#its so hard to see the ending when i just realized ive been paralyzed at the start

[snakegills]

I took an assessment for a psych evaluation i couldn't afford and all the question really made me realize that I am like Fucked Up and genuinely need professional help that is not feasible

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Love and Medicine ~ 15

MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 4,365ish

Summary: The divorce papers are still an issue. (Grey’s Anatomy 2x05) [Finally! I know. Thank you for being patient with me!]

You grabbed your things and rushed out of the bar. Steve quickly did the same.

“Y/N,” Steve called.

“No. I don’t want to talk about this,” you replied, heading down the street. “Not now. Not with you.”

“Y/N…”

“You didn’t sign the divorce papers. Fine. I get it. End of discussion.”

“Y/N.”

“What?!?” You finally spun around to face him.

“Oh… I usually just say ‘Y/N’ and then you yell at me. I haven’t really thought past that point.” You scowled and shook your head. “I actually didn’t have anything planned.” You hit him with your bag. “Hey!” He rubbed his arm. “What is with that?” You did it a few more times. “Hey stop it. Ow.”

“Seriously?! Seriously?! You know what, just leave me alone.”

Steve reached for you. “Y/N—“

“Stop it! I said leave me alone! I’ll see you at work tomorrow.”

You stormed off, heading to find your car so that you could go back home. You were pissed at Steve and, mostly, yourself. How could you let yourself believe that he would be so willing to sign those divorce papers to be with you?

~~~ 

All you interns had just finished rounds and Gamora had you all in the hallway for assignments. Before she could call them out, Peggy interrupted.

“Has anyone seen Dr. Rogers this morning?” She wondered.

“His name is on the OR board,” Gamora answered. “He should be here somewhere.”

“Thank you.” Peggy swiftly walked off.

“Quill, Lang, you’re in the pit today. Val, there’s a cardiac patient waiting up for you on 2. Barton, they need help in peds. Romanoff, keep an eye on the Longs. And L/N, you’re with Rogers. I don’t want any problems. Go.”

Everyone hurried away while you stayed put. “Rogers?” You whispered. “Uh, I guess, which one?”

“Steve.”

“Uh, I don’t think—“

“Hey, life is short. Times are hard. The road is long with many a winding turn,” Gamora sassed. “He actually asked for you. Take it up with him.” Gamora walked away.

“Shit.”

“Shit? Oh no,” Tony showed up beside you. “It’s only morning. What’s wrong already?”

“Steve didn’t sign the divorce papers.”

“Oh,” Tony grimaced. 

“And now he’s asked for me to be on his service today.”

“Well, maybe he will sign them. He just has to think about it.”

“But I don’t want him to think about it. I want it… I want…”

“You want to be the obvious choice. I get it.”

“Yeah… how’s trying to get Pepper going?”

“I think I almost have her. I’ve been in on all her surgeries that I can be. Fury and Hill are even making it work.”

“Wow. I wish I had everyone on my side. But… I don’t and it doesn’t matter anymore. It has to be his choice, not mine, not me pleading or begging. It needs to be all him.”

“Wise,” Tony nodded. “I still think he’ll choose you.”

“We will see… we will see…”

~~~

“Y/N,” Steve greeted when you found him.

“Your wife is looking for you,” you responded.

“Oh, my gosh,” he sighed. “This is hard for me, Y/N.”

“Well, let me make it easy then. I’m not gonna be that woman. The one who breaks up a marriage or begs you to want me. You can sign the papers or you cannot. The choice is yours. Either way, when it comes to this relationship, I’m out.” Steve’s eyes widened and he went to speak but you quickly cut him off. “Nope. We aren’t getting into it anymore. Now, where’s this patient I’m supposed to be helping with.”

Steve pointed behind him. “Down there. But, Y/N—“

“No.” You walked away, Steve following.

“Y/N—“

“No.”

Finally letting it go, Steve sighed and followed you into the patient’s room. There was a young woman on the bed.

“Good morning,” Steve greeted.

“Morning Dr. Rogers,” she responded.

“This is Dr. L/N.”

“Hello,” you greeted. “Can you tell us about your pain?”

“I’ve had a twinge in my back for a little while,” the young woman explained. “I thought it would go away, but then last night my legs went numb. And this morning my back… the pain is just too much.”

“Miss Yang, we’re going to put you on a PCA pump,” Steve said, “give you some morphine which should help control the pain.”

“Thank you.”

“Okay, but there is a bigger problem here. I’ve just take a look at your MRI—“

“Cris!” A man exclaimed, him and a woman rushing into the room and to the young woman’s bedside. “Why didn’t you call us before coming down here?”

“I’m sorry,” Cris said. She turned to look at you and Steve. “These are my parents.”

“What’s going on?”

“I was just about to explain that Cris’s MRI has shown that she has myxopapillary ependymoma,” Steve answered. “It’s a tumor in her spinal canal. But the good news is that we can operate. You have a 95% chance of fully if we get you into surgery as soon as possible. We can’t wait another moment. With a tumor this aggressive even waiting another day puts you at risk of permanent paralysis.”

“Father?” Cris questioned, looking to the man.

Mr. Yang shook his head. “No,” he said. “No surgery.”

“Mr. Yang, without surgery Cris will be paralyzed, probably within the next 24 hours,” Steve said.

“There will be no surgery today. We’re taking her home.”

“Cris needs the surgery,” you pressed.

“And she can have it at another time.”

“Look,” Steve tried again, “Mr. Yang—“

“We are taking our daughter home.”

Steve looked at Cris. “Cris, you are over 18. You don’t need your father’s consent.”

“I am Hmong, and my father is the elder,” Cris explained. “He says I go home, I go home.”

You could tell that Steve was holding back from a harsh reply. He gave Mr. Yang a nod before leaving the room, you following after him.

“Hmong? Let’s find out what that means,” Steve said.

“Do I continue to process her discharge?” You wondered.

“Yeah we have to. It’s insane, but we have to. It reminds me of this case I had one time and this woman came to the office and—“

“Look, do you need me for anything else work related?”

Steve looked around the hallway before pulling you into an on-call room with him.

“Look, I was married for 11 years,” Steve began. “Peggy is my family. That is 11 Thanksgivings, 11 birthdays and 11 Christmases. And in one day, I’m supposed to sign a piece of paper and end my family? A person doesn’t do that. Not without a little hesitation. I’m entitled to a little uncertainty here! At least a moment to understand the magnitude to what it means to cut somebody out of my life. I’m entitled to at least one moment of painful doubt. And a little understanding from you would be nice.”

“I am not fighting you on this,” you responded, opening the door. “Not anymore.”

You stormed away. Leaving both you and Steve in an confused state of anger.

~~~

Bruce was walking down the hall when he noticed Peggy.

“Dr. Rogers,” he greeted. “Still here, I see.”

“I couldn’t leave you,” she responded with a smile. “Have you seen the other Dr. Rogers by chance?”

“I’ll tell him you’re looking for him.”

“Thanks,” Peggy walked off and Natasha walked up.

“So, um, thanks for, uh, being there,” she said softly.

“No thanks needed,” Bruce responded.

“Okay.”

“So where are we?”

“Uh, the north-east corner of a medical center.” Bruce glared at her. “Oh, I’m, I’m getting back on my feet.”

“Fine.”

“That doesn’t mean that—“

“Natasha.”

“It’s my first day back, I’ve… I’ve got—“

“I’m not waiting forever.” The lights flickered, causing the two of them to glance up. “And, apparently, I’m not the only one.”

“Dr. Banner!” Nurse Vision jogged up. “There’s a problem with the elevator!”

“And?”

“Dr. Quill and Dr. Barton are stuck in it with your GSW patient that they were bringing up to the OR.”

“I should have fought harder for the pit,” Natasha grumbled.

~~~

“Lightning hit a sub station,” Maria Hill told Fury as they walked down the hall with Peggy. “We’re running on back up generators.” The medical center had lost its power. “One of them is down.” 

Fury stopped, causing the others to do so as well. He rested his hands on his hips, annoyed.

“Breathe, Nick,” Peggy guided. “Breathe.”

“Don’t tell me to breathe, damn it!” He exclaimed. “The only direct means of transporting from the ER to the OR isn’t working. I’ll breathe if I wanna breathe.”

Fury huffed before making his way to the elevators. Gamora and Banner were there, watching some men pry open an elevator.

“How bad is it?” Fury asked.

“Two interns and a GSW to the chest,” Bruce explained.

Fury closed his eyes and put his hand to his forehead.

“Good air in,” Peggy coaxed, doing it herself. “Bad air out.”

Fury gave her a look before turning his attention back on the elevator. “Come on people! Get those doors open!”

The men working on the elevator doors, finally get the door partially open. Revealing that the elevator car was caught between floors. Peter and Clint were in there with their GSW patient.

“It’s jammed,” one of the workers said. “It won’t open anymore. This is as wide as it will go.”

“What did you two do?” Gamora asked the interns in the elevator, kneeling down to see them better.

“Nothing!” They both exclaimed.

“How’s the patient?” Bruce asked, getting down beside Gamora.

“He’s not looking so good,” Clint answered.

~~~

“Why do the lights keep flickering?” Cris asked.

“Something about a backup generator,” you answered, finishing up hooking the morphine up to her IV. “This pump will provide you with a morphine drip and should stop your pain.”

“I told you, I don’t need it. I’m going home.”

“You realize you’ll have to sign an AMA form stating that you’re leaving against medical advice.”

“Fine,” she nodded.

“I know this is new and confusing. I actually called a social worker, they’re willing to come down and talk to you—“

“Spare me the cultural divide, love. I grew up from the street down here. I play in a band. I get it. My father doesn’t. He says no, it’s no.”

“We’re talking about your ability to ever walk again.”

“That’s what you're talking about. I’m talking about my family. Have you ever even heard of the Hmong people?” You shook your head. “Our religion has got rules that are way old and way set in stone and way spiritual and you don’t mess with them.” She sighed. “You don’t anger the ancestors. Even if you pierce your tongue and play in a band.”

“What are the rules exactly?”

~~~

“Rogers!” Gamora shouted as she headed towards Steve. “You’re wife is looking for you.”

“I know,” he responded.

“Are you actively avoiding her?”

“Maybe,” he shrugged.

Gamora scoffed, shaking her head as she walked away. “You’ve got to deal with your problems before they all blow up in this medical center!”

“Steve,” you called, coming up beside him.

“Yes?” He replied, turning to look at you.

“You need to talk to Cris’s father. I’d do it myself but I guess having testicles is a requirement.”

Steve sighed. “Did you try social services?”

“They can’t help us. Mr. Yang believes that Cris is missing something that she needs for surgery.”

“Missing something? Missing what?”

“One of her souls. We don’t need someone from social services. We need a shaman.”

~~~

Peter and Clint were still stuck in the elevator with their patient, Tommy. The patient was getting delirious, trying to sit up and pull out the tubes and wires.

“Hey, what are you doing?” Peter asked, trying to stop him.

“I have to get home,” Tommy said.

“Tom, you’re in the hospital.”

He sat up. “Need to get home.” Clint and Peter quickly worked to restrain him. “No. Need to get home.”

Dr. Banner, hearing the commotion, peered through the small opening of the elevator doors. “What’s his blood pressure?” The attending asked.

“It’s not reading,” Clint informed. “He’s too agitated.”

“How’s his pulse?”

“Thready but it’s still there,” Peter answered.

“Do you have any instruments?”

“Uh, we have…” Peter quickly looked around. “Uh, just a code box and some gloves.”

“You didn’t bring an open chest tray?”

“No. We thought—“

“You don’t have time for excuses. Barton, blood pressure.”

“I’ve taken it 3 times,” Clint replied.

“And?”

“I can’t hear systolic over 50.” Clint looked down at Tommy, who is really pale and wheezing. “He’s gonna die.” Both interns look at each other, scared.

“Intubate him,” Bruce ordered. “I’ll be right back.” He went to push himself up off the floor.

“Wait! Where are you going?”

“To get an instrument tray. You guys are going to have to open up his chest.”

Clint and Peter looked back at each, minds going a mile a minute as Banner stood up. Gamora was behind him, having heard the whole thing.

“Are you sure about having them open his chest?” Gamora asked.

“No,” he answered before he hurried away.

~~~

Chief Fury and Dr. Hill were walking down the hall together.

“This is incogitable,” Fury said. “There’s not enough power to move those elevators?”

“They’re doing what they can to replace the back up generator now,” Hill responded. “Fire department is standing by.”

“All critical patients?”

“Moved to the south wing.”

“Incoming trauma?”

“Re-routed to the other medical centers.”

“That damn back-up generator should’ve been replaced last year.”

“Yes, sir.”

“So why didn’t it happen? Dr. Hill, you know everything. Tell me whose ass I need to kick.”

“That would be your ass, Chief. You didn’t authorize the replacement generator to save money for the new MRI machine.”

Not wanting to show weakness, Fury walked away. Grumbling under his breath as he went.

~~~

It didn’t take long for Bruce to return to the elevator with the things the interns would need.

“This isn’t gonna be too sterile,” Bruce said as he got down to hand them the tools, “but we can still try. Prep and drape the patient.”

“On it,” Clint responded, quickly getting to work.

Peter stood there for a moment, nervously staring at Tommy. Eventually, he snapped out of it, shakily helping.

“Okay…” Peter breathed out once they were finished. “We’re really going to do this.”

Clint just looked at him, both interns feeling completely unprepared, as he kept squeezing air into the patient. Bruce stuck his hand back through with a pair of scissors and a scalpel in it. He hands them towards Peter, looking at him expectedly.

“Take these,” the attending said. Peter just looked at them, remaining still. “Quill, take the scalpel.” Peter just continued to stand frozen.

“Come on, Peter!” Clint exclaimed. “Take the damn scalpel!”

Dr. Banner looked at Peter, completely confused as to way the intern wasn’t moving. Bruce shook his hand to signal for Peter to take the instruments. But the intern looked away.

“Ventilate!” Clint demanded, annoyed at Peter as he shoved what he was holding into Peter’s hands. “I got it.” Clint swiped the instruments from Dr. Banner. He shot Peter an angry look. “Okay,” Clint looked to Dr. Banner. “What do I do?”

“Make a large anterior, lateral, mid-auxiliary incision in the 5th intercostal space,” Bruce directed.

“How—how large?”

“As long as possible. You need to get 2 hands in there. It needs to be long and deep. Use the scissors if you have to.” Peter then made eye contact with Bruce. “Quill, hold a light up for Barton while you’re ventilating. You can do that, right?” 

Peter nodded, grabbing a flashlight from Banner. Clint took a deep breath. He was about to cut when Bruce startled him.

“Barton, be sure you don’t cut into the lobe of the heart,” Bruce warned.

“Uh… how—“ Clint paused to clear his throat. “How can I be sure of that?”

“You just have to be sure.”

“We’ll, uh, we’re definitely not in Kansas anymore,” Clint tried to joke before cutting into Pete’s chest.

~~~

You walked up to Cris’ room. Steve was standing outside, watching the patient and her father interact.

“Is the shaman here yet?” You asked.

“He’s late,” Steve replied. He glanced down at the watch on his wrist. “We need to get her into surgery right now.”

Before you really thought about it, you put a comforting hand on Steve’s arm. “It will work out.”

Steve looked down at your hand and then at you. You two stared at each other, lost in the others eyes. It was too long before you realized that you two were too close for your liking and that your hand was still on his arm.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, stepping back.

“Y/N, please just—“

You shook your head. “I’ll see how far our shaman’s out.” And you hurried away.

~~~

Bruce hadn’t moved from his viewpoint of inside the elevator. It had been a while now since Clint had cut into Tommy, but Bruce couldn’t see exactly what was going on.

“Barton, how are you doing down there?” He asked.

“Bruce,” Maria Hill said before Clint could answer. “The fire department’s here. They can get the doors open.”

“No!” Bruce turned to look at the crowd behind him. “Nobody moves. Nobody works not he elevator. I have an open chest and a very nervous intern in there. Keep them back until I give the word.” Dr. Hill nodded, motioning everyone back, before Bruce focused back on inside the elevator. “Clint.”

“I didn’t cut the heart or the lungs,” Clint answered, clearly surprised. “Dr. Banner, I didn’t cut the heart or the lungs!”

“Good, good. Very good. Now check for injuries and do a pericardiotomy.”

“Uh, I’ll need some lap pads, forceps, Metzenbaums and Satinksy clamps then.”

Bruce gave a light smile and a nod. “Yes, you will.”

Clint was quickly given the supplies and got to work. 

“Okay… I’ve removed the small clot from the pericardium,” Clint informed Dr. Banner. “No obvious cardiac injuries.”

“Any change in the vitals?” Bruce wondered.

“BP’s still too low to register on the monitor,” Peter spoke up.

“We need to cross clamp the aorta.”

Clint grabbed the clamp from a tray next to him and put it through the opening.

“Stick your hand in and bluntly dissect down until you feel two tube-like structures,” Bruce guided. “The esophagus will be more medical and anterior.”

Clint stuck both his bands in the open chest. “Ah, I feel one tube that is easily collapsible and the other I store muscular, spongy. I can also feel the spine, just underneath it.”

“Yes, you’re touching the aorta.”

The intern grinned. “I’m touching the aorta.”

“Wrap the index finger of your left hand around it and apply a Satinsky clamp with your right hand.”

Clint put in the clamp. “Got it… Wait, I… I think I can localize the bleeding. I… Well… I think it’s coming from the inferior vena cava.”

“Can you find the lesion?”

“Yeah. Yeah… I think I can feel, ah—it’s too far in to repair.”

“Can you tell me how big it is?”

“Small, maybe… like, smaller than a dime.”

“Okay then Barton, I want you to take your finger and plug the hole.”

Clint nodded and did as directed. “I think I can feel his heart… it’s… it’s starting to fill more. It’s beating a little stronger.”

“Excellent. Keep your finger there.”

“Okay. Now what?”

“That’s it.”

“Really?” Bruce turned to lay on his back in relief. “I just stand here with my finger plugging the hole?”

“Yes. Until we can get you out of that elevator and into the OR.” Bruce lifted his head and looked at Dr. Hill. “Tell the fire department to get them out of there.”

“On it,” Hill responded.

Bruce rolled back over and looked at Clint. “Barton.”

“Yes, sir?” The intern replied.

“You just flew solo.”

~~~

“Okay, Cris. We’re going to shut off the PCA pump now,” you began explaining, “which means you will be in a lot of pain for the duration of the—“

“The healing ritual,” Cris interrupted.

“Are you going to be okay with that?”

“Yeah. I can’t find my soul if I’m medicated. No pain, no gain, right?”

“Just, tell me this… you believe in it all too, right? You’re not just doing this for your father.”

“I know it sounds like a load of crap but… just watch the ritual. You’ll see.”

“See what?”

“The moment it happens.” You nodded as the shaman came in with Cris’ family. She looked at them. “I’m ready.”

To give them some room, you and Steve watched and waiting from outside the room.

“How long do you think it takes to retrieve a lost soul?” Steve asked.

“I don’t know,” you replied.

You and Steve carefully watched the healing ritual. And you did see what Cris was talking about. The moment it happened. You didn’t have to believe in it, but you did find a new found respect for her beliefs.

~~~

During Cris’ surgery, you and Steve worked in tandem. You felt weighed down the whole time though. Peggy stood watch in the gallery, smiling down at Steve. He looked up every so often, always looking at his wife. You noticed each time.

You had already finished scrubbing out of surgery by the time Steve started himself. You were outside the scrub room, pacing. You couldn’t do this, this whole pretending to not care thing. It was too hard. You burst into the scrub room, Steve immediately looking at you.

“I lied,” you said. “I’m not out of this relationship. I’m in. I’m so in, it’s humiliating because here I am, going to beg—“

“Y/N,” Steve interrupted quietly.

“Just shut up. You say Y/N and I yell, remember?”

“Yeah.” He leaned away the sink, listening.

“Okay, here it is,” you took a deep breath. “Your choice. It’s simple.” You started to get emotional. Damn it, you loved this man too much. “Her or me. And I’m sure she’s really great. But, Steve… I love you… in a really, really big, “pretend to like your taste in music, let you eat the last piece of cheesecake, hold a radio over my head outside your window”… unfortunate way that makes me hate you, love you. So pick me. Choose me. Love me.”

Steve was staring at you lovingly. He moved to touch you, but you pulled away.

“I’ll be at Happy’s tonight,” you continued. “So if you decide to sign the papers, meet me there.”

Then you walked out. Steve, distressed now, sighed. What was he going to do?

~~~

“Do you think he’ll show?” You asked, doing a tequila shot.

“He’ll show,” Happy said.

The door opened. You turned to the door hopefully, but it’s just Tony walking in. He came over, took off his suit coat and sat next to you at the bar.

“I got your message,” Tony said, motioning for Happy to get him a drink. “You gave him a choice, brave.” He nodded. “But he’s not stupid, though love does make you stupid sometimes. He’ll chose you.” Happy handed him a drink. “Thank you.” 

“Are you sure?” You questioned. “I… I literally told him that I loved him. I’ve… I’ve never done that before.”

“He loves you too. He’s just an idiot.”

~~~

Steve was sitting in a doctor’s lounge at the hospital, fidgeting with a pen. The divorce papers were in a manila envelope on the table in front of him. Gamora entered the room, dressed up.

“How’s your patient?” Gamora asked as she put some things away. “The one who got her soul back?”

“She’s gonna be fine,” Steve responded. He looked up at took Gamora in. “Look at you. I’ve never seen you dressed up.”

“Yeah, well, I’m suppose to have a date tonight.”

“Yeah? Anyone I know?”

“Like I’d tell you.” Gamora noticed the pen in Steve’s hand and the envelope on the table. “You haven’t signed those divorce papers yet, have you?” 

Steve shook his head. “Gamora.” He looked at her, pleading. “Tell me what to do.”

“Not a chance.”

“Why does this have to be so hard?”

“It’s not hard. It’s painful, but it’s not hard. You know what to do already. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be in this much pain.”

“I guess you’re right.” Steve sighed. “I shouldn’t keep you. Good luck on your date.”

~~~

Natasha found Bruce in the stairwell, as he went to find an on-call room.

“Hey,” Natasha stopped him, “I… So…” She sighed. “Here’s where we are. I work too much. I’m competitive. I’m always right. And I snore.” 

Bruce looked at her confused. “What?”

“I’m trying here.”

Still looking confused, Bruce took a moment to think it out. “Oh! Ohhhh…”

“Yeah.” 

“So?”

“Okay. We’re a couple. Whatever. DOn’t make a big deal about it.” 

She began walking away. Natasha quickly paused though and turned around. She hurried to Bruce, kissed him, and hurried down the stairs.

~~~

Peggy found Steve in the doctor’s lounge.

“There you are,” she said. “I’ve been looking, well, everywhere for you.”

“Well, you found me,” Steve responded.

“So?” She glanced down at the envelope. “Are you going to sign those divorce papers or not?”

~~~

You were still waiting at the bar. Tony was there, but so was Pepper. So as he flirted with her, he kept an eye on you. Val, Clint, and Scott had joined you.

“He’s not going to come,” you sighed. “You all don’t think he’s coming.”

“He might come,” Val said.

“Yeah, you never know,” Scott agreed.

“He’s definitely coming,” Clint said. Val quickly kicked him from under the bar. “Ow. What? Do you want her doing tequila shots all night? I’ll be the one cleaning up the vomit. Besides, I feel good. I touched a heart today.”

The bell on the door went off again. They all turned to look, but it wasn’t Steve. You sighed and turned back to Happy.

“Pour me another one.”

next chapter >

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[cafeinthemoon]

Kasumi - Chapter 4

Title: Kasumi - A Story from the Hidden Leaf Village

Genre: Fanfiction

Pairing: Genma Shiranui x Kasumi Saya (ofc)

Rating: Teen | up

Word count: 1070

Chapter (s): 4/?

Warnings: nightmares, psychological trauma, painful memories and ophidiophobia (fear of snakes)

Symbols: ⭕ | ➕ |  💛 | ▶

Read the previous chapters here: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3

Chapter IV - “Out of Bed”

Years ago

Kasumi opened her eyes and didn’t see the ceiling above. Her room was immersed in the shadows at the corner of her bed, but the pale moonlight entered through the window and shaped a rectangle on the floor, at the middle of the room. The girl pulled the sheets away and sat at the bed, her feet dangling, her body sweating inside the gown. The night was hot and the air was still; it was the middle of summer.

She stood up. She was going to check the clock upon a dresser on the other side of the room, and then get some water; her throat was dry. She passed by the window and gave up checking the time: the sky was clean, crowded with stars, ad at least on the outside a breeze passed among the trees. Apart from the rustle of the leaves, everything was quiet.

With the corner of her eye, Kasumi noticed some shape moving in the backyard. When she turned to find out what it was, she saw someone walking at a slow pace as if they were about to leave. It was dark out there, but it was full moon, and its light was enough for her to recognize her mother. However, it wasn’t her who was walking.

Akemi Saya seemed to be asleep; she was carried, and it was clear that the individual was going to take her away.

Kasumi didn’t think of what she was doing nor if it was what she was supposed to do when she left her room and ran outside the house.

The cold moonlight spread on the length of the yard, and she got a better vision of what was going on than when she looked at the window. Her mother was unconscious indeed; and she was being kidnapped.

The girl covered her mouth with both hands, her throat burning with the scream stuck inside it; the warm, wet air of summer grew cold, dead. Her whole body was shivering, and in her chest fear pierced with the strength of claws, though she didn’t understand where it came from. Or maybe she did. And now she was paralyzed with the terrible revelation.

He had his back turned to her, but Kasumi knew him. That jōnin uniform. That black hair, moving at the breeze that was still blowing. It was him. He had said that his name was not easy to forget, and that was true. Unnecessary was to say that his figure lived up to his name.

Orochimaru.

The man she met a few days ago and bought a flower for her; a flower that, in his words, matched her. Who said such kind things about her mother and believed that Kasumi was going to be just like her.

So, what was he doing now? Where was he taking her mother? And what did he do for her to pass out?

He stopped, and Kasumi took a step back. He knew she was there. Maybe he knew she would look at the window and come after her mother. Maybe that’s why he didn’t leave yet. He must have been waiting for her.

- What are you doing late at night, out of your bed, little one?

His voice, in the sweetness she was already familiar with, vibrated and cut the air like a blade. She didn’t reply; she stood on her place, resisting the impulse to cover her ears. Orochimaru turned to her, who left the scream out when she saw her mother’s face: it was white as the face of someone who was about to die, and there was something in it that said it wasn’t because of the moonlight. Kasumi felt her eyes burn.

Orochimaru lowered his eyes to Akemi and spoke again

- Probably, she would rather be in her bed, too. But, you know, I’m in the middle of an important work and I cannot go on without her help.

He knelt and left Akemi’s body on the grass. He stood by her side for a time that seemed eternal. Then, his fingers caressed her exhausted face.

- You are still too young to understand, but I hope I will explain this to you one day – he turned his eyes to Kasumi – Or if you become as wise as your mother, maybe you will figure it out all by yourself.

The girl swallowed. Orochimaru stood on his feet and, with the patience of someone who was about to leave, walked toward her. The cold grew with his approaching, the fear became dread, but her feet wouldn’t move. Suddenly her body was too heavy for her own strength. She opened her mouth and realized she lost her voice.

She tried to close her eyes, but they didn’t obey, fixed on what was in front of her. At some moment, the shape that was coming closer was no longer a man. It was hard to explain: it was still Orochimaru as she remembered him, but his serpent side was taking over now, and soon there was going to be little of what h e once was.

Finally he stopped before Kasumi. Now she could not see anything but his yellow eyes, from which it seemed to come some scary light. His voice echoed as if from a distance.

- I am sorry for how you feel, little one. I am so sorry...

Her eyes burned, but no tears came from them. If he was feeling so sorry, why did he make her suffer that way?

- ... But I cannot let you interfere in my work.

Kasumi felt the change in his tone, but she had no time to understand the reason. She felt his fingers on her face, like he just did to her mother, but his touch didn’t end up in a caress. They pressed her forehead and pulled away, leaving a pain as sharp as a bite. She looked in his eyes for the second time. The yellow bright became unbearable. The girl screamed.

Orochimaru smiled. Maybe because of her were disturbed by the yellow glimmer, Kasumi thought there was a serpent in his tongue’s place. The serpent jumped to her and grabbed her neck, while others spread around her feet and curled around her body. She was breathless. Her limbs weakened, and little by little her vision melted into a wide and formless shadow.

[440mxs-wife]

Arthur’s Angels Chapter 1: Meet the Angels

Pairings: Dean x Jayna Brandon (OFC), Sam x Maggie Parker (OFC). Other Characters: Gabriel, Arthur Ketch

Warnings: show-level violence

Word Count: 4900+

Authors Note: This started out as a birthday gift of sorts to my good friend, @MissyIsSassy1. Jayna is her character, so anything about her is Missy, while Maggie is my character, and anything about her is me. Don’t look at me, I just write stuff.

Summary: Jayna and Maggie are employed by the mysterious Arthur Ketch to hunt the supernatural. They have never met Mr. Ketch in person, and receive their assignments via speakerphone briefings. Still, they do their job, and they’re damn good at it. See what happens when their path crosses with the Winchesters.....

Author’s Note 2: I’m not sure how many parts this will have, I guess as many as people are willing to read. If you want to be tagged in this series or have any requests, please let me know. Thank you for reading, enjoy!

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Okay, weapons check?" Jayna said to her partner, Maggie. The two of them were on assignment, going up against a nest of vampires. No way that either of them wanted to be caught in a fight without adequate weapons support.

"Machete, freshly sharpened," Maggie said, patting her thigh holster. "Also have my .380, with a full clip of the ceramic rounds filled with dead man's blood," she confirmed. "You?" she asked.

Jayna gestured towards her back holster where she kept her always-sharpened machete. She tucked her 9mm pistol, also with the ceramic rounds, in the back waistband of her jeans. "So, how many did Gabriel say would be in this nest, anyway?" Jayna asked.

Maggie looked at the ramshackle house before them. "No more than ten, if I remember correctly. I figure we get in a few good swings and take out the first four or five vamps, which makes the rest of our job a bit more manageable," she explained.

Jayna shrugged. "Sounds like a plan to me," she replied as they approached the front door of the run-down shack.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Jayna Brandon and Maggie Parker were experts, recruited by the reclusive billionaire, Arthur Ketch, to hunt the supernatural. Each woman had her own reasons for becoming involved in hunting. Whether their motivation was a deep sense of duty or a desire to continue the family legacy, regardless, they trained relentlessly. For that reason alone, they were considered to be two of the best female hunters in the world.

Rumors had circulated that Mr. Ketch once had ties to the former British Men of Letters, a secret organization from the 1950's. Their purpose was to investigate and hunt the supernatural, like vampires, werewolves and shapeshifters.

About three years ago, the weapons locker was raided and cleared out, then the organization was mysteriously disbanded. All of their technically superior weaponry was said to now be under the control of an unknown entity. Some even suggested that Mr. Ketch himself may have been the one to take possession of this futuristic firepower.

Working alongside Jayna and Maggie was Gabriel. He mostly worked behind the scenes, researching cases and providing tech support and even transportation if necessary. Sometimes he went out in the field, if the case involved posing as a couple to complete the mission. Gabriel could be a bit mischievous at times, but he was always there for Jayna and Maggie when they needed him.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Jayna slowly and carefully eased the front door open. She didn't want any squeaks or whines from the aging hinges to ruin the element of surprise. As they approached the living room area, a vamp was entering the room from Jayna's left. She swung her machete and sliced the head clean off the body, both hitting the floor with a thump. Another one came in from Maggie's right, but she was ready. Her machete sliced through the vamp's neck like a hot knife through butter.

After they cleared the top floor of all five vampires, that only left the remaining five, most likely in the basement. The ladies knew they had to be careful, because there may also be potential victims to rescue. Jayna signaled to Maggie that the door in front of her led to the basement. Maggie nodded and drew open the door, which fortunately opened without a creak.

The women slowly descended the stairs, pausing every so often to make sure nothing had disturbed the vampires. They appeared to be sleeping in some sort of sling or hammock, with the ends secured around an exposed beam in the ceiling.

Jayna counted and signaled to Maggie that there were only four more to clear out the nest. Maggie nodded and motioned that she was going to go check for victims. Jayna nodded her assent as she continued to survey their environment, always keeping an eye out for an exit.

Maggie found six victims, only three of whom were still alive. She disconnected the IV that was drawing the blood out of the first two and tied a piece of her shirt over it like a bandage. The couple looked like they were high school sweethearts, a quarterback and his cheerleader. Must have been in the wrong place at the wrong time, is all. They didn't look like they'd lost too much blood, so she told them to go and wait for her and Jayna under the stairs.

Something seemed to be a little off with the third captive, though. Maggie looked her over for injuries, but didn't find any. She started walking towards the stairs, thinking the other captive would follow her. Maggie caught the horrified look in the eyes of the cheerleader as she gestured to the last captive. Maggie turned around in time to see the last victim charging at her, knocking her over. She had been turned, and she had decided that Maggie was to be her first kill.

Jayna ran over and knocked the girl to the ground, only to have her quickly get back up. Jayna gripped her machete with both hands and made a clean slice, taking off her head. Maggie breathed a sigh of relief. "Thanks, Jay," she whispered.

"Anytime," Jayna said, then turned her attention to the remaining cluster of vamps, who were starting to stir in their bunks. "Uh-oh, looks like that was just the wake-up call," Jayna quipped. "Time to take care of business," she remarked.

Two vamps went after Maggie, while the other two went after Jayna. They each took the first one out easily, but the last two were starting to get the upper hand. The one attacking Jayna had her pinned to the ground and kept trying to take a bite at her neck.

The impact of hitting the floor caused her machete to drop from her hand. Jayna brought her leg up and shoved the vamp away from her, then drew her pistol. She shot a couple of ceramic rounds into its upper chest, and the vamp went down, paralyzed for the moment. Jayna completed the kill as she cleaved its head from the body.

Maggie's vamp seemed a lot more determined, most likely the leader of his nest. He had her pinned to the wall to where she couldn't raise her arms to swing the blade. "Do you think you two hunters can just waltz in here, kill my family and take what's mine?!?" he thundered. His forearm was pressed up against Maggie's neck. He pressed hard, holding her against the wall and threatening her air supply.

Just before Maggie nearly blacked out from lack of oxygen, she heard Jayna shout to get the vamp's attention. He turned his head towards Jayna, which was his last and fatal mistake. Her machete quickly and cleanly separated his head from his body and the fight was over.

"Thanks again, Jay. Really saved my ass this time," Maggie huffed, still trying to catch her breath.

"You can save my ass next time," Jayna chuckled. "Let's get these survivors topside and out of this house. You okay to lead us out of here?" she asked.

Maggie nodded, then paused as she heard footsteps approaching their position. Maggie pointed upward, and motioned to Jayna and the couple to keep quiet. When the intruders hit the last step, Jayna and Maggie stepped out of the shadows, weapons drawn, and yelled "Freeze!"

The newcomers also had weapons that they trained on Jayna and Maggie, at least until they saw the collection of headless bodies on the floor. The man closest to Jayna had piercing green eyes, spiky hair and slightly bowed legs. He re-engaged the safety on his weapon, but still felt the need to keep it pointed in Jayna's direction.

"One question. Who are you and what the hell are you doing on our hunt?" he demanded.

"Your hunt? Excuse me, but this is our case, bud," Jayna retorted. "We should be asking 'who are you and what the hell are you doing on our hunt'," she sassed.

"Name's Dean Winchester, sweetheart," he smirked. Gesturing to the tall, shaggy haired man to his right, "And this one here is my brother, Sam Winchester," he explained.

Jayna and Maggie looked at each other and realized that the newcomers were not a threat. They reengaged the safety on their weapons and tucked them in the back waistband of their jeans. Sam and Dean, having decided that Jayna and Maggie weren't a threat either, did the same.

"Well, boys, now that we've made our introductions, we must be going. Got to get the survivors some medical attention, so they can go back home to their families," Maggie said. She started to climb the stairs and motioned for the survivors to come out of hiding and follow her to the car.

Jayna turned to leave as well, but before she did, she caught Dean's eye. "You guys will clean up, right? Been a slice," she said as she winked and gave him a mock salute. She followed Maggie up the stairs, grinning to herself all the way.

Sam and Dean both looked at each other. "What the hell just happened?" Dean thundered. "How did we get stuck with the clean-up?" he growled.

Shaking his head, Sam chuckled. "Come on, Dean. Let's get to work," he grinned.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Jayna and Maggie dropped off the survivors at a local hospital to receive medical attention, then provided Gabriel with their final report. Gabe was impressed that the girls had finished the job in record time and managed to save two civilians. He said they had earned some time off, so they decided to find a diner to get something to eat.

On the way to the diner, they talked about meeting the infamous Winchesters.

"So what did you think of them?" Maggie asked.

"Well, Dean is certainly the one in charge," Jayna observed. "Talks a lot, and if I'm being honest...." she trailed off.

"Yeah?" Maggie prompted, dying to hear how Jayna was going to finish her thought.

"It's not so much his words, Mags. I swear, though, his voice is just the right frequency to set off my internal tuning fork. And I mean in the best way," she remarked as they busted out laughing. "What about you?" she asked.

"I dunno. Sam seemed content to let Dean run the show, but I think that only means one thing. The man is a tiger that isn't going to want to be caged forever by his big brother. And when he gets loose, whoo boy! Someone's in for a wild night," Maggie finished.

When Jayna pulled into the parking lot, they couldn't help but notice the gorgeous, black 1967 Chevy Impala parked outside.

"Is that--" Maggie started.

"Couldn't be. Then again--" Jayna mused. "Let's just go in, we don't have to sit with them if they're in there," she replied.

Maggie shrugged and held the door open for Jayna, then followed her into the diner. They scanned the area for the Winchesters, knowing it had to be their car outside. Jayna spotted Sam and Dean sitting in a corner booth off to her right. She elbowed Maggie to get her attention and directed it towards where the Winchesters were sitting, bringing a smile to Maggie's face.

The girls looked at each other as if to ask, "Should we join them or ignore them?". One look between them had them thinking back to the conversation they had in the car. They nearly broke out into laughter again at the memory, but managed to hold it together.

Jayna and Maggie sauntered over to the boys' table, each swaying their hips a little in case Sam and Dean were watching. Maggie reached them first and cleared her throat a little to get their attention.

"Excuse us, gents, but are these seats taken?" Maggie asked, locking eyes with Sam.

Before his brother could answer, Sam jumped in and said, "No, not at all, please join us," he grinned. He scooted over to make room, while Dean rolled his eyes but made room for Jayna to slide in.

"You ladies hungry? Here, take a look, if you'd like to choose something," Dean remarked, handing over his menu.

The waitress came back to their table and noticed that two more guests had joined the table. Jayna and Maggie ordered their drinks, then everyone gave their food order. Dean ordered his classic bacon cheeseburger with fries, Sam requested a salad. Jayna went for the pot roast dinner, while Maggie ordered a Reuben sandwich with chips.

Jayna fidgeted with her napkin before speaking. "So, I think maybe we might have gotten off on the wrong foot with you guys," she started. "Comes from years of having to work twice as hard as female hunters to prove ourselves in a male-dominated profession," she explained.

"Nah, don't worry about it," Dean replied. "I'm rather impressed, just the two of you taking out a nest of ten vamps. That's not easy, even for a couple of guys like us," Dean said. "I just hope we didn't come across as macho jerks."

"Nope, nothing to fear there, Dean. And thanks for cleaning up, by the way," Jayna added. "I can tell, though, that you're used to being the one in charge, the leader. Hope it's not too intimidating that I'm a bit like that as well," Jayna said as she locked eyes with Dean.

Dean slowly shook his head. "Just so you know, though," he added, leaning towards Jayna's ear. "I like a woman who knows what she wants and goes after it," he added huskily as he ran his index finger along her jawline.

Jayna internally shivered, not only at the closeness of his lips to her ear, but at that damn sexy voice of his. She felt her cheeks grow warm at the thought of his plump lips. She wondered if she'd ever find out if they were as soft as they appeared to be. Jayna looked over at Maggie, who was too deep in conversation with Sam to notice any distress her friend may be under.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Across the table....

"So, what kinds of things are you into, Sam? You know, what do you like to do when you're not hunting?" Maggie asked a little nervously.

"Mostly, I do the research for the two of us. Dean's the 'action guy', I'm the 'book nerd'," Sam replied. "I'm a big fan of sci-fi, especially Star Wars and I've read all of the 'Harry Potter' books. Also, I have what some people would call a weird obsession with reading about serial killers," he chuckled. "What about you?" he inquired.

"Well, first of all, nothing wrong with being into books. I, too, have read all of the 'Harry Potter' books, but I like a good spy thriller once in awhile. I don't mind Star Wars, but I'm more into Star Trek. It's kind of a requirement, since I'm from Iowa," she grinned. "My weird thing has to do with how easily I can learn a foreign language. Mostly reading, not necessarily speaking them, though," she finished.

Sam's hazel eyes locked on to Maggie's as he spoke. "Star Trek, hmm? I can just hear the kind of heated sci-fi debates we'd get into. And I can't stop wondering about the sexy things you might say in another language. 'Specially when you get all riled up," he gently teased.

Sam reached over and tucked a wayward lock of hair behind Maggie's ear and grinned when he heard the slight hitch in her breathing. Fortunately for Maggie, the waitress arrived with their meals, saving her from doing anything embarrassing about her growing attraction to Sam.

After dinner was finished, the four went out to their respective cars, but neither driver seemed to be in a hurry to leave. Conversations were had about what to do with the rest of the evening, and whether that would include any members of the opposite sex.

Dean broke the stalemate by inviting Jayna and Maggie back to their room for a drink and possibly a movie. He mentioned the name of the motel, which prompted the girls to invite Sam and Dean back to their room instead. When Jayna explained that their employer was able to provide a bit nicer and separate accommodations, the boys instantly agreed.

Jayna and Maggie followed the boys back to their motel so they could grab a change of clothes for the night. While they waited, Maggie took the opportunity to voice her doubts to Jayna.

"Are you sure we should be doing this, Jay? I mean, inviting them back to our hotel? We hardly know anything about them, other than what we've heard from other hunters," Maggie pointed out.

"That's the point, Mags," Jayna answered. "We spend time with them, get to know them better. Besides, I saw you and Sam 'sparking' over in your corner of the booth," she teased.

Maggie scoffed. "Yeah? Well, I saw plenty of 'sparks' going between you and Dean on your side of the booth, Jay," she retorted.

Jayna shrugged. "If you're waiting for me to deny everything, you're going to have a long wait, dearie. It's that voice of his, like it has a tractor beam and it's pulling me in! Not that I'm complaining, mind you," she laughed.

Maggie joined in on the laughter. "I think I was right about Sam, too. You know, about him being a tiger and to be careful if he ever gets unleashed from his cage," she remarked. "He mentioned how fun it would be to debate me on sci-fi topics. And, about riling me up so I say naughty things in other languages," Maggie giggled.

At that moment, Sam and Dean emerged from their motel room, each carrying a bag. They turned to look at Jayna and Maggie in their car, smiled, waved then got into the Impala. Around 15 minutes later, they had arrived at the RedStar Hotel, where the girls were staying.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Sam and Dean exited the Impala and examined their surroundings. This hotel was much nicer than anything they'd ever stayed in, except when on the werewolf case with Mick Davies. "Well, ladies, I have to say, these are some fancy digs," Dean remarked. "Not your usual hunters' accommodations," he added.

"Courtesy of our employer, whose name shall remain anonymous," Jayna quipped. "This is just the lobby. Shall we head up to my room first, then decide how best to spend the rest of the evening?" she asked.

Maggie and the boys nodded their assent as they made their way over to the bank of elevators. "Room 516 is mine, 519 is Maggie's room," Jayna explained. She pulled her key card out of her pocket and opened the door.

The room was equipped with a king sized bed, a recliner in the corner, a 55-inch flat screen TV and a desk where Jayna's laptop rested. "Come on in everyone," Jayna said as she threw her car keys on the desk. From her bag, she produced a bottle of whiskey and proceeded to pour two fingers for everyone.

When everyone had a drink in hand, Maggie raised hers a little. "I propose a toast: to a successful hunt and to new friends," she declared. Everyone repeated the toast and clinked their glasses together. Maggie made eye contact with Sam when their glasses connected, trying to determine what kind of mood he was in. She also wanted to see when may be a good time for them to make a break for her room to be alone.

Someone produced a deck of cards and from that, several rounds of Truth or Dare Go-Fish were played. The whiskey continued to flow, and as a consequence, the participants got a little sillier with each round. After about the seventh round, Jayna looked at Maggie. From all their years hunting together, Maggie knew from the look on Jayna's face that it was time for her and Sam to go.

"Hey, Sam, I heard there's a Star Wars marathon on TV. I know these two are probably not interested, so how about we head over to my room so we won't bother them?" Maggie suggested.

A knowing smirk crossed Sam's face. "Fine by me, as long as you don't mind that I quote the dialogue as the movie plays," he grinned.

"So much the better, I'll even play along," Maggie replied. She held out her hand, which Sam took in his and intertwined their fingers.

"Have fun, kids," Dean called after them. Upon hearing the door latch engage, a hungry look settled in Dean's eyes. He walked over to the table where Jayna was putting the deck of cards back in the box.

Dean approached Jayna while her back was to him. He reached for her hand to make her turn around and face him. He reached up with his right hand to cup her face. "So," he remarked softly, his thumb caressing her cheek.

"So," Jayna whispered. She placed her palms on his chest and slid them upwards until her hands were clasped behind his neck.

As her fingertips grazed the hairs at the base of his neck, Dean dove in and captured Jayna's lips with his own. His free hand roamed up and down Jayna's back, causing a small moan to escape from her mouth. When the need to breathe became too great, the kiss was broken, leaving Dean and Jayna panting.

"Whoa," Dean whispered. "That was amazing," he remarked.

"Agreed. I've been wanting to do that since the diner," Jayna gushed. "How's about we try that again?" she suggested.

"As you wish, sweetheart," Dean replied as his mouth slammed back to Jayna's with a need that he knew only she could satisfy. "So beautiful," Dean murmured against her lips.

Jayna brought her hands down so that they were inside his flannel shirt. Within seconds, she was pushing his outer shirt off of his shoulders and was reaching for the hem of his T-shirt. Dean gently pried it from her fingertips and eased it up and over his head. The sight of his bare chest caused a hitch in her breathing, which did not escape Dean's notice.

Dean toyed with the hem of Jayna's T-shirt, causing her to look down at his hands. He hooked one finger under her chin and tilted it upwards to meet her eyes. "Are you sure, sweetheart?" he asked softly.

Jayna nodded. "I'm sure, Dean," she answered. That was all the permission Dean needed to relieve Jayna of her shirt, leaving her in a lacy pink bra. A look of admiration crossed Dean's Greek god-like features and Jayna had never felt more treasured.

One by one, pieces of clothing disappeared until there was nothing left between them. Dean and Jayna found themselves under the blankets of the expansive king-sized bed. They took turns giving and receiving pleasure in the form of hot kisses and exploratory touches. As the two of them moved together, layer upon layer of passion was built. Each one higher than the last, until they both found their release.

As Dean and Jayna's heart rates slowly returned to normal, Jayna scooted towards Dean. He snaked his right arm around her to hold her close to his side. She rested her head on his shoulder and her right hand flat on his chest. "Mmm, Dean that was incredible," she murmured, her eyelids feeling heavy.

Dean leaned over and pressed his lips to Jayna's forehead. "It really was, sweetheart. Incredible," he mumbled against her skin. He felt his own eyelids fighting to stay open as well. "Sweet dreams, baby girl," Dean whispered before completely giving in to his need for sleep.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The next morning, the couples met in the hotel's dining facility for the breakfast buffet. Jayna noticed that Maggie and Sam looked pretty cozy going through the line. Always finding a reason to touch each other, or for one to grab the other's hand. Hmm, her night must have gone as well as mine did, Jayna thought with a smile. We should have lots to talk about on the drive back to HQ, she silently added.

"Morning, beautiful," Dean rumbled huskily in Jayna's ear. His stubbled cheek tickled her ear, causing her to giggle, which also brought a smile to Dean's face.

"Morning, handsome," she replied as soon as she had regained her composure.

Back at the table, everyone exchanged phone numbers. If either team needed help or wanted to talk to someone, they now had a way of contacting each other.

All too soon, it was time for the hunter teams to go their separate ways. Dean and Jayna were standing by her car, exchanging good-bye hugs and slow, luxurious kisses.

Over by the Impala, Maggie and Sam were saying their good-byes. "I had a wonderful time with you, Sam. You're smart, caring and a bit of a romantic if I may say. But you also have a very sexy wild side to you that I love just as much," Maggie remarked.

"And you, ma chérie, are sweet, kind and maybe a bit too sassy for your own good," Sam grinned. He tapped the end of Maggie's nose as she pouted. "But I would love to see you again sometime, ma belle fleur," he said softly.

A shy smile returned to Maggie's face. "I would like that as well, mon chéri," Maggie replied. She slid her hands up the length of Sam's chest and rested them on his shoulders. Without much encouragement needed, she pulled him down until their lips met in a fiery, passionate kiss.

When they broke apart, Sam brushed the back of his knuckles gently against her cheek. "See you soon, darlin'," he said softly.

"Bye, Sam. Call if you need anything, or want to talk," Maggie responded.

"I will," he promised as Maggie walked away to where Jayna was waiting. Maggie wished Dean a safe trip home as he passed her on the way to his car. She heard the Impala roar to life and just like that, Sam and Dean were gone.

Before Maggie opened the passenger door of the car, Jayna asked, "So, how did it go with you and Sam last night?"

Maggie paused before looking Jayna directly in the eye. "Rawr," she said, then both women burst into laughter.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Back at headquarters, Gabriel expressed how happy he was to see them. Although he didn't press for details, he could tell that both women had had an enjoyable past 24 hours. "Briefing in 15 minutes, ladies!" Gabriel called out.

They didn't have time to do much of anything before the meeting, except freshen up their hair and splash some water on their faces. Unpacking, laundry and a shower would have to wait until after the meeting.

About ten minutes later, Jayna and Maggie entered the conference room and took their usual places. A conference call-style phone with a large speaker was in the middle of the table. The meeting started precisely at 11:00 am, with a call from their employer, Arthur Ketch.

"Good morning, Angels. I understand the vampire hunt went as planned, even saved two of the victims," Ketch remarked.

"Yes, sir," Jayna and Maggie responded in unison.

"Well done. Your next assignment will be for the recovery of a cursed object. The setting is a high-society party to which only couples have been invited. This will therefore be an undercover assignment," Ketch explained.

Jayna and Maggie looked at each other in silent communication. Winchesters? they asked each other. Jayna pointed out that while Gabriel usually fills in on these "undercover couple" assignments, that leaves Maggie without a partner.

"Sir, we need both myself and Maggie for this mission. We met a pair of hunters on our last case that would be perfect for this assignment. That would enable us full use of the team, and Gabriel could still act in a support capacity," Jayna finished.

Silence reigned on the other end of the line while the idea was considered. "How easy would it be to contact this 'pair of hunters' you met?" Ketch asked.

"We exchanged contact information before we left them, sir. Only a matter of picking up the phone and calling them," Maggie answered.

"Very well, make contact and inform Gabriel of their decision. I have confidence in you, Angels," Ketch concluded before the call disconnected.

"I never get to do anything fun," Gabriel grumbled. "Always a bridesmaid, never a bride."

"Aw, come on, Gabriel. You know we wouldn't be anywhere without you," Jayna teased, tapping the end of Gabe's nose.

"You bet your sweet asses you wouldn't," he grumbled. "Go on, make your 'booty call' so I can let Arthur know whether this is a go or no-go situation," he muttered.

"It's not a 'booty call', Gabe," Jayna retorted as she scrolled through her contacts, then pressed the one she wanted.

"Hey, Dean? It's Jayna. Got a question for you: Can you and Sam get your hands on a couple of tuxedos? We have a little undercover mission, and it would really help us out if you could join Maggie and me," she finished.

A broad smile spread across her face. "Fabulous. I'll email you the details. And Dean? Can't wait to see you again. Over and out," Jayna concluded softly then disconnected the call. "Hey, Maggie? How would you like to see Sam again?" she called out as she walked down the hall to her room. She giggled as she heard a shriek of happiness from Maggie's room.

Tags: @swiftlymoniquesblog @miss-nerd95 @janicho88 @akshi8278 @magssteenkamp @lyarr24 @distefano123 @hobby27 @deanwanddamons @jawritter @jensengirl83 @deangirl93 @ellewritesfix05 @idreamofplaid @like-a-bag-of-potatoes @winchesterprincessbride @wayward-mikaelson @yourelivingwrong @gabrielslittleangel @jessica-noel94

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Dragon Dancer IV: Showdown

In the silence of the elevator, Pompeii held me up. Exhaustion and hunger finally manifested themselves in weakness and trembling. The stress of keeping the secret, my worry for Ru’Yi, my need for Caesar to pick up the phone had finally reached a breaking point. I lay my head against his chest.

“He’s probably blocked the number.” He said

My voice was squeaking and barely audible, still paralyzed by the poison they’d used to silence my Soul Skills. “Don’t you have a phone?”

“I do! But he never picked up when I called. He’s not talked to me since his mother’s funeral.” He looked down at me, regret lining his features. “He saw me get into a car with another woman. He didn’t understand how my life was back then. He does now but... now it’s too late. Now he’s just determined to be the opposite of me.”

Shock flashed like lightning through my heart as I imagined the scene. Pompeii brought another woman to the funeral? How could he do something like that?

Pompeii let me stand up on my own. “Even though I cared for him more than any of my other children, I accepted how he felt. I never pushed to get close to him. Once Caesar’s made up his mind about you, it’s very hard to change it. I had to content myself to standing and supporting him from a distance.”

I nodded, understanding both sides here. Would Caesar have despised me if I lived the life the Gattusos wanted? Unlikely. He would have pitied me as a woman. He always held men to a higher standard. “We have to try... we have to try everything.”

As the elevator stopped, the reports of gunshots rang through the double sliding doors. Pompeii stood  in front of me, his eyes blazing yellow and I put on the sunglasses again. My eyes were still spotty from the flash earlier.

The elevator opened to the sight of slithering bronze servitor bodies, slick with both their blood and the blood of their victims. The army of highly trained elite hybrids guarding the monastery faced off with them with pistols, but at best, they could only knock them back. 

Servitors were powerful enough to rip a cow in half, armed with razor sharp teeth and claws and muscular tails, they left halls of the monastery covered in blood which they licked up with their forked tongues.

Pompeii let out a tremendous shout and a bow wave of blue light shot from his body with enough voltage to kill a hundred elephants, paralyzing the monsters and felling them, stiff and screeching on the floor. 

“Run! Go!” He seized my hand and we sprinted forward, slipping on blood and dismembered body parts as we headed back towards Pompeii’s apartment.

The servitors that were on the ground rose again, claws making grooves in the marble. They had a remarkable recovery time, barely phased even by that amount of electricity.

“They’re drawn by your blood!” I didn’t know if he could hear me, but he probably already knew the blood oozing from his injury in the basement was a liability. Servitors were driven mad by the smell of hybrid blood. The purer it was, the more potent the lure. 

He stopped running and pulled me forward, throwing me in front of him. “The Code is 1911! The phone us in the desk drawer as you come in. Go! I’ll hold them off!”

I didn’t look back. I ran in a desperate panic, the door to his room feeling too far away. Fear made me fumble the knob. I pushed when I should have pulled. When got it open, I ran inside, shut the door and leaned against it a moment, trying to catch my breath. 

Just then, a force slamming against the door sent me flying onto the carpet. Golden claws pierced the wood and ripped the door off its hinges. The servitor rose up, its serpent body forming an S-curve.

But just as it launched, Pompeii flew like an eagle, both feet forward, face fierce like an animal’s, kicking it in the head.

This was the father that Caesar despised? I shook myself and got to the desk and entered the code on the phone. It opened to an eyeburning image of Pompeii and a woman on full frontal display that made me recoil in disgust. “Pompeii! Why would you do this?!”

I fumbled to get to the contacts. “Where’s his number! I can’t find it!” He didn’t hear me.

I walked out of the apartment to see dead servitors lining the halls. Pompeii, his robe torn with nothing underneath was grappling with a servitor, shocking it repeatedly, its skin smoking and cracking and smelling of fish. I waved the phone. “What’s the number under?”

He looked up at me. “Filius!”

How was I supposed to know that?” I reentered the room and called. This time, the number went through to voice mail. It wasn’t ideal but ... I did my best to gasped out a voiceless message.

“Caesar! It’s Meixiu! I mean... It’s Carli! I have to tell you something! Nono! They’re going to kill Nono!” I forced air through a dead voicebox, praying in vain that something might come out. “She’s in Tokyo with the Hydras and they’re going to kill all the Japanese Hybrids and make it look like Nono was killed in the fighting! They’ll make it look like an accident!”

Pompeii charged into the room and grabbed me. “Did you reach him?”

“It’s just his voice mail...”

“Not enough. Keep trying!” I turned and looked and more servitors were coming up the halls with rabid grinning faces.

“There’s too many of them.” He started to drag me away but now had a slight limp. A piece of the back of his leg was missing!

If he died, I was a sitting duck. 

“The main hall is the most fortified area of the monastery and those old ghouls may be dusty but they’re powerful hybrids.” He said.

I held the phone to my ear and kept it ringing. The servitors were pursuing us pulling themselves along by their hands their mouths open and eager, their eyes golden and focused on us.

As we approached the main hall, I heard an echoing noise. A hollow sound of a hammer knocking on wood. Tok. Tok. Tok.

The Servitors halted their advance suddenly and turned around, looking confused. My heart screamed in an explosion of terror. Herzog’s woodblock!

"POMPEII!” 

My voice wasn’t working but the intensity of the fear that tore from my throat turned his head. He took the phone from me, put it to his ear, and abruptly stopped.

The twelve elders lay slumped over on their thrones. Each one had his throat neatly slit. I was just like the scene from the basement of the Genji Heavy Industries building. The blood was still warm and running down the steps  and over the marble, the smell of it filled the room.

At this moment, Caesar’s voice was heard through the phone. “The hell do you want.”

Pompeii smiled and shoved me hard, so I staggered away from him and fell. “Check your voice mail for that. I won’t be here long, son. I’m just glad I got to hear your voice in the end.”

“The hell are you saying? What’s going on?”

“Caesar... I lo...-”

I blinked and between the time I closed my eyes and opened them, the handle of a knife had appeared in Pompeii’s throat. He smiled and sighed, lowering his hand. The cellphone slipped from his grip. A fountain of red bloomed from this throat and he collapsed, like a puppet that had its strings suddenly cut mid performance.

From the phone, I could hear Caesar’s voice shouting, but the phone suddenly shattered.

I didn’t see Shinnosuke approach me. I only saw the burst of sparks when he collided with an electric field I didn’t realize Pompeii had surrounded me with. He snarled in pain and vanished again, like a vengeful from hell. I turned to run and he was in front of me. 

I staggered back. He was holding Ru’Yi. There was no light in his eyes. He took no pleasure this. In fact, the intense stare as his body shivered with the electric charge told me that Pompeii’s last stand had really hurt.

And now he was mad.

I found myself bound my hands behind my back. He twisted my wrists so hard I feared they might break.

“You still can’t scream. Good.” Shinnosuke’s breath whispered past my ear

I trembled, facing Pompeii’s body now,  watching the running red pool gather beneath him very slowly. Behind him was the door and in the door, rushing towards me in slow motion, was Chu Zihang.

Spider Fang was drawn and angled at Shinnosuke. But he was moving so slowly, it hadn’t registered in his eyes that I had been placed in front of him as human shield.

“You know, the wonderful thing about Time Zero...? Is that you can arrange people... like props on a set. And then like a director, say Action! To see the chaos unfold.”

“Look at him. Look at his rage. How much he loves you. I believe killing you will probably kill him as well. Perhaps afterwards, he will end his own life.”

I swallowed against the swelling in my throat. I loved him too so much. But we had talked about this earlier. That love could no longer be the most important thing right now.

Too many people were dead. Shinnosuke would go to Tibet with that Woodblock sound and set him and Erii on the world. Then... in control of the Secret party, Shinnosuke would conquer humanity.

In the face of this result, our love was inconsequential.

My dragonblood burned like a furnace, I called on it with all my strength. It no longer mattered to me to stay human. I had to use my dragonvoice now, even if it meant losing myself as a servitor.

I felt the knot in my throat unwind as the dragon blood increased my body’s potential, overruling the powerful poison that had held me captive. Scales bubbled up from my skin in a sudden rash. My round brown eyes burned gold and the pupils squeezed in to sharp slits.

“Berengeria!”

The golden light of the ethereal spear lit my face, pointed toward my own body. When it rammed through me and the man behind me, we both screamed at once.

 It was the same tactic that Herzog had used against me in the Red Well. Pinned by Chisei’s sword, I couldn’t escape without killing myself and I couldn’t save my child. But now, were both pinned, like meat on a skewer. Once he said ‘Action’, and Time Zero was released, Zihang’s sword would pierce us both.

“You bitch! You little bitch!”

I smiled, feeling his fist pound against my back. But he could no longer free himself. I looked into Zihang’s eyes. Kill the bastard. Don’t worry about me.

In that moment, I heard Ru’Yi cry. And Zihang vanished.

A tremendous rush of air blew past me followed by a sharp crack. I was free of Shinnosuke’s grip on me. Ru’Yi was suddenly in my arms. I staggered away, falling to my knees in weakness and confusion. I lay the baby on the ground and wrapped my arm against the blood coming from my abdomen.

Ru’Yi’s eyes were golden. She lay still and smiling, like a wise old woman. 

The air around us was filled with blurry dark streaks that vaguely showed the shapes of two men, locked in combat. A severed hand suddenly appeared out of nowhere, spinning along the floor and leaving a crimson spiral pattern.

Shinnosuke lay on the ground. He kicked in a circle, howling and holding a bloody stump. Chu Zihang hauled him by his collar, sliced upward, and severed his other arm. He lifted him, tossed him into the air and made a full circle cut. Spider fang moved through both Shinnosuke’s legs as if cutting through tofu.

Within seconds, Shinnosuke was reduced to a screeching bleeding torso. I gripped Ru’Yi to my chest..

“Time Zero? How are you using Time Zero?!” 

Eyes burning with an light colder than the polar arctic, Zihang responded by angling the sword downward and plunging into the man’s chest, again and again, until blood gurgled like a fountain from his mouth. He then neatly severed his head.

With an expert flick, he cleared the blood from the blade and hurried to my side, engulfing me in a fierce hug. Only then to Ru’Yi and I began cry. He removed my shirt and pressed it against my wound. He was shaking so hard the sweat flew from the ends of his hair.

I turned to the pale form of Pompeii, tears clouding my vision. I wanted to tell Caesar I was sorry. I was sorry this happened.

“Ru’Yi used Time Zero...” Zihang finally said, using his belt to secure my shirt to my injury. “You’re healing so quickly. You’ll be okay in a few minutes.”

He lifted my chin and looked into my eyes. “Blood Rage...”

I smiled at those beautiful golden pupils. “Stage Five.” I gave him a thumbs up. 

“You have to release. You’ll go servitor.”

“I know.” I looked down at my hands they were twisting up, claws pushing out from the tips.

“The wound’s closed enough. Release, Meixiu!”

The urgency in his voice made me hiccup. I gathered my ebbing mental strength, speaking the dragon word to suppress my blood. It raged like a fire in me and for a moment, I couldn’t hear or see or think for the pain. But Zihang didn’t let me go, holding me despite the power coursing through my veins increasing my strength ten fold.

The scales lowered back into regular human skin, my eyes turned back to their normal color. Exhaustion set in for both of us. The only living things left in the massive hall, the sound of our own breathing echoed in the walls.

We were alive. Ru’Yi used Time Zero and we were alive. Chu Zihang’s heart beat against my ear. His chest rose and fell. He was warm. This was so very real, despite how incredible it was that we could be saved by our own child. But if it was a dream, I didn’t want to wake up ever again.

The clicking of heels on the hard marble floor broke the silence. A woman’s frustrated sigh, and a voice. “I hate to rush you, but we have almost no time.”

The voice was familiar. My eyes opened and a woman with blue eyes and cascading blond hair stared down at me. 

Su Enxi... 

What was she doing here?

[for-ests]

Always Enough- Peter Parker x Reader

Okay so this imagine was an anon request that I had previously posted, but I accidentally deleted. I didn't mean to, so here’s a re-upload. Happy finals & sorry my dumbass clicked the wrong button on tumblr mobile because im stupid

Summary (bc the request deleted w/ the post): The reader realizes she had been neglecting Peter because she was stressed over school. Peter thinks there might be another reason because she has become distant. Confrontation and angst follows!

Word count: 2, 360

✭♡✭♡✭♡✭

Finals were a killer, especially for a nursing major like yourself. The stress of it all made you want to curl up into a ball and cry. Cry for hours until you couldn't cry no more. 

But that wasn't an option. What you dreamed of becoming, something simple, yet incredibly difficult, was growing out of reach. Your hours of studying had led you nowhere, only to barely tangible grades. Grades that were barely above average. You were disappointed, discouraged, and running out of options.

What else would you do with your life? Becoming a nurse was the only thing you had ever wanted to be, it was all you knew. Ever since aliens rained in the sky, your only motive was to help the ones who couldn't help themselves. But how could you ever hope to do that when you couldn't pass biochem?

What didn't help your anxious mind was the house you had to stress over, and your minimum wage restaurant job that didn't add to your required expertise. Tears welled in your eyes as you remembered you had to lay a payment down on your ever-increasing student loans. Maybe college wasn't for you. Perhaps it was never meant to be. Your summer money was running out and fast.

Just breathe. You repeated. I don't have time to cry.

You could cry after you studied. And right now, you had barely glanced at your flashcards for more than ten minutes. It seemed like you were paralyzed, sitting in bed with your flashcards scattered around you, all of them laid out and waiting for involvement.

Just as you were about to pick up the first card, your phone buzzed beside you. Instinctively, you glanced at it, your heart dropping when you saw Peter's name flash across the screen.

Date. You had a date night, and you forgot.

"Fuck!" You cursed out loud, the tears you had tried so hard to control seeming to burst over your eyelids. How could you forget?

Peter: I'll be there in 15 minutes :D

You replied immediately, glancing at yourself in the phone's reflection. You looked terrible and distraught beyond compare.

Y/N: Peter…im so sorry I forgot, i'm not ready

Peter: oh

Y/N: i have a huge exam soon, maybe its for the best that we rain check? i'm sorry I know ive done this before but im really stressed about it

Peter: we havent talked for days, y/n, i think theres more going on than what youre telling me

Y/N: what? of course not wtf

Peter: im coming over anyways, ill be there soon

Y/N: why?

Peter: we have to talk.

Your heart dropped down to your stomach. Those words were what you had been dreading, and all focus you had managed to gather vanished into thin air. You knew you had been neglecting Peter's affections. Even if every fiber in your being wanted to make him the single most important thing in your life.

It had been almost a week since you'd seen him, and honestly, it was painful in the most innocent way.

But Peter didn't have to worry like you did. He was gifted and already had his entire life ahead of him, set in the middle of Stark industries. But you never asked for a handout, you never asked for help. Even though you knew he was the smartest young man around. You were proud to be his, and the thought of that disappearing was more detrimental to you that failing your upcoming exam.

Y/N: ok, front door is open

Tears were rolling down your cheeks at this point. You had been with Peter for over a year and had gone without seeing him for longer, but he was right. This time was different. This was the third date you had canceled without wanting to, but sometimes apologizing wasn't enough. Peter deserved a lengthy explanation of what you were really going through.

You were so used to holding back your emotions, that times like this were an occasional reoccurrence. You had always been so afraid of unloading your burdens onto others that you still sometimes forgot that having a boyfriend came with that perk. He was still going to love and cherish you if you asked for help and advice. Hell, you needed to realize that he wanted to.

That was a factor of why you were so in love with Peter. He always listened, and sometimes, even push the truth out of you when he could tell you needed it.

"You're already crying, huh." A sad smile was on Peter's face as he opened the door. His sudden appearance startled you, and you managed to chuckle despite the circumstances.

"You know me." You sniffled, immediately embarrassed by the state he had caught you in. Instinctively, you brushed your hair to the side and dabbed the tears from under your eyes. You could feel the remnants of Make-up drying to your skin.

"I didn't mean to ruin your study-"

"But we need to talk." You finished, shoving your school supplies to the edge of the bed. You made enough room, so he was able to sit comfortably.

Slightly embarrassed, you kept your gaze averted as best as you could. Just Peter's presence made your heart flutter, and a part of you was trying to prepare for the worst. You might really lose him this time. And for what? Yes, school was incredibly important, so, so important. But so was Peter, and you needed to find a balance.

Your silence was enough to beckon Peter's thoughts into the open.

"I just need to make sure you're still serious… about us." His voice was soft as if it was struggling to stay neutral.

Finally, gaining the courage to look at him, you locked eyes. Peter's gaze was heavy and forthcoming, and it took all of your willpower to swallow the knot in your throat.

"Of course, I am." The conviction was entirely evident in your tone. So much so, that Peter fell silent. His accusations seemed to die in his throat, but he knew that if he didn't get them out now, they would creep back to him later.

"It's hard to tell sometimes," Peter muttered, unable to gaze at your confused expression. You looked so hurt.

Your silence beckoned him to continue.

"I haven't properly talked with you in a week. You've canceled our last three dates… it seems like you never want to hang out with me anymore."

Peter winced. He was a grown man, and he sounded like a child. Yet, he had let so many things slide, hoping you would come around, hoping you would make it up to him. Perhaps he had been selfish to only think of himself in the relationship. He failed to realize that maybe in attempts to please him, you were putting your own future on the line. 

"I know you're going through a lot, but you can't even seem to talk about it." Peter's shoulders felt tense, his eyebrows knitting together in an agitated expression. His leg was bouncing up and down uncontrollably. He looked like he was about to burst.

"I'm sorry." You said, trying to swallow the knot in your throat. Pausing, you tried to gather your thoughts into cohesive sentences that would soothe his anxious mind.

"There's nobody else, right?" He suddenly blurted, actually turning his head to look at you. Insecurity was glazed in his eyes for the first time.

"Why would you even think that?" You said, startled. The question felt as if he had shoved your head underwater and held it there just long enough for you to choke on the liquid.

His expression was blank for the first time. Vulnerability at its finest. "My life isn't perfect, you know. I overthink just like you. I need reassurance."

Peter was so calm, so calm that it worried you. Though you were already afraid of how this conversation would go, it hurt you to realize that this conversation was the result of your actions. You failed to make Peter feel special like you had promised. Like he had promised you. Relationships go both ways, and for the last couple of weeks, it had only gone one.

"No, Peter. There will never be anyone else."

He sighed, relaxing slightly. "You've been acting weird. I don't really know what to think."

"I told you a billion times, I'm studying. After work, that's literally all I do. And I need to focus."

"I feel like there's more. It feels weird to not see a text from you when I wake up. It feels weird to not hear your voice. I don't… I don't like it, Y/N. Even if that's selfish."

And selfish it was. Peter expected you to be transparent while he was hiding possibly the biggest secret in the world. Maybe that was why he was so worried about how much you loved him. Peter wanted to be honest with you. He wanted you to know he was spider-man, but right now, he still couldn't bring himself to. Perhaps he was looking for a reason.

"I'm sorry." Your hands were clenched in your lap. "I've never had to deal with this before. Everything is so new, even if we've been together for a year. I've never cared about anyone like this, and I can't manage my time."

Peter paused as if every word in this conversation pained him to no end. His eyes were glossy, his mind unclear. He was desperately trying to understand why you were isolating himself. "You can't make any time for me?"

"That's the thing, I can't focus on anything else when I'm with you." Your lip quivered. "And that's a problem."

"It's not for me." He said quickly. "I make time for you, and you don't for me. And you need to tell me why."

You glanced away, embarrassed. No matter what you said, the reason wouldn't be good enough. You were just a bad girlfriend.

Peter reached his hand out and pulled you to him. You rested your chin upon his shoulder, soothed to feel his warmth once again. "You need to tell me, Y/N. We've made it work for this long, and all of a sudden, it stopped."

Your body started to shake. Trying to muffle your sob, you brought your hand to your mouth. It was all too much.

"-You have your whole life together, Peter. I have nothing, I still have to work for it. I'm not as smart as you, I'm-"and that's when the tears started to flow. It was a literal flood, tear after tear poured over your eyelids until they were bloodshot, until pressure pounded through your head.

Before you could finish, your face was pressed against Peter's chest. He held you tightly, his sweatshirt dabbing up your tears of sorrow. You gripped tightly to him, releasing the stress that had been building up inside of you for the last two weeks.

He did not know what else to do. Showing you that he loved you seemed like the most viable option. Sometimes all you had to do was listen, and that was enough.

"I got a bad grade on my midterm exam, one that I didn't study for because I spent my time with you—I thought-"

"Shh." He stroked your hair, understanding what you meant without a complete explanation.

"I work so hard, and it's never enough-"

"It's always enough, Y/N."

"I got so caught up in it that I neglected you in the process. So much so that you thought I was cheating on you" you inhaled sharply, whimpering against him, so many different emotions swirling through your mind. "You're the best thing in my life, and I put you second…"

"Look at me, Y/N." He cupped your cheeks in a swift movement, forcing you to look at him through tear-filled eyes. "You are enough for me. That's why I bothered to have this conversation with you. That's why I care." He pressed his lips against your forehead. "I love you."

"I love you too, Peter." You tilted your head up to kiss him wholly on the lips. You were a mess, but Peter had always told you that you looked beautiful when you cried.

"Rosy cheeks." He whispered, patting down your hair, inhaling your scent, and appreciating the beauty you constantly radiated.

You chuckled, sniffling loudly. Peter always said that after you had a successful mental break down, your cheeks brandished a rosy shade.

"Shut up." You whispered, tightening your grip around his torso. His back fell against your bed, and you shifted to lay completely on top of him. The firmness of his chest underneath you caused instant relaxation, instant relief. Maybe, just maybe, being in his presence was enough to get rid of the stress from everyday life.

The corners of your eyes were raw and red, yet it complimented your shade. Peter vowed from the moment he had met you, that he would never let any harm come to you. The last thing Peter had ever expected was that he might be the reason, instead of the world.

At least, for now, he had the power to fix it. You were the love of his life, and he had never felt so gratified to be in anyone else's presence.

Peter's fingers traced light, small circles on your back. He could hear your heartbeat slow. The softness of your finger against his was enough to help him close his eyes.

He was at peace, real peace for the first time in weeks.

"We need to remind ourselves to talk about shit more." You mumbled sleepy, almost inaudible. "So this doesn't happen again, because I hate it."

"Me too, babe." He whispered, content with watching you rise and fall in sync with his breathing.

"I couldn't bear to lose you."

[inknose]

mdzs read diary part IV, the end

It’s inspiring how much self care wwx is gonna finally get now that his husband will go along with whatever he does, so he’s gotta look out for lwj’s well being if not his own. that is emphatically the STUFF

dragging my hands down I face as I read this, after all these chapters of getting up close and personal with ghouls bleeding from every orifice, slaying ancient beasts, rebelling against the entire cultivation world, the two of them are absolutely paralyzed by middle school crush sleepover math

chicken

he actually drew kissy doodles .... he....

IDK I THINK I JUST DOCUMENTED THIS PART CUZ I WAS STILL SCREAMING you cant expect me to have very useful things to say at this point

this is torture you are both so mushy you are so GONE

This part really stood out to me, it’s an attitude I feel like wwx implies with his inner narration a few times but most clearly says here: he’s not one for allowing himself to exaggerate how bad his circumstances are/could be even a little bit - he’s already lived through some extreme low points and found a way to keep going, so he never makes sweeping statements about what he couldn’t live without (Inner JingYi: you’re supposed to say you’d be lost without him here!!!) Instead he seems to accept as a given that being alive doesn’t guarantee him any pleasantness or joy at all, and as a result his feelings toward being in TRUE LOVE are surprisingly pragmatic, but also colored with such gratitude. There are a lot of things in the novel that struck me, like this, as being just a little to the left of familiar tropes/sentiments, and were more touching for it. Whether it be the influence of culture difference as opposed to what I’m used to reading in most western romance stories, or MXTX’s unique outlook, or a combination of both, it was really refreshing and made me pause over it. Not “I can’t imagine living without you” but “I could be living without you, but instead I get to be with you and I think that’s the best thing that could happen.”

ADJFDKFJ THE UST BEING SO STRONG THAT EVEN THE VILLAIN COMMENTS ON IT IN THE MIDDLE OF EXECUTING HIS EVIL PLANS IS ONE OF THOSE THINGS THAT WILL NEVER FAIL TO MAKE ME LAUGH MY ASS OFF. hes like god damn! here I thought I had problems

it was at this moment that I realized we were doing this Now... I’m still recovering. What a scene. I am so glad I saw the most incredible fanart soon afterwards, bc the fact that someone has already drawn a perfect comic of this part means I don’t have to

I love you so much, you are so annoying, you are perfect... I like how he’s been experiencing openly requited love for all of ten minutes but he’s already figured out how to weaponize it to piss people off

doing!!! his!!! job!!!!!

ahh... it’s a really good story. JGY is a great character. One of the most interesting differences for me between drama watching vs. novel reading experience is that without an actor to bat his vulnerable doe eyes at you and smile faintly with his cute dimples, the book does not go much out of its way to try to lull the reader into a false sense of security around him or *endear* him to you the way the show does. But just by seeing events through wei wuxian’s POV, its still enough to evoke pity or understanding towards him. The overall impression is a bit more detached though, there’s less emphasis on the spectacle of how he could manipulate everyone closest to him and more of a general feeling of resigned tragedy that everyones the worst on this bitch of an earth.

I CANNOT DEAL WITH YOU FOR EVEN ONE MORE SECOND!!!!

I clearly paused to take note of less and less parts at the end & the extras due to: a) too excited to reach the end b) too spicy to photograph and c) too sleepy cuz I kept reading in the middle of the night. but I absolutely took the time for Bro We Are Teens appreciation corner:

I’d absolutely read 40 more extra chapters of their monster-of-the-week field trip antics.

god... poor Jin Ling now basically has to deal with divorced parents that talk shit about each other to him whenever he is saying with one of them. except they are both his uncles. just a disasterhood of all uncles from start to finish. AUUUGH wei wuxian and jiang cheng have fucked me up completely, I dream of them reconciling but I also REFUSE to believe it would ever be easy. let me know if theres a fanfic that absolutely tortures you for decades before they hug

HAHAHA oh no this man ain’t making it to immortality thats for damn sure. HE’S JUST GONNA TRY AS HARD AS HE CAN HIS WHOLE LIFE NOT TO LOOK AT HIM BUT THEYRE *MARRIED* SDLKFJSF ohhhh it’s too funny, like... the mundane domestic family drama IN the fantastical swords and sorcery setting is what really ratchets up these things from amusing to fucking hilarious I think

aaaa the end... final random thoughts? No not final, I would like to please keep discussing at length and exhaustively, all the time please - CQL has gotta be one of the best TV adaptations I’ve seen. ANY adaptation of anything would be lucky to be so good!! reading the novel has just made me appreciate it even more.

- I don’t think I can do justice to what I find most fascinating about comparing the two versions briefly, to do that I need to get drunk and ramble at my friends for hours but... the condensed version is something like this. Really all the significant differences between the two versions (besides the ones which can be attributed to censorship and therefore aren’t worth discussing) are a side effect of the structure of how the story is told - there’s barely anything changed arbitrarily. Aside from having a cold opening, the drama sticks to a very linear version of the story, and I think for a TV show or film, that’s probably the best way to do it. We see everything, we get shocked and tricked and betrayed and surprised along with the characters, we feel the biggest impact at the climactic scenes having experienced all the build-up. The novel on the other hand is not only much more non-linear in WHEN we learn bits and pieces of information, but that information is also obfuscated under wei wuxian’s multiple layers of Unreliable Narratoritis, which are as follows: 1) difficulty remembering things because of personality/avoiding painful memories/actual memory loss, 2) No Homo Goggles still on, and 3) a wry sense of humor that makes the reader unsure of how much they can trust his attitude toward things, especially near the beginning. The experience of reading is a puzzle the reader has to mentally piece together through all of the above listed camouflage, and the puzzle itself is a three-sided mystery: One - How Bad of a guy was Wei WuXian really, and how exactly did all the bad stuff in his life go down; Two - wangxian epic pride & prejudice gambits; Three - political murder mystery. (I love stories like this btw... though I fully admit I’m glad I watched first this time bc it might have taken me a long time to tackle otherwise.) Because of this, where the drama wants to pull you in and submerge you in all the most potent emotional parts, the novel in direct contrast deliberately side-steps around these things and asks that you hurt yourself by filling in the blanks. In fact the more intense emotions and painful memories involved, whether it be his relationship with jiang yanli, his DEATH, the darkest days of war times etc, the more the novel evasively withholds details. I actually really like both styles of storytelling but each one is obviously way better suited to its medium. ANYWAY.... THATS BASICALLY WHERE MY BRAINS AT WHILE IM READING GAY SWORD WIZARD BOOKS

- The extras are so saturated with domestic married bliss that it’s a good thing I stopped taking pictures because I’d just take a picture of every page. this is too much for me to take... I did jump the gun a few times and read a few fanfics while I was still mid-read of the book (I tried to hold out but alas I am mortal) and at one point after finishing I was like “wow what fic was it in where lwj says something cute and wwx kisses him in public but they’re in the corner of the restaurant so no one really sees... OH NO WAIT that was actually in there.” and ... and that’s the LEAST OF IT... *stares into the distance* theyre married wow

- I ofc couldn’t help but see a few vague blogs beforehand so honestly I was braced for something like, wildly ooc for the sake of porn to happen in the extras... I definitely appreciate how the incense burner porn interludes could be uhhh a lot for many people and not my personal cup of tea in terms of smut however [here follows the words of a poisonous frog who has dwelt her whole life in the rainforests of BL] the concept is also surprisingly SWEET SDFLKJF like wwx sees lan wangji’s darkest mixed-up violent teenage fantasies and he’s just like aww babe you had a crush on me!! just... good for them

- I swear I’m not gonna rehash every cute married thing they do but wei wuxian grading papers in the tub........................rEALLY GOT ME

- I want to Draw - ok thats enough if I keep going I’ll just write “wei wuxian grading papers in the tub” seven more times probably

[kilibaggins]

Murven Idea! Murphy gets really really hurt and loses his ability to use one of his legs, and theres lots of angst and fluff when Raven tries to help (They are already in a relationship when it happens). (Bonus if Murphy gets really hurt when trying to save Raven in some way.)

I'm Sorry

A/N- This idea was so angsty/cute/everything and i really wanted to do it so i did. I hope this is okay, it's not the best writing ive ever done but oh well i guess.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They had been working on the new houses for months so far. lifting the heavy metal walls and keeping them up as others tried to put them together. It has gone well honestly, Murphy was on Wall duty and nobody has gotten hurt yet. That’s until today, at least. Kane had specifically told everyone who wasn’t on wall duty to stay back, but stupidly one of the young kids who survived the Ark falling came in and broke some tech that they needed, SO Raven had to come and take a look at it. 

Raven walks up to the construction area and kneels down to start working on the tech. She has to put her Braced leg stretched to the side while her other leg is under her. Murphy is watching her and smiling as he stands a few feet away under a tent that Kane put  there so The workers wouldn’t sweat to death, and could take breaks when needed. Murphy has found himself under this tent many times when he works himself a bit too hard and Harper would end up having to drag him under the tent and grabs him water. Raven yells at him a lot for that, honestly.

Murphy looks away for a second and he hears it before he sees it, a loud clanking noise coming from where Raven just was, and he quickly looks back. His one smiling face, turns to one of horror in a second before he’s bolting towards raven and yelling for her to move. 

Raven didn't even notice the clanking noise, too focused on her work to worry about outside distractions but then she hears Murphy yell for her.

The metal wall had started falling down, so He came to push her out of danger, only to get caught under it himself. His entire bottom half gets stuck underneath it,face down, and he’s yelling and moaning in pain. She looks at him as Voices start yelling around them and she Quickly Pushes herself closer to him petting his hair. She then leans over and tries to pull the metal wall from him but does not even come close to succeeding. She goes back to Murphy’s head and slowly runs her fingers through his hair. 

“Murphy, hey, it’s okay, i-it’s alright big guy, Breathe for me.” Rave says frantically trying to calm the boy under her down. Murphy lets out a whimper and yells trying to pull himself from the pain but Raven holds him down slightly so he doesn’t cause any more damage. 

“Fuck! It hurts so bad, Raven please.” Murphy says barely knowing what he’s saying. Raven hears Kane yelling to a bunch of guards to come help lift the metal wall from him. Raven feels tears prick her eyes as She hears Murphy begging her to help him, when she knows she can't do much from her spot. Guards come rushing over, as Monty goes running off to find Abby bringing her, along with Clarke, back over to them. The guards lift the metal wall just to slip and have it land back on him again from the inch it had gotten up before. Murphy screams and passes out, causing Raven to look at him in fear. She looks at Abby who is now kneeling down next to them. 

“What the fuck happened, why did he pass out?” She yells at her and Abby puts a reassuring hand on Raven's arm. 

“He passed out from the pain, Now everyone get the wall and pull it up!” She yells at them and the guards listen immediately. When the wall is up just enough to pull Murphy from, Abby grabs his arms and pulls him out, immediately going to check his lower half. She looks up and yells orders to a few people standing by. Raven barely hears her and just stares at Murphy’s face, hoping he doesn’t wake up anytime soon for the treatment because she knows it’ll hurt like hell.

Soon he's being picked up and carried to the Med bay with Raven behind them. She keeps asking a million questions as Murphy gets there. Murphy is put on a bed in the med bay and she yells to everyone to get out of the room, including Raven. 

“Oh, Hell no, You can NOT be serious!” Raven yells getting into Abbys face. Jackson comes and Pulls Raven away whispering in her ear about how it’s for the best, and locking her out of the room. She yells out and sits on a bench in the waiting room. 

2 hours later Raven hears Murphy’s voice coming from the room. and Raven gets up immediately opening the medbay door. 

“I- A-Abby, i , uh i mean Dr. Griffin. I can't feel my Leg.” Murphy says in fear as he looks up at her. Abby quickly picks up a small needle and walks to Murphy's leg. 

“Which one, John?” Abby asks softly and Murphy gestures to His left leg, causing Abby to softly poke it with the needle and Murphy shakes his head Quickly, Raven can see Murphy’s eyes are filled with fear and sadness. Her heart breaks as she watches Murphy completely deflate and break. A few tears fall from his eyes and Abby leaves the room to give them some time alone. 

“F-fucking poetic huh? The asshole who made a girls Left leg stop working, gets his leg paralyzed.” Murphy Choked out and slams his head back on to he bed. Raven walks up to him and puts her hand on his chest. He look sup to her with pain in his eyes. 

“I would have never wished this upon you. Even back when it first happened.” Raven says, her eyes getting misty. Murphy takes a deep shudder breath than whimpers on the breath out. He looks up at Raven and She leans down and kisses him on the lips softly. 

“It’ll be okay, Murph. Don’t worry okay? You’ll learn to live with it just the way I have. Soon enough you’ll Probably feel normal with it this way.” Raven says laughing softly, though a few tears are still running down her cheeks. Murphy nods and sighs. 

“My body still hurts.” He groans out softly, looking up at her with pain evident on his face and Raven pets his hair. 

“Get some rest, Cockroach.” Raven says sweetly and Murphy smiles softly and closes his eyes, his body slowly falling asleep. Raven watches Murphy sleep for a bit, then goes to her workshop. She grabs all the materials she needs and gets to work. 

Two weeks later when Murphy wakes up one morning Raven is sitting next to him in a chair, with something red in her lap. He looks at her in confusion and She smiles Standing up and she moves to Murphy’s left leg and slowly starts to put a contraption on it. He slowly starts understanding and tears up. 

“Raven, What... When?” Murphy is just watching her when he tries to speak, watching her hands move so softly as if she’ll hurt him, even though he can’t feel a thing. She slowly puts it all in place, wrapping the straps around his leg slowly, probably trying to show Murphy every step. 

“I made you a brace! It’s almost identical to mine, I just painted the straps and everything Red because i know it’s your favorite color!” Raven says and finishes strapping it to him. She smiles down at him and slowly grabs his hand pulling him into a sitting position. She helps him get both his legs off the bed and she reaches for his hands. He grabs her hands and gets pulled up to stand. He smirks when he realizes he could actually walk with the thing and leans down to kiss Raven softly. 

“Thanks, Grease Princess It's going to work so well." He says and Raven nods. 

“It’s the least I could do when i'm the one who got you to be this way.” She says and looks down frowning. Murphy closes his eyes and shakes his head. 

“No, Dont do that.” Murphy says cupping her chin and angling it towards him. “Don’t blame yourself for this. It’s not your fault. Wrong place wrong time that’s all this was.” He says seriously and leans down to bring Her into a kiss. 

“I’m the one who wasn’t paying attention, i should have paid more attention...” Raven says sadly but Murphy just pulls her closer and deepens the kiss. They have no clue how long they kissed, a few seconds? A minute? Hours? They don’t know and they honestly don’t care. Raven pulls away and grabs Murphy’s hand slowly taking him to their room. Murphy smirks and follows closely behind. 

They enter their room and Raven slowly pushes Murphy down onto the bed laying next to him. 

"Y'know. Ever since we started getting closer you'd tell me that it  wasn't my fault i did it to you. But at the end of the day I'm the one who shot you. It was my fault. This though?" He gestures to his leg that's still in its brace, "This wasn't something you did to me. It just happened." Raven looks up at him and smiles softly running her hand down his clothed chest. 

"I forgave you a long time ago. You were terrified. You didn't want to die and you felt like everyone was going to Hurt you. It's okay. Yes, you made those mistakes but now? You're a better person." Raven trails her hands down Murphy's body down to his leg. She unstraps the brace and sets it next to the bed. She runs her hand up his leg slowly watching Murphy's face as he sadly watches, not being able to feel anything. Her hand runs higher and higher until her hand touched the part of his body between his hip and his thigh. He gasps and shudders and then smiles down at her. She smiles back and keeps touching the area he can feel. 

"R-raven? What are you doing?" Murphy asks her softly. She smiles back up at him and she leans up to unzip his pants and slowly pull them down his legs. Murphy watches her biting his lip. When his pants are off and out of the way, Raven leans down and kisses Murphy's left leg. Murphy swears he can feel it. It's a phantom touch he knows it is. From hours of Raven kissing every single inch of his body, he has basically memorized the soft touch of her lips. She softly runs her lips along the leg he can't feel and Murphy thinks that this isn't really for him. Well, It is slightly. He knows she's doing this so he knows that she loves him no matter what, But he also thinks it's more for her to feel better about the situation. He did the same thing to her leg when they started dating. 

"Let me take care of you. And no, you cockroach, I'm not being sexual." Raven says smirking up at Murphy before he can say anything cocky. Murphy sighs loudly and lays back on he bed completely realizing his body. Raven continues kissing his leg, then she makes her way to his other leg, which he can most definitely feel, and it feels so soft and gentle. He feels himself fall asleep as Raven slowly raises his shirt kissing up his stomach, 

"Raven... I love you." Murphy says softly before his eyes slip shut, obviously still exhausted from all that he's been through the past two weeks. Raven smiles up at him and finishes trailing kisses up his chest, slowly raising the shirt along with her movements. She slips the shirt up and off of him as he lays there limp and asleep. She lays down next to him and lays her head on his chest. 

"I love you too Murphy... I'm Sorry."

-Tags-

Permanent

@livinglikepogues @httpxsiren

[imagineclaireandjamie]

Any more As Yet Unread or HRH?

Here is the next part of HRH, anon.  

Kudos to @claryclark, @smashing-teacups, and @notevenjokingfic for not letting me quit on this thing, and for helping me find a voice with it again.

;nsfw under the cut

Part I: The Crown Equerry | Part II: An Accidental Queen | Part III: Just Claire | Part IV: Foal | Part V: A Deal | Part VI: Vibrations|Part VII: Magnolias| Part VIII: Schoolmates | Part IX: A Queen’s Speech | Part X: Rare | Part XI: Watched | Part XII: A Day’s Anticipation | Part XIII: The Location | Part XV: Motorcycle | Part XV: Cabin | Part XVI: Market

Her Royal Highness (H.R.H.)Part XVII: Stables

Folded against the warmth of Fraser’s leather jacket with her legs on either side of his hips, it was easy for Claire to pretend.  That they were not going home (to the Queen’s summer residence), that they were just out for another ride. That the rest of the world just existed as transient wax figures, melting and insignificant.  That their world existed solely in the cabin and that it waited for them just around the bend (the bed, the kitchen, the spot for two in front of the fireplace, the shower with the slightly mildewed curtain, the soft planks of the small deck off the rear of the structure).

They were a couple meant not to be seen, not to be heard, but just to exist together as one.  Claire indulged the fantasy as she closed her eyes, felt his fingers wind through hers when her grip slackened around his waist.

“Ye alright?” he asked, grip pulsing as he slowed to let another vehicle pass on the narrow road.  She turned her hand so they were palm to palm.  She pressed the very tip of her index finger to the thin, throbbing skin of his wrist.

“Better than just fine,” she said, attempting to sound strong, reassured, confident (and failing in actually being any of those things).

He lifted her hand, kissed the place where a fortune teller’s thumbs would divine a destiny for her if she were the kind of woman to frequent such a place, and then carefully situated it over his stomach.  “No’ much further.”

She closed her eyes, drawing herself to Fraser’s back as tightly as possible.  The nearness of home was precisely what she feared most.

Claire’s first glimpse of the palace’s exterior alone was as effective as a bucket of ice water sluicing down her spine.  The sensation jarred her out of the two and a half days of their cabin tryst and back to reality.  She tucked herself further into the warmth of his jacket as they came around a bend and through a grove of trees, trying not to count their remaining minutes of anonymity.

The motorcycle ground to a stop, kicking up an opaque earth-flavored plume of beige dust around them.  It was like the world knew they needed obscurity just a few moments longer.

With her cheek against his back, Claire concentrated on the indistinct perimeter of gravel and unkempt clover (it had overtaken the grass in a whimsical, fairytale kind of way).  After a series of heartbeats, long enough that Jamie wondered if he had imagined the whole thing (the weekend – their trip to the market, a car ride, cooking side by side, excavating the shape of her body from beneath bedsheets), Claire moved.

He reached for her waist to steady her as she threw one leg over the motorcycle. His hand fit there just as it had over and over again that weekend.  The pleasure and warmth of the touch, though, made her heart flutter and then morph into the ghost it would be until she could see him again.

“Tomorrow?” she inquired hopefully, letting a finger catch a curl just above his collar as her eyes darted around the stables.  All it would take was the attention of some well-meaning employee who had become a weekend straggler for the plume of dust to settle, for things to change. She was fully aware of this fact when she touched him (hand hesitating only momentarily), but Fraser could sense the conflict in her.  It dwelled in the oaky bite of her amber eyes, between the arches of her well-manicured eyebrows, in the tremor in her fingers as she touched his nape.  To be caught would mean there was no need to skulk around with one another, to make plans under the cover of a dusky dinner time after everyone had left for the evening.  Being caught would be freedom itself.

But no one was there to catch them, to disrupt her pre-packaged life and his mundane post-war subsistence.

Claire’s other hand curled around Fraser’s shoulder. She longed to feel his heartbeat under her cheek as she slept, to wake to his hulking form over her as he kissed the delicate, almost-avian swoop of her neck.

‘Come find us,’ she thought somewhat ruefully, able to picture completely the face of someone on her staff seeing her like this. ‘See us.  Have the bravery to open your bloody mouth. Tell everyone the queen’s shagging the Crown Equerry.’

“Tomorrow we can ride,” she supplied.  “Find a quiet corner of the grounds.”

A pause to ready him for a confession.

“I want to be with you more than just in secret, but we…”

Fraser’s affirmative sound was low, gravely in his throat before he turned to excavate her handbag from the depths of the motorcycle’s saddle bag.  Suddenly having no choice but to acknowledge the impending loss bubbling a quiet brew in her belly, Claire tightened her grip on him.  

‘Stay, stay, stay with me,’ she yearned to plea.  ‘Just come up there with me.  To my room, those halls.  They can’t say ‘no’ to me.  They won’t say ‘no’ to me.  You aren’t ready, and I know that.  You never will be ready, the people of this country will never be ready, so let’s do it.  Now.  Why wait?’

“This weekend,” Fraser began as he pushed an errant curl from the center of her forehead, “has been sae perfect, Claire.”

“I…”  

Her voice trailed, fading into the narrow plume of exhaust that was slithering out of the motorcycle’s tailpipe.  Words felt just as toxic, and she choked not on tears, but the thought of that world back there that they had only just started to construct.  

Jamie could not look at her just then, could not face her.  His eyes did not dart around the perimeter as hers had, but instead they found a spot alongside the building where the clover was growing wild.  He fixed his eyes there as his hand fell away.

“This was the best weekend of my life,” she whispered as a bookend to make her feelings clear (they could not be any clearer). She bent to touch his stubbled cheek with her lips one final time.

He made a sound, low and indistinct (certain, reciprocal).

‘Again with that noise,’ she thought. It was a white-hot tone originating from somewhere ancient, surely not from him. (But he didn’t need to say anything at all.)

His vocal cords were paralyzed, useless appendages for a beat, until he croaked, “Me too.”

The sun had begun its descent, the bottom curve just barely tucked beneath the line of the horizon.  The weekend was at its end, the summer-bloated sun finally giving way to the chill of nightfall.

It was time to go (to return to a place she did not belong, never belonged, but she would somehow remake in time – remake it to create a space shaped for him, shaped for her), so she bade him farewell in the only way she knew how.  It was the only way that would stop her from clearing the lump in her throat and asking him to take her upstairs.  She kissed him (hard, firm, fully).  The shape of his mouth, the taste of it, the responsiveness of it from that first night that felt like an occurrence centuries old just then were all memories.  She knew it (that mouth, his breath, what it did to her, what it did to him), but she wanted the memory to be fresh.  A breathless, aching, swollen reminder of it to carry with her on the short walk back to her cage. So he urged his lips apart, though but he did not kiss her back (could not kiss her back). His lips had died a slow death as they crossed the city limits, the realization dawning in him that this right here (born in the stables, tended on horseback, blooming in the cabin) was sacrosanct, cloistered, and perfect.  

And it would change.

Finally, he confirmed their plans with only the barest, whispered “tomorrow.”

Like a gymnast fallen off her apparatus (the tight line of a balance beam to walk, the unforgiving plane of the vault that threatened her, the uneven bars with a backwards and blind approach), she attempted her maneuver again.

A kiss to draw from Fraser the shine of the man that had pressed her against the wall of a cabin shower just ninety minutes earlier.

The man who looked up at her under a torrent of water, and declared with a blind authoritativeness, “You’re mine. I’m yours.”

The man who made her whimper until she wept with need.  

The man who took the mundane parts of a world it was easy for her to forget even existed (the unity in a simple pre-work chore of making a bed scented like their lovemaking, in shopping with a squeaky trolly for produce and tinned fruits, in filling of the tank on a vehicle as she dabbed a fresh coat of lipstick in the rearview mirror with the preternatural tingle of anticipation that in short order he would suck it clean off her mouth) and made it a technicolor dreamworld.

This time, his lips animated and molded to hers.  

He kissed her back.  

Long and hard; searing, but in no way final.

It ceased to be an exchange between lovers and instead became self preservation.  

Breathless, Claire was the one to pull away, lips heavy and bright with a swelling rush of blood. (A good victory, they both concluded.)

“Tomorrow,” he parroted, his voice firmer.  

Claire wiped her mouth with her sleeve, the glistening evidence of his kiss melting into a secret known only to the exceptionally discrete fibers of her blouse.

“I love you, Fraser.”

His hand fell from her hip to the curve of her bottom.  He smiled, tilting his head.  “And I love you.”

And with that, he watched her walk. Her smart trousers were a little worse for wear (creased, dusty) and her hair whipped free in the light breeze as she unbound it from her scarf. Though she was heading back towards the mottled brick and arched entryways of the castle that she had often described as her cage, she looked lighter somehow.  Like it was not a burden, but instead a challenge.

“Claire,” he called, not bothering to examine his surroundings yet again for company.

For only a second, she peeked at him over her shoulder and ruffled her hair with a roving hand.  She smiled, waved, blew him a kiss.  

Okay.  A look.  It was all he needed.  Yes, okay.

He nodded and watched her turn again.

As she neared the palace, he realized for the first time that while he had her Friday night through Sunday evening, he would be well and truly alone on Sunday night.  It gave him a sudden, sinking appreciation for the things that she had said she would never be able to give him.  

A Sunday dinner, a quiet discussion in bed about what the week ahead would hold.

Doing dishes side by side (he was an egalitarian sort, afterall, being raised by a father who did not mind “women’s work” and was the brother of a woman fiercely invested in equal sharing of a household’s day-to-day maintenance).

The radio would be turned low to a station that did not quite come in.  

To the crackling song, they would hum or sing, sway in time to a familiar rhythm.

Early in the evening, he would make love to her with his hands revealing all the hills and valleys and quiet lochs of her, the sounds that he could elicit with a touch, a caress, a kiss, a lick.  

The news would come on the radio.  

They would listen half-heartedly, playing naked with a deck of cards so fresh that they snapped and cracked when shuffled.

He would tell her everything.

(That he loved her.  That he was damaged, and how he came to be that way.  That something about her made him not see the world through a pinhole for the first time in a very long time.  That he was so glad that he could tell the world about them, about her - a woman so insightful and funny without meaning to be that it stole his breath.)

He would tell her everything.  

And without him asking (he never would), she would take it from him, bear it for not more than a moment on her narrow shoulders, and then let it go for the both of them.

And then he would make the paintbrush of her hips move in arcs across their shared bed linens again.  To create a piece of abstract art that only they could know. He would take her at his leisure, sinking his fingertips into the modeling clay of her hips and arse and covering the softest parts of her with his mouth again and again, just as he had that first time.

When it was time for them to grow their family, he would measure her belly with his hands and lips.  Rub her feet after a long afternoon.  He would perhaps take a second job.  He would insist on being in the room when she went into labor, to hold her hand and brush the curls from her forehead, to catch her eye and promise that it would be okay.

She was almost to the door of the palace in her wretched, wrecked pants.

He blinked.  

A searing burn and then an ache: They would not have those things.

He did not begrudge her it.  (Her life. Her birthright.)  He could not because he had known the weight of her title the moment he saw her turn around in the stables that night. He knew that it was unfair to resent a status that she could neither dispose of easily or help. But the depth with which the realization struck him – fast, hot, like a poker.  

Clearing his throat, he drove away well before he could see her cross the threshold of her cage.

In bed that night, simultaneously too hot and too cold (sweating, shivering), he tried to ignore the things that took him over.

The hollowness in his chest.

Their first night together when Claire mumbled in her sleep and fussed with the covers, a sheet slipping free from her form to expose the soft peak of a breast.  

The ridiculous amount of butter and jam she smeared on her toast, and the way she turned a spoon about her tea cup three times counterclockwise and once clockwise.  

The splitting apart of her face as he commented on the jam, the corners of her eyes wrinkling as one small hand offered him a bite.

The hardening of his cock, unbidden, at the thought of her whispering to him in the night about the ways that he made her ache, the confession that she had touched herself thinking of him before their weekend together.

The way she had marveled at the market over the mundanity of things like tinned peaches and stale, pre-packaged biscuits.

When he woke it was as though he had not slept at all.

He was living with a secret so broad, growing at all times, that it made him wonder if his body had seams.  A zip along his spine and at the back of his calves.  A line of snaps along the curve of his skull that he could open at his leisure to relieve the pressure.

By Monday morning, a cold shower and aspirin were not enough to staunch the bulbous ache growing in his head.  

He spent the day doing paperwork and waiting for someone to declare knowledge of his weekend activities.  

When finally asked (“what did ye get up to this weekend, boss?”), he made bland comments about some time at a family cabin.  

He wondered, tearing into a ham sandwich and apple at lunch, whether he felt somewhat like what a robber feels.  The knowledge of a heist, clandestine and forbidden, becoming a persistent niggling begging to break free. Wiping crumbs from the front of his shirt, he saw her.  

Mrs. Fitz.

With her watery eyes and toddling steps.  

He knew (just knew) what was in the note clutched in her pale fingers before he opened it.

Her writing.  The Queen’s writing.  Not Claire’s writing.

Been detained for now.  

Tuesday?

It is supposed to be a nice night.  

Perhaps a good night for a ride?

& always,

C.

He ran a finger along the clean line where the note had been folded.  Where her fingers had pressed down.  

Was she hesitating to meet? Had regret consumed her such that she had drifted?

Jamie cursed under his breath, closing the note again and nodding to Mrs. Fitz.  Meeting her swimming, faded denim eyes was surprisingly easy, though she did not have the glass face of her Queen. He could not tell what was clicking away behind her inscrutable, lined face.  He nodded.  She took back the note, an act that sent his heart teetering over the edge.

“Did she say when?”  His voice was coarse, somehow disembodied as he acknowledged the truth of their relationship to someone outside of it for the first time.

“Tuesday,” she said evenly, tucking the note into the hip pocket of her smartly-tailored and unseasonably thick wool jacket.

“Aye,” he ground out. “Tuesday.”

But Tuesday brought another visit from Mrs. Fitz.

A second note.  

This one signed much the same, though with an apology (“Duty calls and I am so very sorry, Fraser”).

And then her promise of Wednesday.

And when Wednesday came, she came with company.

An ambassador from a Canadian province or mayor of a Canadian city, he was not sure which, because the sound of his teeth grinding together transformed the introduction into  mere white noise.  He looked at her, shaking the man’s hand.  She was detached but for a flicker, a nod, the press of her palm against back just above the beltline as they inspected the Queen’s stables.

And then, she was proper as a nation could expect of its Queen.

“Colonel Fraser,” she started primly, flicking a stray bit of hay from the elbow of her riding jacket.  “I trust that we have a horse to accommodate our guest?”

“Aye, we do, ma’am.”

As he helped her into the saddle, his hand sculpted itself to the shape of her calf.  He smirked at the sharp intake of her breath, the quick dart of her eyes.  

“It’s no’ verra queenly to touch yer stable lad’s arse.”

“It was not your arse,” she hissed, wrestling the reins from his hand and fighting the urge to slap his hand away as it traveled over the back of her boot to her ankle.

“Ye’ve got a good fit for a saddle here, ma’am,” Fraser called a little too loudly, his eyes sparkling a little too brightly.

“James Fraser–”

“I’d take ye right here if we werena wi’ an uninvited guest.”  He reveled in the way her cheeks pinked a glorious, embarrassed rose color.

“Fraser.” She was only halfway annoyed, and he was sustained by the fact that he could recognize as much from her face, from the way she shifted slightly in the saddle.

The steed upon which the Queen’s guest was mounted came ambling over.

Giving a weak, two-fingered salute, Fraser bade her a pleasant ride, and retreated to his office.

It wasn’t until Thursday that she made good on the promise to visit.  It was late.  Well after the sinking of the sun and the warming up of a veritable orchestra of summertime insects, and long after any reasonable employee of the Crown had departed for the day.

It was the kind of visit that they had planned when they parted.  Alone and untethered to any sort of duty. At a distance, Claire paused to watch Fraser work. His shirtsleeves were rolled up to his elbows and a bead of sweat was coursing down his temple.  He looked roguish in a movie star way, a little too intense in his work and maybe a bit dangerous.

“You have not shaved this week, have you?” she finally asked, leaning against the gate of an empty stall.  “I thought as much when I saw you last night.”  

Jamie did not look to her, but his shoulders squared at the soft, conciliatory lilt of her attempt at banter.  

“Are you cross with me, Fraser?  Will you look at me so I can tell?”  She paused (one one thousand, two one thousand, three–), and his head fell as he rested the pitchfork against the wall. “I know I said Monday, and it’s Thursday. So I could not blame you if–”

“Ye verra well could, though,” he interrupted as he pulled shut the feed room door and turned to her.   “Blame me that is.  It’s no’ like I didna ken that ye have duties when I took up wi’ ye.”

“You ‘took up’ with me?” she asked, incredulity sneaking into her voice like a teenager out past curfew.  

“Ye ken what I mean.”

“Are you very cross with me?”

“No, no’ cross wi’ ye, Claire.” It was only half of a lie, for ‘cross’ was different than ‘frustrated with all of this need for you that lives in my guts and makes it hard to breathe.’ Unabashed, he looked her up and down once, twice, three times.  His tongue darted out, inhabited with a mind not entirely its own, and he wet his lips. “More cross wi’ the world, yer majesty, for endeavorin’ to keep us parted.”

He bowed with an exaggerated depth. The gesture drew mad, barking laughter from the pit of her stomach and and she strode towards him.  She was up and into his arms before she could realize that he was closing the distance between them more quickly than her legs could carry her.  With a ragged breath, Fraser consumed anything else she could have wanted to say.  Wound tight around him (arms, legs), she first tasted the salt at the corner of his mouth.

“I wasna kiddin’ when I said it–”

“Here?” she breathed into his mouth as he backed them through one of the open gates into an empty stall.  

“Aye,” he confirmed, dropping to his knees and easing her onto her back. She was magnetic, undeniable and perfect.     Opening her mouth to lodge some mannerly protest that she did not truly mean, Fraser worked his fingers between fabric and flesh, over the plane of her stomach, and between her legs.  

“I want ye right here.”

She made a sound and fisted his shirt in her hands.

“And from the feel of ye, ye want me to take ye here just fine.”

The space between her brows melted.  In its place was a quiet, determined crease as she ground down against his fingers.  

“I have been wanting this…”  She sucked her lower lip into her mouth, sank her teeth into it only for a moment before continuing as a breathy, but somehow full-formed version of herself.  “Since Sunday night.”

He took it all in, because their three days apart seemed something like a premonition of a longer separation.  

His shirt went taut against his back as she gathered fistfuls of fabric and pulled him closer.

“I’ve wanted ye right here in the stables since ye came clambering in wi’ yer tight pants and pert wee arse.  Where I’ve wanted to have ye since I first saw ye that night.”  Shaking her head as if to say “talk less,” Claire whimpered and let his shirt free so she could reach for his belt.  Just as her fingers slipped the leather free from the buckle, he whispered, “Ye’re mine, ye ken that, aye?”

“And you are mine,” she managed, a bit breathless as his thick, sure ring finger sank into her.  

“Mine.  Mine alone, now and forever,” he continued, one hand going for the waistband of her riding pants and rolling them down.  After a breath and rather indelicate removal of her pants, he looked at her like she was sunlight and summertime itself. With a careful flick of her wrist, she finally freed him of his pants and took him in hand. It didn’t strike her to marvel at the fact that he had somehow toed off his shoes and only had to arch and kick to free his legs from his work pants.  All that mattered was the promised stretch of completion, the weight of him over her, a coarse whisper in her ear to make her moan and writhe.

The Lord’s name tumbled in vain from his lips as he looked down between them where they had both been bared.  Her hand moved again and he shook his head, taking her wrist and firmly holding it over her head, pressing it down into the straw “I mean to use ye hard, my Sassenach.”

“Do it,” she goaded him, smirking and curling her fingers around the thumb he had pressed into the palm of her hand. “Do it now, and don’t be gentle.”

Saying it twice was unnecessary, for he reached between them then and guided himself into her an easy, unyielding thrust. The sense memory of each time they had made love flooded back to her, and when he moved again she choked on her own breath and arched up into him.  

Without her needing to ask him to make good on his promise to use her hard, he did.  Thighs falling further open, she took in his frustration and gave him her own.  When he took her mouth, she sank her teeth into his lower lip and carved half-moons into his shoulder with her fingernails.

He possessed her then, body and soul.  He could see it in her eyes, the way her mouth started to form requests he was already well on his way to fulfill (harder, faster, more), but melted into the sound of her moan as he did the very things she was primed to beg him to do.

When he pulled out suddenly, the wet length of his cock against her thigh as he released her wrist, she started to ask what he was doing, but was interrupted by two firm fingers inside of her.  

“Come for me,” he implored roughly, his fingers searching and stroking her with no small amount of skill.  She was just about to unleash something more coarse than anything she had ever said (“then keep fucking me properly”) when Fraser stroked up, the pads of his fingertips beckoning her to rise (up, up, up).  Her eyes blistered with hot tears as she slapped her hands uselessly down into the straw alongside her thighs.  

Arching up towards him (into the sensation, accepting it with a clenched belly and slackened jaw), she wondered absently if they would always be like this.  As his thumb moved in an arc over her, his assault became twofold, and she concluded that fate had surely mapped out an entire eternity of this for them. He leaned into kiss her gasping, agape mouth, and felt the first tremoring promise of an orgasm ripple down her spine and into his hand.

“Claire,” he whispered, stricken at the sight of her only half-naked yet entirely undone and lovely as she could be. He drew everything she gave from her, and she gave it all. “I’ve missed ye so.”

Her insides had given way to contradiction.  A primal urge to beg him to stop.  A contradictory need to let him know he could never stop.  A desire to touch the planes of his shoulders as he coaxed her trembling body to completion.  A premonition that touching him would sear her hand, sending her into an abyss from which she surely could never return.

All she managed was a wilting plea: “please.”

He slid into her just as purposefully as he had at their first joining, but more gently, reverent somehow.  His thumb did not lose pace or rhythm, but she looked up at him almost desperately as he pressed forward, slid back, and started again.  

More.  Never stop.  I love you.

It was the work of four thrusts to finally finish her, and she felt him everywhere.  

(Rushing out of the pads of her fingers.  Swelling in her belly.  Shimmering up her spine.  Clouding her mind.  Burning behind her eyeballs and blinding her.  Pulsating between her legs. Simmering on her tongue.)

She clutched him, dragged him down, and sank her teeth into his shoulder to keep from screaming.  In the basest part of himself, he wanted her screams to bound off the walls and make his eardrums ache.  He wanted her nails to trace furrows into his already-scarred back.  

Mine.  Yours.  Together.

He spilled into her just as her high ebbed into delirious, taffy-thick stupor.  For her part, Claire cupped the back of his head as he finished and her forehead became the home for his as he bowed his head.  Shifting just enough so that he would not crush her, he fell onto her and heaved a contented sigh.  

“Job well done,” she mumbled after a not insignificant time time had passed with the melding of breath and slowing of hearts.  She kissed his temple, tasting salt and letting her eyes close.

“I work hard in yer stables, yer majesty.”

She chuckled, carding her fingers into his damp curls and not bothering to wonder how exactly she would make her way back up to the palace without looking like she had just been rogered six ways to Sunday in a pile of straw.

It could have been years that they laid there, skin drying and arousal fading, but it was closer to half an hour.  

“It is not entirely uncomfortable, this,” she mumbled, head indicating the pile of straw where they were sprawled out together.  

“It’s no’ just good for soakin’ up horse piss, though I suspect ye’ll be pickin’ bits out of your arse for a week.”  She laughed, deciding that she loved him even when he was unbridled of any sense of propriety and allowed himself to be crass.  Reaching between them, he groaned, “Insatiable.”

She hummed, shrugging noncommittally as she took him into her hand.

One could reasonably anticipate that this would be how HM Queen Claire would be caught with the Crown Equerry.  With their pants in a pile on the floor of the stables and the stable boy buried to the hilt inside of the Queen, there would be little for them to do other than deny what was plainly true.  But they would not be caught making love on the stable floor, nor would they be caught cleaning up and kissing before the Queen walked back to the palace for the night.  No one heard the Queen moan or beg, scream, or cry out.  No one heard the Crown Equerry staking his claim to the woman he loved, giving in to a second, lazy, fatigued round as HM Queen Claire wrapped her mouth around him.

No.  This would not be it – this moment, their reconnection, their bodies’ work to release the frustration of separation wrought by nothing more than circumstance.

But as James Fraser curled his fingers into his beloved’s curls, mumbled her name, and let all worldly thoughts fade, neither knew that they had precious few hours of privacy remaining.

Because their cover was about to be spectacularly blown.

[carrietrekkie]

Firelight - Part III: A planet the sun forgot.

I wish you all a lovely evening! Here comes part 3/4.

Warnings: Fear, some kind of torture, violence. At all, not the happiest part of this story.

Part 1: Fire and Ice.

Part 2: Let´s try Starfleet.

And if you don´t mind, leave me a little Feedback!

The next few hours, maybe even days, I didn´t really know, felt like something was trying to pull my thoughts out of my body, but my body did not give in and that made someone pretty angry. I was pretty sure I was aboard a shuttle, at least that told me the dull feeling in my stomach. Something rough hit me on my shoulder, pierced my brain and forced me to open my eyes. A throbbing pain shot through my jaw and made me moan. "Enough sleep sweetheart." "What the hell?" I grabbed my head to keep from falling, then sank back against a metallic wall. "Oh, get a little hard on yourself." Someone pushed into my field of vision. "Who are you?" I grimaced when I realized who my host was, it was the agent who had been with Leland, her name was Prescot or something. "I already told Leland everything I know and Cornwell.”

"Psst." She put a finger on my lips. Shocked, I broke off. "I know, and it was pretty poor." It was probably supposed to look cute when she slightly tilted her head and blinked at me. "Well, I decided, I take that in my tender hands." "Let me guess." It was burning on my lip, where her finger had been, so I fumbled around on it myself. My lower lip was torn open, that was it. "Leland doesn´t know about it." "Of course not." She smiled again her witch smile. "Leland is a wimp, ridiculously easy to control and has not had a long time to report." "Ah ha." I closed my eyes and moved my jaw slightly, it hurts too. Not as much as what she did next. "Shit, what's that?" I winced as she removed a hypospray from my neck.

"That will help you to remember." She looked at me. "Did you even listen? I can´t remember, the little bit I know came from coincidences and situations. Any attempt to access it, has been a complete flop. " "That's why we're trying this now." The agent lifted the hypospray. "We didn´t get that far with Spock, but I was very curious how that might work." I did not have time to analyze the implications of her words, and before my eyes everything began to turn, my brain seemed to defend itself against what she had given me, with everything it could find in its arsenal. Pain, pictures, every feeling that I had at some point collapsed on me and let me tip forward on the floor. I felt something paralyzing me, it even prevented me from closing my eyes, so all I could do was stare at the ceiling of the shuttle until Prescot leaned close to me.

"Mmh, the dose was probably too high." I saw her shrug a thousand times. "Anyway." Then she dropped to her knees in front of me. "So Cathrin, let's hear, how the hell did you get here?" "What?" I tried to fight the nausea down. "I don´t know that!" "Just don´t come up with the idea of claiming these strange signals are responsible for it." She pushed me back as I tried to straighten up. "Lie down!" I growled as I hit the ground again. "I wouldn´t like to ask again." "I don´t know!" The cold metal on my cheek was doing well. "Burnham has not figured it out yet." "Oh, she will." Prescot's smile looked like a snake's. That made me choke again. "But that takes me too long." She grabbed my braid and pulled me up. "Let's try something different." She pushed me away and I couldn´t catch myself, as my head unrestrained hit the ground, I had to throw up. With a groan I rolled onto my back, still unable to close my eyes or move in coordination. Gradually, I saw her walk past me, sit down in the cockpit of the shuttle and enter a course. No sooner had she entered her coordinator than an alarm rang.

"The Federation with its narrow-minded policies." She switched off the warning tone, then gave me a look that made me shudder down into my confused innermost. "I'm sure that will be a charming excursion." Then she activated the warp drive. "Could only be that it doesn´t go out well for everyone." The picture in front of my eyes blurred, but the last thing I saw, let all hope in me collapsed. The computer displayed our new course on the screen.

Talos IV.

"No, please don´t." I fought against the wave of unconsciousness that just moved over me. "Please..." Then I felt my body tension get lost, my head rolled over and my eyes closed.

*****

At some point I came back to myself, the drugs that she had given me were still burning in my bloodstream, their effect did not seem to end. My fear paralyzed me, the images in my head drove me to the brink of madness. I felt tears rolling down my face, they burned like fire on my skin. Any nerve phage that was not completely overloaded, seemed to consist only of pain. Cold crawled through my fingers, making them stiff and I was sure that would spread into my body soon. I winced as my numb fingertips hit something metallic. It had rounded edges, its surface both smooth and rough, traversed by lines or symbols, and above a curve were elevations. Eager to finally have found something that didn´t seem to come from the arsenal of Dante's Inferno, my brain plunged onto this piece of metal in my hand. Trembling, I stroked it, groped it and counted the small round sublimities.

One, two, three, four.

I exhaled slightly, closing my eyelids over my exhausted eyes. It was his badge, I still had it in my pocket, I closed my fingers tightly, holding it tight and crafting myself a mantra that would hopefully keep me sane. That's real, you can hold on to it while it's there, you have something that they can´t take you. That will protect you. He will protect you.

++++++++

"Can you hear me? What did you do with her? " "I tried to help her memory on the jumps." Two women argued together, one voice I knew, unfortunately, but the second?

"Stop looking at me so horrified, I know what your, let's call it hosts, do here." "It will be hard to help her." The other woman spoke again, but it sounded strange. "Her thoughts must first come to rest, her body must regenerate." "I don´t want you to help her, I want you to use her memories for me." "That's not how it works."

+++++++

I felt that I was lying on a comfortable surface, I was not covered, but I was not cold or otherwise uncomfortable. However, someone stopped me when I wanted to sit up.

"No, not." A few hands landed on my shoulders, pushing me back. "You really shouldn´t get up yet." That was the woman from earlier, she smiled mildly at me and then let go of me. "Who are you?" She was beautiful, but somehow scary. Blonde long hair fell over her shoulders and I guess that her dress was too short and her shoes were totally inappropriate for this environment.

"I'm Vina." She looked at me. "You are on Talos and safe for now." "Vina?" I squinted, why did I know that name? I didn´t say anything, the thoughts in my head still felt like they were being jumbled up in a washing machine.

"We will try to help you." "Do you read my thoughts?" "Not me." She stepped aside for a moment, I following her gaze and finding three weird figures standing at the end of the room. They had huge heads, a slight green cast and looked at me like I was a lab rat.

"Oh, yes, right." I closed my eyes again. "Talos, there was something." "It's one of the few memories that clearly exists in your mind right now." "Okay, that makes sense and that's the way it used to be." I just assumed they knew what was wrong with me or Prescot had told them. "Where?" "Here. Did you think you were going to get rid of me? " "It will probably still be allowed to hope." I pinched my thumb and forefinger against my nose root. "These headaches are killing me." I blinked hard. "We couldn´t help you, your body needs to break down the chemical first." Vina now put her hand behind my back and helped me sit up. "Slowly." Immediately, everything turned and I held onto her a little. "Phew okay." I put a hand on my stomach. "Maybe that was not the best idea." I made her understand that I wanted to lie down again and she also helped me. "Thank you." "You should try to gain something." "The last thing in there came out very effectively." Now Prescot was standing by my bedside. "Maybe it's better she leaves that." "A glass of water would be nice." I tried to ignore her and looked at Vina instead. "If it doesn´t mind."

She smiled, then almost floated away. Man, how I missed to wear high heels. I took the opportunity and glared at Prescot.

"Hey, what's your problem?" "My problem is you." She leaned against the couch and leaned over to me. "In your lovely head are a few things on which Starfleet is almost as keen as on Spock's, but while they would only read it and stow away somewhere, there is something more substantial in them." "I'm reluctant to bring bad news, but they don´t have it here with profit and trade." I took a breath. "Unless you hug the Ferengi, then you might be lucky." I raised my eyebrows. "Okay, that was new."

"Ah, see." She put her hand to my chin and turned me roughly in her direction. "You just have to drill long enough." "Long is the keyword." I tried to look at her as evil as possible. "It takes time, if I should remember." "Yes, maybe." She pointed in the direction in which just the Talosians have disappeared. "But they certainly have ways to speed things up." "They will not do that!" Vina was back, a vessel in her hand. "It's not their style. They read thoughts to learn so."

"So, if they don´t learn anything from her, then I don´t know." Prescot turned and walked towards the Talosians. "She´s from the past, from another time and reality." I felt bad again as she spokes on. "Supposedly she knows things, up to hundreds of years into the future. Wouldn´t it be tempting to see that? " "Here, then you feel better." Vina helped me put something on, then she held the bottle to my lips and I drank the liquid. Immediately I wanted to vomit again. "Try to keep it to yourself." I choked it down again and slid out of her arms back onto the small pillow. I closed my eyes and in front of them pictures flashed, that I couldn´t initially assign. But I knew the blue eyes that looked at me. "Chris."

But he looked strange, as if someone had put on a costume that looked like Chris but not really fit, as if he would play the role but go his own way. I took a deep breath, then jerked off again. I tried to hold on to this look, but slipped away and tore everything that was just so clear together with me, back into the vortex, from which I still couldn´t free myself. "Cathrin, don´t try to fight it." Her melodic voice sneaked back into my mind. "We want to help you." Given Prescot's attempt to promote me like an entertainment program, I could hardly believe her. It felt like I was pulling in a thousand directions at the same time. I saw the Enterprise with all its commanders, the Borg, the Romulans, the Dominion, but as soon as I saw anything clear, it was torn from me as if someone wanted to prevent me from remembering later. Then it became too much for me and I gave up and let myself be carried away by whom or whatever.

+++++++

Something familiar crawled through my nose into my brain, it took a moment to assign it. "Chris?"

I whispered softly, just so I could be sure my thoughts wouldn´t play a trick on me again. Once again, I closed my fingers around the badge in my pocket, still hoping that it would be my anchor in reality. "I'm here." "No, no."

I shook my head, I didn´t dare to open my eyes. "Please don´t, you will be executed or you…"

Now I felt a hand on my arm. Instead of calming me, it made me nervous. I felt my heart start beating faster, adrenaline rushing back through my veins.

"That will not happen." Then he paused. "What about her?" "Agent Prescot has given her a remedy to make her memories accessible, but instead she just buried her deeper inside. Not even for the Talosians was it possible to get them out. " I heard him sigh, which somehow made me cramp myself even more. "No, this is not possible." "Cathrin." Pike pulled away from Vina, leaned toward me, then gently put his hand on my cheek. "Open your eyes, look at me!" It sounded like a command, and the part of me that slowly began to feel comfortable in Starfleet came to grips with it. I opened my eyes, looked into Christopher Pike's face and instantly felt my eyes grow to twice their size. My battered body tried to get away from him. It just didn´t get too far.

I rolled to the side of the couch and could barely put my legs down, before I would have slammed like a wet sack to the ground. Instead, I fell into his outstretched arms and was pulled back. "Let me go." I squirmed with all the strength I had left, it was not much anymore. "That's not real!" My legs slid away, then I slid down on him, feeling his knees fall and lift me up.

"It's real!" He looked at Vina, she came before his question. "There is a memory in her mind that relates to this place and she doesn´t seem to get away from it." She looked at him. "It includes you." My head rolled against his chest and he turned his attention to me. He felt the tension drain from my body, my hand just resting on his shoulder, slipping slowly down his chest. "I can´t stay here any longer, she needs a doctor and." "I understand." She smiled sadly. "It was clear from the first second when I saw how you looked at her. You love her." "Vina." Pike took a deep breath.  "You never looked at me like that." "I am so sorry."

"What are you sorry for?" This on seemed a little easier to her. "That you have found someone to give you what you need?" She took a step towards him and put a hand to his cheek. "I have decided to stay here, not you and it would be unfair for you to stop living your life." "I..." "Don´t wait too long." Then she stepped back from him. "In my experience, that's not the right way. Don´t worry, I'm fine. " "I wish you all the best." "I wish you the same." Pike pulled his communicator from his belt and snapped it open. "Pike to Tyler, two to beam." Then the transporter beam enveloped them and carried Pike away from Vina one last time, and although it took a few more days for him to admit that, he really could let her go this time.

****

As soon as the transporter dropped him off in the shuttle, he could feel a huge tension fell from him. Not that he felt directly threatened, but it was better to know that they would leave this planet in a few minutes.

"Finally." Ash Tyler jumped up and came to him. His eyes fell on Cathrin. She lay unconscious in the captain's arms, was incredibly pale, trembling and you could see in her face that a battle had rage in her head. "Oh, that doesn´t look good." Carefully, he put his hands around Cathrin's head as Pike went to his knees to lay her on the floor.

"It is not." Chris reached for the Med-Kit he had received from Dr. Culber. "OK." He pulled out one of the neural emitters and tried to activate it, but his trembling fingers thwarted him. "Damn it."

"I can do that." Tyler took the device from him, activated it and put it to her temple, then repeated the process on the other side. He allowed himself to watch the captain briefly as he prepared the hypospray, as Culber had shown them. During the entire flight Pike had been unusually quiet, nervous and very distracted for his circumstances. He seemed to have pulled himself together for the mission, but now he also noticed how this day claimed its toll. The slight head injury of this morning would do the rest. "Okay, that seems to work." Ash grabbed the hypospray, put it on Cathrin's neck, and injected the drug cocktail. Almost immediately, she seemed to relax, she started to breathe more regularly and the flashing lights on the emitters were less hectic. "We should be frowned upon from here, I'm not at all anxious to find out what surprises Prescot still has in store." Pike just wanted to get up from the floor, when he felt Tyler's hand on his shoulder. The agent smiled slightly at him, then looked at Cathrin. "Stay with her, I'll do it." "Thanks, Tyler." Ash's answer was a small nod, then he hurried forward into the cockpit and shortly thereafter the shuttle took off and left Talos IV. Chris sank to the floor beside Cathrin, throwing a blanket over her and then looking at her. Was that his fault? Should he have clarified his point of view to Leland?

In front of him, he could see the shuttle plunge into space and sink into the warp seconds later. "I'll contact Discovery as soon as we've passed Star Base 11." Tyler got up, rummaged in one of the equipment rucksacks, and came to him. "Here, you should have a drink." "Thank you." Pike accepted the bottle and took a long sip. Tyler sat down opposite him, drank too, then looked at the captain.

"It's not your fault Sir." Ash briefly checked the settings of the medical devices. "Captain Leland has some agents who would like to dispute his position." "You too?" "No." "I had to ask that." Pike's mouth twitched briefly. "I know." Tyler did the same. "She's also my friend, if I had known, I would have warned you. I know she means a lot to you."

Pike took a deep breath. He was probably a worse actor than he had thought. "We should be in radio range in thirty minutes." He got up and went back into the cockpit. Ash was fine, Pike and he were far from being friends, but the captain looked as if he could use some encouraging words, even though he was not the best officer for the job. "No persecutors or other anomalies." "OK." Chris stroked his face. That was at least halfway good news. He hesitated for a moment, then reached out and grabbed her hand. They almost disappeared in his and was cold. Tyler took care of everything, so he admitted he just didn´t have to be the captain. His head sank against his hand, which he had laid around hers, then he closed his eyes. He had no idea what he meant to call what bound them, but right now it felt like it ran through his fingers even before he could name it. He raised his head and looked at her.

"Cathrin." In front of his eyes he could see her looking at him with her green eyes.

"Hold on, please." He stroked a strand from her face.

"Do not give up."

[krakrac]

gonna ramble some more because ive been thinking about how exactly yrsk realized he has feelings for nyr. mainly for my needs because its nice to have it summarized in case i forget.

right so we are located in this underground city of sorts, our group of protagonists is resting after saving snori and nyr from a certain place. they are both unconscious and while hara is looking after the former, yrsk does the same with the latter. he could chat with his companions to make his thoughts wander away from his friend and calm himself down (bro is scared shitless because what if he doesnt wake up. what if he wakes up and he is a completely different person... for reasons). so he is just lying there next to nyr on the bed, staring at him and letting his thoughts go apeshit.

he thinks about what nyr means to him. how he could not function properly for the entire time nyr was gone, how he could bring himself to get up only for a thought of rescuing nyr (and snori). he was done, always on the verge of another breakdown, anxiety paralyzing him. how come he felt this way only with him, how come the thought of his good friend snori living the same nightmare as nyr does not evoke such terror, squeezing his throat and suffocating him? yes, he is worried about her, a lot, in fact, really, but only the idea of nyr's dead body was making him straight up suicidal.

finally, the train of thoughts arrived to a place yrsk has been pushing away from himself - romantic feelings. everything then falls into place. he gets frightened even more than before. he cant let nyr know. nobody can know. because just as before, nyr would simply become a weapon that could be used against him - just as when his former lover, kaija, was taken hostage, used as a leverage to unsuccessfully make yrsk behave and subsequently killed without mercy. he could not bear another loss of a loved one if he allowed himself to express this love and found out this love is reciprocated, especially because not long after losing kaija, he also lost even his best friend, a man who he saw as his second father.

nyr was both of these things - a best friend and a potential lover, a person yrsk deeply loved, his soulmate even for he never felt this safe and content with anyone else, not even kaija. but even despite everything that scarred yrsk, he could not run away from the feelings, even if he knew where to. nyr needed him, and heck, yrsk needed nyr. in the end, it was nyr who made yrsk appreciate life again. he decided he would not ever speak of this realization to nyr, or anyone, for that matter. he would keep quiet, simply stay friends with nyr because after all, he doesnt even know if nyr feels the same.

fast forward a few hours, nyr wakes up. takes him only a few seconds to fully come to his senses and upon seeing yrsk's anxious face, he immediatelly falls into his embrace, bawling his eyes out and just letting out all the fear and horror he has been facing before being rescued. because yrsk was there, yrsk was okay, they were both okay.

yrsk simply reciprocated the embrace, hugging nyr hard and thinking that he would really want to kiss nyr in that moment, long and soft. show him that everything is alright. show him that he would die for him. but he did nothing but whispering soothing words to nyr, letting him cry for as long as he needed in his arms.

(oops longer than i expected and maybe a bit chaotic, nvm)

✧ OC Asks! ✧

I compiled a short list of some questions that I hadn’t seen yet to help you (and me) have some fun while developing OCs. Feel free to answer these yourself, or ask someone else!

1. How does your OC feel about their full name?

2. What do strangers notice about them first?

3. How does their social personality differ from how they act when they’re alone?

4. How do they act around a crush?

5. Do they have a “tell” for when they’re lying?

6. What do they smell like?

7. What is their hair texture like?

8. How much jewelry do they wear, and do they have a favorite or distinguishing piece?

9. Do they have a word or phrase that they tend to overuse?

10. What is a weird quality that they have (ie their hands are always cold, they’re always hungry, they snort when they laugh, etc)?

11. What color do they look strikingly good in?

12. How do they show affection to someone they love?

13. Do they make strong/frequent eye contact when they talk to someone?

14. What attributes do they have that are inherited from their parents or shared with their siblings/other relatives?

15. Are their greatest flaw and their greatest strength related and in what way? (ie very caring and helpful but a doormat, or very observant and shrewd but often paranoid)

16. How has their childhood affected the way they view an aspect of their life (people, education, society, themselves, etc)?

And that’s all! Remember to reblog with your answers, I’m genuinely curious to hear about other people’s characters/writing processes!

Part II: https://liliamoon.tumblr.com/post/671647292219097088/oc-asks-part-ii

[nebula-starlight]

Comatose (pt. 6) - Secrets

First: Prologue / Last:  Reverse  

I was inspired by recent events in the community to develop this chapter, honestly. Hope you enjoy! 

“Jack... Vhat are you doing?”

He struggled with the cords keeping him hooked up to dozens of machines, ripping lines free amidst Schneep’s increasing protest to stay still. Like hell he was after what that demon had done to him! And the community... his fans... had they even known the difference? He couldn’t just sit there and watch as everything crashed down around him!

“Dude, relax.” A hand reached out, gripping his shoulder in a firm but reassuring gesture. He didn’t even need to look at who it was, the voice providing him enough information. “You’ve been out of it for months. Jumping right back in is too much strain...”

“I don’t care,” he muttered, shaking his head as he pulled away from Chase’s slacking hold with a huff. “Everyone needs to know the truth.”

“Vhich one?”

The steeled gaze he brought upon himself was, possibly, rightfully earned after his comments months ago with the doctor in private. Except now he knew it hadn’t been just the two of them alone in the room at that moment. He couldn’t look at Henrik, keeping his eyes averted as he struggled with a particularly stubborn IV lodged in his hand.

“You weren’t yourself, Schneep. The others never knew... The fans practically condemned you the minute they saw those images...”

His chest felt tight, pain squeezing along his lower back and spine as the prolonged pressure on weakened muscles proved to be too much. With a hacking cough, he collapsed back onto the crinkled sheets, energy all but spent. He couldn’t go to sleep. Even closing his eyes would only bring back the terror, the feeling of that sharp steel cutting through his neck as he sat paralyzed, gaze leveled at the blinking camera in a desperate, silent plea for help.

There was a chance that falling asleep would, however, bring about the return of the nightmare that was so engrained in his mind. How his condition worsened as thin strings looped around his wrists and ankles, pinning him down onto a cold surgical table as the doctor loomed over him. He thought, at first, that Henrik was there to help but then he heard it echo underneath each word... That far too haunting giggle. The glitch was there. No one was coming to save him this time.

“Stay vith me buddy!”

Jack jolted back awake, recoiling from the concerned hands touching his neck as his gaze scanned the room in rising panic. Whitewashed walls, the thick scent of heavily bleached products... He couldn’t be back there. Why was he back there? He thought the nightmare had ended after...

“Jack? You okay? You scared us for a second there.”

He shuddered, eyes flickering wide open in terror as the irritation affecting his throat caused him to cough again, tasting the rich metallic taste of iron in the back of his mouth. Trying to keep himself grounded, he looked up at the individual who’d spoken, seeing the blur of red and blue but failing to produce a name to go along with the familiar face. He’d heard the voice in his dreams sometimes. Always in a whisper. Always begging him to come back. What had he said...?

It was... Oh, he knew it. Just on the tip of his tongue... Why couldn’t he remember?

You need to wake up!

He screamed until he was hoarse, jerking back as the sound of electricity crackled through the air. Something was wrong! Why was he experiencing this crippling pain? He hadn’t died. Surely his mind was just playing tricks on him. It wasn’t real... It couldn’t be real...

“You just had to antagonize things, didn’t you? It was too soon, Chase! He just woke up from a damn coma for fuck’s sake.”

“How the hell was I to know he’d respond like that? I’m not a doctor, Marv. And in case you weren’t aware, ours is currently curled up in a corner in a state of panic because of the day it happens to be!”

The voices... He knew the voices. Remembered them even if the names eluded him. The magician... Marvin, wasn’t it? Hadn’t he seen him in the dream trying to break the shackles? He said he was sorry for not naming him sooner before...

A fresh surge of pain split through his head, his hands shaking as he tried to reach up to his skull to soften the throbbing agony. Everything was on fire. He heard sirens, then the creeping crackle of approaching static. Why wouldn’t it leave him alone?! What had he done to warrant such continued punishment?

Lashing out as he squeezed his eyes shut, he felt his foot connect with something hard and he pulled back, shuddering as another cough nearly caused him to collapse as he turned to support himself with a hand curling into the sheets under him. He wasn’t weak... He wasn’t sick... Nothing mattered but escape. The fans had to be told. He had to see they hadn’t left him. Being alone had sparked that paranoia that always whispered in his ear that he was a useless nobody.

‘Jack, good sir, take it easy. We have you.’

His strength left him, falling onto his side in a coughing fit as warm blood dribbled down his chin. He had to make sure they were okay! Even if it was costing him days of recovery he needed to see he wasn’t alone. Being alone meant that thing was there... watching him, judging him silently.

He opened his bloodshot eyes with a desperate surge of strength, searching past the concern gazes of Marvin and Chase to where a certain doctor was indeed curled up in a corner rocking back and forth. Occasionally Schneep would mutter something under his breath but it was too low to make out, his hands buried deep in his untamed hair as he was almost invisible to the others.

How hard was the day for the only other one of them that had been possessed by the demon? His heart went out to him, it really did, but he was still coughing up blood and that alone was making it hard to concentrate. He had to stay awake! He had to...

Jack’s head dropped, his violent spasm finishing with a low gurgle as the magician and father exchanged a silent glance. It had been touchy for several days now with their creator lapsing into moments where he’d seem to be alert one moment and then suddenly be frantically trying to get away before his strength would abandon him and he’d pass out. Had it not been the particular day it was, they knew Henrik would have been helping to keep him calm. Something always seemed to pass over him, his eyes going from clear to cloudy before becoming violent as though he wanted out of the bed despite it being the safest place for him so he could heal.

“It’s passed for now,” Marvin noted, adjusting his cloak before going over to Henrik to see if he could help. They all had known the day would be difficult but having Jack wake up only to still be out of it continued to weight down their optimism. If only all of them could come together...

Chase, however, hung back, using the edge of the already bloodstained sheets to wipe at Jack’s still open mouth. What caused him such stress? He would never get better if he kept spazzing out every day. Rolling his creator onto his back with a sigh, he smoothed out the sheets and pulled over the unused chair to sit and wait. It seemed that was all he ever did now besides making videos, and even that had been cut back to one a day.

‘You help out more than you realize...’

The hairs on the back of his neck rose, fear twisting in his gut at how raspy the voice sounded. He dare not glance behind him, eyes flickering over towards Marvin and Henrik instead. The magician went rigid, his chest barely moving as the edges of his cloak were crushed under his curled fingers. It wasn’t just him hearing it then, right? That voice really was there.

“You aren’t supposed to be here. I saw your mangled body! How the glitch cut out your soul.” The words were forced out through clenched teeth as Marvin let his cape fall beside Schneep, standing up and addressing the intruder by name. “Explain that, Nether.”

“Magic, my dear magician. Well... that and a bit of a certain influence.” The voice wavered, shifting tones as it became fully audible. Chase immediately jumped to his feet and whirled around, ready to protect both Jack and Henrik if necessary from the combined threat.

Neither of them recognized the body it had taken, the slim but sizably muscular male frame as the top of its head was slicked back with green tipped hair. Sporting a bloodstained gray hoodie and long black pants, the figure approached with barely any noise.

“Such a shame the community places trust so quickly in an ego and then rips it away. That’s when it’s the easiest for me to slip in and do what I do best...” He smiled, the grin not one of friendliness or comfort but, rather, one of almost murderous intent. “I wouldn’t worry too much over Jameson right now, despite the fact he’s likely doubled over in pain as the fans battle over whether he is pure or a puppet. Much the same happened to Henrik last year before my grand appearance. Of course, you can try to help them but I promise it won’t do any good.”

He stalked forward, eyes glowing a bright green. Chase flinched back, remembering to his horror that he had indeed seen that glow before. It was still as unnerving as it had been back then. “So, who will you go to? The mute or the doctor... We’re all waiting Brody.”

“Go to him,” Marvin hissed at his brother, stepping in front of him as magic swirled around his hands in preparation for use. “I’ll protect Jack and Henrik as long as I can.”

As soon as the younger ego had bolted out of the room, the magician shifted uneasily as he noticed Nether watch Chase leave without saying a word. Did he already have a plan in place to trap the two of them? He hoped not but feared what a mix of intellect and manipulation was capable of when under control by the glitch.

“Round two, huh?” He scoffed, glancing over at Jack out of the corner of his eye. If Nether knew he was awake...

“Who you do think woke him?”

Marvin was sure his heart dropped to the pit of his stomach at the remark, the emotions he’d shoved deep down causing his eyes to burn. It wasn’t true! Jack had broken free from his coma all on his own. He had to have.... Anything else was-

“A stab in the gut?” The tainted soul chuckled, twirling a hand to summon the signature weapon of choice used by the glitchy demon. “A metaphorical one as the case may be but certainly it can become physical.”

Marvin shifted his footing, eyes narrowing as the green fire surrounding his gloved hands glowed brighter. After what had happened the last time they fought he wasn’t exactly confident but he knew someone had to protect their creator. If one fell they all would. And killing the root would destroy the branches. Certainly the glitch would be aware of that or did he even care?

“Come now, you really think I‘d go away simply because of an injury like that?” He stepped closer, pointing the tip of the blade directly at the magician. “Where’s that sense of reverence you once had towards me when we first properly met?”

“You aren’t him, not completely.” Marvin countered as the room darkened, the glow of green the only visible light source.

The possessed soul growled, baring his teeth right before he lunged forward and slammed him up against the bed railing at the end of Jack’s bed. Cold steel pressed against his neck, the feeling bringing back memories of what he’d seen inside their creator’s head. Somewhere in that body had to be Nether but he didn’t know how to wake him... nor if he even could. A power source... that’s what Anti needed with the illusionist’s soul. That’s why he appeared different, having used a form none would recognize.

“Is that so?” The rasp sent a chill down his spine, noticing how the glowing green eyes drifted towards Henrik. “Oh, my dear puppet, you are quite mistaken. The good doctor knew exactly who this pathetic body belonged to... only it was far too late to make any difference. Before he had a chance to say anything Jackaboy got sick and well... I think you know where that went.”

It couldn’t be possible... Had Henrik hidden more information from them? Just exactly who was the body this monster walked around in?

“Who is he?” Marvin reluctantly pulled back his magic away from his hands, deciding on a whim to see if he could appease the creature by letting him think he had won. “The one you wear, I mean.”

“His former host...”

The voice was strained yet distinct enough that he recognized it, attention darting over to where Schneep was slowly pushing himself up into a standing position with one hand wrapped around his chest. It was easy to see the pain hadn’t left him just yet by how labored each breath sounded but Marvin was glad he had an ally this time around. There was always strength in numbers after all.

Leaning heavily against the wall, it took the doctor a moment to get his breath before he continued. “Zhat is zee reason no one recognized him.”

“Deceiver... Speaker of mistruths... Is there any other reason to find interest in such a powerful being?” The multi-layered voice shifted, becoming closer in sound to Anti’s for the question as the being stepped back. “Simply taking advantage of what lays around unused.”

Unused....? That couldn’t be right, unless... Marvin’s eyes widened, recalling he did in fact see Anti cut out Nether’s soul while in Jack’s mind. The glitch hadn’t just taken a power source, he... He trapped the spirit there without any sort of anchor to his physical form. That’s why there had been no shadow perched on the bed railing. It also explained Jack’s spasms...

“Tell you what,” the monster rumbled, one eye still glowing green while the other faded to a vibrant crimson recognizable as the soul who was being used for power. “I was going to make a show of power to all those lovely fans but, instead, I think I’ll wait. It’s far too easy to get them whipped up into a frenzy and drag out their suffering.”

Taking a step back, he waved away the knife with a flurry of glitches before he started to fade, the only thing truly visible being his heterochromatic eyes. “There’s sure to be a special milestone coming up after all. What better time then when everyone’s guard is down.”

The glitch left with the warning still in the air, a chill coming over Marvin as he turned to Henrik for an explanation. How was it they’d gotten into this mess? Furthermore, just what exactly did the doctor know that he hadn’t told to anyone else?

“Stay here,” he warned, grabbing his cape off the floor and clasping it back around his neck. “I’m going to get the others and then we’re gonna sit down for a long meeting. You’re doing it again, Henrik. Why can’t you just trust us and stop hiding things? We are your brothers after all!”

“Did any of you stop him vhen he showed up?” The doctor softly muttered, glancing away from the stern glare as his posture changed to one of guarded defensiveness. “Nein...” He stepped away from the wall, hands balling into tight fists as Marvin noticed tears glisten in his red, puffy eyes. “You left me alone vith Jack! None of you came. No vonder Jackie left us.”

“What? But he...” Words failed him, the knowledge that the eldest ego had fled draining him of his earlier anger at Henrik hiding information.

“He left us,” Schneep repeated, throwing out a hand towards Jack. “If one goes down they all vill. Anti knew about zee parody. And how to break us apart.” He sighed, sagging against the bed railing as Marvin stepped away towards the door. “Go get zhem.”

“Sit down first, Henrik.” Marvin thought better of leaving immediately, spotting the unused rolling chair left from when Chase went out and brought it over for the doctor to collapse into. “Now then, I’ll be back shortly with the others. Be ready to tell us everything you’ve hidden, no matter how scarring it might be. We are stronger than you seem to think.”

[calenheniel]

The Lost Prince, a frozen fanfic | VI.

Frozen | Hans, Elsa | Fantasy, Drama | G+

Legend tells of the lost kingdom of Arendelle, and history records the many, many adventurers lost in search of it.

Read Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V

Follow updates: #TLPFrozen

VI.

Gerda softened to Hans more and more as time passed, and they seldom argued. He kept his suspicions about her to himself, for on the one hand, he was resolved to be amiable towards her—and on the other, he found her interest in him refreshing, and he enjoyed indulging it.

To this end, he entertained her with stories of his naval training, descriptions of the great and wealthy homes and palaces in the Southern countries, and gossip about the self-important and scandalous denizens of those same places. In turn, she would recount books she had read or had read to her, or fond memories of her parents and brother.

When she asked, he would share his own in return, but these instances were few and far between. Mostly, he would tell her about his mother: her wild red hair and green eyes, like his, and her famed beauty in the Southern countries. Otherwise, he preferred not to think or speak of his living family, nor ponder on what they thought of him… if they thought of him at all.

Their conversations helped him to recover from his fever, and within two days he was on his feet again. He helped Gerda gather berries and firewood, and he often watched her from afar when she plucked animals from hand-crafted snares left in the forest. He became fascinated by her skillfulness and resourcefulness, though these qualities also heightened his wariness of her, and his disbelief even in her revised story about how she came to the cabin.

She appreciated his assistance and company, it seemed, for there was always a soft and kind smile on her face. Whatever misgivings she might have held towards his motives in return, she never voiced them, and did not press him for details when he appeared reluctant to tell them. He even thought she might have started washing her face and hands a bit more, as he began to notice things about her that he had not before: the light freckles dotting her cheeks; her long eyelashes; the gentle curve of her nose; and even the wave and shine of her hair, which had heretofore been too speckled with dirt to see its true, light color.

Admiring these features, he felt at odds with his mistrust. Surely, he thought, if this girl had intended to harm him, she would have done so when he was at his weakest point. Their game of “playing house” did not fit any pattern he was accustomed to, and her seemingly limitless warmth and openness continually confounded him.

It was for this reason, among others, that Hans did not tell Gerda about the cold.

For at the same time that his fever and general pains and aches were abating, he realized that the cold which had initially paralyzed his advance up the mountain had never gone away. In fact, as time marched on, he seemed to grow colder and colder, and he knew it was not just because he had given up the bed so that she would not have to sleep on the floor anymore.

He tried to dress in more layers, or even wear two sets of gloves, to ward it off; but it came back every night worse than before, and he fought hard to keep his new predicament from Gerda. Still, she noticed that something was wrong, and asked after his health every morning.

To this, he offered the same reply: “Better than ever, Gerda. I’ll be out of your hair in no time, and on my way to find Arendelle again.”

It was on just such a morning after uttering those words that a rush of cold swept through him, and he could not help but fall into a coughing spell. She greeted this with immediate concern. “Are you sure, Hans? That sounds quite bad.”

“Positive,” he said mid-cough, and recomposed himself as he buttoned up his overcoat. “We should get going, or else we’ll be caught in the storm that’s coming.”

Gerda’s eyes followed his to the window, where the landscape and skies above it were almost blinding in their whiteness. She frowned a little, but agreed. “I suppose we should.”

When they were both finished dressing, he led the way outdoors, where the wind was beginning to pick up. He clutched his coat to himself, and gripped the axe he’d brought to chop wood so hard that his hands felt numb. Gerda followed close behind with a basket, intending to check her traps. Her face was hidden from view under her thick, fur-lined hood.

She paused at the spot where they normally would have parted ways, and he sensed her worry without seeing it. “Go on,” he said, “I’ll be alright.”

At this, she walked away with reluctance, and he sighed in relief once she was out of hearing range. He went into the forest with heavy feet, panting, and came to the familiar clearing that Gerda had created with the same axe he carried. There, he found the remains of a younger tree that he had chopped down the day before, and dragged it upon the stump of one long-gone to break it up further.

The wind rushed past Hans as he did this, nearly knocking him over, and he stuck his axe blade-first into the stump, holding onto the handle for balance. He waited until it passed, and then breathed uneasily, dislodging the blade. He swung it down upon the tree again and again until he grew fatigued by the exercise, and he paused to rest.

It was then that Hans felt the gentle patter of snowflakes on his face, and saw them fall onto his gloves and coat. The image of Gerda’s light hair and pale skin passed through his mind, causing him to smile despite the cold, and he removed one glove from his hand to catch the falling snow.

When he turned his gaze up towards the sky, however, his left eye was stung by a searing and blistering pain that forced him to his knees. He shouted in agony, clutching at his face, and all the while the wind whistled around him, as if mocking his misery. He groaned as the pain spread to his temples, and he took little solace even in the sound of Gerda’s footsteps as she ran to him and covered him in another cloak, sheltering him from the gathering storm. She guided him back towards the cabin, and he struggled not to trip every step of the way, unable to open his eyes.

She had to slam the entire weight of her body against the door to get it shut again, and he leaned against a wall with one hand over his face, his head and body still covered by the cloak. He stumbled his way back to the bed with Gerda’s help, and sat on the edge of it for a long while, breathing with difficulty as she rushed to prepare things around him. “Tea, tea, you need tea,” she mumbled to herself, and as his headache grew duller, he could hear the sounds of the fire crackling, and then of the kettle hissing.

The smell of the tea wafted over to him, and he could tell she was close. “Now, let’s get you into bed,” she said, and drew his cloak back.

As the hood of the cloak fell to his shoulders, she gasped, and the cup fell from her hands, clattering against the hard floor below. He pried open his eyes at the noise, alarmed by the look of horror on Gerda’s face that greeted him.

“What is it?”

“Your… your hair!”

Hans pressed his hand to his head, but found that every tuft was still in place. “What do you mean?” he asked, frowning. At her trembling lips and terrified expression, he became perturbed. “Gerda, what is it?”

Her wide eyes turned away from him as she nervously walked to the other side of the room, and rummaged around in a knapsack for something. He watched her with growing impatience and disconcertment. “Gerda, just tell me what’s going on.”

She shook her head, and looked as if she were biting back tears as her hands stopped moving and pulled an item from the sack. She held it close to her chest for a moment with her eyes closed, looking distressed; at his questioning stare, she slowly made her way back towards him, unable to meet his eyes. The form of the object she held was jagged, as if broken off from a larger piece, and when she finally revealed it to him, he understood the reason for her disquiet.

It was part of a mirror, and when he held it up to look upon his reflection, he saw that some of his hair had turned white.

[hauntedlikeahuman]

my higher power

Happy born day to my angel. Your birthday is exactly a week after mine, i was born to never forget you. I think about your birthday a week before i think about my own birthday, and a week after your birthday i’m still thinking about you. 

I feel like everything i am today is attributed to you. and its something im trying to understand. im trying to believe this makes sense or has the potential to make sense but. still just trying to keep my head abpve water 

its crazy cause you passed away about 4 months before the pandemic and quarantine and all the hate and violence and bigotry and heartless monsters were the stars of our collective nightmare. i was suprisingly unbothered/privilaged in 2020, in comparison to others. i was annoyed at the world for suffering after me and the people i love finally clawed our way to not suffering. then nothing healed, everything internalized and it compounded over that year of absolute chaos and pain, and it was waiting for me when i got out. which meant people were even less open to hearing about it. people were talking about suffering because they couldnt go to the olive garden or get a haircut. and through all of this shit i was annoyed at the fragility of people. the entire time i knew the world would be fine and would go back to relative normoralcy and adjust. I KNEW THAT PAIN WOULD END FOR MOST PEOPLE AND I WOULD HAVE TO PICK MINE BACK UP AND START. ALL OVER AGAIN

i havent made a new friend since you passed. i have not shared a piece of me with anyone. i feel a connection with no one because no one feels like you. when i think i want to open up to people, im always somehow reminded of how theyre NOT like you and thats all i can think about. its like trying to find people to connect with but you have to seriously lower your standards for connectedness or be alone and never have a true connection ever again cause you were the ONE and youre gone now, even after all those years of surviving. so fuck it. seriously, fuck it. i dont even care about being a good friend to anybody anymore. i feel like ive lost that ability because ive lost you so i cant see the good in people, i only see how inferior they are as loved ones in my life. people i love will lowkey disappoint me when they do things you would never do to me. you are always the standard comparison. its literally a curse. you. cannot explain any of this shit to anybody so what the fuck is the point if i can never get over this? i literally dont ever want to make friends who will not live up to you. it is absolutely a waste and being alone forever feels like the better option for my heart 

like i cant fucking believe im in this world without you. i will never get over it. it is the biggest fucking joke and i cant believe im forced to be here when youre gone and jude and noah have to grow up without you. i hate the entire world for that. im pissed that this is really how things have worked out. im pissed that we’re told in rehab that all our friends might die and you think theyre just serious about saving your life so of course they say that cause they cant be wishy washy, they need to be deadly serious. you KNOW the statistics but in this moment you still feel like a warrior among warriors and theyre saying that for all the OTHER people who cant stay sober... and 5 years later you suddenly realize that everyone really did die and they were right. and then you wonder if they even believed they would be right or if they were handing heroin addicts with gentle hands and sticking to the all or nothing bottom line because of how fragile that life is and because of all the funerals they have attended. i think about all the people who were in that room with me who are now gone and wonder if they thought they would make it. its like youre trained to never get too comfortable with your life. and you will enter recovery for the first time and feel like youre on a cloud and met the most amazingly strong friends and then slowly you watch them fall off, relapse, go to jail, get kicked out of rehab, in the. hospital with a blood infection or texting you asking you if you have any old anti biotics because they have an absyss and cant afford. to go to a doctor or have. a warrant or cant bother being admitted to the hospital for an abcess when you have a heroin habit to keep up on. the hospital is the least comfortable option at that point.....

let that sink in

the hospital is the least comfortable option for someone who sleeps in a park and has to beg for food and spend every waking hour in problem solving mode with only very temporary reprieves from the pain and the shame. and youre treated like trash the second people realize you dont have a home. its the most absurd nonsensical shit youll ever experience  and then they actually do all end up dying. i have a vivid. memory of the people sitting in that room with me who i didnt wanna lose..... theyre all dead. except one. i’m not lying... its really hard to not keep score at that point. my friends thrive and rebuild and change other peoples lives along along the way and then die at 4 years sober... literally am worthless compared to all the people who should be here instead of me. i still cant even fucking stand life. and sometimes i feel guilty and ashamed and mad that you left me here. and im fucking worthless in this world compared to you. i have not been able to get myself back in the gym. i literally cant do shit without you and im paralyzed without realizing it. when i try to tell people that i literally dont give a fuck about anything because i’m already carrying the greatest injustice of my life, i really mean that shit. im not exaggerating for literary purposes. these are things that break my heart in retrospect. 

it took me up until the first anniversary of your death to actually piece together the fact that literally the whole fucking world went to shit after you passed. i swear to God thats not a coincidence. shit i never thought i would never see in my entire life was happening right after you were gone to the point where i was so distracted with that atrocity, i wasnt even tending tending to the atrocity in my heart. 

im trying to want to believe that makes sense 

the first anniversary of your death came on the day the election was officially called a victory by Joe Biden. Literally what the whole world was waiting for, including myself. i watched people celebrating and parading in the streets and finally being relieved. i woke up with you on my mind way before i heard the good news and was quickly reminded that my heartbreak goes on. couldnt even distract myself with social media. i feel like i’m always the one sad on the days of celebration. and its not even about me just seeing some shit on social media one day in 2020. in 10 years this day will be in the history books my kids will read and i will hear about it in my classes in the future and i’ll be 83 years old in November 2073 and you will still be on my mind

[vanderlinde-moved]

a bitter truth, part two

Cassian wakes and begins the healing process. Jyn faces even more horrors that the Empire has to offer. 

warning for torture throughout the chapter.

read it on ao3!

The second time Cassian wakes, he notices that he’s on a ship before he even opens his eyes. He can feel the hum of the engine through the floor and realizes that this must be the transport off of Yavin 4 that Leia had mentioned the last time he was awake.

He wonders, briefly, where they’re going. He doesn’t think anyone will tell him, not after he went rogue, but he hopes it’s somewhere drastically different than Yavin. Cold, maybe. He’ll be happy with a frozen wasteland. Anything would be better than a planet with a similar climate with Yavin -- he knows better than anyone how even the smallest things can trigger buried memories.

There are too many things that happened on Yavin 4 that he doesn’t want to remember.

And then his thoughts drift as to what his punishment could be. After all, he did follow the lead of a criminal and take about thirty of the Alliance’s best men on a suicide mission that ended up with almost all of them being dead.

(not that he’ll say that, of course. he’ll assume full responsibility for the mission. jyn’s dead. the least he can do is try to take the blame off of her name, whatever good that’ll do.)

He figures they’ll demote him. If the Rebellion had wanted to kick him out, they wouldn’t have given him medical treatment and taken him with them to wherever they’re going. It doesn’t bother him. All he wants to do is help the Alliance -- he’s dedicated his life to it. It doesn’t matter how he helps so long that he is.

He takes stock of his injuries. The aches and pains that had been persistent the first time he had woken up are no longer there and he feels almost like he’s floating. Most of his body is numb.

The second thing he notices is that he can’t feel his legs.

He can’t move them. For a spy, this realization comes later than it should and panics him considerably more than the first one does. What good a soldier than can’t walk?

As soon as his heart rate monitor spikes, a nurse is at his side. “Breathe, Captain,” the woman urges, leaning over him. She purposefully becomes the only thing in his line of sight and he tries to focus on her face but his eyes are moving too wildly for that. “You need to take deep breaths, okay? Can you do that for me?”

“My legs -- “ he gasps out. His head is spinning and there are black spots dancing in front of his vision. A very small voice in the back of his mind tells him that he needs to calm down or else he’s going to pass out. “I can’t -- I can’t feel my legs -- “

“Your legs are fine, Captain Andor,” the nurse soothes, cupping his face in her hands. He tries to meet her gaze, but his eyes can’t seem to stay in one place for very long. “You’re under heavy medication and they’re bandaged pretty tightly, but as far as we can tell, they’re going to be fine. I’m going to give you something to help you calm down, okay?”

“I -- “ His breath is still coming in sharp gaps, but knowing that he’s not paralyzed lifts a weight off of his shoulders. He doesn’t know what he would do if he couldn’t go out in the field -- he’s spent his whole life in Intelligence and doesn’t think that he knows how to do anything else. “I can’t -- “

“It’ll be okay,” she says softly, switching out one of the bags attached to an IV. Vaguely, he realizes she’s drugging him, but doesn’t care enough to say anything. Calm washes over him almost immediately, and he closes his eyes in contentment. “You’ll be okay.”

As Cassian drifts off into sleep, he hopes that she’s right.

(but the rational part of him knows that she isn’t.)

 Lying on the dirty, dark floor of her cell with one hand wrapped around her stomach as if to keep her guts inside of her, all Jyn wants is a hot shower.

She can endure the torture. The eight years she spent with Saw and the seven she spent on her own left her with both abandonment issues and an extremely high pain tolerance. But all she really wants is to get clean -- her hair is lanky and full of grease, and the blood staining her skin won’t go away no matter how hard she scrubs and claws and scratches.

No matter what she does, it doesn’t go away.

(all of those people died on scarif because of her.)

While her intestines are no longer in danger of falling out of her, the wound on her stomach is hot to the touch. She knows that it’s most likely infected but there’s nothing she can do about that. Her leg aches. She realized days ago that it’s probably more than a sprain, since she can barely put her weight on it. The only good thing about her situation (if there is a good thing) is that her head has stopped pounding. Now, it’s only a dull throb. She’s not so stupid to believe the concussion has gone away, however.

If she wants bacta patches and the torture to stop, she needs to give Krennic the information he wants about the Rebellion. Jyn knows it’s in her best interest to just tell him what she knows. But for some reason, she can’t make herself talk.

She doesn’t know why, exactly. She owes the Alliance nothing, not after they killed her father and refused to go to Scarif. She can only imagine how much better the mission would have been with the Council’s support. Cassian, Baze, Bodhi, Chirrut -- they could all be alive.

The thought of that makes her hands clench into fists. Everyone she’s ever cared about -- or potentially could have cared about -- has abandoned her. By choice or not, it doesn’t matter; they’re still gone. Her mother is dead. Her father is dead. Saw is dead. Rogue One is dead.

Why the fuck should she care about their secrets when they hadn’t given a fuck about her?

She doesn’t know. She doesn’t know why her mouth stays shut whenever the IT-O droid injects her with yet another painful concoction or when Krennic orders his guards to take turns beating her. It’s certainly not doing her any favors.

She’s never cared before. Never had the luxury for political opinions.

Why does it matter so much to her that she stays silent?

(deep down, she thinks that maybe she’s tired of not looking up. she’s tired of running. cassian had welcomed her home on yavin 4. at the very least, she’s protecting the rebellion in his memory.

he had believed in her. it’s time she does something for him.)

 There are no survivors from the original group that went to Scarif. No survivors of the original Rogue One.

(it doesn’t surprise him. it shouldn’t.)

Most of the pilots and calvary that came after them lived, but he doesn’t know specifics. But out of everyone there, nobody comes to visit him.

The ones who are in medical beds like he is don’t make eye contact. The ones who lost a family member or friend on the suicide mission shoot him dirty looks.

Cassian doesn’t meet any of their gazes and pretends to be asleep.

 Out of all of the people on the Star Destroyer, Jyn only knows one name: Krennic.

The other guards are faceless, unknown beings. She knows which ones like to hurt her and which ones hold back on their punches. She can tell which ones agree wholeheartedly with the Empire’s propaganda and which ones are uncertain, unsure.

But what she doesn’t know is their names or their life stories or where they came from. For all she knows, there could be dozens of potential defectors on this Star Destroyer. There could be people like Bodhi, just trying to earn a couple extra credits to feed their family or people who had no choice but to conscript or die trying to rebel.

It shouldn’t bother her. It doesn’t. After all, it’ll be much easier to kill all of these guards when she finally gets out of here if she doesn’t know anything about them.

They’ll just be another stain on her already crimson hands. It’s not like she’ll even notice the extra blood, not with all of the lives she’s already taken.

 “Andor. Good to see you up and about.”

Draven is formal with him, as always, hands clasped behind his back as he watches Cassian struggle through physical therapy. Cassian notes the lack of rank and wonders if he’s been demoted already without his knowledge.

“General,” he says respectfully, with a slight nod in acknowledgement. He tries to keep his voice calm and collected, but he can’t quite keep the strain out of his tone as he hobbles around in a pair of crutches.

They look at each other in silence for a moment. Draven’s careful gaze calculates the shape that he’s currently in while Cassian stops and does his best to catch his breath silently. After a pause, Draven’s eyes meet his again. “You’ve recovered well from your injuries, I see.”

“I have, sir,” he responds, trying (and failing) to figure out Draven’s motives for visiting him. “The nurses tell me that I’ll be fit for duty in about a month, give or take.”

Draven waves his hand as if to shoot down that suggestion. This surprises Cassian. “Focus on getting better first, Andor. I can’t have my best agent compromised because he didn’t follow the doctor’s orders.”

“Sir?” Cassian questions, tilting his head ever so slightly to the side. Is saying that simply a way to soften the blow that he knows Draven will follow-up with? “I thought -- well, after Scarif -- “

Draven cuts him off before he can finish his thought. “That’s one of the reasons I came to talk to you. Even though you went rogue, you still managed to get the Death Star plans. You played a big role in its destruction. Many of the Rebellion’s people are praising the Rogue One team as heroes, right up there with Skywalker and Solo.”

“I wasn’t the only one,” Cassian is quick to add when Draven takes a breath. It doesn’t seem as if Rogue One will be condemned for their actions, but it’s not right for him to take all of the credit. “There were others too. Good men and women died on that beach.”

“And they will be remembered as heroes,” Draven placates. “It is because of this that the Council has decided to pretend that the mission to Scarif was sanctioned. The retrieval of the Death Star plans was a win for the Rebellion.”

Cassian pauses. “And that means what exactly, sir?”

“Well, for one thing, we can’t exactly punish a hero, now can we?” Draven replies with a wry smile. Cassian can’t tell if he’s happy or not with this decision; Draven always did have the best damn spy face in the business. “Once you’re done with medical leave, you’ll resume active duty in Intelligence. However, if you go rogue again, there will be severe consequences.”

“Understood, sir.” Cassian says evenly. Despite the relief that he should be feeling, his stomach churns. So many people were killed on Scarif, and here he is, alive and unpunished. It leaves a sour taste in the back of his mouth. “Thank you, sir.”

Draven holds up a hand. “There is another matter that I wish to discuss with you, Captain. The medical team, out of consideration of your poor health, restricted information from you during your recovery. They believed that it might interfere with your recovery.”

Cassian waits for him to continue. He remembers how haunted Leia had looked a couple days ago when she had visited him; that same look is in Draven’s eyes now. His stomach clenches.

“Destroying the Death Star was not without casualties,” Draven says finally, with a heavy sigh. “It fired on Alderaan before we could. The planet is. . .” he seems lost for words for a second, shifting his gaze. “The planet is gone. I’m sorry, Cassian.”

For a moment, Draven’s words don’t register. And then it clicks.

Cassian can’t breathe. His crutches clatter to the ground and he sags against the wall, barely standing upright. The blood is pounding so loudly in his ears that he doesn’t know if he heard Draven right. “The whole planet? ”

“Yes.”

He swears in Festian, tearing his gaze away from Draven. He had known people on Alderaan and now they’re gone. They’re dead. They’re all dead.

Cassian tries to keep his mask up, he really does. There’s no place for showing emotions like this in Intelligence and he’s sure that Draven won’t stand for it.

But to Cassian's surprise, even seeing through Cassian's mask like he always does, the General places a comforting hand on Cassian’s shoulder. At this small, insignificant touch, he breaks down almost immediately.

Cassian can’t remember the last time he cried. But standing here in the medical bay with the closest person he’s had to a father for the past twenty years, he can't keep the tears at bay.

 When Krennic returns, his two guards hoist her up by her armpits, just high enough so her feet skim the ground. She lets them, and steels her jaw, ready for the beating she knows she’s about to receive. Instead, they lead her out the doorway.

“Where are we going?” Jyn demands, as if she’s in any position to be making demands right now.

Krennic hums. She doesn’t like the look on his face. “You’ll see.”

Instead of dwelling on his ominous statement, she takes the time observe her surroundings. The prison block that she’s in is fairly small, with only about twenty other cells in the area. There’s two doors at the end of the hall, but the device on the wall next to them tells her that she’s going to need to steal a keycard if she wants to get out of here.

Currently, her plan of action is to ambush the guards when they come to bring her meals. She has to lure them into her cell somehow, and then neutralize and take their armor. But with each passing day, especially considering her current physical state, her plan seems more and more unlikely.

But she’s not going to rot in this kriffing prison for Force only knows how many years. She’s going to escape or die trying.

They stop in front of another unmarked cell, although it’s much bigger than hers. She’s about to complain about her lack of space (her mother always told her that her mouth would get her in trouble) until she sees what’s inside.

There’s a boy, not much younger than her strapped to a chair in the middle of the room. She doesn’t recognize him, but she doesn’t expect to. He’s barely conscious, eyelids fluttering with the effort in staying awake. A guard stands behind the chair, clearly in the middle of an interrogation. But what makes her mouth go dry is the amount of blood pooled on the floor and splattered on the walls.

“Miss Erso,” Krennic says cordially, as if he’s introducing her to a friend and not someone who’s almost dead, “meet Private Cado Dravvad. Rebel Intelligence.”

“What’s going on?” Jyn hisses through her teeth, straining at the guard’s hold on her. “Why have you brought me here?”

Instead of answering her questions, Krennic walks over to the boy and pulls his head up roughly from where it’s lying on his chest. Cado groans in pain, and the sound makes Jyn flinch.

“I need answers,” Krennic says finally. “And you’re not giving them to me. It doesn’t look like you will either.”

“Like hell I’m not.”

Krennic inclines his head in agreement. “We picked up Private Dravvad here two days ago. So far, he hasn’t given us any information either. So,” Krennic motions to the guard hiding in the shadows of the cell to come forward, “if you don’t talk, then the private here is going to pay for that.”

Jyn clenches her jaw and tries to look away, but one of the guards jerks her face forward so she has to watch. She’s seen this kind of thing dozens of times under Saw’s care, but has never experienced it herself.

(the kid looks so small sitting on that chair. there’s still baby fat on his face, he can’t be older than twenty. and now he’s going to feel the weight of all of her crimes against the empire.)

“Miss Erso, can you tell me where the Rebellion’s headquarters are located?”

“Don’t -- “ Cado croaks, but the guard backhands him across the face. Cado’s head snaps to the side and blood trickles out of his nose.

“How old are you?” she asks instead, directing the question at Cado. She meets his gaze and tries to soften her eyes. It’s okay, she tries to convey. It’s going to be okay.

“I’m uh -- “ he pauses to spit blood out of his mouth. “I’m eighteen, miss.”

“You’re just a kid,” Jyn whispers, even though she had been much younger when she started. He must have been recently conscripted. “Krennic, he’s just a kid.”

She knows that Cassian conscripted at a young age. Now, she sees him in that chair instead of Cado, young and broken and bloody. Her stomach rolls and bile rises up in her throat. This isn’t right, this isn't right.

“He’s a rebel,” he replies, and then guard slices off one of Cado’s fingers.

“Private Cado Dravvad. Seven-four-five-six-six-four. Private Cado Dravvad. Fuck -- seven-f-four. . .seven-four-five. . .six-six-four. . .”

“Are you going to answer my first question or is the private here going to lose another finger?”

“Don’t do this,” she pleads, her mask of indifference shattering in the face of a young kid who’s being tortured in her place. “This isn’t his fight and you know it. Please.”

“Answer the question.”

"I don't know!" she cries out, trying to break free. "They didn't tell me anything about where they were going. I don't know where they are!"

Krennic taps his chin, as if he's considering her answer for the hundredth time she's told him. "Not good enough."

This time, the guard cuts off two of the boy’s fingers and the resulting scream is something she knows is going to be repeating in her head for days after.

“Seven-four-five. . .six-six-four.”

“Do try and cooperate, Miss Erso. Private Dravvad only has so many fingers.”

Jyn bites down on her tongue and coppery taste of blood fills her mouth. “Where are you from, Cado?”

“Coruscant,” he rasps back with a small smile, even in the face of torture. “Used t’ live in the. . .the slums though. . .”

“I lived there too, when I was very young,” she replies softly, trying to blink away tears. It’s useless -- they fall anyway. “I don’t remember much of it.”

“I’ll show. . .you around if -- Fuck!” The guard cuts off his remaining fingers on his left hand and Cado swears violently, tears streaming down his face too. Blood squirts out of the wounds, a steady drip adding to the pools below him.

“My patience is wearing thin, Jyn,” Krennic says evenly. The guard wipes the blood off of the vibroblade on the material of his pants and holds it to the boy’s throat. Jyn’s heart constricts. “Will you cooperate or not?”

Jyn knows what's coming next.

"I don't think it hurts much," she murmurs, trying to soothe. Cado's scared eyes dart to hers and she forces a smile. All of the fight leaving her body in a heavy breath. Her gazes takes in his appearance, trying to remember his face. "It'll be okay. I promise." 

“I know what -- what I signed up. . .for, miss,” he says softly.

“Enough!” Krennic yells, then snatches the blade out of the guard’s grip and cuts Cado’s throat himself.

Jyn collapses. If it weren’t for the guard’s strong grip, she would have fallen to the floor. She watches Cado’s life leave his eyes and watches the blood flow out of his neck. It’s getting his uniform dirty. Bloodstains are difficult to get out of clothing.

Krennic motions for the guards to take her out of the room. She notices the lack of blood staining his white uniform. It’s pristine and clean as always. “Reflect on this. His death is on your conscience now. I hope that you’ll be more cooperative in a couple of hours.”

“I hate you,” she snaps suddenly, all of her fire returning. Her jaw hardens and her eyes flash. “You’ll pay for this. I’ll make you pay.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Miss Erso,” he chides as his guards drag her back to her cell. They unceremoniously throw her in and she lands in a heap, but doesn’t bother to get on her feet.

When she hears the guards leave her, she curls up even tighter and sobs.

[egoiistas]

at the center of the world (4)

tag || ffn || ao3

Amestris becomes a harrowingly silent place on the afternoon of the Promised Day and only the survivors at the center are left to tread over it. Within a few hours, they won’t be the only ones wandering. The sacrifices are rising and leaving Central is more dangerous than the looming threat of invading armies.

Rated: M. it’s a horror/zombie au fic. - or it tries to be Warnings: General Horror themes , graphic descriptions of violence(kinda), Death, Zambeez

Chapter 4/11

Edward

“It didn’t work.”

Edward listened as the older man spoke with a grim timbre. It was low, and Ed was surprised he could even make out the words. The sun beginning to seep into the dark chamber with the end of the eclipse distracted him further.   A clunk of metal armor colliding with the concrete ground sounded behind him. He felt the world spin as the fight between Greedling and Pride intensified in the background. That Father asshole watched from on high, like a sick kid who watches ants squirm under a magnifying glass on a sunny day.

“What didn’t work?” He asked desperately as he ran to Alphonse, May came out of nowhere next to him. “Al?”  

“Alphonse!” May squeaked.   “The counter to his transmutation circle. I calculated it for so long and it didn’t work...” There was a pause and the tension could be felt in Ed’s chest.     “But I can use alchemy; they fixed it!”   “No, not that one.” He dropped on his knees next to the suit of armor. “The one for everyone’s soul, the reason I left you and Alphonse and Trisha... If I had known, I would have never stepped outside of Resembool.”

The din of battle grew between Father leaving through the hole, Greedling shouting and chasing after him, and the thunderous beat within his own chest. He watched Pride’s vessel disintegrate into dust.   “You’re-you’re joking, right? How is … everyone gone? Why isn’t Alphonse waking up?”   “What’s going on?” Ed heard the blind Colonel speak finally. He glanced over and Teacher’s clutch over his arm tightened without a word.

His head snapped back to Hohenheim when his father’s hand firmly gripped his shoulder.   “Edward, listen to me carefully -- if only this one time. You will need to take him to a hospital, closest one you can find. IV bags are important. Don’t transport him unless necessary. He won’t be able to eat for a while. He will need a lot of rest. Please leave the country as soon as he is able.”   “What are you going to do?” He panicked.

Hohenheim opened Al’s front armor plate and a powerful gust flung it across the room. It came from Greedling… Ling crashing into a corner of the chamber. Charred and not regenerating.

Hohenheim wasn’t bothered to look.

“We said we’d never use- Don’t toss me your notes, pops! Hey! If we can defeat the homunculus, we can get them back!”   “It’s too late.” He looked up to the light trickling in with tired eyes.”I won’t live through this again.”   Ed heard the crackling from the transmutation, and saw the red electricity flash before him. He yelled after him, “Don’t abandon us again, you lousy father!”

Edward cursed Hohenheim. Cursed alchemy. Cursed it all. His shit luck. The figurative shit hand he had been dealt.

He had brief moments where it felt like a dream; a haze that clouded his mind. He hadn’t slept all day, not that he was complaining. His bones were beginning to ache. He didn’t have to look in a mirror to see the bags under his eyes. He sat upright to settle restless legs.

If there was any silver lining to this -- and Ed tried so hard to hold on to it -- it was that they had regained his body back. But it caused inner conflict. In the few hours since, he made an effort to always be by Al, because left alone his mind would wander in the worst ways, and the thoughts that gathered would make his stumps ache. He had felt the cost was too high. He rationally knew it was Hohenheim who paid the toll, yet Ed felt that the gain of his younger brother’s body was not worth the price of losing all the people of Amestris. A swirl of self-loathing would always brew uncomfortably whenever he dwelled on this. Ungrateful, undeserving, even arrogant. The fact that his brain sputtered out of ideas only sunk his heart further and left a putrid taste in his mouth.

Fortunately, all dark clouds would dissipate upon seeing Alphonse. Even amongst the death and desolation, Ed had smiled when he saw the flesh body of his younger brother, and he felt the warmth as Alphonse murmured Brother without a metallic sound to his voice.

Alphonse slept and Ed watched. His cheeks sunken in, brittle hair cut short, and bony throughout.  Al had a severe look on his face as he slept; maybe it was just the hollows of his face creating the expression. He was so small. The outline under the blanket silhouetted a human with straight  lines and hard edges -- lacking curves of healthy muscle. He was here and resting.   May slumbered next to the hospital bed in a wide, cushioned chair; resting her head on its arms. As much as she annoyed him, May pulled through for him where Hohenheim's instructions fell short. He had her to thank for the healthy flush on Al’s bony cheeks.   The first few hours were rough. His body didn’t react well to anything, and Ed’s inexperience had shown through. Al had asked for water and like the idiot that he was, Ed had given it to him. He regurgitated it violently and the sight made Ed feel like he was going to break in half from heaving.   May had scolded him when she reentered the room and instructed him to clean up the sick as she brought in the IV stand and the bags full of saline. He watched as she took better care of his brother than he could.   Ed stood and looked out the window. The eerie presence of bodies was less on this avenue of Central. He immediately turned away, opening and closing the palm of his automail right hand. He supposed it wouldn’t be a bad thing to keep his automail if it meant Alphonse walked around. He sighed, tracing his fingers along the edges and frame of his automail. 

Winry. 

In every likely scenario, she was mostly likely swallowed in the nationwide transmutation circle. He knew it. It was logical. But every other part that didn’t adhere to logic wished, hoped, and in a desperate corner of his grieving mind, he nearly prayed for her safety, that maybe she did leave Amestris on his advice, but he wouldn’t know unless they went to Resembool. Given Al’s current condition, he couldn’t anticipate when that would be possible.   “How is he?”   Ed turned in response to the low voice. “Fine,” he whispered. “Just sleeping.”

Teacher leaned on the doorway; a small smile on her lips and arms wrapped around herself. He gestured for her to follow him outside the room. Ed could tell there was a change in her eyes. Somehow, she lost the trademark ferocity that burned behind them.   “Perhaps you should too, it’s been a long day.”   “Maybe when everyone else gets back.” He rolled shoulder. “Did the chimeras help you find Mr. Sig?”   “We did. He was at the bottom of the staircase before they pulled me in, next to the General Armstrong and her brother. We gave them a burial too.”

He could almost hear her heart breaking. He bit his cheek, looked down at his feet and told her sheepishly, “I’m sorry we failed him, Teacher.”   “Ed...” She pulled him into a hug before he could protest. He soon realized the hug was for her and not particularly for him. “We’ve all lost someone today.”   He stepped away. “That doesn’t make my sympathy any less meaningful.”   “Thank you, Ed.” He felt her hand shift towards her face, suppressing a sniffle before she let him go. “Any word from the others?”   From where he stood, the sky lit up in a spectacle of smoke and explosion. The flames had blended in so well with the sky that he almost missed it. His eyes widened and his feet took him to the nearest window. “That’s the Colonel’s alchemy.”   He felt her pace up beside him. “Are you certain?”   “Positive.” He stared as the smoke dispersed into the atmosphere. “I’ll go and check it out.” He slowly shut Alphonse’s door and began to sprint towards the double doors as they swung in front him, inches away of wiping his face clean. The door were forced open by Jerso writhing against something. “Get them- off me please- Zampano-! Augh! they got my ear!”   Ed, naturally confused, saw the other bodies come into view. Moving bodies in scrubs and lab coats. But their movements were off, feral and jerking; yet their limbs hung as if their hands were too heavy to lift. And the one on Jerso. A child. Clinging to his face, scratching and biting at his face   “Edward!”   Teacher’s voice brought him back and he bolted to help the chimera get the body off him. He saw Izumi run towards another body making its way towards Alphonse’s room and flung it towards the crowd of moving bodies in the other wing.   He reached for the child ripping the skin on Jerso’s face and before Ed could touch it, the child’s head turned and hissed at him, vaulting from the chimera’s face toward the ceiling.It clung to the surface and crawled like an insect with rapid movement back into the crowd in the other room. The horror of the sight briefly paralyzed him.  

Gorius clutches his shaking friend, “Jerso! Where’s Zampano?”

The chimera held his face in agony, blood quickly showing between his fingers. “Z-Zampano, he was overwhelmed.”  He heard Izumi hastily shut the door double doors and sealed them after a clap of her hands.   “Overwhelmed by what?”   “The-the-the corpses. They were lying down one minute and the next they were on top of us.”     Ed shook his head. It didn’t make any sense. “How is that possible?” It isn’t possible. There has to be some kind of explanation.   “We were near the lobby trying to clear the hallways, like you said, when one of the stirred. It happened in the opposite wing of where we are now, near the children’s treatment wing when one of them stood up. We thought that it was just a fluke, that maybe not everyone was dead. Then more and more started rising.” He saw Teacher bring a first aid kit and begin to dab cotton on his scratched face. “Before we knew it half the room was already on him. Ripping apart his insides, intestines and such on the floor beside him…” He tried to look down as Teacher instructed him to keep eyes forward to better treat him. “For him to survive the freaky circle and the god guy only to fall prey to his… “ He shook his head, palms rubbing his reddening eyes. “What kind of cruel joke is this to a man who lost his family already.”   Ed felt his fingers tremble. Swallowing hard, he wondered what that meant for the Colonel and the two that accompanied him. “The others are still out there in this.”   “Ed, you can’t go out in this alone.”   “We can’t just leave them there!” He shouted, realizing this was the first time he’s raised his voice at his teacher. In turn, she had been uncharacteristically quiet since the incident.   Another blast of fire. But it was closer this time. Ed darted to the window and he saw the trio taking down the undead citizens of the Amestris. He clapped his hands together, quickly creating a stairwell and impromptu doorway for them from the second floor, using the concrete and the other materials from the edifice of the building.   Scar and the Lieutenant adeptly changed their direction, pushing through toward the newly created steps.  Ed ran down with Izumi calling after him. It was reckless but if it ensured their safety, he’d risk it. He pushed the bodies aside with walls he created from the ground and yelled at them to get a move on.   Scar protected the rear as the Colonel and Lieutenant moved up to the second floor to safety . From a distance, another crowd moved towards him. “Scar, we have to go!”   Distracted by Ed’s shout, Scar was unable to avoid an impossibly bloated body slamming into him.  It exploded on impact, releasing a cloud of putrid green gas. The Ishavalan began to choke as additional bodies swarmed in .The smell, Ed noticed, attracted them.   Ed ran forward and grabbed Scar, attempting to drag him away from danger, a feat of strength beyond that of a 16 year old boy. As the horde closed in on them, Izumi landed at Scar’s side. A tattooed arm around each of them, they carried him up the stairs.   When they were all safely through the doorway, Edward clapped his hands, disintegrating  the stairs and sealing off the opening.  Bodies fell from the ascent and lay twitching on the ground as the rest of the mob began to rush the lower floor of the hospital.   “Seal the windows! And exits!” Edward exclaimed. Feeling the spin of the world stopping, he ran to Alphonse’s room, fear clawing a hole in his gut.   Bursting through the door he was met with May raggedly breathing and Alphonse clapping his hands, using alchemy to slam a cylinder of concrete into a body flinging it out of the window.   “What is going on, Brother?” Alphonse asked wearily. Al’s knees buckled and his eyes fluttered,  passing out before Ed had a chance to answer.

Ed darted forward before he hit the ground. “I don’t know Al, but I’m going to get us out of here”