immoral to me and there’s just something about you that always rubs me wrong. But if it’s really stressing him out so much then I guess I’ll just try to visit when you’re not there.”

While that did sort of undermine the point Tobirama was trying to work his way around to he was smart enough not to point that out. Just getting Izuna this far was a greater accomplishment than he’d started to believe was possible and he was no stranger to the concept of quitting while he was still ahead.

“I can live with that much,” he agreed. “We should get out of here. My chakra isn’t quite at the level I need it to be yet so we should probably get some clean bandages on your leg until a medic can see it.”

“Chakra? What are you gonna do, body flicker halfway across the continent?” Izuna snorted.

Smiling to himself as he forced his legs to stand up and wade across the flowing stream, Tobirama hummed agreeably and thought of the new seal he’d been so proud of himself for finally completing. “You would be amazed how far I can reach.”

“Believe it when I see it,” Izuna said.

There wasn’t much he could think of to say in response that wouldn’t cause a fight so instead Tobirama grunted before leaning down to haul Izuna up to his feet. “Carried or walking?”

“Carry me.”

“Lazy.”

“And yet you are going to carry me anyway.”

Tobirama made them both stand face to face so he could say, “My other option is letting you expire here alone in a stream because you are too stubborn to get up and follow.”

He didn’t wait for a reply, quickly turning and ducking down so he could fit the shorter man’s arms over his shoulders and get a solid grip under both knees. Then he stood up and waited for his new burden to shift in to a comfortable position before wading back out of the stream and heading back in to the quiet forest. If not for the distant sounds of wildlife he might actually be a little suspicious of how quiet the woods around them were and how long they had gone without sensing anyone even sort of close by.

Whatever had become of the squad that quite literally ran them in to the ground yesterday, that would have to be a problem for later. For now Tobirama set a course for the brilliant spot on his senses that had to be the capital city and headed out at an easy pace.

“Do you even know where you’re going?” Izuna demanded.

“Do you always need something to be complaining about?” he retorted. “Yes. I can feel where the closest dense population is and it’s straight ahead in this direction.”

“Freak. How the hell can you sense that far when you don’t even have enough chakra back yet for a jutsu or something?”

“I was born with my inner eye open, as Hashirama likes to say.” He would have shrugged if not for the weight on his back. Izuna grunted and fell blessedly silent with no more arguments.

Although he had very little trust in the longevity of that silence Tobirama figured he might as well get as far as he could before the bickering started up again. With his gaze set dead ahead and his senses spread out to watch for anyone approaching he let the rest of his mind wander back to Konoha where a warm bed awaited him along with a husband who he could only hope missed him even half as much as he missed Madara.

#rae writes #madatobi #tobirama #izuna #fanfiction

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solohux · 6 years

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I got a Fox!Hux prompt plus a lol writing challenge b3cuase I don't think you've written something like rhis. So, first this piggyback of an idea way back. It's one were Leon was taken by an inspector getting rib of rodents. Instead, of finding him they don't for at next 18 years they assume Leon just died and never was found until Hux smells his scent in a crowd and actually find him. Leon is someone else's pet who are unaware of his human half, But Leon is unaware of who is really is.

Oh my god, I’m shook that someone actuallyremembers those ideas! I’m in love with everything to do with the fox pups soto be asked to write something proper for that beloved au of mine makes mesuper happy! Thank you, darling!

For anyone who wants to read more of thisau, I’ve tagged them all with ‘Little Leon Lost’, but it’s basically just foxHux & human Kylo have a litter of four foxlings (children who arehalf-kitsune so they’re able to shift between a fox form and a human form) andthe youngest of them is taken by pest control and his family are unable to findhim. And for the purposes of this fic, instead of Hux and Kylo having 8 pups, I’llmake it 4, just so they’re easier to keep track of. I’ll pick it up from there!

It’s the day after hischildren’s eighteenth birthday, the morning after happy celebrations, but Huxcan’t find the strength to keep up his ruse.

It’s an early spring morningand he’s out on the balcony of their suburban home, slowly flicking throughtheir family’s photo album. With Kylo being a photographer, the book is filledwith pictures of their pups, all from when they were still tiny babies to onlylast week when they took a short break to the east coast to visit Hux’sbrother, Techie, and his partner and twins. Family time, filled with laughs andlove, but after a week of celebrations for the pup’s birthdays, Hux needs sometime to let his grief show.

He turns the page of the photoalbum and his heart swells with sadness.

It’s a page with photos of hislittle lost pup, the youngest and the smallest of his quadruplets, Leon. Thereisn’t a day that passes where Hux doesn’t think of his beautiful dark hair, orhis sparkling green eyes, or his little fingers clinging onto him, a soft voicewhispering ‘Mama’. The poor pup hasbeen missing for fifteen years, taken by pest control and—and—

“Hux?”

The fox lets out a startledyip as Kylo’s voice brings him out from his thoughts and his warm hands on hisshoulder. His mate sets a cup of tea down on the little outdoor table beforesitting on the adjacent chair, glancing over to look at the pages of the photoalbum.

“He wouldn’t have liked theparty,” Hux says, smiling nostalgically through his tears. “He didn’t like loudnoises, or attention. He would’ve sat in the kitchen and had one of his sisterssmuggle him some cake.”

Hux’s tears drip down, wettingone of the photos, one where Leon is sat atop Kylo’s shoulders looking a littlescared, but both are smiling. It’s almost as if Hux can hear Leon’s laugh; hewas always happiest when he was in Kylo’s arms, protected by his Papa.

“The girls are still in bed,”Kylo says, reaching to take hold of Hux’s hand across the table. “Want to gofor a walk? The air might help. You always liked going out in the air when wefirst met.”

“Almost twenty-three yearsago, Ren. I’m hardly the young, spring fox that I used to be,” Hux scoffs, quietlyremembering how young he and Kylo were when they first met; Kylo was still apup by kitsune years! “But a walk sounds wonderful.”

Elora, Layla and Alana, trueto Kylo’s word, are all still asleep in their bedrooms, all three daughtersseemingly partied-out from theprevious night, so Kylo and Hux sneak past their doors and down the stairs,fetching their coats and boots, and Hux grabbing his hat out of habit, stillsometimes forgetting that his fox ears and tail are no longer visible to humans.A visit family visit years ago to the Scottish highlands had put him in thepresence of a witch, who’d taken slight pity on the kitsune and cast a spell onhim and his pups to make their additional fox appendages vanish withoutaffecting their ability to transform between bodies.

Even now, as Hux puts his hatback on the coat stand, he’s grateful for the witch’s spell, giving him thegift of being able to be Kylo’s husband, be his children’s mother, without havingto be afraid of revealing his fox ears and tail. The same with his daughters;able to be free. If only Leon were here—

The cool spring air isrefreshing, Hux finds, as he walks hand-in-hand with Kylo down their streettowards the centre of town, towards the shops. He lifts his head, relishing inthe feeling of the wind in his face, partly wishing he could switch into hisfox form and just escape the human world for a few hours, maybe give anothersearch through the surrounding forests to look for his lost pup. Just one morelook, he may be there this time, the pest control company may have released himinto the wild—after all this time,Hux still has hope.

“Should we find somewhere tohave breakfast?” Kylo says, tugging Hux’s hand along. “That café you likeshould be open by now.”

“Sure,” Hux nods. His stomachtwists, finding that his grief is still swelling somewhat ferociously. “I’d likethat—”

Hux stops, freezing completely. His skin tinglesand the hairs on his neck stand on end. His fingers twitch and his nostrilsflare. The other early risers in the town move around him like faceless souls,unimportant, bustling to and from the open shops without even noticing that Huxis standing there, still.

There’s a familiar scent inthe air, one that’s haunted him for fifteen years, and it’s so strong that Huxfeels that he may be forcibly changed into his animal body as a result.

“Hey! Hux, Hux, come on, talk to me,” Kylo gentlypats Hux’s cheek, yet the fox doesn’t blink, too busy looking around for thesource of the scent. “What’s wrong?”

“It-it’s him, Ren,” Hux gasps,spinning around to look everywhere. “I can smell him, he’s here, I know it.”

“Who, Hux? You’re scaring me,sweetheart, please.”

“Leon.”

If Hux still had his ears atophis head, they’d be pointed and alert now, though every one of his heightenedsenses is working in overdrive to confirm what he’s known for years; his son is alive.

Hux takes off running throughthe crowd, scampering along and uncaring that he bumps into almost everyone—Kylois quick behind him, though, apologising to the disgruntled public—in absolutedesperation to find the source of the scent. It gets stronger and stronger asthey make their way out of the shopping centre and out across the traffictowards the park. Hux holds his breath as he runs, overwhelmed already, findingit so hard to ignore Kylo’s calls for him to slow down but he has to follow hisheart.

Hux skids to a halt on thegravel path, and it takes Kylo’s hands around his waist to stop him fromcollapsing to the ground.

“Ren…” Hux whispers,practically limp in Kylo’s hold, only managing to find his footing when hehears his mate’s heavy breaths. “That’s…”

“That’s him,” Kylo says, voice trembling. “The-the black stripe.”

Being one of the pups withbrown hair like their father, just like his sister Leyla, Leon’s fox fur had asomewhat thick stripe of black fur that ran down one of his sides from his leftear, a massive difference to the typical all-red fur seen on a wild fox.

And the little fox that’s onthe end of a short leash just up ahead on the park’s dirt path has a very defined stripe along his back, and he’sthe source of the strong scent that’s dragged Hux here.

He isn’t prepared to wait amoment longer to hold his lost pup.

With newfound strength in hislegs, Hux surges forward, stomping along the path with Kylo in close tow, growling, ready to rip the leash fromthe human’s hands. It’s a male and a female, both relatively young, that arewith the little fox; the girl poses for pictures with him whilst the male snapsthe shot, manoeuvring the pup into whatever position she chooses, and he makesno effort to bite or fight back.

“Release him at once,” Hux shouts, continuing his advance. Thecouple turn quickly at the bellowing voice, looking afraid.

“He’s tame!” The girl picksthe fox up, holding him tightly. “He doesn’t bite! He’s allowed on a leash inhere.”

“I’d rather he did bite. At least thenyou’d be able to see the harm you’re causing! Give him to me, now.”

“Rusty is our pet, Mister!” The man steps in front of Hux and the woman, hissunglasses slipping down his nose. Hux wants to punch them off of his face.

“Rusty? Pet! How very dare you!” This time, when Hux yells, Kylotakes hold of his hand.

“What my husband means,” Kylo says, seeing the yellowflicker of Hux’s irises, the warning of his ancient power bring brought forth. “Isthat we used to have fox with the same sort of stripe as that who went missing,and I think he presumes this is him. Where did you find him?”

“They stole him,” Hux growls under his breath, but Kylo hushes him.

“He was at a sanctuary,” thegirl says, bouncing the pup in her arms. “Up north. He was covered in cuts andscrapes when the sanctuary took him in, poor little orphan. They said hismother was likely killed, or that he was abandoned because he was the runt ofthe litter. Apparently he was there for a real long time until we came andsaved him. Rusty has been ours for almost three years now so I doubt he’syours.”

“He’s ours, without a doubt, girl,”Hux says, struggling in Kylo’s hold. “I didn’t abandon him, he was stolen, you fucking—”

“Hey, don’t start gettingaggressive,” the man says, looking at Hux and then to Kylo. “You wanna thinkabout puttin’ him on a leash. Rabid as a dog.”

“Yeah, I’m thinking about it,”Kylo mutters, trying to pull Hux away before he leaps on the couple and takesLeon back by force. “Thanks for your time, guys. We’ll be going now.”

“Ren!”

But Kylo is already pullingHux away and back across the park, fighting the supposed rabid cur with everything to counteract Hux’s unnatural kitsunianstrength.

“Let me go now, Kylo Ren, or else,” Hux shouts, kicking.

“Hux, for star’s sake, we can’tjust snatch him off them! They’d call the police and he’d be taken away from usagain. We’d have to lose him all over again. Would you want that?”

Hux is silent for a fewmoments but then his struggles stop, calmly looking back over Kylo’s shoulderto where the man and woman have resumed posing with the foxling—Leon.

“Then what do we do?” Hux’svoice is calmer now, cheeks paling. “He’s ours,Ren. He’s our lost pup. We can’t leave him, I won’t do it.”

“Ssh, my sun and moon. We’llfind a way.”

Hux melts into Kylo’s arms,closing his eyes and unable to shift the image of his helpless son so unhappyand lifeless in that human’s arms, like he’s been tamed into a mere pet insteadof the boy he’s meant to be. He wouldhave grown up alongside his three sisters, all of whom swore from the beginningto protect their smaller brother, never leaving him out of their games, neverrushing too far ahead when they played in the garden in the fox forms—

Hux’s eyes shoot open, pullinghimself out of Kylo’s hold.

“Do you trust me?” Hux asks.

“Yes,” Kylo smiles, “But not when you have that mischievous lookin your eye.”

“I’m a kitsune. I am a creature of mischief.”

“Oh. I’m so aware.”

“Kylo Ren. Do you trust me?”

“With everything I am.”

“Then do not interfere.”

Hux gives Kylo a final kiss onhis cheek before turning quickly on his heels and making a dash for the huddleof trees and bushes off to the side of the path, disappearing amongst theirgreenery almost instantly, leaving Kylo to watch from the side-lines. Butbefore he can even consider interfering,there comes a short but strong blow of a very warm wind, and Kylo realises Hux’splan.

A streak of orange bursts outfrom the cover of the trees, leaping in strong bounds towards the couple, makingloud growling sounds. Kylo covers his mouth as he watches Hux charge towardsthe couple, tail fluffed out and wafting to give him balance as he runs. Thegirl shrieks, the boy drops his phone, and the foxling cowers in the wake ofthe sudden noise. The leash is Hux’s mouth then, and he tugs and pulls at it tofree it from the girl’s hold, and it isn’t long before the threat of the fox’steeth becomes too much and the girl drops it, fleeing in fear with the boyfollowing with just as much fear.

Kylo takes his coat off as hemakes his way over to the line of trees, to where Hux has already carriedlittle Leon over to. Kneeling in the mud, Kylo crawls underneath the bushes,heart pounding, unable to fathom that his lost son has been found.

“My baby, my beautiful boy,”Hux says, now in his human form, nude except for his coat draped around him. He’scrying, holding the pup close to his chest and nuzzling the top of his head. “Wethought you were gone forever. My darling, Leon. We knew you were strong. Weknew—”

“—We knew you were stillalive,” Kylo says, reaching to stroke behind Leon’s soft fox ear. “We’ve missedyou, Leon. So much.”

But regardless of how much hisparents fuss and cry over him, Leon does not react. He stays pliant in Hux’shold

“Baby, it’s your mother,” Huxsays, lifting Leon up and rubbing his nose against his. “You’re safe now. Youcan change. We can take you home. Your sisters will be so happy to see you. Youcan shift forms now, Leon. Please.”

“Hux.” Kylo places his hand onHux’s leg. “He’s…”

“Don’t, Ren. He knows who heis. He has to. He has to. He’s ourpup.”

“He’s been gone for fifteenyears, Hux. Gone through hell, probably. Been subjected to all kinds, likely, especially living with those two. He won’tremember us.”

“No, no, don’t say that. Of course he remembers us. Don’t. Leon?”

The foxling does nothing.

Fresh tears fall from Hux’seyes, dripping onto Leon’s soft fur. Kylo shuffles closer to them and wraps onearm around his mate and uses his free hand to ruffle behind the foxling’s ears,like he always used to when Leon wasjust a tiny pup and afraid of everything.

But to Hux’s and Kylo’ssurprise, the foxling makes a small whimper and licks the falling tears awayfrom Hux’s cheeks, wriggling as though trying to get free. Doing as he wants,Hux sets Leon down, who wobbles on his feet for a moment before padding softlyover to Kylo, climbing on him, pawing at him like he used to do when he wasasking to be held. Kylo sniffles and picks the pup up, holding him gently inhis arms, and rocks him.

“Little lion,” Kylo says,smiling as he remembers Leon’s namesake. “Our brave one. Even if you don’tremember us, we’ll always love you. Always.”

Kylo looks over to Hux, expectinghis mate to be in tears but, instead, he sees the kitsune’s aura glowing afiery orange, eyes burning with the same yellow as before, bringing his powersto the front of his consciousness. Kylo can’t help but squint, overwhelmed bythe light of Hux’s presence but he manages to see Hux’s soft hands coming tohold Leon, cupping his head in his palms. There’s a flash, Hux’s voice utteringwords that Kylo doesn’t understand, and then an agonisingly deafening silence.

And the weight in Kylo’s armsbecomes so much heavier.

The light fades, sending themback into the shadowy cover of the park’s trees, and the soft whistling of thewind and Hux’s ragged breaths are all to be heard. Kylo blinks; the foxling isno longer in his arms. Instead, there’s a boy.

He’s pale and thin, thoughfaint scarring litters almost the entirety of his soft skin, even one thatcascades over his left eye in an almost identical way to Kylo’s. At eighteen years old, Leon looks just like his father. A mess ofthick, dark hair sits stop his head and both Hux and Kylo know that beneath hisclosed eyelids are the sparkling green eyes that would put the stars to shame.

It’s him. Their son. Leon Ren.

Hux strokes through the boy’shair and, unable to control his sobs, kisses his son’s forehead whilst Kylocuddles him close, covering his naked body with his own coat, resting his cheekatop Leon’s head, closing his eyes, relishing in the feeling of having his sonin his arms again.

“Leon,” Hux says. “Our boy. Thank you.”

#kylux #fox hux #my fox hux!!!! <3 #i'm so so so sorry it got so long but i couldn't stop!!!!!!#m:writing #little Leon lost

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theconservativebrief · 6 years

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2018’s wildfires are already proving to be more destructive than last year’s, with the active Carr and Ferguson fires burning more than 200,000 acres and killing eight people in California, as well as wildfires in Oregon and Colorado that have torched more than 250,000 acres collectively. This essay, published during last year’s brutal fire season, tackles many of the same issues as this year’s season.

The mundane days all run together. But those days when I was genuinely unsure if I would make it to the end of my shift intact are the ones that stand out.

I remember fighting a fire on the Angeles National Forest in 2002. Our crew flew onto a ridge in a helicopter. The rotor wash, or wind created by the helicopter blades, flung orange embers into the unburned vegetation — the “green.” Immediately, it started burning.

We jumped out of the helicopter, ran underneath the fire, and started digging. The goal was to quickly create a line free of any vegetation that could burn, called a fireline, which we used to stop fires from growing. Digging fireline is grueling; I often lost myself in the sound of chainsaws and rhythm of my tool hitting the dirt and ignored my physical pain.

Some of us had to run deep into the green and find embers or put out new small fires before they began burning out of control. There were full minutes when I thought, This may be it. We may not make it.

I worked as a wildland firefighter for seven years in the 2000s. And so I’ve been watching the smoky footage on my computer of the fires burning across the West this last month with great unease. Take the La Tuna Fire, which ignited on September 1. It was one of the largest fires Los Angeles has ever seen and burned more than 7,000 acres before it was contained. And it’s the kind of fire that is increasingly common in the age of climate change.

Wildland firefighters are especially attuned to how climate change puts us all at greater risk for destructive fires. We understand how higher temperatures and long-term drought are the perfect conditions for ignition. To us, there’s little controversy that it’s happening, although not everyone believes it’s human caused. I do, and, along with others in the field, I wonder when those in power will take the steps needed to address climate change.

Wildfires currently burning in Northern California have destroyed thousands of acres and homes and resulted in the deaths of 11 people. Counties including Napa and Sonoma have been declared a state of emergency.

It’s been a brutal wildfire season. Last month’s La Tuna Fire in Los Angeles was, I’m sure, one of those fires that seemed uncontainable. In a speech, Ralph Terrazas, the LAFD fire chief, said, “We can handle everything. We have to. We don’t have an option.” He sounded exhausted and less hopeful than his words.

Southern California’s fire season usually lasts in late September and October when hot, strong winds called the Santa Ana blow through the region. I witnessed this. Fires often started on roadsides, ignited by discarded cigarette butts or even a spark from a motorcycle. The La Tuna Fire didn’t bode well for this year’s California fire season, and we’re seeing those effects.

Last month, I spoke with my friend Jesse Moreng, an ex-hotshot — or wildland firefighter — who now works as a multi mission aircraft manager, mapping fires for the firefighters on the ground. When I asked Jesse if he thought this fire season was more severe than most, he said yes, “just in terms of how many places are burning at once.”

The US Fire Service and Department of the Interior reported in September spending more than $2.1 billion on fires this year so far, which is what they spent for the entire fire season in 2015, one of the most devastating fire seasons since 1960. What strikes me most about the report is the predicted length the 2017 fire season. Some predicted containment dates are well into late Autumn. Many of these large fires are under 5 percent contained, with no rain or helpful weather in sight. That’s going to take a lot of resources to stop or contain.

As some fires continue to get worse, air quality will suffer, and more often there may be loss of property and loss of life due to the increasing number of people who live in wooded areas. Most importantly, large fires themselves emit greenhouse gasses, which have been proven to accelerate climate change and burn trees, which are crucial for oxygenating the air. This will inevitably affect the quality of life of most people living in the United States. This isn’t just happening here, but around the world.

As Puerto Rico, Texas, the Caribbean and Florida continue to recover from Hurricanes Maria, Harvey, and Irma, there seems to be an Armageddon-esque dread floating around on the internet. Tubbs and Atlas Fires are carving a path of destruction through Northern California, and 33 active fires burn throughout the state. It will only get worse as the effects of climate change continue.

Climate change will continue to affect fire behavior. According to an article published in PNAS, data from Western North America confirms that human-caused climate change will lead to widespread and more frequent fires. This is because the continual warming trend sets up conditions for a longer burning season — climate change means higher temperatures and more erratic precipitation, which leads to drier fuels ripe for burning.

It’s not hopeless. Although the wildfire news makes it feel as if the end of the world is upon us, it isn’t. Not yet. The USFS motto is “Caring for the land and serving people.” But how can we enforce that when the current administration denies climate change altogether? To keep our forests and air healthy we must be actively educating ourselves and voting for people who will be stewards of the land.

When I was 19, I dropped out of college and a friend suggested I apply at a nearby fire contracting agency in Eugene, Oregon. We were on a fire within two weeks and I loved the job. It was intense and exhausting, but I loved the camaraderie I had with my fellow crew members.

For four years I worked on three different hotshot crews. Hotshots are on the front lines — a crew consists of 18 to 22 members, the bulk of which are seasonal federal employees and the rest permanent government employees.

It’s intensely physical work. The fire season typically lasts May through October, and in a busy season a crew will log over a thousand hours of overtime. On “rolls,” a crew leaves home base for two to three weeks at a time, depending on the fire situation nationally, and will only come home for a couple days before being called out again. Every few years some crews have a slow season, resulting in less pay. Each hotshot gets paid differently due to experience, but most are paid $13 to $17 an hour, plus overtime and hazard pay.

Wildland firefighters are also often looked down upon by city fire departments. We aren’t considered “real” firefighters and seasonals don’t get benefits such as health insurance or retirement that structural firefighters enjoy. A permanent position is not guaranteed and can be hard to find.

In 2002, my crew was called to the Biscuit Fire, historically one of the largest fires in Oregon. It clocked in at over 500,000 acres, or 781 square miles. We spent most of our time fighting the Biscuit Fire using a method called “burning,” using drip torches to burn fuels along old logging roads and new dozer lines. We hoped that when the larger fire reached the burned fuels, it would stop, because there was no more fuel to burn. We spent three weeks fighting the Biscuit Fire. Eventually it crossed the border into California. The fire would not be contained fully for another five months.

Burning, which also can be done using flares or dropping napalm balls from helicopters, is just one method of fighting fire. Another method is fireline, which is when a fire crew or dozer creates a fuel break by removing all vegetation along the edge of the fire so it can burn no further. There’s also the “slurry line” method, where planes and/or helicopters drop fire retardant in a line across the vegetation to slow the burn.

For any of these methods to work, the elements have to be cooperative. Often they aren’t, and firefighters spend weeks implementing these tactics repeatedly, starting over each time they fail. We could only do so much.

Big fires are often unwilling to be contained. One day, while on the Bitterroot Complex, which burned more than 350,000 acres, we were feeling around for embers hiding in roots and stumps when it began to snow. My boss told me stories about how, when the snowy season came, embers would hide for the entire winter underground, only to pop up in the spring and reignite.

Even if we thought we’d have a hard time getting hold of the fire, we worked hard. After the initial frenzy of a new fire, our shifts were pretty regular: 16 hours on the fireline every day. We woke around 5 am and refilled our water, ate, and sharpened our tools in the dark, using the yellow circle of our headlamps. Throughout the day we’d lag and then become reenergized; we’d pour Emergen-C into our mouths, eat crystallized coffee, make tea with the water in our water bottles which was almost always hot.

Sometimes I hated the job; I’d dream of going to a restaurant and eating a steak, taking a shower — something we rarely did while in the field — sleeping in my bed. I wished, sometimes, that I could go swimming in a lake or do other summer activities I often missed out on during fire season. But firefighting was what I knew how to do, so I stayed. I loved working in the woods, where I didn’t have to be part of what I called “real civilization.”

There’s a part of me that misses my days of firefighting. But when I see the ongoing fires in California, Oregon, and Montana, I think about just how intense it was, and how much worse it’s getting every year. There will always be men and women at the forefront of these fires, doing whatever they can to contain the devastating impacts of nature. The politicians in charge of climate change policies need to make these hotshots’ jobs a little easier.

Anastasia Selby grew up in Washington state and spent most of her 20s fighting forest fires. She is now an MFA candidate in fiction at Syracuse University, and looks forward to graduation in 2018, when she can head out West again. Follow her on Twitter here.

First Person is Vox’s home for compelling, provocative narrative essays. Do you have a story to share? Read our submission guidelines, and pitch us at [email protected].

Original Source -> I’m a woman who fought wildfires for 7 years. Climate change is absolutely making them worse.

via The Conservative Brief

#IFTTT #The Conservative Brief

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munchkinxcop-blog · 6 years

Text

Erin

Two mornings later and Erin had woken up to the voice of the doctor there in the room, documenting her progress with a nurse by his side. The day before had been hell as she’d been in far too much pain, but refused most medications, willing to feel it, willing to find her way through it. Her pain level now was far more manageable, and for that she was thankful. A few hours later, papers were signed and she was ready to go. Getting up from the bed, she was using the support of C.J.’s hands to lift from the bed where it felt good to stand up after far too long on her ass. Final at home instructions were given in paper form to the couple on how to treat her wound for the next couple of weeks to keep it from forming any infection, as well as an appointment card reminder for her to set up a follow up appointment in the next week. “Thank you,” she stated as the nurse gave up those papers to her after she was steady on her feet. Tilting her head up to the side, finding her height difference from C.J. that had been missing over the last couple of days, a smile there to her lips as she offered a nod of her head. “Take me home?”

C.J.

Watching the woman rise, he’d nod. “Yeah.” he answered simply as he offered her his hand. It had been a difficult few days for all parties involved. While he admired her strength, the man was absolutely horrible about seeing her in pain. Making him wonder how he could ever get through a pregnancy and delivery with her as it seemed to effect him deeply. Chest pains. The works. Though he’d never tell her that and worry her further. “About damn time, Looch…go get yourself shot again and we’re going to have to talk options…”

Erin

“Options, huh?” she asked, a smirk there to her lips as she shook her head no, telling him easily that there were no options. He was stuck with her. The nurse slipped out of the room now that Erin was fully discharged from their care, leaving the two detectives that she was all too familiar with to their own devices. “If we could stop on our way and get something to eat, I might love you forever. Might.” She teased in return, as the take out food brought to her the night before had long before worn off. “Could do pizza and take it home. The boys might like the surprise when they get home from school…” she suggested, a little too happy to be seeing the boys soon since she’d thought it might not have been the best of ideas for them to see her in the condition she’d been in the day before, in entirely too much pain to enjoy them or them her, thus opting to wait for the potential release today.

C.J.

“Pizza isn’t right in Chicago.” he reminder her, not one for the thin-crust as he missed the thick stuff he had grown up on as he glanced down towards her but nodding. They could do that. He could sacrifice that much for the woman fresh out of the hospital. “You don’t have to use the boys if you want pizza.” he teasingly reminded her as he stole a gentle kiss from her.

Erin

Savoring that kiss, she wished to be able to bring her hand to the side of his face, but to do so she’d have to give up his hand in her own as her other was immobilized against her chest for the time being. Instead, she’d tighten her grip on his hand for the moment, her lips there to his for not nearly long enough. “Alright, no pizza. Let’s get something else,” she suggested, not wanting to get something he wasn’t going to enjoy at the same time. “What would you like to eat?” she asked, stealing another kiss just beyond her question.

C.J.

“Pizza.” he insisted, as if that was what she wanted then he’d get it for her as she pressed back to him. Meeting her eyes as they flickered over hers. “You all set or would you like to stay here for longer?” he asked playfully since they both knew she had loved her vacation so much while also knowing the boys would be chomping at the bit to get access back to her. Not to mention he felt she’d be far more comfortable at home.

Erin

“Yeah, no.” She returned quickly at the suggestion of staying in the hospital any longer. “I want my husband, my boys, food, and my bed, in that order.” She offered him a telling smile as she drew back from him slightly, keeping her hand there in his. “And if my husband happened to lay in bed with me and watch a movie, it certainly wouldn’t be the worst way to spend my night,” she offered, brows lifting as if to see just how much she could get away with here.

C.J.

“Technically…you want your husband, food, boys and bed.” he reminded her gently as she went on about the movie, he’d nod. “Sure. Why not.” he returned, knowing the two would now have a bit more free time on their hands considering what they were to go without for quite a bit as she healed up as he grabbed her hospital bag and allowed her to lead the way towards the door.

Erin

“As long as those four things are in the very near future, I’ll be alright,” she assured, gripping his hand a little tighter as she already had one of those things, making her quite happy to just be on her way out with him. “There might be something else I want to… but that’ll be after the boys go to bed,” she reminded him, a telling smirk there against her features as she nodded her head lightly, making their way out into that hospital hallway where they’d be one step closer to all of those things.

C.J.

“Huh, huh…” giving up a snort of laughter for dramatic flare as that clearly was not happening if it was what he thought it was. Making their way out of the hall where he said goodbye to the nurses. The same ones he had flirted with to get her all of her special privileges whether she liked it or not before they hit the elevator and he was hitting the down button.

Erin

Standing outside of the elevator, she cut her eyes up to him with a look of complete shock. “Huh uh?” she asked, almost surprised at the very idea that he’d be turning down something she was offering there. “I know you aren’t telling me that you don’t want to have sex with me after three days of nothing…” As the elevator doors opened, she stepped within, her hand still there in his as she kept her eyes set up to him.

C.J.

Fortunate that there was no one within the elevator, he’d walk her in where he hit the ground floor button before leaning back against that wall. “Not for lack of wanting to.” he promised her as she merely needed to rephrase that statement. There was never a matter of wanting to. Simply access. The potential for causing her discomfort as he glanced down towards her as she merely knew what it was that would hold them back.

Erin

“I don’t need the use of my arm to have sex with my husband.” She stated quickly as his back found the wall of the elevator. Standing there in front of him, never too far away as she contemplated pressing against him to show him what she could still do without one arm. For the mere fact of not wanting either of them arrested for a public indecency charge, she’d refrain for now. “If you’re not going to, you better be leaving that gift on the nightstand for me,” she teased, nodding her head. “If I can work that, then I can handle you. Deal?”

C.J.

“I can’t risk making you uncomfortable, Erin.” he stated simply as she’d find, hearing her mention the gift on the nightstand as if it came to that then he wouldn’t have much option in the matter before he’d shake his head. “Once you get out of that thing.” he warned, as he literally couldn’t even think of a way that it would work with that thing on as he watched the elevator declining floor by floor until they hit the ground and the doors would open.

Erin

She understood his concern and would adhere to it for that reason. The joke of the gift having been just that, a tool for negotiation as if she could show him what she thought she could and could not handle. Resolved to abstinence, she stepped out of the elevator and into the main lobby of the hospital with him, hand in hand. “We could go check the boys out of school… let them play hooky for the day,” she suggested, her eyes shifting up to his to see if he thought that might be acceptable or if he’d rather have her to himself for the next several hours.

C.J.

Smirking at her suggestion which was mischievous in nature, he’d glance down and flash her that dimpled smile. “They’d definitely like that…an impromptu dentist appointment, huh?” he asked, showing that the small family maybe were ripe for this. “Maybe we should get them and /then/ go to the pizza shop.” letting it evolve further, he gave her hand a gentle squeeze as he was onboard.

Erin

Offering a nod of her head, his alteration to her suggestion was alright by her. Torn between time with the boys and time with him, his way was probably for the best and therefore he’d draw no complaint from this woman of his as they made their way out the automatic doors into the city that had taken his wife down three days prior. The reminder of Chicago bringing her head all the way back around to the case as she glanced up at him. “Did someone interrogate the shooter yet?” she asked, still hellbent that there must be something he could have told them as he was the only solid lead they had seemed to manage to capture in weeks.

C.J.

"I got kicked out of the case." He returned as the wash of information with all the cases was causing distraction and was simply too much to deal with by this point as the conversation turned to work. "But Dawson has been giving me updates regardless. They are having a hard time sticking the guy." He added, showing he wasn't quite as innocent as many would think when it came to this case which naturally he'd follow considering who this shooter had shot.

Erin

It wasn’t surprising to her in the slightest that he’d been removed from the case as the same would absolutely have been true if the roles had been reversed. She couldn’t sit across the table from someone who had knowingly shot her husband and keep her hands down. She drew a heavy breath as she nodded her head to the fact that he had Antonio working with him discretely. “I don’t see how it’s hard to stick him when he shot a cop…” she offered, though she could only imagine they weren’t pressing that charge in an attempt to draw more information from him on who it was that he was working for, in an effort to put the case of the murdered C.I.’s to rest after far too long. “I’d love to get in a room with him for about two minutes,” she confessed quietly as they approached the car. Police to the very core, she’d show it here, as she wanted nothing more than to solve this case, regardless of what it had already taken from the both of them.

C.J.

“He’s got the charge, no doubt but…what are the chances it’s just random?” he asked honestly as it was too good to be true. There had to be a connection. “I think Voight will let me in the room when he realizes that his usual style ain’t going to work.” he confessed as they made it to the car and he hit the unlock key. Walking to the passenger side to open it for her. “He’s hiding something and it’s deep. Blood deep.”

Erin

She agreed with C.J. entirely, even if she hadn’t gotten to look the man in the eyes aside from the moment his gun was aimed at her. “He didn’t want to kill me,” she stated seemingly out of nowhere, yet there was never a nowhere with Erin when it came to cases. “He could have. But he aligned that shot. It was no accident that he hit my shoulder and not my chest, or between my eyes. I didn’t have a kevlar. He could’ve, and he didn’t.” Not entirely sure if anyone else had realized it as she hadn’t done much talking when it came to the actual shooting, yet now she’d offer it as it came to her. Climbing into the passenger’s side as he held the door for her, she nodded her head. “You need to get in that room. You can get it out of him. You’re the best there is.” It was true. It was why Voight had teamed her up with him in the first place. His skillset was not the same as every other cop in that unit. He had something more and this case needed that which he had.

C.J.

“No. Shoulder is the best place to be shot if you have to be shot at all.” he added, knowing exactly what she was saying as it were these circumstances that had gone through his head a million times over. Offering any assistance he could to get her into that car, he’d nod. “That’s what I said. Let me take him down to the cage.” repeating the same words he had said to Voight, C.J. could only shake his head as the man was impossible.

Erin

She was thankful for the placement of that bullet as it wasn’t life ending, nor was it career ending. But it meant something. The man had the chance to take her out and didn’t. She couldn’t help but wonder if there was something more to it, a piece that maybe they were all missing. Hearing his suggestion of taking the man to the cage, she nodded. He should. And in time, she believed he would be able to break Voight down enough to make it happen. The list of dead C.I.’s was a long one, and yet, she hadn’t died. As she fastened her seatbelt, struggling slightly, but managing it on her own, she leaned back in her seat, silence taking her as she went somewhere else entirely, working a case within her mind as she attempted this from an angle that the others might not have hit yet. With a strong bite to her lower lip, her eyes focused in on her thighs as she zoned out entirely.

-November 26, 2016

#dimplesfordays #lincianolife #lindsayxquitxlollygagging #2016

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