#man tumblr really threw a wrench in the works

[aquaquadrant]

from eden, part IX (act I)

Word count: 11,504 Warnings: Blood/injury, violence, death, animal death, temporary dismemberment, dissociation, self-deprecating thoughts (not really, Jimmy’s just a listener and doesn’t know it), strong language, fictional racism/xenophobia, panic attacks Summary: The Double Lifers have successfully thwarted the invasion by Hels Tek, but not unscathed. Now that Tango’s been outed as Bravo’s doppelgänger, the remaining threads are starting to unravel, and Jimmy suddenly finds himself fighting to save Tango from his own inner demons. Can their love survive the fallout?

A/N: This took a ridiculously long time to write and got way longer than I’d originally intended so uhhh happy belated holidays? There’s a lot in this one that I’m excited to show y’all so I really hope u enjoy it, pls reblog/comment if u do, it means a lot.

Also this chapter has been split into two parts bc Tumblr is a hoe with a paragraph limit, link to the second half at the end. And as always, this is part of a series, so the previous chapters can be found on my au directory here. - Aqua

~*~

from eden, part IX (act I) - no tired sighs, no rolling eyes, no irony

~*~

Somewhere in Double Life, a player kneels in a bloody wheat field.

Jimmy’s senses are flooded with iron. He’s regenerated enough health that his nose isn’t actively bleeding anymore, but he’s sure it’s still all over his face. As he finally pulls away from Tango, he realizes he’s smeared plenty of it on Tango’s shoulder. The blood on Tango’s chin and claws hasn’t fully dried yet, either. And through his slightly parted mouth, Jimmy can see it’s stained his teeth.

(Did you see what he did back there?)

(He was like an animal.)

(How long do you think he’s been keeping that in?)

Jimmy pushes the thoughts away. Focus on the here and now.

To be fair, though, the ‘here and now’ is a horrible place. The ranch is burning behind them. His eyes are burning from the tears and the smoke in the air. His throat feels tight and scratchy. He’s physically and emotionally exhausted, the weight of it dragging him down, sinking into the trampled soil beneath him. The singed edges of his wings are still stinging, but it’s an easily forgotten pain among everything else.

Jimmy hates crying. Especially in public. Really, nothing makes him feel more useless and pathetic than crying. But he has to admit, he’s at least a little calmer and more clear-headed. Now that he’s cried himself out, his awareness is gradually returning to the conversation going on around him.

“What in’a world was that about?!” Bdubs cries out, sounding absolutely flabbergasted.

“Yeah, who were those guys, anyway?” Etho asks, knitting his brows together. “How’d they get here?”

Joel makes a distressed noise. “They shouldn’t be able to open a portal here, this is a private world!”

“I know, I know, okay,” Grian gripes, “I’m workin’ on it. Hang on-”

“And what was all that nonsense about doggelpangers?” Scar pauses. “Uh, dop- doppabang-”

“Doppelgängers?” Cleo calls over wryly.

Scar hangs his head. “Dang it. Yes, that.”

“I dunno, but what if they come back?” Joel asks nervously. “What should we do?”

Isn’t that the question?

Jimmy takes quick stock of his surroundings. Grian is standing a little way’s off from Jimmy’s huddle, head bent down as he furiously scrolls through his communicator, the screen reflecting in his tinted glasses. Scar is hovering next to Grian, peering keenly over his shoulder, his bow held limply at his side. Both of them look a little roughed up from the battle, but alright for the time being.

Etho, still crouched at the spot where Bravo died, is searching through the dropped items. Joel is pacing in front of the broken portal frame and casting anxious glances at it, one hand gripping his sword while the other rakes through his hair, antennae twitching with agitation. There are a few scrapes and gashes between them- mostly superficial and likely to heal on their own.

Pearl’s wolf pack has been considerably thinned out- something Jimmy notes with a pang of guilt- but there’s still plenty of them milling about the place. With blood-matted fur and tucked tails, it’s clear they took a beating. Pearl herself must’ve gone, from the way they sniff and look around aimlessly, giving plaintive yips and whines. Scott is conspicuously absent as well, another hint as to the bonded pair’s fate. Jimmy’s sure they’ll be along soon.

Bigb and Ren are also nowhere to be seen- likely more casualties of the battle. Ren makes for a rather large target when in wolf mode; he probably drew a lot of enemy fire. And of course, Bigb would’ve gone with him. Box is quite a way from the ranch, Jimmy recalls, so it’ll take them a few minutes to get back.

Martyn is busy mining up the rest of the portal frame, seeming none the worse for wear. Cleo sits a couple yards away, one leg stretched out in front of her. The other one has been chopped clean off at the knee, and is clenched in their hand- but wait, it does that sometimes, Jimmy reminds himself before he can panic. The detached limb isn’t even bleeding, and she’s already pulling some string from her inventory to stitch it back on, seeming more inconvenienced than anything else.

Bdubs, across the field, looks no more beat-up than he always does. He’s fussing over his horse, snatching up stray bits of wheat to heal as it struggles to get its legs under it. Impulse’s horse, devoid of rider, has wandered off towards the barn- perhaps hearing the other horses inside. Impulse himself is crouched beside Jimmy and Tango, his golden eyes intently studying the collar that’s been locked around Tango’s neck.

Tango is still completely silent. He doesn’t move or give any indication that he’s at all mentally present, just kneeling idly in the dirt, expression blank, eyes distant. Nothing but static through their soul bond. He doesn’t seem to be seriously injured- most of the blood stains aren’t his. That realization isn’t as relieving as Jimmy wants it to be.

Grian clears his throat. “Right. First thing’s first, are we all still here?” he asks, scanning his communicator. “No one went through the portal?”

“Nah, all good,” Martyn calls over his shoulder as the final obsidian block pops onto the ground.

Etho has his communicator pulled up too. “Yeah, uh, just looks like Scott and Pearl got killed,” he reports. “Ren and Bigb, too. I’ll shoot ‘em a message, see if they’re alright.”

“Right, okay.” Grian chews his lip, wings ruffling. “And all the other fellas are gone?”

Etho nods. “Yep.”

“Okay-”

“G,” Scar cuts in, tugging on Grian’s sleeve, “you gotta respawn before that injury sets in.”

Grian shrugs him off. Only now does Jimmy realize he’s holding one of his wings closer to his body than the others, the one that took an arrow during the fight. “Gimme a second-”

”Um, guys?” Martyn says suddenly, pointing at the ranch. “Fire tick is on, yeah?”

Grian looks up at that, sucking in a breath through his teeth. “Hoo boy. Yeah, we need’ta get a ditch around the ranch, okay, or else the whole forest’ll go.” He casts a sidelong look at Jimmy, expression apologetic. “Tim, do you mind…?”

Jimmy shakes his head. “No,” he says hoarsely, “no, no, by all means. Whatever you need to… oh gosh, it’s all gonna go. It’s gone, isn’t it? It’s-” His voice breaks, and he quickly looks away, fresh tears welling in his eyes.

It wasn’t much, the ranch.

Only two floors- three counting the basement- and a bit tight on space. It wasn’t the most impressive build, not by a long shot. Certainly not when compared to the other builds on this world. It was something that would’ve taken two actually competent builders nothing more than a dedicated afternoon to put together. Plainly decorated, and comprised mostly of wood and stone variants. Nothing that’s particularly hard to obtain. And in all honesty, it was just a starter base; they were going to outgrow it sooner or later, anyways.

But it was theirs. 

It was the scorch marks in the wood from Tango’s blaze rods, in the moments where his emotions got away from him. It was the rocking chair where Jimmy liked to do his embroidery, when he needed to unwind after a busy day. It was the auto-sorting storage room that Tango spent weeks fine-tuning. It was the small but cozy living room that Jimmy decorated with potted flowers. It was the kitchen that always smelled faintly of charcoal, and the wool rug in the foyer that came from their own sheep, and the bedroom that they shared with an east-facing window to let them watch the sunrise together, on the rare days when Tango was awake early enough to see it.

The ranch is burning, and there’s nothing Jimmy can do about it.

(Great. Gonna start crying again, are you?)

(What exactly is that going to accomplish?)

(Man up! Don’t be so pathetic.)

A gentle hand on Jimmy’s shoulder makes him look up. Martyn is there, sympathy glimmering in his eye. “We’ll save what we can,” he promises.

Jimmy manages a grateful smile, blinking away his tears. “Thanks.”

Martyn nods before straightening back up. “Etho, Joel, you got water buckets on ya?”

“Oh, yeah.” Etho puts his communicator away as he and Joel start toward the ranch, buckets in hand. “Yeah, here, let’s make an infinite source..”

“Right. I’ll get the ditch started, then,” Cleo chimes in, rising to their feet now that both legs are once again intact.

Grian makes an appreciative noise, still tapping away at his communicator. “Okay, so that’s done-”

“Grian,” Scar says again, more insistently. “You gotta-”

“Hang on!” Grian huffs. He looks up to meet Jimmy’s gaze. “Okay, so uh, I can’t ban them… but what I’m gonna do is lock the world down,” he explains, taking a few steps over. “No one goes in or out… not even through a backdoor portal. This is just a temporary solution, but it should do the trick for now.”

Relief washes over Jimmy. “Thank you,” he murmurs.

(Good thing Grian is here to clean up your mess, huh?)

“Hey, guys?” Impulse speaks up, making Jimmy startle. “Um, Tango… he’s not lookin’ so good.”

That’s putting it kindly. Jimmy’s heart tightens. “Right. We should prob’ly get him inside, um…” He trails off as he instinctively looks at the ranch, which is on fire.

Right.

Impulse gives him a comforting look. “C’mon, you guys can crash at our place.” He rises to his feet, calling out, “Bdubs, would you bring the horses over?”

“Yeah, gimme a sec,” Bdubs shouts back. He’s finally gotten his horse standing again, glancing around for Impulse’s. “C’mere, stupid- hey! No, don’t wander off…”

“You finished, Grian?” Scar asks impatiently, notching an arrow.

“Okay, okay, hang on…” Grian presses a couple more buttons before putting his communicator away. “There, it’s done. Now, I’m gonna do some diggin’ and see what I can find out about this. But, um…” His gaze sweeps over Tango, expression pinched. “As soon as Tango is up for it… we all need to have a serious chat, okay?”

The wording immediately puts Jimmy off. He can feel his feathers bristling, his wings flaring out almost unconsciously to block Tango from view. “Wh- hey, this wasn’t his fault!” he protests.

Grian holds his hands up. “Ey, I know, I know,” he says lightly. His lower wings sweep out and flatten into a sort of fan as he crouches; an appeasing gesture. “None of us think that, okay? But clearly those guys came here for him, so we need’ta figure out why and how if we’re gonna figure out how to stop it from happenin’ again. Alright?”

Jimmy takes a breath, letting his feathers smooth over again. “Right. You’re right, sorry,” he mumbles.

(Wow, so defensive.)

(Like you could protect him, anyways.)

(Have you no faith in your own friends?)

Grian glances at Impulse. “You got them, Impulse?”

“Yeah, don’t worry,” Impulse assures him.

Scar draws back his bow. “Any day now, Grian…”

“Okay.” Grian turns around with an exasperated sigh. “Alright, Scar-”

He disappears in a puff of respawn smoke. Scar immediately follows him, his bow clattering to the ground amidst the shower of other items.

Impulse exhales in what might’ve been a laugh, if he didn’t sound so tired. He turns to Jimmy. “Can you stand?” he asks, holding out his hand.

(Look, they all think you’re weak, too!)

Jimmy feels himself flush. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he says, his tone short. Ignoring Impulse’s hand, he struggles to his feet unaided, wings flapping about to help keep his balance.

And then he feels incredibly silly about it. These are his friends, for goodness sakes.

“Thanks,” Jimmy adds, to soften it. “But Tango, I dunno if he… I mean, normally I’d carry him, but right now, I think- I think I’d drop him,” he confesses. Already, the effort of just standing on his own is starting to fatigue him.

Impulse just nods, a knowing look in his eye. “Yeah, no problem.” Slowly, he crouches down next to Tango again. “Hey, Tango, buddy?” he calls softly. “Can you hear me? It’s Impulse. I’m gonna pick you up now, if that’s okay?”

Tango doesn’t respond. Carefully, Impulse gathers Tango into his arms in a cradle hold- which Tango doesn’t react to besides curling in on himself a little more. His breathing quickens for a few seconds before he settles down again.

“Sorry,” Impulse whispers.

Jimmy swallows. He’s never known Tango to be so quiet, so still. It’s incredibly disturbing to see. And gosh, he knows Tango’s pale, but right now he looks about as white as quartz.

The events of this afternoon were a lot for anyone to handle. Jimmy’s still only working with bits and pieces, of course. He knows that Tango originally came from a terrible world called Hels, escaped from that creepy scientist guy Dr. Atlas, and has been hiding out on Hermitcraft ever since. So it’s not surprising that Tango got a nasty shock when his past suddenly came knocking at his door- literally, in Bravo’s case.

But Jimmy also knows that Tango is quite tough. He’s not the type to shut down in the face of hardship- in fact, he’ll often go the opposite direction, with manic bursts of frantic energy. So for a reaction this extreme… either that collar they put on him is having a more drastic effect than Jimmy realized, or there’s something more to the story he isn’t aware of.

Before the collar dampened their soul bond, the fear Jimmy felt from Tango had been damn near overwhelming. What could those Hels players have done to him to elicit such a strong reaction? Jimmy dreads to think of it.

The sound of hoofbeats pulls Jimmy out of his musings.

“Here I am!” Bdubs announces loudly, leading a horse by each hand. “Got the hawsies all ready t’go- oh, hey, waugh- what happened to him?” he gasps, his horrified gaze falling on Tango, wide eyes going even wider. “Wha’ th- is he okay?!”

Impulse gives him a tired smile. “Bdubs, I know we’re outside right now, but indoor voice, please? I’ll explain later.”

“Oh, okay!” Bdubs immediately drops into a stage whisper, ducking his head sheepishly. “Right, right, right, right, right, sorry.” He eyes Tango nervously for another moment. “Jeeze, they really… okay, okay, okay, right. Let’s go.”

With an appreciative look, Impulse moves beside one of the horses. Shifting his hold on Tango, he hikes one foot up into the stirrup and swings onto the horse’s back, forked tail lashing through the air.

Bdubs follows suit, climbing onto his own horse before glancing down at Jimmy. “Uh- you wanna ride wi’ me, Jimmy?” he asks, still whispering.

“That’d be great, thanks,” Jimmy says gratefully. Just the thought of walking or flying to their base makes him feel like all his bones have turned to slime.

His own attempt to get on the horse doesn’t go anywhere near as smoothly. With someone else already in the saddle, it’s a clumsy maneuver, his flailing wings more of a hindrance than anything. In the end, Bdubs grabs the back of Jimmy’s shirt and helps haul him up. That only makes Jimmy feel worse. Bdubs is so much smaller than him, how did he manage that?

“Okay…” Bdubs glances over his shoulder as Jimmy gets settled. “You alright back there?”

“Yep, yep, I’m good,” Jimmy says quickly. He clears his throat. “Can we- can we get goin’?” He’s anxious to leave this depressing scene behind and get Tango someplace calmer.

Bdubs nods. “Okay. Uh- hang on tight, and you’d better keep those wings folded or else you- you’ll be blown right off’a this thing!” He turns to Impulse. “We go now!”

“Alright, let’s go.” Impulse urges his horse forward, and Bdubs swiftly follows.

The horses gallop away from the ranch.

Jimmy does as he’s told, leaning forward to put his arms around Bdubs’s shoulders and tucking his wings tightly against his back. The jostling of the horse’s stride isn’t kind to his aching muscles and bones, but he’s not about to complain. Right now he feels completely out of sorts- like a stranger in his own skin.

As exhausted as his body is, his mind is absolutely racing. He can’t stop thinking about what Bravo said, that Tango was to blame for his being in Hels. And Tango hadn’t really denied it.

From what Jimmy can recall from today’s chaotic events, Tango used to be in Hels, and then a portal appeared. He went through it to Hermitcraft, and somehow, that got Bravo sent to Hels. That seems to be the conclusion they’ve come to. And Tango didn’t know about it at first, but he’s known about it for a couple years at this point, and said nothing.

(How selfish of him.)

But it wasn’t Tango’s fault! He didn’t intentionally send Bravo there, and he only kept his knowledge secret because he was afraid he’d get sent back himself if he revealed the truth. That’s… really upsetting. If Tango didn’t trust the Hermits enough to tell them, after spending nearly a decade getting to know them, it’s no wonder he didn’t tell Jimmy.

Has Tango spent this whole time feeling like a fugitive in his own home?

And what is Hels, really? What kind of world doesn’t allow portal travel in and out? The way they’d spoken about it, it almost seemed like a prison. But created by who? And why?

What exactly is a Hels player? What does a ‘doppelgänger’ entail, exactly? Because if Tango is supposed to be an evil version of Bravo, Jimmy is clearly missing something, ‘cause he doesn’t buy that for a second.

Do all players have a Hels counterpart? Does Jimmy? Oh, now there’s a disturbing thought. Is there another Jimmy running around in a prison world somewhere, locked away from the rest of the universe?

Now that he’s aware of the possibility, he isn’t sure this is something he can just forget about.

But he knows his questions will have to wait. Tango is hardly in the condition to be discussing any of this- getting him recovered from his shock is Jimmy’s first priority. He’s about to ask how far away they are when two figures appear in the distance.

It’s Scott and Pearl, on the way back from their respawns. Pearl is preoccupied, intensely scanning her communicator as she walks. But Scott spots them immediately, nudging Pearl with his elbow and lifting a hand to wave them over.

Impulse glances over his shoulder at Bdubs and Jimmy. “Guess we’d better go see what they want,” he says as he steers his horse towards the pair, Bdubs following suit.

Pearl looks up at their approach. Her respawn must’ve taken care of any injuries she sustained from the battle, because she seems like her usual red-eyed self. But there’s an unmistakable air of anxiety about her- one that Scott seems to share, based on his terse expression.

“Impulse!” Pearl shouts, as soon as she’s within proximity hearing range. “You seen Tilly ‘round?”

Impulse eases his horse to a stop. “Oh, uh- she’s the one with the dyed collar, right?” he asks, knitting his brows together. “Yeah, yeah I’m pretty sure she was back at the wheat field.” 

Pearl exhales heavily. “Oh, thank goodness. I- I lost so many dogs, I wasn’t sure…” She puts her communicator away, looking them up and down. “So uh, is everyone alright? Are… you guys alright?” she asks uncertainly, quirking a brow.

“We’re fine,” Impulse assures her easily. He jerks his head back in the direction they came from. “The others are dealing with the ranch right now, it’s uh… it’s a pretty big fire, I’m sure they’d appreciate some help.”

Pearl follows his gaze, eyes widening at the plume of smoke still visible above the trees. “Oh gosh, yeah, we’d better get goin’, then.”

“You alright, Timmy?” Scott speaks up suddenly. 

“Huh?” Jimmy startles at being addressed. “Oh, yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Mmm.” Scott doesn’t look convinced, his sharp eyes studying Jimmy’s face before flicking over to Tango. “Is Tango alright? Where’d tha’ thing on his neck come from?”

Jimmy’s heart jolts. “Um…” He isn’t sure how much he should be sharing with the others, while Tango’s incapacitated like this.

Luckily for him, Impulse cuts in. “Don’t worry,” he says gently, “we’ve got it covered. You guys go check in with the others, okay?”

It’s not a very subtle hint, but Scott allows it. “Alriiiight,” he drawls, holding his hands up. “Just remember you’ve got help if y’want it.”

“I appreciate it,” Impulse hums, but Jimmy catches the flash of relief in his eyes as he turns his horse away.

“Yeah, ‘preciate ya!” Bdubs echoes as they ride off.

They ride in silence for a few moments, until they’re out of proximity range, before Impulse clears his throat. “I just think Tango would appreciate some privacy right now,” he explains quietly. “You know everyone else- they’d all want to help and see if he’s okay, but a big group would probably freak him out.”

“Ah.” Jimmy nods. “Good thinkin’.”

(Gee, Impulse is really taking charge, huh?)

(You’re basically useless.)

(He would’ve been a way better soulmate for Tango than you.)

The thoughts make Jimmy flinch. He hasn’t often felt insecure in his relationship with Tango, despite having known him for a much shorter time than the Hermits. But right now, his general lack of knowledge and experience in how best to help Tango has become glaringly obvious.

Thankfully, before he can spend any more time feeling sorry for himself, Impulse and Bdubs’s house finally comes into view.

They’ve added another floor since Jimmy was last here. Floor-to-ceiling windows made of light gray panes curl around one side of the building, continuing with the sleek mid-century modern design. The front yard has received some landscaping as well; a wide, circular path that frames a small cluster of custom trees and shrubbery before leading to the dark oak door, framed by neat flower beds on either side.

As they come up on the house, Impulse and Bdubs turn their horses along a branch of path that veers off from the main circle, taking them towards a small structure built against the house’s side. Made only out of diorite wall posts and a flat, deepslate tiled roof, it creates sort of an overhang, divided into two compartments with warped stem fence posts. Its purpose quickly becomes obvious as Bdubs hops off his horse and pulls a lead from his inventory, leashing his horse to one of the posts.

Jimmy swings his leg around to slide off the horse, dropping onto the ground with an ungraceful grunt. In the stall beside them, Impulse has carefully dismounted from his own steed, still cradling Tango in his arms.

The longer Jimmy looks, the more his chest aches with longing. So he looks away.

“Alright, let’s get inside.” Impulse’s voice is soft. He turns back towards the front of the house. “This way.”

Bdubs finishes hitching the other horse to its post. “Right behind ya!” he chirps. He pats Jimmy on the arm as he passes- an encouraging, or perhaps comforting, gesture.

Either way, Jimmy appreciates it. He knows Bdubs tends to diffuse tense situations with humor, or by maintaining an energetic demeanor. It might be mistaken as inconsiderate, in some situations, but he seems to know where the line is. Genuinely, Jimmy thinks he’d feel worse if Bdubs was suddenly walking on eggshells around him.

Pity is a suitor that won’t take a hint, no matter how many times Jimmy turns it away.

He follows Impulse and Bdubs around the front of the house. Bdubs has already scrambled ahead to open the door for Impulse, whose arms are, of course, full of Tango. He ushers Jimmy in after them with a wide sweep of his arm.

They’ve moved their bedroom upstairs at some point, it seems. The main floor is now a dedicated living space with a modest kitchen in the back, overlooked by a loft from the second floor. An L-shaped lounge made of quartz stairs is built into the conversation pit occupying the center of the room, surrounding a small fireplace. The glass panes encasing it go all the way up to the ceiling, but the sight of fire makes Jimmy flinch anyways- which he immediately kicks himself for.

(Jeeze, man, get a grip! What if Tango saw that?)

If Impulse and Bdubs noticed, they don’t comment on it. Impulse silently leads the way up a spiral quartz slab staircase, which opens up into the loft. Bdubs’s interior work is clearly showing here, with cozy seating nestled beside a custom bookshelf-console unit. Straight ahead past the loft is a short hallway with a couple doors on either side.

Impulse stops at the first one on the right. “We got a spare room here,” he says, nodding his head at the door.

“Not finished yet!” Bdubs adds hastily, though still making an effort to keep his voice low. “Or uh, heugh- furnished. I’m gonna- I was gonna do the interior, I swear.”

Somehow, the fact that Bdubs is concerned Jimmy will judge his lackluster interior decoration- despite everything else going on right now- makes Jimmy crack a smile. “Well, beggars can’t be choosers, ey?” he jokes.

“Oh, very freaking funny!” Bdubs huffs, but he’s grinning, too. He opens the door for them, and Jimmy lets Impulse carry Tango inside before following.

The room is, as expected, fairly bare bones. Quartz walls and a dark oak floor carry over the mid-century modern theme from the exterior, but there’s no furniture other than a double-wide cyan bed against the wall. A couple of haphazardly-placed torches on the walls provide the room’s only lighting.

“No windows yet, either,” Bdubs mutters, clicking his tongue as his critical gaze sweeps over the room. “I need ta- I- I still gotta figure out how to place ‘em, with the exterior wall and stuff.”

“It’s alright,” Jimmy assures him. Windows would make him feel a bit too exposed right now, if he’s being honest.

Impulse carefully sets Tango down on the bed. “Okay, Tango, here we are.” He straightens up, running a hand through his hair as he exhales heavily.

Bdubs crosses quickly-but-quietly over to Impulse, wrapping him in a hug. “You okay, sweetie?” he asks softly.

Impulse smiles down at him. “Yeah, yeah, I’m good. Don’t worry.”

“Okay.” Bdubs goes up on his toes to kiss Impulse’s cheek- and even so, he barely makes it. “I’m gonna go check on our boys, then, and see if the others need help with th- with the uh, the ranch. D’you- is there anything you want me to tell ‘em?”

“Yeah,” Impulse says thoughtfully, “maybe just let them know that we’d like to give Tango and Jimmy some privacy right now? We’ll let them know if we need anything, and we’ll chat more once everything’s calmed down.”

“Right, okay.” Bdubs glances at Jimmy. “That- is that good? For you?”

Jimmy is taken aback by the amount of consideration he’s being given. “Oh yeah, that’d be great, thanks.”

“Alright.” Bdubs casts one final look at Tango, trying but failing to hide his worry from those big eyes of his. “Alright, I- I’ll be back in a little.” 

He slips out the door, leaving them alone.

Before an awkward silence can descend, Impulse clears his throat. “So uh, looks like someone got you pretty good,” he says, gesturing to his face.

“Huh?” Confused, Jimmy brings a hand to his face- only to jerk away as his fingers brush against his nose. Now that he’s actually paying attention, there’s a dull ache of pain radiating down the bridge of his nose, and underneath the still-sticky blood, he can feel a prominent bump where there wasn’t one before.

“Oh, right,” he murmurs. “Forgot about that.”

“Yeah, looks broken,” Impulse says sympathetically. “Need a respawn?”

Jimmy pauses. It’s difficult to tell when an injury will result in lasting damage- no one’s really cracked that particular scientific riddle yet. But generally, it’s understood that the sooner the respawn, the better the outcome. That’s why things like creeper explosions hardly ever leave a mark, since the death is usually instant.

More so, superficial wounds tend to be less likely to scar than deeper, more structural wounds. A simple gash will almost always go away after respawning- if it hasn’t already healed on its own- but things like broken bones can linger in the form of scars, joint deformities, and chronic pain. If he’s being smart, he really should get a quick respawn in, just to be sure.

But they’re on the Double Life world, and right now, his life isn’t just his own.

Jimmy looks Tango over. None of his wounds are serious enough to warrant a respawn, he only got a little scuffed up in the initial attack. In his current state, it’d probably do more harm than good.

“No,” Jimmy decides, “I… I can’t do that to him, not right now. He’s disoriented as it is.” He shrugs a shoulder. “Besides, I think it’s just the cartilage. Either it’ll heal on my next respawn, or it won’t, and it’ll just match the rest of my face.”

Impulse doesn’t laugh at the self-deprecating joke, simply offering a sad smile. “Alright. I’ll see if Martyn can bring some healing potions by once they finish up at the ranch, I’m pretty sure he’s got a brewing set-up.”

Jimmy’s throat tightens. “Right, thanks…” He smoothes a hand over the bed’s cover, setting his spawn anyways, before he eases himself onto the mattress. “Tango…?” he ventures. “Are you alright? Can you hear me?”

Tango has yet to move at all from where Impulse deposited him, back against the wall with his knees tucked to his chest, arms limp at his sides. He doesn’t acknowledge Jimmy at all- which isn’t anything malicious on his part, of course, but god does it hurt.

Taking a deep breath, Jimmy tries again. “Hey, Tango? It’s me, it’s Jimmy.” He puts a gentle hand on Tango’s shoulder, watching him all the while for any sign that he’ll startle or panic. “It’s over, you’re safe now. Are- are you hurt anywhere? Do you need anythin’?”

Still nothing. Somewhere behind Jimmy, Impulse makes a noncommittal noise. “Jimmy, buddy, I don’t think that’s gonna work right now…”

Jimmy ignores him. “Please, Tango,” he pleads, feeling his eyes sting, “can you just…” Idly, he lifts his other hand to wipe some of the blood off Tango’s chin. “Can you look at me?”

Unexpectedly, that gets Tango’s attention. He lifts his face almost robotically to look at Jimmy, eyes and expression still devastatingly blank.

The sudden movement startles Jimmy, his hand jerking back. And as it does, Tango lets his head drop back down.

An image flashes in Jimmy’s mind; Atlas, the doctor with the blood red gloves, grabbing Tango by the chin and tilting his head up.

(Oh, that’s messed up.)

(You’ve really done it, now.)

(Brilliant, just brilliant.)

Jimmy’s stomach turns. He scrambles back, away from Tango, his heart starting to pound. “Sorry,” he whispers, even though Tango gives no indication that he’s hearing it. “I’m sorry, I didn’t…”

A hand lands on his shoulder, making him jump. Impulse gives him an understanding look. “I… think he just needs some time to come out of it,” he says quietly. “Y’know, alone. When he shuts down like this, there’s really nothing to do but wait.”

Jimmy finds his voice again. “Wait, you’ve seen it before?” he asks, creasing his brows together.

Impulse winces. “A couple times, yeah.”

“Oh.” Jimmy swallows, glancing back at Tango. “I dunno, I- I don’t wanna just leave him like this…”

“We can stay right outside,” Impulse says reassuringly, folding his arms. “It’s just… when he gets like this, I’m not sure he’s fully processing what’s going on. It’s like a defense mechanism. So he’s not gonna come out of it until he feels safe, and um… well…”

It’s not hard to catch his meaning. Jimmy bristles. “What, are you- are you sayin’ he doesn’t feel safe with me?” he snaps, which is so unfair because Impulse has been so helpful and so kind and he’s actually sort of right, but Jimmy can’t help it.

Impulse holds his gaze. “Not if he doesn’t recognize you.”

That sobers Jimmy a little, his wings sagging. “Oh. Oh, yeah, good point. You’re right.” Ducking his head, he swings his legs off the side of the bed and rises to his feet. “I guess he’ll be okay in here,” he relents. “But um, can we- would you mind if we put out the lights? It’s just…”

“Tango feels safer in the dark,” Impulse finishes, realization dawning in his eyes. “Good call.”

“Yeah.” Jimmy fidgets with his hands as Impulse collects the torches.

(Wow, he really knows Tango, huh?)

(Thank god someone knows what to do.)

(What exactly are you even here for?)

With the room now sufficiently darkened, Impulse holds the door open for Jimmy. Jimmy gives Tango a final look-over, his blank face now lit by the dim glow of his dampened blaze rods.

“We’ll be right outside if you need us, Tango,” Jimmy says in parting.

Tango remains silent as Impulse closes the door behind them.

As soon as they’re back in the hallway, all of Jimmy’s fatigue seems to hit him at once. He sways where he stands, shoulder bumping against the wall- the dull pain is easily ignored in favor of the black spots dancing across his vision. He squeezes his eyes shut, biting back a groan.

Fortunately, Impulse is there to steady him. “Woah, easy there.” He quickly guides Jimmy over to the loft to sit down. “Just breathe, okay?”

Jimmy takes a few slow, deep breaths- in through the nose, out through the mouth. When he opens his eyes again, the room is no longer spinning around him, so that’s a plus.

“Here,” Impulse presses something into Jimmy’s hand, “you must’ve worked up some hunger.”

It’s a golden carrot. “Thanks,” Jimmy murmurs, immediately starting to nibble on it. He probably does have food on him, somewhere in his inventory- cooked steak, most likely- but the extra saturation helps.

Seemingly satisfied that Jimmy isn’t going to pass out, Impulse sits down in the chair next to him. “How you feelin’?”

“Better, thanks,” Jimmy murmurs, shifting to fold his wings a bit more comfortably. He feels awkward and just… so out of place here. And Impulse is a nice guy, sure, but it’s a little embarrassing to have to be taken care of like a child. If it weren’t for Tango’s sake, he probably wouldn’t have accepted Impulse’s offer of help in the first place.

“Good.” Impulse looks him up and down, brows pinching together. “Jeeze, they really did a number on you. I’m sorry we weren’t there sooner, chat was chaos and we thought they’d be at spawn ‘til we saw your SOS.”

That comforts Jimmy a little. At least he managed to do something right. “It’s alright, not your fault,” he assures Impulse. “I mean, if you guys hadn’t come when you did…”

“Yeah.” Impulse nods solemnly. “That, uh… would’ve been pretty bad.”

Jimmy studies Impulse for a moment. Now that they have a second, there’s a question that’s been nagging at him. “So…” he starts, “how much did you hear, of what Bravo said?”

“Eh, bits and pieces.” Impulse shrugs. “Something about Tango being an evil doppelgänger from Hels.”

He says it so casually, like he’s talking about the weather. Jimmy’s stomach cinches. “Impulse…” he says carefully. “Did you… did you know?”

“What?” Impulse looks at him in surprise. “Oh, that Tango was from Hels? No. No, I never knew anything about before he came to Hermitcraft. But you know, I always kinda knew there was something… not great in his past. I mean, there were signs. I just figured he’d come from an anarchy server or something.” He knits his brows together. “I guess you… never saw what he was like, when he was still new, huh?”

Jimmy frowns. “Wha’d’you mean?”

Impulse makes a noncommittal noise. “It’s not my place to get into all that. But let’s just say… he’s come a long way since then. So um, looking back, it kinda makes sense.”

“So then…” Jimmy hesitates. “D’you believe what Bravo was saying? About what Hels are like?”

Impulse actually laughs- though not unkindly. “Oh, no, not by a long shot,” he assures Jimmy. “Don’t worry about that. I mean, there are players who think non-humans are bad, right? Like, there are still public servers out there that’ll ban Cleo soon as she joins, just for being a zombie.” He shrugs a shoulder, his forked tail idly flicking through the air. “Or me, for being a demon.”

“Oh.” Jimmy blinks, feeling stupid. “Right. It’s… so easy to forget, sometimes, that some folks still feel that way.”

Impulse tilts his head. “Well, not when you have to live it,” he says lightly.

“Oh. Oh!” Jimmy smacks his forehead. “No, no, right, of course,” he adds hastily, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it’s easy for you specifically to forget. Just, in general, I guess. ‘Cause most players don’t have that problem with avians- I mean, sometimes they think some of our traits are weird, sure, but uh- but it’s not the same thing, cause we aren’t hostile mob hybrids. Obviously. And- and none of my friends feel that way, either, so I just…” He trails off, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sorry, I’m not makin’ a lotta sense.”

Impulse gives him a gracious smile. “It’s okay, I know what you mean.” He leans back in his chair, his eyes thoughtful. “I’ve gotten so used to Hermitcraft, sometimes it catches me by surprise when I travel to public servers and people act scared, or… distrustful of me. And that’s without even seeing me in ‘full demon’ mode. So uh, even though I don’t know anything about this Hels world, I don’t believe that just being from there would automatically make someone evil. I know Tango better than that.”

Jimmy’s throat tightens. “Right…”

Now it’s Impulse’s turn to give him a sideways look. “... you don’t believe what Bravo said, do you?” he asks, voice low.

“What?” Jimmy blanches. Despite himself, he feels his wings puff up with indignation. “Gosh no, no, that’s- not in a million years, mate, it’s utter nonsense!”

“Alright, alright, sorry,” Impulse chuckles, holding his hands up. “I didn’t think you would. But you know, I just had to make sure.”

“Yeah.” Jimmy sighs, letting his feathers smooth down again. “You’re a good friend, Impulse,” he says, glancing away. “Seems like you know what to do, here. He’s gonna need that.”

“He’s gonna need you.” 

That makes Jimmy look up. “What?” 

Impulse’s expression softens. “I’ve known Tango a while, now, and even though there’s been plenty of fun and good times over the years… this is the first time I’ve seen him truly content. Like, he just seems at peace in a way I’ve never seen before. You do more for him than you’ll ever know- probably ‘cause he’s too scared to tell you.” There’s a knowing glint in his golden eyes. “Emotional vulnerability, uh, isn’t exactly his strong suit.”

A bittersweet smile tugs at Jimmy’s mouth. “Yeah, I’ve noticed.”

Impulse claps him on the shoulder. “We’re gonna figure it out, okay? You guys aren’t alone in this.”

Warmth blooms in Jimmy’s chest. “Thank you, Impulse,” he says softly, “I appreciate it.”

“No problem.” Impulse returns his smile before sitting back in his chair. “Now, how about you get some rest?”

Jimmy’s heart jolts. “Wh- no, wait,” he protests, “I’m not gonna leave-”

“You can stay right here!” Impulse assures him easily. “Just close your eyes and rest a bit. I’ll keep an eye out, and wake you up as soon as Tango comes to, okay? But right now, frankly, you look exhausted. And I’m sure you’ll wanna be well-rested for whenever Tango’s ready to talk about stuff.”

“Ah…” Chewing his lip, Jimmy glances over at the door to the spare room- mere steps away.

Since he forewent a respawn, he has to admit some shut-eye would be quite welcome at the moment. The immediate danger has passed. And right now, there’s nothing he can do to help Tango but give him some time. Might as well spend that time resting.

“I… suppose you’re right,” he relents finally. “But you gotta promise you’ll wake me if anythin’ happens, alright?”

Impulse nods. “I promise.”

“Right, then.” Jimmy settles into his chair, folding his arms across his chest. He fights back a yawn. “Thanks again. I- I mean it though… any little thing…”

“I know, I know.” Impulse waves him off. “Don’t worry.”

“Famous last words,” Jimmy quips, closing his eyes.

Impulse huffs a laugh but says nothing else.

Silence settles over the room, filled only by Impulse’s steady breathing and the rhythmic tap-tap-tap of him typing away on his communicator. He’s probably updating the others on the situation, so Jimmy can rest easy. He’s considerate like that.

Jimmy would’ve thought it’d be hard to fall asleep. This chair isn’t exactly built for it, and as lovely as Impulse and Bdubs’s home is, it’s not the ranch.

The loss is still fresh. He already knows it’s gonna hit him even harder in the coming days. But for right now, the post-adrenaline exhaustion is finally sinking in, and before he knows it, he’s drifted off into the inky blackness.

~*~

A gentle hand on Jimmy’s shoulder startles him awake.

“Jimmy,” Impulse whispers, his golden eyes glowing in the darkness, “wake up.”

It must’ve been quite a deep, dreamless sleep, because while it seems to Jimmy that he only just closed his eyes, he can clearly see through the window that it’s been at least several hours. The sun has long since set; a half moon is rising in the night sky. That’s alright with Jimmy- he was afraid he’d have nightmares.

Rubbing his eyes, Jimmy squints at Impulse. “What’s goin’ on? Everythin’ okay?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Impulse scratches the back of his head. “I uh, I just heard a thud in Tango’s room so I went to check on him and- he’s fine, don’t worry!” he adds quickly, as Jimmy bolts upright. “He’s fine, he’s up, but he still seems kinda disoriented? Like, he’s conscious, but when I tried to go in… I guess I look a bit too intimidating,” he taps one of the curved horns poking out from his hair, “‘cause he growled at me.”

“Growled?” Jimmy repeats, raising his eyebrows.

(Well, that’s promising.)

(Round two!)

(Here we go…)

“Yeah.” Impulse gives a sad smile. “So um, I think you should go try and talk to him, if you’re up for it.”

“Oh.” Jimmy blinks. “Oh, right, of course.” He rises to his feet, shaking off residual soreness from his awkward sleeping position.

Impulse pulls a lantern from his inventory and holds it out to Jimmy. “Give a shout if you need anything.”

Jimmy takes the lantern. “Right, thanks.” Steeling himself, he creeps over to the spare room, knocking lightly on the door- which is slightly ajar. “Tango…?” he calls softly, poking his head into the room. “You okay?”

The bed is empty, covers strewn in disarray. Tango is crouched in the corner farthest from the door, his back pressed against the wall. Hunched over and breathing hard, he stares at Jimmy, his blood-stained face lit by the faint glow of his blaze rods. His pupils are dilated again, lips curled back to show his teeth. There’s no recognition in his expression at all.

(You cannot sleep, there are monsters nearby.)

Jimmy swallows. His heart starts to pound. “Tango,” he starts tentatively, holding the lantern up so his face is clearly illuminated as he steps forward, “it’s okay, I’m not gonna hurt you.”

Tango makes a blaze noise deep in his throat; a haunting, hollow sort of growl. It’s unmistakably a warning.

Jimmy hesitates, wings shuffling uncertainly. How to get through to him? General reassurances don’t seem to be working. He needs to remind Tango of where he is, to convince him that he’s safe- in a way that only Jimmy would know.

He takes a breath. “Hey, rancher.”

Tango falls silent. Surprise flickers across his features, mouth parting, gaze sharpening. For a moment he just stares, motionless. Then he squints.

“... Jimmy?”

Oh, Jimmy could cry. “Yes, there we go!” he says encouragingly. “It’s me, it’s Jimmy. You okay, Tango?”

Tango’s breath hitches. He takes a single, careful step forward- then he halfs runs, half stumbles towards Jimmy.

Jimmy rushes to meet him, catching Tango before he falls. “Oh jeeze, okay…” Setting the lantern down on the bed, he lowers them to the floor, shifting so he can wrap Tango in his arms. “It’s alright, it’s alright…”

“Jimmy, thank god.” Tango clings to him just as tightly, face buried in Jimmy’s shirt. His claws dig into Jimmy’s skin just shy of being painful. “I- I woke up,” he gasps, “and the quartz- I thought I was…” He pulls away enough to scan Jimmy’s face, eyes wide and frightened. “Where are we? What- how long has it been?”

Jimmy knits his brows together. “Uh- we’re at Impulse and Bdubs’s place, and it’s been… several hours, I think? Half a day?”

“God.” A shudder runs through Tango. “That- that really happened, didn’t it?” He starts to breathe faster, his voice straining into that faint upper pitch that Jimmy’s come to associate with panic. “Oh god, I- I- I don’t- hhh, I c- can’t…”

“Hey, hey, breathe,” Jimmy soothes, rubbing circles on Tango’s back. “I’m here, you’re safe. It’s over. Just breathe.”

They stay like that for a while, Tango curled against Jimmy as he rides out the worst of it. He shakes violently, eyes squeezed shut, breath hitching as he tries to get control of it again. Jimmy’s heart aches for him- he wishes there was something more he could do to help.

But he knows from experience that just being here is enough.

It’s not terribly infrequent for Tango to have nightmares. Sometimes he simply startles awake at night, apologizes for waking Jimmy up, and goes back to sleep. If Jimmy asks about it the next morning, he brushes it off as nothing; just silly nonsense nightmares, the kind that are terrifying at the time but seem utterly ridiculous in the light of day. Nothing more than that.

And all this time, Jimmy believed him.

(What a fool.)

Jimmy’s only ever seen a couple nightmares cause a reaction as severe as this. The shaking, the shortness of breath, the panic. What helped in the past was simply holding Tango- offering a few reassurances, but mostly silent comfort. And of course, Tango never wanted to talk about those nightmares, and Jimmy didn’t want to push too hard. He’d figured that Tango would talk to him about it when he was ready.

(Fool me once, shame on you…)

Gradually, Tango calms down. His tremors cease, and his breathing starts to grow deeper. He’s still holding onto Jimmy, but it’s less desperate, now. More familiar. Jimmy curls his wings around them, as if providing another barrier, another layer of security.

After Tango’s been still and quiet for a few moments, Jimmy softly breaks the silence. “How much d’you remember?”

Tango takes a shaky breath. “All of it,” he whispers. “E- everything, I was- it was like I- I was watching everything happen to someone else, like I was outside my body…” He looks up to meet Jimmy’s gaze, eyes brimming with tears. “Jimmy, I- I’m so sorry.”

“What?” Jimmy frowns. “Tango, what on earth are you apologizing for?”

Abruptly, Tango pulls away. “I burned you,” he grits out.

“No, you-” Jimmy almost grabs him by the arm, but then thinks better of it. “That wasn’t your fault.”

Tango stares at him incredulously. “Wha’ th- what do you mean? Of course it was!” He rakes his claws through his hair. “I- I lost control, I set the ranch on fire, and you got burned.”

“That’s not the same thing,” Jimmy argues. “You didn’t do it on purpose, you were just defending yourself.”

“Doesn’t matter!” Tango throws his hands up. “If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t have gotten burned, true or false?”

(True!)

(He’s got a point…)

(Why are you arguing this?)

Jimmy doesn’t answer. “Look,” he says instead, “honestly, it’s not a big deal. I’m fine!”

“Well, you don’t look fine!” Tango says bluntly. Distress flashes across his face as he looks Jimmy up and down. “Your poor wings- and oh, your face! What, did- we didn’t respawn?”

Jimmy ducks his head. “I didn’t wanna put you through that,” he explains, wincing.

He can actually see the guilt in Tango’s eyes intensify. “Ohhh no,” he breathes, dismayed. “You- why did you…” Shaking his head, he fixes Jimmy with a firm look. “Okay, you- you need to respawn, now.”

“It’s not important,” Jimmy replies, just as stubbornly. He holds a hand out, beseeching. “Tango, please, I- I’ve been worried outta my mind about you. So much happened- ”

“I’m fine,” Tango says shortly.

“No, you’re not,” Jimmy insists, working hard not to raise his voice. “I mean, honestly, I- I don’t even know what that thing ‘round your neck is doin’!”

Tango shuts his mouth with a sharp click and glances away. 

That sobers Jimmy instantly. Tentatively, he scooches a bit closer to Tango. His eyes trace the collar- it’s so deceptively simple, so innocuous at first glance. Just a ring of smooth, flat iron. But clearly, there’s a lot more going on; a single red light above the keyhole hints at a mechanism hidden within.

“Do you… know what it is?” Jimmy ventures, giving Tango a searching look.

Tango’s jaw tightens. “It’s wither rose.”

Jimmy blinks, taken aback. “What? But… we aren’t withering, we aren’t takin’ damage-”

“It’s not…” Tango makes a noncommittal noise, waving a hand in an aborted gesture. “They’ve modified it, somehow, I dunno. It- it’s not the full effect. All it’s doin’ is dampening my fire.”

“And our soulbond,” Jimmy realizes, his stomach sinking. “After he put it on you, I- I couldn’t feel your emotions anymore. It’s just… numb.”

Tango’s face is grim. “That’s what wither rose does,” he says lowly.

The certainty in his voice is… somewhat concerning. Sure, any player who’s been ‘round the block will have learned what it feels like to be withered, at some point or another. But due to the tedious and somewhat risky nature of obtaining the roses by way of a wither farm, most players don’t regularly encounter them. And as far as aesthetics are concerned, they aren’t the most appealing flower, so when they are farmed, they’re mostly used for mass-producing black dye or as the killing method in a mob farm. Not as decor or landscaping, where a player might actually touch the rose and be subjected to the wither effect.

Personally, Jimmy can’t remember the last time he touched a wither rose, as a player who doesn’t make a habit of farming withers or even taking on the boss fight. But the tone of Tango’s voice right now is the tone of someone who is horribly familiar with the sensation.

“Tango…?” Jimmy prompts quietly. “Is there… somethin’ I should know?”

Tango swallows. He’s avoiding Jimmy’s eyes. “I… I don’t wanna talk about it,” he whispers hoarsely. “Not right now?”

It’s almost a plea, and Jimmy’s heart tightens. “Okay. That’s okay,” he says gently, forcing down his disappointment; this isn’t about him. He rises to his feet, holding out his hand to Tango. “Here, come on, let’s… let’s get up on the bed, alright? It’s late, you need some proper rest.”

Tango hesitates, though he accepts Jimmy’s offered hand to help him up. “You need to respawn…”

“It can wait,” Jimmy says easily. He tries for a grin. “Honestly, I- I already knew I wasn’t exactly easy on the eyes, but I didn’t think it was that bad…”

“No,” Tango says quickly, “no, you’re not-” He makes a frustrated noise. “Your wings.”

Jimmy softens. “They’re just feathers. They’ll grow back.”

Sure, it might take a while if his follicles have been badly damaged, and his wings won’t be a pretty sight once all the burned feathers fall out. But most of his flight feathers are still intact, so in terms of places to get burned, it could’ve been much worse.

Tango huffs a breath, clearly still upset with himself. But he doesn’t protest further as Jimmy eases onto the bed, gently pulling Tango with him. After collecting the lantern so the room is properly dark again, Jimmy nestles under the covers, sweeping a wing out to lightly gather Tango beside him.

Tango settles against him, and it’s then that Jimmy realizes he isn’t as warm as he used to be.

He’s not cold, not by any means. But Tango has always run a bit hotter than the average player- a blaze hybrid trait that Jimmy’s quite fond of. It was the whole reason they first shared a bed, back in the early days of the world, and inadvertently plunged their relationship into new, terrifying depths. If it wasn’t for that moment, they likely would’ve danced around the issue for far longer, and been robbed of many precious days of happiness together. So even on warm nights, Jimmy will still cuddle up beside Tango. Even if he has to kick all the blankets off.

But with the collar dampening Tango’s fire, he’s been robbed of that, as well.

Jimmy swallows the lump in his throat and puts an arm around Tango, who curls into his side, head resting on his shoulder. Having Tango so close is immediately comforting. God, to think of how close he came to losing this, to never holding Tango again… 

It’s scary. It’s incredibly scary. There are few things in the universe that can really, truly cause lasting harm to a player. Injuries can heal upon respawn, death isn’t permanent- except for worlds where it is, then they just respawn on a different world and start again. But if those Hels people had succeeded in taking Tango through that hacked portal, into some isolated prison world that Jimmy has no way of finding… he’s afraid that would’ve destroyed him.

Jimmy turns his head to press a kiss onto Tango’s forehead, right between the dimmed blaze rods hovering around his temples. “Goodnight.”

“Night,” Tango whispers back.

The room grows silent. Jimmy stares up at the dark ceiling. His earlier tiredness has up and left him, his mind racing, plagued by thoughts of what might’ve been. It’s all he can do to reassure himself that it’s over, that Tango’s safe and still here with him.

That for once, he was lucky.

(For how long, though?)

He isn’t trying to stay awake. And he isn’t pretending to be asleep, either, just laying quietly with his thoughts. But at some point Tango must think he’s nodded off, because only then does he start to cry.

It’s a quiet sound. Just the sharp inhale and exhale of breath. Jimmy might not have even known he was crying if it wasn’t for the way his shoulders shake, and the sudden dampness seeping into Jimmy’s shirt. 

It takes all of Jimmy’s willpower not to console Tango, to hold him tighter and offer hushed reassurances. There’s a reason Tango waited until he thought Jimmy was asleep- he’s very much the kind of person who prefers to show emotion on his own terms. If he knew Jimmy was awake to witness this, he’d completely shut down again. And he needs this.

So Jimmy pushes down his own emotions and does nothing as his soulmate cries, trying not to move or start crying himself as the guilt for being so useless eats him alive.

(Sweet dreams…)

~*~

Morning comes, eventually.

At least, as far as Jimmy can tell by his internal clock. The room he wakes up to is still fairly dark- just a slim beam of light coming in from the hallway through the cracked door. Impulse must’ve done that to better keep an ear out for them overnight. Thoughtful guy. Tango is sleeping deeply next to Jimmy, and the sight is quite comforting.

It seems they’ve kept with their usual sleeping habits, even without a sunrise to greet them.

Carefully, without jostling Tango, Jimmy pulls up his inventory to grab his communicator. He can’t recall hearing it go off, but he wants to make sure there isn’t anything that urgently requires his attention. He’s surprised, however, to find a potion of healing; Impulse must’ve slipped it to him while he was sleeping.

A smile tugs at Jimmy’s lips. He’s long since regenerated his health, but the potion ought to help with his lingering injury. He downs the potion quickly, grimacing at the cloyingly sweet note of melon. It doesn’t take long for a cooling sensation to settle over his broken nose. When he gently probes at it, he can feel it’s still a little crooked, but at least the pain is gone.

Putting the empty bottle away, Jimmy digs out his communicator, squinting against the blue light. No one’s used chat lately or sent him any whispers- it seems they’re taking the request for privacy quite seriously. But there is the backlog from yesterday waiting for him. It takes him a minute just to scroll back to where it all began.

Bravo joined the game.

<Grian> ey??

AtlasSyn joined the game.

Tyrannicide joined the game.

Phantonym joined the game.

<Grian> EYY????

Helfyre_004 joined the game.

<PearlescentMoon> Ummm?

<Renthedog> What the heck??

CRIMETIME joined the game.

t3rr0r_b1te joined the game.

EbonyHelmentia joined the game.

baddomen666 joined the game.

<InTheLittleWood> WHO ARE YOU PEOPLE?!?

staluggmite joined the game.

PwrPlayz joined the game.

<PearlescentMoon> Hello??

XxSLAYERxX joined the game.

Vexed2theMax joined the game.

ApexGamer98 joined the game.

<Smajor1995> wait how is this happening

<PearlescentMoon> Raid?? D:

SheHelsSeaHels joined the game.

ne’er_do_hels joined the game.

<Grian> i don;t know??

Jaffu joined the game.

<Grian> theres no one at spawn???

<Etho> woah!

<SolidarityGaming> SOS RSNCH

<Smajor1995> oh no

<Renthedog> What??

<Smallishbeans> rsnch lol

<GoodTimeWithScar> G come pick me up

Tyrannicide was slain by Tango.

staluggmite was slain by Tango.

Phantonym was slain by Tango.

<InTheLittleWood> Wait WHAT?!?!?!?!?!

<Smallishbeans> NO WAY

<BdoubleO100> OHHHHHHH

<Grian> EVERYONE TO RANCH

<ZombieCleo> what is happening???

staluggmite joined the game.

Tyrannicide joined the game.

<Smajor1995> omw cleo

Phantonym joined the game.

<impulseSV> Etho, Joel, our place?

<Renthedog> BigB where you at??

<bigbst4tz2> coming

SheHelsSeaHels was shot by GoodTimeWithScar using [hOtgUy]

EbonyHelmentia was shot by Smajor1995.

XxSLAYERxX was slain by impulseSV.

CRIMETIME was slain by Wolf.

t3rr0r_b1t3 was slain by Renthedog.

Jaffu was doomed to fall by ZombieCleo.

SheHelsSeaHels joined the game.

ne’er_do_hels was shot by GoodTimeWithScar using [hOtgUy]

Tyrannicide was slain by Renthedog.

XxSLAYERxX joined the game.

EbonyHelmentia joined the game.

CRIMETIME joined the game.

Phantonym was slain by Etho.

t3rr0r_b1t3 joined the game.

ne’er_do_hels joined the game.

XxSLAYERxX was slain by Wolf.

Jaffu joined the game.

Helfyre_004 was slain by Renthedog.

Vexed2theMax was slain by bigbst4tz2.

Tyrannicide joined the game.

XxSLAYERxX joined the game.

Jaffu was slain by Renthedog.

SheHelsSeaHels was slain by Wolf.

bigbst4tz2 was shot by AtlasSyn.

Renthedog died.

Phantonym joined the game.

baddomen666 was slain by Wolf.

SheHelsSeaHels joined the game.

Jaffu joined the game.

PwrPlayz was slain by InTheLittleWood.

Helfyre_004 joined the game.

Vexed2theMax joined the game.

staluggmite was slain by Smallishbeans.

Helfyre_004 was shot by Smajor1995.

EbonyHelmentia was slain by Wolf.

PwrPlayz joined the game.

ApexGamer98 was slain by PearlescentMoon.

baddomen666 joined the game.

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Jimmy doesn’t know how long he spends looking at chat, reading it over and over again as he tries to make sense of it. All those Hels players came here with the express purpose of kidnapping Tango. But why? Dr. Atlas had said something about ‘getting back to work’ and a farm design, but what does that even mean? 

Speaking of that doctor fella, he seems to have been the only one to get kills on the Double Lifers- the rest of them must’ve been preoccupied with Pearl’s wolves. Gosh, to think what her chat must look like…

But that’s something worth noting. Atlas didn’t waste his time with wolves, he went for Pearl and Bigb. He must’ve realized the wolves were Pearl’s and targeted her because of it. And the fact he went for Bigb instead of Ren, who was racking up the most kills... that means he was able to put together that they were soulbound, and he used that to get rid of the threat more easily.

Out of these Hels players, Atlas is clearly the one to watch out for.

Well, him and Bravo, of course. Though Bravo technically isn’t a Hels, if Jimmy’s understood it properly. But he’s certainly just as cruel and bloodthirsty as those other guys were, and he’s got it out for Tango the most. Jimmy can’t recall the last time he saw such hate in a player’s eyes, for any reason. And this is the guy claiming he should’ve been Jimmy’s soulmate? Unbelievable.

As if Jimmy would ever go for such a dense, hateful, entitled piece of-

“Honey,” Tango says suddenly, sitting up on his elbows, “you okay?”

Jimmy jolts in surprise; he must’ve been looking quite cross with his communicator. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” he assures Tango softly, offering an apologetic smile. “Sorry if I woke you.”

It’s difficult to make out details in the scarce light from the hallway, but Tango looks much improved from yesterday. Even underneath the dried blood, the warmth has returned to his skin, replacing that sickly, pale pallor. His red eyes are sharp and alert- that’s a huge relief, as well.

“No, no, you’re good!” Tango says brightly. He leans over to press a kiss to Jimmy’s cheek. “Sleep alright?”

His tone throws Jimmy for a moment. Someone’s feeling better. Blinking, Jimmy puts his comm away. “I did, yeah,” he answers uncertainly. “You?”

“Yep!” Tango smiles at him; it seems a bit forced. “I uh- I’m all rest-ificated and ready to start the day. So, what I- well, I- I guess our first order of business, we should go take a look at the ranch, right, see what the damage is? Then we can do some resource gathering and start rebuilding, so we aren’t crashing at Impulse and Bdubs’s place forever.”

Jimmy pauses for a moment to process the words. “Umm… are you sure?” he asks tentatively. “I mean, we can go look at it if you want, but uh, are you- we should really focus on getting that collar off you first, don’t you think?”

Tango shrugs. He isn’t quite meeting Jimmy’s eyes. “Doesn’t bother me. Besides, we don’t have the key.”

Jimmy knits his brows together. “So what, we just... let it alone? Move on?”

Tango huffs a laugh- it sounds a bit faint. “Yeah, yeah exactly.” 

(What an abrupt change of character!)

(Lying again, it seems…)

(How suspicious.)

Okay, this is definitely strange behavior. Considering everything that happened yesterday, Jimmy would’ve expected Tango to still be physically and emotionally wrecked. But instead, he seems rather keen to just move on, like everything’s normal- 

Ah. Of course. Jimmy doesn’t know why he’s surprised.

“Tango...” he starts, “I don’t think-”

“Good morning!” Impulse hums as he pokes his head through the cracked door. “How we doin’, guys?”

Curse his timing. Tango, of course, immediately takes advantage of the distraction.

“Oh, hey Impy!” he says cheerfully. “Hey uh, sorry about earlier. You know, I uh, I was a little confused, and uh… you know...” He pulls a face; overdramatized. He’s trying to make light of it.

Impulse seems to share the same realization as Jimmy. “Hey, it’s alright,” he says easily, though he keeps his tone in a lower register- more serious. Not feeding into the fake energy. “No hard feelings. Here, I brought some food.”

Tango takes the offered food without even a second of hesitation; a stack of golden carrots. “Of course. Thank you, thank you.” He quickly starts crunching on one, conveniently busying himself so he doesn’t have to say anything else.

Oh well, at least he’s eating. Jimmy gives Impulse a tired smile. “Hey, Impulse. Thanks again for lettin’ us crash here.”

Impulse returns his smile. “Yeah, of course, no problem. So um, I’ve just got a bit of an update for you guys.” He sits down at the end of the bed, expression sobering. “The ranch situation is under control, they managed to get the fire out before it spread to anything else nearby. So your pastures, barns, and fields are safe. All your animals, too.”

It’s easy enough to pick up on what he’s left out. “But the ranch itself is gone, isn’t it?” Jimmy says quietly.

Impulse nods. “I’m sorry. Most of what’s left is just the stone. I think the basement is pretty intact, too, but everything else…”

“Yep.” Tango, finished with his carrot, shrugs a shoulder. “Yeah, I figured. That’s what we get for building with wood, even though I’m super flammable and stuff.”

Jimmy gives him a sympathetic look. “It’ll be okay-”

“So,” Tango interrupts, avoiding Jimmy’s gaze as he gives Impulse an intent look, “uh- anything else?”

(Ouch! Testy…)

Impulse rubs the back of his neck. “Uh, yeah. Grian wants to know if you guys are up for a chat. Nothing bad,” he adds quickly, “he’s just trying to figure out a solution and we’re just a little in the dark about everything. You can stick to the basics; if there’s something you aren’t comfortable telling us, that’s fine-”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Tango assures him. Despite his grin, there’s a hard edge to his voice. “Let’s do it. Call everyone up, we’ll have a nice chat at spawn or something. Let’s- let’s get goin’.”

Impulse pauses. “Well, if you want, we can have just Grian come over...”

Tango huffs. “No, why- let’s just get everyone on the same page, okay? Get it all over with at once.” He spreads his hands. “No point in delaying, or- or having to explain the same thing over and over again, right? I mean, everyone’s stuck here ‘til Grian lifts the lockdown, I- I’m sure they’ll wanna know why.”

Jimmy exchanges a look with Impulse. “I… I suppose,” he says hesitantly. “But are you sure you’re-”

“Yeah,” Tango says, “yeah, it’s fine.” 

Impulse purses his lips, clearly fighting not to let his frustration show. 

The sentiment is one that Jimmy shares. It’s obvious Tango is trying to downplay everything- and if that’s his way of coping, fine. But it really throws a wrench into the works when moving forward requires actually addressing what happened, and having an in-depth conversation about it. And this doesn’t bode well for long-term; they can’t just pretend everything’s normal, no matter how much Tango might wish it. 

“Okay, I’ll let him know.” Impulse rises to his feet. “The bathroom’s at the end of the hallway if you guys wanted to wash up.”

Tango actually makes a face at that, dropping the facade for a moment. He really doesn’t like water. “Wash up..?”

Impulse winces. “You’re um. Still covered in dried blood.”

(I was wondering when he’d realize that…)

Tango blinks. “Oh. Oh, right, of course.” Absently, he reaches a hand up to scratch at his chin. “I should probably wash that off, yeah. I mean, everyone knows I’m a vicious monster but I don’t have to look it, right?” he laughs.

Jimmy’s heart tightens. “Hey, Tango…”

“No,” Impulse protests, “that’s not-”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Tango says shortly. “Thanks, Impulse.”

“Alright.” Impulse lets the matter drop, turning to leave. “Come downstairs when you’re ready.”

As soon as Impulse is gone, Jimmy turns to Tango. “Hey, so-”

But Tango has already hopped out of bed and crossed to the door, calling, “Hang on, be right back!” over his shoulder.

Down the hall, Jimmy hears the bathroom door open and close. He sighs.

This is gonna be a fun conversation.

~*~

CONTINUED IN PART IX, ACT II

#hels to pay au #HTP fic #hermitcraft #double life smp #my writing #man tumblr really threw a wrench in the works #i know this chapter got long and i use line breaks excessively but DAMN

[misslavenderlady]

Thought is asked based on the horrible question number 57

57: Do you believe in true love?

I do. I found it myself. 💜

So I'll go ahead and use this opportunity to tell the story about how I met my fiance.

We actually met on Cherubplay, a writing forum for those of us in the Homestuck fandom (yes I was a Homestuck fan don't judge me). I posted a writing prompt that I really liked and someone answered it. The two of us had very compatible writing styles and ideas to share with one another. Since we hit it off so well we exchanged Tumblr and Skype usernames so we could talk more.

The two of us developed a really good friendship, talking over video call and in messages. After a couple of months I realized I was developing a crush on him, but didn't really know what to do with my feelings. Then one day I got lost on my way home from work, and I was really scared because of how dark it was outside (we were both only 17 at the time). He comforted me and let me know I wasn't alone and when I finally got home, he made sure I felt safe.

That's when I realized I was falling in love.

I didn't want to say I loved him more than as a friend because I didn't know if he felt the same way. But the day after his birthday, we ended up flirting a bit, and I outright asked if he liked me. Turns out he did and he was worried about saying anything because he thought I didn't feel the same way. So it was a big misunderstanding lol.

We jumped right into being boyfriend and girlfriend. It would be hard since I lived in Maryland and he lived in New Jersey. I'd never been in a relationship before, let alone a long-distance one. But I was optimistic.

The two of us met in person a few months later. We were in NYC to see the Rockettes, and I was chaperoned by my family in public for safety. Getting to hug and kiss and hold him for the first time was pure magic. That whole day was perfect.

After that, we ended up doing visits every 3-4 months. He was my date for my senior prom, I got to meet and befriend his friends in New Jersey, we went on beach vacations, went to museums, got to get to know our families better, and so much more. He was my biggest supporter as I studied for my degrees in college. He was there for me at my graduation too.

I had hoped we'd move in together soon after that, but Covid threw a wrench into things. He was working in a hospital at the time, so he got it right away. I was scared to death because nobody knew anything about it or the danger is posed. Thankfully, his symptoms were minor and he made a fast recovery.

By 2021 we FINALLY moved in together. It's been incredible. I get to see him every day, we get to go on adventures and have fun together whenever we want. And we both work hard to provide for my family. I'm incredibly grateful for the work he's done to help my family, as my mother is disabled and my grandparents can't work like they used to. He's such a kind-hearted man and has such a loving soul.

On 2-22-22, he proposed to me. I obviously said yes. He picked that date because it was a special good luck day from all the 2s. We're moving into our first house together next year.

So yes, I believe in true love. Not just romantically though. My partner shows true love when he picks up a special treat that he knows I like. It's how he helps make sure my mom gets her medicine. How he helps my grandfather move heavy furniture with no issue. He's kind to everyone, brightening up their day with his amazing smile and personality. He gives me big belly laughs with all the silly things he says. We write together and help one another with our stories so we can grow together as a team. And his hugs remind me that I'm loved so very much.

I believe in true love 💜💜💜

#Sorry to get so sappy on you guys lol #ask me stuff #lavender lady rambles

[plaid-shirtsandvibranium-arms]

Nemesis: Retribution (2)

Summary: 10 years after the Avengers had left you for dead during a mission gone wrong, you unexpectedly re-enter their lives. Wholly unrecognizable from the person they used to know and now with a new team behind you, they ask for your help to stop a chain of syndicates who were manufacturing and peddling the super soldier serum. You were determined to say no until the chance at the vengeance you had been chasing for years was added to the offer.

Fandoms: Avengers, Marvel, MCU, The Punisher, Daredevil

Pairings: Female Reader x (Frank Castle, Billy Russo, Matt Murdock, Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Pietro Maximoff)

Warnings: MENTIONS OF SMUT FOR THIS CHAPTER. SHAMELESS SEXUAL BEHAVIOURS. (18+ ONLY), polyamorous relationships, reverse harem, blatant disregard for canon timelines and events, mentions of illnesses, momentary fluff, bit of angst care of Bucky, Punisher canon level of violence and gore, rejection, bullying, heartbreak, character death

A/N: I couldn’t resist not posting this early. Here you go. Next ones will probably take a while coz I have to be an actual adult for a bit. 

No permission is granted to repost, steal, or translate my work. Not even a credit makes it okay. Tumblr is the only place I post my writing. If you see it anywhere else please report it.

Series Masterlist | Full Masterlist

1:2 Dark Chocolate

A few days of rest was required to recover from a super soldier's punch. The doctors had said that you were lucky Steve hadn't punched you with full strength or else you would probably have a whole cracked rib cage. You were anxious to jump back in to training, not used to being idle for very long.

You were given some painkillers at the clinic and ordered to stay there for the rest of the afternoon for monitoring. When you woke up, it was early evening and a blonde super soldier was napping on a steel chair next to your bed. He jumped when you moved to sit up, his heightened senses alarmed and disoriented for a second before he quickly switched to repeatedly apologizing to you. You laughed out loud. It was just a little ridiculous to you to see such a commanding presence in the field so charmingly boyish and adorably embarrassed.

Steve was a comforting presence but to be honest you were hoping to see Bucky. You didn't get a chance to thank him since he left immediately after the doctors had ushered you into the examination room. Once you were cleared to return to training, you caught sight of his long brunette hair and the bright smile on your face couldn't be stopped. It was the glare he pinned you with that made you halt your approach.

He was back to his disapproval of your very existence.

You had to admit that it stung. You thought that you were getting somewhere with him after he helped you. At least somewhere outside of the realm of outward disdain. And maybe you were hoping just a little bit that it could lead down the road to him feeling the same about you.

The timing was perfect when you were assigned to your first official mission with the Avengers. It was a chance to prove your worth to the team and to Bucky in particular. A chance to maybe make him see you as more than just a troublesome recruit.

You came back from the mission with your head held high and absolutely glowing with confidence at the kudos from Sam and Natasha. The great Natasha Romanoff had complimented your sniping skills, picking off enemies in her area even before she could aim her own gun at them.

The first thing you wanted to do after getting back to the Compound was to tell Bucky. You wanted to brag a little bit and maybe even thank him for the mentoring. If he hadn’t been so hard on you then you wouldn’t have pushed yourself to be at this level. You were skipping down the halls of the Compound in search for him, clutching the bullet casing from your first official Avenger kill.

FRIDAY had informed you that he was in the training area and you were bouncing on your feet with excitement. As you entered though the place was empty, the rest of the agents having retired to the mess halls. You ventured further in, trusting FRIDAY’s intel until you heard some noises coming from the adjacent armory. You smiled, he must be cleaning his guns again.

As you got closer, the noise began to get louder until you could make out what was undeniably pleasured moaning, one low and gravelly while the other more high pitched. You should have turned away, if only for the privacy of the couple who was wrapped up in their passion, but your curiosity pushed you to come closer and peak through the small crack in the door.

The brief image that you saw made you instantly draw back, a shaking hand pressed to your mouth to silence the shocked gasp. You backed away slowly, your mind struggling to process what you had just seen, then your flight response kicked in and you ran like hell out of there. The scene was burning a hole in your brain and caused your skin to grow cold. Sergeant Barnes rutting hard against a woman wrapped around his waist, his glinting eyes locked with yours, and a cocky sneer on his face.

You didn’t go to dinner that night or to the team celebration for a successful first mission. You chose instead to lay in your bunk with tears burning in your eyes and trying to erase the memory of your discovery. Of course he was already dating someone. A man of his caliber was sure to have a line-up of gorgeous eager women at his disposal. He probably had no interest in boring recruits like yourself. The woman he was throwing into bliss must be some supermodel or high ranking spy. How did you even end up deluding yourself that you could possibly catch his eye?

The rest of your roommates filtered in after a few hours, chatting away noisily about the party. Anna had come to sit on the edge of your bed and ran a comforting hand along your arm, concern clearly etched on her face.

“I’m fine. Just tired. The mission really wore me out,” you muttered with a small smile. You weren't ready to talk about it yet.

“Personally I think I had better success today than all of you,” Kim’s shrill voice cut through the good natured conversations in the room.

She wasn’t part of the group taken on the mission, claiming beforehand that she was ill. A chorus of curious why’s rang out through the group and she preened at once again being the center of attention.

“Well I just had the fuck of a lifetime from none other than Sergeant James Barnes.”

The room of women burst into chaos; squeals of disbelief, rapid fire questions on how big he was and how good of a lay was he, were they dating now or was this a fuck buddy situation. Of course Kim was more than happy to entertain each question.

You tuned all of it out, the noise turning into an annoying ringing in your ear. You turned around to face the wall as the silent tears that refused to be contained any longer fell to wet your pillow. You barely registered Anna squeezing your shoulder or the words that Kim threw your way.

“Sorry, Y/N. I guess I was just more Bucky’s type.”

You curled yourself into a tighter ball as the pain in your chest radiated across your whole body. You had assumed wrong about Bucky. It seemed that he wasn’t opposed to dating new recruits.

He was just opposed to you.

The taunting from Kim continued on and you just couldn't take it any longer. You brushed the tears away, grabbed your sweater, and marched yourself to the door. You needed to get some air. You needed to get away. Anywhere but there. You wrenched open the door and almost came crashing straight toward a solid chest. Your eyes travelled up to lock with the kind blue gaze of Captain America. You wondered why Steve was standing at the doors of your bunkers holding a pack of beer in his hand.

"Good evening, ladies," he said to the room of now suddenly speechless females. "I'm just going to borrow Y/N for a bit."

The crowd remained in shocked silence while you stared at him in confusion as he smiled sweetly down at you. He had gone looking for you when he didn't see you at the celebration after Natasha and Sam had sang your praises to him at your performance. He wanted to congratulate you and bring you a drink for a job well done.

"Come on. I know a good spot," he said, placing a hand on your back and guiding you out.

Steve brought you to the top of an observatory in the Compound. It was quiet, peaceful, and offered a great view. He cracked open a bottle for you and the conversation just flowed naturally. He kept making you laugh until your sides hurt with stories about his time as a performer in the military and all the unfortunate videos that came with it. You were crying with pure joy when he relented and re-enacted his buy military bonds act, your earlier darkened mood forgotten for the moment.

Steve felt like he did something right when your glassy eyes and defeated expression was replaced with clear amusement. Even if it was at his expense. He wouldn't ask what the reason was, but he felt happy he made you feel better.

"Thank you, Steve," you muttered before you parted ways. Somehow both of you understood that it was more than just for the drink.

You promised yourself then that you would give yourself tonight to weep over your unfortunate romantic feelings. Only for tonight. Come morning you would focus all your energy on what you actually came here to do; become an Avenger. You slept fitfully that night, the shell casing from your first mission still gripped in your hand.

You made a conscious effort after that day to limit your interactions with Bucky and Kim to polite clipped conversations. At first Bucky had been surprised at your change in attitude, your blank expression and sparse words causing a momentary guilt to flash in his eyes. You had chosen instead to spend more time with Steve and the twins, your mood obviously brighter around them.

You were sitting now in a large conference room for a briefing on the next mission with a handful of other recruits when Sam Wilson sent you out to fetch the rest of the Avengers who were running late and not responding.

"Can you get them for me, sweetheart?" he chuckled, knowing that you blushed uncontrollably each time he used a nickname on you.

FRIDAY had directed you to the private common room exclusive for their use. You were about to knock on the door when you heard your name in the middle of what sounded like a heated argument. Against your better judgement, you leaned in closer.

"I don't think Y/N's cut out to be part of this team."

Your heart dropped. The conviction in Bucky's voice was clear. It was one thing for your infatuation with him to be forcefully thrown back at your face, but for him to explicitly state to a set of people that you held at such high esteem that you were not good enough was a whole other vicious heartbreak.

Lily was wrong. This time you should have known when to quit.

You forced yourself to crack the door wider and step inside, clearing your throat to announce your presence. You didn't see the startled look on their faces or the guilty one that followed when they realized that you had heard. One look at your sad glistening eyes that refused to look up confirmed it. Natasha and Steve both threw Bucky a deadly glare.

"Sam wants you all at a briefing. I was sent to come get you."

Your voice was so small and unsteady, none of the easy happiness and optimistic determination that it usually carried. Bucky felt the shame burn through him, the guilt drowning him in an instant. You weren't supposed to hear that. He took a step towards you, instinct driving him to do anything to wipe that defeated look off your face, but a threatening look from the twins pinned him in place.

"We'll walk back with you, little star," Pietro said softly, appearing beside you and wrapping an arm around your shoulder. Wanda came on the other side, looping your arm with hers.

For the rest of the briefing, you strained with the effort of focusing on Sam while blatantly ignoring Bucky. You knew he was staring a hole at the back of your head, but you couldn't allow yourself to give him any satisfaction by looking back. You were soon assigned your tasks, you being placed on sniper duty again having performed well the last time.

It was supposed to be a run of the mill mission for intel and taking out a criminal base, but with the expectation of more hostiles so a slightly bigger team was necessary. You practically flew out of the room when you were dismissed, not giving anyone a chance to talk to you. A decision was solid in your mind now for when you got back.

This would be your last mission.

The ride on the jet to the location was spent with you cleaning your gear and checking your weapons. You were sliding a few knives in place when Bucky came in front of you holding out another set of knives for you to take.

"You know if you tilt the hilt to the left you can fit more in one holster," he said.

It was odd hearing him with almost warmth in his tone toward you. If it had happened yesterday, you probably would be celebrating this fact. You nodded at him, but didn't say a word.

"Remember to keep your head low and stay on your post. Okay, doll?"

You nodded wordlessly again. Because you made a point not to look at his face, you missed the way he was struggling to say more to you and the disheartened look when you obviously weren't going to answer him. You ignored him for the rest of the ride, choosing to focus on reviewing the intel.

As far as bad intel could go, this had to be the worst. You were perched up on a densely covered hill a good distance away from the base that the rest of the team were storming. You were picking off as many hostiles coming out of the base as quick as your hands would allow. Your fingers were starting to ache from the constant reloading, your eyes stung from the gunpowder, and your lip was already bleeding from biting down on it.

The noise in the comms was pure mayhem. Each team member trying to ask for help, for backup, for a plan. You had all come expecting a fight but not an army prepared to defend. You were certainly not expecting HYDRA.

"They have Bucky."

Three words spoken that sent a cold dread to wash over all of you. HYDRA couldn't be allowed to take Bucky. You abandoned your post without a second thought and sprinted down toward the base, pistols at the ready for anyone coming your way.

"Last location," you asked urgently as you slipped into the building shooting down two agents immediately.

"West wing. Near the last corridor," Steve grunted, clearly having a hard time on his end. "Y/N, do not engage!"

"I'm the closest one, Cap."

"I'm close too. Just a little busy," Natasha huffed. "I'll follow, Y/N. Steve, we need to get the hell out of here."

Steve had reluctantly agreed, seeing that there was no other choice. He quickly barked orders and commanded you to keep safe. You nodded although he couldn't see it as you wove through the corridors at full speed in search of your teammate. The moment you barged into that last room, your eyes found an unconscious Bucky immediately.

Seeing him in that chair horrified you; shirt ripped, bleeding in several areas, skin pale and cold with sweat, chest rising and falling far too rapidly, and eyes that were unresponsive. You were so distracted by the jarring image that you failed to notice the operatives across the room until the bullets were burning through your soft flesh.

You screamed from the pain, but raised your gun and fired back until you heard their bodies thud heavily on the floor. You clutched at your side, the amount of wet blood pouring out was alarming. You pushed your own welfare aside and hurriedly undid Bucky's restraints. It was a struggle to sit up a semi-conscious super soldier and when you took his weight on your shoulders, you collapsed to the floor at the intense pain in your arm. You hadn't realized that you had multiple shots there too.

You gritted your teeth and groaned at the effort of lifting you both up, your blood soaking through your gear as well as Bucky's. You huffed painfully with each step but you just had to get him out of there. You could have kissed Natasha square in the mouth when you saw her come barreling towards you.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Y/N!" she winced at your state before taking Bucky's other side. Apparently you looked as bad as you felt. "We gotta move fast. I hear more of them coming up this way. This path is clear."

Having Natasha's help in carrying Bucky alleviated some of the burden from you and made you all move faster, but the blood loss was already starting to make your vision blurry and the adrenaline was wearing off. Through the haze, you could also hear the rapidly approaching footsteps. Soon you would be basically useless and you knew there was no way Natasha could carry you both out while fighting off a hoard of enemies.

"Natasha," you said quietly, your steps faltering.

"No. Keep going goddamn it!" Natasha cried.

She knew what you were thinking. She had assessed the situation too and come to the same miserable conclusion. You smiled sadly at her angry eyes and shaking head as you let go of your hold on Bucky. Her eyes widened further as you limped toward the doors behind you and locked them tight before raising your guns to aim right at anyone who would come through them.

She didn't miss how your hands were shaking and your shot arm could barely hold up, the way you scowled deeper in pain with each movement, or how your uniform was soaked in your own blood and slowly forming a pool at your feet. Ghastly as you looked, you turned your head and tossed her another gentle smile. You were basically going to use yourself as a human shield for them and yet you were comforting her. You were reassuring her.

"Check on my sister for me, yeah?"

Natasha wanted to insist on another plan. Anything other than leave you behind to hold off the nearing enemy units. Shouting and gunfire from the other side of the door forced her to make a decision. She cursed sharply under her breath and dragged Bucky away with her, the regret heavy on her heart for having to leave you behind.

You stepped further back and supported your weak body against the wall after Natasha had thankfully left. The enemy was trying their hardest to barge through the door, ramming into it and shooting their guns at the locks. It wouldn't be long now before they manage to breach it.

You took a moment to spare a thought for your sister. A part of you was saddened to think of her grief after she finds out that you had done the most heroic thing anyone could ever do.

Sacrifice.

Another part of you was relieved knowing that she had Jill and she wouldn't be alone in that grief. When you decided this morning that this would be your last mission, you didn't necessarily expect it to be in this way.

"I'm sorry, Lily."

Natasha managed to get Bucky back to the jet where the rest of the team were all converging, still fighting off operatives chasing after them. There just didn't seem to be any end to them.

"I'm going back for Y/N!" she yelled to the team as she dropped Bucky on the floor of the jet. There was no time to be gentle, she had to hurry back to help you out.

"What do you mean? Where the hell is Y/N, Nat?" Steve shouted as he grabbed her arm.

"She stayed behind to hold off the ones chasing us so we could get out. I have to go back!"

"I will go. I can get her out," Pietro volunteered at once but he doubled over immediately from the extensive wounds on his torso.

Natasha was already sprinting back into the compound, not willing to waste another minute. She made it only a few feet before the entire facility exploded into a fiery inferno that quickly ravaged it and threw her farther back.

The entire team watched in horror as the explosions continued on several parts of the structure. The area was quickly getting engulfed by the flames and smoke. Steve had to force everyone onto the jet and bodily carry a shell shocked Natasha.

No one could have possibly survived that.

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

Natasha steadied her breath as she quietly landed on a perch high above in the rafters of a seedy warehouse. Wanda joined her seconds later, weaving her magic to better cloak them. The other twin was running a lap around the perimeter and would join them later.

She was assigned weird missions all the time. Missions that had very little to doubtful intel was common. This mission though was by far the strangest she's ever gotten. There was a very small list of vague things that were told to them; the time and location, not to intervene, to remain unseen until the target was ready, bring the target to the Compound.

She was slightly annoyed, but she complied anyway. She was curious too as the mission was given in secret to only the three of them. A million questions was speeding through her mind as she observed the activity below. It looked like a regular run of the mill drug den filled with busy workers and roving guards.

"How many, Wanda?" Natasha whispered.

"I sense more than 25 of them. All armed, but with much fear."

A gust of wind signaled the return of the other twin. He had a frown on his face and a concerned look in his eyes. "There is another one, but this one does not seem to be with them."

Natasha was starting to sincerely doubt this mission when a fast movement from the shadows caught her eye. By the way the twins perked up too, they surely had seen it. They followed the figure as it slipped through the darkness, almost losing track if they hadn't noticed that the guards were quickly dwindling in number. Natasha was growing worried, this was surely a highly skilled group of assassins. Pietro must have been mistaken. They were clean and efficient too.

All of a sudden a gunfight broke out below them. A figure completely clad in black, strolled casually out from the shadows with a pistol in each hand firing precisely at their targets. They confidently charged closer, unfazed as they greeted the gunfire. They continued to tear viciously through the crowd with a deadly mix of combat, bullets, and blades. 

The workers had drawn their weapons by now as well, but they were quickly killed off with barbaric aggression. It did not take long for the floor below to become a sea of blood and lifeless bodies. One person remained barely alive, hanging on to his middle to keep his internal organs from spilling out from the wide gash. The attacker came to him, nonchalantly stepping over decimated bodies. They couldn't hear what was exchanged from this distance, only the choked scream that followed as he was stabbed straight through the throat. His blood spurting out like a broken faucet.

Natasha had been in this profession for a while, but she has never seen this level of unrestrained violence.

One person.

One single person had cleared out a base of approximately 30 people. Natasha was growing more and more worried. Clearly this person was at the very least an enhanced and even with the twins with her, they were not prepared to face someone powered.

What kind of bloodthirsty lunatic does this?

"You can come down now."

All three of them froze in place. Looking down, the attacker was staring right at them with cloaked eyes. Reluctantly and very slowly, Wanda used her powers to float them down carefully keeping a good distance from this murderer.

From this close they could now see that they were in full military tactical gear in what was originally all matte black, but now had an explosion of dripping red. Combat boots, fitted cargo pants, a long sleeved shirt underneath a tight bulletproof vest, gloves, a loose hood over their head, and a cloth mask around the lower half of their face.

"Should have known something was up when my team mentioned seeing a really fast man."

The shivers that travelled through every expanse of skin on Natasha, was a reaction to that voice. It sounded strangely familiar yet unknown, but something in her mind was denying her from piecing it together. The moment the hood was dropped to reveal their eyes was when she spiraled into a complete icy shock. They were eyes that had haunted her for the past ten years. Haunted all of them. The only difference was that the eyes in her memories were smiling warmly.

The bloodied face mask was lowered to reveal a face they mourned, unmistakable and yet completely different. White raised scars branched out like weaving vines from the right side of the neck to just above the jaw and the ears. They were obviously old and healed but still raised and prominent, adding an even more dangerous edge to the menacing look on their face.

Your face.

"Hello, Natasha. Pietro. Wanda."

10 years after they had watched you tragically perish in a burning HYDRA facility, you stood before three of a group of people you had unknowingly tormented all these years.

The earpiece you wore crackled to life. "Blackbird to Hedwig. I have a visual. Should I shoot them?"

You smirked. There was no need for that. At least not right now.

"Hey, Blackbird. Tell Raven I'll be late for dinner. I have a reunion to get to."

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

A/N: Tell me which pairing or combination in this harem you’re most looking forward to. Smut or otherwise. I’m still rearranging scenes and working out smut. There is a long list of kinks. I need help.

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[traumxrei-archive]

HDKFKSJFJD LEONAAAAAAAAAAA

(banging on table) omg i just. i cant man Cheka is adorable bubble bath with the tiny lion 🥺 my son

mmmmm loved the way you included the character study in it! also give the prince some headpats… he deserves them. also Yuu! language there is a child in the room lmao

Cheka humming the songs yuu sang to him, leona being leona (the lion brainrot grows stronger by the day) god this chapter and omake were SO GOOD AAAAAA seriously i love your writing so much

(also jade anon hahfjsjdnsj im not scared of you shroom boy ❤️) (mushrooms are fucking rad btw)

Also glad that your stuff is showing in the tags now! lets just pray it doesnt happen again 😔

okay, have a good day! sorry for screaming about leona lmao

-🍓

(aaa leona aaa)

I KNOW !! inside my heart i have adopted both cheka and grim as my sons. i am now a parent. he's my baby <333

i'm glad you liked the leona introspection ! if there's one thing i'd wanna remedy in the previous chapters it'd be the omakes. the readiness that he feels when he accepts he likes them... i think so far has been going too smoothly for leona. so i threw a wrench in it by making him overthink sjfkdjf (this was what i was agonizing abt in the omake btw)

leona brainrot never completely goes away ngl— but i'm really happy to hear that you enjoyed this chapter ! it's been sitting in my notes for a hot second so i'm happy to share it with everyonee wooo

mhm ! glad that everything's working again on tumblr dot com, i hope the tag issues don't happen again sjfkdsjkf bc it scared me

(lmao pls don't taunt jade he's actually gonna do something foul to you-)

#/trau replies #/🍓 anon #HAVE A GOOD DAY STRAWBERRY ANON #also i love screaming abt leona #so dw abt it #did u see my long-ass leona rant #like dang i love this man

[theclockworkmonk]

Desire and Will

This is the most popular fic in my "Aang/Katara Missing Moments" series on AO3. This is the first time I'm posting it to tumblr.

Summary: With Aang still having trouble letting loose with his firebending, Zuko asks an alarming question:

"Have you ever kissed a girl?"

Words: 3,944

Read on AO3

FF.net

*******

Katara was awoken by what was, to her, the scariest sound in the world: the sound of Aang in pain.

"OW!" she heard him cry out, and she wrenched her eyelids open and rolled to face where his voice was coming from. There, she saw Aang still laying on the ground where he had been sleeping, rubbing his backside like it had been kicked. Towering over him, fists clenched and face scowling...was Zuko.

A jolt a fear cut through Katara's still half-asleep mind as she reached over for her bending skin and flicked it open with her thumb. She was ready to fight, ready to—

"You're burning daylight!" Zuko barked at Aang, "Get up! Twenty hot squats, now!"

Katara's sleep fog finally cleared and she remembered why Zuko was here in their camp. She remembered their whole reluctant arrangement to have Zuko teach Aang firebending, and the nerve-wracking few days they had disappeared together and apparently danced with dragons.

Katara groggily collapsed back onto her pillow, too tired to even growl at Zuko that the rest of them didn't have to train to defeat his evil dad, thankyouverymuch, so maybe bark his orders more quietly at absurd hours in the morning.

Aang seemed to be feeling the same way, because he just moaned in response. Zuko squatted down next to Aang and pointed out into the canyon that contained the Western Air Temple, where the sky was already turning blood red.

"You see that? That's sunrise, Avatar. That's the sign of a firebender's inner strength coming to life with a new day." He grabbed Aang by the shoulder and started shaking him, "Can you feel it, Aang? Can you feel your inner fire starting to reignite?"

"No," grunted Aang plainly.

Katara was remembering more now, and becoming more annoyed. Right, what had Zuko said to her at the north pole? "You rise with the moon, I rise with the sun?" of course it made perfect sense that on top of being cruel, bloodthirsty monsters, firebenders were also something far worse: morning people. Ugh, did this mean that Aang was also going to be a morning person from now on?

"Well we've got to fix that," said Zuko, and he practically dragged Aang to his feet and started pushing him off towards the courtyard that they used to train, that jutted out from underneath the rock overhang so they were actually in the sun. With their sleeping area quiet again, Katara tried to go back to sleep, but now the knowledge that Aang was off with Zuko, alone, at the other end of the temple was nagging at her brain. It wasn't like she thought Zuko would suddenly attack him or something; she had accepted by now that this wasn't some kind of absurdly elaborate plot against them—mainly because she didn't think Zuko was clever enough to pull off something like that. But still, whenever she thought about Aang with no one around him but Zuko, she found that she...didn't like it.

After a few minutes, she accepted that she wasn't getting any more sleep, so she got herself up and started making her way in the same direction Zuko and Aang had gone. As she was rounding the last corner before the courtyard, she started to hear their voices.

"So if my firebending wakes me up with the sun, and my waterbending keeps me up with the moon, when exactly am I supposed to sleep?"

"You slept for a hundred years, isn't that enough?"

Aang laughed, but Katara recognized it as his uncomfortable laugh. Aang never liked being reminded of all that time he wasn't there for the world, which Zuko would know if he wasn't such a heartless jerk and a terrible teacher. The fact that he barely knew Aang and had no way of knowing what he was uncomfortable with was entirely beside the point.

Katara decided to not announce her presence and instead leaned against one of the stone pillars within the shade of the overhang, while they were out in the increasingly bright morning sun. She was far enough away and in enough shade that they were unlikely to notice her, but if they did happen to look her way then she could plausibly deny she was snooping. She didn't like the idea of leaving Aang alone with Zuko, but she still realized hovering would interfere with them. Aang was always trying to impress her and Zuko was still visibly terrified of her ever since she threatened to kill him the day he joined their team (which she definitely didn't take any pride in).

Aang and Zuko finished their warm-ups and faced a target at the far end of the courtyard, a few wooden logs they had haphazardly nailed together in the vague shape of a human.

"Okay, let's see if that trip to almost get eaten by dragons was worth it," said Zuko, "set your stance..."

Aang positioned himself in a sideways battle stance in opposition to the dummy.

"Now, control your breathing…"

Aang drew in a deep breath and slowly released it.

"Now…STRIKE!"

Aang punched his right first towards the dummy, and a single fireball erupted from his knuckles, traveling about 10 yards to the dummy, briefly engulfing it in flames before dissipating. After the fire and smoke had quickly cleared, Katara saw that the dummy was slightly singed, with a few spots glowing orange for a few seconds before cooling down. Katara could feel the heat of the blast from where she was standing.

Zuko, however, didn't look impressed, "Well that was...certainly better, I guess."

"You guess!?" Aang incredulously asked out loud, and Katara incredulously asked in her head at the same time, "Come on, that was the biggest blast I've ever made!"

"Yeah, and if you were any other novice, we'd call that a really promising start. Heck, you might even be called a prodigy. People would be saying you could become a master in just a few years."

Aang's shoulders slumped in disappointment.

"But we don't have a few years, obviously, so sorry, but we need to find a way to fast-track this."

Aang threw his hands in the air, "Well what more can I possibly do!"

Zuko frowned and rubbed his chin thoughtfully, "Well to be honest, I think you're still being too timid and restrained. You're certainly doing a lot better than before our trip, but I still sense a lot of energy in you that you're not letting out."

Aang looked confused and started to get defensive, "Well of course I'm holding a little back, I'm trying to stay in control! Jong Jong said that firebending requires constant discipline or fire will destroy you. He didn't even let me shoot fire, he had me try to stop a bit of fire from growing, and when I didn't listen to him—" Aang managed to cut off his own rambling and managed to take a deep breath and closed his eyes, "that was when I burned Katara."

Zuko's face cycled through several different expressions as a lot of things suddenly started making sense.

"...Oh," was the only thing he could say.

Aang continued, "I hated that version of myself, even more than when I've gone into the Avatar State. After that, I promised myself I would never firebend at all!"

Katara tried to keep track of all the different emotions she was feeling. She was touched by the fact that Aang cared about her so much that the memory of hurting her still got him to be this upset, annoyed at him for being this worked up over something that happened months ago, she had long since forgiven, and was really not important in the context of their mission, and guilty that her getting hurt and the way she reacted had caused him this much heartache, even while she knew that she hadn't really done anything wrong.

Zuko sighed, raised his hand, and after a few seconds of hesitation, lightly patted Aang's shoulder in the most awkward, panicked "there-there" gesture Katara had ever seen.

"Look Aang," said Zuko, "I can't speak to what this 'Jong Jong' guy taught you. Maybe his way is better, I don't know, but it sounds like it takes a lot longer, and we don't have the luxury of being patient and deliberate about this."

He pulled on Aang's shoulder and turned him around so he would stop looking at his feet in self-pity and look his teacher in the face again, "The people of the world don't need their Avatar to be a wizened sage right now, they need a stick of dynamite."

Zuko took a few steps away and tried his best to pretend to be a wizened sage himself, "I can only teach you how I was taught, and I was taught that even when it's not fuelled by anger and rage, all firebending is still fuelled by strong emotion. When teaching me about the elements, my uncle said—let's see if I can get this right…"

He started rubbing his hand on an invisible large belly, stroking an invisible beard, and speaking in an old man's raspy voice in his best impersonation of his uncle.

"Fire is the element of Power. The people of the Fire Nation have Desire and Will, and the energy and drive to achieve what they want."

Aang chuckled at the impression, his mood clearly improving, while Zuko looked really impressed with himself. Katara wouldn't have been surprised to learn that this was the first time in his life the dour prince had made someone laugh.

"See what I mean? Remember what we learned with the dragons. Fire is Life. And passion for life is what fuels firebending. You need to stop thinking like a monk and use your passion."

Aang didn't look frustrated or dejected anymore, but he did look puzzled.

"Um...okay," Aang said, thoughtfully scratching his head, "How am I supposed to do that?"

Now it was Zuko's turn to get frustrated. He hadn't anticipated one of his jobs as a teacher being having to explain how to feel things to this guy. That was something he was not qualified for.

"I don't know," said Zuko, not hiding the annoyance in his voice, "just think about it. Try to recreate those emotions when you're channeling your energy for your bending, and it might make your firebending more powerful. Hasn't there ever been something you...desired? Coveted, even? Something that you needed to have or to win more than anything?"

Katara almost laughed out loud, boy are you barking up the wrong tree.

Aang spent a few seconds earnestly considering Zuko's question, "I don't think so. My people believed that worldly material possessions were meaningless, and attachment to them was the source of suffering. We didn't really have anything beyond what we needed and a few toys that we shared. I played games with all my friends, but I didn't really care much if I won, I just tried to make sure everybody had fun."

Katara was grinning at what an unbelievable dork the mighty savior of the world was.

Zuko, however, groaned and dragged both hands down his face, "Yeah, of course you did." It seemed to Katara that this was the first time Zuko was having to relate to someone who was actually a good person.

Aang just shrugged at Zuko's exasperation, "Sorry, hotman."

"Stop calling me that!" Zuko thought for several more seconds before his eyes lit up and he snapped his fingers with an idea, but then immediately looked like he regretted having the idea, and started looking deeply uncomfortable.

"Hey...can I ask you a personal question? It's going to sound weird and unrelated, but just trust me, okay?"

Aang raised an eyebrow, "Uh….sure?"

"Have you ever kissed a girl?"

Aang's eyes widened to the size of dinner plates, his face turning bright pink, and Katara's heart seemed to stop in its tracks.

After what seemed like an eternity, Aang finally found his voice again, but all he could manage was a weak, "Uh...what?"

"Just bear with me for a second," pressed Zuko.

"Um," Aang squeaked, "Yes. Yes I have." and his face moved past pink into deep scarlet.

"Okay," breathed Zuko, "Now, I know I'm sounding like a gossiping school girl, but I promise I'm going somewhere with this. Ugh."

He squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose, like this conversation was physically painful. "Tell me about your first kiss," he finished in a too-deep voice, very transparently overcompensating.

Katara was positively screaming inside her own head, No Aang, do not, under ANY circumstances, tell him about your first kiss.

She felt like her heart and stomach had completely removed from her body. She refused to believe that these were the circumstances where The Incident between she and Aang was finally getting verbalized. Aang hadn't even bothered to talk to her about it yet, there was no way he was going to spill it all to Zuko. The fact that the main reason Aang hadn't talked to her about it was the fact that she had been avoiding him non-stop was entirely beside the point.

Katara started running through a hundred scenarios to try to find some way to stop this conversation. Should she rush in and pretend to be sick? Say that they're under attack? Just stay hidden and bloodbend them both unconscious? But before she could decide on one, to her horror, Aang started talking.

"Well," Aang began, his cheeks still red, "it was back at the Southern Air Temple—"

All of Katara's panic seemed to instantly vanish and be replaced with confusion.

Wait, what? Why is he telling him that? Katara thought, We barely knew each other at the Southern Temple….Does he THINK we kissed at the Southern Temple? I guess that would explain a lot. Did he hallucinate or something while in the Avatar State—

"—and she was part of a visiting caravan."

….Oh.

Oh.

"We got along really well while she was there, she was really good at all of my favorite games, and while we were saying goodbye she just kissed me."

OH.

"By the time I realized what was going on, she just giggled and jumped up on her bison."

Katara was simultaneously feeling unbelievable relief that her big secret wasn't being talked about and unbelievable white-hot fury at Aang. She had just spent several weeks believing that her first kiss had also been Aang's, and now she finds out that she's just the latest? Latest of how many? Exactly how friendly had he gotten with those fangirls on Kyoshi Island? She was two years older than him, by all rights she should be on at least equal footing with him in this mess between them, who gave him permission to have more experience with kissing than her? The fact that he had never once told her that he had never kissed a girl before was entirely beside the point.

But Katara cycled through all these thoughts in just a split second before calming herself down and realizing that she had no reason to care about this. What did it matter if Aang had kissed some girl a hundred years ago? It's not like she thought of Aang that way. Aang had clearly just misunderstood her platonic affections. It's not like she had ever seriously thought about kissing him (especially not during some of the more recent times she had kissed him on the cheek). In fact, she doubted that even he had given any serious thought to kissing. He just had a little crush and the intensity of the moment got to his head. So this is fine.

It's fine.

Seriously, it's fine.

It's completely fine. Whatever she was feeling certainly wasn't jeal—

"Wait, she kissed you?" Zuko interrupted Aang's rambling and yanked Katara back to reality, "I asked you if you had ever kissed a girl."

"Well you also asked me to tell you about my first kiss!" Aang yelled with his hands in the air, frustrated again, "Which one is it!" He was clearly angry that in his panic he had revealed an embarrassing story for no reason.

Zuko put his palms up defensively, "Okay, okay, sorry, bad wording on my part. So, to clarify: have you ever kissed someone else? Have you ever been the one to take the initiative?"

Katara's heart started racing again. Why couldn't Zuko get distracted and drop this?

"Um…" Aang's face had been red before, but now all the color seemed to drain from it and he looked like a ghost, "...yes. But I don't think dwelling on that will help fix my problem. In fact, it's kind of a downer, actually."

"Why, was she an airbender too?" Zuko asked. He supposed dwelling on a girl he had feelings for that had been killed a hundred years ago would be counterproductive in fueling Aang's inner fire.

Despite how angry she had gotten at Aang's kissing experience, Katara now found herself hoping this girl was another airbender.

"No," Aang responded, rubbing the back of his neck, "this was after I came out of the ice. Pretty recent, in fact…"

No such luck.

"Okay, so what's the problem?" asked Zuko.

"Well...it didn't exactly work out well for me. She didn't really kiss me back."

Katara scowled, well that's not fair, she thought with more than a little bitterness. It's not like she had a chance to. You're not allowed to act upset if someone doesn't kiss you back when you spring a kiss on them with no warning and then fly away before they even know what's going on. If he hadn't been so dramatic and used his actual words then she would have—

Katara let out a gasp of fear at where her train of thought was leading her. She would have….what, exactly? If she had known the kiss was coming ahead of time, what would she have done? Let him down easy? Told him to focus on the mission? Thrown him into the ocean?...or would she have kissed him back?

No.

Well…

Certainly not.

Maybe?

Perhaps if they tried again wow where did THAT thought come from?

Meanwhile, back in reality, Zuko was waving away Aang's concerns, "That doesn't matter. Don't think about anything that happened afterward. Just bring yourself back to that one moment, where you overcame caution and went after what you wanted. Set your stance."

Aang faced the dummy and resumed his fighting stance.

Katara couldn't help but inch a little closer away from her "hiding" spot. Now that Zuko had stopped pressing Aang for details and was doing his job, she felt like she could observe with a nervous curiosity instead of outright panic.

"Now," instructed Zuko, "take a deep breath, close your eyes, and picture this girl, how she looked in that moment."

Aang's eyes closed and drew in a breath.

Katara swallowed hard. At this moment, there was no more uncertainty about Aang. He was thinking about her, in that way, right now. And that knowledge made her hold her breath and made her face get a little warm.

"Try to remember how you felt immediately beforehand. How she made you feel. Try to recreate how your heartbeat was affected. It's starting to get faster and harder. How your breathing changed—remember, it's your breath that creates energy in the body for firebending. Yours is getting shallower and more intense. Remember how your stomach muscles reacted. They're tensing in anticipation. Now, in your mind's eye, make your move and kiss her, and at the same time….STRIKE!"

Aang punched his right fist towards the dummy, and his hand exploded.

There was no whoosh like with the previous fireball, but a roar as a conical wave of fire erupted from Aang's knuckles, completely enveloping the dummy 10 yards away and continuing onward to blast past the outer railing of the stone courtyard into the vast expanse of the canyon. And to Katara's alarm, it kept going. It wasn't a single blast but a continuous, monstrous stream of fire easily 15 feet wide at its biggest and so hot that Katara had to turn away and shield her eyes.

Several seconds later, the flames finally died down and Aang blinked his eyes open, looking equal parts proud and terrified of himself. The wooden dummy….did not exist anymore. There was no way to tell if Aang had burned it to ashes or simply blasted it backwards into the canyon. The previously white stones that made up the part of the courtyard that had been in front of Aang were now blackened and cracked.

Zuko had reflexively thrown up his arms to shield his face, stumbling backward. He was still sitting on the ground, eyes widened to the size of Appa's, and his mouth hanging open in shock. He sat there for several more silent seconds until Aang gave an awkward cough, then his face split into the biggest grin Katara had ever seen on him and he started cackling with delirious relief and excitement.

"All right!" Zuko exclaimed, jumping to his feet, "Now that's what I'm talking about!" he loudly clapped his hand on Aang's back, who had returned to looking embarrassed.

"No, don't you clam up again," warned Zuko, "hold onto that feeling. Come on, I'll show you how to make a flame whip."

Katara slinked backward away from her pillar and began a very undignified scurry back to their sleeping area. The fire had long since dissipated, but her face still felt hot and flustered, and her stomach felt like it was doing somersaults. Her mind was filled up by the same three words, repeating over and over again:

I did that.

Thinking about her made Aang able to do that. She could no longer simplify things by telling herself that this was just a confusing crush he had let get to his head. For most of the time she had known Aang, the thought that he would have any….desires like that for anyone simply didn't compute for her. He was too selfless, too kind, too pure. He was a monk for crying out loud.

But what she just saw Zuko coax out of her sweet, innocent friend was….not pure. Had he had this inside of him the entire time? And what brought this out of him was thinking about her. Thinking about kissing her. As much as she tried to deny it, when she thought about this power she had over him….she liked it. She was now able to see Aang in a new light, and at least consider the possibility of being more than friends with him.

But she still fought against it, because that realization was absolutely terrifying.

Katara shook her head and splashed some of her bending water on her face. She resolved to keep doing what she had been doing: focusing on their mission. She could sort out all this confusion when the war was over.

Although….

If the goal was to help Aang defeat the Fire Lord and end the war, then naturally they all had an obligation to assist Aang with his bending in any way they could, right? So she supposed it couldn't hurt to give Aang the occasional extra-tight hug now and then. Purely for training purposes, of course.

After all, she thought with a slight smirk as she arrived back at camp, everyone else still sound asleep, what kind of teacher would I be if I didn't give my student the attention he needed?

#kataang #aang x katara #katara and aang #avatar aang #aang #katara #zuko #avatar #avatar: the last airbender #avatar: tla #atla #atla fanfic #missing scene #one shot #feelings #tsundere #avatar fanfiction

[artificialqueens]

Galactica, Chapter 65 (Group Fic) - TheDane/Veronica

A/N: Chapter 65 seems like a good time to tell you that there’s nothing we love more than talking to you guys about this story! We are both on tumblr (@theartificialdane and @veronicasanders) and we’d love to hear from you!! We also have other Galactica content there under the “galactica” and “galactica wardrobe” tags. XOXO!! Click here if you’re looking for previous chapters (or here if you’d rather read on AO3). 💫

Last Chapter: Bianca threw a wrench in the annual holiday party when she brought Courtney as her date, and Katya tried to (not) deal with her surprise pregnancy.

This Chapter: Miss Fame and the team work on the final lineup for the spring runway, and Katya figures some things out.

***

It was Violet’s luck that she was a light sleeper, the first note of her alarm barely ringing before she had grabbed her phone from under her pillow and turned it off.

There really wasn't a need for Violet to wake up at 6, for her to start her day so early since she couldn’t go to the gym because of her ankle, but habits were hard to break, and she liked how quiet the world was in the morning, how it felt like she was the only one awake.

She wasn’t hungover, had barely had a drink because of her crutches, but she had a feeling all of her coworkers would be wearing sunglasses and asking each other to shut up, the Friday after the Christmas party always an experience.

Sutan’s bedroom was dark, his curtains swallowing the ever present lights of Harlem, the man asleep next to her, his head resting on his pillow.

It took everything in Violet not to reach out and run her fingers through his hair.

She had been so annoyed with him last night, so uncomfortable in the beautiful red dress she had bought with his money, the simmering anger not leaving her until she had felt Sutan’s clever fingers undo the zipper on her back, skin against skin finally freeing her from the smoldering fire.

“Stop staring at me.” Violet froze, Sutan’s voice deep with sleep.

“I’m not.”

“Oh?” Sutan cracked an eye open, a smile playing on his lips as he reached out, grabbing her hip on top of her blanket. “Could have fooled me.”

“Well,” Violet smiled back, allowing him to pull her in, “Maybe I was. A little bit.”

***

As her alarm sounded, Courtney groaned, burying her head into Bianca’s neck. Bianca laughed, reaching over to hit snooze, giving them a few more precious minutes in bed before Courtney had to get up.

Bianca had never been much of a morning person, but she’d discovered that, in many ways, this was her favorite part of the day. When the world was dark and still, and they were curled together under the covers, naked and warm. She trailed her fingers up and down Courtney’s back, pressed a kiss to her temple.

“You okay, sunshine?” Bianca asked.

“Mmmhmm...I just don’t want to go to work.”

Bianca smiled, one hand settling into the curve of Courtney’s waist, enjoying the way they fit so perfectly together.

“Then don’t,” she stated, warming up to the idea of taking a day off, just the two of them. “Call in sick.”

“I wish,” Courtney scoffed, a deep sigh leaving her. “But I can’t, so…”

“Why not?”

“The day after a party? Everyone will think I have some crazy hangover.”

“Yeah, so?” Bianca laughed.

“Plus, I’m pretty sure Miss Fame is less than pleased with me right now. I don’t want to give her any reason to be annoyed. And there’s a big meeting to decide on the spring runway, and I have to-”

“Alright, alright...forget I suggested it,” Bianca said, holding up her hands in surrender. “I just really liked the idea of spending all day in bed with you.”

Courtney raised herself up on her elbow, gazing down at Bianca with a dreamy smile on her face.

“Maybe, um...can we do that tomorrow?”

“You’re on, angel,” Bianca said, reaching up to run her fingers through her hair.

“And...we still have about seven minutes before the alarm goes off again.” Courtney brushed her lips against Bianca’s neck, murmuring, “You wanna go back to sleep, or…?”

“Hmmm...” Bianca cocked her head, pretending to think. “I may have some other ideas…”

Courtney let out a delighted squeal as Bianca flipped her onto her back with a wicked grin.

***

Maxwell groaned as a loud clatter sounded through the design floor.

“Sorry!” Kiara whisper-shouted, quickly picking up the pair of scissors she had dropped. Trixie had gone to the department head meeting about 20 minutes ago, which meant that everyone had given up the pretense that they were working. Alexis had gone straight for the couch to take a nap as soon as the door had closed behind him, April still nursing a terrible-looking green smoothie at her desk. “Sorry everyone!”

“Don’t even think about it girl!” Bob smiled, his phone pressed between his shoulder and his ear, and Maxwell groaned again, sliding down so he could rest his head on his arms, Bob chatting away.

He loved his boyfriend, he really did, but there were few things more annoying than when Bob had managed to get into any tabloid, the perceived fame of it always going directly to his head. And of course, it was made even worse by his friends and family back home in Georgia playing right into it, acting as if it meant anything at all.

“Listen, I didn’t ask to be born fabulous, but it’s my cross to bear, and I’m-” Bob laughed, adding, “Exactly!”

“He’s really getting into it, huh?” Maxwell looked up to see Violet standing next to his desk, looking over at Bob, Jovan at her side holding three cups of coffee.

“Here,” Jovan smiled, giving one of them to Maxwell, the scent filling his nose.

“Oh god I love you,” Maxwell grinned, taking the liquid magic. It was probably not healthy to be on his third cup already, but he didn’t care.

“Love you too boo,” Jovan grinned, taking a seat on the edge of his desk, Violet doing the same, balancing her crutch so she could take her own cup. They didn’t talk, and Maxwell loved that, Violet fitting so nicely into their little boys club that he barely even thought about the fact that she was a girl and straight most days.

***

“Pearl! Pay attention!”

Pearl snapped out of it, the wheels of her chair squeaking as she moved, her eyes wide open at the commanding tone in Fame’s voice.

“Sorry!” Pearl sat up straight, Bendela hiding a snicker behind a sketchbook, her brown eyes clearly filled with delight over Pearl getting reprimanded.

“God,” Fame rolled her eyes, her hand on her hip, her outfit of the day a white cropped cashmere sweater and white linen high waisted pants, her blonde hair in a high delicate updo, a golden belt snug around her waist. “Did anyone come to work today?”

If they had been alone, Pearl would have opened her mouth to point out that she was the one who always arranged for the Christmas party to be on a Thursday, but they weren’t, so Pearl kept her mouth shut.

“Fame,” Raja’s voice was warm, and it apparently functioned just as intended, her tone a soothing balm on whatever had Fame into such a tizzy. “We’re almost done.”

If Pearl had to make an educated guess, she’d say it was probably the whole Courtney and Bianca thing, though it could be anything from her breakfast grapefruit not being ripe to morning traffic to a photographer catching a bad angle of her last night.

“You’re right,” Fame sat back down, sliding her chair over to Trixie. “So, fourth look. What do you have?”

“I was thinking about these pants?” Trixie held out a sketch, and Pearl folded her hands over her stomach, watching her best friend do his job exceptionally well.

Fame tapped her fingers against the table, french tips hitting the wood and Pearl made a mental note to see if she could sneak in a visit to Fame’s office, providing their boss with an orgasm before lunch a great Christmas gift to everyone in the company.

***

V-List Alert: BDR’s Latest Blonde Bombshell

[Pictured: A large photo of Bianca and Courtney kissing on the red carpet, along with a few smaller shots of them looking giggly and affectionate. And lastly, a grainy, low-res photo of them on the street after the event, kissing while a driver is opening the car door.]

Well, well, well…

Okay, so to begin with, let’s all admit that BDR showing up on a red carpet with some sweet young thing is nothing new. In fact, it would be strange if she didn’t. But the shameless PDA last night at Galactica’s annual Christmas party—both on and off the carpet—had us wondering...who the hell is the new paramour?

We did a bit of digging and strap in kids, cause it gets juicy…

Turns out that this little darling is named Courtney Jenek. Sound familiar? No? Yeah it shouldn’t. But she happens to have two very interesting connections to BDR: 1, apparently she’s friends with B’s baby sister, princess of the underground punk scene Adore Delano. And 2, even more hilariously, Lil Courtney here is the Executive Assistant to none other than Miss Fame of Galactica.

Wonder what the illustrious and brand-conscious Miss Fame thinks of her bestie using her staff in what appears to be an extremely filthy unprofessional way? And how’s it all gonna play out?

We can’t wait to watch this drama unfold…

***

As Courtney slipped on her coat and grabbed her bag to head downstairs for yet another coffee run, she glanced at her personal phone, laughing to herself when she saw the 17 missed calls from Morgan. She scrolled through the text messages in the elevator.

MORGAN: COURTNEYYYYYYYY!!!

MORGAN: OMG PICK UP

MORGAN: WERE YOU PLANNING TO TELL US YOU’RE FUCKING BIANCA DEL RIO?????

TYRA: She’s WHAT

ADORE: You guys didn’t know? ;)

TATIANNA: Yawn, old news :p

MORGAN: BITCH

MORGAN: COURTNEY I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU DON’T PICK UP

MORGAN: COURTNEYCOURTNEYCOURTNEYCOURTNEYCOURTNEY

Courtney called her back, laughing some more when she picked up even before the first ring.

“You know I’m working, right?”

“I am going to murder you,” Morgan announced.

“Wow Morgan. A hate crime? I really thought more highly of you,” Courtney replied with a giggle.

“Omigod, shut up! How could you not have told me already?!”

“Well...I don’t know, I wasn’t sure what it was at first-” she said.

“It’s still fucking major!” Morgan laughed. “I guess it makes sense, though. God, you always chose the worst men.”

Courtney chuckled, nodding as she exited the elevator and headed for the coffee shop.

“So what did your parents say?”

“Uhhh...I haven’t exactly told them yet.”

“Courtney!”

“What? It’s not gonna be dramatic or anything, you know my brother’s gay.”

“Omigod, Court, you absolute idiot. You have to-”

“One sec.” Courtney lowered her phone to give the orders for the meeting, then went back to the phone. “Sorry, I’m on a coffee run.”

“Yeah, I heard. Listen, Courtney, you have to tell them! Do you really want them to find out that you’re dating a woman who’s almost twice your age from a fucking tabloid?”

“I don’t think my parents subscribe to American fashion blogs.”

“Did you even read the link I sent you?! Someone’s gonna send it to them, trust me.”

“Alright, alright, I’ll tell them,” Courtney told her with an eye roll. She really didn’t see the big deal though; telling her parents was the last thing on her list of worries at the moment.

“Also…” Morgan’s voice lowered, taking on a sing-song, teasing tone now that the business was out of the way, “When are we hanging out? ‘Cause you know I absolutely need all the sordid details.”

“Soon, I promise.”

“Tomorrow night?”

“I’m kind of busy tomorrow,” Courtney admitted.

“Busy getting railed, you mean?”

“Maybe…”

“Ha, you slag.”

***

Maybe she was avoiding going home. That was certainly possible. But on Friday, Katya just seemed to keep finding things to do to prepare for the next week of school. It would be their last week before winter break, so she knew that any kind of serious learning would be difficult. Rather than spend her time fighting with the kids to focus when they just weren’t capable of it, she planned as many fun projects as possible, and though a lot of them were old hat for her by now, the prep work never seemed to end.

Which is why, when Jasmine, the woman who ran the afterschool program, came to her door at almost 6:45, she was still there.

“Hey, I’m sorry to bother you…”

“It’s no bother, come on in,” Katya said, a big smile on her face, especially when she saw that Jasmine had Grace with her--one of Katya’s favorite students.

“You know we close at 6, and Grace’s mom is running late today,” Jasmine said. Her tone of voice was light and cheerful, but her eyes told Katya a different story--that this wasn’t the first time it had happened, and that she was likely furious. “I gotta get home, and Dani’s out with the flu, so...do you mind keeping her here until Leslie shows up? It should be soon, she texted me ten minutes ago that she’s on the way.”

“No problem. We’ll have a great time, won’t we Grace?”

The little girl nodded, skipping into the classroom happily.

“You’re a lifesaver,” Jasmine said. “Thank you!”

Katya turned to Grace, who had dumped her jacket and backpack on the rug and was already prowling around the book bins, likely looking for her favorite Junie B. Jones stories. Soon, the two of them were settled into bean bag chairs in the comfy zone, Katya reading a few chapters out loud to her before realizing that she was probably hungry and suggesting a snack. Grace was just finishing her juice box and goldfish crackers when her young mother, Leslie, came rushing inside, harried and out of breath, apologizing profusely.

“Mama!” Grace jumped up from her seat at the little table, knocking the chair over in her excitement to leap into her mom’s arms. She hugged her tightly, face buried in her neck, and Katya could see some of the tension in Leslie’s face melt away.

Katya stood up from her own seat, picking up the book they’d been reading.

“I’m gonna put this book in Grace’s backpack so that you can finish it together this weekend,” she said, and Leslie shot her a look of pure gratitude, nodding.

“Grace, can you say thank you to Mrs. Zamo?”

“Thank you Mrs. Zamo!” she echoed cheerfully, taking the backpack and her jacket as Leslie dropped a kiss to the top of her head.

“Honey, can you go wait for me on the bench for a minute?” she asked, tugging gently on one of her pigtails.

“Okay!”

As Grace skipped into the hallway to wait, Leslie turned to Katya, tears filling her eyes.

“I’m really so sorry about being late, I-”

“It’s okay,” Katya said, head tilted sympathetically. “I get it, things happen.”

“It’s been happening all week. I got this new job, and the hours are so tough and the commute is shit, but it’s an extra two dollars an hour and I can’t say no to that. But I just feel like...I feel like I can’t do anything right.”

“I understand,” Katya nodded, putting a hand on her arm. The truth was, though, she didn’t understand. Not really. She’d never been in a position where an extra two dollars an hour would make such a big difference in her life--not even when her dad cut her off. She’d always had money, and by the time her trust fund was depleted, she was living with Trixie, whose generous salary more than covered what they needed, her meager teacher’s salary mostly paying for fun extras, keeping them entertained and living their best lives, or just going in the bank.

She knew she was lucky, but until that moment, seeing the pain in Leslie’s eyes, the fear that she was failing at life and failing her child, maybe she didn’t understand just how lucky.

“I was sitting on the bus thinking about her waiting and waiting, wondering where I was.”

“Can I tell you something?” she asked softly. “Grace didn’t care that you were late, she was just happy to see you when you got here, because it’s really obvious what a good mom you are.”

“Sometimes I feel like the worst mom ever,” Leslie admitted, tears spilling down her cheeks.

“No way. Grace is an amazing kid. She’s smart and kind and enthusiastic--and it’s totally okay if you need some more help. That’s what all of us are here for. I can talk to Jasmine about maybe extending the hours next week, until you can get your schedule sorted. Or maybe Grace can go home with Joey’s mom...don’t you all live in the same building?”

Leslie nodded, a deep sigh leaving her. “Thanks, that’s a good idea. I...I’ll figure it out.”

“Okay. Just remember that you’re not in this alone, you know?” Katya handed over a box of tissues from her desk.

“Yeah. Thanks. Sorry, I-” Leslie wiped her eyes.

“Don’t be sorry,” Katya said, giving her a warm hug.

***

“Oh god!” Gigi groaned, pushing the door to the modeling apartment open, her shoulders aching, her fingertips numb. “Finally!” She dumped her bags down in the hallway, slumping against the wall.

She had been around the town with Sutan all day, shopping for what he called a model wardrobe, Gigi trying on several pairs of heels and flats, her new backpack and purse stuffed with a newly printed book and her brand new phone, their last stop of the day Gigi’s new gym that was just around the corner.

“Gigi?” Bimini popped her head out of the kitchen door, the golden rim around her eyes and her crimped hair clear indicators that meant she had been shooting, Bimini rarely bothering with removing hair and makeup on set. “Welcome home sweetie! How did it go?”

“I’m exhausted!” Gigi pushed out from the wall and kicked her sneakers off. “Who knew shopping could be that hard?”

Gigi heard Symone giggle, her friend sitting at the table and painting her nails, the apartment's newest arrival chopping vegetables for whatever vegan crock pot Bimini was cooking for everyone. They had someone new arrive every couple of days, most girls only staying for a night or two in the bunk beds in what Naomi had dubbed the summer camp room before they were shipped off again if they didn’t interest any of the agents.

“I told you, didn’t I?”

“I know,” Gigi groaned, dumping down in a chair to rest her aching feet, “but I thought you were kidding.” Symone had gone on the trip two weeks ago, her Instagram exploding with content now that she had a brand new phone to post with.

“Did he give you the drink speech too?”

She had eaten lunch with Sutan at an awkwardly fancy restaurant, three sets of cutlery surrounding her plate, her manager going through each set as well as her wine glasses, explaining it to her. Gigi’s mom had always insisted on good manners, but it hadn’t been anything like that.

“The ‘never leave your drink unattended’ one, I mean.”

“Mmh,” Gigi nodded. “The whole entire speech.”

She hoped it’d be unnecessary, but Sutan had run her through what he called the basic safety procedures like putting a hand or a napkin over her glass when she wasn’t paying attention, her manager drilling it into her skull that she shouldn’t accept poured drinks or opened bottles from strangers in clubs unless she saw the bartender prepare it.

“Is he seriously doing all that?” Naomi raised an eyebrow. “So far, all my agent has told me is that if I showed up in any tabloid looking messy, he’d drop my ass.”

Suddenly, Sutan’s mothering didn’t feel as smothering, the attention and assistance the man had poured over her nothing compared to the terrifying thought of being left basically on her own like Naomi.

***

At first, Katya wasn’t sure why she stopped at Macy’s on the way home. Especially now, on a Friday night during the holiday season, when the sales clerks were at their most frazzled.

She wandered around, unable to get Grace and Leslie out of her mind...and in particular, the look of pure joy on Grace’s face when her mother appeared in the doorway. Leslie was a single mom, and by the look of her, she was pretty young, but she had managed to raise an exceptional kid who was sure how much she was loved.

Why was Katya so afraid of having a baby? It was like she’d told Leslie--she wouldn’t be doing it alone. Not by a long shot. No, she was fortunate to have the most wonderful man in the universe by her side. And lord knew, Trixie would make up for any maternal instincts she may lack herself. And plenty of people, people much less capable and loving than her, had babies every day.

She stopped, looking around, realizing that she’d found herself in the baby department. Specifically, in front of a shelf full of tiny little infant shoes. She smiled to herself, knowing exactly what she needed.

When she arrived home, she was thrilled to see that Trixie had prepared dinner, heating up some leftover chicken and mashed potatoes and throwing together a salad--exactly what she was in the mood for.

She smiled when she saw him, announcing, “I brought you a present.”

Trixie’s face lit up, and for a split second she could imagine that exact same expression of joy on a tiny child, the thought making her insides warm as she handed him the little bag.

He looked inside, where the two tiny pink moccasin slippers sat in their plastic box, his head then snapping up to look at her with an expression of amazement.

“Kat, are you-” His eyes were bright with tears, hopeful but still a bit tentative.

She shrugged slightly, self-consciously, afraid to say what she’s been thinking out loud, but Trixie seemed to know anyway.

He rushed forward and swept her up into the biggest, tightest hug she’d ever had, repeating over and over how wonderful she was going to be. She took his face in her hands, kissing his tear-stained cheeks, finally sure that as a team, they could do it.

#rpdr fanfiction #thedane #veronica #galactica #vitan #bitney #bob x cracker #trixya #violet chachki #raja gemini #courtney act #bianca del rio #miz cracker #bob the drag queen #yvie oddly #pearl liaison #miss fame #trixie mattel #morgan mcmichaels #katya zamolodchikova #gigi goode #symone #bimini bon boulash #naomi smalls #lesbian au #m/f au #fashion au

[lemon-trap]

Hayley Irwin bio

Author’s note: If any of y’all (not many) wanted to know more about my oc Hayley that has showed up before in some of my writing then this is the place for you! (I’m sorry that it’s so long and also about the long paragraphs because tumblr is stupid) I also dedicate this post to @sisi-halloway (I’m so sorry this took so long hun). And there are some parts that are not really accurate but dramatized.

Name: Hayley Irwin

Pronouns: She/her

Age: 22

Birthday: November 3rd

Love interest: Muriel or Asra but it would be very interesting to see her with the others.

Familiar: Snow leopard

Appearance: Hayley is just a few inches shorter than Julian. Her skin tone is almond. She has dark brown hair that drops down to the middle of her back but she usually keeps it in a high ponytail. Her eyes are amber and I love them, they are usually the first things that people notice about her. Her body is fit and flexible. She has many scars on her body including the one on her face but we’ll get to that one in a bit.

Favorite colors: black, green, and sometimes yellow

Favorite flower: gladiolus

Favorite drink: tea

Favorite food: soup or dumplings

Favorite hobbies: she likes to dance

Skills: fighting, dancing, sword fighting, gymnastics, and knows many languages

Place of birth: somewhere really cold and full of mountains

Father: Noah Irwin

Mother: Viktoria Irwin

Sister: Alice Irwin

Backstory:

Hayley was born into a wealthy and happy family. Her earliest memories are of a happy childhood full of laughter and loving parents, little did she know. Noah and Viktoria Irwin were apart of a community of rich old people who thought it was their right to control the world around them. They did this by creating a school decades before Hayley was born, a school for Elite Girls, but this wasn’t a normal boarding school. It was a school for highly trained assassins.

Hayley was too young to know any of this but every family who was apart of this wealthy group had to ‘donate’ their first daughter to the Elite School for Girls. Hayley was a first child and her happy childhood abruptly ended when she was thirteen. In the middle of a dark moonless night Hayley was grabbed from her bed and dragged kicking and screaming out of her house with her parents basically waving her off. The next day was Hayley’s first day of hell. Hayley was scared and confused. She didn’t know where she was or why. Everyone was so mean.

Hayley soon adapted and her grades were high from the fear of what would happen to her if they weren’t. Eventually the classes got tougher and stranger like survival tactics and gymnastics. She was top of her class in each one still. She was aware that the school had their eyes on her. They would stand in the back of the room as she did her flips and stretches. Then she was given fighting classes and there was no room for failure there. Everyday she would return to her room beaten and exhausted but she never gave up and the bruises lessened with each day. Now she was giving her punches to someone else. By this point she knew what the school was really about, she wasn’t dumb. She noticed how some of the older girls would go missing for days then return with bullet wounds or they would never return at all. One day the principal of the school came up to her, she was an old woman that had seen many things and she smiled like she was going to hurt you, she said that Hayley was special and could go on a secret mission that required her help. The principal made Hayley feel special and worthless at the same time.

Hayley agreed, believing that she was ready to face a mission. Boy was she wrong. At first everything was okay, no alarms were triggered and no guards had seen her. Then when she got cocky, Hayley tripped and yelped which caught the guards attention and they chased her out of the building, shooting at her. Miraculously, Hayley survived and was able to get back to the school. She went to the nurses office immediately because she was bleeding heavily. While she was giving the principal her mission report, the principal got angrier with every word Hayley said until she couldn’t hold it in anymore.

The principal shoved the nurse out of the way just as she was stitching up a wound and the principal pushed Hayley against the medical table. The principal called for more people as she grabbed a pair of giant scissors. Hayley struggled, fearing the worse, but she couldn’t get away from the hands covering her body. She was so surrounded, covered by suffocating hands, and terrified. Hayley screamed but nothing could stop them from cutting her lips off. Her struggling was her worst enemy at that moment because it caused the cuts to be worse and more rough. Hayley fainted from loss of blood and fear.

When she woke up she thought they’d only take her lips but her throat hurt, badly. She struggled to stand but she got out of her bed and walked to the mirror in her bathroom. Hayley almost fainted again from the sight she saw in the mirror. Her lips, now replaced by many stitches and her front teeth were visible from the disappearance of her lips. She continued to look at herself and saw a bandage around her neck, she ripped it off desperately trying to find out what happened. Underneath that bandage was a newly stitched scar that crossed her neck. She tried to scream but nothing came out, not even a peep. Hayley then let herself cry, I’d been so long since she let herself cry.

It wasn’t long before the school told her to get back to work. She was given permission to wear a face mask but only sometimes. Sometimes she would be used by the teachers as an example of failure, as the center of attention. She hated when everyone’s eyes were on her. After what happened, she was determined to never make another mistake again. Hayley focused solely on her skills and her job. She became top of her classes once again. She gave her all to her missions and the missions took pieces of her. All she was was her job. All that mattered was her mission and she was just replaceable figure.

Years later, she was given a mission like any other. Kill a ruthless count? As if she hasn’t done that before. Many people wanted this count dead and that included the rich people who funded Hayley’s school. She slipped through the crowds as soon as she landed in Vesuvia, everyone in the city were too busy talking about the masquerade to notice her.

The masquerade was her perfect cover. It was too crowded inside so she decided to wait outside for this perfect moment. Once she got into position, she heard the most heart wrenching scream she’d ever heard. It echoed throughout the castle. Hayley rushed in her full sneak gear to see what had happened. Then she saw it. The fire.

Hayley had never seen a brighter fire but then she recognized the room it came from. It came from the count’s room. Hayley’s head began to fill with thoughts, thoughts of what would happen if she were to return to her school. She had failed her mission and she wasn’t able to kill him and the school would have her head if they knew what happened.

Then the only thought she had was to run and she did. She didn’t know what she was running from but she felt like running from her mistakes. She ran across rooftops in Vesuvia even after her legs began to ache. Hayley didn’t see the loose roof and it was too late when she did because once she stepped on it, she fell right through the weak wood. Falling three stories down and landing on her leg.

Thankfully she was alive but her leg was definitely broken. She tried to walk on it but couldn’t so she just sat there hoping no one would find her, a small voice inside her even hoping she would die from the blood loss. Then a figure started walking down the dark alley, Hayley tried to stand up desperately and she did right before passing out from the pain. The last thing she saw was a head full of white hair.

When she woke up, she was in a strange place. There were colorful tapestries covering the walls, weird pillows beneath her, and the room smelled like flowers. She then remembered her injury and looked down at her leg, seeing that it was rapped in bandages and had two pieces of wood on each side to keep it together. Hayley heard movement in the other room and tried to grab one of her knifes but they were all gone so she grabbed a pair of scissors and pointed it at the person coming in the room.

The person threw his hands up in the air, he had white poofy hair that reminded Hayley of cotton.

“Hey, hey, there’s no need for that,” he said calmly, “So if you could just put the scissors down we can talk.”

Hayley continued to point the knife at him, clearly not in the right mindset. She stared at this strange person and he stared back then she slowly lowered the scissors but didn’t let go of them.

“Okay, that’s good, we’re improving,” his smile was bright, “I brought you tea and new bandages. Can I give them to you?”

This was odd for Hayley, no one ever asked her anything like that. She nodded. The person approached slowly, “This is for you,” he lifted a cup of liquid to Hayley, “It’s a tea that will help your wounds heal.”

Hayley grabbed the cup but didn’t drink it.

“Maybe you’re not a tea person, I get it,” he waved his hands, “Oh, yeah, my name is Asra.” He lifted his hand for her to shake but she didn’t. That didn’t seem to bother him.

“Could you tell me your name?” Asra asked and Hayley shook her head. “Can I put new bandages on you?”

Hayley had never met anyone that asked this many questions. She looked down at her broken leg then looked back at Asra and shook her head. She couldn’t trust this man, she couldn’t trust anyone.

“Are you going to do them yourself?” Asra asked as he laughed nervously but stopped when Hayley nodded, “You can’t be serious.”

Hayley nodded once again and grabbed the bandages and began to take off the bloody ones. Asra stood in the back of the room and watched as Hayley replaced her bandages, amazed and worried how she could do that without making a noise from the pain. When she was done he grabbed the bloody bandages and threw them away.

“I don’t know who you are or how you turned up in an alleyway with a broken leg but I want you to get better,” Asra confused Hayley, what game was he playing?

“I promise you, with my whole heart, that I will not harm you nor will you be harmed in this house.” Asra placed his hand over his heart and smiled kindly, “As long as you don’t harm me.”

Hayley’s whole body stopped.......what? She couldn’t wrap her head around it. He wanted to.....help her? Who is this person?

They stared into each other’s eyes, Asra waiting for her answer. Hayley nodded slowly, believing that she would regret this decision someday.

“Great, you can stay in my bed. I’ll take the couch, don’t worry, it’s more comfortable than it looks.” Asra grinned before heading out the room.

Hayley was still shocked and....hopeful. She hadn’t felt that in a while. For the first time in years, Hayley relaxed her shoulders and fell back on the fluffy pillows, she felt safe.

Overtime, Asra gained her trust by acts of kindness that one by one broke down Hayley’s steel walls that she was trained to keep around her at all times. Hayley didn’t speak anything for the longest time before giving Asra a quiet ‘thank you’ in sign language, Asra had smiled back and signed ‘you’re welcome’. Hayley learned more about Asra by the way he lived and talked. She liked to watch him move around the kitchen as he brewed up some interesting things, he’d hum to himself a tune Hayley didn’t recognize and his movements were loose unlike Hayley’s.

Asra taught her a thing about magic too, she’d never gotten into it as her school thought it was too ‘unpredictable’ but Hayley was happy to know a spell or two. Asra taught her many other things than magic or how to make tea, he taught her how to live her own life. Hayley told Asra vaguely of what happened to her and she told him about how they took her voice away but she didn’t go into detail. He would look sad and give Hayley a hug if she wanted one.

The first time Hayley cried in front of Asra was when a spell went wrong. She’d been working hard to perfect this spell and Asra believed she could do it but something went wrong and the spell almost blew up the house. Thankfully, no one was harmed except maybe the ceiling. Hayley still couldn’t handle that she got it wrong and started freaking out, crying immediately no matter how much she tried not to. Asra was quick to tell her that it was okay but it didn’t help as all her pushed down emotions just came out as soon as the first tear fell down, like a dam that burst from a little rain. Asra sat with Hayley for the longest time, comforting her as she cried her heart out. Hayley had never been so open with someone and when the tears died down, Asra smiled and told her that she had nothing to worry about in his home. He didn’t care about her mistakes or if she wasn’t perfect. He’d even told her about some of his mistakes, like not being there for the people he loved or some doctor that he used to love. Somehow, that made Hayley feel better. Even made her feel amusement when he told her about how stupid he was when he was younger. Asra taught her that people can make mistakes, even Hayley, because we’re all human.

Hayley became very close with Asra, even one day she showed him what was under her mask.

It was late, Asra and Hayley just got done making a very late dinner. As Hayley watched Asra move around the kitchen, humming to himself once again, a thought that had been bothering her for quite some time came back to her. She waited until he came over and sat down next to her as they waited for the food to cool down. Hayley tapped him gently on the shoulder to get his attention then she had began to sign, his small smile dropping only a little from her words.

“I want to show you what is under my mask.” Hayley signed.

Asra shook his head, “You don’t need to.” He signed back.

“I want to.” Hayley was quiet after that.

Asra sat up, “Are you sure?” He signed.

Hayley nodded, “I trust you.” She said before raising her hand to the back of her ears where the straps of her mask stayed. Hayley hesitated but pulled them off slowly anyway.

Asra’s body tensed and his face immediately fell into worry. He continued to say nothing, Hayley felt the most vulnerable under his eyes.

“Oh, Hayley.” Asra actually spoke, his voice so sincere and barely a whisper.

She then felt her eyes water and break loose, she dropped her head on Asra’s shoulders and he immediately wrapped his arms around her. She cried into his shoulders, feeling like a monster. A weak and ugly monster. But she still trusted Asra to understand her pain and suffering. This person that she would have probably killed if they had met on different circumstances. His silence worried her. He had leaned his head against her head, she found his silent company to be very comforting but at this moment all she really wanted was to know was his thoughts.

“Thank you, for trusting me. I know it’s hard,” Asra said into her hair, “To be so honest.”

Hayley almost shook her head, she should be thanking him for everything. Safety, comfort, and love. All the things he taught her were okay to have.

She continued to wet his shirt with her tears, unknowingly gripping his sleeve.

Asra rubbed her arm, soothing her through this tough moment.

“I’m always here for you.” Asra whispered as if it was a secret.

Hayley loosened her grip on his sleeve and sat up, embarrassed by the wet stain she left in his shirt. Asra didn’t care about that because he continued to look at Hayley but he wasn’t looking at her scar but instead her eyes. She had never seen him so serious.

“They’ll never be able to hurt you again,” he smiled, “Not as long as I’m here.”

Hayley believed him and put her mask back on.

Hayley was never sure of how to think outside of her school. She was never given much freedom of thought, this was all new to her. What outfit to wear that day? Whatever she wanted. What to eat? Anything her heart desires. The freedom of choice was so thrilling. Being able to say yes or no was amazing. Asra was all about freedom of choice. He didn’t care if she walked around in a jesters outfit, as long as she was being herself but she never really knew what “herself” was.

One day, Hayley and Asra were walking through a rough part of Vesuvia. Hayley had asked previously if he could show her around, knowing that someone who had lived there their whole life was a good guide. She wanted to see every part of Vesuvia.

Suddenly they heard a scared scream from not too far. Hayley’s instinct took over her and she ran to the noise, Asra not far behind. She turned and turned, looking for who screamed then she glanced down one alley to see two figures. One of which was pointing a knife at the other who was a woman that Hayley had guessed was the one that screamed.

What upset Hayley the most was the way this thug’s hands were on the woman. His hand pressed up against her mouth as the other hand held the knife right in front of her stomach all while he was pushing her against a brick wall. Hayley saw the desperation in the woman’s eyes, how she kept looking around for someone to help her. Hayley needed to help her.

She grabbed the man by the shoulder and slammed him against another wall, it wasn’t enough to knock him out but she got his attention. The thug was angry, he spat curses at Hayley before lunging at her with his knife. She dodged it easily, the guy’s movements were slow and sloppy. She thought about how her school would have punished him for his movements but she shook those thoughts out of her head and hit the knife out of his hand. He stopped, surprised, giving Hayley a perfect opportunity to hit him square in the jaw, knocking him cold before he even hit the ground.

The alleyway was quiet as Asra and the woman from before stared at Hayley in amazement. Shit. She didn’t think about this. She hadn’t wanted anybody to learn about her skills.

“Thank you.....” Hayley looked up to the woman after she said that. The woman was smiling wide, most likely from relief, but her eyes were still cautious of what happened to her.

Hayley shrugged it off and turned to Asra.

“Can you ask her where she lives so we can take her home?” She signed to him.

Asra nodded and made his way to the woman, calming her while also asking where she lived. Hayley leaned her body against the dirty wall, her adrenaline still making its waves over her. She hadn’t had a rush like that since before she met Asra, she felt different now. She was confused, this new feeling was weird.

They returned the woman home safely. On their way home, Asra didn’t say a word. Not until they got home.

“You led quite the life before me.” He said as he dropped his bag on their kitchen table.

Hayley was silent. She didn’t know what to say. ‘Yeah, I’m a very good assassin. I could kill you and no one would find out.’ She shook that thought out of her head, she didn’t wanna think about that.

“You did a good thing protecting that woman today,” Asra’s voice lowered, “You have a good heart.” Asra finally looked at Hayley, seeing her staring right at him. For a moment, it was just them. Quietly standing apart and understanding each other.

Asra smiled, “Goodnight, Hayley,” he said right before heading to his room, leaving Hayley to stand alone.

That day stayed on her mind, she thought about it a lot. The way the woman was so happy, something about that look on her face wanted Hayley to make everyone happy. She couldn’t leave the thought alone. It plagued her. One day, she decided to do something. Something that she wanted to keep a secret.

Hayley had dug through her closet to the very back where her assassin outfit and her weapons sat. She had doubts the entire time she was putting it on. When she looked at herself in the mirror, she stopped. It still fit. After all this time. Her heart felt heavy when she looked at herself. She didn’t feel like herself, she felt like a silent assassin whose only purpose was to kill.

You aren’t what you’re school made you.

Asra’s words crossed her head. Suddenly she gained some confidence, realizing that Asra was right. She wasn’t a byproduct of her school. She was Hayley. A girl who likes playing the piano and making jokes with her friend. A girl who was eager to help people. She walked out her bedroom that used to be a storage room before Asra cleaned it out for her. Hayley glided across the floor, careful not to make any noise. Passing by Asra’s room, she saw the lights from his crystals underneath his door. Those were the lights he put on to sleep to.

She hesitated at his door. Should she tell him? Would he understand? She didn’t know but she did know that she had to test her theory tonight. Hayley slipped out the back door and into the street. It was basically midnight and even now the city was alive but not as much as it was in the day.

The shadows were her friends, letting her hide in the darkness. She glided through the shadows. She was looking for trouble, to simplify it. She definitely found it. A group of thugs were stealing supplies from a store that Hayley knew was controlled by a small business. That’s what made her want to do this even more.

She started with the ones farther from the group just like she was taught to do but this wasn’t for whatever pleased her old school, this was for the better.

Everything was going well until one of the ones she thought she knocked out, shouted for his friends. Hayley thought of how living with Asra had softened her punches.

The rest of them came over to her, surrounding her. She cracked her knuckles right before kicking all their asses.

They landed their punches here and there but in the end Hayley was alright even if she was exhausted.

She had tied them up for the palace knights to find them on their morning runs then she jumped on a roof and went looking for more danger.

Once she got home she was tired and the sun had just touched the edge of the horizon. She went through the back door again feeling sore all over.

As soon as she closed the door to her room, she heard Asra opening his.

She took off her outfit and shoved it back at the bottom of her closet. Wrapping her injuries right before falling onto her bed. She felt thankful for such a soft bed and felt good about herself which didn’t happen often.

One of the other reasons she started her vigilante get up was because of the justice system. Ever since the Count’s death, the city of Vesuvia had gone even more down hill. The countess hadn’t been seen outside of the palace since the count’s death and the court was left to rule Vesuvia in her absence.

They were incredibly corrupt, letting off anyone who was caught committing a crime with just a slap on the wrist if they had enough money.

This had angered many of the city folk but no one could change anything. Hayley took action, beating the criminals to a bloody pulp but she never killed any of them.

It had been a month since Hayley had started fighting in disguise. The people of Vesuvia spread rumors about her or who she might be, all of them very different from the last.

She didn’t really like the names they gave her but the most popular one was “The Shadow”. It was okay, she wasn’t doing this from the fame. She thought it was her right to help the people and to maybe even make up for all the people she hurt in her past.

She didn’t like keeping it from Asra either. Hayley could tell that he knew that something was up but he never asked.

He would find out her truth eventually.

It was a night like any other, Hayley was out scouting the city for any assholes that needed to be taken down. It was almost time for her to return home but then she saw a group of thugs smashing a building that was now unrecognizable.

What really angered her about this group was that she had just beat them up the other day and they were already out on the streets wrecking havoc.

She didn’t think straight as she left her hiding spot and revealed herself to the group.

They all smiled when they saw her and Hayley then realized that they were trying to get her attention.

Well, they had it and they were gonna regret it.

Even though the group was bigger than any other she’d faced, she had no problem getting most of them down but after a while no matter how many she downed, she was still getting hit like crazy.

Then, when there were only a few left, Hayley was kicked through a window, getting stabbed with glass all over her back. It ripped through her clothing and pierced her skin, digging deep into her flesh.

Through the pain, she knocked out the rest of them and didn’t even bother tying them up as she immediately headed for home.

Hayley left a trail of blood as her back bled from the sharp glass digging into her skin. She held her arm against the walls of buildings as she headed home. She didn’t even bother going through the back door as she stumbled through the front, the sun was almost fully above the horizon.

She slumped against the door as soon as she shut it, careful not to touch her injuries. Her hands were covered with dry blood.

“Hayley?” Asra called from upstairs and a wave of relief washed over her.

The stairs creaked under his weight, “Where have you- Oh my gods!” Asra’s face immediately turned to worry as he ran up to Hayley, “What happened?”

Hayley tried to shrug but she immediately regretted it as pain filled her every nerve.

“Come on, let’s get you upstairs,” Asra said draping her arm over his shoulders and wrapping his arm around her waist.

They moved up the stairs, Asra basically dragging her up them since she could barely hold herself up, saying a quiet ‘sorry’ every time she hissed in pain.

Once they reached the second floor, Asra placed Hayley gently onto the couch.

“I’m going to get some things to help with this, just....please don’t die on me.” He said that last part quietly as he left the room.

It took everything in Hayley to not shut her eyes and fall asleep against the soft cushions.

Asra returned before she could convince herself and in his hands were many different things, most noticeable was the alcohol.

He knelt down beside Hayley, with hesitation on his face, “I think you need a doctor.”

Hayley shook her head, doctors asked too many questions.

Asra sighed and under his breath whispered, “If only Ilya was here.”

She tried to think of who that was but her thoughts were interrupted by Asra.

“I need to cut your shirt, is that okay?” He asked, understanding her need for privacy.

After a moment, Hayley nodded.

Her body went completely still as she heard the snipping of fabric.

“You might wanna get something to bite on,” Asra said quietly.

Hayley lifted herself up with one of her arms and with the other she ripped off her face mask, not caring about her insecurities at the moment.

She gripped her teeth against the thick fabric of the pillow that was underneath her.

“Here we go.....” Asra’s warm hand set itself on a part of Hayley’s back, she could feel the magic run through his hand and into her skin, suddenly she felt much better but the pain was still there.

She felt little pinches at her skin, what she assumed to be Asra taking out the smaller pieces.

Asra’s face was stern and focused as he gently pulled out the individual shards of glass, each one of them sticking to Hayley’s skin as it was pulled out. Her flesh gripped each piece of glass as it was pulled out of her skin.

A short time past in painful silence as Asra pulled out every single piece of glass.

“Okay, I think that’s all of them.” Asra’s voice was quiet, he sounded tired.

Hayley nodded against the pillow but knew that this was only the beginning, the alcohol still needed to be put on her skin.

Asra grabbed the liquor, knowing exactly what was next. He then hesitated again. Hayley knew that he was staring at her back, maybe at the fresh wounds or the old scars.

She moved her body enough to face Asra, taking him out of his trance. Hayley looked into his eyes, face mask off, she was completely vulnerable to him and she didn’t think for one second that he would betray her trust.

Asra sat back in thought then gave Hayley a small grin, “You owe me.” He joked.

Hayley rolled her eyes in amusement than lied back down on the couch.

His hand was still on her skin, it was nice to feel a comforting warmth for once while she was getting healed. This was so different from when she came back to her school after a mission, every time she was hurt she would fear that the school would do something to her and some times they did and sometimes they didn’t.

“Are you ready?” Asra interrupted her thoughts that she usually got caught up in.

Hayley poked her hand out and gave him a thumbs up before she tucked it back and around lifeline pillow.

She heard the bottle open, a part of her nervous but she shoved that back down with the rest of her hidden emotions.

“I’m sorry.” Asra says right before pouring the liquor on Hayley’s wounds.

White hot pain shot through Hayley’s nerves as the cold liquid interacted with her open skin, it felt as if her skin was burning.

Instinctively, Hayley opened her mouth to scream but, just like other times, nothing came out. She tried to push the pain back and think about something else but the harshness of the alcohol wouldn’t let her think of anything else.

All she could focus on was the warmth radiating from Asra’s hand, that kept her grounded.

Asra continued to drop the alcohol on her skin, careful not to add too much. He soon stopped after a tense moment, sat back down on his legs and said that he was done.

Hayley was still gripping the pillow, her skin feeling as if tiny burning knifes were stabbing into her flesh.

Asra sighed, clearly he was tired and Hayley didn’t know if it was from the early morning or from helping Hayley. She watched as he grabbed the bandages and prepared them for use.

“You’re staring.” He said quietly then looked up into Hayley’s eyes.

Hayley felt a pang of guilt from the face Asra gave her, his lips set in a tight line and his eyebrows knit closely together as if in thought. She must have shown her guilt in her face because he smiled slightly.

“You could have told me,” Asra said, “Sit up please.”

With Asra’s help, Hayley sat up as gently as she could. Her shirt was basically in shreds so she tore off the rest of it, Asra looking away respectively. She turned her back to him and made sure to keep it straight when he would apply the bandages.

Asra set his hands on her back, telling her that he was there. He then started wrapping her back and began to talk.

“I figured it out after the first week,” Asra’s voice was calm, no anger or disappointment, “A mysterious yellow-eyed woman with incredible fighting skills? How could I not know?”

Hayley tensed but then realized how obvious it was.

“Also it was very unusual that I got up before you.” His hands were so gentle as if she would break if he pressed too hard, “I just wish you would have told me instead of falling through the front door with blood on your hands.”

Suddenly he stopped, “Can you help me with this part?” Hayley glanced down to see that the bandages and his hands had stopped just below her breast.

Hayley’s face grew warm and she nodded, grabbing the roll in his hand to wrap it around herself then handed it back to him so can wrap it around her back. They did this in silence until they had completely covered her injury.

“I’ll get you a shirt,” Asra said before standing and walking out of the room.

Hayley carefully got up from the couch to stumble towards the nearest mirror. A pang of familiarity shot through her when she saw her mission outfit covering half of her body while bandages covered the other half but she knew that there was something different about her.

Her face, her mask was still off. She lifted her shaking hand to where her lips used to be, now there were pale scars. She looked down at her hand, dry blood still covering it.

Asra then walked in with a new shirt, seeing Hayley staring at herself in the mirror made him frown lightly.

“I still think you are beautiful,” He stood beside Hayley in the mirror, “Arms up please.”

Hayley’s face warmed up and she lifted her arms despite how much it hurt. Asra slid the shirt through her arms and across her torso.

The shirt was too big for Hayley’s size but it was comfortable that way.

Hayley looked into Asra’s eyes and signed, “You’re wrong.”

He shook his head and spoke, “I’m not.” He turns to the mirror and Hayley follows, “I think it’s beautiful that you want to help people even enough to get yourself hurt over it.”

Hayley heart hurt from the way his voice said that last part quietly.

“But I get it,” he forced a smile, “You want to help and for that you are beautiful.”

Hayley stayed quiet staring at Asra’s face in the mirror as he spoke.

The room was now brighter from the morning sun, now higher in the sky. Hayley fought back a yawn.

“I think it’s time for you to get some rest,” Asra smiled as he gestured towards her room.

Hayley nodded, feeling her body grow heavier with exhaustion.

They walked to her room together and with Asra’s help, they got her into bed. Hayley lied on her chest, the comfortable mattress and pillows made it feel like she was on a cloud.

She felt Asra lift a blanket over her body, Hayley trying not to fall asleep immediately.

“Sleep well, Hayley.” Asra said before quietly shutting the door behind him.

Hayley had slept for hours and when she woke Asra was there to care for her despite her complaints.

It wasn’t long before Hayley was ready to go back out on the streets and Asra seemed to know as well.

He walked into the living room with his hands behind his back one day while Hayley was reading something.

She closed the book, already not happy that he was keeping something from her.

“I know you don’t like surprises but...” Asra couldn’t keep in his smile, “I couldn’t help myself.”

He slowly brought his hands to his front, revealing neatly folded clothes.

Hayley stood, recognizing the dark clothes.

“I thought maybe it could use some stitching,” He unfolded the clothes to show them off, Hayley noticing the sudden change of color in some parts.

“I may have also added a bit of color to your outfit to make you seem less scary even though that might not be what you’re after,” Asra pointed to a small stripes of green that glided down the sides.

If Hayley could smile normally, she’d be all grin at that second. She settled for giving Asra a big hug which surprised him but he was happy to receive one.

Finally they pulled away, Asra suddenly getting serious, “Don’t get hurt out there, you hear me?”

Hayley nodded.

“Pinky promise.” He pulled out his pinky.

She rolled her eyes playfully and made a pinky promise with Asra not to get hurt.

Hayley continued to be a badass crime fighter, wanted by criminals and even the guards themselves wanted her stopped.

She has yet to be caught though a trick of fate might change that....

Only in the future will we know.

#the arcana #the arcana game #the arcana oc #the arcana MC #arcana oc #arcana mc #my mc hayley #my oc hayley #hayley #asra the arcana

[shinymooncolor]

hey! you don’t have to answer this, but i know close to nothing about hockey and my family and i have never really watched it and i’m starting to get very interested, but i have no idea where to start 😅 what do you think i should focus on first, as a newbie? what should i absolutely know as a fan? what teams are pretty good in your opinion? again, thanks for your help if ever you see this p.s: i really love your posts and they bring a smile to me face, so thank you for your hard work! <3

Hi!

Ohhh well. First of all. Welcome to the nerve wracking, nail biting, jaw clenching, gut wrenching, heartbreaking and utterly incredible world of (ice) hockey. Angry muscle machines on skates chasing a tiny rubber puck in the nhl and their goddess equivalents in wnhl - what’s not to love?

You’ve decided on a hell of a year to join. Due to Covid, the normal system was paused and a recent bubble playoffs series played and later won by Tampa Bay Lightning a few weeks ago. The new season would’ve begun last week but is currently expected to start around December.

I’d say the best starting point would be to watch some games - YouTube has a lot of highlights, game compilations etc. and browse hockey tumblr. Hockey tumblr is a great combination of hockey gossip, game reviews, fans sharing their love, passion and (hateful) opinions about players, clubs and the sport in general.

My personal team faves are a handful - you see, the league is “split” into two conferences - east and west and within here a few other divisions dictating who the teams will play on a more recent basis. The clubs in the nhl being split over North America and Canada means a lot of ground to cover and therefore it’s split like this - time zones, distance and whatever. So maybe decide on a conference first? East or west.

I’m an eastern conference gal meself, but the west sure has its merits too.

So. Teams. You’re about to start a rumble here 😂

I am a personal fan of the Pittsburgh Penguins 🐧 they play good hockey, in spite of their idiot general manager (I’ve got posts detailing why he’s an ass hat extraordinarie). They’re captained by Canada’s hockey savior, Sidney Crosby: hockey robot, yellow crocs enthusiast , triple gold member (youngest captain to get all three?) and the goodest boy in the league. He’s been heralded as the next great one yada yada since he was about 5? And shot pucks into a dryer back in Canada - with that came a lot of shit for the poor guy who, in his own words, just wants to play hockey. And he’s good. He’s got his team of French Canadian d-men (letang, dumo), a whole lot of goalie drama which seems to be a pattern and his Russian (husband) assistant captain Evgeni Malkin who’s got the cutest kid, a really cool wifey (seriously her insta is 10000 better than geno’s own) and a wicked sense of humor which he conviently hides behind his “English big bad today” excuse to avoid media on a daily basis (he’s played this card since his wild escape and temporary defection from Russia back in 2006) seriously google it. It’s wild. They’ve won three cups since 2009, they’re contenders in the playoffs most years and their pr department provides some hilarious videos of captain Canada and his Russian (husband) A. It’s a true love story. Sue me. We’ve got an intense rivalry with philly and the caps. Seriously. That orange flyers jersey is intense - even if philly’s mascot is the next president.

Funnily enough, my strange obsession with Russian hockey players have led to the most disturbing but developing club crush on the Washington capitals who are the penguins’ nemesis.

I mean, this club led by the one and only gr8 8 mr Alexander Ovechkin is a rollercoaster of emotion and hot daddies in skates armed with sticks and a murder Swede.

So. Washington caps used to be a joke in the league until they went and drafted mr ovechkin first overall, brought him to the capital and let him do his thing. He’s got a rep for being a hell of a lot of fun on the ice (if you’re on his team) and one of those players that people love to hate (even if they can’t take away how freakishly good he is at hockey) - look up his impossible goal(s)! He’s an exuberant, fun loving Russian with a heart of gold and a missing tooth. In 2007, the caps went shopping for a center just for ovi who needed a playmaker and a slap shot feeeder - they went and drafted the Swedish angel (maybe assassin) (Lars) Nicklas Backstrom - and the purest hockey marriage was forged. The actual words (we needed a center for ovi and ovi wanted backstrom) have been said. Yes, these two Are now famously the mama and papa of the caps and they have a roster of unruly (and handsome) hockey babies with the fighting menace Tom Wilson, bird impersonator and Russian cat Evgeni Kuznetzov and a whole army of other adorable (albeit hockey playing menaces) babies. Most recently they had the leagues daddiest daddy goalie Mr Holtbeast as the fun and handsome canadien cowboy uncle but he’s ventured to Vancouver to adopt a new group of hockey babies. To compensate, the caps went shopping in New York and brought the one and only king Henrik from the crease in msg to be the goalie mentor for baby Russian caps goalie and to keep the daddy energy flowing.

(Seriously why are Swedish players part time models? Their national team strategy is to be so handsome the other teams are distracted. It’s a thing. Look it up)

I also love a handful of other players on other teams (I really don’t dislike any team in particular - but you’ll meet some dedicated and strong minded fans here)

Erik Horse Johnson, Cale Makar and Nikita Zadorov (Colorado Avs - zad have recently been traded to the blackhawks (not sure how I feel about that). Phwucking fun team. Who needs teeth anyways.

Marc Andre Fleury (Vegas now but hell always be a penguin to me)

The Russian gang in Tampa - and giant Swede victor Hedman (seriously he’s massive)

The canes (Carolina) and their collective of Finnish and Russian babies (aho, svech) with chaotic Marty and former penguin Baby Staal as captain

And a whole lot of others too. It’s hard to choose.

The Dallas stars and the most precious bean of them all (Russian) dobby - Anton khudobin their backup goalie turned playoffs hero and fashion icon. The man said we’re not going home and threw the entire team on his back and dragged them to the final. And their homoerotically charged captain and his alt captain and their Hollywood epic soap worthy relationship. Stallions, people, Stallions...

Btw we like to project our brash queerness onto this league. You’ll learn why quickly. There’s only so much talks about hot hands, slick moves, eternal love for teammates and quite frankly obscene (sexy) amounts of kneeling, roughing (let’s face its it’s just aggressive cuddling) and teammates honorably defending teammates.

Anyways. I love hockey. He. Sorry.

Fun fact I’ve dragged @canesinthecrease kicking and screaming into the hellhole that is the caps and I’m working on convincing @dontpuckwithme about the incredibly sexy thing that is Russians and Canadians being secretly married in Pittsburgh.

Great, sexy, amazing, cool, smart and wonderful hockey ladies to follow for even more amazing content on more clubs (the hurricanes - also a team I’m starting to love). They’re my queer sherpas and emotional support network.

Hope you can use this dear (new) hockey friend and mutual 💖🐧

#dallas stars #anton khudobin #washington capitals #alexander ovechkin #nicklas backstrom #hockey #nhl #stars #colorado avalanche #henrik lundqvist #pittsburgh penguins #sidney crosby #evgeny kuznetsov #evgeni malkin #tyler seguin #jamie benn #marc andre fleury #seriously I’ve got a problem #no one kill me please #not trying to offend anyone #i’m not even ashamed #oh no here comes murder swede #caps really going for the daddies #erik johnson #nikita zadorov #cale makar

[severetimetravelnerd]

Let’s go home (ft. Hanbin)

When Hanbin makes both his and your worst fears come true.

(I don’t own any of the images used. All credit goes to the original owners.)

Taglist:

@unabashedturkeytreeslime​

@happiestgirlontheeastcoast​

@kwonnansi​

Word count : 2931

If there is anyone else who would like to be tagged, you can comment or leave me a message :))

I only write on this blog on tumblr, so if you see my work on any other platform, please let me know immediately.

Hey guys, I know I haven’t been writing much and I ‘m sorry :(( I just have a lot on my plate right now. But thank you to the anon who sent me that message asking whether I was okay cause I think that motivated me to write this :) I hope I’ll be able to write more soon, so yeah :) Enjoy!

Warnings: Angst, cursing.

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You hugged yourself a little tighter, grateful for the warmth of Hanbin’s sweater. You had just stepped out of your apartment to go drop off some food for him. Hanbin was working on an album, and had basically locked himself up in the studio. You only saw these glimpses of him whenever you went to drop off stuff for him, and although you really missed him, it was okay. You knew how important the album was to him. You knew that he cared about you and once the album was out, things would go back to normal again. And so, although you missed him, you made do with wearing his clothes and looking through old pictures instead of interrupting his work. Today was just one of those days you had decided to give in to your cravings and go see him, even if it was just for ten minutes.

You reached the building, and as you made your way down the hallways to his studio, you let your mind wander into thinking about your relationship. You were happy. The two of you had only been dating six months, but Hanbin made you feel so comfortable and secure that it felt like much more. You trusted him with your all. You loved him and you were so grateful that he was in your life. Lost in thought, you didn’t realise you were standing in front of the door to his studio. You only snapped out of it when you heard Jinhwan’s teasing voice. 

“So Hanbin, how are things going with Y/N? Any plans on moving in?” 

You smiled, a little nervous for his answer, because you were planning on talking to him about him living with you. Hanbin remained silent. You knew how awkward he could be and your heart swelled at the thought of Hanbin going adorably red, but just when you were about to walk in, you heard Hanbin start to talk. In the most detached, bored tone you had ever heard him speak in, he began. 

“Hyung, that’s not how things are between us. We’ll probably end up breaking up soon.” 

You felt your heart stop. Were the two of you on different pages about the relationship right from the start? You were thinking of moving in together while he was thinking of breaking up. But why? You thought he was happy with you. Things just weren’t making sense. He continued and you listened to him, heart sinking further with every word.

 “I’m just dating her for the sake of dating someone, not because I genuinely like her. It just doesn’t feel right.” 

His voice had a weird quality to it you didn’t recognise, but then again, that wasn’t surprising. This entire side of Hanbin wasn’t something you recognised. Jinhwan sounded unsure about things. 

“Hanbin? Are you sure? The two of you seemed so happy.” 

With that same weird quality in his voice, Hanbin responded. 

“That’s how it was in the beginning hyung. Things have changed.”

 And with that, you were done. You didn’t want to hear anymore. Every single bit of trust, comfort and security you had in your relationship was gone; completely shattered. You couldn’t believe Hanbin would lie to you like that. You hated how foolish he made you feel. You were in love with him and he didn’t even like you. You hated how you didn’t notice any signs of this earlier. You hated how happy you were in the relationship while he must have been looking at you like you were a fool. But most of all, you hated the fact that the Hanbin you knew and fell in love with was gone. You felt so desperately alone. All you wanted was to crawl into his arms and cuddle until things got better, but you couldn’t stand the sight of him. You walked back home in a daze, trying to wrap your head around everything you heard Hanbin say.

 Curled up in bed, you stared down at your phone, wondering whether to call Hanbin. You needed to end things. You couldn’t put up with this farce anymore. But you were also angry. Extremely angry at the way he lied to you and made a mockery of your relationship. You threw your phone aside, deciding that you wanted to hear him say those things to your face. You deserved an explanation.

That same night, Hanbin pushed his chair back and stared at his phone, willing for you to text him. You usually checked in on him every evening to see whether he was okay or he needed something. He needed to talk to you. The guilt of having said all those terrible things was eating away at him. Hanbin never wanted to break up, and he loved you from the bottom of his heart, not simply dating you for the sake of dating someone, but the boys had been teasing him a lot, and when Jinhwan hyung teased him, it was the final straw. In that irritation, he said a whole lot of stuff he didn’t mean, and broke down the moment Jinhwan left the studio. God, how could he say those things? He had no idea you heard him, but the guilt was eating him alive. He was just nervously waiting for you to text him first, as usual, so that he could call and apologise. But your text never came.

Hanbin waited, jumping to check his phone with every notification, but it was never you. He had a bad feeling about it, but he didn’t have it in him to text you first so, he comforted himself by thinking that you must be busy. He was sure you’d text the next day. You didn’t. And no matter how much he waited, you didn’t text him for the following days either. Hanbin knew something was wrong, and he was worried sick about you, he never imagined that you heard his horrible words. Every time he tried calling, it just felt wrong to explain that over the phone, and so, Hanbin waited desperately until he was done with his studio work to head to your apartment.

 You were done. You didn’t want to have anything of his in your apartment. Your happy space was filled with pictures of the two of you. In a day’s time, it all changed. You took down all the photos and threw them into a box. He had left a lot of his clothes at your apartment. All of those went into the box as well. You stared down at your phone. It needed to change too, and so, although it broke your heart to do so, you changed your wallpaper and lockscreen to random quotes instead of the pictures you had taken with him when you went camping. The only thing you couldn’t bring yourself to change was his contact details. It was a simple ‘Hanbin♥️’, but somehow, you couldn’t remove that. It would really be over then.

When you heard the doorbell ring, you didn’t think much of it. It must have been the pizza you ordered. Which is why you were shocked to see a very sad looking Hanbin standing outside your door. He didn’t know what to do, so he tried to keep up the semblance of normality. Struggling to put a light smile on his face, he asked,

 “When did you change the passcode?” 

You just shrugged. You had changed it that very day. It used to be his birthday. Now, it was your sister’s.

He looked around once he sat down on the couch with you. Something was definitely wrong. And he couldn’t quite put his finger on why the apartment looked different. He turned to look at you, sitting at the other end of the couch, keeping a solid distance from him, refusing to even look at his face. Still desperately trying to cling on to the semblance of normalcy, he smiled and said, 

“Come a little closer Y/N. Why so far away?”

 You didn’t respond. You were beginning to fume thinking about how he dared to ask you that. Choosing not to address you ignoring him, he continued. 

“Y/N, have you done something with your place? Things look a little different now.” 

You turned to stare at him incredulously. He didn’t even realise that you removed all pictures with him? You couldn’t help the scoff that left your mouth. Watching you, Hanbin grew increasingly nervous. He didn’t know what went wrong, but it was as though the world was punishing him for saying that crap in the first place. Sounding nervous, he said,

 “Y/N, is everything okay?” 

You ignored him. Hanbin felt a sort of panic building up in him. He was about to ask you again when your phone buzzed from a notification. You simply picked it up and typed out your response, but Hanbin was left shaking. When he saw your new lockscreen, all of a sudden, he realised what was different in your apartment. You had changed your lockscreen. It wasn’t that picture with him anymore. He looked around. All the pictures the two of you had so happily put up were gone. Hanbin couldn’t take it anymore.

It was also tougher for you to take it, because you could see Hanbin slowly realise what had changed. You knew he didn’t know why, and you didn’t regret your decision or the way you were feeling at all, but you did feel pain at seeing him so hurt and confused. You turned away, not wanting to risk changing your mind about Hanbin, when you felt him get up from the couch. You still refused to turn. You only looked back at him in surprise when you felt his wet cheeks on your lap. Out of pure shock, you spoke.

 “What are you doing Hanbin?”

 “Y/N, are you breaking up with me?” 

You looked down at the sobbing man in your lap, your gut wrenching a little before tightening your lips. 

“Yes, I am.” 

Hanbin looked up at you, confused and hurt, and something in you just snapped. You turned away, your voice sounding like a whip.

 “You don’t fucking get to look at me like that.” 

The look of confusion on his face just hurt you even more. How dare he try and act confused after everything? He, poor soul, had no idea why you wanted to break up with him. He sobbed even harder and wrapped his arms around your waist, crying into your lap. 

“No, Y/N, please. I love you.”

 You couldn’t keep the bitterness from your voice when you scoffed and said,

 “I thought this is what you wanted Hanbin. Why’re you so upset now?”

 Hanbin froze, slowly letting everything click in his head. Still crying, albeit silently, he got up from his knees and sat beside you. Trying desperately to keep his voice calm, he said,

 “Y/N, look at me.” 

You refused to, knowing that your strong façade would just crumble.

 “Y/N, please!”

 His voice had an urgent, desperate quality to it that made you turn towards him. He looked broken, so utterly lost and devastated. His voice was soft when he spoke.

 “Y/N, I’m sorry. Look at me. Do I look like I want to break up? I didn’t mean a thing I said that day, and I am so sorry for saying it. I was sorry for saying it before I knew you heard me, and I’m still sorry for that. I’m sorry for putting you through this kind of pain. You don’t deserve it. I’m so sorry, and I hate myself for saying what I said.” 

He paused, voice shaky. He looked at your face with the tears streaming down and felt even worse. 

“Y/N, I love you. I love the way your nose scrunches up when you’re confused. I love the way your eyes crinkle when you smile. I love the way you think and always challenge yourself. I love every part of you, and I hate myself for saying that I didn’t actually like you. I hate myself for saying that we were going to break up because even as I said it, I realised that was my greatest fear. Y/N, I know I’m a flawed man. I know that you are the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I should never have treated our relationship and you like that.”

 Your voice was a faint, hoarse whisper when you said,

 “Why? Why’d you say it Hanbin?” 

He couldn’t look you in the eye when he replied.

 “I said it because I was upset with hyung for teasing me about you.”

 You just looked very drained when you responded. 

“So, you jeopardised our relationship and hurt me because of that?” 

Hanbin didn’t have an answer to that. You sighed, gently wiping away your tears with the back of your hand. 

“Hanbin, it’s nice to know I wasn’t the only one invested in this relationship, but clearly, I am more invested. You risked our relationship over something like this. I don’t think I can take that again.” 

Hanbin’s heart dropped when he saw you turn towards him and say,

 “Let’s break up.” 

Hanbin couldn’t comprehend it. He held your hand, begging you.

 “Y/N please. I promise that you will never have to take something like this again. I will never, ever do something like this. Just please, don’t do this. We both love each other!” 

This time, it was your turn as you refused to look at him when you said,

 “Hanbin, all your things are in the box over there.” 

His hand went slack. He slowly got up to go get it, but he paused before leaving. His voice was weak but determined.

 “Y/N, I’m sorry. And I will keep trying to get us back.” 

And he left, leaving you to break down after he was gone.

 One month later, and things weren’t any easier for you. God, you hated to admit it but you missed him. So much. He called everyday for the first two weeks, and texted too, but after that, it died down. Like you knew it would. If he was serious about the relationship, he would never have said something like that in the first place. You refused to give in and call him, no matter how lonely you were, opting instead to just cry yourself to sleep. Which is why you were surprised when he called you after having said nothing for a month. And you were even more surprised by how you answered it. Maybe it was a moment of weakness. Maybe it was because you missed him. Or maybe because it was three in the morning and you were worried about him. Hesitant, you answered. 

“Hello?” 

You never felt more worried than when you heard a strange man’s voice reply. What happened to Hanbin? You felt your heart quicken. God, please let him be okay. Before you could say anything, the man on the phone began speaking. 

“Excuse me Ms, you’re listed as his emergency contact, which is why I called you. This is Ms. Y/N, right?”

 Emergency contact? No. Fuck no. You closed your eyes, praying as you replied, 

“Yes, that’s me. Is Hanbin okay?”

 The guy must have heard the panic in your voice because he suddenly seemed very flustered. 

“Yes, he’s fine. Man, I’m an idiot. I shouldn’t have led with emergency contact. He’s fine, he’s just passed out from drinking too much.” 

You felt like you were able to breathe again. 

“Yes, please lead with that next time!!” 

The bartender gave you his address and you left to go pick up Hanbin.

It was a long drive and it gave you time with your thoughts. It had been nearly two months. And you still worried about him like this. You still texted Jinhwan weekly to check in on Hanbin. And you were worried with good reason. Hanbin never used to drink this much. Was it worth it? Was staying away from Hanbin worth it? Would Hanbin hurt you again? You thought about things for a while. You didn’t know what you were going to do, but you knew you had to get Hanbin home. You finally reached the obscure bar he was drinking at and walked in. It was closed and one harassed looking bartender was cleaning up the bar when he saw you and suddenly looked visibly relieved. 

“Oh Y/N! Good that you’re here. He’s been crying in his sleep, and I don’t know what to do about that.” 

Your worry skyrocketed. He was crying in his sleep? You hated that thought. You let the bartender point you towards the bundled heap in the corner that was Hanbin, shaking from the occasional sob. As you got closer, you realised he was saying something. 

“Y/N, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please come back.” 

You melted. You never wanted him to get to this stage. You thought he would move on. You heard Leo, the bartender remark,

 “You know, he’s been doing that everyday for a while now.”

 And with that, you were gone. You had both missed each other enough. You went up to him, gently brushing the hair off his face. He stirred.

 “Y/N? Please be Y/N.” 

And he whimpered.

 “Oh Hanbin.”

 His eyes scrunched before moving towards you. 

“Y/N, can we go home now? I miss you.”

 You teared up a little, placing a light kiss against his forehead before saying, 

“Yes, Hanbin. Let’s go home.”

 Leo locked the door after the two of you left, jokingly muttering to himself. 

“I’m the real hero here, just saying.”

#kpop scenarios #hanbin scenarios #kpop angst #hanbin angst #ikon scenarios #hanbin #kpop #angst #scenarios #when he hurts your feelings

[chosenkeepersworld]

The Curses We Inherit - Chapter 9

Original Work

Date Posted: August 11, 2021 (Tumblr)

Word count: 1, 169 words

A/N: Work is unbeta'd but I do hope you'll still enjoy reading it. Comments are always appreciated! And if you can't wait to read what happens next, this story is also up on Wattpad (under the username ChosenKeeper0971) but with way more chapters, I appreciate your support there too!

Thank you so much, I hope everyone is having an awesome day and happy reading :)

Masterlist / Part 8

"Are you serious? You really did that?" Danika asked, grinning with wide eyes.

Jacqueline roared with laughter, nodding.

"Yup" was all Krysa had to say.

They were on the road again, with Krysanthe driving this time while Jac hung out in the passenger side and Danika kept her place in the backseat. The heiress had gotten hungry and started snacking on the food her aunt had packed for her which consisted of bread and homemade dip, fruits and little brownie slices. At the sound of crunching Jac immediately turned in her seat to see what was making the noise and when Danika realized Jac was watching her, she offered her treats without hesitation. To which Jacqueline descended upon with much gusto. The brunette, as she devoured Danika's food, would feed Krysanthe too.

As they continued to eat and began talking, they relaxed more and more around each other eventually getting into deeper topics.

One topic in particular, that was surprising to Danika, was the incident that made Krysa say no initially.

"Then what happened?" Danika scooted closer.

"Okay so on the way from the party with my friends, or the people who I thought were my friends, stopped at Gilded because Rhian asked me to bring her some documents. She had thought that I was at study date and I didn't want to tell her the truth. I always felt like she saw me as someone else, she had expectations of me and I didn't want to disappoint her." Krysa paused "Anyway, we got to the store and we've been drinking so you know this won't end well" she gave a humourless chuckle.

'My friends thought it would be fun to keep drinking, I got pressured into it and then I blacked out. When I woke, Rhian was there and I had never seen her look so furious." she said "We trashed the whole place and my so called friends, uh, " she paused, tilting her head up slightly, squinting "Th-threw me under the bus?" she turned to Jac who nodded, tossing another grape in her mouth.

"I was in real trouble but Rhian, even though she didn't have to, helped ease my punishment so I just had a lot of community service hours. Since then I was no longer allowed to come into the shop without Rhian there."

"I'm sorry, Krysa. That must have been hard" Danika said quietly.

"No, no I deserved that" Krysa insisted

"But it's been years" Jacqueline argued "You think she would go easier on you now"

"I broke her trust, Jac. That isn't an easy thing to forgive"

Jac didn't respond right away "...you're also talking about that guy from London, right?"

Krysa's head snapped to Jac's direction to glare at her.

"What's the deal with this guy anyway? Bad break-up?" Danika asked

Jacqueline grinned as Krysa's glare slowly turned annoyed. The curly blonde let out an exasperated sigh but relented. "I met him when I was attending university in London. I was working as a waitress at the time, and he saved me from some grabby customers."

Danika watched in amazement as Krysa's cheeks darkened, she saw Jac's eyes widened from the rearview mirror and both girls shared a look. The man who made Krysanthe blush must have been really special to her.

"Our situation wasn't exactly stable. After graduation I would be coming home to the Isle and he was there to temporarily oversee the security of his cousin's new building after that he was supposed to go home so we tried to just be friends but..."

"You caught feelings!" Jac squealed

"Yes. Another problem was that we butted heads often, he was a bit of grouch and he thought I was a little stuck up"

The other two girls shared another look but otherwise stayed silent.

"It was the night of my graduation where things blew up. We argued, he went to work and after a while I decided to see him and apologize, when I got there I overheard him talking about me and what he said made me feel horrible. I left without seeing him, packed up and headed back to Ireland that very night" she finished nonchalantly with a shrug.

"Dude, that sucks. I had no idea" Jac breathed "Did he ever look for you?"

Krysa shook her head "Not to my knowledge"

Danika bit her lip, there was nothing she could say that felt appropriate. The heiress was at a loss, this wasn't a situation she was familiar with. All the youngest of the three could do was squeeze Krysa's arm comfortingly.

Krysanthe looked startled when Danika did this but then smiled reassuringly at her for a moment before turning her attention to the road.

"Guys, it's okay I don't-"the florist squeaked when a loud noise suddenly erupted behind them and fought to control the car. The truck screeched to a stop on the side of the road.

Jac and Krysa both went out to check on their situation.

Danika jumped when she heard Jacqueline swear loudly, causing her to come out as well. She saw Krysa standing at the side eyeing the side while she crossed her arms

Danika then saw Jacqueline opening the trunk.

The blonde moved closer and gasped at the sight of the blown tire "What can we do?"

Jacqueline didn't answer, instead she climbed the back of the truck and rolled a spare tire to the edge "Well you can sit your pretty butt to the side and let us handle this". Krysa moved forward to take the tire, grunting as she lifted it out of the truck and stumbled to set it down.

"Could you teach me?" Danika asked "To change a tire I mean"

Jac and Krysa paused to stare at the younger blonde, a big grin spread across Jacqueline's face while Krysanthe had an intrigued look on her face.

"Alright, kid." Jac reached back into the truck an odd looking X shaped tool "Get ready for a life skill lesson"

A little while later, with Jac's eventual intervention, Krysa's truck had a new tire and Danika learned the basics of tire changing.

The two blondes gave a cheer when Jac finished tightening the last bolt.

"We are ready to go" the tallest of the three grunted before pulling the wrench away. "Let's just load up the stuff and we'll get going"

Danika moved forward to help her when a feeling came over her, cold sweat began to bead at her forehead, she shuddered at the feeling of eyes watching her. The blonde turned, but all she saw was the shrubbery and trees.

A dark presence was within those woods, Danika turned back to Jac and Krysa the brunette was fine and unaffected by the presence in the woods but Krysa looked uneasy, peeking at the woods from the corner of her eye.

The unease never went away from either girls, not that Jac noticed, even as they drove away from that place, a the dark presence followed behind. Taglist: @mel-writes-with-her-dragons @woodhousejay @dustylovelyrun

#writeblr #original story #original writing #creative writing #writing wip #unbeta'd #The Curses We Inherit #The Curses We Inherit Ch 9

[coltdancer]

You Matter to Me (A Rapunzel’s Tangled Adventure Short Story)

A security breach of the alchemy lab results in a daring decision that has consequences for Varian.

Set after Eugene and Rapunzel are married, Varian has explored, learned, and returned to Corona as the Royal Engineer/Alchemist and Cassandra has completed her personal quests and returned to serve Corona as a member of the guard.

Inspired by CJeanne's/OriginalDisneyDescendants absolutely beautiful work here on Tumblr (not sure it’s around anymore), she graciously allowed me to run away with my own story. This is pure hurt/comfort FLUFF, my people. My happy place, my M.O., my zone. **AND NOW THERE IS ART by @lizpotentielle​!  

“What did he take?!” Cassandra shouted, dodging the ornate vase launched at her head, nearly careening into the wall of royal portraits when the move shifted her balance but did not account for her speed. “Uh...I’m not sure, exactly!” 

“What did he take?!” Cassandra shouted, dodging the ornate vase launched at her head, nearly careening into the wall of royal portraits when the move shifted her balance but did not account for her speed.

“Uh...I’m not sure, exactly!”  

Ahead of her, his long legs giving him an advantage, Varian lunged toward the Soporian thief and very nearly made an impressive tackle, but the body-check inadvertently shoved their target through the door leading down to the dungeons and aided his escape. 

Cassandra sprinted past and Varian scrambled to his feet to join her.  

“We can catch him when he hits the cells!” she huffed, concentrating on skipping steps without twisting an ankle.  

“Not if he beats us to the sewage outlet; it’s how he got in. It will already be open,” Varian panted just behind her, and they hit the bottom to find that indeed, the doors leading through the main thoroughfare of the dungeon were all hanging wide open, providing the bandit a clear path.

With a straight and unhindered shot, Cassandra pulled the bolas from her belt and hurled them towards the Soporian’s legs with a grunt.  It was enough to make contact and wrap around the man’s ankles, sending him pitching forward.  He writhed impressively mid-air to skid across the floor on his shoulder, the glass vial he had stolen skittering from his pouch and across the bricks, out of his reach.  Varian pounded past him, dodging the swipe of his arms and making it to the end of the hall to shove the wooden door closed and block his exit.  

Cassandra breathed with relief when, panting heavily, he stooped to scoop up the vial and inspect it.  Because Varian had interrupted his heist, the vial likely wasn’t what the thief intended to make off with, but Cassandra knew that any number of the alchemical compounds Varian held in his main lab could be potentially serious or deadly in the wrong hands - the negative rumors and town talk that would create buzz in the neighboring kingdoms almost as much so.  

Best to keep these things quiet.  And most definitely out of the wrong hands.

Cassandra placed her knee between the Soporian’s shoulder blades to finish rolling him onto his stomach, reaching for his free arm to pull behind him, when he suddenly flipped onto his back and had her by a fistful of tunic and a dagger blade to her throat.  

Varian’s cry of warning was swallowed with a gasp.  The edge of the blade was close enough that her skin prickled and she froze, daring to make eye-contact.  Cold, brown eyes - so dark they were nearly black - narrowed with malice and she sat back as the thief used his impressive core strength to right himself, the knife never wavering from its precarious position against her jugular.  Even had she been wearing her armor, her neck would have still been exposed.  She made a mental note to rectify that if she was so lucky, her jaw clenching when he drew his legs close enough toward himself to reach down and release the bolas around his feet.  

“I was warned about you and your skill, my dear,” the thief breathed silkily, leaning in close enough that Cassandra could smell his breath and sweat.  It was repulsive.  He was rising smoothly to his feet and guiding her with him, a cruel twist to his mouth as she felt the cold metal press against her skin.  She held her breath and stood, his free arm unnervingly blocking a counter-attack to his midsection. She chanced a glance at Varian.  He looked slightly horrified, but surprisingly calm, and stock-still.  She knew his mind was racing with calculations and weighing his options.  She tried to shake her head to warn him not to do anything, but a nick at her neck and her stronger arm wrenching painfully behind her made her stop.  The muscle in Varian’s jaw clenched and he made a move to reach inside his vest.

“Ah-ah,”  the thief warned, “You keep your hands where I can see them, pretty boy. And unless you plan on accompanying me, just hand that tube over, and I’ll let this little wench go.”

Varian’s eyebrow shot up at the insult and something dangerous flashed in his eyes that Cassandra recalled from long ago, and then it was gone, replaced with a resolve that she decided in an instant she did not like one bit better - just as he threw his head back and swallowed the entire contents of the vial. 

“Well, can’t say it will do much for you now…” he responded dryly, suppressing a shudder, both Cassandra and her captor gaping in shock.

“It might if I slice you open and siphon what drains from your guts…” the Soporian snarled, just before he drew back and head-butted Cassandra in a rage.  

Spots and stars exploded from the contact and she felt herself tossed to the ground as the man lunged forward, swinging.  There was a whoosh and the clang of iron as a cell door slammed shut.  Cassandra shook her head and squinted, wincing at the sound as Varian locked himself safely inside and away from the blade.  His eyes darted to hers and back again, assessing that she had not yet recovered from the blow. 

“Wow, that’s exceedingly graphic.  You Soporians are so violent,” he quipped, keeping the focus on him.  “How about ‘no’? I rather like my guts where they are, thanks.”  

“They said you had a smart mouth, you little traitor. Didn’t know when to shut up.  Perhaps I should just let you keep talking and at least garner the satisfaction of watching what it does to you.”

And he did sound just a little too eager for that, Cassandra thought, blinking widely and trying to focus on Varian.  The alchemist almost looked bored, his shoulders dropping with a long-suffering sigh. “Absolutely nothing,” he responded.  

“What nonsense is this?”

“Do you even know what you took?”

There was just the briefest of pauses.  “Yes.  It was Belladonna.”

“Or you grabbed bimberrry juice,” Varian rolled his eyes.  “Tell me, did you actually see ‘belladonna’ or did you just snatch a vial marked with a letter ‘B’ on it, because that’s all you could read?”

The Soporian’s eyes were practically bulging and all he could do was splutter, and Cassandra felt her stomach unclench.  She wanted to laugh.  Instead, she felt for the hilt of her sword.  

“Yeah, that’s what I figured.”  

The sound of metal releasing from its sheath as Cassandra brandished her own blade grabbed their attention then, and with one last glare and clang on the iron bars of Varian’s safety cage, the Soporian bolted down the corridor toward the sewage grates.  

Cassandra lunged after him, but halted abruptly, rushing back to the closed cell.  She was patting down her pockets and looking around frantically on the floor, but the keys were nowhere to be found.  She looked up to find Varian dangling the keyring over his index finger. When had he snagged those?

She choked out a laugh. “ Why do you keep bimberry juice in your lab?”

He shrugged.  “For medicine. Makes it taste better.”

“Oh.  So it was really just bimberry juice?”

“No, it was belladonna.”

“ WHAT ?”

“Cassandra.  That low-life is getting away.”

“We have to get you out of there.”

“Go catch your man.”

“What - no!  Open the door.  We have no idea what that stuff will do to you!”

“I’m pretty sure I have a good idea.” “I am going to kill you.”

Varian tilted his head, a wistful, amused expression crossing his features. He shook his head.  “Sorry, but I’m not going to need your assistance this time around, Cassie.”

Her eyes widened with realization and she gripped the handle, rattling it furiously.  

“ Varian . This isn’t funny. Please tell me you have some kind of antidote.”

He smiled, but the beat of silence was too long.  “Of course.”

Cassandra’s stomach dropped like lead.  “ VARIAN. OPEN THE DOOR -- ”

With a huff of a chuckle, Varian stepped forward and through the bars pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead, stunning her momentarily speechless in its acceptance.  “He’s getting away, Cass. Let me handle the science stuff. You catch the bad guy so he can answer for this.  Go on, now.”

She was horrified and angry and... scared ...which made her angrier, still, and she whipped around with a howl of fury intended just as much for the fleeing criminal as the maddening man she was leaving behind to potentially die a slow death.  

 Corona did not see a lot of high crime; the populace had nearly as infamous a reputation for squelching suspicious activity as the kingdom guard.  When the infrequent circumstances arose, however, the reaction was generally well-executed and swift.  Today’s heist was no exception, but it had created quite a stir.  The chase had resulted in Cassandra pursuing the Soporian interloper through the drainage tunnels below the dungeons and out the spillway into the moat, a sure test of her endurance, before gaining enough ground to make him change course right into the trap Eugene and his guard had waiting.  

And then it was over.

Cassandra had been anxious to report to the Captain, but he’d taken one good look at her, pulled a face, and insisted she shower first.  He might also have alerted her best friend and Princess to her need for a good meal and in the meantime paid his own visit to the newly occupied dungeons to question their captive.  She was begrudgingly grateful for the respite.

Now, as lamps were being lit and the sun dipped low on the horizon, Cassandra finished giving Eugene her version of the events and he scribbled notes in his parchment book about as furiously as she recounted them.  He had grown so very efficient in his role and Cassandra could not help but be impressed - they squabbled to the point of aggravation sometimes, but she knew he took the role seriously and worked hard.  She had often dreamed of holding that position.  However, even as Eugene carefully closed the book he was writing in, his fingers lingering over the cover that reeked of Rapunzel’s handiwork with a small smile, Cassandra found she did not harbor ill will or even any resentment.  She’d made her choices.  The fact that she has been able to return to Corona and work her way into duty at all was rewarding, and the capture they made today proved once again that she was capable and Eugene’s faith in her was justified.  But with the recounting of that chase and how she wound up jumping into the muck after their criminal, she was freshly reminded that she had left another man behind.  That was not a decision she could commend, no matter how logical it was.  No matter how confused it left her.

She blinked and looked up.  Cassandra wasn’t sure how long she had been silent, mulling it all over again.

Eugene leveled her with a penetrating gaze before standing from behind the desk.  He was disconcertingly adept at reading her. “C’mon,” he barked, and just like that Captain Fitzherbert was put away and he was “Eugene” once again.  “Rapunzel was getting Varian a change of clothes.  Let’s go check on him.”

Cassandra tensed, but knowing Raps had been with him and Eugene had procured his statement of events earlier as well...that had to mean Varian was fine and nothing untoward happened as a result of his daring strategy earlier.  Her shoulders relaxed marginally and she cleared her throat, rising to follow him from the room.  “How...how is he?”

Eugene snorted as he opened the door, sweeping his arm toward the threshold in a polite motion to usher her through first.  “Been puking his guts up all afternoon, but whatever that nasty stuff was that he concocted and choked down seemed to do the trick.”  He shuddered and grimaced.  “Did you see that stuff?  I’ve seen Shorty consume more appetizing sludge than that black tar-slime he mixed up.  But...I guess if you’re poisoned, you’re not too worried about the taste, eh?” 

Cassandra felt her jaw clench, ire returning as they walked down the hall toward the infirmary.  She could see Rapunzel hovering at the door and as they neared, a bundle of clothes clutched in the princess’ hands. “Since he was foolhardy enough to do it to himself instead of oh, I don’t know , smashing the bottle on the bricks, I’d say that’s what he gets.”

Beside her, Cassandra could practically feel the dubious eyebrow Euguene was lifting.  “A split-second to take a single course of action and save the Kingdom’s face - oh! and you,” he unnervingly summarized, and she just knew he was wearing that smug, all-knowing expression on his face as they came to a halt, muttering a “Yeah, it scared the hell out of  me, too.”

Eugene bent to kiss his wife on the cheek.  Worn thin by her concern (not that she’d admit it openly), Cassandra glowered at him and rather unceremoniously snatched the garments from Rapunzel’s grasp, continuing on for the infirmary door.  Rapunzel stammered, unsettled, and reached out to halt her progress into the room.  “Cass - I don’t think now is a good time -”

“Ah, Sunshine?  Why don’t we just let Cassandra go on in.”

“But Eugene -” the princess hissed, even as the Captain of the Guard began to wrestle her away.

“Trust me.”

And God bless Eugene as he tugged on her arm and Rapunzel fell silent.  Cassandra yanked the door open and stalked into the softly-lit antechamber, marching across the floor toward the only partitioned area that held anyone at the moment, on a mission to give Varian a piece of her mind for the worry she’d been fighting all afternoon - 

And was halted at the edge of the make-shift curtain by the unmistakable sound of retching.  

It took a moment for her to compose herself before she took a step forward to peer around the curtain where Healer O'Shea, a kindly man with silvering strawberry-blond hair, was positioned in front of an obviously still very ill alchemist. The doctor glanced up at her briefly, one eyebrow arched in silent query.  He was bracing Varian with a gentle hand to the shoulder and supporting a basin as Varian’s whole body strained forward with a round of horrible, empty gurgles that made Cassandra cringe.  Finally, he coughed and spit with a pained gasp.

“That’s it, lad.  I think you’ve just about got it all out - and then some.  This should be slowing down, now,” the physician murmured with approval.  “Let’s try a little bit of ginger tea this time around, see if we can settle that stomach and start getting you rehydrated.”

Varian, if he registered what was said, did not outwardly respond.  In fact, he seemed unaware of anyone standing there at all.  Chalky white and panting for air, he was slumped over a bolster wedged between his arms and his stomach - the only thing that seemed to be holding him upright on the edge of the cot.  Cassandra nodded, subdued, as the healer dipped his head in silent excusal, leaving her alone with Varian and feeling exposed.  Whatever she was expecting after speaking with Euguene, it wasn’t this.  

He looked... dreadful. 

And just like that, she felt her anger dissipate.  If it was even truly anger, to begin with.

“I’d rather you not see me like this…” 

It was such a low rasp she wasn’t sure she heard it.  But a few moments later, Varian mustered the strength to lift his head, the hint of a smirk in his voice, “Unless you came to make good on your offer?  You’ve got your sword, right?”

Cassandra let out the breath she didn’t even realize she was holding, stepping closer.  “You must be joking!”

“Only - mm, only half -” he grunted, then went positively ashen with a small groan and barely managed to find the basin beside him as his stomach heaved again.  

If she thought it was bad mere moments earlier, Cassandra was certain Varian’s insides were trying to claw themselves out, now.  His grip was white-knuckled and desperate as he fought through it, bringing absolutely nothing up, his stomach completely devoid of even the thick and tarry-looking charcoal Eugene said he had been bringing up for hours.  Cassandra found herself reaching out to awkwardly pat at the shirt plastered to his back.  He was hot to the touch and she could feel the muscles coiling angrily beneath her hand; it had to hurt.

Varian folded over the pillow again, trembling from exertion, and she managed to grab the bin from him before it could clatter to the floor.  “Please, jus’...” then his head was in his hands and he gave up trying to talk.  She wasn’t sure if he was begging for her to leave or for it to just be over.

Cassandra felt utterly inept; maybe it would be best to just leave the change of clothes for him and excuse herself quietly.  He was a mess and she did not know what to do.  She would have wanted to be left alone in this sort of scenario, but then, Varian was nothing like her.  He was tenderhearted and tactile and...this was definitely Rapunzel’s department.  The healer had disappeared to make the tea - naturally, she thought, setting the garments she held down on the bed.  She hadn’t planned to stay, for goodness sake, and in no way would have agreed to play nursemaid.  Sure, she and Varian certainly shared a level of comfortable camaraderie with one another; there had been the occasional long conversation when neither could sleep, mutual royal projects or endeavors, one exceedingly rare late night at the Snuggly Duckling when they’d both imbibed a bit too much and had chatted and giggled all the way back to the castle on Fidela.  She looked back at the miserable man beside her and remembered leaving him behind in the dungeons.  While not as powerful as fear, guilt was a fair motivator.  Cassandra would be the first to admit she was no good at the “soft stuff”, but she realized that she wanted to try for him.  

She chewed thoughtfully on her lip, searching the room and wracking her brain, then her eyes landed on the washstand against the wall.  Quietly, she stepped over to it and pulled on the silver levers, letting the water run hot before filling a large basin from a stack of them on the side.  She absently wriggled her fingers under the stream, as she almost always had since her return to Corona, marveling at what Varian had done with all the pipes and his huge fancy boiler mechanism, smiling faintly at a memory - and was quickly reminded of the man across the room.  Cassandra threw a few of the folded rags over her shoulder and slowly returned to the bed as the healer arrived with a small cup of warm, pale liquid.  

“Just a sip or two at first,” he told her and relegated the task by handing the cup off to her once she set her wares down on the bedside table.  She stood there, gaping at the doctor’s back as he traipsed over to his desk and resisted the urge to tell him this was his job.  She was beginning to smell a conspiracy.  

“Hey, you still with me?”  she asked gently, prodding Varian to sit up and relinquish his hold on the massacred cushion beneath his arms. 

His breathing was a little easier and with a pang, she hoped he hadn’t dozed off.  She picked up the tea and held it before him.  It looked inoffensive enough and smelled pleasantly of meadowsweet, but Varian grunted with disapproval, turning a nasty shade of pale and green when she pressed the cup to his lips.  Stubbornly, she waited him out until he finally took a few sips.

“There. Not so bad?” she murmured.

He managed a noncommittal noise in reply.  

Cassandra went back to chewing on her lip, wondering how long it would take for the tea to come back up, if it was going to.  “I bet you have some ideas on how to improve on the formula,” she finally added with forced brightness, and set it down, her smile fading when he said nothing.

Yeah, he was in pretty bad shape. She watched him drag in a deep breath, releasing it heavily.  “You gonna be sick again?”

He seemed to be taking inventory. “No…” he swallowed hard, “...not yet,” he finally whispered, still breathless.  

“Uh...Raps brought you some fresh clothes…”  she offered quietly, but it just sounded silly when he could barely even hold his own head up.  She frowned, and then pursed her lips in frustration.  Why was this so hard?

Time for a purely practical decision.  He needed help, and she ...could help with this.

“What’r y’doin?” Varian slurred, sounding agitated and batting altogether uselessly at her when she reached for his shirt. “Cass -”

“Hey, hey! It’s alright,” she soothed, enclosing his wrist in her small hand, waiting for him to look at her.  He swayed against her and the magnitude of what she was asking wasn’t lost on her.  Suddenly, her gracelessness no longer mattered.  “Can I...Can I help you with this?”

His eyes, dull and bruised, slid closed. To her dismay, a small tear trickled from the outer corner and he nodded. He was exhausted.  

Though she knew he couldn’t see it, she smiled with much more confidence than she felt.  Maybe he wouldn’t hear it, either. She gave his shoulder a squeeze.  “Okay.  It’s okay, Varian. You’ll feel better soon.”

She pulled the sweat-dampened shirt over his head carefully, steadying him as his chin dipped toward his chest. She tried not to, but could not help but notice that his shoulders were peppered with a similar smattering of freckles as his face. It absolutely did not soften her smile.  She turned to the bowl on the table to drop in the rags, swirling them around in the hot water to warm them up.  “You know, what you did today...that was really stupid, Var.”

“This is supposed to make me feel better?” he mumbled irritably, and she cringed.

Speaking of stupid… 

“Sorry, that came out poorly,” she muttered, abashed, wringing out a rag and gently pressing it to the back of his neck.  He jumped beneath the initial touch, then sagged with a mewl of relief that made her stomach feel funny.  Cassandra swallowed and drew the washcloth along the sweep of his shoulders, concentrating on removing the clammy layers of sweat and salt down his back and arms.

“I mean,” she tried again, slowly, “It worked, but it wasn’t worth your life.”

Varian sighed.  “Admittedly really dumb.  I’ll do better next time.”

Cassandra paused then, rag dripping over the bowl as she reached out and snatched his bearded chin, lifting it so that he was looking at her. “No!” she replied, eyes wide with alarm.  “Varian, do not scare me - us… ”  She took a breath, recovering herself and dropped her tone.“Don’t scare us like that again.”

He blinked dazedly but held her gaze until she reached up to gently wash his face, ignoring that funny feeling that came again when his eyes fluttered closed and he trusted her to it.  She placed the rag in his hand so that he could make a pass or two at his front, then helped him thread his arms into the clean shirt, lifting it over his head.  His hair was sticking up in all different directions and she bit down on a giggle. The urge to tame it with her fingers was strong, but Cassandra busied herself with the teacup instead, steadying it when his hands shook and encouraging him to work on it some more.

It did seem to be helping.  With the modicum of relief from his nausea and taking in some fluid, the tension was draining from his posture.  He could no longer keep his eyes open.  She took the empty cup and gave in to thread her fingers through his hair - purely under the pretense of smoothing it back into place - and he leaned more heavily against her. She thought she heard her name, the ghost of a whisper on his lips when he was suddenly dead weight in her arms.    

“Varian?!”  The alarm in her voice and the shattering of the teacup drew the attention of the healer, who was quick to rise from his notes and return to the bedside, helping her ease Varian’s limp form to the mattress.  

Cassandra stood by with wide eyes as he took Varian’s wrist and measured the pulse with practiced ease, gently tilting Varian’s head toward the lantern on the table, pushing back his eyelids and watching the pupils react to the light. He then took a moment to remove the instrument around his neck, listening to the sound of Varian’s breath in his lungs, the rhythm of his heart.

“It’s all right,” he assured her, straightening and reaching to pull up the blanket.  “He’s just finally passed out.  No small wonder.  Maybe he’ll be able to get some rest, now.”

Cassandra let out a shaky breath and pursed her lips together, swallowing hard.  Relief washed over her with astonishing force and she blinked against her silly, watering eyes.  Healer O’Shea was watching her carefully.

“You may stay a bit longer; make sure our winsome engineer is comfortable,” he murmured, skirting the foot of the cot and bending over with a crack of his back to pick up the broken pieces of the smashed cup from the floor.  “But then, unless you wish me to remove you from Captain Fitzherbert’s active duty roster, you’ll let me give you a check-over and will retire to get some rest as well, hm?”

The tumult of the day’s emotions and weariness threatening to overwhelm her, all she could do was nod in agreement.  She knew there was nothing she could do for Varian, but found herself at war with the decision to leave him - again .  He did not budge in the least when she needlessly fussed over the blanket, resting her palm across his chest, reassured by the gentle thump of his heartbeat.  Somewhere, sometime over the course of their friendship, she realized how very much she’d grown to care for him.  In the quiet of the infirmary, now, she could admit how right Eugene’s earlier dig at her had been: today had scared the hell out of her.

“What are you doing to me, you big nerd?” she whispered incredulously. 

Cassandra scoffed then, and rolled her eyes in exasperation, swiping at her eyes once more and shaking her head.  The healer cleared his throat across the room.  She straightened and followed his gesture to a new cot, but not before she took one last moment to return the kiss Varian had bestowed upon her from behind the cell door, her lips pressed tenderly to his forehead as she bid him a silent goodnight.  

 She did feel better, Cassandra admitted, after a few hours of sleep and some breakfast.  Much to Eugene’s chagrin, she even reported for duty.  The Captain, however, seemed assuaged by her reasoning that she needed the distraction and she accepted his compromise to take off after lunch. 

She was returning from the kitchens (making her way through the Great Hall since a steady thundershower rendered the courtyard an undesirable path) when Cassandra caught the back of a familiar mop of black hair heading in that very direction - and likely to the old ammunitions holds that had been converted to his main lab, near the garden.  

“Varian?” she called, both concerned to see him up and about when she’d left him very much unconscious the night before, and relieved.  

He turned at the sound of her voice and smiled wanly, waiting for her to catch up to him.  “Hey.”

“Hey, yourself.”  she narrowed her eyes.  “You’re looking…better?” she offered unconvincingly, to which he chuckled sheepishly.  

“Yeah, I know...I’m kind of a mess,” he muttered, gesturing to himself, and she was dismayed at how hoarse his voice sounded.  

“You look pretty peaked, actually,” she revised.  “Are you sure you should be out right now?”

“Released on my own recognizance,” he puffed, but quickly deflated under her stare.  “Yeah, okay.  So, released once I kept down some lunch,” he admitted.  “I just wanted to give the lab a once over, make a few notes.”

“Right.  Where we’d find you slumped over the workbench at dinner time because you lost track of the hour,” she chuckled at the indignant noise he made. “Varian, I know you.  And, I know what you went through yesterday with that stuff - it could have killed you!  May I remind you of the antidote you spent all afternoon and evening bringing up --”

“Okay, okay...keep pushing it, and you can see what I had for lunch, too,” Varian groused, looking decidedly uncomfortable and definitely too pale.  

And darn it, she’d let her blunt mouth run away with her again.  “See?  All you need to be doing right now is taking it easy.”

She stepped behind him to take Varian by the shoulders and direct him toward the other end of the hall, toward the bath chambers.  “THAT way.  Go use those hot showers you made possible.  If you still feel like you’ve got it in you to check your lab, then we’ll talk.”

He spluttered as she began pushing him across the floor, but she could tell he wasn’t putting up much resistance, physically.  “I don’t have clean clothes…”

“I’ll bring you some. Go on.”

Varian planted his feet and glowered at her, but then his shoulders slumped in defeat.  He threw a longing glance at the bath doors and looked back at her. “It....would feel nice…”

Cassandra smiled triumphantly. “Right?”  

When he continued to look uncertain, she could tell he was at war with something he felt he needed to do and what he wanted to do. She frowned and reached out to touch his elbow, lowering her voice.   “Hey.  What’s got you so determined to push yourself right now?”

He was silent for a moment, then met her eyes. “I really should make some notes.  I - I need a way to better track, and secure, my inventory,” he answered ruefully.  “Yesterday was a reminder of the real danger in some of the work I do, and how imperative it is to protect the kingdom’s assets - both from misuse and misconstruction.”

While the solemnity of his response was reassuring, Cassandra couldn’t help but think Varian had completely overlooked another important aspect of the “kingdom’s assets” - his own well-being.  

Security detail was one of her specialties, not his, and before she could second-guess herself, she suggested, “How about you get that shower, take a load off and rest.  You could...tell me what’s going on in that big brain of yours, and I could write the notes down for you.”

Varian’s expression shifted so swiftly to surprise that Cassandra found herself back-pedaling in case she’d offered too much.

“I mean if you - if I -”  she rolled her eyes with irritation at her bumbling and huffed, feeling her cheeks burn.  “If you trusted me to.”

Varian’s eyes softened and the smile he gave her made her stomach do that weird thing again.  His voice dropped.  “Of course I trust you,” he reassured her, and then it was his turn to look embarrassed.  He reached up to rub awkwardly at the back of his neck.  “It’s just...you’ve done a lot already, you know? And this doesn’t really matter all that much to…”

“It matters to you.”

“Well, yes.”

“Then it matters to me.”

Varian blinked, confounded.  “Wow, Cass - that was almost….touching.  Eugene would ask if you hurt yourself.”

“GO,” she growled good-naturedly, punching him lightly in the arm.

Varian flinched playfully and wobbled, off-balance, but even as Cassandra steadied him with an apology, he only chuckled and assured her he was fine, at last giving in to her suggestion and plodding off to the bath chambers.    

She had been right, too, after hurrying back with clean clothes from his chambers - while the hot water and steam had brought back some color to his face, it had also left him rather loose-limbed and, if possible, wearier.  She took him by the arm and steered him toward the steps of the garden tower, prodding him along like a drunken villager to his rooms.  They were cold and felt damp with all the rain, so she set to starting some kindling in the grate of the bedchamber to chase the chill away as Varian kicked off his boots then crawled into his bed and collapsed with a groan.  The flames soon took hold and, after placing some larger logs, Cassandra glanced over her shoulder.  Varian hadn’t moved.

Thunder rumbled outside and a gust of wind splattered rain more heavily against the window, but the chill was dissipating and heat was spreading out into the room, now.  Cassandra poked at the logs for something to do, hoping that if she gave him enough time, Varian would drift off to sleep and actually rest.   It would certainly do him a world of good.  Her eyes wandered over the eclectic arrangement of artifacts and trinkets on the mantle; some of them she recognized, but others she did not.  She tilted her head quizzically at a glass urn, filled with what looked like a marbled mixture of ash and sand, labeled with nothing more than sketched flames. 

“Go ahead, open it,” Varian spoke drowsily. “Spread some of it across the fire.”

Cassandra threw him a wry, “why are you still awake?” look, but reached up to gingerly remove the jar, setting the lid on the mantle’s ledge.  She pulled out a scoop of the fine granules and studied them more closely.  They sparkled slightly in the light of the flames and she found herself curious, scattering them across the expanse of the grate.  The powder sparked and popped, surprising her, but then the flames were suddenly awash with changing color, blazing from jewel-toned blues and greens to bright oranges and pinks.  

“What is it?” she breathed, delighted as the flames continued a steady burn of flickering color.

“Just a mix I’m still trying to get right,” he replied, but she could hear the surprise in his voice at her interest. “Potassium and copper chloride, lithium chloride...some alum. Sugar and salt.”

Cassandra shook her head fondly at his list of mostly unknown, scientific ingredients, still mesmerized.  “It’s beautiful.”

“Yes, it is,” he responded groggily, but she could feel his eyes on her, instead.

Cassandra felt her cheeks redden and she offered him a small smile, uncharacteristically self-conscious with the attention.  She felt warm all over.  “How are you feeling?” she asked finally, replacing the jar and coming to stand at the bedside.  

Varian shrugged half-heartedly. “Eh. Head hurts a little, but it’s not too bad.”

Translation: enough for him to mention it, though.  Cassandra frowned, tugging the covers from beneath him and pulling them up to his chest.  She stepped over to his desk and plucked the blanket from the chair. It was obviously one Rapunzel had knitted for him, large and heavy and very soft, its colors mirroring that of Ruddiger’s fur.  It...smelled faintly like Varian.  She wrapped it around her shoulders and then, after a moment’s consideration, rummaged in the armoire for an extra pillow and situated herself beside him on the bed with a quill and one of the parchment books he kept on the table.  Varian wriggled under the blankets and finally settled on his side, snuggled surprisingly - and comfortably, she realized - close to her hip.

“Okay, first things first,” she began, and Varian craned his neck to look up at her.  “You need a better lock.  Maybe more than one. And lock it every time you leave...even for just a few minutes.”  

Varian hummed in agreement, nodding against the pillow.  “I should talk with Xavier.”

“Noted.  How often do you check inventory?”

“I…”  Varian frowned.  “Not enough,” he admitted ruefully.  

“It seems redundant much of the time, I know,” Cassandra responded patiently, adding to the page, “Especially if you’re the only one in there and you’ve not left all day...but, I recommend it.  Sometimes you catch discrepancies.  We do the same with armor and munitions.”

“Makes sense,” Varian yawned.

Cassandra’s mouth twitched and she glanced down at him.  “Line of sight,” she added quietly. 

“What about it?” he asked, fighting to open his eyes again.

“We should rearrange your workspace so that your back isn’t to the door.  So that you always have a line of sight when someone comes in.”

“I hadn’t thought of that...that’s a good idea.”  

“We should also add a sentry. I’ll talk with Eugene about it.” She scribbled down a few more notes and he yawned again.  “I think that’s enough for us to start with,” she assured him, leaning over and whispering, “Get some rest.”

“...Cass, could you….?”  Varian stopped himself short, his cheeks turning pink as he burrowed into the pillow.

Cassandra set aside the parchment book and quill, brow furrowed.  She tried to surmise what he could possibly have wanted or needed that would embarrass him so after everything he’d been through.  Tentatively, she reached out to comb her fingers through the long fringe at his forehead and he sighed as if he had been waiting for exactly that... oh.  When she’d done it for him the night before, he’d finally relaxed enough to let unconsciousness claim him.  She could not help but smile now as it seemed to work again.  He really was a tactile creature.  

“How’s that?” she asked, her thumb circling gently at his temple.

“Mmm.”

“Mmm?”

There was barely a grunt, but he seemed to nestle in just a little bit closer.  She sighed and sank into a more comfortable position, allowing her eyes to close for a respite.  Just a brief one, she compromised with the part of herself that railed against the domesticity of the whole thing.  The rain continued to patter at the window and it was warm, cozy, and... nice , she decided, with Varian tucked against her side and breathing deeply.  She would slip out once Varian was asleep.  Her fingers continued threading through his hair and he hadn’t stirred in the slightest.  As she began to drift off, herself, Cassandra had one last thought before the morning sun would finally wake her hours later:  that Euguene’s ridiculous grooming habits had worn off on Varian and she now had the perfect dig that would drive Eugene bonkers.

Varian’s hair was definitely thicker and softer.

#varian #post rapunzels tangled adventures #hurt/comfort #sickfic #poisoning #fluff #cassandra #post tts #post tangled the series #post seven kingdoms too #adult varian #adult cassandra #cassarian #Eugene Fitzherbert #Rapunzel #shameless #gratuitous fluff #did I mention fluff? #plot #development #coltdancer writes #trash for this series

[jahaanofmenaphos]

Art by the awesome @tommieglenn!

Of Gods and Men Summary:

When the gods returned to Gielinor, their minds were only on one thing: the Stone of Jas, a powerful elder artefact in the hands of Sliske, a devious Mahjarrat who stole it for his own ends and entertainment. He claims to want to incite another god wars, but are his ulterior motives more sinister than that? And can the World Guardian, Jahaan, escape from under Sliske’s shadow?

Read the full work here:

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TUMBLR CHAPTER INDEX

QUEST 11: SLISKE’S ENDGAME

QUEST SUMMARY:

The eclipse is nigh. The end of Sliske’s games draws near. All the gods gather for one final race for the Stone, taking them through a shadowy labyrinth of the devious Mahjarrat’s design. Not only does Jahaan have to survive the trials Sliske sets out for them, but he has to compete against every major deity in Gielinor. Then, and only then, will he have a shot at ending Sliske’s madness once and for all…

CHAPTER 6 - DARE TO DIE

His green eyes no longer shone emerald. Instead, they were sunk into their sockets, white and lifeless.

This was not Ozan.

His hair was a tangled mess, not the perfectly layered quiff and bangs that usually framed his handsome face.

This was not Ozan.

He carried himself like a broken puppet on a string, not with the suave bravado and swagger he was famous for.

This was NOT Ozan!

But even if this figure standing before Jahaan wasn’t Ozan, it broke his heart all the same.

He wanted to call out to his friend, to beg him to remember who he once was, that he’s not just a thrall of Sliske’s… but he knew it was hopeless. Wights couldn’t be reasoned with, and Jahaan knew Sliske would get some perverse pleasure out of watching him hopelessly beg for his friend’s sanity. But Jahaan couldn’t help but gormlessly stand there, heart pounding in his throat and threatening to jump out of his mouth.

Sliske knew his nightmares, and this was one of them.

Mercifully, Jahaan regained enough composure to register Ozan readying his bow and arrow, managing to start running out of the way just before the arrow would have careened into him. A bow and arrow was far superior in accuracy and power compared to Karil’s crossbow, especially in Ozan’s hands. He was one of Gielinor’s finest archers, and even as a wight, his prowess would be second to none.

Fortunately, even Ozan’s arrows weren’t strong enough to penetrate Jahaan’s armour, but they packed a punch. As he was running from one point of cover to another, Jahaan felt one slam into his side, the arrow shaft splintering on the impact. Perhaps the shock was worse than the pain, but it wasn’t an experience he cared to repeat.

Ozan was positioned by the remnants of the Stone of Jas, the crumbled remains of the universe’s most powerful artefact. And as the next arrow whizzed by him, an idea clicked into Jahaan’s mind.

When wights are bested in combat, they don’t die, for they’re already stuck in a perpetual state of ‘undeath’. Instead, they rejuvenate, ready to be summoned again. How long this rejuvenation process takes depends on the prowess of the summoner, but for someone as powerful as Sliske, the wights could be back at full strength within a couple of hours. If the summoner died while the wights were rejuvenating, the souls of the wights would be released to the afterlife - only then would they finally ‘die’. Most likely, the same thing would happen if wights were active when their master perished. But a small part of Jahaan wondered… if he killed Sliske while Ozan was summoned, would the Mahjarrat’s control over him be broken? Would he be free?

It seemed like a long shot; Jahaan wished he’d asked Icthlarin more questions on the matter. But even if there was the slimmest of chances he could save some part of Ozan, he was going to try.

So, instead of working to destroy Ozan’s wight form, Jahaan tried to impair him, to render him immobile for the rest of the battle.

Kerapac’s armour was dropped a little ways across the cavern, and Jahaan wanted to reach it before heading towards Ozan, just to give his head some protection in case an arrow accidentally targeted his skull instead of his protected chestplate. Sliske must have known that Ozan’s bow and arrow was not enough to physically debilitate him. But battles fought against the mind could leave greater scars than any carved on the body. When it came to battles against the mind, Sliske could be considered a warmaster. The Mahjarrat was smart. Twisted, malicious, but smart.

So Jahaan tried to pretend the man attacking him wasn’t the warped shell of his oldest and closest companion. Alas, it didn’t work that easily, but he kept trying. Jahaan found small comfort in the knowledge that he would soon channel all the rage, all the sorrow and all the grief that Sliske had caused him, and use it to beat the teeth out of Sliske’s skull.

Fortunately, no arrows were embedded in his head by the time he made it to Kerepac’s armour. Standing side-on to Ozan, Jahaan held the armour-plate tight against his head and edged closer to the wight, only peering out briefly to make sure he was walking on target. Naturally, this slow and straight movement made him easy pickings for Ozan’s arrows. Jahaan prayed that his armour would hold up.

The first arrow connected underneath his rib, arrow splitting in two with each end flying in a different direction. The second bounced off in similar fashion. At this rate, Jahaan realised the greatest danger was the unpredictable direction the arrowheads would fly in.

When Jahaan got too close, Ozan started to back away, edging even closer towards the Stone. Arrows that caught Jahaan at this distance packed a severe punch. One winded him as it crashed into the middle of his ribs. Groaning, Jahaan slipped one of his swords out of its sheath and kept on going, tanking another arrow hit.

Peering out from the side of his make-shift shield, Jahaan saw Ozan knock into the debris pile of the Stone behind him, staggering backwards slightly as the wight worked to regain his footing.

That was when Jahaan struck, a precise slash of his sword that cut the longbow in half. Using the wight’s confusion to his advantage, Jahaan dropped his sword and shield in quick succession, then launched himself at Ozan, a fierce knock to the side of his head making the wight stumble backwards and trip over the Stone fragments. With Ozan on the ground now, Jahaan capitalised on his crude plan to incapacitate the wight.

I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry…

Jahaan tried not to feel bad, reminding himself over and over that wights do not feel pain, that they do not suffer, regardless of what injury is inflicted upon them. Still, as he smashed the rock down on Ozan’s ankle, Jahaan himself let out a hoarse cry, but he masked it in a whimper.

I just want to help… I’m sorry...

He couldn’t look Ozan in the eye. Undead wight or not, this was his friend he was hurting, and the sickening crunch of the shattered bone made Jahaan feel sick. But since the World Guardian wanted to disable the wight, not kill him, this was the only thing that came to mind.

Ozan made no protest, only swinging his arms in weak defiance, just like a zombie would. Before Ozan could shuffle himself into a crawl, Jahaan began piling debris from all around the Stone onto Ozan’s legs, effectively trapping him there. It was a long shot, and a desperate one at that, but if he could just say put, if he could remain in this realm...

When the last piece was in place, Jahaan moved to the side, tentatively examining what Ozan would do. The wight tried to shift, twisting to face Jahaan, but it couldn’t find enough purchase to lift the debris from the lower half of its body.

Suddenly, a bolt of energy connected against Jahaan, forcing his back to arc in anguish. The jolts of arcane magic caused his entire body to spasm. When the stream of shadow energy ceased, Jahaan collapsed to the ground, twitching and panting from the aftershock.

“Honestly,” Sliske grumbled, teleporting down from his high perch and into the chamber-turned-battleground. “If you want something done right, do it yourself…”

Jahaan forced his head to the side, to look at the debilitated form of Ozan, and watched with gut-wrenching dismay as Sliske caused the wight to vanish with a wave of his hand.

The plan to try and save Ozan had failed. That hurt more than Sliske’s attack.

“You know, you’re really starting to irk me, World Guardian.”

Jahaan heard heavy footsteps move towards him, then a firm boot stomping on his back, forcing his face to smash against the ground.

“Come on, get up,” Sliske’s voice had the remnants of a growl lodged in his throat. “You risked both our necks to start a fight, so let’s get on with it.”

Groaning, Jahaan went to prop himself up, but it was a struggle. In his peripheral vision, he saw Sliske lean towards him again - and that’s when he struck.

Whipping around quickly, Jahaan threw a blinding smoke spell into Sliske’s eyes, causing the Mahjarrat to cough and choke. Using the distraction, Jahaan scrambled to his feet and gained some distance from the Mahjarrat, readying a smoke barrage to capitalise.

The spell connected, knocking Sliske back a pace. Growling, he teleported to the other side of the chasm before Jahaan’s next spell could strike him, countering with a wave of shadow magic.

Sliske’s attack hit dead on, forcing the World Guardian to the ground, but he recovered quickly.

“I see you’ve been dabbling in some of the darker arts,” Sliske sneered, shadows dancing and curling around the base of their master. “Good. I was hoping for some semblance of a challenge.”

Finally, the battle commenced in earnest.

Jahaan weaved and ducked out of the way of oncoming fire, tanking the odd hits he couldn’t quite slip out of the way from. Fortunately, his armour held up well. Memories of fighting Zemouregal told him he couldn’t rely on absorbing every hit - his ribs were a weakness to him as it was. But he could take enough without too much pain or damage. It was very reassuring, being enveloped in such strong armour.

In return, he fired back when he had the chance, smoke and blood barrage spells slipping easily from his gloved palms. He could feel the burning heat against the skin of his hands, thankful that the material his gloves were made out of provided the wearer with some form of spellcaster’s protection. Many people preferred fighting with a wand or staff for greater accuracy, avoiding the scorched palms in the process. Not Jahaan. To him, staves were cumbersome and wands were flimsy. Learning to palm-cast was harder, but it was much more useful for someone who predominantly fought with melee items.

Besides, it was much more satisfying to watch Sliske feel the pain from a spell summoned from Jahaan’s own hands.

“I still haven’t forgiven you for what you did to me,” the Mahjarrat hissed, blocking a smoke spell with a shadow-esque shield.

“What I did to you?!” Jahaan spluttered, indignantly. “You nearly beat me to death! You killed my best friend!”

“You broke your promise,” Sliske countered, coldly. “You gave me your word, and you betrayed me.”

Shadow hands emerged from the ground, clawing at Jahaan. While he kicked one of them away, another grabbed so tightly onto his left arm that it threatened to crush the armour. As quick as he could, Jahaan unsheathed a sword and hacked through the arm clutching at him, dashing away from the remaining ethereal limbs.

“You’re delusional, Sliske,” Jahaan couldn’t even put enough venomous emotion into the statement. There was no sense in arguing with someone so lost in their own fables.

Then again, Sliske felt the exact same way.

Sliske’s attacks were wild and vicious, and he had no problem in hitting Jahaan when he was down. Arcane energy in the form of lightning strikes would crash down from above, hitting the ground around Jahaan’s feet, causing it to crumble and quake. The World Guardian would fall to the floor, greeted half a second later by a thunderous blitz of shadow magic against his downed frame.

Jahaan predicted that, with each spell and attack Sliske summoned, he was rapidly drawing away from his life force. Without the Stone’s power, and without his energy having been rejuvenated in the last Ritual, Sliske was running on empty. In a way, Jahaan thought it best to prolong this fight as long as possible, to force Sliske into wilder and more powerful spells that would sap his energy. This would weaken him quicker. However, this was a double-edged sword, for stamina worked both ways - the longer the fight lasted, the more likely Jahaan was to make a mistake, one that Sliske could capitalise upon to fatal ends.

Occasionally, a handful of unstable wights would be conjured and sent to attack Jahaan. These were easy to kill, slow and unresponsive, and served as a distraction more than anything so that Sliske could exploit the situation. Usually Jahaan would find himself tangling with a wight, only to be struck across the side by a bolt of shadow energy.

These wights didn’t seem to be as robust as the Brothers - far from it. Sometimes they would explode before even reaching Jahaan. Occasionally they would explode just before Jahaan could kill them, sending out scolding particles of arcane energy. If he was unfortunate, these particles would singe Jahaan’s face, already adding to the collection of burn marks he was sporting.

Jahaan didn’t think this was all that intentional, but instead a by-product of Sliske’s rapidly draining power, making him unwilling to part with large chunks of energy in order to fuel an army of strong wights. The Barrows Brothers alone must have drained him considerably. Perhaps he was grasping at the severity of his situation?

Looking carefully, one could notice how sunken Sliske’s eyes had become, receding back into their hollow sockets. His grey skin was tighter against his chin, clawing away from him and fraying at the edges. In some places, where the flesh was closer to the bone, it had peeled away completely, showing the animated corpse beneath. His breathing was shorter now, tighter, as if he was inhaling through a thicker, unfamiliar atmosphere with untested lungs.

It seemed as if Sliske was growing aware of this himself. Gazing down at his hand, the Mahjarrat removed a glove and felt his heart sink at the confirmation. The cracking sound as his skinless fingers clenched into a fist only served to make Sliske even angrier, and he took it out on Jahaan.

Fortunately for Jahaan, the more heated Sliske seemed to get, the less accurate his attacks were. More and more, the World Guardian could counter one of the Mahjarrat’s spells with an attack of his own. Smoke and blood spells connected against Sliske with increased power and precision.

Occasionally the fight was brought to the Shadow Realm, usually by Sliske, but Jahaan would chase him there, refusing to give him enough respite to calculate his offence. But even without entering the Realm, Jahaan could trace Sliske’s movements inside of it, tracking where he would emerge.

“I’m really regretting my choice of gift,” Sliske chided as Jahaan pursued the Mahjarrat into the Shadow Realm once more.

More shadow hands reached for Jahaan, their translucency a trap as they would cling onto their prey tighter than any mortal arms. Thankfully, Jahaan evaded them this time.

With a hoarse groan, a smoke barrage collided with Sliske at full force, causing him to double over and clutch at his stomach. Ragged breaths slipped past clenched teeth, tight and laboured. By now, Sliske’s eyes seemed far too big for his face, as if his skull had shrunk. Flesh hung loosely from his gaunt, jutting bones. In the patches where it hadn’t receded completely, his skin was like paper.

Unfortunately, the effects of the battle had been taking their toll on Jahaan too. He couldn’t think how long the two had been duelling, but the exhaustion was really starting to kick in now. Underneath his armour he could feel the swelling and tenderness of bruises starting to form. Sweat poured down his forehead, coating his black locks and sticking them to his cheeks. He flicked his head to one side, trying to detach them from his skin.

More than anything, Jahaan didn’t want Sliske to know that the fatigue was getting to him. Knowledge like that could give Sliske a confidence boost, one that could work severely against the World Guardian.

Still, he needed a few minutes to catch his breath and compose himself, even if such respite gave Sliske a breather in the process. Without it, Jahaan feared he would collapse. Adrenaline can only take a man so far.

The last thing Jahaan wanted to hear was Sliske’s honeyed voice grating against his eardrums, but if it provided some respite to his attacks, then he’d suffer it.

“So come on,” Jahaan huffed, wiping his brow with a gloved hand. “Seeing as we’re near the end of all this, you can tell me the truth now.” Sliske’s stance was guarded, but he seemed to be in favour of their unspoken time-out, deciding against conjuring another attack. “The truth about what?”

“About why you wanted my soul,” Jahaan replied, resting his hands on the hilts of his swords. “You’ve met thousands of people across hundreds of lifetimes - surely you could have used any one of them to get a soul!”

“Don’t you think I tried?” Sliske barked back. “Hundreds upon hundreds of failed experiments! I tried everything, got lost in my research, but none of them were compatible with me… but you would know all about that, wouldn’t you, you prying little World Guardian. Even when I had the Staff, nothing would take.”

“And so you took the word of a madman to come after me? All because he plucked my name out of thin air?”

“You don’t believe much in destiny, do you?” Sliske chided. “It’s such a romantic concept. I knew - all the way back then, I knew - that if I were to acquire a soul, it would be yours. You’re… special. Always have been.”

Jahaan didn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, he decided to end their little respite before Sliske could dive into a vexing soliloquy. There was only so much the World Guardian could take. Fortunately, the Mahjarrat didn’t react in time and took the full brunt of a smoke barrage. The spell caught onto the fabric of his robe beneath his chin, incinerating a small portion of it and burning the flesh below. Seeing the opportunity, Jahaan channeled a delicate and precise blood spell, one that targeted the blood seeping from Sliske’s wound. Soon, the ink-like substance that came from the wound was under Jahaan’s control. The World Guardian pulled the blood out like it was a weed. Thin and sticky vines defied gravity as they were wrenched out of the Mahjarrat’s body.

Roaring in anguish, Sliske forcefully pressed a palm to the wound, desperate to stop the essence being dragged from his body. Realising the effort was for nought, he fired a wild spell in Jahaan’s direction, missing the mark but close enough to get Jahaan to break his concentration on the spell.

Sliske stumbled, hunching slightly as he panted for breath, the heat of his palm trying to nurse the wound. Baring his teeth, seething eyes glared daggers at Jahaan. “Did Azzy teach you that one?”

Jahaan’s lips curled with a tinge of cruelty.

Sliske fought back with increased venom, a wave of shadow magic storming across the chasm and crashing into Jahaan. The World Guardian tumbled to the ground, rolling at speed into a pile of debris. Once the world stopped spinning, Jahaan became aware of an acute pain in his jaw and the unmistakable taste of iron in his mouth. When he spat out, blood came with it, alongside a fragment of tooth.

Groaning, Jahaan tried to pull himself to his feet, but a blast of shadow energy put paid to that. In fact, several more bolts connected with him as Jahaan desperately tried to crawl behind a downed pillar for cover.

Gasping for breath, Jahaan tried to reorient himself and prepare to counter. But by the gods, was his back killing him. That last onslaught had really done a number on his already aching muscles. But for what it was worth, that last onslaught had also taken its toll on Sliske.

“You just wanted to make me one of your thralls!” Jahaan called out from behind cover, stretching out the kinks in his back, trying to shake off the pain in his aching muscles. “You pretended to care about me, but you were just using me all this time. So don’t get pissed just because I used you. It’s a two-way street.”

Jahaan flinched as a bolt of arcane energy careened into the remnants of the pillar, shattering his stone cover.

“I would have given you eternal life,” Sliske’s voice was low and ever so slightly shaky. “I would have given you power, a place in this world. You would have had purpose. I would have let you keep your free will.”

“Until you got bored,” Jahaan countered. “And stripped that away from me with a click of your fingers.”

Sliske shook his head lightly. “Not you. I would never have done that to you.”

The worst part was that, despite everything, a part of Jahaan believed Sliske. The Mahjarrat was a master of manipulating emotions, and Jahaan had to remind himself that’s exactly what this was - a manipulation. Sliske was trying to get under his skin to throw him off balance, nothing more.

Nothing more?

Shaking the cobwebs from his mind, Jahaan readied himself and dashed out from behind cover, a forceful retaliation of spells at his fingertips.

Sliske tried to keep up, but he was weak, weaker than he’d ever felt before. Five hundred years pass between each Ritual, and yet even after all that time he’d still have enough in the tank to fight to the death beside the Marker.

The words of his half brother began to repeat inside his mind, ‘And what would happen if all your plans fell apart and you were finally cornered?’

In his arrogance, he had shrugged off his brother’s concerns. There was always another plan, after all.

He’d have to think fast, have to calculate his next move. Was escaping even an option? Jahaan had stopped him last time and he could again. But regardless of that, Sliske didn’t want to run away this time. What was the use? The state he was in, he could wither and die all alone before he came up with a solution to rejuvenate himself.

He just had to think. While there was still hope for his plans to succeed, he would keep trying.

He still had the Staff. He still had a chance.

This was not over yet. Far from it.

At least, that was what Sliske thought...

Before long, Sliske’s spells became weaker and harder to cast, the strain on each one hurting himself more than the spell’s target. All the while, his brain racked for a way to turn the tables in his favour, to get the soul he needed now more than ever. If he was to die in this world, that soul was his only chance of living on in the next.

With the Staff, the Siphon, there was a way. Jahaan just needed to be debilitated as the extraction was a delicate process.

But Jahaan was fighting with more vigor now - perhaps he could sense Sliske’s withering and desperation? Perhaps it was spurring him on, giving him enough adrenaline to counter each of Sliske’s attacks with a thunderous rebuttal.

The World Guardian was gaining on him, closing the gap between them. Each hit Jahaan tanked didn’t slow him down as much as Sliske needed, and it didn’t deter him from pushing onwards. Sliske tried to hold his ground, but the more powerful attacks winded him, causing him to cough and splutter up mouthfuls of acidic bile. The next bolt of blood magic smashed into his gut, causing the Mahjarrat to double over, now finding blood dripping out from between his teeth and pooling in the black of his throat.

He didn’t notice Jahaan slip the dagger out of its sheath until it was far too late.

Jahaan leapt into the air, runite dagger held high. The sharp tip of the blade was angled towards the top of Sliske’s skull. Starved for reaction time, all the Mahjarrat’s instincts allowed him to do was to bring his right arm up to intercept the dagger’s path.

The dagger embedded itself in the lower part of Sliske’s right forearm. A sickening squelch would have normally been expected, but there was not enough flesh to garner such a noise. Instead, it was worse - a nauseating snapping sound as the blade tore through weakened muscles, then followed by the dull, heavy knock against bone. The crushing force of the hilt smashing against Sliske’s increasingly frail arms caused a large chunk of bone to shatter in the Mahjarrat’s arm. At the same time, the hilt of Jahaan’s dagger cracked and the blade dislodged from its perch inside the handle.

Howling in agony, Sliske tried to summon a spell to fend off Jahaan, but the act made him lightheaded. This time though, the World Guardian didn’t capitalise, instead watching numbly as Sliske staggered back into the cliff wall behind him. Wheezing and panting, each heavy breath strained to free itself from his throat. The Mahjarrat coughed, bringing forth blood as he did so.

The dagger in his arm had been the final straw. Even though he’d protected himself against the killing blow, Sliske already felt blackness crawling into the corners of his eyes.

Shaking hands clutched onto the wound the dagger had made. He felt the crumbled bone rattle in his arm, a quiet yet deafening sound that made Sliske want to retch. Some fragments had come loose, tumbling out of his sleeve and scattering across the ground like marbles.

And still Jahaan didn’t move. He was rendered immobile by the sight before him, struck dumb by the realisation that he had won. This was it. It was so nearly over.

Everything started to feel unreal, almost hollow. It was a clouding sensation Jahaan couldn’t quite grasp, but it refused him the luxury of any prevailing emotion. No elation at victory, no relief that all this madness was nearly at an end. Just… emptiness.

Sliske all but collapsed against the rock behind him, scraping down the jagged edges until solid ground halted his descent. Panting, he gazed up at Jahaan through blurred eyes, trying to end the double vision so he could sharpen the world around him.

“It seems you’ve got me in a spot of bother,” he winced through the words.

Rolling his shoulders and clicking his neck from side to side, Jahaan stretched the stiffness out of his aching muscles. The swords felt like tonne weights in his hands. He held them limply, not having the strength to sheathe them completely. Darkness floated into the edges of his mind, his eyes begging for momentary release, but he fought to keep them open.

His attention was pulled back into reality by the sound of tearing material. Glancing over at Sliske, the Mahjarrat was using the edges of his robes to bind his wound.

“I was a fool to think I could skip a Ritual,” he muttered, cringing as he tied the material tighter around his forearm, letting out a strangled cry as he squeezed the wound. After the pain had subsided from blinding to just plain agony, Sliske calmed his ragged breaths and reached around to unhook his shoulder armour. The weight of it suddenly felt unbearable, like gravity had turned malicious and was using the metal to crush him. His molded torso platebody also felt far too constricting - he removed that too, letting it fall to his side. Finally, he could breathe.

“I didn’t know the drain would be so fast, so intense,” Sliske continued, “I thought I would have TIME, time to find a source of energy to tide me over until the next Ritual. How was I to know this would be the last one? That Mah would drain us for all we had? I suppose the Stone really was keeping me afloat. When the Dragonkin destroyed it, the cord was cut, and thus my power, my energy, my… my life is being drained from me, quicker than ever before.”

“You’re dying,” Jahaan surmised, bluntly.

Scoffing, Sliske smiled in surrender. “Always the wordsmith.”

The two were silent for a long while. No malicious teasing from Sliske, no foolhardy defiance from the World Guardian. It was tangible, the space between them. Jahaan felt like he could reach out and mould something out of the thick air.

Exhaling deeply, Jahaan nodded to himself, growing in certainty as he did.

Dropping his swords to the ground, Jahaan began the task of unhinging his plate armour.

Seeing this, Sliske offered him a puzzled look. “What are you doing?”

“Making this a fair fight,” Jahaan simply replied, removing the last section of his platelegs. He picked up one of his swords and tossed it over to Sliske’s feet. “Can you fight with your left?”

Sliske blinked. “Of course. But why?”

“It’s simple, really. You’re not going to live, but I’m not going to let you die. You’re going to fight, and I’m going to kill you.”

The Mahjarrat’s face cracked a thin smile, but the gesture was weak, a pretender, a shadow of its former self. “Would that make you happy, Janny? To drive a blade through my cold heart once and for all?”

Shoulder’s sagging, Jahaan sighed in frustration, rubbing his pounding temples with his free hand. “I don’t know anymore, Sliske. I just don’t know.”

After regarding Jahaan carefully for a long, pronounced moment, Sliske took the sword and forced himself to his feet, stumbling slightly as he was painfully reminded of the weight of his own body.

Testing the weight of the sword in his uninjured hand, Sliske said, “If you have a deathwish, I suppose I can oblige. But what do I gain from killing you, hm?”

“Don’t kill me - bring me close,” Jahaan replied, “Do that, and you can finally get what you’ve always wanted... you can have my soul.”

This made Sliske’s eyes light up. “Well, that's an offer I simply cannot refuse. Let’s dance.”

DISCLAIMER:

As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex.

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#runescape #sliske's endgame

[quinnybee-writes]

Title: Fire Meet Gasoline

Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia/My Hero Academia

Rating: T+

Part: 5/?

Story Summary: A chance encounter between a villain and vigilante leads to an unwise deal made between unlikely allies; an unwise deal made between unlikely allies ends in a final stand neither would have ever dared to take on alone. Together, though, they just might have a fighting chance.

Part 5 Summary: Hizashi uses the first of his five favors, and some interesting new complications are uncovered along the way.

Part 1 on  Tumblr / AO3

Part 2 on Tumblr / AO3

Part 3 on Tumblr / AO3

Part 4 on Tumblr / AO3

On AO3

The night was cold and quiet and empty other than Shouta and the two burglars he was silently tailing through the city park. It was almost a smart move on their part to cut through the far edge of the park, away from the main road swarming with police at the site of the corner store they’d broken into. The trees were dense enough to make visibility an issue outside of the hazy halos of light from the lamps along the path and the recently-mowed grass was still short enough to not give their footsteps away. But they hadn’t accounted for someone passing by while listening to police radio dispatches as they skittered away from the crime scene and it was about to make things much more difficult for them.

Getting back out onto the streets felt like finally slipping through the bars of a tiny cage he’d been trapped in. Yamada and his stupid wager still hovered over his head like the Ghost of Bad Choices Past, but Shouta refused to let it disrupt his routines any more than it already had. He crept along in the burglars’ wake, taking long, slow strides to avoid making any noise. The two of them had stopped under the tight row of trees near the park fence to catch their breath. Shouta reached the tree beside the one they were crouched under and pulled himself up through the branches until he reached where the park’s faux-natural manicuring brought the treetops close enough to almost touch. He had a decent vantage point from here, hidden by leaves and the rattling of branches in the night air. The two burglars didn’t look much older than their early twenties at the most, a couple of punk brats diving in way over their heads. Petty criminals were getting bolder and bolder these days, Shouta thought with a frown. They scuttled around in the shadows unbothered while flashier villains took up all of the city’s heroes’ time and energy. Crafty, but not necessarily smart. Activating his Quirk while he could see them but the branches still blocked them from seeing him, Shouta did a quick pat-down inventory of his supplies; the bolases and gags were in their designated hidden pockets at his waist, his zip ties hidden down the back of one boot and his knife stowed in the other, and a spare length of rope sitting in a looped coil around his neck under the collar of his jumpsuit. After the endless hassle his initial run-in with Yamada had caused him in the intervening weeks he was taking no chances.

The two below him were bickering in sharp hissing whispers. One was trying to convince the other that they still had more than enough time and good luck to slip back out of the park and knock over somewhere else before they called it quits for the night. The other was whisper-shouting back that his partner was crazy and they needed to make a break for their safe house right this second before the cops caught wise. He would need to be target number one, Shouta decided. Ego and bravado would make the first one stand his ground and pick a fight, but the other was almost guaranteed to spook and take off if Shouta didn’t take secure him first. Shouta eased a step onto the branch that got the closest to the next tree, readying himself to jump. A second later he froze, jaw locked against the startled gasp stuck in the back of his throat. His phone, tucked away in a pocket within a pocket under his arm, decided now was the perfect time to vibrate hard against his ribs in an insistent, rhythmic ringing. Shouta held his breath as the vibrations ground against bone, pressing his free hand against the pocket to make sure it didn’t make any sound. Finally the call clicked off and he let the breath go in a slow sigh. Not a moment later, though, the ringing began again. Shouta let his brain run through a long, florid string of every swear word he knew as he tried to refocus through the distraction. With his luck it was work calling him in to cover yet another overnight shift while an especially nasty cold ran rampant through the office, but he didn’t have time to investigate. Shouta slid forward, bracing his feet before making the short jump across to the burglars’ tree. He landed a little too hard in his haste and the more jittery one let out a startled squeak.

“Okay, that was definitely not a fucking squirrel!” he hissed as Shouta froze in the foliage above them.

“Would you stop being such a coward?” the braver one snorted. “You don’t have to lose your mind every time a leaf falls. If there was anyone else here I would have heard them by now, remember? If I knew you’d be such a chickenshit about this I would’ve left you for the cops!”

“Screw you for real, dude. Your plan was horseshit without me.”

“And the rest of my night’s been horseshit with you. Shut up and stop jumping at shadows before I knock your ass out myself,” the braver one retorted. “I’m gonna go make sure the road’s clear. Stay here and stay quiet.”

The jittery one muttered something acidic under his breath as his partner skirted the park fence to go check their escape route. Shouta ignored the itch of rapid-fire text alerts from his phone and quickly took advantage of the two splitting up. He dropped down behind the jittery one. As expected, the burglar jumped and whipped at the sound of his landing. He managed to suck in a hard breath and open his mouth to scream for his partner before Shouta knocked the wind out of him with a sharp shot to his sternum. As the burglar doubled over Shouta brought his elbow down hard against the back of his skull. The man’s eyes rolled back in his head as his knees instantly buckled and he dropped to the ground. Shouta took his collar in both hands and dragged him to the far side of the tree. He secured the unconscious man and the wrists and ankles with zip ties, binding his arms to his chest with a length of rope and sliding a cloth gag into his slack mouth just in case. His partner had fully disappeared down the park path but the duffle bag full of their take for the night guaranteed he wouldn’t be gone for too long. Shouta hefted himself back up into the tree to wait, pulling out his phone to see what in the world was so urgent.

He had two missed calls and a series of texts, all from an unknown number. As soon as he saw that the first text read I need a favor Shouta could feel a headache settling into the base of his skull.

I need a favor.

???

Do you have a degausser?

Really big magnet?

Hand drill/screwdriver should work too?

A sense of impending dread crept up the back of Shouta’s neck at the thought of what Yamada might have planned. Sighing, he texted back no no yes. His ears pricked up as he heard quiet grumbling approaching from the direction the braver burglar had wandered off in.

Perf! @ urs? Yamada asked.

“Got to be kidding me,” the burglar muttered as he came back into view.

not there out busy Shouta sent back. He activated his Quirk when he got a clear eyeline on the burglar and shoved his phone back into his pocket.

“If you bailed on me, I swear to god…” the burglar muttered loudly.

Shouta eased his way back down onto the ground as the man continued to berate his absent partner in a furious whisper. He drew up short and rounded on Shouta as he finally noticed he was being followed. A momentary flash of rebuking anger flickered across his face before his expression fell to panicked surprise.

“What the--”

Shouta narrowly dodged a wide punch aimed squarely at his face. As expected, this one was more stubborn and quicker to react than his partner had been. Shouta ducked low and threw his shoulder up under the man’s ribs, winding him and knocking him back. The man kicked out as he staggered, managing to knee Shouta in the jaw. He tried to regain ground by grabbing Shouta by the hood but gave a frustrated groan as it slipped back and away in his hand. Shouta struck back with a hard fist to the man’s knee, reaching up with his other hand to grab the man’s wrist and wrench it to the side. The man fully overbalanced this time, dropping in a tangled, struggling heap with a yowl as Shouta held him down. Shouta managed to bind his hands together behind his back, but getting him to be quiet and stop flailing his legs was an entirely different story.

“Get off me, you psycho! What the fuck are you doing?” the man barked. He bit Shouta on the hand hard enough to draw blood as Shouta tried to gag him. Shouta pulled his hand free with a sharp hiss of pain and the man laughed darkly. “Try it again, I d--” His voice cut off in a doglike yelp as Shouta brought cupped hands slamming against his ears in a full-force thunderclap. He coughed out a few syllabic noises that were almost words and stopped squirming as the disorientation set in. Shouta stuffed the gag into his mouth and tied it in place before zip-tying his feet and wrestling him into a more convenient position.

Shouta dragged both men out the small side entrance to the park and out onto the empty service road. He tied them together around the pole of a roadside assistance phone and set the dufflebag on the flat solar panel on top. Shouta made sure they would stay secure until someone came to get them, then took the phone off the hook and pressed the button for the operator. He set the phone handset down as it began to ring and walked away quickly before anyone could pick up. As he reached the junction with the main road, Shouta dug out his pocket radio and earbuds and tuned into the usual police scanner frequency.

“--repeat, fire service requesting assistance with possible criminal invasion at Iwata residence…”

The premonition of dread was back. Shouta pulled out his phone to see if Yamada had answered back.

Same. @ urs 1 hr?

At least he had enough decorum left to not just let himself in uninvited, Shouta thought with a low sigh as new reports drifted in. 1 hr, he confirmed. It was more or less enough time to finish his patrol, maybe squeeze in a shower, and get some ice on the welt he could already feel raising on his jaw. A criminally short night, especially given how long he had been absent, but it looked like that couldn’t be helped.

The house was an obvious old-money relic, squatting in stately stubbornness amongst the cookie-cutter modern houses around it. An eight-foot-tall hardwood fence boxed it in on all sides, just barely curbing the sprawl of the pristine relaxation garden that surrounded it. It was like walking onto a period drama set piece someone had forgotten to tear down; the whole place smacked of respectable artifice, right down to the reinforced steel gate doors patterned to look like antique wood and the security keypad hidden inside the pillar next to them. Hizashi wondered if Iwata actually thought he was being inconspicuous or if he simply knew he had enough money and influence to not have to be.

The manor’s front door slid open as Hizashi approached up the main garden path. The man in the doorway was fifty at a guess and about half a foot shorter than Hizashi, but carried his stockiness with a relaxed bravado that made up the difference. His smile held the kind of cold benevolence that told desperate people “of course I can help you, you just have to help me help you first”.

“I saw you coming,” the man said a little smugly, gesturing to the smartphone in his hand.

Security system controlled by an app, Hizashi noted, keeping his answering smile neutral. “You must be Mr. Iwata,” he said, bowing.

“And you’re Seguchi’s contact,” Iwata replied, inclining his head. He gave Hizashi a slightly condescending once-over, then asked, “What should I call you?”

“‘Bird’ is fine,” Hizashi said. “They call me ‘Mockingbird’ but that’s a bit much to keep saying over and over. I’d hate to waste your time like that.”

Iwata seemed to find the quasi-flattery amusing, waving for Hizashi to follow as he began to walk around the manor’s outside deck.”You came remarkably highly recommended,” Iwata said as they walked.

“Oh?” Hizashi bit back a smirk at that; he’d made sure he would. With Hebiko and her lot keeping Seguchi’s arrest under wraps to avoid outside power plays it hadn’t taken much more than a few phone calls and a passable Seguchi impression to invite himself into the confidence of several key people from Seguchi’s address book.

“Seguchi thinks a lot of your skills,” Iwata said, nodding thoughtfully. “Have you worked with many others in the business?”

“No one of note other than Seguchi. I was surprised when he handed off this assignment if I’m honest, he’s never mentioned anything about there being anyone senior to him before. But I’m sure he was just banking on your reputation speaking for itself, of course,” Hizashi said, trying to sound appropriately embarrassed by his “accidental slip”.

Iwata didn’t reply, but the tightening in his jaw at the remark was all the confirmation he needed. When he’d reverted the files on the flash drive Hebiko had planted on him, Hizashi found that all the most acerbic communications seemed to be between Seguchi and Iwata. Iwata was only Seguchi’s senior by at most half a rung, but that half rung had obviously been taken in blood and fire and Iwata had no intention of letting anyone forget his place relative to their own. Bruising his ego in Seguchi’s name was a cheap move but Hizashi wasn’t one to let a good opportunity go to waste.

“You aren’t as much of a talker as Seguchi seems to think you are,” Iwata commented as they reached the back of the house. A squat faux-antique addition about the size of a walk-in closet stuck out from the back corner of the house ahead of them; if it hadn’t been so obviously hand-distressed up close it would have seemed like the cut off end of a wing of the house that had been excised to make it fit the shape of the city block.

“Only when the job calls for it,” Hizashi said, shrugging. “Other than Seguchi most people would rather pay me to keep my mouth shut about the things they have me do.”

Iwata chuckled. He slid a section of the door frame aside to reveal an electronic lock; a quick wave of his cell phone over it and the light flicked from red to green and a deadbolt slid back with a clunk.

“Impressive,” Hizashi commented. Iwata smirked.

“After you,” he replied, waving Hizashi inside.

Beyond the door was a short, steep flight of stairs with a sharp twist in the middle that lead down into a cellar under the main house. The walls had been reinforced with concrete to make a main room no bigger than a studio apartment. There were two doors on the far wall that lead into additional spaces; one was shut with the same type of electronic lock on the door as the entrance above ground and the other appeared to be a secure panic room with a recessed steel door. Iwata motioned for Hizashi to follow him into the panic room. The walls were bare white-painted concrete except for the wall across from the sleek hardwood executive desk, which was taken up by a series of large flat screen security monitors that all clicked off in unison as Iwata pressed something on his phone screen.

Iwata sat down in the plush leather chair behind the desk and gestured toward another less impressive wooden chair across from him. “Have a seat,” he said, setting his phone down on the desk and opening the laptop’s lid. The phone’s screen dimmed but didn’t turn completely off; Hizashi wondered if it needed to be kept on to run the security system without the wall of monitors. He tried to seem relaxed but curious, giving the room a quick once-over as he sat down. As a home office it was a bit on the dungeon-ish side but as a bunker it fit the bill pretty well. “I imagine Seguchi filled you in on the tasks I need assistance with?” Iwata asked. When Hizashi shook his head, Iwata’s jaw tightened in annoyance again.

“That isn’t really how Seguchi runs things,” Hizashi said apologetically. “He leaves it up to the client to specify the uh. Specifics. He likes to just be the coordinator. He mentioned something about a database needing opened or filled or some such but otherwise…” Hizashi trailed off with a head shake and a “what can you do” shrug.

“And you took the job anyway?” Iwata asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I go where the money’s coming from,” Hizashi said simply. “Seguchi has some...flaws in how he delivers information but he has useful connections to less lackluster potential employers.” His careful balance of badmouthing and asskissing seemed to be hitting right on target. Every old money boss Hizashi had ever worked for had been a sucker for a lippy, overly ambitious two-timer ready to throw their old employer under the bus for the chance to trade up; Iwata didn’t visibly preen, but the smirk he let slip was proof enough that he was no different.

“In any case, Seguchi seems very sure you’re the man who can track down information that other people can’t find,” Iwata said.

“I do what I can, depending on what you want to get out of it,” Hizashi said carefully. “I just need to know what I’m looking for and how much of it I need to find.”

Iwata’s grin widened, seeming pleased by the apparent bravado. He turned the laptop around to display a list of thirty or forty names, each with a sum of money in red font in the column next to it. “I want everything you can find about everyone on this list,” he said. “They’re of...certain interest to me, and have all decided they would rather not stay in touch as often as they should.”

Hizashi held in a snort, privately impressed that the people on the list had managed to evade Iwata long enough for him to get this desperate. He stood to lean over the desk, quickly scrolling through to get an idea of the job. The list seemed to be all men, and all of them had built up at least a million yen in debt. A few, however, were marked with a third column that showed the owed amount or slightly more in black with a plus sign and the repayment date.

“Some of these accounts look a bit on the settled side,” Hizashi said lightly, not looking up from the screen.

“I’ve never been one to hold back offers of future help to people I know have needed it in the past,” Iwata said, his tone sharpening. “And besides, you can never trust these machines to keep an honest count these days. A computer record might say they’re paid up but who’s to say there isn’t a faulty memory or two somewhere along the line?”

When Hizashi had arrived that night, all he had really been interested in was getting a feel for how useful Iwata might be as a source of information and whether or not he would be a viable defense against retaliation when Seguchi inevitably bought his way out of prison. Now, however, the boiling spike of sudden fury in the pit of his stomach decided that Iwata was going to end the night sans his stockpile of names of interest, his backup drives, and his freedom if the opportunity presented itself.

“A fair deal, all things considered,” Hizashi said. He turned the laptop back around with one hand and while Iwata was distracted with that he reached out his other hand and palmed Iwata’s phone off the desk. He tucked the phone into the back of his waistband under the guise of straightening his jacket as he sat back down. “Obviously the timeframe is going to vary depending on how deep you want me to dig. I’m assuming they’re all private citizens, so once I get around prefecture government security it shouldn’t take longer than, eh. A couple weeks at most from delivery of the list to the data drop,” Hizashi added. He made a vague dismissive gesture with his left hand to cover clicking in on all six bass switches hidden under the glove on his right. The directional focus began to hum against his neck as it came to life. “Should I expect the list tonight?”

“I’ll send a copy of the files to the usual meeting place at noon tomorrow,” Iwata said. “Seguchi should know--what was that?” The room’s floor gave a sudden hard shudder as Hizashi’s boosted subsonic growl rattled through it, interrupting Iwata mid-thought. Hizashi unclenched his fist and cleared his throat, putting on a concerned expression as he looked around the room for the tremor’s source.

“Earthquake, maybe?” Hizashi said slowly. “I read something online about there being a shift detected out at sea pretty recently.”

Iwata frowned and reached for his phone. His look of concerned bemusement only grew as he found the empty space on his desk. He checked all of his pockets, a hint of frantic anger in his movements as he found them to all be empty as well. He opened his mouth, presumably to ask Hizashi where his phone was. Before he could say anything, however, Hizashi squeezed his hand into a tight fist around the controls and let another hollow bass growl rattle its way up his throat and into the foundations. The impenetrable room shook even harder this time, making the chairs and desk rattle off in different directions.

Hizashi stood up quickly, trying not to sound too winded as he said, “This seems like a bad time to be underground, don’t you think?”

“This room is rated to withstand anything nature can throw at it,” Iwata replied dismissively. His expression, however, seemed less confident as Hizashi created another hard, quick tremor that shook two of the security monitors off the wall. Iwata swore under his breath and stormed over to inspect the damage. While his back was turned Hizashi silently closed the lid of the laptop and slid it off of the desk. Once it was tucked under his arm Hizashi quickly backed away towards the door.

“I’ll see myself out,” he said, reaching back with his free hand and retrieving Iwata’s phone. As soon as he had cleared the door Hizashi hit the icon for the security system’s manual panic button, swiping on the option for a fire alert in the main house. Almost instantaneously a buzzer sounded, painfully loud in the cramped quarters. Iwata turned around just in time to see the panic room’s door slam shut and lock down with Hizashi and his electronics on the other side. Hizashi let out a sigh of relief that turned into a rough hacking cough midway through. If he’d know he was going to have to be “on” tonight he would have warmed up first, he thought ruefully; he could already feel the painful little fires setting themselves throughout his vocal chords. He’d just have to chug some honey when he got home and hope for the best, he supposed. Right now finding Iwata’s data backups and making a swift exit before any authorities showed up was a much more pressing matter.

Hizashi went to the locked door next to the panic room and waved Iwata’s phone in front of the lock. It beeped and turned green, popping open the lock with a satisfying click. Never in his life had Hizashi been so glad for the arrogance of old money. Having all of his security eggs in one basket had probably seemed like an obvious choice for ease and efficiency at the time, but not so much now that said basket was on the other side of two inches of reinforced steel.

The room appeared to be a small archive and storage room with boxes of ancient paper files on metal shelves lining the wall. At the far end of the shelves sat a metal firebox the size of a large attache case with the now-familiar electronic lock on the front. A quick swipe from Iwata’s phone and it clicked open as well to reveal six laptop harddrives, all neatly labeled with backup dates over the last six months. Hizashi grinned to himself. He bundled them together in two neat stacks of three with some velcro cable minders and stowed them in a grubby canvas bag he found on the bottom of one of the older sections of shelves. It would take more time and tools than he had to pop the current harddrive out of Iwata’s laptop, so Hizashi made do with just transferring over copies of as many of the newer files he could fit onto the flash drive Iwata had pulled the spreadsheet off of. He’d just have to hope anything with an edit date prior to this month was already on one of the other drives. He checked Iwata’s phone to see what the response ETA was on the security app. Post-work rush hour was thick, granting him a few extra minutes. For good measure Hizashi told the phone to copy its local storage onto the mounted SD card. Better safe than sorry.

Standing there watching progress bars inch forward made him antsy, however, and Hizashi found himself pacing the tiny room as he waited. Once he’d gotten the drives home and checked them he’d need to find an untraceable way to dispose of them. The shredding service was supposed to come for the station’s old backups next week, but management had to sign off on every drive that was given to them to prevent new drives from getting mixed in with the old. Hizashi could maybe sneak one or two into the count and have it come off as human error, but six drives appearing from nowhere would definitely not fly. Just throwing them away might work in the short term, but the moment Iwata came up on charges the police would be searching high and low for any evidence they could scratch up. Harddrives in a landfill on the opposite side of town from Iwata’s disposal sitewould be a gold mine for them and a prison sentence for Hizashi. Destroying them manually and disposing of them piecemeal would be his best option; the only problem was his lack of easily-available tools to do it with. He did, however, know of someone who was almost guaranteed to be just the kind of over-prepared he needed right now.

Hizashi pulled his own phone out of his inside pocket and hit the contact he’d made with the phone number listed on Aizawa’s CV. The line rang and rang, finally clicking over to a short automated message that Aizawa’s voicemail box had never been set up before hanging up on him. Hizashi rolled his eyes, hitting redial as he checked the progress bars; the phone rang out, clicked over to the automated message, and hung up in his ear again. Trust Aizawa to be the type to never answer his damn phone. God willing he would at least be savvy enough to text back, Hizashi thought sourly. It would have been infinitely more satisfying to hear Aizawa’s soul leave his body as he realized Hizashi had been serious about the terms of their deal but he didn’t have time to waste on phone tag right now. Hizashi typed out I need a favor and jabbed irritably at the send button. He rocked on his heels, feeling the hairs on his neck standing up higher and higher the longer the silence stretched on.

“Come on you hermit,” Hizashi muttered under his breath, typing a quick but to the point follow-up of ???. Still no answer. Either Aizawa was busy or was ignoring him; either way Hizashi was losing ground on spare time fast.

Do you have a degausser? It was a long shot, but Aizawa struck him as the type to have a little bit of everything squirrelled away for particularly weird rainy days. Really big magnet? Hand drill/screwdriver should work too? At this point Hizashi would have settled for a 3-hole punch and a nail file if it meant he could have this over and done with.

Iwata’s phone finished copying itself over. Hizashi set his phone down and pulled a spare pin out of the underside of his ponytail to pop Iwata’s SD card out. He slipped it between his phone and its case for safekeeping and dropped Iwata’s phone into the empty fire box. Aizawa’s answering text finally came, as terse and to-the-point as any Hizashi had ever gotten from him.

no no yes

Hizashi grinned, a thrill of relief settling his stomach just a bit. Perf! @ urs? he replied. Iwata’s laptop gave a cheery ping to celebrate finishing its transfer. Hizashi tucked his phone and the full flash drive back in his pocket, giving Iwata's security app one final once-over. Traffic had thinned out faster than he’d expected and the fire service was practically on him now. Hizashi swore under his breath, slapping the fire box closed and grabbing the bag with the hard drives.

Hizashi slid open the addition’s door and waited, ears straining for the sound of people. Rhythmic red- and white-lit shadows of the top of the gate flashed against the fence in front of him, accompanied by the sound of the fire crew trying to force open the steel doors. Hizashi ducked out the addition’s door and crouched in the shadow of it, hiding his phone under his jacket as he checked to see if Aizawa had confirmed he had a hiding place.

not there out busy, Aizawa had replied.

Hizashi grimaced; so much for that idea. He wondered if he might be able to go bother Aizawa at work instead or if he was “busy” with certain other hobbies of his. Hizashi had the sudden mental image of Aizawa on patrol, frantically texting with one hand while he fended off an attacker with the other and had to bite down hard on the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. The sound of the gate door slamming open at the far end of the yard brought his mood back down with a jolt that sent his heart into his throat and focused his mind rapidly back on getting out of here quickly.

At the corner of the garden closest to him there was a conveniently tall mossy rock that would make a decent boost over the fence if he could get a good run-up on it . Hizashi stuffed his phone in his pocket and looped the bag of drives around his neck. Trying to channel every squat, shuttle run, and wind sprint Haru had put him through Hizashi sucked in a deep breath and kicked off as fast as he could manage with no lead. The rock was more sloped than he’d anticipated and the top edge of the fence caught him sharply in the gut as he jumped. Hizashi pushed himself up on trembling arms and rolled over the rest of the way with a sharp hissed swear. He half-hopped, half-fell to the ground on the other side in the skinny drainage gully between Iwata’s fence and the breezeblock wall of the neighbor behind him. He quickly stowed his mask in the bag with the drives and shook his hair out of his hood. He waited a moment, holding his breath to hear if anyone was coming to see what all the noise had been about. When no doors opened and the only voices seemed to be coming from the other side of the fence he had his back pressed to, he pulled his phone out again.

Same. @ urs 1 hr? he texted Aizawa back. That seemed like a reasonable amount of time to give Aizawa to become un-busy regardless of what he was up to. Killing time was a hassle but getting caught with his hand in the data access cookie jar was a bigger one by far. There was a short delay, then Aizawa’s answering 1hr which was so drenched in begrudging, self-pitying dread Hizashi could practically taste it. Hizashi allowed himself a quiet breath of relief and tucked his phone away, blinking hard to make his eyes readjust. He skittered down the uneven pavement at a crouch to avoid being seen, standing up straight to merge into the night time street traffic as he reached the sidewalk. Hizashi forced himself to relax into a casual slouch as he moved through the crowd despite the rough cough that followed his deep sigh of relief. He was going to sound like an absolute car crash in the morning, but the bag now back in his hand was full of at least six reasons for it to be worth it. Now all he had to do was head home for a quick costume change and gathering of supplies before he met up with Aizawa for some recreational information theft and property damage.

Shouta was checking his molars in his bathroom mirror when he heard the doorbell buzz. A couple of his teeth felt loose in his jaw after that knee to the face, but so far it didn’t look like any had cracked or come uprooted. He folded his ice pack over the side of his hand as he held it to his jaw, letting it cool the bandaged bite wound and his swollen face at the same time.

“Rough night?” Yamada asked as he opened the door, giving him an amused once-over. Despite his perpetual air of calm surety, Shouta noticed the hand holding his grubby canvas grocery bag over one shoulder was clenched around the straps tight enough to make his knuckles go white. “This shouldn’t take too long,” Yamada went on when Shouta didn’t reply. “Just tell me where I can set up and I’ll be in and out in no time flat.”

“No one said you were coming in here,” Shouta said shortly. He picked up the old toolbox that he had packed all of his most replaceable tools into and handed it unceremoniously to Yamada.”Don’t bother bringing it back. Have a good night.”

Yamada caught the door as Shouta tried to close it on him. He was stronger than he looked, Shouta thought as Yamada held the door back enough to let him wedge his foot in. “Just like that?” Yamada asked. His voice was full of lofty disapproval at Shouta’s poor manners, somewhat undercut by a tired raspiness beneath it. “Talk about hospitality.”

Shouta glowered at him. “You asked to borrow tools. They’re right there. Have a good night.” He managed to remove Yamada’s foot from the doorway but Yamada locked his elbow to keep the door from closing just yet.

“Well, yeah, technically,” he said, “but I’m not going to walk off with your stuff like some deadbeat neighbor. What kind of person do you think I am? On second thought, stupid question, never mind,” Yamada added quickly before Shouta could let him know exactly what kind of person he thought Yamada was. “Just think of this as, like, favor-point-five. Like when a test question has part A and part B, y’know? Hand to god, half an hour max and I’ll be out of your hair.”

Shouta sighed, not bothering to keep back the groan that crept in around the edges. “And this has nothing to do with the fire call from this evening?” he guessed flatly. Yamada’s answering head tilt was note-perfect curiosity with absolutely nothing behind the eyes.

“The what?”

“Forget it,” Shouta muttered, no energy left in him to continue this pointless bickering. He stepped back and let Yamada inside. Yamada breezed past him eagerly, taking half a moment to kick off his shoes as he went.

“So, where can I--aww, hey there buddy!” Yamada’s question cut off into a laughing coo. Shouta turned to see Mikey, his flamepoint ragdoll, in the process of climbing Yamada’s torso and settling in a cheerful puddle on his shoulders. Yamada buried his hands in Mikey’s fluffy side and nuzzled him back as the cat began to purr at top volume. Shouta felt a stab of annoyance that Mikey had decided to make friends with Yamada, despite knowing full well Mikey by nature made friends with everything within eyesight.

“Don’t be a pest,” Shouta said, half to Mikey and half to Yamada as he reclaimed his cat. Mikey instantly turned into an affectionate blob in Shouta’s arms, which soothed him somewhat.  Shouta gave him a quick snuggle before putting him down and trying to shoo him towards the bedroom. Mikey flopped over onto his back with a short, cheery request for belly rubs. “Idiot,” Shouta muttered affectionately, giving his fluffy belly a quick ruffle before turning back to Yamada.

Yamada looked stymied but like he was trying to quash a smile at the same time. Shouta raised an eyebrow at him.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Yamada said, shaking his head. “Just trying to regroup. You having a cat makes things slightly more complicated.”

Before Shouta could correct him, the automatic feeder in the corner went off. All three of Shouta’s cats came bolting down the hall at the sound of dinner being served, Mikey in the lead with Gingko and Kurotabi bringing up the rear. Yamada’s expression darkened another notch.

“This day just keeps getting better,” Yamada muttered with a tight grin.

“What do they have to do with whatever you need to get done?” Shouta asked. He almost hoped that making Yamada talk his plan through might tip him over into calling off “favor-point-five” and leaving. Unfortunately Yamada seemed to take it as Shouta showing interest instead, brightening at the question.

“Well, what I need to do right now is some pretty hardcore data management. We have to clear our backups twice a year and now’s the time,” Yamada said. “So I just need to wipe some of our older harddrives and drill a few holes in them just in case.”

“In case of what?” Shouta snorted, raising an eyebrow.

“In case someone shifty decides to recover sensitive data from them before they can be sent to the shredder,” Yamada replied as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “We have a whole room at the station that’s full of old junk tech, and if someone decided to sneak in and make off with a recoverable drive full of personal information about our guests it would be super bad news.” When Shouta still looked dubious, Yamada went on, “Celebrity stalkers are no joke, Aizawa. I’m not in the business of getting sued because some weirdo with a hard-on for Mount Lady decides to raid our studio for scraps.”

That did nothing to explain why the operations manager was in charge of the project rather than their IT department, why it was being done after hours and presumably off the clock, or why it had to be done right now in his apartment, but at this point Shouta was rapidly becoming less and less concerned with getting an honest answer out of Yamada. “Fine, whatever,” Shouta muttered, shaking his head. “This is already taking too long. You can use the entryway. I’ll run an extension cord for the drill.”

“Do you have a box maybe yey-big,” Yamada made a square with his hands about the size of a toaster oven, “and some styrofoam or something I can use to brace the drill? If one of these shatters I’d hate for the pieces to get around your kitties, y’know?”

“Probably,” Shouta sighed. “I’ll put up a couple gates so they won’t bother you.”

“Great, thanks.”

Putting Yamada into a small enclosed space with bars was probably more satisfying than it should have been, but Shouta was going to take his silver linings where he could find them. He had been expecting Yamada to keep up his usual chatterbox stream of consciousness monologue as he worked, but he was surprisingly quiet once he settled in to work. He sat hunched over his laptop or crouched over the box Shouta had found for him to do the drilling in, face blank in concentration and headphones blaring music to cover the sound of the drill. After a while the sound almost faded away into the background of Shouta’s own after-hours work, scanning through police blotters and adding tonight’s unspecified misdoing to his spreadsheet about Yamada.

The one thing Shouta had predicted correctly was Yamada’s underestimation of how long things were going to take. His own work distracted him long enough to not notice that an hour and half had passed, and he realized that and the fact that Yamada was still there and working at about the same time. Shouta approached the cat gate cage and cleared his throat. The half-assembled remains of two harddrives sat on top of one another next to Yamada as the progress bar on a third hooked into his laptop crept forward. Yamada’s head bobbed to the beat of whatever he was listening to, eyes focused almost unblinkingly on the document he was scrolling through. Shouta cleared his throat again with no reaction. He tapped two knuckles sharply against the bars of the gate and Yamada jumped, finally noticing he was there.

“Sorry, didn’t see you. What’s up?” Yamada asked. The rasp in his voice Shouta had noticed earlier seemed to have evolved into a painful, gravelly tone in the meantime.

“Wondering how long this is actually going to take,” Shouta said.

“Oh. Yeah, right,” Yamada said, flushing slightly. “It shouldn’t be too much longer, I think? These drives were reused somewhere along the way so I’m having to defrag them before I can get a clean wipe.” His voice wavered in and out as he spoke, and he punctuated the explanation with a hacking, phlegmy-sounding coughing fit.

“Are you sick?” Shouta asked, leaning away slightly. Yamada shook his head.

“No, I’m fine,” he said as he coughed into his sleeve. “Long day, not enough water, you know how it is.” He sounded scratchy and miserable despite the upbeat tone he seemed to be trying to cover it with.

“Do you want some tea or something?” Shouta didn’t know why he said it, and by the way Yamada blinked at him in open surprise he didn’t either.

“Oh, uh. I don’t want to be a bother or anything,” Yamada said awkwardly. Shouta snorted at that, holding back a retort about how so far this evening had proved that to be a blatant lie.

“Forget it. I could use a cup anyway. You take it straight?”

“No milk, but some honey would be nice if you have it. Sugar’s fine if you don’t. Um. Thanks,” Yamada said, still sounding grateful but bewildered by the offer.

The tea gave Shouta something to focus on other than the late hour and the lack of any deadline in sight. Mikey and Kurotabi followed him to the kitchen, expecting an after-dinner snack; Gingko, who had been patrolling the bottom gate and growling with all the intimidation a three-legged, one-eyed bobtail cat could muster every time Yamada moved too much for her liking, refused to give up her post even under the implied promise of extra food.. At least she had some taste in people, Shouta thought with a warm pride toward his angry calico youngest. He let Kurotabi sit on his feet and Mikey flop over his shoulders as he stood and waited for the electric kettle to boil and for the first time that night allowed himself a few minutes to relax and pretend his apartment was just his once again. It couldn’t last forever, though. Once the tea had steeped, Shouta took Yamada’s mug and his slightly crystalized bottle of honey into the living room.

“Here,” Shouta said, knocking the mug against the gate to get Yamada’s attention. The third drive appeared to have been finished and hastily reassembled while he was dawdling in the kitchen and the fourth was already whirring away next to the laptop. Shouta wondered if it was a coincidence or if Yamada was actually trying to live up to his timeframe this time.

“Thanks,” Yamada said, standing with a grunt to reach over the top of the double-stacked gates.

Shouta nodded, then went back to the couch with his own hot mug. Keeping half an eye on Yamada, Shouta watching in fascinated disgust as Yamada squeezed out an overflowing spoonful of honey, stuck it in his mouth, and tilted his head back to gargle it before swallowing; Yamada then squeezed out another spoonful, which he plopped down into his tea like that was just something you did. At least he had enough sense to not drink it straight out of the container, Shouta supposed. Yamada soon went back to his motionless fixation on his data wiping and drilling, occasionally interrupted by gulps of tea. Shouta settled in on the sofa, scrolling the usual pro hero gossip message boards he frequented to find new leads the police might be trying to keep quiet. If there was a scrap of controversy to be looked into, these fanatics would be the first to know and the first to blab.

Someone had started a new speculation thread about how Mockingbird’s newest lull in activity had to mean that he was planning something huge and truly diabolical this time. Shouta snorted and glanced over at Yamada, who was sipping tea and nodding along with something that sounded suspiciously like a dubstep remix of the Wii Shop Channel theme music. Truly, a force to be reckoned with. One of the more notorious troublemakers on the boards was making yet another stink about All Might being confirmed as sighted somewhere within Musutafu city limits and had two of their three threads locked by mods already; the third was in the process of being spammed to death by the usual memes and mockery that followed just about any claims of an undocumented All Might sighting. Shouta rolled his eyes, scrolling through photoshop after terrible photoshop to see if there was any actual intel to be had. If the internet was to be believed, All Might had transcended mere hero-hood to become some kind of omnipresent boogeyman for villains, able to be sighted and active in ten cities simultaneously. But anyone with half a brain knew that if someone that well-known and flashy has shown up anywhere near here, a dozen different tabloids would have fallen over themselves to confirm it by now; it was one of the few instances where absence of evidence and evidence of absence overlapped and frankly Shouta was glad for it. The last thing the city needed right now was some self-important big shot showing up and dragging the populace into their problems for the sake of some attention.

Hizashi’s back was on fire and his hands felt like they were about to snap in two but at long last all of the data had been transferred and all the drives were very, very broken. He’d only gotten to look at bits and snippets as he kept an eye on progress bars, but it seemed like Iwata had even more secret pots on the boil that Seguchi did. The list he’d shown Hizashi wasn’t a bunch of deadbeat debtors; as far as Hizashi could tell none of them had ever even met Iwata, much less owed him money. Instead it seemed to be a list of every adult male listed as single on his tax papers who had put in a downpayment on the mortgage for a condo or single-occupancy home in Musutafu in the last eight months. Seguchi had been supplying Iwata with the names piecemeal, and both he and Iwata had been pretty cagey about the specifics of its use in their emails to one another in case someone else had gotten ahold of them. Stopped clocks were right twice a day, Hizashi supposed with a frustrated sigh. They knew enough about their target to know he had just moved into the city, was single, and was a registered Pro Hero, but not enough to be able to put a face to the name. Or rather, a code name to a name. If they wanted to get to a Pro Hero, though, it would have been simpler to just put out a public challenge with vague details that sounded personal and specific and narrow their search according to who answered. It couldn’t be that hard; it was like writing a horoscope, except instead of trying to produce a paragraph of harmless fortune-telling you did your best to incite a fight to the death with every Scorpio you could find. Iwata had been adamant about keeping their work secret until they had solid ground to stand on, though, much to Seguchi’s obvious irritation. Their emails had become steadily more stiff and icy as time went on, all the way up until the point where Hizashi’s eyes had begun to cross and he decided to put the mystery aside and take his leave before Aizawa got really ticked off at him.

Hizashi hissed as sharp jolts of pain shot up and down his legs as he stood. “Well, that should be good for now,” he said cheerfully. Aizawa didn’t answer. Hizashi rolled his eyes. It might have been later than he’d intended to stay but that was no reason to get petty. When Aizawa continued to ignore Hizashi’s attempts at getting his attention, Hizashi wedged his fingers in between the bars of the top gate and popped the latch open. He caught it as it collapsed in on itself and set it against the wall before unlatching the one on the bottom as well. The small three-legged cat that had been his self-appointed prison warden all night stood at attention as he did so, letting out a warning growl as it stared him down with its single brown-green eye.

“Easy there,” Hizashi said, edging past the cat at as wide a berth as he could manage. “I come in peace, all right?” The cat seemed unconvinced, following him at a suspicious distance as he crossed the living room. “Hey, Aizawa, I think I’m--oh.”

Moving closer he realized Aizawa wasn’t ignoring him to be petty; the other man had fallen asleep on the couch, buried under his other two cats. Up close Aizawa looked exhausted, the deep insomniac bags under his eyes almost dark enough to match the swollen bruise under his chin. Running a double life was tiring work, no matter what side you fell on, Hizashi supposed. Aizawa’s phone had fallen from his grasp and come to rest in his empty tea mug; his arm flopped limply over the edge of the cushion just missing it, like he’d passed out midway through retrieving it. Hizashi snorted, plucking the phone out of the mug and using the hem of his shirt to wipe a smear of tea off of its screen. To his surprise, the phone unlocked at the halfhearted swipe without any kind of code or password required. For being such a stickler Aizawa was remarkably lackadaisical about the important things, Hizashi thought, shooting the unconscious man a judging glance. The last thing Aizawa had been looking at was some trashy-looking hero fanboy gossip site. Hizashi was about to just hit the power button and move on when something on the page caught his eye.

The thread he’d been scrolling was a long series of increasingly doctored images of All Might doing stereotypically touristy things around Musutafu. Some of them were well-made enough to almost look real, but the bulk of them were purposefully terrible, so zoomed in and deep-fried they were little more than a handful of pixels held together with duct tape. What they all had in common, however, was the username tagged in every post: shigarakitomura. Nothing quite like some good old-fashioned internet dogpiling, Hizashi thought with a frown, though a quick scroll of the user’s post history showed they were no stranger to bullheaded spam and moody fight-picking with other All Might-obsessed members of the boards themself. It was the name, though, that was jingling a small bell in the overtired emptiness of Hizashi’s brain. He went back to his laptop and typed in a quick keyword search in his files for the name Shigaraki. A slow smile crept across his face as a recalled email from Iwata to Seguchi popped up at once. The recalled version read for Seguchi to take care to make sure Shigaraki was kept in the dark about what they were hoping to find; the edited and re-sent version replaced the name with “certain overeager outside parties”. Hizashi grinned, looking over his shoulder at the dark-haired lump snoring away completely unaware in the next room.

“Shouta Aizawa, you are a genius.”

Shouta jolted awake to the sound of his alarm screaming at him. He groaned and fumbled for it, trying to swipe the snooze and buy himself a few more minutes of rest. His thumb slid over something square and papery, however, rather than the screen of his phone. Squinting one eye open, Shouta saw one of Yamada’s now-ubiquitous yellow sticky notes stuck to it.

You should be more careful with your phone. Code is 4632. -M

Shouta groaned, the night before coming back to him in a wave of rampant discomfort. He’d been trying to keep himself awake long enough to make sure Yamada left without a fuss, but somewhere between the hypnotic motion of scrolling and two very warm longhaired cats curling up on him sleep had kicked his legs out from under him. He unlocked his phone with the code Yamada had put on it and hit the snooze despite being irrevocably awake now. He rolled off the couch and dragged himself upright, wondering with no end of bitterness how long he had been dozing away in a completely unsecured apartment.

To his surprise, the answer was “not at all”. His keys had been taken from the hook by the door and used to lock it from the outside; they now sat at the bottom of the bin under the mail slot with another sticky note on them that simply read “Thanks” in Yamada’s scribbly handwriting. Shouta scooped them out of the bin and hung them back up. He noted the cat gates and toolbox had been neatly repacked and set off to the side of entryway and both his and Yamada’s mugs and spoons from the night before had been washed and left to dry in the dishrack. A backhanded show of Yamada’s “hospitality” to spite him for being annoyed at his apartment being invaded, Shouta had no doubt. Yamada really was the king of pointless parting shots. His snooze alarm blared out from the living room, telling him in no uncertain terms that he could either waste time dwelling on it or have coffee before work. Surprising no one, the siren song of dark roast won out immediately. Shouta put the pot on to percolate and went to get cleaned up and dressed for the day.

#boku no hero academia #my hero academia #aizawa shouta #yamada hizashi #erasermic #present mic #eraserhead bnha #eraserhead mha #Fire Meet Gasoline AU #Quinny thinks she's a writer

[destinyislandwanderer]

What’s a Kiss? (Fluffy/Angsty Axel/Roxas OneShot)

Fandom: Kingdom Hearts

Rating: T

[This is legit my first Tumblr post - am I doing this right?]

Roxas had been acting weird today. Even though he wasn’t an expert at emotions, Axel could sense it.

Unlike the other members of the Organization who tended to bully Roxas for his small stature and young age (with a few exceptions), Axel adored him and had become his closest confidante. Roxas had been born without any of Sora’s memories, so he’d had to rely on Axel to learn everything from basic vocabulary to the social skills it took to succeed in the Organization.

But what did he care about all of them? Protecting Roxas was his first priority now. He arrived at the clock tower with two sea salt ice creams, a daily tradition, and handed one to Roxas. He blushed when Axel made eye contact with him, and he knew his best friend must be hiding something.

“What’s up, Roxas?”

Roxas glanced at him before staring at his lap.

“C’mon, you know you can tell me anything,” Axel assured him.

"Yes, well, I… Can I ask you something?" Roxas said, studiously avoiding eye contact.

"Of course. What can I explain for you today? I don’t know what else to say about that huge whale we saw in the sky the other day. It didn’t make sense to me either, but apparently Demyx has been inside it, and it sounds bonkers. He said there’s an old man and an actual living puppet stuck inside, but we all know Demyx tends to exaggerate so who can say for sure? Maybe I can figure out a way to take you there if you really want to go.”

“No, it’s not about that… It’s something Xigbar and Larxene said.”

“I swear, they are going to burn next time I see them. I hate the way they gang up on you!” Axel had too much angry energy to contain. He started pacing, debating how much trouble he could get in for starting a fight. He’d warned them both to lay off Roxas before. Maybe it would take a more poignant physical reminder to make them get the point.

Roxas stood up and took his arm. “Axel, wait - it’s nothing bad. It’s just… they asked if I’d kissed anyone, and I don’t know what that means. They were teasing me about it.”

“Oh,” Axel said, immediately calming down. Roxas leaned against the clock tower facing Axel, who did the same. “Well, it’s not important. Just ignore them. I bet they were just trying to get a rise out of you.”

“You’re not going to tell me what a kiss is?”

“Uhh…”

“Ugh. I honestly didn’t even know if I should ask you. It’s embarrassing that I haven’t done it, right?”

His genuine distress was so endearing, and Axel couldn’t make him think he was some kind of freak for not having kissed anyone.

“A lot of people haven’t kissed anyone before. You’re young. You’ll kiss someone. I’m sure of it.”

“Have you… kissed someone?”

“Er, yeah…”

Roxas looked disappointed, and Axel took a step closer.

“It’s seriously no big deal.”

“But what is a kiss?”

Axel wasn’t sure how far to entertain this train of thought. Roxas was young and completely innocent, and Axel didn’t want to do anything to ruin that. Not that he hadn’t thought about it. There was no denying that Roxas was attractive, and Axel had a particularly soft spot for blondes.

The problem was that he was supposed to protect Roxas, and he was already doing a bad job of it. Between the missions at Castle Oblivion and the things Saix was forcing him to do in secret, he wasn’t always making Roxas’s life easier. He kept promising himself he wouldn’t let Saix and Xemnas do anything to harm his best friend, but he had to keep up a facade to please them, and sometimes it required sacrifices. He still felt guilty about it no matter how hard he tried to justify his actions.

“Nevermind. I shouldn’t have asked,” Roxas mumbled.

Axel couldn’t stand how upset he looked. “It’s when two people touch lips,” he revealed.

“What?” Roxas exclaimed, as though this were the most surprising and silly thing he’d ever heard. “That’s all? Seems kind of… I don’t know. They made it sound more important.”

Axel was afraid Roxas was going to be bullied further if he continued without the particulars, so he clarified, “Well, it’s… I guess it’s more than that. You kiss someone when you like them.”

“Hmmm… Well, I like you. Why haven’t we kissed?”

His expression was so innocent. He had no idea what he was really asking and no concept of the fire it was lighting in Axel’s imagination. He decided to evade the question. “When you kiss someone, it changes your relationship with that person forever.” Perhaps Roxas would just accept this explanation and move on, and Axel could keep being his best friend and his hero and nothing more. Or maybe…

“What does it feel like ? I mean what makes it so special?” Roxas’s eyes were looking at him with an imploring intensity. Could he possibly know more than he was letting on? Axel wasn’t sure, but he felt Roxas’s eyes daring him down a dangerous path.

“It’s not something that can really be explained.”

“Can’t you try?” Their faces were moving closer together, and he couldn’t fight temptation much longer.

“I think I’d have to show you for you to really understand.”

“Show me,” Roxas whispered, and the invitation was all he needed.

He closed the distance between them and planted a chaste but lingering kiss on Roxas’s lips. He moved away to gauge Roxas’s reaction, and the awe and raw emotion in his eyes was so tender and sweet, he couldn’t stop himself. He placed one hand gently on the side of his neck, softly braiding his fingers through Roxas’s hair as he placed a series of deep kisses on his throat. The small gasps he let out each time Axel’s lips touched his skin were so satisfying, he was overcome by desire as he pressed his lips to Roxas’s again, fully parting them with enough force to will Roxas’s mouth to mimic the movements of his own. As with everything else Axel taught him, Roxas didn’t need much training. Axel felt as though all his past lovers had been mere practice for this moment, so he could give Roxas the perfect first kiss. Never had he been so in sync with a lover, never had someone reciprocated his effort with so much of their own. It felt like Axel’s first kiss too.

“That’s not what I expected,” Roxas whispered.

“Yeah, me either,” Axel smiled. “You’re good at that, you know.”

Roxas smiled back, and Axel felt dizzied by the beautiful sight.

“Can I ask you something else without you getting mad?”

“Sure.”

“Do you really not know what happened to Zexion?”

Axel panicked because he did know. Axel had murdered him. He’d only done it because Saix had forced his hand and insisted that Roxas would be next if he hesitated. The problem was, Zexion had been one of the only Organization members who was nice to Roxas. Roxas had liked him and gone out of his way to say so. Axel hadn’t wanted to do it. How much of the truth did Roxas suspect, and what could Axel possibly say in his own defense?

“Nevermind, Axel,” Roxas sighed. “You told me you don’t know. I should’ve believed you. It’s just, I have dreams about him. I just wonder if he’s okay. Sometimes I worry…”

Axel had never felt this level of gut-wrenching regret. It was visceral and painful, and he couldn’t stand looking into Roxas’s sweet eyes, knowing what he’d done. He felt horrible for kissing him. He’d known it was a bad idea. He’d told himself to resist, and he’d been so good about it until today. Roxas deserved someone better than him.

“Roxas, I should go.”

“No, please don’t! I promise, I believe you. I don’t even know why I thought of it,” he pleaded.

“It’s not that, Roxas. I just think maybe we shouldn’t meet up here anymore.” Seeing Roxas’s defeated expression, he added, “It’s nothing you did wrong. Trust me. I just…”

He bounded down the clock tower steps and opened a portal back to Organization headquarters, rushing to his room where he fell down on his knees and felt a familiar sensation that he recognized from Lea’s memories. It was the desire to cry, but he couldn’t do it. There was no release from the torture he felt. He kicked his nightstand instead and the metal lamp clattered to the floor. He found the destruction so satisfying, he threw it against the wall before slumping into his chair.

He should definitely avoid Roxas in the future, but after a kiss like that, how could he?

(Spoiler Alert: He can’t. Axel has zero self-control when it comes to innocent little Roxas <3 If you liked this little niblet, it’s an accompaniment to my novel-length Axel/Roxas love story that I’m updating regularly)

#kingdom hearts fanfiction #axelroxas #akuroku #kh axel #kh roxas #canon universe #destinyislandwanderer’s writing

[aquaminwrites]

Skin Deep: 06

Pairing: Yoongi x Tattoo Artist!Reader (M/F) Genre: Friends to lovers, slow burn. Eventual smut. Rating: 18+ Warnings: Language, mentions of infidelity Word Count: 4.8K

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 (links removed due to tumblr issue)

A/N: The angst train has pulled into the station! Exes revealed! I actually really enjoyed writing this one. Please let me know what you think! I love chatting with you guys. :)

“Why are you even awake right now?”

Yoongi moves the phone away from his ear to check the time. It’s almost noon, but Junghyun’s voice on the other end sounds thick with sleep, croaky and dry. “Dude. The day is already half gone. Why aren’t you awake right now?”

“Mind your business, Min,” Junghyun grumbles, and Yoongi hears sheets being rustled as, presumably, the older Jeon stumbles out of bed. “You’re the one who’s basically an indoor cat, napping the entire day away. Anyway, to what do I owe this call?” After a pause, he adds in a conspiratorially low whisper, “You never call.”

“Uh,” Yoongi falters for a second, leaning back in his office chair. He’s in his studio, working on his mixtape, desperately trying not to focus too much on the kiss you gave him yesterday. Clearly to no avail, hence why he’s on the phone with Junghyun. “I just wanted to ask you some stuff about Y/N.”

“Uh oh,” Junghyun snickers. “Jungkook told me this was bound to happen. And so the lion fell in love with the lamb.”

Yoongi blinks a few times, hard. “Did you just fucking quote Twilight at me?”

“Hey, you’re the one who recognized it. Anyway, what are your intentions with my best friend? You gonna try to bone her and leave or something? Because if so, I will end your life. You think I’m exaggerating, but I’m not. I’ll do it. I’m a maniac.”

“Hyung, do you ever shut up?” Yoongi grumbles, immediately regretting the call. “I just wanted to ask you why it is she doesn’t date. She’s been hinting at the reason why when we talk, but she’s never actually given me a solid explanation.”

Junghyun is quiet for a second, definitely uncharacteristic for Yoongi’s older friend. After a brief pause, he says, “She hasn’t told you about her ex yet?”

Yoongi scratches the back of his head. “Well…no. She said she would eventually, but—”

“If she says she’ll tell you, she will,” Junghyun interrupts. “She’s a really private person, Yoongi. Her ex was a piece of shit. Not physically abusive, but definitely emotionally so. They were together for a really long time, and when they broke up, it devastated her. She’s only just gotten back on her feet. It’s really not my story to tell though…if you want to know about him and their history, you’ll have to hear it from her.”

Yoongi sighs, but he knows deep down that Junghyun is right.

“You just sighed because you know I’m right, huh?”

“Shut the fuck up, hyung.”

—

It’s a gloomy day, overcast and drizzling, which is unusual for mid-August. Yoongi decides to brave the outdoors anyway, having already promised that he would hang out with you at your studio today. He stops by one of your favourite cafés to pick up some soup, figuring you probably hadn’t eaten yet and that he would surprise you with a late lunch.

As he scales the stairs leading up to your door, he can hear you talking rather loudly, sounding irate. Another voice filters through as well, a male one, and Yoongi immediately starts to prickle with caution and worry. He takes the stairs two at a time until his hand is on the doorknob.

He stops for a moment, straining to listen to the words being exchanged before he bursts in.

“Is there someone else?”

“What are you talking about? Why the fuck do you care? You lost the right to know anything about my life. You can’t be here, please leave.”

“You know, we used to be best friends. How can you throw that away so easily? C’mon, babe, I really miss you, let me treat you to a cup of coffee at least so that we can talk—”

“You were the one who threw our relationship away, not me. For the last time, I’m not interested. Please just go.”

Yoongi decides that it’s as good a time as ever to make his presence known. He swings the door open, the bell atop the door chiming brightly as two pairs of eyes land on him. One pair, yours, are wide with surprise but then settle into what can only be described as relief as you exhale a tiny breath.

The other pair belong to a man, tall and lean, with dark silver hair pushed back from his forehead. He’s covered in tattoos, a traditional black and grey dragon coiling down one arm, and two foo dogs on the other. His eyes are sharp and his gaze is focused on Yoongi. He’s standing close to you. Too close, judging by the expression on your face.

The man’s full lips purse as he sizes Yoongi up. He lets out a derisive snort and turns back to you. “So there is someone else, then?”

Your arms are folded over your chest, shoulders curling inward as you look away from him. “You don’t have the right to ask me that. Get out.”

The man hums for a moment, looking back at Yoongi with a critical eye. “Fine,” he relents. “But just think about my offer, okay? At least so that we can catch up. My number is the same, if you still have it.”

You open your mouth again to tell him to fuck off and leave me alone, when he leans down and presses a gentle kiss to the apple of your cheek. He then takes his leave, purposely brushing past Yoongi roughly by bumping his shoulder, causing him to nearly drop the takeout container of soup in his grasp.

Yoongi glares at the man as he stomps down the stairs before turning back to you, looking distressed as you furiously wipe at your cheek with the back of your hand.

“Hey, hey,” Yoongi coos quietly as you won’t stop rubbing at your face. He sets the soup down on the front desk and comes over to where you’re standing, noticing immediately that your eyes have welled up with tears. His hands rest gently on your shoulders as he tries to get you to look at him. “Are you okay? Who was that?”

You choke out a laugh, wiping at your eyes so as not to ruin your eyeliner. “That was my ex, Namjoon.”

Yoongi’s eyes widen. “That was your ex?”

You scoff slightly, shaking your head. “Don’t play dumb, Yoongi. I know you heard at least part of that argument when you were waiting outside the door.”

He gulps, nervously tugging on his ear. “You…knew I was out there?”

“Yeah,” you sigh, body slumping with exhaustion. “I heard you coming up the stairs.”

“Oh, yeah,” Yoongi silently curses himself. “Uh, well…do you…want to talk about it?”

You glance up at him, his eyes full of concern. “I guess. Come, let’s sit.”

You lead Yoongi over to the bench where the clients are meant to wait, and Yoongi immediately perks up. “Wait, you don’t have a client waiting for you, do you?”

“No,” you shake your head. “I was supposed to catch up on emails today. I don’t have anyone scheduled to come in.” The two of you sit, probably a little too close, but you don’t move away, so Yoongi doesn’t either. You’re quiet, wringing your wrists and playing with your left ring finger slightly.

“You don’t have to tell me if—”

“No,” you interrupt, looking up at him and taking in a deep breath. “I want to.”

Yoongi nods. “Okay.”

You exhale shakily, replaying the painful memory in your mind.

ONE YEAR AGO…

You’re sitting at your kitchen table, a tall glass of red wine in hand. It’s late, the moon already high in the sky as you stare at the dark liquid, hoping you can drown your sorrows in it. Your eyes are swollen from all the crying, a suitcase packed by the door. The house is dark, except for the light shining from above. You check the clock on your phone again for the hundredth time, waiting for him to come home.

Finally, the front door opens and Namjoon walks through the threshold.

“Babe? How come it’s so dark in here? What are you—”

Namjoon pauses mid-sentence as he registers the sight before him. Your luggage resting by the door, you downing half of your glass of wine in one gulp.

Namjoon approaches you cautiously, one hand on the back of his usual chair at your dining table. “Y/N, what’s going on?”

“I can’t do this anymore, Joon,” you say feebly, wrenching the diamond engagement ring off your left ring finger. You take one last look at it, the beautiful piece of jewelry that the two of you had designed together, and slide it across the table in his direction. “I’m done.”

Namjoon deflates almost entirely, pulling out his chair so that he can take a seat. He picks up the ring and holds it between his fingers, his brows furrowed in confusion.

“I thought…I thought we got past everything. I thought you said you forgave me, that it was all going to be okay.”

You bury your face in your hands, tears falling freely. “Joonie, please don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

“No, fuck that, you’re giving up? Just like that? Do I mean nothing to you at all?”

Your hands fall from your face, and suddenly, you’re furious. Your brows furrow in disgust as you regard the man that you used to call your fiancé, the one you thought was the love of your life.

“How dare you tell me that I’m giving up,” you say shakily as you ball your hands into fists in your lap. “I’m not the one who cheated on you with your best friend for months, Namjoon. Do you know how fucking stupid I felt when I realized how long the two of you were going around behind my back? For fuck’s sake, the three of us opened a studio together. We were business partners. She—” You pause, trying to collect your thoughts as your eyes dart around the room, looking everywhere but him. “You two were my best friends.”

Namjoon lets out a scoff. “As if you’ve never fucked Junghyun.”

Your eyes narrow at him in disgust. “I have never touched Junghyun in all the years we’ve been friends and you know that.”

“Do I?” Namjoon presses. “You’ve got your fucking bags packed by the door, ready to leave. How long have you been planning this, huh? What else are you hiding from me? What’s your end game? Where are you going to go? We bought a fucking house together, you’re going to just let all that money go to waste?”

“If you think I’m going to stay with you because of a mortgage, you’re insane,” you hiss. “You don’t get to try and turn this around on me. You know for a fact that I tried to go back to the way things were after I found out about you and Jisoo, but how am I supposed to be with you if I can’t trust you?”

Tears start falling freely from your eyes again, and you take a moment to hastily wipe them away with the ends of your sleeves before reaching over to down the rest of your wine.

“The lease for the studio is under my name, and I’ve contacted the landlord to let him know that I will be the sole renter of the space. You and Jisoo can find somewhere else to work, but it won’t be with me. I’ve already informed her of this, and she got her stuff out this afternoon.”

Namjoon is quiet, contemplative. He lets out a heavy sigh, slumping back in his seat. “I love you, you know that?”

He sounds earnest, you have to give him that. You bite at your lower lip to stop it from trembling. “If you loved me, then I should have been enough for you.”

“You’ve always been enough, baby,” Namjoon insists, holding out his free hand to you. “I made a mistake. A stupid, fucked up mistake. I was selfish, I get that. But we can work past it, yeah?We can do couple’s therapy, whatever you want. I love you more than anything. You don’t have to do this.” You stare at his open palm, wanting so badly, so desperately, to reach out and touch him. But you know that if you do, you’ll spiral, you’ll forgive him again like you did the last time, and you know that you can’t. You keep your hands in your lap, and shake your head.

“I love you too,” you confess, though the words feel wrong leaving your mouth. Namjoon looks at you, his eyes glimmering with the tiniest bit of hope. You swallow, hard. “But I don’t trust you. And I can’t be with you anymore.”

You rise from your seat, the legs of the chair scraping against the hardwood floor as you push off. You head to the door and slip on your shoes, collecting your bags as Namjoon watches helplessly from the table.

“Where are you going to go?” He asks softly. The despondent look in his eyes makes you believe that he’s finally accepted the fact that you’re leaving.

“Don’t worry about me,” you respond, one foot already out the door. “I’ll be alright.”

You take one last look at the man you thought you loved, the one that hurt you so deeply. Part of you still wishes that you never found out, so that you could live out your days in married bliss like you had planned when the two of you first met. But you know there’s no going back now. You can only push yourself forward, moving in a direction where he can’t follow.

“Goodbye, Namjoon.”

And then you’re gone.

—

PRESENT DAY

Yoongi stares at you, mouth agape, as you recall the entire story. You’d caught your fiancé, Namjoon, cheating on you with Jisoo, your best friend at the time. She was the one who had gotten you your apprenticeship all those years ago, and that’s where you and Namjoon had met. You had mentioned that you, Namjoon and Jisoo had opened your studio as a trio, and the wheels began to turn in Yoongi’s mind.

“Wait…if Jisoo is the one that introduced you to Namjoon all those years ago, then that means…”

You look over at Yoongi and give him a small, sad nod. “Namjoon was my mentor.”

Yoongi feels the air leaving his lungs. You just look so devastated, having to relive those horrible memories. That’s why, when he’d seen the studio initially, he thought it was too big for just one person. It was a space meant for three. Yoongi tries his best not to seem like he’s pitying you, but apparently it doesn’t work because you burst into tears.

“I saw them together, you know,” you sniffle. “I saw them, in the bed that he and I shared, in the house that we fucking bought together. The one that we were going to raise a family in. And it wasn’t like it was just one time. They’d been sleeping together for months, and if I hadn’t caught them in the act, they probably would have kept on doing it.”

Yoongi sighs, shaking his head. “Sounds like the asshole was only sorry he got caught.”

You nod weakly, part of you hating that he’s right. “I don’t know why he came here. I haven’t spoken to him in nearly a year, since I ended our engagement. I just…I don’t know. I have his artwork all over me, for fuck’s sake. Even when I don’t want to think about him, I can’t help but think about him.”

Yoongi bites the inside of his cheek, and leans over to nudge your shoulder gently. “Do you still love him?”

You swipe at your eyes, no longer caring about your ruined makeup. “Part of me will always love him,” you admit, looking away from Yoongi because you don’t want to see the way his face falls at your words. “But I’m not in love with him, if that’s what you’re asking. I haven’t been for a long time. It took a fuck ton of therapy to get myself out of that head space, of thinking I wasn’t good enough.”

“He didn’t deserve you,” Yoongi promises, and you meet his gaze. He can feel your breath tingling against his skin, you’re so close. “He still doesn’t deserve you.”

Your lips part, your gaze darting to his mouth. “Yoongi…”

This is it, he thinks. It’s now or never…

He leans in at a nearly glacial pace, and just before his lips brush against yours, your hand on his chest is lightly pushing him back.

“I-I’m sorry,” you stutter, pulling away from him with a shake of your head. “This is wrong, I can’t—”

Yoongi’s eyes fly open in surprise. “W-what…I’m sorry, I just—”

“It’s not your fault,” you mumble, unable to look at him now. Yoongi desperately wishes you would just look at him. “I just…can’t. I’m sorry.”

Logically, Yoongi understands that you’re going through emotional turmoil. Logically, he understands that now might not have been the best time to try and make a move on you. But his brain is no longer operating on logic. Just pure frustration and anger.

Yoongi shakes his head, letting out a scoff. “You’re really fucking confusing me, you know that?” He rises from the bench, wrenching his hands in his hair as he starts to pace. You watch him helplessly, your vision blurred. “First you give me your number when I never even asked for it, you ask me out for coffee, you flirt with me nonstop, and then the other day after the showcase you fucking kiss me—”

“Yoongi, I—”

“No, it’s my turn to fucking talk.”

Your mouth clamps shut, lower lip wobbling. Yoongi doesn’t look at you. He knows that if he does, he’ll cave. And right now, he has some shit to say.

“You have been so fucking confusing, right from day one. You make me feel so stupid, you know? Like you’re this otherworldly, all-accepting perfect person whose mission it is to make me feel like shit for not having the same mentality as you. Do you know how much of myself I changed just so you would look my way?”

You exhale shakily. “I never asked you to do that.”

“Yes, you did!” Yoongi yells, his voice strained. “You asked me to be less judgmental, and I’ve been fucking trying. Do you know how shitty it is to have someone point out your flaws? As if I didn’t know them already? Sometimes it feels like I’m just some project for you so that you can convince yourself that you’re doing some sort of good by making me less of an asshole.”

“Yoongi,” you whimper. “You know that’s not true.”

“How am I supposed to know that?” He bellows. “I fucking let you into my life and you changed everything. All of my friends think you’re fucking perfect, and that I’m an idiot because I fucking fell for you and didn’t have the courage to do anything about it. And then you kissed me after the showcase, and it made me really believe that you liked me. I really thought for a second that maybe that’s what it was like to be in love, to have the stupid butterflies and dreams and hopes—and now what? This?”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, shaking his head.

“This wasn’t how this was supposed to go.”

A tear rolls down your cheek in the silence that follows. “I…didn’t realize I made you feel that way,” you say, barely above a whisper. “You know that I only wanted to help you, right, Yoongi? I just—”

“I didn’t ask for your fucking help!” Yoongi seethes. “I never asked for any of this. I never asked to feel this way. I never expected or wanted to fall for someone like you—”

At that, you rise. The tears are still welling up in your eyes, but your face is set in angry determination, fists clenched at your sides. Your voice is thick is you repeat, “Someone like me.”

The way you phrase it isn’t a question. It’s a statement.

It’s in that moment that Yoongi realizes everything that he’d said. “Y/N wait, that’s not what I meant—”

“Save it, Yoongi,” you shake your head at him, brushing past him to get to the door. You grab the knob and fling it open, holding it there as you stare directly into his eyes. “Get out.”

Yoongi reaches out, desperate to touch you, but you jerk your arm away.

“Y/N, I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“I thought you were different,” you whisper, shaking your head. “Get. Out.”

Yoongi opens his mouth again to say something—anything—but the look in your eyes tells him that you’re done. He feels his heart sink down to the pit of his stomach, his throat beginning to constrict as regret and despair wash over him. With what dignity he has left, he forces himself out of your studio, out of your life, and down the stairs to the outside world. He hears you slam the door behind him, the lock clicking into place.

The rain is still pouring outside, and Yoongi squints his eyes up at the thick, dark clouds that tower overhead. Rain droplets dot his face, and as they roll down his cheeks, he can almost pretend as if he isn’t crying.

Upstairs, you grab the container of soup that Yoongi had brought you. You dump its contents down the toilet and chuck the empty container into the trash before collapsing onto the ground in a fit of sobs. After what seems like an eternity, you fish your phone out of your pocket and scroll through your contacts.

His name is still there, mocking you.

You take a deep breath, and click on it.

Now calling Kim Namjoon…

—

“Yoongi-hyung, maybe you’ve had enough,” Hoseok says gently as Yoongi tosses back another shot of soju. He sucks in a breath through his teeth as the alcohol burns his throat, making his vision hazy and his words slurred.

“Maybe you haven’t had enough,” he counters, draining the rest of the bottle. “I just want to forget this day. Forget the last six months ever fucking happened.”

Hoseok sighs, running a hand through his hair. He’d ordered a beer that he was slowly nursing as Yoongi took shot after shot, but he decides now that at least one of them needs to have a clear head. He pushes his beer away and places his elbow on the bar, turning his body so that it’s facing his friend.

“What happened?”

Yoongi has his arms crossed and is leaning heavily on the solid oak, his head hanging low as he tries to control his emotions. “I fucked up,” he croaks. “I fucked up, and now she hates me.”

“Who, Y/N?” Hoseok asks, stunned. “She could never hate you, Yoongi. I’m sure it wasn’t that bad.”

He scoffs, shoulders shaking in a sarcastic laugh that has him nearly falling off his barstool. “You weren’t there, man. Whatever chance I had, it’s…it’s gone. She’s done with me. It’s over.”

Hoseok frowns, knowing he’s not going to get any information out of his friend tonight. Not when he’s like this. Exasperated, he picks up his beer again and takes a deep gulp.

“Atta boy,” Yoongi hiccups, patting Hoseok hard on the back before directing his attention to the bartender. “Hey, another round over here!”

—

Yoongi stumbles into his apartment, not entirely sure how he got there. He recalls that he can’t drive, so drunk driving is out of the question. He squints his eyes, peering into the darkness of his home as if the answer to how he arrived there will emerge from the shadows. He vaguely recollects Hoseok shoving him into a cab and tossing some money at the driver, so that’s probably what happened.

Kicking off his shoes, he wanders towards the bathroom to brush his teeth. He may be wasted, but he’s not a barbarian. As he stumbles out of the bathroom once he’s brushed his teeth and relieved his bladder, he comes face to face with his studio door. There’s a sign on it that reads GENIUS LAB, a name jokingly given to him by Hoseok that just sort of stuck. He snorts at it now.

Some fucking genius I am, he thinks, but pushes the door open anyway, ambling inside.

Immediately, he regrets it.

Everywhere he looks, he sees you. Glimpsing at his piano, he sees you practicing your scales as he watches intently, helping you adjust your finger movements so that they’re more fluid. Turning to the grey couch by the door, he sees you with your brows furrowed in concentration as you draw on your tablet, trying to figure out different compositions for larger scale tattoos. And then he looks at his computer, where all of his hard work is created and stored, and remembers the way you looked at him the first time you listened to his music.

You’d gazed at him so adoringly, like you were one soul separated in two bodies. He would do anything to have you look at him that way even just one more time.

The realization sobers him slightly, and he shuffles out of his studio to wander over to his bed. Flopping face down against his pillows, he wonders if he could suffocate like this if he tried not to move. He groans and rolls over after a few seconds, knowing that death by pillow won’t solve any of his problems.

He takes out his phone against his better judgment, and starts dialling your number from memory. His body and mind are operating on separate levels, and before he realizes it, he’s pressing the phone against his ear as the line rings and rings and rings.

It keeps on ringing.

You don’t pick up.

Hi, this is Y/N. I’m not available at the moment, but if you leave your name, number, and a detailed message, I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Thanks!

BEEP

Yoongi swallows the lump in his throat. What is he doing? What did he expect, that you would pick up the phone, that he would confess his love to you, and that everything would be forgiven?

He’s quiet for a few more seconds before he finally decides to speak.

“Hey,” he begins. He’s silent again for a beat, trying to find his words. “I know you probably hate me.” He pauses to croak out a laugh. “I hate me too, if it’s any consolation. I fucking suck. I’m a fucking idiot and…I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean what I said to you today. You make me a better person. You changed me, yeah, but I needed that change. Just like I need you. And I don’t…I don’t want to pressure you into anything. I know I fucked up, and you probably don’t ever want to see me again, but…if there’s any chance that you do, then please, please call me back.”

Yoongi lets out a shaky breath, tears blurring his vision and tightening his throat. He sniffles loudly before he remembers that he’s still on the phone.

“Fuck. I’m sorry. You’re probably going to delete this message as soon as you hear it. But, uh…don’t cut the others out of your life because of me, okay? They’re good people, and they care about you. So do I, even though I’m shit at showing it. I hope you can find it in yourself to forgive me one day. So…yeah. Bye.”

He removes the phone from his ear and presses the button on the screen to end the call. Tossing his phone aside, Yoongi shucks off his jeans and burrows under the covers.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he hopes and prays that tomorrow will be better, that maybe he’ll wake up and none of this will have happened. That he’ll check his phone and see a text from you asking when he’s going to come by to hang out, that he’ll be able to go to your studio and bring you lunch, that the two of you will take the bus to HopeWorld together to watch Hoseok, Jungkook and Jimin dance.

He still hasn’t forgotten that he promised to dance for you, way back when you were teaching him about tattooing. He hopes he’ll get to see your smiling face as he makes a fool of himself for you, because there’s no one else in the world who could coax him into embarrassing himself on purpose with just a smile.

Hope is all he has left. So he embraces the darkness behind his eyelids, and hopes for a better tomorrow.

#min yoongi #suga #suga x reader #yoongi x reader #yoongi fanfiction #yoongi fanfic #yoongi #bts #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #bts fic #bts fluff #bts angst #kim namjoon #kim taehyung #kim seokjin #park jimin #jeon jungkook #jung hoseok

[searchingwardrobes]

Of Earth and Sea: 3/9

In celebration of the one year anniversary of my first @cssns fic, I’m reposting a chapter a day until my 2019 drop date, especially since each chapter has never been posted to tumblr before. Amazing art above done by the talented @shipsxahoy.

Summary: Five years after their wedding, Emma and Killian are ready to start a family. But Emma discovers that raising a family isn't that simple when your husband is a Dunedin (half-elf) and your mother-in-law is neither dead nor alive.

Rating: T

Also on Ao3

Tagging: (let me know if you would like to be added or removed from this tag list) @profdanglaisstuff @let-it-raines @optomisticgirl @welllpthisishappening @wellhellotragic @jennjenn615 @kday426 @mythologicalmango @thislassishooked @resident-of-storybrooke @xhookswenchx

Chapter Two

Whenever The Essex made port, Killian always felt a pull deep inside of himself. There was, of course, the energy pulsing from everyone on board, as well as the cacophony of sounds. Docking a ship this size was no easy feat, and all hands were needed. The creaking of wood, splashing of waves, and the slapping of sails were all magnified as the large vessel was maneuvered into port. Added to that were the sights, sounds, and smells of whatever portside town they were approaching.

But for Killian, it was more than that. He loved the sea, the same as his brother and his father. Salt water was in his veins, as the old expression said, and there was something calming about the moon reflected on the glassy surface of a calm sea. Something invigorating when an entire crew battled the crashing waves.

And yet . . . there was another part of him that yearned for the feel of soil and grass between his toes. A part of him that missed the sight of sunlight filtering through tree branches and the cool feel of bark beneath his palm. He sometimes felt torn in two.

On this particular day, Killian felt a tug towards the forest that hugged the tiny village where they had docked. His bare feet slapped against the wet wood of the deck as he surged forward when the gangplank was lowered. But before he could descend, a gnarled hand grabbed him across the chest and pulled him back.

“And where do ya think ya be goin, lad?” snarled the Captain.

“Shore leave,” Killian answered, tilting his head back to look up at the wizened old man. He glanced over at Liam, who shook his head wearily. His brother clearly had a look of frustration on his face.

“And risk ya runnin’ off like last time? You belong to me, boy.”

“I didn’t run off!” Killian argued, his eyes darting between the captain and his brother. “I just wanted to go to the woods, that’s all. To play.”

Liam stepped forward then and wrapped an arm around Killian’s shoulder. “See, sir? He’s only nine. He just wants to run and play.”

“Run is the part that worries me,” the man scowled. “You both are my property, so the answer is no.” He stooped and fished a dirty rag from a bucket near the railing, then tossed it at the boys. “And there’s plenty to do while she’s docked. So get to it.”

Killian tried to be brave; he really did. He knew every tear he shed only made his brother’s own pain worse. But he couldn’t hold back the sniffles as he bent to swab the deck on his hands and knees.

“Don’t worry, little brother,” Liam whispered, giving his shoulder a light squeeze, “we’ll get these chores out of the way, and then the captain will have a change of heart. You’ll see.”

But it didn’t work out that way. There was always another chore to be done, and waiting for the captain to have a change of heart was like waiting for the sea to run dry. The most Killian was allowed to do was run up and down the docks and play in the tide pools beneath the pilings. Even then, the captain was there shouting for him to come back aboard before he had much chance to get a good game going or make a friend with a village child.

He also never got a chance to see her. He got a glimpse one afternoon as he played in the dirty sand, trying to catch a crab on the end of a stick. The little crustacean scuttled into the water, and as Killian watched it swim away . . . there she was. She normally wore green, but here in the surf she wore a dress of filmy white.

“Killian,” she smiled, her green eyes sparkling. But just as he straightened and went to run into her outstretched arms, he heard his name again. This time shouted from the docks overhead. He hesitated for a moment.

“Killian!! You good-for-nothing little rat! Where’ve you run off to?”

“Go on,” she told him softly, “it’s okay. I’ll see you tonight, remember?”

Killian grinned at her promise and then took off. It wasn’t as much time as they had when he’d managed to get away to the forest, but for now, it would have to do. They were setting sail this very morning.

He dashed as fast as he could down the boardwalk and up the gangplank to the ship. He was surprised when he got on board to find most of the crew gathered against the far railing, leaning over, jostling, and shouting.

“I saw her, I swear I did!” shouted the boatswain, pointing down the beach.

“What?” Killian asked, hopping up and down trying to see over the men. He ducked beneath legs to try and get closer to the railing, but he kept getting shoved back. “What did he see?”

“The ghost,” the third mate finally answered him. He was one of the few on board who treated Killian and Liam with kindness, and he hunched down to look the nine year old in the eye. “Sailors tend to be superstition. Don’t let it worry you, lad.”

“Ain’t no superstition!” the boatswain argued. When he grinned down at Killian, there was a wicked twinkle in his eye. “I seen her many times. Every port we come to, there she be, haunting the docks. One minute she be there, the next, she’s vanished into thin air!”

The third mate shook his head. “Sea foam and fog, nothing more.”

“With pretty red hair and a haunting song?”

Killian gasped at the boatswain’s description. Liam was suddenly behind him, grabbing him by the shoulder and clapping a hand to his mouth. Killian squirmed in his brother’s grip, scowling up at him.

“He gets scared real easy,” Liam explained to the crew, “so can we not talk about this?”

The boatswain chuckled and leaned towards the boys. “She’s a heartbroken window, haunting the docks for her long-lost husband. And any sailor she fancies, she grabs him and yanks him down to Davy Jones’ locker.”

The man clenched his hand in a fist right in Killian’s face to emphasize his point, and the entire crew laughed uproariously. Killian wrenched free from his brother’s grasp.

“That’s not true! She wouldn’t hurt anyone!”

The crew exchanged confused looks, and Liam rushed forward.

“My brother has a vivid imagination,” he chuckled as he pulled Killian towards the hatch that led below deck. Killian kept fighting him, even as he hauled him down the ladder.

“It’s mum, Liam! They’re talking about mum!”

“Shut up!” Liam shouted, shoving Killian so hard that he fell with a crash into the barrels of rations lining the far wall. Killian bit his lip, trying to keep back his tears as he gazed up at his brother in shock. Liam’s eyes widened, and his face went pale. “I’m so sorry, little brother, I didn’t mean to . . .”

Killian jerked away from his brother’s extended arms, turning and curling in on himself. He buried his face in the circle of his arms as the tears could no longer be held at bay. Liam reached out hesitantly and put an arm around him.

“I just can’t talk about her anymore,” Liam whispered. “You’re all I’ve got, and I can’t . . . I don’t . . . She only comes to you, and I guess I know why, but it . . . it makes me so angry!”

Killian turned towards Liam and threw his skinny arms around him. Liam was right. They were all each other hand.

Tauriel still “haunted” every port; still visited Killian in the night. But that was the last day he ever spoke of her. To Liam or to anyone else.

******************************************************

Storybrooke had become a sleepy little town in the five years since Emma and Killian’s wedding. So sleepy that patrolling was often a boring chore of traffic violations and warnings about jaywalking. Occasionally there was a truant teenager or a disorderly drunk. Emma constantly made Mayberry jokes. Which she of course had to explain to her husband.

Emma was relieved on this particular morning that the town was so peaceful. Her eyes were scanning the alleyways and sidewalks of main street as her yellow bug rolled slowly along, but her mind was elsewhere. Mainly on her husband. His hurt and sadness was completely understandable to her. In many ways his situation with his mother reminded her of those early years with her own parents. Her mind had understood why they had sent her away, but all her heart understood was the abandonment. As Killian himself had once said, the wounds of childhood lingered.

“Hello there, love.”

Emma grinned as Killian’s voice came through the static of the walkie talkie. She snatched it from the passenger’s seat and pressed the button.

“Still not using talkie code, Deputy. Over.”

His responding chuckle sounded odd through the static. “A deputy must wax eloquent when his sheriff is exquisitely beautiful. Over.”

Emma rolled her eyes although he couldn’t see her.

“And I know you’re rolling your eyes at me, Swan.”

Emma laughed at that. The way he read her was even more uncanny five years into marriage. “That’s Sheriff Jones, Deputy Jones. And I’m heading back into the station. Over and out.”

Emma set the walkie talkie down on the dashboard as she rolled slowly to a stop at the traffic light right beside the park. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of red hair. There, along the tree line, stood Tauriel Jones. Her mother-in-law. The woman fixed her gaze on Emma. Emma pressed her lips together in a firm line as she pulled the bug over and parallel parked. It was eerie the way the woman could communicate with a look, and it was clear she wanted to chat with her daughter-in-law.

Actually, everything about Tauriel was eerie. The fact that she wasn’t really alive, for one. Emma was constantly calling her a ghost, and Killian was constantly correcting her. But the last time Emma checked, “not fully alive” meant a ghost. The whole ���not fully dead” thing was still confusing.

Tauriel had shown up in Storybrooke about five years ago when Emma and Killian were engaged. Killian said he hadn’t seen her since right before Regina cast the curse. Emma could see in his eyes that the timing bothered him for some reason, but she hadn’t pressed him about it. At any rate, his mom showing up had thrown them both for a loop. Killian had issues with the woman, that was certain. And then there was the bomb dropped on Emma that her husband was a Dunedin.

In other words, not fully human. As in, half elf. As in, he was blessed with unnaturally long life. Neverland aside, he most likely would have lived to 200 or so and aged only slightly.

It had been a lot to take in, for sure, but nothing could shake Emma’s love for this man. She would march to the Underworld all over again if she had to. So she was marrying a man who was half-elf, so what? As Killian would tease, it was better than a flying monkey.

In all seriousness, Killian was her true love, no matter what, and she would do just about anything for him. Hence why she was walking across the park to talk to his “mostly dead” mother. She actually chuckled at her own Princess Bride joke.

“Are you laughing at me?” Tauriel asked placidly.

Killian had explained to her once that elves had little, if any, sense of humor. That was definitely an understatement.

“No,” Emma said with a wave of her hand, “I was just thinking about . . . never mind. What’s up?”

Emma crossed her arms over her chest. It wasn’t as if Tauriel had a lot of time to shoot the breeze. Elves were immortal, Killian had explained, though they could be killed in battle, or . . .

Or they could waste away of a broken heart. And Brennan Jones had been many things, but faithful sure wasn’t one of them.

“You know because of my broken heart, I am cursed to wander the realms.”

Emma nodded, circling with her hand for the elf to get to the point. “Yeah, and I also know you’re gonna get all fuzzy soon and disappear on me, so . . .”

Tauriel gave that tinkling sound that Emma had come to learn was an elf’s laugh. “Aye.” She scratched behind her pointed ear, looking so much like Killian, that it made Emma’s heart ache. He always seemed to think he was like his drunken, dead beat father, but Emma saw so much of him in his mother. “My son is hurting, Emma. And I wish to help him.”

Emma bit her bottom lip. “I know, but I just don’t know how you can fix it.”

Tauriel reached forward and grasped Emma’s shoulders. “Yes, he is still angry with me. But that isn’t what I speak of.”

Emma gasped as the hands resting at her shoulders became lighter. She could now see the red leather through the outline of Tauriel’s hand. The woman’s face fell as she realized her time was ending.

“Ask him to give you a child, Emma.”

“I can’t!” Emma cried, surprised that those panicked words were the first ones from her mouth.

“You must. You wonder why you aren’t with child yet. I can see it on you, Emma, the desire to have a child with the man you love. He must will it.”

Emma shook her head as Tauriel faded almost completely away. “What do you mean?”

“An elf must will a child into existence.”

Those were Tauriel’s final words as she disappeared completely. Emma swore under her breath and stomped her foot in frustration.

“What the bloody hell does that mean?”

***************************************************

“Tauriel wants me to tell her son to knock me up.”

Emma dropped the bomb on her mother causally at lunch right before cramming an onion ring in her mouth. Just as she had anticipated, Snow’s mouth dropped slightly and her fork hovered over her lasagna.

“Um . . . she said that?”

Emma laughed as she dragged another onion ring through ketchup. “Well, not in those exact words.”

Snow took a bite and chewed thoughtfully. She swallowed and dabbed her napkin against her lips before responding. “Well, what was your reaction?”

Emma smiled at her mother as she took a sip of coke. She should have known her mother would respond diplomatically. She was a queen, after all. But then Emma’s face grew serious as she thought about Tauriel’s request.

“It scared me.”

Snow’s brow furrowed. “So you don’t want to have a baby with Killian?”

Emma shook her head, frustrated when tears welled in her eyes. “No, actually, I do.” Emma glanced around nervously, then leaned closer to her mother, “That’s why I went off my birth control pills.”

Snow clasped her hands under her chin. “So you’ve been trying.”

“Not . . . exactly,” Emma hedged as she carefully broke her grilled cheese into two pieces. When she glanced back up at her mother, those identical green eyes were wide.

“Emma,” her mother admonished under her breath, leaning in closer and lowering her voice to a whisper, “do you mean to tell me you went off your birth control pills without talking to him first?”

Like a child caught in a lie, Emma took a huge bite of her sandwich to avoid answering for a moment. When she swallowed, she quickly attempted to explain. “I meant to! It just . . . every time I started to bring it up, I don’t know. I got scared, okay?”

“Oh honey,” Snow replied softly, taking her daughter’s hands in hers, “you must know he wants the same thing.”

“How?” Emma asked, her eyes darting nervously, “How do you know that?”

“Because,” Snow said simply, “I have eyes. I saw how he was with Henry. I see him with the children of Storybrooke. Every kid in this town adores him because he’s putty in their hands. He’s even good with the lost boys at the convent.”

Snow took a few more bites of her lasagna, and Emma did the same with her grilled cheese and onion rings.

“He is good with kids,” Emma finally conceded, “but that doesn’t mean he wants one of his own. Besides Henry, I mean.”

Her mother shrugged one shoulder and gave Emma a teasing smile, “Well, there’s only one way to know for sure, honey. And can I be honest?”

Emma laughed nervously as she gnawed on her lower lip. “Do I have a say?”

Snow laughed too and squeezed her hand. Not letting go, she said, “Emma, sweetheart, it’s a conversation that’s about five years overdue.”

Emma sighed and squeezed her mother’s hand in return. She knew she was right.

*****************************************************

Later that night, Emma exited the bathroom of their master suite, rubbing lotion into her hands as she approached the bed. Killian was sitting up against several throw pillows reading a book, but he eagerly tossed the volume aside when he saw her standing there in nothing but one of his old pirate shirts. He reached his arms out as she drew near, circling her waist. His hand slipped up the back of the shirt to rub her bare skin and his stump rested at her hip. He tilted his face up to hers, and Emma pressed a kiss to his nose. He pulled her down into bed with him, gathering her close to his chest. When they were first married, every touch went from tender to passionate in sixty seconds flat. But as the years waxed on, they had learned to cherish the moments of simple intimacy. The kind that built slowly to a deep molten heat. Not that fast and frenzied wasn’t still fun at times. But they had time to cherish now, and they luxuriated in it.

Emma enjoyed the feel of being in his arms for a moment. Then with a sigh, she sat up next to him, running her fingers through his hair as she spoke.

“I talked to your mother today.”

Killian’s brow furrowed. “Aye?”

Emma nodded. “She . . . just wanted to make sure you were happy.” She bit her lip, knowing she was dancing around the subject. “Are you? Happy, I mean?”

He sat up a little higher in the bed, seeming vexed about the question. “Of course I am, my love. You doubt it?”

Emma attempted to soothe him by running her thumb along his cheek and then his jaw line. “No, of course not. I just . . . I mean, it does get boring around here.”

Killian laughed and cupped her face. He brushed a kiss against her lips. “After all we’ve suffered, I’m okay with boring. Besides, I prefer to think of it as contentment with family by my side.” He searched her eyes for a moment before adding, “A family, that . . . hopefully, continues to grow?”

She swallowed. It seemed the perfect segue to the topic that, as her mother had said, was five years overdue. But what if he was only referring to Henry giving them grandkids? She decided to test the waters. Emma traced Killian’s ears with her fingertips. Biting her lip and swallowing the nervous lump in her throat, she spoke with what she hoped was nonchalance.

“You know, when – if – we have a baby, I hope he has your ears.”

Killian blinked and his jaw fell open. “You . . . are you saying you want to, I mean, that you’d like . . . a baby? With me?”

Emma chuckled nervously, “Who else would I have it with?”

The silence that stretched between them had Emma so nervous, she slid down and snuggled next to him, wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her cheek against his heart. Was it her imagination, or was it pounding in his chest?

“I have a confession to make,” she whispered against his skin, “I stopped taking my birth control pills.”

“You did?” she couldn’t read his voice at all, yet she was too nervous to lift her head and look him in the eye.

“Mhm.”

“How long?”

Emma let out a shuddering breath as she answered, “Two years.”

Killian’s arms tightened around her. “And you’re probably wondering why you still aren’t with child.”

Emma sat up abruptly, her turn to gape at him in shock. “That’s your response? What about the fact that I went off birth control without even discussing it with you?”

“Getting a woman pregnant has never been something I have to worry about,” Killian explained, his eyes darting about the room. “Not that I’m telling you it isn’t possible, it’s just – “

Emma sighed. “Killian, I know. Your mother explained it to me. Sort of.”

“What?” he exclaimed, his eyes finally settling on Emma’s. “That’s what she wanted to talk to you about?”

Emma shrugged. “She said she could tell that I . . . longed to be a mother of your child. Her words.” Emma suddenly found her hands twisting in her lap suddenly fascinating. “And she’s right. But she also said that it would never happen if I didn’t talk to you, which for some reason, I’ve been terrified to do.” She finally looked up, struggling to keep the tears that were rising at bay. “Do you not want kids? Because I thought when you picked out this big house, that it was sort of implied, but then time went on, and you never brought it up, then your mother tells me –“

Killian cut off her words with a swift kiss, pulling her onto his lap. When he broke the kiss, he pressed his forehead to hers. “I want a child with you, Emma, more than anything. I guess I was waiting for you to bring it up. I’ve never wanted to push you into anything, including this.”

Emma rolled her eyes as she slipped her arms around his neck. “How do we still suck this bad at communication?”

He laughed as he thumbed her chin, “Long years of loneliness does that to a person, I suppose. But we keep making progress, don’t you think?”

Emma nuzzled against his shoulder. “So, this whole elf conception thing . . . “

Killian’s groan reverberated against her cheek. “An elf – or in my case Dunedin – has to will a child into conception. It’s why you have no need to worry about dozens of my illegitimate children running about the realms.”

Emma’s brow furrowed. “So, you do . . . what exactly? To conceive a child, that is?”

Killian shifted beneath her. “I don’t know the biology exactly. All I know is that I have to sort of let a part of myself go when I make love to you. It’s sort of like . . . giving a piece of myself away, if you were.”

“And only male elves have to do this?”

“No, a female does as well. Or both, if it’s two elves,” Killian explained, rubbing her upper arm absent-mindedly.

Emma tilted her head to smile up at him. “Which means your mother wanted you from the start, Killian. She willed you into existence. That’s pretty cool.”

He smiled softly, his gaze a bit distant. “Aye, I suppose you’re right. I never thought of that.”

Emma sat up and shifted, straddling him with a mischievous smile upon her face. “So,” she said teasingly, running her hands through his chest hair, “if you wanted a child, why didn’t you just will it before now?”

She was surprised when Killian’s face actually tinted with a faint blush. “It isn’t exactly something I could do without you . . . er, noticing.”

Emma’s eyebrows shot up. “Will it hurt me?”

Killian smiled a bit cockily, “Oh no, Swan. I have a feeling you will thoroughly enjoy it.”

Emma cocked her head, smiling even more broadly, “Oh really?” She leaned closer to him, her lips hovering just over his. “So, are we doing this?”

Killian just nodded, then pressed his lips to hers. It didn’t take long for the kiss to become heated, and soon what little clothes they were wearing had been discarded.

Killian was always an attentive lover, ever in tune to what Emma needed in order to climax. He knew Emma’s favorites, but he also seemed to intuitively know when she wanted something different. In short, the man was just plain good in bed.

But tonight was different. Emma was glad that Henry had moved out and that they had no neighbors on this corner street because she had never cried out so loudly in ecstasy. Emma couldn’t even explain the sensations that washed over her. In some ways, it was as if they truly became one person for a moment. She also saw herself in that moment through his eyes: her body incandescent and dazzling. For one exquisite moment in time, she felt what Killian felt when he made love to her, and it was indescribable.

Afterwards, Killian was trembling in a way she had never seen, and his skin felt clammy as he drew her close.

“Oh. My. God.” she gasped. “That was the most amazing experience of my life. How are there not millions of elves? I want to do that again. And again. And again.”

Killian laughed wearily. “Well,” he gasped, “that’s going to be a bit difficult on my end.”

Emma shifted to see Killian struggling to keep his eyes open. His face was pale and waning. She reached up to cup his cheek, and found it cold. “Are you okay?” she asked in alarm.

“Aye,” he gasped out sliding farther beneath the covers, “I just need to sleep . . .”

His voice slurred as he spoke, his eyes fluttered closed, and then he was fast asleep. He was like any man, ready for a nap shortly after sex, but she had never seen him like this. Her brow furrowed slightly in concern as she leaned over and kissed him gently. She rolled over to go to sleep herself, but she lay awake for a long while, her hand on her abdomen and a smile upon her lips.

***************************************************

Killian had mentioned to Emma once that elves rarely conceived children, and as the days went by, she saw firsthand why. Killian had her scared to death, sleeping for three days straight. Even when he finally woke up, it was another five days before he had the strength to get out of bed. Yet every time she went to check on him, he assured her it was normal when conceiving an elven child.

“Well,” she quipped one day as she sat on the edge of the bed, brushing his hair back from his face, “it better have worked.”

He smiled, turning his head to kiss the palm of her hand. “Oh, it worked. Trust me, love. When an elf wills a child into existence, he always succeeds. You are with child at this very moment; there’s no doubt about that.”

Emma rested her hand upon her still flat stomach, a look of wonder lighting her eyes. Killian’s own eyes were bright even as they drooped with fatigue. Emma thought she felt a fluttering within, though she knew it was far too soon for that. It was only her imagination, filled with joy and anticipation.

As if he could read her mind, Killian told her, “You aren’t imagining things, my love. The babe is moving within you.”

Emma gasped in surprise. “How is that possible?”

Killian mumbled his next words as he drifted off to sleep, “Did I mention that the gestation period for elven babies is different?”

Emma shook her head at her now sleeping husband. “No, Killian Jones, you left out that little detail.” But then she felt that fluttering again, and she couldn’t really be angry. This was going to be interesting, that was for sure.

*****************************************************

Dr. Whale didn’t know any more than any other doctor when it came to Emma’s very unique pregnancy. According to the books on elves in the library, an elf was pregnant for only three months. But Emma wasn’t an elf, and Killian was only half elf, so they really just had to wait and see. And so it was, that after less than six months of pregnancy, Emma gave birth to a healthy, seven pound baby girl. When she first held her, warm and squalling, Emma laughed as she traced the baby’s tiny ears.

“Look, Killian,” she told him, “elf ears.”

She was perfect.

#cs ff #cssns #cssns 2018 #ouat lotr crossover #killian as part elf