#(which i was. i spent all weekend in bed and barely recovered enough to go to floorball training yesterday)

[komkommertijd]

i have a deadline in an hour and a half but i’m 99% sure i won’t finish my commentaire juridique until then. do i just tell my prof i understood “dimanche midi” instead of “dimanche minuit” if she complains i handed it in late? i’m a german student after all lmfao

[monstersandmaw]

Male vampire x male character - Part Three (nsfw)

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

This is going to be a four-parter, folks! And here's 3866 words of Part Three for you. Angst ahoy, but you know me, ok, so trust me. Here we meet Alec's little brother, and you'll find out why Sebastien was so jumpy and weird about the Twayblade name.

Part One, Part Two

Alec’s ‘one night stand’ with Sebastien turned into a whole month of of ‘one-night-stands’, and culminated in Sebastien asking him to dinner the following weekend - a pattern which repeated itself every weekend after that.

Sure, the sex was probably the most incredible sex that Alec had ever experienced in his entire life, but what he came to enjoy even more was the time they spent over meals and cups of tea in the intervening time, talking about everything from history to politics to video games and books and everything else besides. Sebastien talked about literature a lot, and Alec sketched him and illustrated his conversations while he spoke.

“You could really make something of yourself with talent like that,” Sebastien had murmured once as Alec had doodled a quick rendition of the Victory of Samothrace on the back of a coffee shop receipt one afternoon in the park.

“Meh,” he shrugged without looking up. “I’d like to, but I’ve got a steady job now, you know? I’m not going to throw it all away just because some gallery might take my work and I might make something of a name for myself, you know?”

Sebastien sighed. “Talent is such an overused word, and great art is rarely based on raw talent alone, but with your dedication over the years, you’ve really honed what natural abilities you have into something exceptional, Alec. I think you should make a go of it at least.”

Alec had flushed, and Sebastien had been distracted by the rising colour his cheeks long enough to abandon that train of thought in favour of kissing him silly on a park bench, and Alec hadn’t much minded.

At an Iranian restaurant near Alec’s place one Friday, four weeks after Halloween, Sebastien leaned on his elbow and popped a fragrant and decadent zoolbia into his mouth, and Alec watched, oddly fixated by the way his fingers held the little fried treat. His eyes, dark and warm and inviting, blinked slowly and he offered Alec a slow-dawning smile that stole his breath.

“We should go to the museum again,” Alec he blurted, thinking back three days when they’d spent their lunchtime meandering around the Italian Renaissance gallery together.

“Mmm?” he asked, licking his fingers in a way that made Alec’s jeans tighten and his throat close.

“Yeah,” he croaked. “I mean, I know you’re not sick of me waxing endlessly about quattrocento art just yet…” he said, sipping his delicious cup of tea and trying not to choke on it as Sebastien’s ankle skimmed up his leg beneath the table.

“No,” Sebastien admitted. “You’re right. I’m not.”

With the bill paid by Sebastien this time, after Alec had bought them lunch the previous day, the two of them left the cosy warmth of the restaurant and stepped out into a bitter November night. “Oh fuck it’s cold,” Alec swore immediately, drawing up the collar of his coat.

“You want to head home?” Sebastien asked, a hand on the small of his back.

Unconsciously, Alec leaned into it and smiled up at him. They’d not yet been to Alec’s apartment, and he found himself more and more reluctant to let Sebastien in now that he’d seen the stunning penthouse that he called home. “If you’re sure? I think your wardrobe has more square footage than my entire place though…”

“Alec,” he purred, taking Alec’s hand in his and squeezing his fingers. “I —”

“—You’re freezing,” he commented, interrupting whatever Sebastien had been about to say.

“I don't tend to run hot,” he conceded, “But neither do I feel the cold much. I’d like to see your home, and you have nothing to be embarrassed about.”

He leaned in close and kissed the junction of Alec’s jaw and neck for a moment, his lips lingering, tongue just lapping at his skin and sending shivers down Alec’s whole body, shorting out his brain for a heartbeat or six. Sebastien raked his teeth over Alec’s pounding pulse point and he went still, frozen in a paroxysm of pleasure and, oddly, a strange thrill of fear he couldn’t quite place. Instead of pulling away when he recovered himself, however, he tilted his head further to one side, offering himself to Sebastien’s mouth, and the other man moaned decadently, deepening his attentions.

Sebastien’s hands found Alec’s belt and he tugged him sharply closer so that their hips met. Alec tried not to grind himself against Sebastien — they were still on a public street for goodness’ sake — but desire was washing through him in pulsing waves and it was becoming harder and harder to think rationally. That wasn’t the only thing that was becoming hard either, and he let out a harsh grunt before forcing himself to step back with a sheepish grin.

When he looked up at Sebastien, he found that the slightly taller man had frozen and was breathing hard, eyes closed, lips pursed together as though restraining himself from something.

“You ok?”

“Fine,” Sebastien hissed, still not opening his eyes.

Alec frowned. Sebastien looked like he was in pain of all things. “You sure? You look —”

“I’m fine!” he snapped through a clenched jaw. “Let’s go. You’re right. It is cold.”

The short walk to Alec’s apartment passed in tense silence, with Sebastien keeping his eyes locked downwards on the pavement, though he did deign to hold Alec’s hand. He couldn’t help wondering if perhaps he’d pushed things too far in public, given how proper Sebastien tended to be, but then again, Sebastien was the one who had deepened the gesture by practically mauling at his neck for three minutes straight back then.

Alec’s apartment building wasn’t fancy at all, and it certainly didn’t have a doorman, and once they’d stumbled in through the hallway with the busted light fitting in the ceiling, Alec smashed the elevator call button only to find it dull and non-responsive. “Damn,” he cursed. “Out of order again. Stairs?”

“If needs be,” Sebastien said with a gracious smile.

“This would never happen over at Buckingham Palace,” he quipped back, and Sebastien cracked a smile at Alec’s silly nickname for his apartment block.

“Exercise will shake all that dinner down,” he conceded.

Alec twitched his eyebrows in agreement and held the door open to the stairwell for him. As he passed by in the confined space, Sebastien stopped and leaned in, taking Alec’s jaw in his cool hands and kissing him gently, reverently, on the lips.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed. “I was rude back then.”

Alec shrugged, feeling awkward at the sheer, heartfelt tenderness in the gesture.

“I got carried away. It won’t happen again.”

“I like it when you’re rougher with me,” he smirked. “You should know that after a month of fucking me senseless.”

As if Alec’s words had hit him like a sledgehammer to the nuts, Sebastien rolled his eyes and grimaced, but he did laugh. “You do seem to like a firm hand, granted,” he said. “Let’s get upstairs shall we? Before I take you right here, and I’m not sure how sanitary this situation is…”

Alec needed no more encouragement, and he didn’t even get to give Sebastien the fleeting, one-minute tour of his tiny flat before the man was on him, kissing him blind and backing him into a wall hard enough to knock the wind from him. Sebastien came alive in moments like that, when he could kiss him and lavish attention on Alec, and the latter was not about to stop him.

It wasn’t long before Sebastien’s wandering lips found Alec’s neck again, and as Alec gasped, fists balled into Sebastien’s shirt collar, he felt the sharp prick of teeth quickly followed by the generous suck of a love bite in the making. His knees went weak and he nearly staggered as a huge rush of endorphins swam through his mind, leaving him limp and wobbly all over. Well, almost everywhere.

“I want you,” he gasped, and Sebastien lost no time in locating the tiny bedroom and tossing him onto the bed, stripping them both with startlingly attractive efficiency. Alec barely managed to yank a bottle of lube and a box of condoms from his top drawer before Sebastien was spreading his legs and laving his tongue up over the curve of his balls.

“Oh fuck me,” Alec exclaimed as Sebastien’s slick finger slid into him and he hissed at the intrusion. A moment later, he was lying with his head flung back into the pillows while Sebastien slid a second inside him and began to do just that with his fingers until Alec was finally ready — and more than desperate — for Sebastien’s cock.

Sebastien had a beautiful body, all lean, corded muscle and slender lines, and as he got more and more aroused, his deep olive skin seemed to glow almost supernaturally. He was perfection incarnate. Bernini couldn’t have carved him, even if he’d been given a lifetime to try. Alec was no Bernini but he’d still love to sculpt him.

Sebastien chuckled sweetly and crooked his finger, sending a jolt of searing pleasure through Alec so hard his vision whited out for a moment and his back arched. “I’m flattered,” Sebastien murmured, placing open-mouthed, messy kisses down Alec’s leg as he spontaneously bent that knee up.

“Shit, I said that out loud…” he laughed, still vague and giddy with the sensations sparking under his skin.

“Mmm,” he smiled, lowering his face to Alec’s inner thigh and kissing fervently all up his leg to the crease of his thigh and hips before smoothing his leg back down onto the bed. His breath fanned out across Alec’s sensitive skin and he quivered and bucked, causing Sebastien’s curled finger to brush his prostate again and he yelled.

“Please…”

Moments later, Sebastien entered him at last and stilled, allowing him to adjust to the new intrusion.

When he fucked him like this, Sebastien seemed to take on a new energy, becoming something almost more primal, and Alec lived for it. The expression on his face as he closed his eyes and simply enjoyed the heat of Alec’s body closing around him, taking him, drawing him in, was something he would never get used to, no matter how many times it happened. He was certain of it.

“You’re so tight,” Sebastien grunted, easily shifting Alec’s hips up a degree or two and adjusting his own angle so that he could thrust into his prostrate with every stroke.

Alec’s words failed him as immense pleasure ripped through him, building and building. “You’re gonna make me come if you keep that up,” he barely managed to grunt as Sebastien somehow picked up the pace and began to pound into him with renewed vigour. The man seemed utterly devoted to Alec’s pleasure, as if it was the only thing driving him.

With an utterly inhuman snarl, Sebastien opened his mouth and whispered, “Come for me.”

The sheer weight of command in his voice tore through Alec and he came instantly, untouched, painting his torso with ropes of his release and wrenching Sebastien’s own orgasm from him by sheer force a second after.

Sebastien curled forwards with a hiss, hips spasming as he released, and his lips found Alec’s neck again, and then his collarbone. In the daze of his own peak, Alec thought he saw a flash of red in Sebastien’s eyes again, but he was out of sight too quickly for him to believe what he’d seen. Instead, he found Sebastien kissing his hammering pulse while he finished. Finally going still, Sebastien slumped atop him, breathing hard, his white-blond hair spilling everywhere and tickling Alec’s stubble. He was too tired to care though.

When he woke, hours later, he realised groggily that it must be the middle of the night. Sebastien was curled up beside him, obviously having found the tiny bathroom to clean up, and he was now spread out beside him on his small, lumpy mattress as if this were a palace and he a prince, not some tiny, shitty apartment in the rough bit of town.

Something about the way Sebastien slept still freaked Alec the fuck out. He didn’t seem to be breathing, and when he had laid his palm on Sebastien’s chest on their first night together, the man had gasped and jolted awake like the living dead, sucking in air like he’d been underwater for hours. This time, he refrained from touching him, and instead stared at his inhuman beauty. There wasn’t a mark or scar or freckle on him, and his darkly tanned body spread out over the white sheets like a bronze sculpture arranged in a gallery for the adoration of thousands. And yet he chose Alec to be his only supplicant. Something lurched in his chest and he smiled bashfully, blushing, although there was no one to witness it.

Awake, Sebastien looked maybe thirty, thirty five years old, but asleep, he looked far younger; closer to eighteen or nineteen perhaps, with an innocence around his white-lashed eyes and the natural downward curl of his beautiful lips.

Unable to resist touching him completely, Alec kissed him and rolled over, drawing the duvet up around his ears and sinking back into a deep, dreamless sleep. His whole body felt heavy and satiated in a way he’d never experienced before with anyone. Something clenched in his heart; this felt right somehow.

But nothing is fated to last forever, is it?

Alec stirred groggily, unwillingly, the next morning, becoming aware of a rapid-fire knocking on the apartment door. Grunting, he kicked back the covers and fished for a pair of boxers and a shirt from the floor beside the bed. Sebastien slept on, apparently not having moved at all since the previous evening. Did he have sleep apnoea or something? It was something he’d have to bring up after he’d sorted whatever this was. It wasn’t natural for a man to sleep like that.

Like the dead.

“Alright, alright, I’m coming,” he grumbled, stumbling across the apartment and peering though the peephole in the door. Twitching back in surprise, he opened it. “Theo?”

His little brother’s bright, sunny grin beamed back at him. “Hey bro,” he chuckled jovially, stepping in as if he owned the place and shooting him a cheeky look back over his shoulder. “Brunch?”

“Brunch?” Alec frowned. “Since when do you do ‘brunch’? And since when is it brunchtime anyway?” He glanced at the clock in the kitchen and his eyebrows rose. It was well past eleven o’clock.

“Late night, I see,” Theo snickered, eyeing Sebastien’s shirt which was still on the floor outside the bedroom door, currently ajar from Alec’s hasty exit.

“Shut up.”

Theo’s grin doubled and his blue eyes glittered. Like Alec, he had the unusual combination of dark hair and blue eyes, and like Alec he could be described as ‘roguish’ at times. Now though, it bordered on downright Puckish. Looking not his actual twenty-one years but somewhere closer to sixteen, Theo shook his head.

“Brother mine, when will you —” he snorted but then stopped and his expression fell, shattering from playful to horrified in a heartbeat before he rapidly attempted to cover it by turning towards the bedroom. “Is he still here?” he whispered.

“Yeah, so keep the jokes to a minimum, would you?” Alec snarled. “What did you want anyway?”

But Theo had changed completely. Gone was the ebullient Labrador puppy and instead a tense, alert, wary young man stood before him.

“What the fuck’s wrong?” Alec hissed, heartbeat ticking faster like an over-wound clock.

And Theo spun and then froze as the door to the bedroom opened and Sebastien appeared on the threshold.

Theo’s lip curled into an ugly snarl and Sebastien regraded him steadily, apparently unfazed by the unexpected hostility.

“The younger Twayblade, I assume,” he said with such ice in his usually warm tone that it shook Alec into stunned silence. “Well, this is unexpected.”

“You’re shitting me,” Theo whispered, horror thickening his tone.

Alec blinked and looked from Sebastien to his little brother and back again. Never in all his years of dating men had he felt so uneasy around a family member. “What’s going on…?” he finally croaked.

“That’s what — who — you’re sleeping with?” Theo practically spat out.

Cold, defensive vitriol bubbled up inside him and he might actually have lunged for his brother had Sebastien not crossed the room in three rapid strides and laid a gentle hand on his forearm. “I take my leave,” he said quickly.

“Not so fast, fang-face,” Theo sneered and Sebastien froze. “Get away from my brother.”

“Or what?” Sebastien said in the quietest and steadiest of voices.

“What the fuck is going on!” Alec blurted into the tense silence that followed Sebastien’s taunt.

The other two blinked, and Sebastien sighed. He met Alec’s eye as he asked, “You really didn’t know at all, did you?”

“Know what?” Alec snapped, rage rolling through him. “Do you two know each other or something? What am I missing here?”

“I think this is a family matter that you need to work out between you,” Sebastien said, voice still tinged with frost. “Alec, you know where to reach me if you decide to continue what we’ve shared this past month.” And with that, he turned and walked from the apartment.

“Wait, stop!” Alec yelled after him, but he was gone down the stairwell and Theo was at his side, tugging him back into the apartment. “Fucking explain yourself!” he snapped, rounding on his brother.

“You’d… better sit down.”

“No. Tell me what’s going on. Right now.”

Theo stared him down, meeting blazing sapphire stare with blazing sapphire stare. “Sit. Down.”

The tone of his voice shocked Alec into doing exactly that, and he sank numbly down onto the saggy old couch in the living room without a word.

What followed next was like something from a movie.

“The Twayblades are an ancient family of monster hunters,” Theo said gently. “Father’s not in the military. Well, he is, but it’s not a normal unit or anything. That’s just a cover.”

“And mother?” he asked mechanically, the information-dump that Theo had just heaped upon him not sinking in, but floating like scum on the surface of his churning mind.

“She’s one too. And Ellie.”

“Ellie hunts… monsters?” he asked. “Like… what… the Boogeyman? Bigfoot?” Incredulity made his tone flippant, but something in the calm sincerity of his brother’s eyes told him it was true, no matter how stupid it sounded.

“Dracula…?” Theo added darkly.

“Dracula.” And then the penny dropped. “Wait. ‘Fang-face’. You’re saying you think my boyfriend is a vampire?”

Theo levelled him with a look from where he was leaning against the windowsill, arms folded over his chest in a manner eerily reminiscent of his big brother.

Now as Alec regarded him, he saw the harsh young man that this little kid had become. The puppy fat had melted into a steel jaw and a hard gaze, and his body seemed coiled for action at any moment. He had the body of a soldier, Alec realised with plunging horror. He knew Theo worked out — he was apparently a personal trainer and nutritional coach for celebrities in London, but even that seemed to have been a lie after what he’d just learned. Apparently the Twayblades actually hunted monsters — he and their parents and their older sister Ellie. Alec and Angie had been left out because they were apparently not ‘hunter material’ whatever that meant. Maybe it meant he was a monster fucker instead. He almost laughed.

“Theo, come on… I can’t believe any of this,” Alec said, leaning back into the sofa and pressing the heels of his palms to his aching eyeballs. All he’d wanted to do this morning was to wake up and maybe have Sebastien fuck him into the mattress a few times before breakfast until he was wrung out and softly buzzing like they had every weekend for the last month.

Now he was having some bizarre fairytale forced at him and he was supposed to believe it like it was some kind of sick joke. But he did believe it, and that was what scared him most of all. It wasn’t a joke. Theo showed him videos his father and he had captured on some of their ‘hunts’, exterminating a poltergeist here and eradicating a revenant there, and in the end Theo phoned their father on speaker, opening without preamble, “Dad, Alec’s dating a vampire.”

“Do you have proof?” was their father’s instant, chilling response. No ‘I'm sorry, what did you say, son?’ or ‘What’s all this nonsense?’. No. He went straight to the heart of it. With a stake.

“Just walked past the sucker leaving the flat.”

“Ancient?”

“No, thank goodness. Maybe just a century at most?”

“Can you eliminate him without alerting Alec?” their father asked, at which point Alec’s heart cracked.

He leapt to his feet and blurted, “Fucking what?”

After a heartbeat of silence, their father sighed. “Unfortunate. I had hoped to keep you and Angela out of this.”

“You’re telling me it’s all real?”  he asked, goggling at Theo who held the phone out on speaker between them like it was a live grenade. “You’re all insane!”

“Tell me something, son,” his father said flatly. “Have his eyes ever flared red during a moment of passion? Does he seem to fixate on your neck? Do you find yourself willing to do as he wishes without question?”

Theo interjected quickly, “He’s not compelled. His eyes are clear.”

“Well, that’s something at least,” their father scoffed. “Theo, you know what you have to do. Kill it.”

“‘It’?” Alec shot, eyes bulging, and Theo did have the grace to cringe. “Kill it? You’re going to kill him? He’s a lecturer at the university, Theo. You can’t just fucking kill him?!”

“He might be under the guild rules…” Theo said. “He might be a blood bank user, not a live-feeder… I’ll look into it first.”

Alec’s knees turned to water but he kept himself upright through sheer force of will.

“Fine. But don’t hesitate. And don’t make concessions just because Alec might be compromised.”

Theo nodded and hung up without farewell. “Look, Alec,” he grimaced. “I’m… I’m sorry, ok? I didn’t come here to —”

“— to kill my boyfriend?” he growled, taking a step towards his little brother. To his credit, Theo did actually take half a step back in the face of Alec’s confused, hurt, betrayed ire, holding his hand palm-up.

“No. I came here to see if you wanted to grab lunch, but —”

“—Get out.”

“What?”

“Get out!” he roared, jabbing his index finger at the door and pulling out his phone.

Theo surprised him by nodding and leaving, shutting the door behind him with a click and leaving Alec standing in the centre of the living room, chest heaving, phone in hand, ears ringing.

As his brother’s footsteps disappeared down the stairwell, he unlocked his phone and dialled Sebastien’s number.

Three rings in, Sebastien answered.

“It it true?” Alec asked without preamble.

After a long inhale, Sebastien answered. “…Yes.”

__

Sorry for the cliffie!! More soon, but it’ll hit Patreon first, then Tumblr. Don’t let me forget, either!

Part Four

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I really hope you folks enjoyed this one! Don’t forget to let me  know if you did enjoy it by leaving a like and/or reblogging it!

__

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[narniagiftexchange]

                                i’ll find you in the next one.

                              THE AUTUMN NARNIAN GIFT EXCHANGE.

                for: @ihaveknownone  from  @luxaofhesperides.

When Peter is six, he asks his parents where his siblings are. They laugh at him and say that he’s an only child and they weren’t going to have another kid. That wasn’t an answer he wanted to hear, but even at six Peter knew better than to keep pushing. So he kept quiet and didn’t mention it again.

And his home remained quiet without the presence of the siblings he knew he had.

So he grows up, always lonely and always quiet, looking out of other kids because he never stopped being an older brother. And no matter how hard he looks, there is no Susan, or Edmund, or Lucy. Just him, and his memories.

There are times when Peter doubt himself, wonders if it’s just a dream or delusions left over from childhood, but he knows the laughter of Susan, and the teasing words of Edmund, and the strong hands of Lucy. He knows them. He knows his siblings better than anyone, even when they don’t exist.

(If he’s alone in this world… Peter forces the thought away and tries to forget his dreams when he wakes.)

He grows bigger, and quieter, looking through crowds for familiar faces he’s only half-sure are real.

And when he gets to college, Peter gives up.

‘I guess I’m alone in this life,’ he thinks as he makes his way through campus, holding that familiar ache in his chest. He scrolls through Twitter as he walks just to avoid people; he hasn’t lost the habit of involving himself in things that help people, and now there’s always a friendly face around ready to talk to him. It wouldn’t be so bad if he was able to fully commit to a friendship, but there’s always a part of him that’s looking away, searching for other people he knows should be by his side.

“Hey, Peter!” someone calls, and he forces down a wince as he looks up. Adam waves at him and jogs over, grinning as he holds up his phone. “Check this out!”

“What is it?” Peter asks, looking down at the screen to a video about… archery?

“There’s this girl who’s coming to this university next year on a scholarship because her marksmanship is insane. You gotta see what she can do.”

But Peter’s already watching, breath caught in his throat as he watches Susan nock an arrow and send it piercing straight through a target too small to see clearly through the camera. She looks exactly as he remembers, back in Narnia, participating in a tournament and holding the title of champion for years until they returned to England.

She’s here. And if Susan’s here then…

“Can you send that video to me?” he asks. His voice sounds as though it’s coming from far away. His heart beats hummingbird fast. He almost doesn’t want to believe it, because if he’s wrong then it will hurt so much more this time.

“Yeah, no problem. Didn’t know you were into archery,” Adam says as he pulls his phone away. Peter almost reaches out to grab his wrist, to bring back the image of Susan, but Adam pockets his phone and carries on as though he didn’t just alter Peter’s life. “You should probably go, doesn’t your class start soon?”

“It does.”

“Alright, I’ll see you at the meeting tomorrow!” Adam leaves, and Peter watches him go.

He isn’t… He doesn’t feel real at the moment. The entire world’s gone soft and faded, like the colors are slowly being washed away. Everything feels quiet and distant and Peter can’t focus on anything other than the fact that he’s not alone.

He skips class for the first time that year. He doesn’t even remember leaving campus.

-

In the age of social media, it’s easy to find Susan. But he wasn’t even sure if that was her name this time around, or if she’d remember anything, if she looked for them too. He doesn’t know anything.

But her Instagram is dedicated to archery and in every tagged photo she’s smiling, which is. Something. It’s a good something.

Looks like she didn’t need an older brother after all.

(Peter thinks about bombs and wardrobes and going years without parents. Thinks about being five and walking a crying four year old Susan home because she fell and scraped her knee. Thinks about his mother in another life, brushing back his hair and telling him in a soft voice that he’s the oldest so he needs to look out for his siblings. Thinks about holding a sword and being terrified that he’s going to outlive all of them. He thinks about a lot of things that don’t matter anymore. They happened in another life, after all.)

He closes the app and collapses onto his bed.

The house is quiet.

- 

Peter tries to focus on other things: school, clubs, deciding whether or not to apply for a part-time job, and most definitely doesn’t think about the siblings he doesn’t have.

His mind, apparently, has other plans. He dreams constantly, of wolves and lions and snow, dreams of a world that no longer exists to him, dreams of a train and a light. After a lifetime (or two?) of ignoring it, suddenly it’s all that he can think about.

Everything’s getting mixed up in his head; Peter hears the church bells ring in the distance and thinks of the small church down the street from the house he lived in while he was in America— except he’s never been to America and the church next to campus is large and old and looks nothing like the one in his memories. He finds himself at the grocery store wondering if he should buy apples to make the apple tart Lucy loved so much, but he’s never been much of a baker and the recipe escapes him.

Even his friends comment on how dazed he is, constantly lost in thought as he walks, forgetting what he’s doing in the middle of doing it, barely able to focus on anything that’s being said. They laugh it off, and Peter laughs with them, but he wonders what he could possibly say if they start asking questions.

It’s hard, now that he knows he’s not alone. But that might be worse; at least when he only had the memory of his siblings, it was easier to live without them. Knowing they’re out there and they don’t know him— that’s what breaks his heart.

-

“Excuse me,” says a familiar voice, and Peter looks up, tears already welling in his eyes. “Is this seat open?”

It takes him a moment to process her words, then he clears his throat and says, “Go ahead.”

Susan smiles at him and takes a seat.

-

They argue over who pays the bill, because they both refuse to split it, and it’s so familiar that Susan almost cries. Peter does cry, and she laughs at him because she understands exactly what he’s feeling. Everything in her feels light; she’s gone so long without anyone, having buried her family in two lives, and here is her older brother who

knows

her, who recognized her before he even saw her, and is so happy he cries.

Susan hadn’t been prepared for this. This small hole-in-the-wall cafe just a couple streets down from the main campus of the university she was touring, the university she’s absolutely going to, between the scholarship and Peter. She walked in, welcoming the warmth after walking around for an hour in the cold wind, and immediately ordered something warm to drink.

The cafe was quiet, only a few people seated here and there, when her eyes caught sight of a familiar face: Peter, typing something on a laptop with an open notebook besides it.

She had spent her whole life wishing she had her siblings back. She wondered, for the longest time, if this was a punishment, to be reborn alone while knowing what it was like to have a loving family. She had been born to an older couple who passed away from illnesses a few years back, and the aunt she lived with now was often out for work.

Susan was far too familiar with loneliness these days.

And then, suddenly, there was Peter and the last time she ever saw him, he was waving goodbye from a train that would take everyone away from her.

(Susan often wondered if they’d ever want to see her again. After everything she did to distance herself from them, all the callous things she said that hurt them when she was pretending to be okay. Wonders if they’d want her back in their lives if they ever met again.)

But he smiled at her, tearing up, and they spent two hours just catching up.

They both skirted around the same topics, careful with their words, but everything that went unsaid was enough for Susan to know that Peter remembered her, them, everything that happened in another life.

He ends up paying, but only because he shoved her away from the cashier and handed them his card before Susan could recover. And he told her that she’d have to pay next time, and wasn’t that something?

There would be a next time.

“Here,” Peter says as they step out of the cafe, holding out his phone to her, “So we don’t lose each other.”

She puts in her number and shoots herself a text to have his number, and hands back his phone. She has to go, she knows, but she doesn’t want to. They’d just found each other again, but now that they had no ties besides memory, their lives were pulling them apart.

“I’m going to be coming here next year. I’m planning on getting an apartment off-campus. I was going to look around for a roommate later, but if you want…”

Peter beams at her and says, “Yeah, of course I’d room with you. It’d be nice to live in the same house again.”

“I guess I’ll see you later.” Susan hesitates, looking down the road where she should go, if she wants to catch the bus that will take her home. She stays.

Peter pulls her into a hug. “You will. I’m free this weekend if you want to hang out.”

Neither of them move for a long time.

It’s only when they really have to that they say goodbye.

-

Peter’s house is quiet. It’s nice, has plenty of space, and is farther way from campus and downtown, so the streets are quiet and mostly empty. It barely looks lived in.

She had hoped he hadn’t been as lonely as she has, this in this life.

“My parents have been traveling a lot,” Peter says when she asks about his family, “Since I can take care of myself. They’ve been sending money every month so I can buy groceries, and they call every night, but we’re not all that close.”

“Oh.”

“It’s alright though! They’re good parents. It’s just that since I can remember another family…”

They don’t say anything else about their parents.

Now that they’re not in public, it’s easier to speak about themselves. How different everything is, compared to their first life, and they talk about Narnia out loud for the first time in this life. It’s a relief to know that it wasn’t her imagination, or lingering daydreams from childhood.

It was all real. All of it.

And it means she’s not alone at all.

 -

“Have you seen anything about Lucy or Edmund?” Peter asks the next weekend and Susan shakes her head.

“I didn’t think any of you would be here, but somehow we still found each other. I haven’t looked at all since I thought I was alone.”

“I’ve looked but I haven’t gotten anywhere. A friend found you, actually, from one of the videos of your shooting. It was a complete accident.”

He knew she was around because of a video one of her friends took while she practiced, and Susan just happened to go to the same cafe Peter was in. What were the odds?

Peter grabs her arm and tugs her along into a small park just outside the main library. It’s hidden off to the side, between the library and the physics building. Susan has found that Peter is a far better tour guide than the one who showed her around campus that fateful day. He’s lead her down shortcuts and into hidden little areas where people seeking quiet and solitude go.

It reminds her of being seven and following around a young Peter down the streets, hand in hand as they looked with wide eyes all the buildings and people they’ve never taken the time to see before.

It took almost two decades, but she’s here now, with Peter.

She’s here now. She’s here.

-

Susan stays an extra hour after practice is over, waxing the string and replacing the nock. It’s familiar, comforting work, something she’s done for years, here and in Narnia. By now it’s muscle memory, and she lets her mind wander, remembering wars and tournaments and competitions, remembers people praising her right up until she scares them away with how intense she can be, remembers splitting an apple a field away.

She looks over her bow with careful fingers and sharp eyes, then stands. One target is still set up, and Susan eyes it, breathes out, then nocks an arrow and draws it back in a quick, fluid motion.

It hits the center.

Behind her, the door to the gym opens with a loud screech, and Susan whips around to face the person coming in, one hand grabbing another arrow.

“Sorry for bothering you!” a student, probably a Year 7, says, wringing her hands. “They asked me to get some mats from here.”

Susan lowers her bow and thinks. “Mats? Who’s asking for them? Shouldn’t most clubs be done by now?”

“Ah, some people from the fencing team are still here. Preparing for a competition or something. I didn’t have anything better to do so I stayed behind to watch and decided to help out.”

“Alright,” Susan says, “Let me put my things away and I’ll help you carry them.”

They don’t talk much at all, besides making sure they can both handle the weight, and Susan follows the girl’s lead outside to the field. Sure enough, people in fencing gear and milling around, going through different strikes and stances. Some of them break off from the group to grab the mats from them, giving their thanks as they set up for an impromptu match.

Susan turns to leave, ready to call it a day, when she catches sight of someone taking off their helmet and stops, heart hammering in her chest as Edmund gives her a small wave and takes his place on the mat.

-

Although fencing is a more delicate way of fighting than he’s used to, Edmund still takes to it easily and becomes the best on his team. He wishes for his sword often, wanting to go back to a more familiar way of fighting, but there’s no need for such skills anymore.

So he settles for the next best thing and fights his way to the top.

The warrior in him never died, after all. It just laid in wait until he was ready to be who he once was.

Sometimes he wonders what it would be like to live without these memories; would he still be the same person? Or would he become a different Edmund, one who never knew any siblings and went through life uncaring of what happened to him? Perhaps he’d be as he was once, years ago, having just left his mother to be safe from bombings and bitter about everything. Or maybe he’d be just like any other boy of this century, laughing and playing video games and wondering what career he’d have in the future.

None of that matters, though, because Edmund does remember. He knows love and heartbreak and grief and joy. He’s lived three lifetimes, all of them impossible, and he carries every memory, every feeling, and holds it close.

And he looks for the people he loves, because he’s never been one to leave others behind.

- 

He wins almost every fencing match, because of course he does. This goes on for years, and though it’s fun and he cherishes the friends he’s made on the team, he wishes he could meet someone who would actually give him a challenge.

Peter would. But he can’t find Peter. Not yet, in any case. There’s very little he can do, being so young (again), and having overprotective mothers. So he plans, looks online, and tries to see what he can do to send out a sign that says “Here! I’m here and I miss you!”

There’s not a day that goes by when he doesn’t miss them. Peter and Susan and Lucy who are probably, hopefully, out there, looking for each other too.

He wants them back.

So Edmund trains and studies and looks around. He tries to see if anyone talks about lions or wardrobes or childhood games in a magical land, but everyone around him is normal. Edmund, who was once both a king and a boy in a world new to him, carries all these memories alone.

He wins another match. It doesn’t feel like much a victory.

(Nightmares of war and battle, of a witch, of gasping for breath, blood on his lips, blood on his hands, feeling everything hurt then fade away. He wishes he knew how to stop fighting.)

He wins match after match.

And then, while practicing alone, he hears someone shout and looks up to see another fencer swinging down their foil with more strength than is allowed in matches. They don’t move like a fencer; they’re aggressive and fluid, slashing and spinning as they force him back.

Edmund feels the wild grin grow on his face as he steps back and becomes the Just King once more, and rises up to meet his opponent.

It feels almost like a dance, alive in a way most of his fights aren’t. There’s energy between them, following a routine no one else knows, twisting their wrists and barely dodging out of the way of another strike. It’s exhilarating. It’s Narnian.

Edmund wins this one, too, but it’s a close thing. This isn’t fencing; contact doesn’t stop the fight. But a thin blade pressed against his opponent’s throat does. His heart is pounding in his chest when he tears off his face guard to wipe off the sweat on his brow.

“And who did I have the pleasure of fighting?” he asks, breathing hard even as he grins.

They stand up slowly, and hesitate for a moment before taking off their face guard. “It seems I still have ways to go before I can best you at swordplay,” Caspian says with a lovely smile, one he’s spent a lifetime dreaming of.

The shock sends him to his knees, but when he reaches for him, Caspian reaches back.

-

“I found Susan,” Edmund says the moment Caspian answers the call.

“What?”

“Susan. You know, my older sister. I found her when I was visiting a friend at another school. She’s still doing archery, by the way. Got a scholarship for it at Peter’s university.”

“Wait, you found Peter too?”

“No, I found Susan. But Susan found Peter and she said she’ll send his contact info over tonight.”

Caspian is silent for a minute, processing what he’s just heard. Then he sighs, and says, “I can’t let you go anywhere alone.”

Edmund laughs, feeling lighter than he has in years, and replies, “That’s why you found me first, isn’t it?”

“Among other reasons.”

He softens and ducks his head. “I’m glad you found me. I never thought that I’d get to see you again.”

“Where you are, I am. You’ve already followed me to the ends of the world. Let me do the same for you now.”

“Caspian, you’re going to make me cry.”

The laugh he gets in response is the same as the one that surrounded him on the Dawn Treader. “What a terrible boyfriend I am. Sure you don’t want to break up with me?”

“Like hell you’re getting rid of me now.”

-

Peter(TM): Sorry I’m gonna be late! People from my club found me :(

why does he have a knife: take your time high king, i know you cant stop yourself from helping them

Peter(TM): I’ll eat all your food

why does he have a knife: i have many swords. try me

Miss Stabby: Why did I think a group chat was a good idea

Miss Stabby: Who changed my name to this, I just wanna talk

why does he have a knife: you KNOW im more creative than that. so i didnt do it

Miss Stabby: Peter. My aim has only gotten better

Peter(TM): ………

Peter(TM): I’ll buy you both crepes if you let me live

why does he have a knife: deal

why does he have a knife: also my bf is gonna be here jsyk

Miss Stabby: YOU DIDNT MENTION A BF

Peter(TM): !!!!

why does he have a knife: yeah caspians excited to see u again

Peter(TM): Caspian’s here too????

Miss Stabby: CASPIAN???

Miss Stabby: WHO ELSE DO WE NEED TO LOOK FOR

why does he have a knife: brb waiters here im ordering first bc u two are taking too long

-

Edmund hooks his foot around Caspian’s ankle and passes his phone over to him. Peter and Susan’s texts always make him smile. Though none of them live together (yet), having some way of contacting them, of being able to annoy them late at night and see that they’re here is incredible.

Now they only need to find Lucy, and then they can all be together again as a family.

It’s all he’s been dreaming of years.

He can’t wait.

-

(And on the other side of the restaurant, Lucy tells her grandparents that she sees some friends and that she’s going to talk to them very quickly. And they wave her away, telling her to have fun, and turn back to their food.

Lucy weaves between the tables and catches Caspian’s eyes as she approaches. He sits up and opens his mouth, but she puts a finger against her lips and shushes him, then creeps up towards Edmund.

He’s typing something on his phone, a small smile on his face, and Lucy’s hands are shaking from excitement. She grabs her bracelet, one with a golden lion charm and a dagger charm on it. Takes a deep breath for good luck.

She pulls up a seat next him and sits down.)

-

Digory taps on the Instagram notification the way his granddaughter Lucy taught him too when she first made him an account. It opens to a picture of Lucy and the rest of her siblings, children who he hasn’t seen in years, children who had grown up without him ever knowing. They’re all pressed against each other, laughing as they struggle to fit onto a small bench.

They look just as they did in the last life, but somehow, brighter. There’s a light in their eyes that he’s never seen before. The weight of a crown and a kingdom no longer rest on their shoulders. In this life, they’re free, and they used that freedom to find each other.

The caption Lucy puts is simple and fun, just like all her other Instagrams.

“living my found family dreams #youwishyouwereme”

He likes the picture and comments a yellow heart.

It’s a good life indeed.

____

i hope you like it!!

[sodone-withlife]

enough

yay this is my first fic in over a month, and as per usual, there's not much proofreading. all mistakes are my own. also, this isn't as whump-y as my past works and includes a number of my headcanons

@yourlocalheartbreaker here's over 2k words of a rather OOC Criminal Minds fanfic based on your post :) I've intentionally made the ending a bit ambiguous, so let your imagination run wild. the case is also based on what happened in Boston.

here’s a post that clarifies some ambiguities

warnings: alcohol, mentioned character death, mentioned canon typical violence. also, I love all of the characters, but for the purposes of this story, this will come across as everyone (except Hotch, Morgan, and Strauss) slander. don't like it, don't read it.

word count: 2.2k words

“I really am sorry I couldn’t do more,” Strauss said quietly.

Hotch shook his head, staring into his whiskey. “You’ve already done so much,” he said equally quietly. He hesitated, wondering if he should give voice to the thought that had been nagging at him since the last in a week-long series of grueling questioning and testimony.

Fuck it, he thought, dowing the last of his whiskey.

“I think we both knew it was coming,” he said, looking at his now-former boss unflinchingly. To her credit, Strauss didn’t try to hide that she shared his thoughts as they shared a knowing look. “Too many minor bureaucratic infractions, a few major fiascos,” he continued, shaking his head ruefully, “it was only a matter of when.”

Strauss remained silent, swirling the last of her own drink in her glass. It was a longstanding tradition between the two of them to go out for drinks after especially taxing cases and bureaucratic nightmares, one that started weeks after Gideon stepped down and went on leave.

Finally, she broke the silence. “Why did you lie? You and I know very well you had nothing to do with it.” She turned to face Hotch fully, a hint of confusion appearing in her expression. “Why take the fall?”

The answer easily came to Hotch, but it didn’t erase the bitterness with which the words came out. “The leader is replaceable, but the team isn’t.” He looked pained, avoiding her incredulous stare. “Same reason as always.”

He could understand her exasperation; it wasn’t the first time he had discussed the issues within the team with her. Over the years, she tried again and again to get him out, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he did. She eventually accepted his refusal to leave, but it didn’t stop her from dropping hints of disapproval here and there—and they both knew some secret part of him agreed with her disparaging comments, much as he tried to ignore it.

The team dynamics had never truly recovered from Boston and Adrian Bale, and that had carried over to the newer members of the team who joined after the fiasco. His standoffish, laconic nature certainly didn’t help. Eventually, even Gideon was ignoring the cracks in the foundation of the team,

Out of all of his coworkers, only Strauss and Morgan remembered (and still sometimes saw) the less-guarded agent with surprising idealism that he had been before everything went to shit.

Now, after years of leadership under his belt, he didn’t know how to be anyone else but the sharp, authoritative unit chief.

Especially after Haley.

(As he had stood in front of the freshly dug grave, he swore that his family would never meet SSA Hotchner, Unit Chief, Agent No-Smile Hardass, if he could help it.)

(The moment he stepped through the front door, he would only be Dad.)

(And in front of a select group of people, he would be Aaron, the man who was just barely toeing the line between profiler and unsub in his jaggedly broken, near-unhinged protectiveness.)

And so he received each act of insubordination from the team, no matter the magnitude, with unflappable calmness, even as he stayed late and went to work hours early to deal with the towering stacks of paperwork that joined the already existing piles of budget expansion requests and case consults.

He trusted their judgment, even if that trust didn’t go both ways.

“You’re very respected, you know that?” Strauss suddenly commented. “It’s the only reason you’ve been able to cover for your team for so long.”

That was something Hotch knew very well. Much as he hated it, he often found himself in the midst of political maneuverings that embroiled his higher-ups, aided especially by his upbringing and law school education. In these circles, where everyone knew everyone wore masks to hide unsavory secrets, there was some degree of grudging respect for everyone, no matter their placement on either side of the aisle. Even those who came from money had to have special acumen in order to make it this far in the cutthroat world of DC politics.

Hotch had gained quite the reputation as a prosecutor in DC, and not just because his father had been a well-known attorney with high-profile clients. Coupled with his meteoric rise through the ranks of the bureau, helping out the right people and collecting numerous contacts and favors along the way, it was no wonder that he had managed to keep the team out of the line of fire for so long.

More and more often, however, he was questioning his decisions to reject each opportunity to move up the chain of command, to instead stay with the team as a field agent. Even though he could almost always understand the reasoning behind each act of insubordination—hell, he even encouraged it sometimes—he couldn’t help but want for things to be different, especially with every night he went home too late and every time he pulled out the concealer he had always had near him since childhood to cover up the bruise-like eyebags that found a permanent home on his face.

But in the end, Hotch didn’t even have a choice.

(But a small part of him knew that this was always how he was going to go.)

Really, he understood why they did what they did. Ten years ago, he would have done the same thing himself.

Now, however, he couldn’t afford to put Jack’s safety and wellbeing on the line.

Some might say that Jack was his weak spot, and they wouldn’t be wrong—he would wholeheartedly agree with them.

He couldn't find it in him to feel guilty about putting his family ahead of all else, but what JJ said when he called them into his office after the fiasco had cut deeply.

You of all people should understand, JJ had spat in his face, and every harsh word he was about to say himself, reprimanding them for callous insubordination to the highest degree, died on his lips. He wasn’t sure how much time passed as he just stood there in silent, pained shock, but it didn’t take long for JJ, Prentiss, and Reid to leave his office with an air of vindication, not sparing him another glance.

Hotch had spent the rest of the day fielding call after call, trying to piece together the exact course of events and fending off the sharks smelling blood in the water.

The bloody chunks of flesh of the three agents who died immediately in the blast, the two who didn’t even make it into the operating room, and the one adult hostage who couldn’t far enough away in time.

Now, sitting across from Strauss and staring into his empty glass, he wondered if things would have been different if he had gotten there faster, adding his own input in formulating a negotiation strategy that factored in the variables he only knew to take into account because of his combined years in prosecution and SWAT and because of Boston.

Especially Boston.

(He already considered all of the what-ifs. He knew that short of suddenly gaining time travel or teleportation abilities, he couldn’t have done anything.)

But maybe he foresaw his current situation the moment he saw Strauss’s emailed request for an urgent meeting the morning after he worked late into the night trying to control the fallout.

Just budget meetings with the higher up of higher-ups, he reassured Morgan when they bumped into each other as Hotch and Strauss made their way out of the Academy offices towards the parking garage. He knew Morgan didn’t believe him—he was wearing the suit that he reserved for black tie events and meetings on the Hill, for one—but there was a reluctant acceptance and a hint of knowing in his eyes.

(Of course, Morgan had an idea of what was going on. No one in the country was ignorant of what had happened yesterday afternoon. As he was looking through the news coverage, confused and horrified as to how something like this could have happened, memories of Boston rose to the forefront of his mind, and he knew that this would end in blood.)

(Then Hotch called him in a frenzy, apologizing profusely for bothering him on his weekend off while all but begging for him to look after Jack for the rest of the day. It was an easy decision. Morgan took Jack to the movie theater, helped him with biking, took him out for ice cream, whatever it took to keep Jack happy and occupied while he himself worried over the state of things at the office.)

(It was well past midnight when Hotch finally fell into a restless sleep in bed next to Morgan, who had a standing invitation to stay overnight and was trying to help him loosen up his tensed muscles.)

“I’m coming into the office tomorrow to tie up loose ends,” Hotch suddenly told Strauss. “I’m not going to pull a Gideon. They don’t deserve that.”

He said as much next day as he stood in the bullpen, looking out at the agents he had worked with for years as he made his announcement.

“After careful consideration, I have decided to retire from the BAU,” he ignored the sounds of shock that rippled through the crowd, “and with my retirement, I am cutting all official ties with the Bureau.”

He carefully avoided looking at the team as he continued. “Please respect that I would prefer to not discuss the details of my retirement at this time, but I will say that this recent case had a lot to do with my decision,” he swept a stern gaze around the room, ignoring the pang in his heart and sudden burning in his eyes when he accidentally made eye contact with a devastated-looking Garcia.

Hotch quickly looked away and continued with his goodbyes before he managed to find an out to retreat to his office, where he picked up the last box of his belongings. It’s surprisingly light, he thought distantly as he took in the stripped office for the last time.

Oh, right, Strauss had helped me pack everything else and bring home the law books and framed certificates after we went out for drinks last night.

There was a knock on the door.

“Come in.”

The door opened, and Strauss stepped inside, shutting the door behind her and closing the blinds to give them some modicum of privacy from the profilers waiting in the bullpen with their barrage of questions.

“This is it, then,” she commented, eyes on the badge and gun that was left on the expansive desk.

Hotch nodded. “I’m sure the suits will be sweeping through my reports and cases soon enough. The team will find out then.” He turned to meet her gaze, an unreadable glint in his eyes, “But I daresay we will be seeing each other quite soon, however.”

They grasped each other’s hand firmly, something unspoken passing between them. There was a beat of stillness, then Hotch let go. He opened the office door and swept past her, past the team, and into the elevator with his phone already next to his ear, his professional mask back as he left this part of his life behind.

Strauss walked out onto the catwalk, looking out into the bullpen at the profilers sitting at their desks, shell-shocked at the man’s sudden (and all-too-final) departure.

Truthfully, Strauss didn’t know what he meant when he hinted that he would be seeing her (and presumably the team) again soon, but she assumed it had to do with the closed meeting he was pulled into the moment he arrived at the office this morning. She may not be trained to notice the details in human behavior, but she could tell there was a peaceful ease to Hotch’s goodbye that shouldn’t have been there, in addition to the strange lack of the bitterness she knew had been there last night when they went out for drinks.

“Erin, what the hell was that about?” Rossi’s voice shook her out of her thoughts. She turned to the approaching agent, game face back on and preparing to finally unleash the full scope of what had happened over a week ago onto the remaining profilers, who had been shielded from the consequences by Hotch’s presence and tireless negotiations alone.

Whatever Rossi was about to say next was suddenly cut off by an outraged “What?” coming from Morgan, who had been all but interrogating Prentiss, JJ, and Reid about the guilt was practically painted all over their expressions. Now, he ran out of the bullpen, chasing after Hotch and ignoring the calls of his name behind him.

Strauss watched all of this calmly; Hotch had asked that one of the team be made unit chief after his departure, but there was no way she was letting that happen on her watch. Especially based on Morgan’s determined chase after the now-former unit chief, she imagined she would be having two open positions to fill.

It was about time those two got their heads out of their asses, she thought, smiling internally.

May you find your peace, Aaron Hotchner.

[razieltwelve]

Friend (Final Rose)

“Mom...” Diana tugged on Lightning’s sleeve. “Can you take me somewhere?”

Lightning yawned. She’d been up all night writing reports relating to her latest mission. Everyone had come back alive, but it had been a mess. “Where do you want to go?”

Diana lifted her scroll, so Lightning could see it. “I have a friend in the game, mom. He hasn’t been online in days, but he’s never been offline before. I think something might have happened to him.”

“Diana...”

“I’m serious, mom. He’s always online. He never misses a raid or a mission or anything. This is the first time he’s ever been offline, and it’s been two days since he was on. I think something might have happened to him.”

Lightning’s brows furrowed. Diana might still be a kid, but she had good instincts. Moreover, she was very observant about certain things. "Do you know where he lives?”

Diana made a face. “He’s talked about his house before. I don’t know where he is, but I narrowed it down to a couple of places. The nearest one isn’t far from us at all.”

“And you’re sure he’s not just taking a break or something?”

“I’m sure, mom.” Diana sighed. “To be honest, I don’t think he has any friends outside the game. He never talks about other people, and he’s logged way more hours online than anyone else I know. He wouldn’t just stop playing unless something had happened to him.”

“All right.” Lightning got up. “We can go have a look.”

X     X     X

Lightning studied the house intently. Whoever lived here must be disabled. Instead of stairs, there was a small ramp to the front door, as well as other adjustments. Based on the width and angle of the ramp, it was likely for a wheelchair, as opposed to someone who simply couldn’t go up stairs easily.

“Is this the place?”

Diana nodded. “Yeah.”

Lightning reached out with her senses. The world sharpened into truly perfect focus, and she was instantly aware of everything around her. Her brows furrowed, and she moved toward the front door. “Diana, stay out here.”

“Mom?”

“Stay out here.” Lightning could sense a single Aura signature inside the house. Even by civilian standards, it was extremely weak, and it was fluctuating in a way she’d come to recognise. Whoever it belonged to was on the verge of death. “I mean it. Stay out here.” 

Lightning used a sliver of Saviour’s power to open the front door and moved through the house toward the Aura signature. The interior was well-kept and tidy, and she could hear the low hum of computer equipment coming from a room toward the back of the house. 

The faint sounds of shallow breathing greeted her. There was a young man on the floor. He looked to be in his early twenties. His wheelchair had tipped over, and he was barely clinging to life. Saviour’s senses diagnosed the myriad issues immediately.

The young man had suffered a seizure violent enough to knock over his wheelchair. The rough fall had done further damage, and he had likely spent the last two days swimming in and out of consciousness. Using a scroll to call for an ambulance would have taken too long, so Lightning simply picked him up and strode out of the house.

“SillyCoop!” Diana cried. That must be the screen name the young man used. “Mom, is he okay?”

“No.” Lightning’s power flexed, and her next step carried them from the house to the hospital in an instant. “But he will be.”

X     X     X

Cobalt - known in Gary Online as SillyCoop - opened his eyes.

“So... you’re awake.”

He turned his head and stared. “You... you’re...” That was Lightning Farron sitting next to his bed. What was going on? He was clearly in some kind of hospital. He couldn’t remember much. He’d gotten a seizure and fallen out of his wheelchair. After that, it was just bits and pieces. He’d tried to get to his scroll or his computer for help, but his body had refused to cooperate. “What’s... going on?”

“You play Gary Online, right?” 

“Uh... yeah.” Contrary to common belief, Gary Online was actually extremely popular with people of all age groups. Behind the cartoonish graphics and sometimes silly storyline were rock solid mechanics and incredibly well-designed gameplay with interesting and varied missions, raids, and adventures. 

“You’re a member of a guild. It’s the Friendship Punch Guild, right?”

Despite the situation, Cobalt found himself smiling. “Yeah.” He’d joined the guild because of it’s silly name, but he’d found so much more than just a place to spend time online. After his accident, he’d struggled to adjust. He’d never had many friends to begin with, and he’d been an orphan to boot. The guild had given him friends, and they’d become the family he never had. Since he was able to work from home as a software designer, he spent as much of his free time as he could online. The guild had members from all over the world, so there were always a few of them on at any given time of the day. “I am.”

“You’re lucky.” Lightning nodded at something, and Cobalt noticed the little, ragamuffin of a girl curled up asleep in a chair in the corner of the room. “My daughter is a member of that guild too. She noticed you hadn’t been online for a while, so she used some of the things you’d said about your house to narrow down its location. She asked me if we could go to one of the locations. I found you on the floor of your room.”

“Oh.” Cobalt took a deep breath. “That’s... thank you. I mean it. Thanks.” A few years ago, he probably wouldn’t have minded if he ended up dead on the floor of his room. But the idea of never talking to anyone from the guild again...

“She talked to some of the other guild members. A few of them don’t live all that far away. They’d like to visit you too, if you don’t mind.”

Cobalt found himself smiling. “I’d like that.” He paused. “Do you know what her name is?”

“She goes by MyNameIsClaw, I think.”

“Oh.” Cobalt chuckled. “I guess that’s why she does most of her playing on the weekend.”

“She does have school, yes.” Lightning’s lips twitched. “The doctors tell me you’ll be okay with some rest.”

On the chair, the little girl’s eyes opened. She took one look at him and was already airborne before he could react. Thankfully, Lightning caught her with one arm before she could crash into him.

“He’s still recovering. Be sensible.”

“Oh. Yeah.” The girl waved at him cheerfully. “How are you feeling, SillyCoop?”

“SillyCoop?” He managed to smile. “Call me Cobalt. That’s my real name.”

“I’m Diana.” The girl nodded sagely. “But you can call me Claw.”

“...” Cobalt looked at Lightning.

“She’s convinced we should have named her Claw instead of Diana.”

“Oh.” Cobalt grinned. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Claw.”

X     X     X

Author’s Notes

Diana plays a lot of games. Gary Online is one of the most popular MMOs in the world, and she is one of the best players, largely due to her fanatical study of the game’s mechanics. There are very, very few people who understand the game the way she does. Naturally, she joined a guild, and after a good lecture from Lightning on online safety and another one from Vanille just to be sure, she was allowed to keep playing. The members of the guild come from all walks of life and vary in age from kids to the elderly. What makes Gary Online so popular, apart from the gameplay, is the positive outlook the game strives to foster. Essentially, the greatest wish of the devs is that everyone who plays the game is happier after playing it than they were before they started.

If you’re interested in my thoughts on writing and other topics, you can find those here.

I also write original fiction, which you can find on Amazon here or on Audible here.

[jasontoddiefor]

Summary: Sometimes your best friend calls you at 3 am because his citizenship isn’t valid anymore, his marriage not legally acknowledged, and he kind of needs to marry you so he isn’t kicked out of the country. A comedy of errors in which Obi-Wan, Anakin and Padmé don't take the long road to becoming a family, but certainly the most complicated one. Marriage of convenience, ObiAniDala style.

Read on AO3!

It's a beautiful night, we're looking for something dumb to do Hey baby, I think I wanna marry you

- Bruno Mars, Marry You

There were many things Obi-Wan didn’t expect at 3 am, such as somebody breaking into his house, which was possible but unlikely, or the apocalypse finally starting, which was impossible and unlikely. Mostly, he didn’t expect anything because he had grown out of his wild university student years and went to bed at reasonable hours so he was fast asleep at 3 am.

However, panicked calls from Anakin Skywalker were kind of normal.

Not that they should be, but they happened much more frequently than Obi-Wan cared to admit. Whether Anakin was fifteen or twenty-five, nothing much had changed in that time, not even the ringtone of Obi-Wan’s phone for him, only its model.

Tiredly, Obi-Wan reached for his phone in the dark, finding it somewhere on his night table.

“Hello?” he muttered into the speaker, not quite coherent yet.

“Obi-Wan!”

At the sound of Anakin’s panicked voice, Obi-Wan immediately sat up, all exhaustion forgotten. Over the years, the kind of tone Anakin’s voice reached when he was alarmed, had become an immediate trigger for Obi-Wan, forcing him to operate as if he were ready to give a three-hour lecture on the integration of the sonnet into English poetry.

“Anakin, is everything alright?” he asked, unnecessarily, as Anakin immediately began babbling over Obi-Wan.

“Can you come over, right now, we need your help.”

It took Obi-Wan barely a split second to register what exactly Anakin was asking. He glanced at the clock – it was the middle of the night. What could have happened- He sucked in a sharp breath.

“Are the twins alright?”

The only thing Obi-Wan could think of was that something had happened to the twins. The six-months-olds had had quite the ordeal behind them already. They had been born too early and Padmé, already weakened by the difficult pregnancy, had struggled during the birth. There had been too many complications and Obi-Wan still remembered that horrendous night, the long hours sitting next to Anakin in the waiting room, not knowing what was happening to Padmé.

And afterwards, he had spent quite a few nights over at their cramped home – meant for two adults, not two adults and two babies – helping them out. Padmé had rested and recovered while Anakin had cared for the children and her, and Obi-Wan had just made sure that everything in-between had run smoothly. Anakin and Padmé both had thanked him countless times already, but Obi-Wan didn’t know what for. They were his best friends, he was the twins’ godfather. If he didn’t come to help them, what kind of friend was he?

“No, the twins are alright,” Anakin reassured him immediately, though his voice didn’t lose any of its panic. “I just- I need to marry you. Kind of right now immediately, preferably before the weekend is over.”

“What.” Obi-Wan thought he had misheard. “Anakin, what are you talking about?”

“Can you just-“

Anakin’s voice faded from the speaker. Obi-Wan could hear some bickering, then a new person spoke. Padmé’s voice was lighter, higher than usual as well, but not quite as panicked as Anakin’s.

“Hello, Obi-Wan. Sorry for disturbing you at this hour but we have a problem. Could you be so kind and come over?”

“…Sure,” Obi-Wan replied after a pause. “Could you just give me ten minutes to get dressed?”

“You have still got some of your clothes here,” Anakin‘s voice rang out again, before he suddenly yelped and hissed, muttering something about sharp elbows. “Just- hurry, please.”

X

And so it came to be that Obi-Wan, dressed because he was not a heathen and it was chilly at night still, walked out of his house at three in the morning, and jumped into his car to drive downtown to the little apartment near the university campus that Anakin and Padmé shared. They had been meaning to move out since before they had even learned Padmé was expecting, but they hadn’t had the funds at first and then the time and now they were still living there. They were planning to move once the twins were a little older and easier to handle, but Obi-Wan already foresaw that this wouldn’t be any easier for them.

When he pulled into their street, Anakin was already standing in front of their house, dressed in an oversized hoodie and long, dark pants that were much too warm for this weather. The desert kid in Anakin would always make him freeze at all times. Summertime was alright, but during winter Anakin was always the first to get sick and cold and be absolutely miserable all around. He then always took great pleasure in sticking his hands and feet beneath the next warm willing body. Or unwilling if Anakin was sure you loved him enough to let him put his freezing hands on you.

Obi-Wan parked his car and was not even halfway out it when Anakin grabbed his hands and pretty much dragged him inside and then up through the staircase to his apartment. He didn’t say a word as he opened up the door, but his expression was concerning enough.

The apartment was slightly messier than when Obi-Wan had last seen it, clothes, photos, and documents alike flying around everywhere.

“So,” Obi-Wan asked as he looked around. “What is going on?”

Anakin opened his mouth, ready to let it all fall from his lips, but then shut his mouth and shook his head so that instead of replying, he was pushing Obi-Wan into his and Padmé’s bedroom. The bedroom was the biggest room in their small apartment. Their living room also doubled as offices and the kitchen was just cramped enough that it was full when you stood there with two people, doing absolutely nothing. In comparison to that, the bedroom was giant, even if it didn’t look like it with the wardrobe, bed, and the twins’ crib in it.

The babies were sleeping soundly in their crib while Padmé was sitting upright on the bed, her laptop in front of her, and another stack of documents lying around her.

“Good morning, Padmé” Obi-Wan greeted her.

She just smiled tiredly at him and waved.

“Morning, Obi-Wan, and sorry for all of this.” She gestured towards the documents and then at Anakin, who had already dropped on the bed, his head now resting on Padmé’s lap.

“Nothing I’m not already used to,” Obi-Wan replied, kicked off his shoes, and sat down next to Anakin’s legs. The first couple of times he had been around, he had been uncomfortable claiming a spot here, but he had long since gotten used to it.

“So,” he repeated his earlier question. “What is going on and why do I need to marry Anakin?”

“We have run into a major problem,” Pamdé said. “We got mail this morning. Yesterday morning.”

She paused and glanced at the watch on her wrist before sighing and handing Obi-Wan one of the papers he accepted quickly. “Anyway, we got mail from the state saying that Anakin has to leave the country next week or face legal consequences.”

“What?” Obi-Wan replied. “Wait, how can that be?”

He glanced down at the letter Padmé had given him, and true enough, it was an official one.

Obi-Wan was well aware that Anakin’s citizenship hadn’t always been in the clear. His mother had been brought to this country as a worker with no documents or even the right to decide what to do with herself. Anakin’s documents had been equally shady right up until Obi-Wan’s father had cleared them up. It was how they had met – Qui-Gon Jinn introducing little Anakin Skywalker and his mother, the latest cases of immigrants his law firm was helping, to Obi-Wan. The then 9-year-old Anakin had latched onto Obi-Wan pretty quickly. They had been friends ever since and gone through thick and thin together and some not so pretty years as well.

But all in all, Anakin shouldn’t have any trouble with his citizenship, especially not now. And if Anakin had trouble, Shmi would certainly as well.

“I don’t know!” Anakin said and threw up his hands. “We already called the residents’ registration office but they said that due to some-” He waved his hands, replacing the legal jargon with gestures. “-they don’t count anymore because they were bound to some temporary stay. I have no idea.”

Obi-Wan ran his hand through his hair. He knew some of the goings-on tied to immigration laws due to his father, but not all of them. However, he was still sure that whatever was going on here, it wasn’t correct.

“Okay, but we can get those renewed. It’s terrible right now, but we can file in a complaint and fight the order. It might take a few months, but I’m sure we can figure it out.”

Anakin only shook his head. “I don’t have a few months. It’s out now or fines or prison or something and we don’t exactly got the money.”

“But you’re married?” Obi-Wan frowned and looked at Padmé whose face had twisted into something dark and angry like he’d never seen before.

“That’s the second thing we’re wondering about. Our marriage, apparently, is not legally binding. And they just discovered it. Again, it’s something about my citizenship and the fact that we didn’t marry here but in Naboo. It’s freaking ridiculous but whenever we ask or try to inquire what we can do, I get told to go back to where I came from like I ever actually came from anywhere on Tatooine!”

Anakin’s voice got a little louder and they froze when suddenly a quiet whine rang out in the room. Simultaneously, the three of them turned to look at the crib.

“Oh, no, no, no-“ Anakin muttered and moved to get up, but Obi-Wan was quicker and closer.

“I’ll get them,” he said and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Obi-Wan stood up and walked over to the crib, picking up Leia first who stared up at him with her brown eyes. Their newborn blue coloring had darkened after only a couple weeks already, but Luke’s were still as blue as Anakin’s.

“Hey, little lady,” Obi-Wan whispered, holding Leia close before he gave her to Padmé. Then, turning around, saw that Luke was watching him as well.

“You too, darling?” He asked and took him into his arms before sitting down on the bed again, careful so that he wasn’t shaking Luke awake. With both children settled into Padmé and Obi-Wan’s arms, Anakin continued.

“So, the bottom line is, I don’t have anything that says I’m a Coruscant citizen or married to Padmé so the only thing we could think of was that I get married to somebody who has citizenship and therefor get to stay here like that until we figure out what’s actually going on.”

Anakin’s shoulders dropped. “Sorry to spring this on you like this but we are kind of desperate here. And if I don’t have citizenship and something happens to Padmé, the twins-“

Anakin doesn’t even have to say it out loud. Obi-Wan would know exactly where the twins would go.

“This is horrible,” he said. “And truly nothing else has worked out? Have you called any lawyers?”

“About a hundred,” Padmé sighed. “None of them can help and we couldn’t reach your father either.”

Right, Qui-Gon was on a humanitarian trip on… Obi-Wan didn’t even know. He hadn’t spoken to his father in a while, not since their last big fight. He really hadn’t been in the mood to put up with him.

“Okay,” Obi-Wan said, letting the thought take shape in his mind. “So, marriage?”

“Just for a short while,” Padmé reassured him. “It doesn’t have to be for long, only until we can get this sorted out again and then you can get divorced and we’ll bake you another cake as a thank you. We are really sorry about this and I know it sounds stupid but-“

“Hey, none of this is your fault,” Obi-Wan replied and with his one free arm, gently squeezed Padmé’s shoulder. “We’ll figure it out. Besides, marrying Anakin isn’t the worst thing I have done out of the blue.”

Anakin only eyed him suspiciously and Obi-Wan couldn’t help grinning. Anakin knew some of the really dumb things Obi-Wan had gotten into, but not all of them.

“How is this not the worst you have ever done,” Anakin echoed. “You’re marrying me so I can stay in the country.”

Obi-Wan could think of plenty of other things and was suddenly, for once, very happy he could use Anakin’s obliviousness to cheer him up.

“You don’t know what Quinlan and I got up to in our youth.”

“The more you mention it, the more do I think that I really don’t want to know it either,” Anakin muttered, shaking his head. Then he took a deep breath, eyes closed. A moment passed and only then he continued speaking. “But- you’ll do it-?”

“Of course, Anakin. You’re my best friend. How could I not help you out?” Obi-Wan watched the baby sleeping soundly in his arms, entirely unaware of the troubles his parents were in. They had gone through enough chaos in the last year, the least he could do was help them out. “When do you need to get married?”

“Tomorrow morning. Or today. At least if we want the paperwork to go through smoothly and quickly enough.” Anakin looked at Padmé who nodded in confirmation.

“And we’ll need somebody to marry us- Oh, hell, where will we even get somebody to marry us on such short notice?”

It was late spring, the season most couples decided to get married. The offices would be full and getting somebody who could marry them even just today-

Obi-Wan blinked.

“Quinlan is ordained.”

“What?”

Padmé and Anakin stared at him with deadpan expressions. Obi-Wan supposed this would make more sense to them if the two had spent more time around Quinlan than just a couple hours whenever their paths crossed at Obi-Wan’s birthday parties. His childhood friend was a wild spirit and Obi-Wan still wasn’t exactly sure what his job was, he seemed to change it every month. He did, however, have an amazing repertoire of skills and being ordained was just amongst them. He had married Luminara and Shaak Ti a couple of years back.

“I can call him,” Obi-Wan offered.

“Right now?” Padmé raised her brow. “Don’t you think he’ll be mad?”

“He’s used to such things,” Obi-Wan replied. “Kind of the same way I’m used to getting called from you at 3 in the morning, Anakin.”

Anakin had the decency to smile sheepishly.

“Are you sure?” Padmé continued. “This can wait until morning-“

“Except that it really can’t,” Obi-Wan interrupted her softöy. “Not if we want to make sure this is airtight.”

With some trouble as he was still holding Luke, Obi-Wan fished his phone out of his pants’ pocket and searched for Quinlan’s contact. Once he found it, he dialed the newest phone number he had, hoping it was still the correct one. It rang a couple of times before the other accepted the call and Obi-Wan put him on speaker.

“Obi-Wan!” Quinlan shouted, slightly slurring Obi-Wan’s name. “My man! What’s going on?” In the background, Obi-Wan could hear loud music. Quinlan must be out partying then. Obi-Wan hadn’t even known that there were clubs that were open on a Wednesday night at this hour still. But then again, their city had a very large university district.

“Quinlan, are you still ordained?” Obi-Wan asked.

“Am I still my main? Main what? Video game character?”

“Ordained,” Obi-wan repeated patiently. “Can you marry people?”

“Oh, yeah, sure! Just got my license renewed last week. Who needs to get married?”

“Me,” Obi-Wan said. “And Anakin Skywalker? Tall, blond, blue eyes, math genius-“

“I know your other half, Obi-Wan, honestly. And holy, shit, you’re finally marrying him?”

Obi-Wan paused to look up from his phone into the faces of Padmé and Anakin who looked just as confused as him.

“What do you mean finally-“ Obi-Wan stopped. Honestly, it didn’t matter. “Yes, sure. We need to get married tomorrow morning. Well, today actually. Is that possible?”

“Sure, I just need to get some documents from the department and it’ll be done. I need your ID and that’s about it. Any preferences for a location? There is this super neat gazebo in the main park. It’s a little out of the way so there are no people, would be great for wedding phots- holy fuck, does your father even know? Or is he still stuck in... where is he again?”

“Does it matter?” Obi-Wan replied. “Look, I just need to get married as soon as possible.”

“Okidoki, I’ll come to your house then? Or to that park?”

“We’ll l meet you at the park,” Anakin spoke up.

“Oh! Hey Anakin! You here as well?”

Padmé raised her hand to her mouth in an attempt to stifle her laughter, but Obi-Wan doubted it mattered. Quinlan probably wouldn’t even hear it over all that background noise.

“Obi-Wan, put you on speaker,” Anakin said meanwhile.

“Cool, cool, see you tomorrow morning then at... what time?”

The earlier they got it done, the better, Obi-Wan figured. “What time are you up again?”

“Club closes at five, so, we can do this at six? No, wait. Eight. I need the documents.”

“Eight it is then,” Obi-Wan agreed. “Good night, Quinlan, have fun and see you then.”

“Bye-bye!”

Obi-Wan ended the call and stared at his phone just a moment longer. This had not gone as he had expected, somewhere in the back of his mind he thought it should be more difficult to get married, and yet, somehow, it apparently was all working out correctly.

“So, that’s it?” Anakin asked shakily.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan answered. “That’s it.”

He thought he should feel weird about it, he had never considered marriage before in any capacity, but instead, all Obi-Wan could feel was relief.

“Oh, thank the heavens,” Anakin muttered and then pretty much threw himself at Obi-Wan as carefully as he could without waking Luke in the process. He wrapped obi-wan in a tight hug, the kind where he buried his face in the crook of Obi-Wan’s neck and didn’t let go for a while. “Just, thank you so much.”

“No problem, Anakin. Anything for you, dear one.”

“No, really,” Padmé said. “We can’t thank you enough. You have been helping out with the twins and now this and- we can never make this up to you.”

“I’d never ask you to make it up to me because you don’t have to.” Trying to ease the tension of this situation somewhat, Obi-wan smiled softly. “I’ll be content with some more cake. You’re mother’s recipe?”

Anakin laughed, still a little shaky, but he didn’t look like hell anymore at least.

“That one? Sure, I can make that,” Anakin answered. “It’ll be our wedding cake then. Then I’ll have eaten it twice at my own wedding already. Not that it’s a lot, but it’s still kind of weird to have done it twice.”

He then carefully took Luke from Obi-Wan’s arms and then lied down on the bed again, the baby still asleep on his chest. “I think I’ll stay just like this until this is over.”

“Maybe get some proper sleep instead?” Obi-suggested. “You need some rest after this stress.. both of you,” he added, pointedly looking at Padmé.

“We’ll be fine, we always are,” she said. “And you should get some sleep as well.”

Obi-Wan stood up and stretched. “I will, I’m already missing my bed.”

His two friends immediately frowned at him, their expressions easily telling Obi-Wan that they were not agreeing with the decision he had reached just now.

“You’re not driving home now, it’s bad enough we made you come here at this hour,” Padmé insisted. “Besides bed is big enough, you can sleep here with us.”

“I don’t want to impose-“

“You’re not imposing.”

“The sofa then-“

“Obi-wan,” Anakin inserted. “Don’t make me tie you to the bed again.”

Padmé looked at them both, then began to grin. “Honestly, your conversations are a delight to listen to out of context. But really, Obi-Wan, our sofa sucks. You know our sofa sucks. We’ll just put the twins to sleep again in the crib and you can fit in here.”

Obi-Wan thought about complaining for another second, but he’d only lie to himself. He didn’t want to drive home now. He was incredibly tired and the risk of falling asleep while driving now that all the adrenaline had left him was not as low as it should be.

“Fine,” he finally admitted defeat.

And then, as before, he took Luke from Anakin’s arms and put him back in his crib, then he took Leia from Pamdé’s arms and set her down next to her brother. The twins looked absolutely adorable and already much bigger than they had when they had come from the hospital. Seeing them grow up healthy was a greater comfort than anything else.

Obi-Wan then stepped out of his pants, contemplating keeping on his socks in case Anakin decided his feet were cold and took them off anyway, and kept his shirt. Obi-Wan walked away from the crib towards the light switch and turned it, drowning the room in pitch black. He stumbled across the ground towards the bed and crawled under the banket. It was, as expected, heavier and warmer than anything he would sleep in.

He laid down on the left side of the bed, his back to Anakin, who took great pleasure in immediately tangling his legs with Obi-Wan’s while wrapping his arms around Padmé.

“Good night,” he said and yawned.

“Good night,” the couple replied.

And the three of them fell into a sleep next to one another.

[fallingforyou123]

You Will Never Be A God-Une

Warnings: Slight language, implied smut, alight angst

Word Count: 1.7k

A/N: Here is the official part one! Hope you'll like it, reblogs and feedback are always appreciated!

Series Masterpost

The sheets hung loosely around her frame, the only thing keeping her from being exposed to the cold air. The stranger laid beside her in a dazed out state, chest rising ever so slowly. A small cloud of smoke engulfed the both of them, a bad habit Stevi had picked up from an ex of hers.

“Those will kill you one day.”

“No more than sleeping with strangers will.”

“Touche.”

Stevi moved to get dressed, keeping quiet to avoid another conversation. Leaving was always bad, but leaving when there was still so much to be said was the worst. She couldn’t quite place it, but there was a feeling, something small sitting in her gut. It worried her, she’d never felt like this with a stranger. So safe and comfortable.

“Stay. Just till the morning, I’ll have my driver take you home.” Came the voice from the other side of the bed.

“No, definitely no. I have rules, no names, no staying. I can’t”

“What a lonely life you must live, to disconnect so much from those around you.”

Stevi looked at him, truly looked at him. He looked so much different than the man she met a couple hours ago. His perfectly gelled hair was nothing more than a brown mess atop his head, his eyes were clouded with a sleepy haze, and his suit had been replaced by a very thin sheet. He looked like someone she could see herself falling for back in university, she had to remind herself that this was a man with a lot of money, someone she’d probably dig up dirt on for an article.

She shook her head, she needed to leave.

After she finished dressing, she grabbed her bag from the front room and slipped out the door. Checking her phone she saw a couple missed calls from Brooke and an enthusiastic ‘be safe!’ text from Poppy. She quickly both, ensuring them that she was not dead in a ditch somewhere, before ordering an uber and hoping in the elevator.

***

The rest of the weekend had gone by in a blur. She’d spent all of Saturday nursing her hangover with ice cream and old reruns of Golden Girls in bed. Then Sunday was brunch with the girls at a little cafe where she was forced to share every detail of the events that unfolded Friday night, only leaving out how weird she had felt in the strangers' company. And then all too soon she was getting ready for a week of meetings and interviews.

Walking into the office, Stevi was greeted by her boss informing her that her 11am was now Stevi’s and ‘oh, look, he’s early.’ She mentally groaned, there was not enough caffeine in the world to make this worth it. Don’t get her wrong, Stevi loved her job, but god did she hate her boss. She was flakey, and whenever anything didn’t appeal to her, she’d simply give it to Stevi with barely any notice. There were far too many nights that she had to stay late because she was given a column to write only hours before it was due.

With a heavy sigh, she walks into the conference room, hoping that this won’t last long. “Good morning, my name is Stevi, I’ll be doing the interview today since Diane couldn’t be here.”

“Rule one.”

She whips her head up towards the man, “What?”

It’s in that moment that she realizes who this is, the man from Friday night. And coincidentally, Tom Holland. She should’ve known the other night who he was, his name and face had been plastered on the bulletin board for weeks, one of their most anticipated interviews this year. Tom was not only a pretty face, but the youngest CEO to be running an international company in decades. His father had started Holland and Co. Publishing almost 30 years ago, and only a few months ago he handed it over to Tom.

“I said, rule one darling. You’ve broken it.” She’d forgotten how lovely that voice was, remembering how captivating it was to have him whispering in her ear.

“I heard what you said, Mr. Holland.”

“Call me Tom, you’ve more than earned that privilege.”

“This is my place of work, not some stupid nightclub, I keep things professional here.”

Neither of them take their eyes off the other, a silent war taking place between the two of them.

“Well, if you’re such a professional, stop looking at me like you’re wanting to fuck me.”

A small gasp leaves Stevi. She stands up to leave, gathering her things, and looks at him with venom in her eyes, “Mr. Holland, I’m afraid that this interview is over, if you would please talk to the receptionist she will reschedule you in with someone other than me.”

A small look of shock crosses Tom’s face before he too stands, reaching out to grab Stevi’s arm, “Wait, I'm sorry. Sit down, I’ll be civil.”

Reluctantly, she does. Placing her notebooks in front of her and pulling out the recorder. Before she begins she gives Tom a warning look, “One word, one single word out of line, and this is over.” To which he nods and sits back, hands folded in his lap, looking like a true business man.

***

The rest of the interview goes by smoothly, only a couple of suggestive looks being thrown her way before he bites his tongue. Stevi’s never been more relieved to finish something in her life, the tension between the two becoming almost unbearable as the interview went on. “Okay, I think that’s all we need for the article, a draft will be sent to your assistant to go over before we publish it in next week's business column.”

Stevi stands quickly, ready to put everything behind her and spend the rest of her day hiding in her office. Before she can leave, a hand is wrapped around her arm once again, and body right behind her. “Let me take you to dinner, darling. A reward for being good.”

The voice in her ear sends a shiver down her spine, and for a second she debates it, “Tom, I can’t. I don’t mix business with pleasure, this is already a conflict of interest.”

“More of those damn rules. Live a little, let your guard down for once.” He looks at her with pleading eyes, something that makes him look more like his true age. That feeling sneaks its way back into again, and for a moment, while she stares into his eyes, nothing else exists. Just the two of them and a world of possibilities.

“If I say yes, this stays between us. The people we are here, and the people we are then are not the same. My job may not seem dangerous to you, but it could be very bad for me if someone gets the wrong idea.”

Tom nods, he knows all too well what she means. “Tonight at 7, meet me at The Garden on 22nd, I’ll make the reservation.”

She agrees, lets him put his number in her phone, and gives Tom one last smile before heading down the hall to her office.

She jumps when she sees someone sitting at her desk, “James, what are you doing here?”

“What, can’t check in on my favourite captain?”

“Not without a secret agenda, and last I checked, I have nothing to report to you, I’m off duty.” Stevi walks towards him, pushing his legs off of her desk.

“Ah, sweetheart, you’re never off duty. Not when you’re talking to men like that.” James points out the door, to where Tom can be seen talking to the receptionist.

“That is none of your business, James.”

“I want details, everything you can find out about him, on my desk by Friday, you know what’ll happen if it’s not. Have a good day Stevi.” And with that, James walks out of the room, leaving a chill hanging in the air.

Stevi suddenly can’t breathe, the four walls surrounding her feeling like a cage. She quickly grabs her things and walks to Dianes’ office, telling her there’s a family emergency and she’ll work on the article at home. Within minutes she’s scrambling to get into her car, dialing Poppys’ number, needing someone to calm her down.

She spends the rest of the day on Poppys’ couch trying to recover from her near mental breakdown. This life was never something she wanted, she’d been dragged into it by her ex. After he failed to complete a simple task, he was killed in their apartment, and she was responsible for finishing it out. But it’s never that simple, one task turned into two, and then four, and now she was too far in to be able to leave.

All too soon, it was 6:30 and she was leaving for her date with Tom. She’d left Poppys an hour ago, promising her that there was nothing to worry about, it had just been a bad day. She drove in silence, not wanting to focus on anything but the road. She got to the restaurant right on time, quickly being seated in one of the private rooms. She’d been here once before with her parents when she first moved to the city. They’d taken her out to celebrate and they’d spent the night drinking fancy wine and eating more food than they could’ve ever imagined.

Lost in her memories, she didn’t realise how much time had passed since she’d arrived. Checking her phone she saw that it was now quarter past, and no sign of Tom. She tries texting him, thinking maybe he’d gotten off of work late. By 7:30 she starts to panic, she’s 2 glasses of wine in and still no sign of him. To no avail, she calls him, worry turning into anger when it goes straight to voicemail.

It’s almost 8 when the waiter informs her that Tom has called, he won’t be making it, but to order whatever she likes and he’ll pay for it.

And so she sits there, wine glass in hand, wishing she’d never even met Tom.

[writersrealmbts]

A Natural: Part 5

Description: Hybrid!Taehyung x Reader: You’re a single mom, and your son is your entire world. When you take him to get his first hybrid, his choice is pretty bewildering, until you realize that he was picking out a dad.

Posted: 05/24/2020

Tags: Taehyung, Hybrid Taehyung, Human Reader

Wordcount: 1,906

A/N: Oh look, another series that was never supposed to be a series. And I had to pick a new series gif because it wouldn’t show up. 

Taehyung woke you up gently, pressing kisses to your cheeks, nose and forehead.

You sighed and stretched. “Mmm, what time is it?”

“Seven,” He whispered, tilting your chin slightly so he could kiss your lips. “You said you wanted to get there early.”

You nodded. “It’s his first day of physical therapy. He was scared. Jin send any updates?”

“Haven’t checked. You okay?” He asked, feeling your forehead.

“Just tired. Always tired. I wish there was a miracle cure that I could give him. Or that I could take his pain and he could continue to be my rambunctious baby.” You buried your face in his shoulder, sighing in frustration.

The past three weeks had been exhausting. You couldn’t recall a single night where you felt like you went to bed with some scrap of mental, emotional, or physical strength. They had woken Theo up about a week and a half after he was admitted, and he had taken it well since he was still so groggy. But you hardly left his side for the first three days. The only reason you left on the fourth was because of work. You had to pay for the medical bills somehow. Now they were thinking he was healed enough to start some very minor physical therapy. He didn’t have feeling from about mid-shin down, but his brain had healed well. The doctors didn’t think there was any lasting damage now. He got the casts off of his legs and his collarbone was healed, so they were really happy with how he was recovering so far.

Taehyung spent most of his days at the hospital, and Jin and Jimin alternated nights to help you two out.

Yoongi bought you lunch most days, and visited Theo on the weekends. Bringing movies to binge and board games to play.

Theo always perked up when Yoongi got there on Saturday morning.

Namjoon brought Hoseok whenever the two didn’t have too much work, and he would bring in music stuff—instruments or tracks—to entertain Theo.

Theo loved Namjoon’s music visits, just as he loved music class the most.

Hoseok still had to catch up on some grading, and recovering his class from a week with a substitute teacher on top of his own bit of physical therapy for his leg injury. He still obviously felt guilty, but he also helped Theo learn things he was missing in class. He had told you that the kids would ask after Theo, and they even sent in get-well-soon cards.

Theo kept saying he couldn’t wait to go back to school.

Jimin drew cartoons on Theo’s casts before they were removed and Theo loved them so much that he insisted Jimin teach him how to draw, and now there were drawings everywhere.

Taehyung kissed your collarbone. “Hey, you okay?”

“Just…waking up.” You curled into him.

He chuckled sleepily. “No, you’re not.”

“Are you telling me that you’re awake?”

He gave a sleepy sounding hum. “Not really, but I know we need to get up.”

You nodded, yawning into his chest and then rolling away from him and getting up in one movement.

“Hey, Jimin texted me to call him,” Taehyung said, frowning at his phone.

You sighed. “It probably has something to do with his parents. You better call him.”

He made an almost growling sound at the mention of Jimin’s parents—who had been a continual pain in the ass through this whole process—but he calls Jimin.

You don’t pay attention much while he talks to Jimin, getting ready for the day, and only noticing that something was wrong when Taehyung growls again.

He’s pacing along his side of the bed, not saying anything but there’s a steady growl in his throat. “He starts his therapy today!”

You flinch when he scoffs, and worry fills you at the frown creasing his forehead.

“What am I supposed to tell Y/n, Jiminie?!”

“I’d suggest the truth if you want everyone to live,” You said, eyes narrowed.

He looked up and gulped. “Can I make him explain it?”

You were already in front of him, taking the phone. “What’s going on?”

“My parents…they caused a scene here and the doctors decided to reschedule his physical therapy…since my parents ordered a DNA test.” Jimin sounded apologetic.

“What do they expect to get from a DNA test?” You asked, feeling bile rise in your throat.

“I don’t know, but I’m on top of it, they won’t make a move I don’t know about. I’ll stay with him all day, okay?”

“Jimin, why did they order a DNA test?”

He was quiet, and you heard him huff out a breath. “Because they want to see if he’s actually who we claim and maybe add him to their will if he is,” He said, sounding frustrated.

“Which means they’d try to take him away from me?”

“Possibly. If you didn’t want to comply with their standards.”

“Which I won’t.” You glared at the wall. “Your family sucks.”

“I know. It’s probably better if you stay away, though, that’ll delay things because they need your permission to do the DNA testing.”

You froze. “But—”

“I’ll keep her away,” Tae said, loud enough to be heard, and taking the phone. “Call us if Theo needs her.”

You stared in disbelief as he said goodbye to Jimin and then hung up.

He looked back at you. “It’s for the best, anyway. You’re exhausted.”

“I can’t sleep, not now,” You argued.

“There’s more than just physical exhaustion,” He rebutted, then leaned in and kissed you. “He’s safe with friends. Yoongi will be there later today, with Namjoon and Jimin, just like they planned and they’ll play games with Theo.”

“I barely ever there—”

“You practically live there,” He cut you off with a whine. “Please, I know you’re tired. I know. It’s been a really hard month. But Theo’s being looked after really well. All of the nurses adore him because he’s so sweet and polite. It’s time to take care of yourself.”

You tilted your head, at a loss for words.

He stepped closer, and arms wrapping around your waist after he tossed the phone onto the bed. His lips met yours softly. “It’s time to forget you’re a mom for a few minutes. Just…be you. Be who you were before you were a mom.”

“I don’t know who that is,” You whispered.

“Then just be the person you are with me,” He whispered back, voice low and deep.

You sighed and surrendered to him, allowing him to pull you into a series of lingering kisses.

“Dress up a bit, lets go out.” He murmured, tail swooshing behind him. “Or, well…let’s go for a picnic.”

You stepped back slightly, uncertain.

“Please, Y/n. We both need to let go for a while.” He pressed a kiss to your cheek.

And you gave in, nodding. “Okay, but…I don’t know…I don’t want to deal with other people.”

“Then we’ll have a picnic in the backyard. You get ready, and I’ll go get things set up and then if you could make us sandwiches?”

You nodded.

“Then we’ll have a nice little date,” He said, grinning at you as his fingers brushed your cheek. Then his shoulders scrunched happily with his face and he practically skipped out of the room. “Remember, wear pretty clothes!”

“O-okay…” You called back, then frowned at your closet door. “I don’t know if I have anything?”

You went into your closet, looking for something pretty that was also middling between casual and Easter Sunday high teas that you used to go to at your grandmother’s senior home while she was alive.

Instead you found frustration and work clothes. Some clothes you might wear to parent-teacher conferences, or to one of the school events.

But the only date-like thing you found in your closet was from before Theo was conceived and you weren’t about to try that on. You knew how your body had changed since then and didn’t need the reminder from your closet. You’d sort of squeezed into it the last time you’d worn it anyway, and you had more hip now.

Sure, you probably had more clothes in that box, but you knew most of the clothes in ther

Taehyung came back when you had been in there for too long. “What’s wrong?”

“No clothes,” You muttered. “Nothing to wear.”

He tilted his head, then came over to look through your clothes. He pulled out a sweater and a skirt, handing them to you. “It’s a little cold outside, so maybe leggings?”

You looked over the outfit and then at him, surprised. “Um…yeah…okay.”

He nodded and walked out. “I’ll make sandwiches!”

You heard your bedroom door close, and started changing. You were surprised at how well he managed to find an outfit for you, but then again, he dressed so well himself, even on a minimal budget.

And it was a nice, casual date outfit.

You did your hair a little, and your makeup a little more. Actually put on earrings and a necklace.

Taehyung was plating sandwiches, making things look nice.

You looked outside in surprise. “It’s raining?”

He looked out as well. “Yeah. It just started. But we can still have a picnic. It’ll just have to be a living room picnic. I already cleared the space and….” He trailed off when he looked at you. His expression softened and he smiled. “Wow, y/n. You look so beautiful.”

You could have blushed, and you might have blushed from the way he was looking at you. “It’s been a while.”

“You always look beautiful,” He added, sincerity in all of his features and gestures. He took your hands in his, tail slowly swishing. “Thank you for agreeing to do this with me.”

You nodded, looking at the ground, unable to meet his gaze.

“Ooh, can I put a fire in the fireplace?”

You nodded again, stealing glanced at him as he excitedly went to turn on the gas fireplace.

Then he dimmed the lights some, and finished arranging blankets and pillows.

“Alright, I think that covers it, sorry we’re only having sandwiches.”

“I can live with sandwiches,” You replied softly, letting him lead you over to sit in the picnic area. You got comfortable while he hurried back to get the plate of sandwiches. You didn’t know your living room could feel so romantic.

He brought over the food and drinks on the bed-tray, setting it down. “It’s just grape juice, but I thought the glasses made it feel more romantic.”

You smiled. “Does. I didn’t even know the living room could look like this.”

He grinned. “We should make it look like this more often.”

You laughed a little.

He kept your laughing a little as the two of you ate, telling you stories and drawing stories of your family out.

You moved the tray and sat beside him, leaning on his shoulder.

He was still for a moment before relaxing into it. He kissed your forehead, then kept telling you about a movie he had seen.

You stared into the fire, listening to his voice. It was so soothing, so wonderfully perfect.

His lips met yours softly, then parted to lightly brush your cheeks. “I love you, y/n.”

You sighed happily, eyes staying shut. “I love you, Taehyung.”

Previous.  Next.

Taehyung Masterpost.  Masterlist.  

Taglist (must comment on taglist to be tagged from now on)

Tagging: @rosita7703, @ephemeral-mindset @forvever-ddaeng  @ncttzuuy @givebuckysomelove @alex--awesome--22  @missmoxxiesworld  @bryvada @knjhe  @i-dont-even-know-fck @young-yellkie @veryuniquenamegoeshere @lottohsehunnie​ @briramirezalipio​ 

Unable to tag: @bunnyboyenthusiast (think you changed to @kthstrawberryshortcake​ please let me know if I’m wrong or right because I have you listed for multiple stories)

[downwiththeficness]

In the Bond-Chapter 3

Summary: Lilah often wished she’d never said yes to working with the Gecko brothers—usually while dodging gunfire. At no time was she regretting that decision more than when she’s hanging upside down from the ceiling, staring down a group of hungry culebras and one (1) extremely powerful sun god.

Word Count: ~5,400

Warnings: Blood

A/N: This is an AU of my Story In the Blood, which can be read here. Basically, this fic explores what would have happened if Lilah had met up with Geckos before she met Brasa.

Taglist: @symbiont13

Start from the beginning   Previous Chapter   Next Chapter   Read on AO3   Masterlist

Lilah deliberately did not take any care in how she dressed. She wore jeans and a hooded sweatshirt, same as she always did. Tennis shoes. Ponytail. Chapstick. Foregoing a purse, she slipped some cash and her cell phone into her pocket, refusing to look at herself in the mirror hanging on the far wall of her bedroom.

The room, itself, was small, with an en suite bathroom, tucked into the back of the restaurant. It was one of the only occupied rooms on the main floor as Lilah was one of the few people living there full time who could have windows. Her queen sized bed was pushed up against the far wall, covered in blankets and pillows.  Lilah had spent a very long time living in motel rooms, jumping from team to team, job to job. When she finally got a place where she felt comfortable enough to settle down, she realized how much a creature of comfort she actually was.

With her cut of every job she went on, Lilah made a single purchase towards her little sanctuary. Her most recent score was a candle that she hid behind a stack of books on the nightstand next to her bed. Caramel Macchiato. She’d picked it up in the store, inhaled, and felt something inside snap so hard that she had to buy it immediately. Lilah didn’t have the courage to burn it, too afraid the others would somehow figure it out. So, she would occasionally slip the top from the glass and take a breath before replacing it carefully. Her own little guilty pleasure.

Thinking that she couldn’t stall anymore, Lilah flicked off the light and headed out into the bar proper, noting that she was the last to arrive.

“Is this how you want to take a meeting with our mortal enemy?” Seth said as he shrugged on his coat.

Lilah glared, “I don’t want to take this meeting at all.  Kate’s right, though. You need a voice of reason in that room.”

The woman, herself, wasn’t present. Lilah hadn’t pressed her for any further details of her time spent possessed by an immortal being. Kate hadn’t offered, either. But, Lilah noted that Kate did look at her just a little differently from time to time. Something softer in her gaze. Something secret. Lilah took those looks and hid them away from prying eyes. She only hoped that the others were too preoccupied with their own shit to notice.

“Hey,” Richie cut in, “I can be a voice of reason.”

“You’re just as likely as he is to go in guns blazing,” Lilah responded as she walked decidedly past them and out into the night.

The sleek black car Seth had washed every weekend by one of the bar staff was parked haphazardly in the mostly empty lot, the bulk of their usual crowd not due for a few hours.  She opened the driver’s side door and shoved the seat forward, sliding in to the back of the coupe. Seth slapped at the seat, and Lilah pulled back so that it didn’t hit her in the knees. He dropped down into it and shut the door, Richie not far behind.

In the few days since the letter had arrived, Lilah had done a remarkable amount of research. Brasa had set up a base of operations that looked more or less permanent. What surprised her was how close it was to them, two hours’ drive through the desert. Like Seth and Richie, he’d purchased a bar as a front and was operating some sort of company from it. Trucks came in on Tuesdays, delivering product that was packed in large metal boxes. She never got a clear look at it, though she was tempted to send one of the culebras that was loyal to the Geckos out there to get a peek. She noted that culebras visited throughout the week en masse, a startlingly large number, given that the bar wasn’t even close to the nearest town. Some of them looked to be transient, but there were others that looked like they had settled in the region.

The product never left, though, which was weird. It came in, like clockwork, but nothing ever left. Lilah had followed one of trucks to a gas station and had gotten close enough to lay down a GPS tracker, but the thing had failed. She still couldn’t figure out why.

They weren’t using the normal methods for money laundering, either. The bar could be considered a cash establishment, but their bank accounts looked solid, at least on the surface.  If Lilah could get a good look at their books, she might be able to figure out how Brasa was supporting a business that was serving the majority of the culebra population outside of the Gecko stronghold at Jed’s.

“You’re awfully quiet,” came Richie’s voice, a teasing note beneath the words.

Lilah snapped out of her thoughts, looking at the back of his head, “I’m just thinking about how we’re going to approach this.”

Seth lifted a hand, forefinger stabbing at the air, “We’re going to let him talk. He’s got a plan, we’ll hear it, and then decide if we want to be a part of it.”

So, the plan they’d had at the beginning was still the plan.  That, at least, was comforting.

“And if we don’t?” she edged quietly.

He shrugged, “We get the hell out of there.”

Easier said than done. They were going in virtually blind. No idea of how many were inside, no idea of the firepower they might have, and only one way in or out.

“And if its a trap?”

Richie held up a pistol she knew had been hand crafted with specialized bullets that would take down a culebra, if fired at the heart. His smile was self-satisfied in the way that told her he’d forgotten that she was still human and very killable.

“We got back up.”

Lilah’s jaw worked, “You’ve got back up. I’ve got zilch.”

This was true. Lilah didn’t much like guns, but she carried them whenever they went out to do a job. She never recovered the gun Brasa had taken from her, and every pistol she’d fired since then hadn’t felt right. Her thigh felt bare without the holster, her body exposed. The rush order she’d put in with their local arms dealer for the exact same gun hadn’t yet arrived and she was too stubborn to bring a gun that didn’t even fit in her hand right. Her aim, already questionable, would be shit, anyways.

Seth made a derisive sound, leaning over to dig into a bag on the floorboard by Richie’s feet.

“You know, I could get that for you,” Richie drawled. Lilah knew that tone, a soft needling that he sometimes resorted to when he wanted to get a rise out of his brother. It was an attempt to lighten the mood. An attempt that did not work.

“I got it,” Seth grunted as he righted himself, frowning.

Through the seats, he handed Lilah a knife tucked into a sheath, “Take that. At least its something.”

Lilah ran her hand over it, the handle was intricate silver, the leather worn but still in good condition. There were little straps that she could affix to her forearm so that she could hide the weapon with her sleeve.

Carefully, she buckled the knife in place, pulling her sleeve down over it and holding her arm aloft to ensure it was as concealed as it could be. Lilah wasn’t much good in a fight, but she knew one or both of them would cover her while she ran.  It was a testament to how fucked they thought this might go that they’d even brought her along. She was a good talker, far better than either of them. If they were actually going to broker peace, she’d need to work as a lead.

When they arrived, Lilah stared at it. The parking garage was the only way in or out. The entrance was wide enough that trucks could back right up to drop doors, unload, and then drive right back out again. Seth pulled in, spun the car around, and backed into a parking spot with a clear view of the exit. At least he was being careful. This boded well for whatever happened next. She glanced at the back of his head. He was sober, too, which also gave them a leg up in this mess. Drunk or high, Seth couldn’t be controlled. Sober, at least she had a chance.

Lilah waited for Seth to step out of the car, taking his hand as helped her up. He pulled her close, leveling a serious look at her.

“First sign of trouble, you run. Richie and I can handle ourselves, but you run. Got it?”

He’d said the same thing on their first job, robbing a minor drug dealer to get some extra cash for inventory at the bar. Lilah smiled and said the same thing that she’d said to him all those months ago.

“Duly noted, boss.”

He looked at her another moment longer, then nodded and let her go, shutting the car door and joining his brother near the front end.

“Lilah, entrance?”

She nodded towards an elevator, “Only way in is through there.  No stairs down, I checked.”

On cue, the doors opened and a man in a three piece suit stepped out. The suit was immaculately tailored, a soft baby blue that was accented by the purple of his button up and tie. Lilah scanned him—Rolex, Italian leather shoes, what looked like a real diamond in the tie clip.  The whole outfit screamed money in a way that was just this side of ostentatious. She caught the pinky ring—the other side of ostentatious, then.

“Mr. Gecko, Mr. Gecko,” he looked at Lilah, “Ms. McNamara.”

Well, shit.

She knew she’d only given Brasa her first name, but here this guy was, calling her by her last. Lilah frowned at him. She wasn’t the only one who had done her research.

“Who the fuck are you?”

She almost made a sound of censure at the bite in Seth’s tone, but they were already moving. The brothers stepped in front of her, working as a unit. Richie put his hands in his pockets, and she knew he was casting the man a hard look. Seth’s arms were at his sides, but his coat was unbuttoned so that he could get at his firearm faster.

“You gonna answer?”

The man, shorter than both brothers, shorter than Lilah (even though she was tall for a woman), was effortlessly cool, “I am Javier. Lord Brasa has asked that I bring you to the conference room.”

Lord Brasa, Lilah scoffed to herself. Fucking pretentious fucks.

“Well,” Seth prompted with a flicking gesture of his hand, “Lead the way.”

Javier smiled, fingers touching the button of his jacket nearest to the lapel, “Of course. If you please.”

The elevator doors were still open, the carriage looming in front of them. Lilah resisted the urge to touch the knife strapped to her forearm as she followed all three men inside. The floors were marble, the fixtures glinting with gold. More money screaming at her. Where did it come from? How were they running their scheme?

There was a ding and the door opened to a dimly lit bar. The tables, the bar top, the stage, everything was cast in red glow. It muted the dark of the wood, softened every edge in a way that made the room blur in a dreamy way. Lilah kept close to her friends, moving through the room to the back, where Javier opened a door.

The hallway was just as dark as the room behind them. Neither of the two men in front of her hesitated, so Lilah continued following, flinching when the door closed behind her. Javier led them through a few turned to a nondescript door, which he opened, gesturing for them to enter.

Catching the way Javier looked closely at her as she passed, Lilah breathed deeply, barely containing the growing disdain for the man. He smiled serenely.  She got the distinct feeling he knew way more than she wanted him to know, and that unsettled her. They were already on an uneven playing field. Every second she spent in his presence made her feel more unbalanced.

Brasa was already sitting at a long rectangular table when they arrived.  He stood as they approached, one hand remaining on the wood. Lilah noted that he wasn’t wearing his coat, though the gloves remained. He was, as seemed his habit, dressed in all black.

“Welcome,” he said amiably, though he didn’t smile.

Seth’s gait slowed to a swagger, and Lilah very nearly rolled her eyes as he slid a chair out and sat, Richie taking his place beside him. She pulled out the chair on the other side of Seth, sitting carefully. Brasa waited a beat, then sat as well.

“What do you want?” Seth asked.

Brasa leaned forward on his forearms, hands folded, “I can tell you what I don’t want. I don’t want another endless war. I don’t want to see my people hunted. I don’t want any more killing between us.”

Lilah watched his face as he talked. His voice was calm, even in a way that told her he wasn’t attempting to dissemble. His body language was guarded, but that was to be expected.

“That doesn’t answer my question,” Seth replied, jaw set.

Brasa looked at him, unblinking, “I want peace. I have people to care for. My attention needs to be on them, not on fighting off every attempt to kill us.”

Seth smirked, “I wouldn’t say ‘attempt’. We’ve been pretty successful.”

Richie nodded, “Very successful, in some cases.”

Lilah felt her mouth thin at the boast. Telling Brasa that they had been killing off his people wasn’t conducive. She wondered if they intended to talk peace at all, or if this was a very dangerous scheme to irk their enemy. Her fingers itched to touch her knife. She resisted, barely.

“That’s right, Richie. Got a whole nest, what, six months ago?” Seth’s tone was conversational, bordering on jovial.

“We did, indeed.”

Jesus, she thought. We’re all going to die down here.

Brasa’s eyes closed briefly, and Lilah could tell he was annoyed, though he telegraphed nothing with his body.

“The point is,” he asserted, his fingers flexing with the third word, “I’m offering to stop the fight. A complete cease fire, if you will.”

“Why?”

Oh, God, why are you talking?

Brasa’s eyes flicked to her, his mouth twitching. Lilah sensed his amusement, felt it brush against her mind as clearly as any physical touch. Beneath the table, she lifted her toes, the urge to haul ass out of the room riding her hard.

“My kind were made for war,” he explained, “Bred for it, bound to it. We had no choice in the matter. Now, I can make that choice. I can stop the cycle, at least in this dimension.”

Lilah very carefully avoided the fact that he had just confirmed there were other dimensions. Though she had gotten a little background information on Xibalba, she hadn’t yet put it together that it was co-existing somewhere that wasn’t Earth. That put a lot of her reading into a very strange and very mind bending context. Focus.

“That’s it?”

His head cocked to the side, “Does there need to be more?”

“There’s always more with you people,” Seth interrupted blithely. “We just don’t know what it is yet.”

Brasa smiled a very small smile, “Perhaps. But, at this time, this is all that is on the table.” He tapped the wood with a knuckle.

“So,” Richie prompted, pulling a pack of cigs out of his jacket pocket. He tapped one out along with a Zippo lighter. “What are your terms?”

Leaning back a little in his seat, Brasa lifted a shoulder, “As I said. Complete cease fire on both sides. We’ll outline our territories and keep to our sides.”

Richie took a drag, considering. Lilah watched him mull over the words, his keen intellect working his way through the problem.

Seth sneered, “You gonna keep killing humans, while you’re at it.”

Brasa shook his head, “No need. We have our own supply.”

The trucks. That’s what he’d been bringing in on Tuesdays. A blood supply, but from where? The shipments were massive, would feed far more than she’d seen coming in through the garage. Unless, there was another entrance, something underground, perhaps? She hadn’t seen anything, not even in the blueprints she’d managed to snag from the city.

Seth looked unconvinced, “You say you’ve got people. How many? How are you going to feed them all?”

“That is my concern,” Brasa answered levelly. “Your concern is that your people adhere to the terms of our agreement.”

Richie flicked ash, saying, “I’ve got some terms to add.”

Brasa’s brows lifted, a silent urge for the other man to continue.

“I want no interference with bondmates. None whatsoever.”

Lilah had no control over the way her heart thudded, and she knew two of the three males in the room were hearing it. Though he didn’t look her way, she felt Brasa’s attention shift over to her, felt heat rolling towards her from where he was sitting.

His lips parted, “How do you mean?”

Richie stubbed his cigarette out on the wooden table, “We both know I’ve completed my bond with Kate. I don’t want her to be a target for retribution.”

Ah, there it is. Lilah wondered if Richie would bring Kate into this. She was the silent voice in the room, a key player in absentia. With what she knew about their interaction, it made sense that Brasa might want a little vengeance.

“Kate,” Brasa began, curtly, “Is not Amaru. And, neither am I.” He drew in a breath, “But, I agree that bondmates must be left out of any disagreement, no matter how fierce. They are too precious to be used as bargaining chips.”

Richie stared hard, his mouth thin, nostrils flared. After several long seconds, he gave a nod, indicating his satisfaction.

“Are there other terms you want to discuss?” Brasa asked.

Seth gave a little sound of thought, “I’m sure we’ll think of something along the way.”

Here, Brasa’s eyes lit up, “I agree. I would like to implement the use of an ambassador during the drafting of our treaty. I will send one of mine to you, and you will send one of yours to me.”

At this, Lilah felt Javier step up to the table, though he didn’t say anything. Seth glanced at the man, tongue touching the back of his teeth. Lilah could feel how they’d been boxed in, though she doubted either of them knew just how it had happened. Or, why.

“Why would we need to do that?” This came from Richie, his eyes narrowed behind his glasses.

For the first time since they’d entered the room, Brasa relaxed. Lilah felt a little jolt of fear go through her. Relaxed was not going to go well for them.

“I have either brokered or been present during the brokering of many, many peace treaties.”

“And, how many of them have you broken?” Seth bit out.

Lilah felt her throat work around a noise she’d been holding back for a while. A short, guttural sound that meant ‘shut the fuck up’. They were almost through this, and if he could keep from pissing Brasa off, they could maybe end out with a good deal.

Ignoring the comment, Brasa continued, “In my experience, the first draft is rarely accepted as the final. It will go through several revisions before we add our signatures. The use of ambassadors is standard practice.”

Seth took a moment, staring Brasa down, “Who do you suggest?”

Brasa lifted a hand, indicating the man beside him, “Javier will suffice for us. He knows my expectations. And for yourself?”

“Richie’ll do it.”

The man in question scoffed, leaning over to talk lowly with his brother, “I’m supposed to be running point on our other projects. How would I have time to draft a peace treaty?”

“You don’t sleep, Richard.”

“I do, too, sleep.”

“Like two hours a day.”

“That’s still sleep, you asshole.”

Lilah touched her temple, knowing that they’d come to an agreement eventually.  She’d just have to listen to them bitching about it for a bit first. Across the table, Brasa hid his smile behind his hand, dark eyes glancing at her. She avoided his gaze.

“This project will likely take several months, and extensive ongoing meetings,” Brasa said eventually, leaning his chin on his hand casually, “Can you spare your brother for that long?”

Seth paused in his bickering, his brain working around the problem. Lilah watched his expression carefully, waiting. The furrow between his brows relaxed and she knew he had it. He looked at her and she knew she was going to hate what came out of his mouth next.

“McNamara,” he muttered. She was already shaking her head, “You do this all the time.”

“I negotiate our cut when we pull jobs, Seth. Its not the same thing.”

“Close enough,” he responded quickly, turning in his chair to look at her head on. “You know what we’ll accept, anything else you can run past us.”

Lilah stared at him, though her attention was straying to the heat creeping up the side of her neck to her cheek. It took effort to keep from shifting away from it, the unfamiliar weight disconcerting. She felt her resolve crumbling under the pressure.

“Seth,” she breathed, “Richie’s right. You’re an asshole.”

Then, she turned in her chair and faced Brasa, “I’ll do it.”

She sensed more than saw his satisfaction. They had just given him something he wanted. Lilah was unsure how she felt about that.

“Good,” Brasa announced, rising.  “I have an initial draft in my office. I also have a separate office for your ambassador. I will show her both, and then you may be on your way.”

“Hold up,” Seth said, rising, “You’re not taking her anywhere.”

“I’ll be fine,” Lilah grumbled, already circling around the table. “Besides, he’s got a lot to lose, if he kills me.”

No one needed to know just how much Brasa stood to lose with Lilah’s death. She let the implication stand in the deadened air, though. With more confidence than she felt, Lilah stood before him, waiting for him to lead the way.

After casting her another assessing look, Brasa turned and moved towards the back of the room. Another set of doors, another hallway, and she was stepping to a massive room that looked like it was carved right out of the earthen stone.  She was entering it from the side, about ten feet of rock separating the front of the room from a pool of water that was bisected by a walkway.  Cast once more in a red glow, the walkway led to singular desk with two plush chairs.

“Good work out there, by the way,” she commented, uncomfortable with the extended silence.

He looked back at her and smiled. Lilah had to swallow back the shock of how young he looked when he smiled like that. She knew he was ancient, knew that he’d seen things she couldn’t even fathom, and yet...his boyish pleasure at the compliment was so evident that it washed all of that away.

“That wasn’t work,” he replied, moving towards the desk, his hands slipping into his pockets, “That was a negotiation.”

Her eyes narrowed, “For the treaty?”

“For you,” he answered, as if it was the simplest thing in the world.

Lilah bristled, “I thought bondmates weren’t going to be used as bargaining chips.”

Brasa huffed a short breath, turning and leaning against the desk, “Its been weeks, Lilah. Forgive me if the separation has made me brash.”

What he’d done wasn’t brash. It was cool, calculated, efficient. He’d maneuvered not only the peace he sought, but a guarantee of her nearness within ten minutes. She was in over her head. She was in way, way over her head.

Licking her lips, Lilah approached him with all the wariness that she would give a wild animal, “What do you want from me?”

He looked at her a moment, “Time.”

“Time?”

“Yes,” he confirmed with a dip of his chin, “Just time.”

She thought about it, “Then, I need something from you.”

Lifting from the desk, he stood up straight, “Name it.”

“Discretion. I know those men out there. I know what they are capable of. If you really want peace between our people, they cannot know how you and I are...connected.”

He considered it, and she could tell that he was on the verge of refusing. This was a proud male that she was dealing with, someone who’d fought a long time to get where he was. The little bit that she knew about bondmates made the request seeming somehow unreasonable.

“You ask too much,” he murmured, taking a step towards her. “I have already given you more than I should.”

She was bewildered, “A few weeks? Is that more than you should? This is my life we are talking about.”

Heat blew at her, his anger a physical thing, “This is my nature we are talking about.”

His words were lowly spoken, but filled with such an undertone of severity that Lilah couldn’t bring herself to reply.

“I am Xibalban,” his hand cut across the air, “It is my right to claim my bondmate when I find her, no matter the circumstances.”

“And, what about my rights?” Lilah sneered, arms crossing.

Brasa took a deep breath, centering himself. Then, he took another breath, his eyes focused and she could tell he’d already formed another deal to make, “I’ll need something from you, to keep this secret.”

Ice moved glacially down her spine, a cold kind of fear. Her skin pricked with awareness. She jerked her head to the side, indicated for him to continue.

“Blood,” he stated, “Blood and bond.”

There was a soft lilt in the way he said it, a hint of ritual. Lilah’s jaw clenched as she waited for more information.

“I need to assured of your safety, of your strength, when you are not with me. I have many enemies, and if they discover you are human—if I haven’t fortified you properly—they will kill you. We will have a blood exchange when we meet, every time. That is what I want from you.”

Blood. Time. Discretion.

Lilah nodded, “Done.”

He was satisfied, but he was not pleased. Lilah could read it in the shift of his body, the ash in his scent.  She waited, unsure of how happy she was with the arrangement.

“We will begin now,” he announced, a blade already in his hand.

Lilah closed her eyes, working to keep her instinctive reaction at bay. An angry Xibalban with a knife was not to be taken lightly. Before she could react, he appeared in front of her, taking her arm—the arm with the knife strapped to it. Lilah didn’t have the ability to pull back as he lifted the sleeve of her sweatshirt. She did have the ability to glare at him as he laughed.

“What were you going to do with this?”

“Well,” she deadpanned, “Shooting you didn’t quite work out last time. I figured another method might be more effective.”

He flashed his teeth at her, “I applaud the effort.”

“Thanks.”

Letting go of one arm, he took up the other, peeking underneath the fabric. Satisfied that she wasn’t harboring any other weapons, Brasa pushed it to her elbow, glancing at her for her readiness. Lilah gave a nod, hissing when the blade went through her skin.  This cut was deeper than the last, though just as precise. He brought the wound to his mouth, sucking gently.

Lilah didn’t know how to feel about the way her body reacted to watching him drink from her. There was an alien revulsion to the act, itself. Mentally, her brain screamed that she was in danger, that she had to get away. The primal part of her brain, the thing that was deeper and stronger than any other, ensured that she stayed right where she was.

He groaned against her skin, and she felt the vibration of it go right through her, rolling along her arm and over her chest. His body was so close, the scent of coffee and caramel all she could sense. Lilah kept trying to breathe, kept trying to remain upright. When she wavered, his arm went around her waist, pulling her into a broad chest. Her free hand gripped his shirt for balance.

Too late, and too soon, he pulled away, his tongue lingering over the cut a moment longer. Lilah swallowed, eyes wide, when he looked at her. The black had taken over the whites of his eyes again, and though his lips weren’t pulled back over them, she knew his fangs had dropped. She held her breath.

Without a word, Brasa slipped the button at the cuff of his shirt through the buttonhole and rolled it up, blade slicing through his forearm. She almost said no. She almost shoved him away and ran full sprint back to Seth and Richie. His eyes stopped her.

Brasa’s eyes, black as they were, were so wide and beguiled that Lilah had to stop and stare. He was looking at her with such unrestained awe, such grateful affection that she made no move to resist as he guided her to his own skin.

Lilah wished it had been a fluke. She wished that her memory of how good he tasted was so distorted by adrenaline and fear that it couldn’t even come close to reality. He was...exquisite. Honey thick, and twice as sweet.

She had to stop this. She had to get control. Turning her head, Lilah tried to get away. His hand slipped to the back of her neck below her ponytail, a firm grasp.

“More than a mouthful, this time,” he murmured against her temple, “More, Lilah.”

God help her, but she took it. Swallow after swallow, her eyes squeezed shut, words of praise sounding her ear. When he finally allowed her to lift her chin, she struggled to breathe. She didn’t know how long she’d been at it, only that his taste remained, coating every inch of her mouth.

His arms held her steady, “You did so good. So good.”

Lilah felt her body overheat, sweat forming on her temples. His face swam in her vision, so close she could feel the vibration of every word he said. Though her sight was blurred by the intensity of what she was feeling, Lilah could absolutely tell that he was still wearing that expression of awe, that he was looking at her as if she were the entire world. And that scared her.

Drawing on years of experience with unstable and dangerous situations, Lilah righted herself, rasping, “I need to get back. They won’t wait for long.”

Brasa ran his hands down her arms, the action serving to compose his demeanor. Assured that she could stand on her own, he stepped away towards his desk where he picked up a thick file.

Handing it to her, he explained, “This is the first draft. Take a look at it and we’ll discuss edits.”

Javier was standing near the door as they walked out. He handed Lilah a Gatorade with a smile. Lilah’s eyes cut at him as she took it, thumb and forefinger already twisting off the cap. She’d have to get more details on that man as soon as possible. He was definitely more than he seemed.

It wasn’t until they were almost home that Richie finally turned around in the front seat and cast her a curious gaze, “What happened in there? You haven’t said anything.”

Lilah caught Seth looking at her in the rearview.  

She shrugged, “He showed me an office and handed me the file. He wants to see our edits as soon as we have them ready. I’m going to look at this tomorrow and let you read what I come up with.”

He wasn’t satisfied with her answer. Lilah could tell by the way he sucked his teeth. She didn’t care. She had much, much bigger things to worry about.

[awhitehead17]

Whumptober 2020: Day 15 - Into the unknown

Prompt: Possession 

Summary: When Kon comes to the Tower for the weekend, they instantly know something isn’t right with him. After checking up on him, they soon find that the situation is worse than they imagined 

A/N: As a warning there is a bit of violence in this story. This consists of strangulation and head bashing, nothing too graphic however, I just want to warn people in case!

Enjoy! :D

By some coincidence they had all gathered into the media room over the course of the afternoon. It was only the start of the weekend but not everyone had actually arrived at the Tower yet.

Tim had been the first one to arrive from Gotham, while he could have easily spent time in his room he choose to chill in the media room instead and did some work on his laptop to pass the time. 

Cassie had joined him an hour later, followed by Bart not long after. Tim had continued on with his work while the other two watched a film. It wasn’t until Kon comes strolling into the room that he finally breaks away from his computer.

The half Kryptonian enters the room with his face scrunched up in pain and a hand on his head. He walks over and flops down onto the opposite end of the couch with a groan.

“What’s up Kon?” Bart asks eyeing him up with a frown.

Kon groans again. “My heads killing me, has been all day. No matter what pain killers I take the headache won’t shift.”

Tim shares a concerned look with the other two. He glances at Kon, “Have you had enough sleep recently? Enough food and water? Been up against any freaky crop plants in Smallville this week?”

Kon shakes his head in denial. “I’ve been fine all week until this morning. School was hell to get through today.”

“Well dinner is soon, once you’ve eaten perhaps call it an early night. You might feel better tomorrow morning after some rest.”

The Kryptonian sighs and shrugs, “Perhaps, yeah? We’ll see.”

Dinner comes by half an hour later and they all migrate to the kitchen to eat. Despite how lovely the food was, Kon had barely made a dent in his food which results in everyone giving him concerned looks.

Once the meal was over, Kon retires to his room while Tim, Cassie and Bart clear up.

“Something’s not right with him.” Cassie stats putting the plates away.

“Do you think he’s been attacked in the week and isn’t telling us?” Bart guesses as he dries off the pans.

Tim hums from his position at the sink. “I have no idea. Once we’re done here I’ll go and check on him, he may talk when it’s just one of us with him.”

As Tim said he would, he goes to Kon’s bedroom after finishing up in the kitchen. He taps on the door lightly and lets himself inside the room.

“Hey Kon, I’ve come to check on you….” Tim’s sentence trails off when he stumbles onto a scene he hadn’t been expecting.

Kon was in his room, on the floor curled up with his hands clenched in his hair. His whole posture was shaking and he was muttering something underneath his breath.

“Kon?” Tim whispers with uncertainty. While he desperately wanted to go comfort his best friend something else felt off which stopped Tim rushing to his side. “Conner?”

In that moment he’s glad he hadn’t gone ahead rushed to Kon’s side because the moment the meta looked up, it was clear that nothing was right. Kon’s head snaps up to look at him and Tim instantly sees the bright red glow of his eyes.

Tim barely gets an “oh shit” out before he was being body slammed by his best friend. The force carries him backwards and out into the hallway, Tim’s back slams against the far wall and he crumples to the ground hissing in pain. He had no armour on, meaning there was nothing to help soften the impact of the concrete wall when he slammed into it.

He didn’t have time to recover however because Kon’s suddenly standing before him and clamping a hand around his neck, lifting him up off the ground. Tim scrambles at the hold, trying to push it off him because it was hard to breathe, he knows if Kon applies anymore pressure then his windpipe will break.

“Kon… please… snap… snap out of it…” he wheezes out. His best friend wasn’t there though, only whatever was now possessing him. His eyes were still burning bright red and Tim wonders if Kon (not-Kon) will kill him by heat vision.

Black spots were now dancing in his vision and Tim was seriously struggling to breathe. He weakly pushes at Kon’s unrelenting grip, trying to get free.

“Conner!”

The scream startles him and then suddenly Kon’s hand disappeared from his neck. Tim falls to the ground and sucks in precious air through his abused neck. He wildly looks around to find Cassie and Kon engaged in some kind of spar. The two meta’s and their super-strength going against one another in the tiny alcove of the corridor. They bounce off the walls, the floor and even the ceiling when their flight abilities kick in.

While Cassie handles Kon he scrambles up to his feet and starts rushing down the corridor. Kryptonite. He has Kryptonite stored in his bedroom. While he loathes the idea of using it on Kon, it’s the only thing that’ll weaken him enough for them to get the upper hand so they could work out what’s going on.

“Tim watch out!”

He barely gets a second to comprehend the warning before something collides with his back. He falls to the ground with a grunt and cries out when a heavy pressure lands on his back. Tim knows without looking that it’s Kon. He tries to buck the meta off but fails miserably as he couldn’t barely move an inch with Kon on his back.

A fist full of his hair was grabbed and his head is yanked up. He hisses with the movement and then screams when his face is smacked into the ground. Pain explodes throughout his head it becomes difficult to think. As his head is lifted up again Tim’s able to form some words that he desperately needed to share before he couldn’t.

“My room!” He shouts, hoping one of his teammates are listening. “My desk draw! In there is krypton-“

He’s cut off when his face is slammed against the floor a second time. Pain once again explodes through his head and he cries out. He’s mildly aware of a random harsh breeze of air rushing by him as his head is lifted up yet again.

It happens a third time and Tim knows he won’t be awake for much longer. The next one will either knock him unconscious, leave him extremely concussed or it’ll simply kill him.

When Kon goes to smash his head against the floor for a fourth time, Tim barely notices the room beginning to glow green. Before he could make sense of what was happening, his head collides against the ground and everything goes dark.

-----

As Tim comes to, the brightness of the room hurts his eyes, he has an extremely bad headache and his throat is sore to hell. It takes a lot longer than what it should have but he soon realises that he’s in the medical bay in the Tower.

He also eventually notices Cassie’s frowning face above him. Tim closes his eyes and groans, “What happened?”  

Tim winces when he hears himself speak and the way his throat itches. That’s some damage done to his neck alright. Before Cassie could answer, Tim remembers everything and bolts straight up into a sitting position. He looks at her frantically. “Where’s Kon? What happened to him? Did you guys work it out?”

Cassie instantly pushes him back down onto the bed and keeps her hand on his shoulder. She gives him a stern look. “Don’t talk. You’re only going to hurt yourself.” Her gaze softens then. “He’s fine Tim, or will be fine at least.”

Doing the best he could to ignore the throbbing going on in his head, Tim stares at her, encouraging her to elaborate on what had happened once he was unconscious.

Cassie sighs and glances to the side, Tim follows her gaze and sees an unconscious Kon laid upon another bed. Bart was there too, he was currently looking at something on a tablet in his hands.

“Bart managed to get the kryptonite from your room and together we were able to knock Kon out. We’re still analysing things but we’re pretty sure it’s Luthor. Luthor had somehow mind controlled and possessed Kon into attacking us and considering it’s happened before it’s not a shock.” She tells him sullenly.

Tim frowns staring at his best friend’s unconscious body. Kon’s going to hate himself after this, he’s going to feel so guilty and they’re going to have to do a lot of convincing to stop Kon from isolating himself again like he did the first time.

Tim glances at Cassie with a raised eyebrow, hopefully she gets what he’s trying to convey without talking.

Finally letting him go, she runs a hand through her hair. “It’s getting looked into, various of league members are aware of what happened and the plan is keeping Kon sedated until some results appear because its unpredictable on how he’ll wake up. It’s not the best solution but it’s all we’ve got for now. He’ll be okay Tim and then we’ll be there to help him through it.”

Tim smiles sadly and reaches out to take her hand, giving it a squeeze in support. They’ll make sure Kon is okay no matter what.

[hb-writes]

Little Lady Blinder - Chapter 7

Congratulations, 1919

Also available here on ff net or here on AO3.

Chapter Content Warning: canon-typical content, reference to police violence, mention of injury, references to pregnancy/ pregnancy options, (difficult) childbirth, allusions to mental health issues, mentions of an absent father, mentions of parental death.

—

Polly watched Clara idly tap her fingers on the table as she waited. She was making only the slightest bit of noise but it was still distracting Polly from her reading so she cleared her throat.

"Maybe I'll just go and—"

"You let your sister rest," Polly said, fixing her niece with a look over the top of her newspaper. Polly was still comfortably clothed in her robe and bedclothes from the night before, having stayed over.

Clara was dressed for the day at her Uncle Charlie's yard, which meant that she donned some old trousers of her twin's and one of her brother's caps. Polly had already braided her hair, a long blonde plait falling over her shoulder. Aside from the long braid, she looked like one of the boys from Watery Lane.

"But resting is all Ada ever does. She's rested enough."

"Your sister had a long night and you should be kind to her."

Clara slumped down to rest her chin on folded arms. Polly didn't miss the girl's narrowed eyes but she let it slide. She quite liked that Clara had a spine. A woman needed one, both in this family and in Birmingham.

"Maybe you could bring me then?" Clara said, the words barely making their way to Polly's ears before Clara turned away from her.

"Excuse me?" Polly glanced at Clara.

"You're not busy…and it's not much past the church."

When Clara finally met her aunt's eyes, she mumbled a softened request. "Please?"

Polly tossed the paper down in front of her and sat up straighter in the chair.

"The way I see it, you shouldn't be anywhere near those horses after what happened. You should be right back in that bed resting or on your way to school. If you're well enough to go to the yard, you're well enough to be back to learning."

"But Tommy said—"

"Oh yes, but Tommy said," Polly answered, waving her off with a hand.

Polly was well aware of all her nephew had to say in regards to his youngest sister.

For one, he had seen to it that the coppers who hurt their girl and the Jesus boy were taken care of. As of midday following the incident, the coopers had found themselves confined to a pair of hospital beds. Oddly enough, not a soul in the neighborhood had been able to testify as to who had attacked the men.

And then there was the matter of Clara's injuries. She claimed to be feeling well enough but Tommy wanted to keep her home from school for the week. He said the family didn't need to be answering any questions about the bruises covering the girl's face and body. Beyond that, he had ordered around the clock supervision. Clara wasn't aware of anything other than a little extra attention while her body healed.

Though Polly didn't agree with Tommy bringing her to the stables, she couldn't argue with her nephew on the other items.

Ada was meant to be walking to the yard with Clara, serving as her unofficial morning escort as Arthur and John were busy elsewhere on Blinder business. Tommy had been there since a bit before dawn but seeing as Clara was still recovering, he had left her sleeping on the couch, a note with his instructions on the end table beside her head.

Her slumber hadn't lasted much past the time Tommy headed out through the front door. Even in what most would consider an infirmed state, Clara was still an early riser. Like Polly and Tommy, she had the curse of waking much too early in a family that bred chronically late risers. Ada, John, Arthur, and Finn all enjoyed a good, late lie-in on most days.

After getting dressed for the day, Clara had come back to the front sitting room to wake the boys. Both Finn and Isiah had spent the better part of the weekend with her, sleeping over on the couches and floor, keeping her company when the others ordered for her to sit and rest. It had been like the days during the war, except her older brothers were in and out of the house all weekend.

Clara had made a small breakfast for the three of them before sending Isiah on his way back home. The way Clara saw it, she and her brother had horse business to attend to and there wasn't much in the world she would allow to get in the way of that. Tommy's note had told her to have Ada bring her 'round to the yard when she woke, but no later than nine.

When she finally received Polly's approval, Clara climbed the stairs with a plate of bread and jam and a small cup of tea for her sister. She didn't wait for an answer after tapping on the bedroom door with the toe of her shoe. Ada usually liked to groan loudly or toss something in the direction of the bedroom door when interrupted but Clara didn't hear signs of either action even after she began pushing the door open.

Ada was already up and clothed in an old dress with a thick sweater pulled tightly across her chest. She barely glanced up when Clara came through the door, her face making no change as Clara offered a small smile.

Clara turned from her sister, depositing the tray on a bed that didn't look to be slept in and joined her sister by the window, trying to see whatever Ada was seeing down on Watery Lane. As far as Clara could see, the streets were empty and the sky was nothing more than a hazy grey. It was an unremarkable view and an unremarkable morning.

"Do you remember Martha being pregnant the last time? With little Robbie?"

Ada was still looking out the window as she spoke the words.

Clara stayed silent as she thought about it before deciding that she didn't remember very much about that time, not specifically. It had been in the immediate aftermath of the boys leaving for war. The family hadn't even known Martha was pregnant when Arthur, Tommy, and John left for France. She supposed if she thought hard enough, she remembered Martha having a swollen belly under her dress. Clara had been about seven then.

"You and Finn were still little," Ada finally conceded. "But I remember her always wanting these biscuits that John had gotten for her when she was pregnant with Katie. And the bakery that made them had closed, so you and Finn helped me make them here."

Clara thought maybe the reason she didn't clearly remember her sister-in-law being pregnant was that for most of Clara's childhood, John's wife had been in that precise condition. It would be a far stranger thing for Clara to remember Martha when she wasn't with child.

"I don't remember that."

A smile briefly passed Ada's lips.

"Our mother had to have bacon cakes and chocolate one right after the other. She said that's how she knew there were two of you. And that you each had different tastes, personalities of your own, you and Finn, even in the womb."

Ada remembered the birth of the twins like it was yesterday though it had been eleven years earlier. It had been the day that she was no longer the baby of the family and the day that she gained an intrinsic ally in the form of a sister.

1908 - 1909

While the Shelbys waited for their mother to give birth, Arthur had decided it was as good of a time as any to remind each of his siblings of their entrances into the world. He, like Polly, had been around for every birth following his own, which was more than their father could say.

The first four Shelbys had been born on a narrowboat, The January. It seemed to be a trend, Mrs. Shelby finding herself on that boat when she was due to bring a child into the world whether it was 1887, 1890, 1895, or 1897, and whether or not they were living on the boat or in the house on Watery Lane.

Tommy had been born in the wee hours of the morning. The baby had been wrapped in a bundle of blankets in his mother's arms when Arthur crawled out of the cabin asking for his breakfast. That was when they still lived on the boat, back when the Shelbys had been little more than a family of river dwellers.

John had been a lengthy, difficult birth somewhere near lunchtime, shortly after they had moved to the home on Watery Lane. Tommy and Arthur had been told to stay home, but at five and eight, they weren't much for doing as they were told and instead elected to follow along on the edge of the Cut while the boat traveled on, ignoring their uncle's shouts to go on home.

Then there was Ada. She had been a morning birth as well, quick and easy because she was so small and over a month earlier than expected. Arthur had been there only because he had gone to look for his mother, the woman never making her way home the night before.

The latest birth, during a particularly cold bit of winter in 1908, was the first to happen in a house and not on a boat, the first which had held a captive audience including all four Shelby children and their aunt from the very beginning.

Ada had always liked it when Arthur told the stories of the Shelby kids' births, his face healthy with pride as he spoke of the brothers and sisters he was pleased to call his own. She liked imagining the older boys as babies, imagining a three-year-old Arthur coming out of the boat's cabin to discover a new brother. The stories even brought the hint of a smile to Tommy's face.

It wasn't too long into Arthur's storytelling that a cry rang out from the other room and Ada ran to the door to wait for their Aunt Polly to emerge. The baby boy who would come to be called Finn was exceptionally large for a newborn and came near to eleven o'clock that night. Polly stroked his soft cheek for just a moment before passing him off to Arthur. Her work attending to her sister-in-law was far from finished and she explained as much to the kids.

"Well, that explains why Mum was so bloody large this time," John said when Polly announced that another baby was coming.

Ada hadn't been able to stop herself from giggling. Their mother had been fairly large, even by pregnancy standards.

Tommy smacked John in the back of the head just then. "Shut it, John. Ada, maybe you should be in there helping." Tommy nodded towards the room where their mother was groaning loud enough for them all to hear. "You can see for yourself what kissing boys will do for you."

Ada's face grew sour under Tommy's teasing, no longer finding the prospect of her mother swollen with two babies particularly funny.

Arthur continued to hold his baby brother in his arms, doting on the little boy as they waited for a second child to arrive. Ada sat close to Arthur but couldn't have gotten her hands on the baby if she tried. Finn would be lost to the band of brothers and with everything Ada had in her, she wished for a little sister to come next.

Tommy had been hoping to be on his way to the pub for a night of dancing by this time in the evening, but it seemed like his new sibling was determined to keep that from happening. Tommy was relatively ambivalent about the idea of more children entering the family. He was eighteen and though he still lived at home, it no longer felt like the new babies would be siblings in the same way Arthur, John, and Ada were.

His mother had been weak before the pregnancy. She was weak in a way most people would readily describe as sickly, though there wasn't anything particularly wrong with her, not physically, at least. He supposed that's why she had elected to give birth in the house rather than on the narrowboat. She was weary and frail and tired.

Tommy was fairly certain that bearing children wouldn't help that matter. And with their father largely absent, help would be needed. Arthur and Tommy had already picked up some of the slack with rearing Ada and John. They didn't think anything about stepping in. But babies… well, babies were different. Tommy knew they would be a bit more effort.

Despite the absence of a decent male role model to show them the way of things, Arthur and Tommy knew how to care for their own. To Tommy's dismay, he knew that meant he would likely be missing his date. It was something he had been looking forward to, the date, but he felt some unspoken obligation to be around when the babies were born.

"Are they still twins if they're born on different days?" Ada asked, leaning over Arthur's arm to rub her finger against the little boy's cheek. It was already nearing midnight and there was no sign of the second baby.

"Yes, Ada," Tommy answered.

He had taken up post leaning against the mantle of the fireplace, smoking one of his cigarettes, still close to the door, and donning his jacket and cap as if he would be heading out at any moment.

"Do you think the other one might be a girl?" Ada said.

"Aunt Pol seems to think so," Tommy said, finally accepting that his date wasn't happening. He plopped down beside his siblings on the couch. "And it seems she'll be a right thorn in my side just like you."

Ada smiled as Tommy poked her side, her finger jabbing out to poke him back, eliciting a small laugh from him.

Polly had known it was twins for quite some time, had known that she was due both a nephew and a niece, but she had only let her sister-in-law and Tommy know it. Polly believed the mother-to-be had a right to know what sort of trouble she had to look forward to, though she had already had a sense there were two little bits of trouble growing inside of her. Tommy had asked Polly outright what sort of trouble they were expecting. The other kids hadn't been nearly as curious or direct.

Tommy had used the information purely for planning purposes. Brothers could grow up and join the business. Sisters were a bit more work. If the girl was bright, someone would need to pay for her school, and she would need marrying, a bit more protection, a bit more looking after along the way.

A large part of him hoped Polly was wrong. He hoped for two brothers in place of one of each, but Polly Gray wasn't often wrong.

With Arthur Sr. pledging his latest leave to be a permanent one, more responsibility would fall to the eldest brothers. Tommy accepted it as his sole obligation without discussing it with Arthur. Someone needed to pay for the babies, raise them to be good Shelbys. Tommy let Arthur, John, and Ada coddle and coo at the small bundle they passed back and forth, knowing fully well that the hard things would belong to him, their mother, and Polly.

It was past midnight when Tommy grew tired, having been awake since before six in the morning. He had spent the day with his uncle and Curly at the yard, working with the horses. Still, he waited, fighting against his heavy eyelids while his siblings snoozed, Arthur and John slouched in their armchairs while Ada curled up beside the baby, swaddled in blankets on the floor.

"Here's our girl, Thomas."

He looked up at Polly as she came through the door, a slight smile on her face, just a brief one though.

"Quick. Take your sister," she said, slipping the girl into her nephew's arms, making certain he supported her head and neck before releasing her grip.

Tommy couldn't recall the last time he had held a baby, Ada's birth, he supposed. He had been seven then and still just a boy himself. He hadn't gotten the chance yet to hold the other twin, not with Arthur and Ada clamoring over him the way they had.

His new sister, the quiet, serene bundle, was a slight little thing compared to her bulky twin. The features of her soft face and the miniature fingers which were grasping towards him, seemed smaller to Tommy, yet he felt a great weight settle on him as he held her.

He had gotten lost for a moment, taking in the delicate rosy tint on her smooth cheeks, the small tuft of blonde hair. He hadn't properly heard his aunt ordering the others around, lifting the now crying boy into her arms as she handed him to Arthur.

His sister's cry pulled him from his reverie as she joined in on her brother's wailing.

"Set of lungs on her, eh?" Arthur said. "Let's get a look at these two singers. Hold her out, Tom."

Arthur held the boy out in front of them. "C'mon, Tom. Let me see my baby sister."

Tommy obliged, holding the girl out beside her twin, finding that she looked even smaller now in comparison.

"Well, look at that. I suppose they missed each other."

Arthur smiled looking between them as the babies quieted. "We'll have our hands full, won't we, Tom? Another bloody sister. It'll be good for Ada to have a girl to dote on, eh?"

Tommy nodded, not taking his eyes away from the girl in his hands. Holding her now, he couldn't imagine wishing for another brother in her place and he didn't imagine Ada would be the only one doting on her.

John returned within a quarter of an hour, out of breath and red in the face, with the doctor on his heels. The man was allowed in the room, but Polly shooed the boys away.

"Polly!" Tommy snapped, a hand pushing against the wood when she tried to shut the bedroom door, finally aware of what was happening, finally aware of what orders he had missed while he first held the baby in his arms.

Polly frowned, cupping his cheek for just a moment. "Thomas, your mother will be alright. Just tend to your brothers and sisters."

Mrs. Shelby had been alright as she could be after losing that much blood, at least for a time. She hadn't lived to see the twins turn one, but she had had some nearly decent months with them. Even if she had gone what the kids had considered a bit wonky in the end, rambling about the spirits, acting all restless, the twins had been properly loved and the others always told the twins about their mother, making sure they knew who had brought them into the world, who had loved them, in her own way, more than she cared for herself.

1919

Clara listened to Ada talk about their mother and about the day she and Finn had been born as if she had never heard the story before. The story told differently depending on which Shelby was telling it, each person's recollection of the time marred by their age or perception, and Clara liked Ada's version. In Ada's version, Clara felt like a special treasure, a gift highly coveted and wished for by the narrator.

Ada didn't bother to tell her little sister what Polly had told her the night before, that their mother had considered not having the twins at all. She said it after Ada made it known she wouldn't get rid of the baby growing inside of her.

"A sentimental fool just like your mother," Polly had said.

Ada released a whimper at the thought. She couldn't imagine their home without the twins, without her only sister, without her cheeky little brother, Finn.

Clara didn't ever remember seeing Ada like this. Her sister was characteristically dramatic, always putting on a show of some sort, but something in this was more authentic, more painful than Clara was used to.

"Ada?"

Ada didn't speak right away but her eyes, blue and pooling with the beginnings of tears, bore into Clara's. "I'm going to have a baby, Clara."

Clara hugged her sister close and Ada grasped her back for a long time, neither one saying a word as Clara diligently rubbed circles on Ada's back and kissed her sister's head and cheek. When Ada finally backed away, she rubbed her eyes.

"Freddie's the father," she conceded though Clara hadn't asked.

"I know," Clara said, clasping her hand over Ada's.

The boys could make all the jokes they wanted about Ada going around with a wide selection of boys but Clara knew that Freddie Thorne was the only rumor with any real clout. Freddie had always been Ada's boy, her one love.

"Freddie's a good man, Ada. He'll come home."

Ada forced a smile at her younger sister, wishing that Clara's confidence could be contagious. She had said nearly the same words to Polly the night before, but she hadn't had Clara's conviction.

Ada pulled the girl in for a hug once more, cherishing the way her little sister made her feel. Clara's little arms were more welcoming than Polly's had been the night before, somehow more sincere and a fair bit warmer.

"Congratulations," Clara mumbled the word into Ada's shoulder she was being squeezed against, her mouth squished up against Ada's cardigan.

Confusion passed over Ada's features for a moment as she considered the word. The confirmation of her pregnancy, of the true existence of the life she would be bringing into this world had been nothing close to a celebration. Ada took a deep breath to let that sink in. She pulled away from the hug, placing her cool hands on Clara's cheeks.

"Let's get you over to Uncle Charlie's."

"Where are you going to go?"

Ada shrugged. "There's a picture this afternoon."

"I'll come with you."

"I'm supposed to drop you with Tommy."

He'd left Ada a note as well, describing her duty of playing escort.

"I want to be with you."

—

Chapter 8

Little Lady Blinder Masterlist

Please take a moment to tell me what y'all think! Reviews and comments are always appreciated. 😌❤️

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are Space Orcs “Donating Blood”

Another quick story based on an idea someone gave me. Hope it’s interesting enough. 

Krill had had a tough weekend, but that is what happens when you are attending a human party. Number on issue is that human music generally caused him extreme lightheartedness and, often, passing out, but the biggest issue is that when there were human parties, there was human drinking, and when humans were drinking the lost whatever small sliver of self preservation that their species happened to have. That meant he was on call the entire time for whatever drunken accident was sure to ensue.

And he hadn’t been wrong.

He had been up very late into the night trying to deal with the issues, and much of the next day dealing with the hungover humans. Now that it was a monday, he expected things to be a little bit easier. Humans were generally unmotivated to do much on mondays. Krill didn’t think it was generally possible to hate an unspecified universal time, but apparently humans didn’t care what was or was not possible.

Sometimes it felt like the humans tracked time simply do hate mondays.

Floating down the hallway, he stopped before the doors allowing them to slide open for him intending to take command as he normally did to help his humans stay alive. He stopped in the doorway confused upon seeing Dr. Katie standing at the center of the room. The hospital beds had been rearranged into a sort of circle with her at the center.

The rest of the medical staff busied themselves around the room, while members of the crew sat on chairs against the wall.

There were four beds at the center all at once, and Dr. Katie in the middle. She was dressed in just her scrubs today, light blue, and in one hand she held a glittering needle attached to a clear plastic tube.

As he watched, she took her time to delicately insert the needle into the arm of one of the patients, who didn’t appear particularly sick or bothered. He couldn’t see why they would be here when they all appeared rather healthy. As he watched Dr. katie instructed the human to begin flexing and squeezing their hand. In response, the clear plastic tube was suddenly filled with red as blood came rushing into the tight containment. A bag hanging just beside the bed grew red with blood.

Krill stared on in confusion, which quickly turned to horror upon closer inspection as Dr. Katie went around the circle and began draining her fellow humans of their life blood. She stuck them in the arms with needles and began withdrawing the healthy red liquid from their veins while they sat there and watched doing nothing. Some of them talked to each other, like they weren’t experiencing SIGNIFICANT blood loss. 

The sound of a bell, and the human raised a hand into the air, “Dr. Katie, mine is done.”

The Dr. Still not having noticed krill, trotted over and unhooked her human companion handing the bag of blood off to an assistant. She tied up the human’s arm with a pink strip of tape, “Sit over there drink some juice, and then you are free to leave.”

The human nodded, and Krill watched in horror as the human, suffering from blood loss, hopped down from the bed and wandered off. 

Blood Loss was bad for humans!

Everyone knew this, Krill had spent enough time as a doctor to know this was bad because he ACTIVELY tried to help the humans recover from the horrible side effects of blood loose, which included, chills, confusion, unconsciousness, and, oh yeah, DEATH.

He rushed into the room just as Commander vir was walking towards the doctor and her two assistants. Dr Katie was using a marker to write on a bag, “What is your blood type?” 

“A positive.” The man responded taking a seat on the chair as Dr. katie took a quick look over his medical history.

“Dr….. what are you doing?” Krill demanded as she unwrapped another set of needles and tubes.

She looked over at him in surprise, “Oh, Good morning, Krill.”

“GOOD MORNING….. GOOD MORNING. You know what I do not consider a good morning is when I walk into the room, and you are bleeding out the crew. Put that back where it came from or so help me…..!”

The human looked on in confusion, “Krill what are you on about.”

“I DO NOT SUPPORT EXSANGUINATION.” 

Katie held him back with a hand as he tried to grab the needles from her, “Krill KRILL! Stop, Stop. I’m not hurting them. This is a safe procedure, besides we need this blood to give to someone else in an accident. Where do you think we get all the blood that we use in our surgeries.”

Krill paused staring at her in horror, “you harvest the blood of our own species.!” “Blood doesn’t spring up from the earth Krill, Yes we have to borrow it.”

“Borrowing implies that you are giving back.” he retorted.

She rolled her eyes high into the air, “Ok, we TAKE blood, krill. We take it and we give it to others so they can use it when they are dying. 1/10 of their blood mass isn’t a big deal, some extra orange juice, hydration, and a few days and they are back to normal. They barely notice anything other than an elevated heartbeat.”

“I hold great issue with this. I still don’t see that losing blood could be good for you.” 

“Than you can hang out with us and make sure that none of them die.” She said pushing him back a bit while the commander leaned back in his seat.

“Oh, hey Katie….. I should probably tell you something before we start this.” The commander was saying. Dr Katie nodded absently while she worked on him tying a tight bandage around his upper arm as she prodded for a good vein on his left arm.

“Well you see, there is this thing that happens every time I give blood, and it only happens when I give blood. It’s not a big deal.”

Krill could tell she was only half listening… something that people tended to do when the commander was still trying to get to the point.

“So anyway, the thing is that I-”

Dr Katie’s eyes narrowed in concentration as she stuck the needle through the skin which whitened around the puncture wound and then raised upwards a bit. 

“Ok…. nevermind we are doing this right now.” The man said. Krill heard something go wrong with the man’s voice before he saw anything, and he turned just in time to see Adam’s eyes roll back in his head. He sagged downwards head lolling to the side body going limp.

Doctor Katie stepped back in surprise and Krill leaped forward.

“WHAT DID YOU DO! YOU KILLED HIM.”

Dr. Katie quickly moved her hand to his neck, and then to his wrist, “No, I did not KILL him krill, he passed out.” 

She hurriedly brought one of her tecs over with a heart rate monitor hooking him up .

“Look at his blood pressure krill accused.” 

Dr Katie glowered at him, “yes, I see it krill, and that is likely why he passed out. Sometimes that happens. There are some people who experience a sudden drop in blood pressure when needles are involved and they pass out. He should be up in a few seconds.”

Krill did not like this at all in any way whatsoever, “It's not ok for people to just PASS OUT. ANd  now you expect him to magically wake up any second. Passing out is not a good thing, doctor, and you of all people should know that.”

“You know what Krill, I do not appreciate your attitude today. Not one little bit.” She said removing the needle and adjusting the chair so the man was lying flat on his back.

“I don’t appreciate coming into work and seeing you, unannounced, stealing blood from the crew.”

“THEY SIGNED UP KRILL.”

“WHY WOULD ANYONE SIGN UP TO GIVE AWAY THEIR VITAL JUICES. IT’S CRAZY!” Katie threw up her hands, “Haven't you been telling us for ages how crazy we are.” Adam moaned and his eyes flickered open, “ -told you that I pass out every time….. But if you give me a warning when you are going to put the needle in I can usually stop it.” At first his voice was slurred but slowly returning to normal as he propped himself up on one elbow, “Why don’t we try this again, but this time warn me before you do that.”

“NO!”

Katie glared at Krill but turned back to him, “I’m afraid I agree with the Cheif, I can’t let you do that.”

The man frowned, “What part of, that happens every time, are we not getting. Just try again, promise it’ll work this time.”

Krill raised a hand, “Probably passing out because your body is like OH SHIT my blood is getting stolen.”

“Why does this bother you so much.” Katie snapped

“Adam frowned, no that isn’t it. I don’t know what it is, I am not afraid of needles really in any way. I don’t mind them. I can get shots just fine, I can get stitches just fine, but for some reason every time they draw blood I just suddenly pass out. I'll be fine one second completely normal no issues, and the next second I am out. HOWEVER, give me a warning and I can use my pilot training to keep the blood in my head instead of in my legs where it WANTS to go.”

“No.” Krill growled 

Katie glowered at him. Adam tried to keep the two of them apart, “WOAH, slow your roll you two. He turned his head to krill, “Look, this is something we have been doing for over 2000 years. We need to do it because other people lose blood, and we need to be able to do our magic thing and save them. Humans are only durable if they have enough blood to keep their hearts going. All of these people here are volunteers and I guarantee most of them will not pass out like I do. Krill, seriously, what would you suggest we do.”

“Can’t you get synthetic blood or something. If you can 3D print tissue, I am sure you can make analogue blood.” 

“Yeah sure we can synthesize it, but it is super expensive and potentially dangerous if done wrong. And we are neither rich enough or brave enough to trust that, but you know what is great at making blood, oh yeah, the human body 

Krill tried to argue with them, worried about his friend, but Dr. Katie was being just as stubborn as Adam was, and with Krill’s grudging supervision, they drained him of 10% of his blood volume, but made him stay there for a good fifteen minutes nursing an orange juice after his fainting spell earlier.

It really had not been Krill’s expectations to walk in on Dr, Katie doing her best vampire impression, and he greatly worried what he was going to walk in on her doing to his crew later. 

Krill wasn’t entirely sure why this little thing about humans made him so insanely mad, frustrated and confused. First of all, the fact that humanity intentionally drained their own bodies of blood, a vital liquid that kept humans alive, brought oxygen to their cells, and carried the systems that allowed them to fight off infection and disease, but no they just gave it away like it was no big deal, like blood loss didn’t have serious consequences that included…. Well death.

Additionally the human body KNEW it wasn’t supposed to be happening, so it was normal enough for people to just go off and pass out as their blood pressure dropped significantly allowing blood to pool in the legs instead of in the head where it needed to be. And they all acted like it was no big deal all to save people that they may not even know.

They harvested blood like it was oil or some other sort of resource you would use to power your car. Did they get compensation for any of this? NO, the answer was no, most of them just showed up and decided to give it away. There was not one time in Krill’s life where he had ever wanted to give away any part of his vital system, but somehow these humans had managed to convince each other that that was a good thing. Yeah he understood that they needed blood in order to save people, but the fact that humans had ever even thought of that was entirely insane.

Ah yes, if you lose some of your, I will give you mine to keep you from not dying. Yes the flowy goo liquid that runs through my body, would you like some? What is your flavor A B O AB? This one is a very good vintage, I promise it carries no transmissible diseases. Oh and while I am at it why don’t you just go ahead and take one of my kidneys, a lobe of my liver. 

How about I just rip my heart out of my chest!

What was next?

[eldritchteaparty]

Chapters: 9/20 Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Sasha James, Rosie Zampano, Oliver Banks, Original Elias Bouchard, Peter Lukas, Annabelle Cane, Melanie King Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Fix-It, Post-Canon Fix-It, Scars, Eventual Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, I'll add characters and tags as they come up, Reference to injuries and blood, Character Death In Dream, Nudity (not sexual or graphic), Nightmares, Fighting Summary: Following the events of MAG 200, Jon and Martin find themselves in a dimension very much like the one they came from--with second chances and more time.

Chapter Summary: Jon returns to work, and Melanie King interviews for a position as archival assistant that Elias forgot to mention he had posted. Martin cuts Jon's hair.

Chapter 9 of my post-canon fix-it fic is out and yes, I jumped on the haircut fluff bandwagon. 

Read above at AO3 or read here below.

Tumblr master post with links to previous chapters is here.

***

Jon returned to work the day after they learned about (or more rightly, remembered) the Leitners. Martin had very mixed feelings about it. Even though Jon was eating again and getting enough sleep and making a show of taking his vitamins, Martin wasn’t sure he’d ever feel like he had taken enough time to recover. More than once, he found himself daydreaming about what it might be like if Jon just decided he was never going back to the Institute. Sure, Jon had said it wasn’t an option, but that was before—well, before now. Maybe, if things weren’t going like he’d assumed, he could be convinced to work somewhere else and finally get away from all of this. Or maybe work nowhere, if he wanted. Martin could make that work. He’d taken care of two people on one job before.

On the other hand, the Leitners had really shaken him. It felt like the Institute was sitting on a bomb that could go off at any time if someone took a wrong step—and most of the people walking on it didn’t even know it was there. If it ever had felt as simple as just leaving, it certainly didn’t now. And as long as that was the situation, he needed Jon there. They all needed Jon there.

He’d actually assumed Jon would head straight for the Leitner Room when he got back, but he didn’t. When he asked him about it, Jon’s answer was that Martin had already been there, and there wasn’t any point. That caught Martin off guard—after all, this was the man who not even two weeks ago had re-read every document Martin had tried to read for him—but when he pointed that out, Jon shrugged.

“Maybe I’m trying something different.”

Martin gave him a look. “Really?”

“Why not?” Jon gave what passed for a smile with him this week, and Martin felt like he had to accept it. “Besides, we don’t want to risk drawing attention to them. I think that’s the worst thing we could do.”

The rest of the week was mostly uneventful. Even Jon spent some time in the stacks helping out with client requests, which they somehow had still not caught up on. The only thing that stuck out was that once, on his way out of Sasha’s office, Martin found Jon at his desk going over several page of hand-written text and decided to ask him about it.

“So… Sasha said that people were still coming by with—stories, I guess?”

“Yes.”

“Is that one of them?”

“Yes, I’ve been reviewing them. Sasha really doesn’t like reading them herself, so I’m—” He looked up at Martin. “What?”

“I just didn’t realize. That’s all. That—” Martin frowned down at the papers in front of Jon. “That looks an awful lot like… well, a statement.”

Jon followed Martin’s eyes back to his desk. “I suppose it does. I hadn’t thought about it.”

Martin found the resemblance vaguely troubling, though he couldn’t put his finger on why it stood out to him. Nothing had changed, really, it was just about what it looked like. There were certainly enough other pressing things happening.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mention it,” Jon said, putting his hand on Martin’s arm.

“No, it’s—it’s fine. I guess I should have assumed people were still coming in… I don’t know why it’s bothering me.” He shook his head and squeezed Jon’s hand briefly before turning to head back to the stacks. “I know you’d tell me if there was anything serious. Well, it’s all serious, but anything we could—you know what I mean.”

“Martin, I—"

“No, it’s really all right. I’m just worried about everything, I guess. Sorry for interrupting.”

“You weren’t,” he heard Jon say behind him as he left.

Otherwise, though, things almost seemed to be looking up. Even Tim, spotting Martin on a ladder while reshelving some heavy volumes, commented that Jon looked better.

“I mean—I feel like he does?” Martin agreed, straining to make room on the shelf at an awkward angle without dropping the book in his hand. “I think some—time off—actually did him some good.”

“Or maybe he was so heartbroken about missing our lunch together that he decided he couldn’t stay home another day.”

“I’m sure that was it, Tim.” Martin rolled his eyes as he finally managed to squeeze the book onto the shelf.

Tim was ready to hand him another volume from the cart when he paused, looking up at Martin and down at the cart again. “Wait, was that number—did it end with .5268 or .57?”

Martin looked back at the book he’d just placed on the shelf. “Let’s see—damn it, it was .57.” They hadn’t been paying attention, and they’d managed to miss the poorly placed divider on the cart. Now Martin was going to have to get the book back out of the shelf he’d only barely managed to squeeze it onto, although that maybe explained why it had been so difficult in the first place.

“Sorry,” Tim said. “That was my fault.”

“No, not really. I could have caught it too.”

“Be careful.” Tim shifted to the other side of the ladder as Martin leaned precariously toward the book that now didn’t want to come back out. “You know, Jon’s lucky to have you to take care of him.”

Martin was glad he could blame the color in his face on his efforts to pull the book.

“Are you taking care of yourself?”

“Um—what?” He almost had it now. “I guess? Yes? What are you getting at?”

“Just that I’m still here to listen. If you want to talk about—what happened.”

The book finally came loose, and Martin barely managed to hang on to it and keep his balance on the ladder—but he did. “Here,” he said, tossing it down to Tim once he’d regained his footing. It was his only answer.

***

Even the weekend felt better. He was finally relaxing a little bit about the Leitners—after all, they’d been there for several months and nothing had happened yet, and they were flagged now if anyone asked about one. There were very few people with a key to the room—just the others in the archives and maybe Elias—and none of them were likely to take a sudden interest in them as long as they didn’t attract it.

Jon stayed in bed with him. They went to the store. They made breakfast together—well, Martin made breakfast, but it was a real breakfast with eggs and bacon, and Jon watched him make it with more admiration than it deserved. At some point, Martin borrowed Jon’s trimmer, the one he used on his beard, and finally gave himself the haircut he’d been needing. It felt nice; it felt like a normal thing to do. Afterward, he checked on Jon in the sitting room and found him reading.

“Reading anything important?” Martin asked from the doorway.

“Just a book,” Jon said, briefly holding up a small, worn paperback that Martin recognized from his bookshelf. He walked up behind the couch to look over Jon’s shoulder.

“Like—a normal book that regular people read?”

“A normal book, at least,” Jon said, temporarily closing the book on his thumb to look at Martin. “Oh. You did it. Your hair, I mean. It looks—it looks great.”

“You think?” Martin ran his hand over the shortest part, where he could feel the bristle of the fresh cut against his fingers. “You know, I think I finally found a couple grey hairs this time.”

“Get over it.” Jon lifted his thumb to check the page number and then let the book close entirely before turning to rest his head on his arms on the back of the couch. “You do not get to talk about grey hairs.”

“I wasn’t complaining, I was just mentioning it,” Martin protested. “And I like your grey, it makes you look—”

“Do not say distinguished,” Jon groaned. “Everyone always says that.”

“All right—I won’t.” Martin bent down to kiss Jon instead. Jon started to kiss him back, but Martin stood up. “No, I don’t want to distract you.”

“Oh.” Jon raised his eyebrows. “Is that how it is?”

“Yeah. It is. It’s been forever since you’ve read just a book, and—well, it was something you said you missed.” He kissed Jon one more time, but this time on the top of his head. “And… thank you.”

“For what?”

“For—for trying.”

Jon looked surprised for a moment, and then his face softened. “Martin—”

“Nope,” Martin said, backing away from the couch. “We’re done here. You read. I think I may actually go give poetry another shot.”

“Really?” Jon asked.

“Yeah.” Martin shrugged. “Some of my—his—notebooks were in the stuff from storage. Thought I might go through them and see if it’s any good. It’s not like I was doing a lot of writing—well, there.”

“All right.” Jon sat back on the couch, but turned to look at Martin one more time before opening his book. “You know—if you write anything you like, I’d—”

“Oh, don’t worry, I would never put you through that,” Martin joked. “Just—enjoy your book.”

Martin didn’t end up writing anything—just a line or two that he didn’t like anyway—but going through the notebooks was fascinating. He remembered writing most of the poems in them. For some of them, he could even pinpoint exactly what he had been thinking about when he wrote them, or what had inspired them. He wasn’t afraid anymore that he was losing memories; he found he could navigate memories from the two existences almost side by side now, if he tried. It wasn’t a perfect description, but it was sort of like comparing two different edits of the same document.

He didn’t really identify with the version of him that had written the poems in that notebook. In a way, they annoyed him; it felt like going back and reading things you wrote as a child. He had outgrown them, maybe. He felt like there was simultaneously so much more and so much less to everything he’d tried to capture than he’d understood at the time.

Still, that didn’t stop him from wishing he could have been that person, or stayed that person, or become that person—he wasn’t sure how to think of it, but there it was. He’d liked writing that poetry; it had made him happy, inane as it was. He wanted to like writing it again.

***

Of course, Monday brought another unexpected turn of events. It started with Elias walking into the assistants’ office while Sasha was briefing them on the day’s activities. He looked tired after the weekend, which Martin realized was typical for him, but also vaguely enthused.

“Everyone,” he announced, “I’ve brought someone by that I’d like you to meet. A candidate for our new archival assistant position.”

“Wait,” Sasha said, crossing her arms. “What new position?”

“The one you asked me to advertise.”

“Well, yes, but that was like eight and a half weeks ago. Things were—different. We have Jon and Martin back now, thank god. And you never got back to me, so I just assumed you were ignoring me.”

“I have never once ignored you.” Elias shook his head at Sasha in feigned shock. “And to prove it—you just told me last week you were still behind on the archiving work, and that you weren’t comfortable following up with the reports we’ve been receiving.”

“Technically what I said was that I don’t think we should be dealing with them at all, they’re really not what an archive—”

“And as I told you, although only god knows why, some of our patrons are quite interested in those reports. So, we will keep dealing with them, but this”—Elias held up a finger—“is where our candidate comes in. Look, Sasha, I really think you’ll like this—and as always, I promise you’ll get final approval.”

“All right,” Sasha threw her hands up. “Bring them in.”

“Rosie,” called Elias, “please show her in.”

Before Martin could process it, he found himself staring at Melanie King.

“Melanie,” he said, surprised.

“Oh—” Melanie turned to look at him, and her lack of recognition brought him back to the moment. “I’m sorry, have we met?”

“Um,” Martin stammered. “Well—no. I guess maybe I just—feel like I know you? From your YouTube channel.” He laughed uncomfortably.

“Oh, right,” Melanie appeared equally uncomfortable. “I get that sometimes. Um—well, not all that often, actually. Sorry, tell me your name?”

“I’m—I’m Martin Blackwood. I’m one of the assistants here.” He belatedly stepped out from his desk to shake her hand, and she smiled again.

“And I’m Tim Stoker.” Tim’s relative comfort as he also shook Melanie’s hand seemed to put her at ease, at least until she rested her eyes on Jon. He was still sitting at his desk.

“Jon,” Tim prompted him.

“Hm? Oh, right, I’m—”

“I’m guessing you’re Jonathan Sims,” Melanie said.

“That’s—” He seemed mildly surprised. “Yes. I am.”

“My partner, Georgie—Georgie Barker—she’s the one who saw the ad. Said she’d heard someone she used to know might be working here, and well—anyway, we talked about it, and eventually she convinced me to put in my application.”

Jon realized she was waiting for him to say something. “Oh,” he managed.

Her smile faded slightly. “Well, nice to put a name to a face, anyway.”

Elias gestured toward Sasha. “And this is Sasha James, our head archivist.”

“Hello, Ms. King,” Sasha said warmly as she stepped forward. “It’s lovely to meet you.”

“You too.” Melanie took the hand Sasha offered to her. “Mr. Bouchard—Elias—was just telling me about the work you do here, and if you don’t mind, I’d love to chat with you about it.”

“Of course,” Sasha said, leading the way to her office. “Come on in.” Elias followed behind, and they closed the door behind them.

Martin immediately pulled a chair over to Jon’s desk, leaning close and speaking quietly so that Tim couldn’t hear. “What do we do?”

Jon considered. “Nothing, I suppose.”

“But, well—can she—I mean, if she signs a contract, will it be like—”

“No,” Jon shook his head. “No, definitely not.”

“Are you sure?” Martin was still worried. “How can you—”

“I’m sure,” Jon said definitively. “No one’s getting stuck here. Look—that was all Jonah Magnus’s doing, completely. He doesn’t exist here, and when he did, he certainly didn’t have the ability to trap people in his employment.”

“Hm.” Martin still wasn’t entirely convinced.

“Martin, it’s fine,” Jon said, taking his hand. “If it weren’t—if I had any doubt—I’d stop it. I’d find a way. I wouldn’t let her go through that again.”

Martin nodded; Jon’s confidence, at least, gave him confidence. He went back to his desk and continued organizing his tasks for the day, although he was so distracted he hadn’t made much progress when Sasha’s door opened again. She walked out and closed it behind her, leaving Elias and Melanie inside.

“What do you all think?” she asked.

There was a brief silence, and then Tim spoke up first. “It’s a surprise, for sure, but if having someone else around helps you out, I’m all for it.”

“Well, she certainly doesn’t have the sort of background we usually look for, but as Elias pointed out, she has a lot of investigative experience.” Sasha leaned back to sit casually on the round desk in the middle of the office. “Normally that’s not something you’d need in an archive, but as long as we’re being asked to start following up on some of these statements—”

“I can follow up on those,” Jon interrupted. “She doesn’t need to—"

“Jon, onsite research and interviews are exactly what she does.”

“Yes, but as you’ve said, her credentials aren’t—”

“Oh, you’re a certified private detective?” Sasha asked with a note of sarcasm.

“I just meant for an archive—”

“I understand, and credentials are important, but I think we can also all agree that Martin, for example, has become an excellent assistant.”

Tim snorted. “Jon, I dare you to argue.”

Jon ignored him.

“Anyway, Jon,” Sasha continued, “I haven’t forgotten you’re interested in the statements too—I was going to ask you if you wouldn’t mind helping Melanie get adjusted. You know, help her out a bit. That’s assuming we go ahead with the offer and she accepts.”

Jon thought for a moment, then sighed. “All right. Yes.”

“Good,” Sasha said. “Martin, any thoughts?”

“Um—no,” Martin said. “I’m sure she’ll be—she’ll be fine.” Jon had said it would be fine.

“All right,” Sasha said, standing up. “I’ll tell Elias to make the offer.” She disappeared back into her office.

When they came back out, Melanie was smiling and chatting happily to Sasha about an episode of Ghost Hunt UK she and her crew had filmed in Glencoe. Part of Martin was still very nervous for her; the Institute clearly wasn’t the safest place in the world, even if she wasn’t caught there. Another part of him, though, maybe a bigger part, had missed her, and he would be glad to have her around—and seeing her and Sasha together gave him hope, somehow.

“Oh,” Melanie turned just before she and Elias left the office together. “Jon, Sasha mentioned that you’d be helping me get comfortable with things around here, and well—I’m looking forward to working with you.”

“Yes, of course,” Jon said, not looking up from his desk.

This time her smile vanished. “I’m sorry, did I—did I do something to offend you?”

Now Jon looked up. “What? Why would you say that?”

“It’s just—I feel like you already don’t like me.”

“I—no,” Jon said. “I’m—”

“He’s been ill,” Sasha said. “He’s still recovering. Please excuse him.”

“Oh,” Melanie said, but she looked doubtful. “In that case, I hope you feel better.”

“Right,” Jon nodded. “Thank you.”

After she left, Sasha turned to the assistants. “As you may have gathered, she’s already accepted the offer, and she’s quite happy about it. She’ll be starting on Thursday, and I’d like to suggest that instead of lunch this week, we go out to dinner that night to welcome her. Please try to make it, if you can.”

Martin wasn’t sure if he was dreading it, looking forward to it, or both.

***

“Ready for supper?” Martin asked when they got home that night.

“Actually, first—I was wondering if I could ask you for a favor.”

“Sure,” Martin said. “What is it?”

“Would you cut my hair for me?”

“Oh, I don’t think so.” Martin crossed his hands in front of his chest for emphasis. “I’m no good with scissors. I mean, I could try to trim the ends if—”

“I meant like yours. Well, not exactly like yours, that’s just—” He cleared his throat. “I want it short.”

“Why?” Martin asked, taken back.

“Would you hate it?”

“No!” Martin said immediately. “No, that—it’s just a big change.”

“Yes, exactly,” Jon agreed. “I think that’s why I want to do it. I mean, I won’t insist if you don’t—”

“No, it’s—if you’re sure, I’ll do it.”

They brought one of the chairs from the balcony into the bathroom. Jon reached back to pull the tie out of his hair, but Martin got there first. He tugged it loose, straightening out the strands that got caught on Jon’s shoulder.

“Are you sure you’re ok with this?” Jon asked again. “I think you’re more attached to it than I am.”

“Not really,” Martin lied, thinking about how he’d taken to brushing it out of Jon’s face while he’d been so out of it. He did kind of miss those moments. “I mean, it doesn’t actually matter how I feel, but—well, ok, give me a moment to say goodbye.”

“Whatever you need,” Jon said with amusement.

“No—no, I’m good.” Martin sighed and pulled it back again, this time into a low, loose ponytail. “So we’re absolutely going to get hair everywhere. I usually just take off my shirt and then jump under the shower afterward, but we could try a garbage bag or something—”

“I don’t mind.” Jon started to unbutton his work shirt, but then stopped. “You’re ok with it?”

“Why wouldn’t I—oh.” Martin suddenly realized he hadn’t seen Jon without a shirt on since the hospital after Hill Top Road, evidently not wanting to expose his scar again. “Jon, it’s—it’s fine. Sorry I didn’t realize before now.”

Jon still hesitated; Martin bent down and kissed him, reaching to undo the button under Jon’s fingers as he did. “Really, it’s fine. Just don’t black out.” He was trying to add some levity, although he wasn’t sure he pulled it off.

“I think I can manage that.” Jon finished unbuttoning the shirt; Martin took it from him as he pulled off the t-shirt underneath, and tossed them both out onto the bed. He deliberately avoided looking directly at Jon’s chest so as not to worry him.

“You’re really, really sure about this?” he asked, twisting his hand into the ponytail. “I mean, once this is gone—it’s gone.”

“Yes.”

“All right.” Martin took a deep breath, and with the scissors they’d borrowed from the kitchen cut his way through Jon’s hair, just above the tie. “There it is.”

“Oh god.” Jon wasn’t even looking at the hand Martin was holding up—he was looking at his reflection in the mirror and the uneven chin-length mop of hair that was left behind.

“We could leave it like that.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“I’m kidding. Here.” He set the hair down on the counter. “Although it is kind of rugged. With your beard, you’ve got a sort of lumberjack thing going on there.”

“Right—very rugged. Until I stand up.”

“Nothing wrong there. You’d be the world’s most adorable hipster lumberjack.”

The look Jon gave him in the mirror said everything.

“All right, all right—here we go.” The trimmer buzzed to life, and bit by bit, the remaining length fell away.

“Where did you learn to do this?” Jon asked.

“Oh—I had a—a friend who taught me years ago. I used to cut his hair.”

“A friend?” Jon asked.

Martin realized he’d stumbled over that pretty badly. “A boyfriend.”

“You can say that, you know. You don’t have to hide it.”

“No—I know.” Martin stopped cutting for a moment to switch out the guide. “Or I assumed, I guess. It’s just that we’ve never really talked about any of that stuff. Well, I know Georgie, obviously—knew Georgie? But that kind of just happened. It felt weird just now.”

“Well, next time it doesn’t have to.”

“Thanks. I—I really do appreciate that.”

Jon nodded. “I’m sorry that—we really did everything backward, didn’t we?”

“Couldn’t be helped.” Martin flicked the trimmer on and off to make sure the new guard was attached properly. “I mean, there are definitely things I wish were different, but it’s not like I regret it.”

“Me neither,” Jon said.

“Besides, we’ve got time to make up for it now.”

Something about the sad smile Martin saw reflected in the mirror made him lean down and press his mouth to Jon’s bare shoulder. It was nice for a moment, but he quickly found himself spitting out hair clippings. “Ok—I do regret that.”

“Oh god, sorry.” Jon turned to try to help him brush some of the pieces off his face.

“And that is why we took the shirt off in the first place,” Martin said when they had gotten most of it, still grimacing. “Anyway, I’m almost done here—just want to get a little more off the top.”

Jon nodded and turned back to face the mirror again, and Martin continued, mulling over the day’s events.

“Jon,” Martin said, “what was with you and Melanie today? You really did seem like you didn’t want to talk to her. Are you that upset about her working on the statements?”

“No, it wasn’t that. I mean, I don’t like it—I’d rather handle it myself, or with you—but that wasn’t it.”

“But I’m right, aren’t I? There was something.”

Jon hesitated, but finally answered. “I think it’s better to—try to stay unattached.”

Martin turned off the trimmer again. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen it before. “That’s why you’ve never taken Tim up on drinks, too, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Jon, you—you need friends.”

“They don’t need me. And they certainly wouldn’t want to be friends with me if they knew what I brought here.”

“Jon—”

“It’s just better if I keep my distance.”

“Well, I disagree. And I hope you’ll at least come to dinner on Thursday.” Martin could see there wasn’t a point in arguing at that moment. He turned the trimmer on for one last touch up, but didn’t spend much longer on it—he was pretty pleased with it, overall, and it was easy to ruin a good cut by being too picky.

“What do you think?” he asked when he was finished; he was actually nervous to hear the answer.

“It looks great,” Jon said, turning his head in the mirror to look at both sides. “I can’t believe you did this.”

“It really wasn’t that hard,” Martin answered, but now that he knew Jon liked it he had to admit he was feeling pretty proud of it.

“Do you like it?” Jon asked.

“I do.” Martin set the trimmer down and stood back to look at it from farther away. “I’m definitely going to have to get used to it—but I mean, this is easier now.” He stretched his fingers out to scratch the back of Jon’s head.

“Oh,” Jon said, tilting his head back a little. “That’s—that’s quite nice.”

“You know—” Martin started to say, but then stopped as he felt himself blushing.

“What?” Jon said. “Everything all right?”

“I just—I know we don’t usually say stuff like this, but… well, I’ve been staring at you for thirty minutes straight, and you—you’re really quite good looking.”

Jon looked at Martin with his mouth slightly open, but quickly regained his composure. “You don’t have to say it. It’s obvious you think it.”

“Well.” Martin dropped his hand indignantly. “In that case, maybe I—”

“I mean, I can’t think of anything else that would have attracted you to me, so by process of elimination—”

“Oh, shut up.” Martin leaned in and kissed Jon hard, pressing his hands into the now-short hair at the sides of his head. It had been a while since they’d really kissed, maybe since they’d made up after their argument, and Jon returned it with equal insistence. “I can’t believe you turned that into an insult.”

“Sorry. You’re right, I’m not used to it.” Jon kissed him again, gently this time. “Shall I try again?”

“All right, but me too.” Martin tilted Jon’s head up by the chin. “You’re hot.”

Now it was Jon’s turn to blush, but only for a moment. “So are you.”

“No, you can’t just say that. You really are hot, I’m—” Martin cut himself off, realizing the hypocrisy of what he’d started to say. “All right, this is hard.”

“Maybe just back to this again?” Jon reached to kiss him one more time.

“All right. Until we get more practice.” He couldn't help running his hand through Jon's hair as their mouths came together again.

He could definitely get used to it.

[spoonhacks]

My Fibro Journey and How I Came Back from Rock Bottom

This not advice. But this is a true story, and it’s time I shared my Fibro journey. I was diagnosed with Fibromyalgia just as college was ending. This is not to say it began then, but it came to head enough to finally get an answer. This came about a year and a half after my Interstitial Cystitis diagnosis, and I was in BAD shape. I was 90 lbs, deteriorating, and everything winded me. The pain was constant and completely overwhelming. I had thrown every last drop of my energy into finishing my college thesis and graduating from a school I had worked SO hard at. When it finally commenced, I felt lost. I was depleted from the effort and it was 2011 and the economy was in shambles. Having nowhere else to go, I moved into my dad’s spare room in Massachusetts, miles away from the state I had always called home, my precious Florida warmth, and the love of my life. I was, unsurprisingly, miserable, and my health tanked immediately. I was cold all the time. No amount of blankets helped because I wasn’t generating my own heat. I remember spending Thanksgiving eve in the emergency room because an Interstitial Cystitis flare had caused a UTI to back up and give me yet another kidney infection and I had a soaring fever. Things were toxic with my dad. His cure for everything is to get up at 6am and be busy busy busy and I was in desperate need of rest. When it became obvious to me finding a job was not happening, I started an Etsy shop for my crafts with the limited energy I had. It pulled in maybe $200 a month but it felt good to be doing one small thing. A few months later the love of my life arranged to follow me to New England and secured a place for us in the apartment above his father’s house. We were together again but things were tense, his dad is occasionally a monster, and it wasn’t long before we were moving again. My health was awful and we were broke as a joke. I was sleeping 12 hours a day and spending the rest of my time trying to figure out what kind of life I was going to be able to have. I was severely depressed. We moved to an absolute shit-hole of a apartment in a bad neighborhood. Rent was $850/month for 280 square feet. We could barely afford it, and mostly lived off of my partner’s disability check and food stamps. My small savings was gone. We fought about money a lot. The Etsy shop brought in maybe $300 now, but it was clear this was not going to cover everything for a long time, if ever. My health only continued to decline and I felt utterly useless. Some days I was too sore to even get out of bed. The stress was unbearable as I watched everything in my life spiral. I honestly felt like if something didn’t change and soon, I was going to die. I thought back to the last thing I’d done right: my college thesis at art school. It took me forever to choose what medium to do the project in as there were a few I’d been practicing proficiently. I kept asking myself: “What am I the best at? What am I the best at?” and got nowhere. Finally I asked myself “What am I the worst at? What medium am I absolutely shit at that I would love to do but never learned how?” And the answer was pen and ink. A few months later I graduated with a pen and ink portfolio with one of two A’s in my professor’s senior class. So here I was, applying to design jobs and retail jobs and anything else I thought I might be good at with 0 responses for months on end. Then, instead, I asked myself what I was the worst at-- manual labor! After all, grocery shopping would knock me out until the next day. I realized this was insane to even consider and I might literally die. But I was so low it didn’t matter. If I continued wasting away like this I was going to die anyway. I knew this in my heart. Having cared for horses as a kid I started applying for barn jobs in the area. I remember straightening myself up and forcing myself to look energetic and animated for the interviews. I finally got a job. I was terrible at it. Shoveling for hours and pushing around a 300lb wheelbarrow, imagine! I could not lift a hay bale (they are about 65 lbs). But, I got up at 4:45 in the morning and drove to work in the snow before the plows came and always got to work on time. I worked only weekend days and by Sunday night I would have to make sure there was a crockpot meal going because I knew I would collapse at the end of the day. I cried in the car on the way home every single shift. My body was on fire. Mondays I could not get out of bed. The pain was immeasurable and I spent most of the day crying and had my partner help me to the bathroom. I spent the whole week recovering and patching myself up enough to get to my next shift on Saturday. But I promised myself something: that I would never complain, not to anyone at work, and not even to myself in my head. I imagined myself as a monk. Chop wood, carry water. I got fired. Then I got another barn job and got fired. Then I got another one and got fired again. The 4th job was still hard, but I did not get fired. I could now lift the hay bales. I gained 20 lbs (entirely muscle) and my body was completely different. Instead of being carried to the bathroom on Monday, I could transport myself to the couch and do basic self-care activities. I could do my crafts during the week again and between the two income streams I could afford my half of living expenses and was very slowly socking away a tiny, tiny nest egg that would eventually become the start up capital for my business. Two years had passed since mucking my first stall. My Fibro was not cured by any means but my IC was somewhat in remission and I was doing much better. Daily life got easier. After all, compared to hay bales, lifting the pasta pot while making dinner was less of a big deal. I eventually left the barn job and got a job doing landscaping and construction-- more manual labor! My new boss was disabled too and used a walker on the job site. He was also a Buddha in a blue collar. After having kept my illness a secret for 2 years of barn jobs I could finally tell a boss the truth and it was a relief. He understood me and always gave me the jobs I could flourish at.  I learned a lot from him, did legitimately good work, made slightly better money, and moved out of the shit-hole apartment to an art community, which was an important step forward on the path toward opening my own business and doing art full time. During the second year of running my shop I realized I didn’t need a second job anymore and that it would be the first year in the last 5 where I wouldn’t have to dig any holes.

I’d risked it all, every last drop of my health. It could have killed me. And the agony was indescribable, but I would do it again. My body is changed forever and even years since I have last worked manual labor I am still improved for it and much more active than I was in those dark years right after college. Everything I have now I owe to that one, insane decision I made at rock bottom. This is not advice. Take what you will from my story. I still despise people who say “exercise will cure Fibro if you just tried harder :) :) :)” or some stupid shit like that. None of them know how dangerous this was or how much suffering I endured. It could have easily gone the other way. There were days my partner saw the condition I was in and begged me to stop. I told him with a roar in my voice if I didn’t keep going I was going to die. I don’t regret it. I have less pain now, consistently, than I did before I went through all that and I still try to keep up my fitness level so I never go back there. Thank you for reading my story. I can’t recommend my path, but if you come away with one thing from this, just know that there is a path forward, somewhere, and perhaps in the most unlikely of places.