#AND HAS NO ONE TO TURN TO BECAUSE SHES BURNED EVERY BRIDGE SHE'S EVER HAD

[sadaveniren]

.

[cerastes]

What's your take on MumuDoc in Lonetrail?

Muelsyse in Lone Trail felt, in many ways, like seeing someone diving in a pool, and at first, you're not alarmed. They know how to swim. You don't really think much of it. But then a minute passes, and they are still underwater. Concern sinks in, and you make your way to the pool, and as you're about to jump in, their head surfaces, they are back up. They cough, they tough it out, and are a bit nervous about diving again, but you're going in the pool with them now, and they feel more at ease.

Take this, intensify it a hundredfold, stretch it a hundredfold, and scrutinize it a hundredfold, and you end up with Muelsyse, in her barest form, like a diamond born from a chunk of charcoal that had too much pressure put on it.

I can see Muelsyse's dynamic with Doctor being romantic. I can see Muelsyse's dynamic with Doctor not being romantic. Both are fine interpretations, if you ask me, I mean, her theme song is very much a love song, and at the same time, she feels desperate to find anyone who can just... Empathize in even the slightest of ways to her. Either read is fine, outright discounting either feels a tad disingenuous.

Alienation. Complete and utter alienation, an edge sharper and more injurious than isolation. This is, if you ask me, the main theme surrounding the Rhine Lab arc and cast.

Saria is alienated. She cannot find common ground with anyone else around her for the longest time. She used to have a shared dream with Kristen, but that bridge has burned and frozen and turned to ash all over. Kristen is alienated. She simply cannot see a point to anything except that obsessive doggedly persistent dream of hers, and it has been weighted more important than her humanity. Joyce is alienated. Forever a partial prisoner in her own head, there are few and far between that will ever put up with the unique intricacies of having to deal with someone that talks like her, has sudden Oripathy attacks like her, and falls asleep on the spot seemingly at random like her, fully cognizant of how high maintenance she can be on others. Ho'olheyak is alienated. On borrowed time, without kin or friend to call her own, living for a transcending mission far bigger than her and so, so small in the overarching beats of a world that can't be bothered to stop for her. Silence. Ifrit. Dorothy. Tin Man. I could go on. Alienated, all of them. Not isolated, because isolation would imply the lack of physical company. This is far colder, far darker. It's alienation. It's seeing the other side of the cliff, and no possibility of a bridge to connect it to your end of the cliff. Isolation stings, it's a pain you know is there. Alienation drowns, because you can see the surface, but you are convinced you'll never make it there, and it's a hundredfold worse.

Muelsyse is no different. Muelsyse is alienated, and goodness she has tried and tried and tried, she swims so, so hard to reach the surface, but she can't reach it. Being in Rhine Labs necessarily means you need to resort to some cutthroat cloak and dagger, it becomes routine, all for an ultimate goal, but is that ultimate goal even possible? With every step taken by Muelsyse, it seems two new steps materialized at the end of the staircase. Everyone she's met, for years now, has either been someone looking to use her, or someone she can use for her own advantage. Usually simultaneously. And it's in this context, when the 9 to 5 becomes tricking, blackmailing, snuffing and silencing that by chance, she comes across someone, possibly the sole person, that can actually understand the sheer weight on her shoulders: Doctor, someone who doesn't own their own past, but is shackled by it, someone who has no one to relate to, someone surrounded by sufficiently similar but ultimately infinitely different people to themselves, someone who by all means should be drowning in the same pool as her, but somehow, this person reached the surface. It's very easy to see why she'd become so utterly fascinated by this person, who shares many similarities with her, and yet, who seemingly has it so good, has it so sweet. It could have easily been jealousy, but end of the day, Muelsyse IS a sweet person. Yeah, she plays it up, always so cheerful and whimsical, but end of the day, Muelsyse is playing up something that is already there in the first place. Instead of jealousy, it brought her happiness, because maybe, just maybe, she could enjoy a bit of that je ne sais quoi that Doctor seems to have in spades and she is completely bankrupt of.

The first interactions between Muelsyse and Doctor are telling of this overwhelming rush of emotion: Muelsyse less talks with Doctor and more talks at them. She vomits words, emotion, whimsy, as if trying to put these emotions into words and actions after so long, emotions that was ready to never need to put into words in the first place. It eventually becomes a dialogue between two parties, but Muelsyse's interactions with Doctor are initially extremely one-sided, and they remain one-sided to some degree even moving forward. It was heartwrenching to me, honestly, to see the sheer joy Muelsyse radiated while around Doctor, because that is an almost manic amount of joy simply from possibly finding someone that gets it. Muelsyse has not had a bridge in so, so long, and suddenly, the finds someone that not only resembles her a lot, but also seems to have bridges in spades. Muelsyse and Doctor's dynamic should never be considered in a vacuum just between the two of them: One of the first things Muelsyse saw with her own eyes was that Doctor had a pretty friendly relationship, mutual respect included, with Saria. That, is immediately very telling of Doctor, given that Muelsyse understands exactly how difficult that is. We also know Muelsyse sneaks around Rhodes Island and chats with Ifrit now and then, and Ifrit also expressly has a very high opinion of Doctor. It simply makes sense that Muelsyse would feel as enthusiastic about her Dorothy's Vision brush with Doc, and all that Lone Trail entailed: It's terribly sad, because they don't even know each other, and even then, it's the shiniest ray of hope for herself that Muelsyse has had the chance to bask in: Doctor's essence, Doctor's existence, in and of itself, is a massive beacon of hope for Muelsyse.

And it's so damn sad, that this perfect stranger is the most familiar comrade she'll ever find.

Is this romantic love? Hell, the molotov cocktail of emotions involved might as well be, either now or in potentially in the future. Is it something unhealthily dependent? Yeah... Yeah. It might just be the euphoria of knowing that she can reach the surface, after all, that bridges, too, are possible for her to have, with not underlying motive, with no ulterior motive, without needing to offer something or to extract something. To put in the most basic of terms, Doctor, to Muelsyse, might as well represent the very first person in who knows how long that she can relate to at all. It is an immensely sad emotional starvation, and she finally found something to sink her teeth onto.

This is personal, but the way Muelsyse struck me, it felt to me that when she had even the barest of handles on Doctor, she related to someone for the first time in forever, and it shook her to her very core. It may have been the first time she saw, in someone else, a potentially happy Muelsyse.

It's extremely bittersweet. If you've ever dealt with alienation, think back on the first time you found someone who truly "got you". Add to that the fact that her routine of interacting with people had become to see others as tools, and to always be on the lookout for those wishing to use and expend you as a tool. Then, add to that that there are definitely more Elves, but Muelsyse is so fundamentally different to them that the sheer differences in temperament and culture make it so it's impossible for her to relate to them anyway. What could be lonelier than that? It's called Lone Trail for a reason, because alienation is a main theme for all of these people.

In finding the sole person that could possibly relate to her in circumstance and temperament, it's easy to see where Muelsyse's interest in Doctor comes from. Whether you interpret it as romantic or otherwise, it can't be denied that this immensely strong interest exists. It comes from finally seeing a way to reach the surface after the world told her for decades that she simply could only drown. Because Doctor is the only other person that could understand her in being the last of their race and in having no past and maybe even no future, and yet, Doctor having so many bridges, while she has none. I think Muelsyse craves companionship, not necessarily romantic, from Doctor, and, this is important, also wants to have what they have, and be part of it, of so many bridges built without ulterior motives.

[c-e-d-dreamer]

When We Howl, the Moon Will Cower: Chapter 6

A/N: Happy Day 2 of @nessianweek! Sometimes, yearning is looking at another male who clearly loves his wife and going huh, why do I suddenly feel jealous? 😂 But please enjoy this update! And enjoy Nesta and Cassian being idiots. Because there's nothing quite like clearly having feelings for your husband/wife, but refusing to acknowledge it

Read on AO3 // Chapter Masterlist // Previous Part // Next Part

Cassian

Cassian never thought he’d see the day where he visits the estate of the Vanserra coven not once but twice, and especially not within the span of the same day. And after today, he can confidently say he never wants to be between these four walls again. The library looks exactly the same as it did the previous evening, but the tension in the room is even thicker than it was when the Archeron sisters were scrying for the Cauldron. It sits like a weight on everyone’s shoulders. Writhes in the shadows and curls around Cassian’s chest, threatening to crush the air right out of his lungs.

Lucien paces back and forth across the room, practically leaving a simmering trail of ash beneath his feet the way he stalks across the rug. It’s almost strange seeing the male so out of sorts. Every time that Cassian has ever seen the witch, he’s looked impeccable, not a single piece of clothing or hair out of place.

The same can’t be said for the moment.

Lucien’s red hair is a mess where it hangs around his face, tangled and knotted from the way he’s been repeatedly running his fingers through the long strands. His skin is unusually ragged and pale, dark circles clinging beneath his bloodshot eyes. He’s long discarded his jacket into a crumpled heap in one of the large armchairs, his shirt creased and wrinkled where it hangs only half tucked into his pants.

“We’re wasting time,” Lucien growls out for the second time tonight, turning his attention toward his brother.

“I told you, we have to be smart about this,” Eris reminds him, his voice low with warning.

“Every moment we sit around here talking in circles, the Mother only knows what Hybern is doing to Elain.”

Sitting as close to her as he is, Cassian doesn’t miss Nesta’s almost imperceptible flinch at Lucien’s words. She’s been quiet and the picture perfect of calm ever since Baz informed them of the news about Elain, but Cassian has gotten to know his wife too well since their marriage. He knows that the press of her lips conceals the sharp words sitting on her tongue that she’s holding back. Knows that her narrowed blue eyes hide the fire burning just behind them.

He knows that deep down, she’s afraid.

Knows that her straightened spine and held back shoulders are the armor she wears to cover her concern. Knows that the way her fingers flex, her arm jumping back to brush against his own, means her own mind is conjuring images the same if not worse than whatever Lucien might be imagining.

It’s practically instinct, the way Cassian reaches a hand out toward her. His fingertips just barely brush along the back of Nesta’s hand before he thinks better of himself. Before he catches himself. He pulls his hand away again, fingers curling tight until his nails cut into the palm, the pain a reminder of himself, and resettles his hands back in his lap again.

“You’re assuming the worst,” Rhys pipes up from where he and Feyre sit. “They’re probably just keeping her to use as a bargaining chip.”

“Probably?” Lucien snaps, whirling on the vampire. “You expect me to be alright with probably?”

Eris sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “And what would you have us do? Storm through Hybern’s gates?”

“Yes. They have my wife.”

He says the words with no hesitation, with a sheer surety and determination that has Cassian tilting his head curiously. He’d noticed the way Lucien and Elain seemed unusually close, strangely comfortable in each other’s gravity the other night. The way the two seemed less like two people who had married for an alliance and more like two people who actually chose one another.

But this, watching Lucien now, watching his reaction, is somehow different than the other night, something more than just amicability. It’s almost like…

Cassian refuses to finish the thought, refuses to give the notion any sort of weight. But it’s still there, niggling in the back of his mind. It still has an ache threatening to build and sink its roots into Cassian’s chest. Threatening to twist and shift into begrudging anger.

“We don’t even know for sure that’s where Elain was taken,” Nesta finally speaks up, her voice surprisingly cool and calm. “Our best bet is having Feyre and I scry again for her before we make any rash decisions.”

Lucien scoffs, but Eris nods his agreement at her words, pulling back out a map and spreading it across the table. Nesta stands up, taking a moment to fix the skirts of her dress before she strides forward. She holds her hand out, waiting until Eris hands over the bowl of bones and stones, to turn expectantly toward her younger sister. Feyre hesitates for only a moment before she stands as well, stepping over to Nesta and the table.

“What if it sees us too?” Feyre asks quietly, Cassian’s wolf hearing still picking up the question.

“We’re not looking for it,” Nesta tells her, taking Feyre’s hand in her free one. “We’re looking for our sister.”

Feyre swallows hard, but she nods her head, squaring her shoulders and focusing on the map before them both. Both sisters close their eyes, murmuring whatever scrying incantation they need, the words still so unfamiliar to Cassian. Just like the previous night, the temperature in the room seems to drop, the air stilling and prickling with static electricity. Cassian scoots forward in his seat, keeping his eyes pinned on Nesta.

He swears he can see a slight tremble to her hand where she has her closed fist extended over the map, can see where the blood’s been cut off, her skin pale from the tight grip she has over the bones and stones in her palm. Her whole body stiffens, and Cassian almost rises from his seat before he catches himself again, closing his own hands into fists to keep himself together.

There’s nothing comforting about the silence that settles over the room. It’s more like a yawning void with the promise of teeth and claws. It reminds Cassian of when he was young, of those dark nights in the woods where he swore something watched him back from between the tall, shadowed bark of the trees. Something wrong and twisted.

A minute passes.

And then another.

Something changes in the air, a crackling spark that steals the breath even from Cassian’s lungs. Nesta’s breath starts to come fast and hard, her lip curling back as she pants between her gritted teeth, and Cassian can’t take it anymore, pushing to his feet and striding toward the table. There’s a small noise, one that Cassian can only describe as pure terror, but it doesn’t come from Nesta.

It comes from Feyre.

The youngest Archeron gasps, pressing her free hand to her heaving chest as she all but curls over the table. “I… I can’t…” She turns her attention toward Nesta, blue eyes wide with fear. “Open your fist. Now.”

“No,” Lucien growls, stalking closer to the table again. “We can’t stop. Find Elain.”

“You have no idea what we saw,” Feyre snaps.

The two continue to bicker and snarl at one another, but Cassian tunes it all out. He settles one hand along Nesta’s lower back, able to feel the tension in her body beneath his touch, the small trembles and shakes that rattle her limbs. With his other hand, he reaches up toward her face, gently sliding the backs of his fingers down her cheek.

“Nesta.”

Nesta’s eyes snap open, zeroing in on him, and Cassian once again gets a glimpse of the magic that rages like a wildfire beneath her skin, of the silver flames that flicker around her irises. He doesn’t remove his touch though, doesn’t step away.

“Open your fist, Nes.”

Nesta’s fingers splay, bones and stones clattering against the table as they’re released from her hold, slightly pink from where her grip was tight enough to break skin. Cassian slides his hand around to Nesta’s waist, catching her and holding her steady when she sways. He tilts his head down enough that he can press his lips to the crown of her head, tuck his nose to the golden brown strands of her hair.

“Don’t worry. I’ve got you,” he speaks quietly, only loud enough for Nesta to hear.

“Look.”

Eris’s words are enough to have Nesta pulling away from Cassian, and he refuses to acknowledge the coldness that burrows beneath his skin at the loss. Refuses to name or give in to what feels suspiciously like disappointment creeping up and between his ribs. Instead, he swallows hard and rolls his shoulders, joining everyone else in the room leaning over the table to see.

To see the bones and stones standing on end upon the map, to see them forming a perfect, unnatural circle.

“Good. Now we know where she is, for sure,” Lucien says, pushing off the table’s edge and offering his brother a pointed, sardonic, look before striding toward the library doors.

“Lucien–”

“Try and stop me. I dare you.” Lucien whirls around, and Cassian catches a glimpse of the burning flames infamous to the Vanserras flickering in his russet eyes. “If I have to march into Hybern by myself, then so be it, but I am getting back my wife.”

Cassian half wonders if Eris would, if he’d stop his own brother in order to save Lucien from himself. He half wonders how Lucien might claw his way out of whatever restraints Eris put him in, how he might cleave through any chains or spells to get to Elain. Cassian has to give the male credit for his dedication.

For his devotion to his wife.

That dark, twisting feeling climbs back up Cassian’s chest, twining like brambled vines around his ribs. Around his heart. It feels an awful lot like bitterness, but he’s quick to shove it back down. It doesn’t stop that dark part of him that revels in seeing the mess of emotions wreaking havoc on the youngest Vanserra, to see some semblance of his own emotions and experience finally reflected back at him, especially after how happy Lucien and Elain had looked together the previous night.

It doesn’t stop the voice that whispers in the back of Cassian’s mind, wondering what it would take to draw such a visceral reaction from himself.

“I can offer a squadron of wolves. Just one, though. I won’t risk any more than that.”

Despite the words being for Lucien, it’s Nesta that Cassian doesn’t take his eyes off of. He knows how important her sisters are to her, how much she cares about them. He can still remember their wedding day, when Nesta told him plain and simple that she only agreed because of them. That she chose him over the other factions in the name of protecting them.

The declaration has a new emotion sparking amongst the icy blues of Nesta’s eyes, one that Cassian doesn’t quite recognize. It’s a look he hasn’t yet cataloged, hasn’t yet named, that takes over her expression. Cassian’s heart squeezes in response, and he has to swallow hard against the way his breath threatens to catch in his throat.

“Thank you,” Nesta tells him, her voice quiet and sincere. Just for him.

Cassian nods his head once, determined to keep his own emotions tampered, his own face neutral. “Guess we’re going to Hybern.”

~ * * * ~

Nesta

Nesta twists enough that she can secure the final buckle, pulling at the strap until it tightens. She slides her hands down along her waist and hips, stepping over to the small mirror in the bedroom. It’s almost uncanny, the reflection staring back at her. She had been unsure when Emerie had handed her a pair of leathers to wear, and it’s as strange seeing them on as the fabric feels against her skin.

Still, the Mother only knows what could be waiting for them at Hybern, and Nesta will take any extra protection and armor she can get.

It had been one of the easiest decisions she had ever made, agreeing to help Lucien and rescue Elain. One she’d made as soon as those bones and stones had landed across the map, before she could even voice it. She’d do anything for her sisters, even if it meant storming into what was most likely a trap. Even if it was the last thing she ever did. And she didn’t care what anyone said, including her dear wolf of a husband.

Although, she hadn’t needed to worry about that last one in the end.

She still can’t quite wrap her mind around Cassian not fighting her about going to Hybern, how the only “order” he gave was for Emerie to locate some leathers for her to wear. She still can’t wrap her mind around him offering up his own wolves to help with the rescue. Elain means nothing to him, he has no reason to volunteer his help, and yet…

And that look on his face… Nesta still can’t get it out of her head. The way the hazel of his eyes seemed to burn in a way she’d never seen before. The way that gaze had been pinned to her as he spoke the words. It had been indescribable. It had something warm threatening to unfurl in her chest.

It was dangerous.

Sighing softly and shaking her head of those thoughts, Nesta steps out of the bedroom. She finds Cassian standing in the front room of the cabin, the alpha already wearing his own leathers. It’s certainly a sight, the way the fabric clings to his frame and emphasizes the large muscles of his chest, his arms, his thighs, the way the red hued scales along the shoulders seem to flicker in the low light of the room. With the stubble along his jaw, his hair scraped back away from his face, and the twin blades strapped along his back, he certainly paints the image of a warrior prince.

His eyes sweep over Nesta before he offers a single nod of approval. “This is for you.”

Nesta looks down at the blade Cassian slides across the table over to her, blinking in surprise. Slowly, she reaches her hand out, picking it up. She examines the leather criss crossed tightly along the hilt, pulling the blade free from the scabbard to reveal the Illyrian steel.

“I had Elis make it,” Cassian continues. “Had him make sure it was the perfect weight and balance for you. I know you have your magic, but considering what Hybern may have, better safe than sorry.”

Nesta curls her fingers tighter around the sword, taking a moment to swallow hard and secure it to her belt. “Thanks.”

The silence that settles around them feels charged somehow, prickling along Nesta’s skin. She dares to meet Cassian’s gaze again, but he has that same burning, piercing look painted across his face, and she has to look away. When there’s a short rap to the cabin door, she’s never been more grateful.

It’s time.

It takes a large amount of magic to travel to Hybern, to keep everyone cloaked, and Nesta’s hands are clammy and shaking by the time they’re landing beneath the stretching bark and branches, the dark canopy of trees. There’s the threat of a migraine building in her head, a pressure just behind her eyes, but Nesta breathes through it all, taking in gulps of the cool night air around her.

She can feel Cassian’s presence beside her, feel the warmth that radiates off him from where he’s standing close. She can feel his attention solely on her, the barest brush of his fingertips along her arm.

“You made it.”

Nesta snaps her attention toward the sound of the voice, watching as Lucien stalks out from between the trees, members of the Vanserra coven that she doesn’t recognize following behind him. They’re all dressed in leathers of their own, reds and greens and golds befitting of the coven’s autumnal ties. Lucien has his curtain of red hair tied off away from his face, and beneath the moonlight, the scar across his face stands out especially stark and the flames in his eyes burn especially bright, flickering with anxious determination.

Nesta almost feels bad for whatever Hybernian soldier tries to come between him and Elain.

Almost.

“We’re just waiting for Feyre then,” Nesta offers, glancing around the wood in search of her youngest sister.

“She’s not coming.”

Nesta frowns at Lucien. “What do you mean?”

“I mean she’s not coming. From what I overheard with Eris, it sounds like Rhysand wasn’t as forgiving about his wife in Hybern,” Lucien explains; although, his eyes flick to Nesta’s right as he says the words. “Sounds like there may have been some locked doors involved.”

Nesta has to swallow down a wince. She remembers the quiet, but harsh words spoken between Feyre and Rhysand at the Vanserra manor, remembers the way her sister loudly proclaimed her husband to be a prick. There had been glares and snarls, and Feyre had stormed off in the end, but Nesta thought her sister’s stubborn recklessness would win out in the end.

“If that’s the next rescue mission, you can count me out,” Baz speaks up from Nesta’s left, his whole body shuddering. “I am not going in that place.”

Nesta snorts softly. “Really? Hybern is fine, but you won’t go to the vampire den?”

“I’ll do most things for the Pack, but I have to draw the line somewhere.”

It’s an odd thing to say. Nesta half expected him to make a joke about how Cassian could never order him into the den the way he was ordered here tonight. After all, there’s nothing here for the Pack tonight. Elain has nothing to do with them.

“How about you do something useful and sweep the perimeter.”

Baz makes a big show of rolling his eyes at Cassian’s words, but he gestures with his head, and the other wolves follow him as they vanish amongst the shadows of the wood around them. Lucien leads the smaller group that remains away, daring to press right up to where the treeline ends and crouching down amongst the brush there.

Looking out across the field of tall grass, Nesta gets her first look at the fortress the king of Hybern calls home. Dark stone stretches high and wide, a wall hiding away the towers and keep just beyond. It’s like something out of a fairytale. Or a nightmare. The almost black hue of the stone, the ivy and bramble that creeps along it, the spikes, it all reminds Nesta of a dark thunderstorm.

“There’s a servants’ entrance through that gatehouse there,” Lucien says, his voice quiet. “According to the intel Rhysand’s spymaster offered, many of the servants don’t live within the walls, they come and go each day.”

“A good entrance for us to use then as well,” Cassian comments with a nod of his head.

“My thoughts exactly. If we’re lucky, we can get in and get out without starting a war.”

“Bit late for that, don’t you think?”

“Even so, we clearly don’t have the numbers for a big fight. I doubt you want to lose any wolves tonight.”

Cassian doesn’t say anything, but Nesta doesn’t miss the way a muscle in his jaw ticks, Lucien’s words clearly having hit their mark. He crosses his arms and focuses his attention back on the fortress, eyes flickering as he takes in every detail, as he devises his own plan with all the prowess Nesta expects from an alpha general.

“Well, then,” Cassian finally says. “Let’s not waste any more time.”

They make it inside the fortress with surprisingly little fanfare. There’s only a trio of guards at the gatehouse, Cassian trapping one in a headlock until he loses consciousness while Lucien and one of his other witches take out the other two. They encounter even fewer as they cross to the servants’ entrance, stepping inside an empty and dark kitchen, stoves and flames long gone cold and the staff long retiring for the night.

“We’ll cover more ground if we split up,” Cassian suggests.

At Lucien’s agreement, he sends the other Vanserra witches to the western wing, offering to take the main house himself. It leaves Nesta and Cassian to search the eastern wing in hopes of locating Elain.

As they creep up one of the servants’ stairwells, Nesta reaches within for her magic. Just as she always does, she imagines stroking her fingers through soft fur, but this time, she gets a growl in response, leaving the hairs on the back of her neck standing on edge, a shiver skittering across her skin. It’s a warning.

It means something’s wrong.

Swallowing hard around that feeling, Nesta tightens her grip around her magic, pulling it forward forcibly until silver flames curl between her fingers, wreathing her wrists and providing light through the winding dark corridors. The distinct sound of blades unsheathing has Nesta’s entire body tensing on instinct, but when she whips around she finds it’s merely Cassian, both his blades raised and ready.

“You feel it too, then.”

Cassian’s lips press into a thin line. “Coming here may have been a mistake.”

“Don’t let Lucien hear you say… that…”

Nesta’s voice trails off as they reach the end of the corridor, her steps stuttering to a stop. The caress up her arm, along the back of her neck is undeniable, and it’s wrong. It curls around her ear until the ringing taking up home there morphs into a whisper, a temptation. A siren song. A sudden pressure starts to build in her chest, wrapping like cold, spindly fingers between her ribs and around her lungs until the air is squeezed out of them. And that grip on her tugs, calling her down and down and down.

Nesta’s entire world tilts as her body is yanked back, the hand pressed to her mouth muffling her yelp of surprise. She tries to struggle against the tight hold before she realizes she recognizes the warmth, the body, pressed along her spine. With a huff, she shoves Cassian’s hand away from her face, turning to glare at him. But Cassian has a single finger pressed to his own lips, signaling quiet.

Carefully, Nesta leans forward enough that she can peer out of the alcove Cassian has pulled them into. She frowns at the dark corridor, as empty as it was before. What has his wolf hearing picked up that she can’t see?

Cassian yanks Nesta back again, out of view just as a pair of Hybernian soldiers come stalking around the corner and down the corridor. Nesta holds her breath as they come to a stop right where she and Cassian are hiding. Her heart skips and starts to pound in her chest. Why haven’t they continued on with their patrol?

“What have we here?” One of the soldiers turns with a sneer, somehow looking directly at Nesta through the shadows. “A little mouse just for me?”

“More like a wolf,” Cassian growls, stepping out of the alcove.

Nesta barely has time to blink before Cassian is leaping forward, both his swords swinging. He takes down the soldier who spoke with ease, a feral grin on his face despite the blood now staining his leathers. Nesta focuses her own attention on the remaining soldier, reaching once again for her magic. She sends silver flames cascading toward the male, but not before he gets off a spell of his own, alarm bells blaring around them.

“Well, there goes our element of surprise,” Cassian comments.

He sheathes one of his swords and grabs hold of Nesta’s hand, pulling her down the large, main staircase. They burst through the large, wooden doors that lead in and out of the eastern wing, coming face to face with even more soldiers rushing toward them. Cassian drops her hand to free his second blade again, resetting his stance so his back is to her. Nesta takes it as the cue that it is. She takes a moment, closing her eyes and breathing deeply. She can feel the swell of her magic, feel the familiar burn through her veins, across her skin, in her eyes.

A smirk pulls up her lips as her eyes snap open again, zeroing in on the soldiers standing before her. Zeroing in on her prey. It’s the only warning she gives them before she unleashes the beast writhing and skulking within, towering flames arcing away from her and swallowing every soldier in their path.

She turns on the spot, toward the next round of soldiers who dare to step up against her. She’s surprised to find a soldier closer than she expects, dark eyes narrowed and lips curled back in a leer. He raises his hand, so Nesta summons what remains in that well of her magic, wills it to thread between her fingers again. But before she can strike, the soldier unfurls his fingers, revealing some sort of blue powder that he blows directly into Nesta’s face.

Nesta coughs, turning her head away, but whatever the substance was, it’s too late. Her vision starts to blur around the edges, and she tries to blink around it, tries to shake it. All the sounds around her seem to fade, the shouts and cries of soldiers falling, replaced by an almost buzzing that presses into her ears. Her limbs feel strangely heavy, and when Nesta reaches inside herself she finds… nothing. There’s just emptiness.

A roar breaks through the haze to Nesta’s right, warm liquid splattering across her cheek, her neck. Greens and golds flood her vision, and it takes her a moment too long to realize it’s Cassian in front of her, his eyes dark with fury, with worry.

“Nesta, run,” Cassian tells her, clearly repeating himself. “Make for the woods, but run.”

Nesta doesn’t need to be told again. She somehow gets her legs under herself again, breathing through her pounding heart, through the hollowness clawing in her chest, as she pushes toward the tree line.

As she gets closer, she spots two wolves charging right for her, one dark gray with a silver underside and the other an almost shaggy brown in color. The gray one rushes ahead, leaping right at Nesta, and she drops to her knees on instinct, a terrified gasp clogging up her throat. She waits for the pain, for teeth to sink into her flesh, but all there is is a pained cry from behind her. She whips around, only to find the wolf tearing a Hybernian soldier to shreds with its teeth.

“Nesta.” Nesta turns around, meeting Baz’s face, the Pack’s third now back in human form. “Are you alright?”

Nesta nods, taking Baz’s proffered hand and allowing him to pull her back to her feet. Whatever magic she was hit with, she still feels out of sorts, still feels unsteady, and she stumbles back a few steps, right into a firm, hard body. Hands on her shoulders catch her, but then they’re sliding down to lift her fully off her feet, cradling her against a chest and enveloping her in the familiar scent of pine and low burning embers. She wants to protest, but she’s tired, so tired, and she slumps fully against Cassian.

“Lucien has Elain. Now, let’s get the fuck out of here.”

—

Taglist (let me know if you’d like to be added or removed): @moodymelanist @nesquik-arccheron @sv0430 @talkfantasytome @bookstantrash @eirini-thaleia @ubigaia @fromthelibraryofemilyj @luivagr-blog @lifeisntafantasy @superspiritfestival @hiimheresworld @marigold-morelli @sweet-pea1 @emeriethevalkyriegirl @pyxxie @dustjacketmusings @hallway5 @dongjunma @glowing-stick-generation @melonsfantasyworld @lady-nestas @goddess-aelin @melphss @theladystardust @a-trifling-matter @blueunoias @kookskoocie @wolfnesta @blurredlamplight @hereforthenessian @skaixo @jmoonjones @burningsnowleopard @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk @ofduskanddreams @rarephloxes @thelovelymadone @that-little-red-head @readergalaxy @thesnugglingduck @kale-theteaqueen @tarquindaddy @superflurry @bri-loves-sunflowers @lady-winter-sunrise @witch-and-her-witcher @fieldofdaisiies @freakingata

[jewish-vents]

I lost my best friend of 25 years over this conflict. She was being purposely cagey about it because she didn't want to lose me, and knew she would. On the 7th itself when I turned to my best friend to help me through my grief and terror she just said "I'm not the right person to discuss this with. I'm getting on a plane. Can't talk. Bye."

And she left me to burn

I probably should have known it then. She told me she didn't want to talk about it because I might think she's antisemitic, as that's the pressing thing when the world just declared it's intent to hunt and kill me in horrible ways.

"I can't relate but I support you, but please don't talk about it with me."

How is that support?

And how could I talk about anything else?

And then she changes the subject to someone saying something minor to her at work which set her into a crying fit, because she makes it a priority to tell me she bursts into tears 4 times a day every day so I can't ever have too strong of a negative emotion or it will set her off.

And then she told me she loves me but she can't say she likes Jews because "I haven't met all the other Jews." As though she'd ever say that to a Black friend about their entire people. She is the Most Progressive, you see, she is Very Aware Of Her White Privilege and stuff. She works with immigrants and would sooner jump off a bridge than give off a whiff of bigotry towards them.

But I'm a Jew.

She finally tells me she doesn't support Israeli striking back because there's children being hit. She hasn't seen any evidence to justify Israel's response. I ask to show her some. She refuses. You see she gets to have her uninformed opinion, gets the luxury of staying that way, she can just change the subject, I'm The Jew, that's my Jewish business.

My pain has always been her concern but not when it's Jew-related. I'm to hide that lest she burst into tears.

I gradually stop talking to her. She sends me anxious messages saying "I'm not sure if I can even ask how you are or if that's any of my business"

This from the woman who purposely made it not her business, DEMANDED it not be her business, and now she sniffing around like a hungry dog after telling me to just ignore it, that it's just online, that I should **uwu** watch my cortisol **uwu**

You need cortisol, I say, when you're being hunted. Sometimes cortisol is called for. She starts crying. How could I say that. She can't talk about this. It's too much for her. My cortisol is just too much for her. So now I have to shut up, because she's crying.

No one hunting her but she's crying

It felt like she was just hoping to wait around, have her private antisemitism, like she could hide her eyes from me, like I couldn't read her judging silence and her quiet insistence that though she admittedly knew nothing she certainly knew better than ME what was right. And if we get close, boom. Tears.

I felt so talked down to and invalidated. When I brought this up she said "I validate you" like that's a magic spell, you can just say the magic words AND that will cure neglect.

I finally blew up at her and of course there was big manipulative tears because how DARE I think she might have bigotry and how DARE I draw away from her after she made it clear she had no interest in my pain, after she tried so so so hard to hide it and used all the gentle parenting language she learned in her DEI courses to placate me, the Hysterical Jew.

I will always hate myself for apologizing to her for being angry, for my big violent emotions she would have preferred to ignore until I get over my weird Jewish thing, so I can get back to being the person she can subtly look down on and be holier than, and so she can cry to me, and cry, and cry, and cry, because someone gave her a minor correction at work and not because she's being hunted for being a Jew.

We should be able to disagree about politics, she says. We can't disagree about my existence and basic safety, I say. You don't deserve to be bathed in hate, get offline, she says.

They vandalized my synagogue. They attacked my friend's daughter on campus. That's awful, she says. I don't support that. Anyway, at work today -

We don't talk anymore. Haven't for months. Don't know if we ever will again. I've been angry at her every day. I feel like I let her get away with it. She gets to go out into the world feeling like she's right and Israel is evil and she used to have a Jewish friend who turned out to be craaaazy, it's terrible what Zionism does to those people. I'm sure she'll get clout at her super leftist workplace where she can never be progressive enough. Where she helps put DEI policies in schools and libraries that treat antisemitism as though it's a non-problem.

I'm just another oppressor-class Jew to her. Couldn't center her over my Jew Issues

I'm so angry at her and so angry at myself for not handling it better, for holding back, for indulging her crocodile tears and handling her with kid gloves, for not calling her out for manipulating me into muting my truth and thinking I'm so dumb that she could just refuse to address it, like I wouldn't know, for expecting me to just "get over" my people being slaughtered, for needing her and then sticking around long after she left me to die

.

[flowerxbunnie]

Star Crossed

Chris x Fem reader

Warnings: angst, cheating/breakup, underage drinking, scene involving cigarettes

“Fuck you Garrett, like actually.” I spat, gripping at the handle of his jeep and threatening to leave.

“What is your problem? You never told me that it wasn’t okay. She’s literally Tristan’s cousin. And your best friend is a guy, I thought you would be okay with this.” he argued, his face plastered with confusion but his voice filled with anger.

“Don’t try to make me feel crazy,” I warned, turning back to face him and pinching the bridge of my nose. “I’m okay with you having friends of the opposite gender. But I don’t care if it’s the Queen of England, since when is it okay to text other girls private details about our relationship?”

“I only do it when we’re in arguments and I need someone to vent to. She told me I could come to her when I was upset. It’s not like it’s an everyday thing.” He throws his hands up in frustration.

“Okay,” I let an angry chuckle out. “I’m gonna call up one of my girls’ cousins and tell him about this right quick then. See if he maybe has some advice for me.”

“That’s not the fucking same and you know it. He’d try to fuck you or god knows what else.” He scowled.

I stare into his eyes, blinking slowly, hoping the hypocrisy behind his words catches up to him. But it doesn’t.

“I just don’t get why you treat me like I’m some horrible boyfriend,” he starts, “I meet my best friend’s cousin at a bonfire, get her number and text her casually and you fly off the handle.”

“You text her about OUR RELATIONSHIP. When we’re at our worst. Why do you need advice from a random fucking girl who you barely know?” I snapped, my cheeks burning and my hands shaking. Tears threaten to spill over, something I hate about myself when I get angry. “Let’s not forget that you went through and liked every single one of her instagram pictures. Every single one. Was that a piece of the advice she gave you? To make your girlfriend look like a fucking idiot?” I fumed, his hands moving to grip the steering wheel with white knuckles. “And how do I know that’s all you talk about, hm? All the texts are deleted.”

His face remains blank as he grabs the gear-shifter and throws the jeep into reverse. His eyes flick up to the rear view and he backs out of our spot in the random shopping outlet’s parking lot, roughly shifting into drive a he pulls out and into the road.

“What the fuck are you doing, Garrett?” I grumble, watching the streetlights lining the road zoom past my window as he speeds down the highway.

“I’m taking you home. I’m not gonna stay with a crazy bitch who thinks she can micromanage my every move.” He spoke, his tone calm and his expression unwavering.

I take a deep breath. I’m done with the arguing.

“Okay.”

I close out of her instagram account, still trying to convince myself that my eyes are playing tricks on me as Garrett’s name is plastered under her newest scandalous photos. I toss my phone into the space between my bed and the wall, knowing it’s unhealthy to stalk her and mourn my relationship everyday. It’s been a week.

Somehow I’ve managed to drag myself to class everyday. The lessons don’t click in my brain this week, my notebook is empty and my pen is dry. I’m not even sure I have a voice anymore. I haven’t spoken to anyone unless I had to. None of my friends know what happened, I’m too embarrassed to come across as the crazy ex-girlfriend who got her heart broken because she can’t mind her own business.

Aside from class I’ve been lying down rotting for the past seven days, going back and forth on if I’m in the wrong or if I’m valid in my feelings. Garrett was right, my best friend is a guy, but I’ve known him since middle school. We know everything about each other, he’s like family. Garrett threw everything away for a girl he had just met, deleting text messages and completely failing to ever mention her name in conversation.

My body feels like it’s physically reacting, my muscles aching and my head throbbing. My mind races with questions.

How can someone who I poured so much of my love into take it and wring it down the drain?

How can I even feel angry? He just wanted a new friend.

Why did he like all of her pictures, even the first embarrassing one she ever posted in 2013?

Why are you so controlling?

Why didn’t he tell me?

Why do you care so much? It’s just Tristan’s cousin.

Is it bad for my boyfriend to like pictures of a girl in a hot tub?

I hear my phone vibrating, but I can’t even find the energy to move the comforter off of my body. I put a pillow over my ears and try to wish it away. I’m tired of the questions. I don’t want to explain why I’ve seemed down.

It keeps going off, vibrating against the wall over and over relentlessly. Huffing, I shove my hand down into the gap and dig for it, pulling it up and squinting as the screen beams light into my eyes.

“Party tonight at the same house as last week. Y/n please get off your lazy ass and come!!!”

“yeah y/n i need to see ur pretty face!”

“If Garrett gets mad tell him he can come too”

“its senior year pleaseee we don’t have many parties left :(“

My group chat is flooded with messages from my girl friends. I can’t even reply right now. Maybe getting out would be good for me, but I really want to sit in my two day old clothes and stuff my face with Oreos tonight. How dumb am I gonna look dancing alone?

My mind races for the next hour, contemplating whether going out will make me feel better or become a huge regret. Garrett and I never officially broke things off, we just haven’t talked in a week. What if he’s pining over it like I am? I can’t exactly just dance my feelings away with some random guy when I don’t even know the status of my relationship.

After a phone call from Sophie and a lot of convincing, I decide it would be best for me to get out tonight. I need the interaction, and maybe a couple drinks if someone was able to bum them from their college friends. I need to hear music, I need to speak with other humans. But I can’t go alone.

My phone hovers over Chris’s name, worried I might wake him up since it’s already late. I click it anyway, the dial tone only going off twice before I hear his voice on the other side.

“Y/n/n, what’s up!” he chirps.

I smile to myself, my best friend always cheering me up whether he knows it or not. “You know, the usual. Coming up with a blue print for a new and improved Golden Gate Bridge. You?”

“Fuck off,” he stifles his laughter. “I’m watching some show Nick and Matt told me about. For real though, what’s up?”

“Sophie is begging me to go to a party tonight. You down to be my plus one?” I question as I shuffle through my closet.

“Garrett didn’t wanna go?” he asks puzzled.

I take a moment and debate whether or not I want to tell him. I really don’t want to bring down the mood of the night. I’m supposed to be having fun.

“Nah, not tonight. He’s on some boys trip upstate.” I lie through my teeth.

“Sounds lame. I’ll be there, what time?” He asks and I hear rustling, presumably him getting up off the couch or his bed.

“Uhhhh like two hours….” I trail off, nervous it might be too short of notice.

“Alright, I’ll meet you at your house and we can walk together.”

“Perfect! Thank you Chrissy.” I feel tears well up in my eyes, actual happiness igniting, even if only a small spark, for the first time in a week.

“Don’t thank me, weirdo.” He laughs. “See ya dude.” The line goes silent.

I spend the next couple hours taking everything slow. I eat a meal, my first fulfilling one since that night. I wash my face, do my hair, throw on makeup to look and feel more alive. I decide on a maroon slip dress, silky and comfortable. As I’m saying my goodbyes to my parents and about to walk out the door, my phone vibrates in my hand.

“What color are you wearing?”

“Maroon!”

I smile as I text him back, knowing he’s gonna wear something to coordinate our looks. As cringe as it may be, that’s just Chris.

We meet exactly where we planned, the chill in the air causing us to walk shoulder to shoulder for any sort of warmth. We don’t talk much, but the silence is comfortable. We never felt the need to force something out of nothing. Nothing is everything with him.

We walk in and we’re immediately greeted by Sophie and a bunch of other people she’s been hanging around.

“Y/n!” She pulls me into a hug. “Where’s Garrett? Hey Chris!” She waves in his direction.

“Boys trip.” I shrug, going into as little detail as possible.

“Oh, well I’m SO glad you came. You haven’t been yourself the last few days.” She says while giving me a look of genuine concern.

“Class has been super stressful,” I lie. “But I’m so glad I came too!”

Chris smiles as he listens in on our conversation, waving at various people who greet him in passing.

He looks so handsome. He’s wearing a maroon sweater with a button up peeking out from underneath and some jeans that fall perfectly over his long legs. I’ve always been so jealous of his ability to throw anything together and make it an outfit, a good one at that.

“Chrissy I love your outfit,” I whisper in his ear, the music too loud to try to talk from a distance.

“Had to layer, it’s too cold for a ratty tshirt,” he jokes. “But I could say the same to you. You look gorgeous.” He smiles and bumps his shoulder against mine.

The night goes on and we drink, dance, take goofy photos in front of a prop wall, and talk to so many fucking people. I’ve went over my social meter for the night, but Chris looks like he’s having so much fun and I would never say anything to ruin that. He makes his way back over to me after a round of beer pong that he absolutely crushed everyone else at.

“I wanna get one more picture in front of the prop wall and then I think I’m gonna call it a night. Gonna walk to McDonalds if you wanna comeee..” he sing songs, giving me a pleading look.

“Thank fuck,” I laugh, relief washing over me. “I was done an hour ago. Just didn’t wanna take the experience away from you.”

“That’s crazy because I was also done an hour ago, but I thought you were having a good time.” He laughs, his nose scrunching up.

We walk over to the prop wall and find someone to snap a photo for us. I grab a pair of red heart glasses, he grabs a bow tie on a stick and holds it up to his neck.

“3.. 2.. 1… and cheese!” The girl slurs before the flash blinds us.

She tosses me my phone and we thank her before slipping out the door, thankfully going unnoticed by Sophie. We giggle and walk alongside each other on the sidewalk, the smell of dewy late night air flooding my nose. The streetlights carve out Chris’s cheekbones as he looks down at me, rambling about nothing and everything all at once. I listen intently, glad to have my mind on anything other than what it’s been rampant with recently.

“It’s fucking cold,” I complain as I cross my arms across my chest and rub some friction onto them.

“Here.” Chris quickly stops in his tracks and pulls his sweater off, his button up left behind. He tosses it my way and gives me a small smile.

It smells like him as I slip it over my head and bring the sleeves over my hands.

“Thank you.”

We make it to McDonald’s relatively quickly. Chris holds the door open for me and we order our food and find a booth to wait in. My feet ache and my hair just feels tangled.

“What a fucking night. I can’t wait to crash after this,” I sigh and lay my head on the table.

His hand comes down to rub my hair, a sweet gesture he loves to do. His love language has always been physical touch.

“Aww, I was hoping you’d hang out with me a little longer. I’ve got ideas!” He whines.

I look up at him with a raised eyebrow. You never know what this kid is going to come up with in the spur of the moment.

“Just wanted to walk around that nature park down the road. Seems spooooky at night.” He laughs and turns his head, standing up as the cashier calls out our number.

We laugh and eat, my mind completely free of any thoughts besides how much fun I’m having with Chris. Ever since we met in 6th grade art class he’s known how to keep a smile on my face. He’s the kind of person you can’t help but be drawn to. His laugh alone is infectious, filling up any room he’s in. He’s such an attentive friend, which is why I’m not surprised when his mood shifts and he starts to question me.

“So what’s been going on, Y/n/n?” He looks down at his fries and scoots them around.

Do we really need to do this right now? I’m prepared to sink back into my sadness once I’m alone. I don’t plan on telling anyone until I’m sure of where we stand myself.

“Uh, nothing really,” I mumble, taking a sip of my blue Powerade. “Just stressed from assignments and stuff I guess.”

“Not gonna fool me, kid. What’s up?” He looks me in the eye this time.

His blue eyes hold so much genuine concern. They flicker back and forth between my own and he blinks slowly awaiting my response.

“It’s Garrett.” I admit.

“What about him this time?” He huffs as his eyes harden, sitting back against his side of the booth with his arms across his chest.

“He… I don’t know. He crossed a boundary and I wasn’t comfortable with it,” I start, breaking eye contact and pushing my hair behind my ear. “And then he acted like I was out of line. He dropped me off at my house and I haven’t heard from him since.”

His gaze softens and he puts his elbows on the table, scooting closer to me with a knowing look. “I figured it had something to do with that. You know I can read you like a book. So is it over, or…?”

“I don’t know. He didn’t say, and I haven’t even tried to reach out.” I close my box of chicken nuggets as my appetite fizzles away.

“I’m so sorry, Y/n. He fucking sucks.” He leaves it at that and gathers all our trash. “Let’s go.”

We walk to a nearby gas station in silence, the mood heavier this time. I wander around the snack aisle as he makes his purchase. I hear the bell on the door ring and look over as he holds it open and nods his head at me. The black bag swings lazily at his side as we walk to the park.

“What did you get?” I ask as we settle on a bench under a lamp post.

“Cigarettes. Oh and a lighter.” He says casually as he pulls them out of the bag.

“What the fuck,” I laugh, my eyes widening as I realize he’s serious. “Why?”

He shrugs, “I don’t know, just figured we could try something new. You’re stressed and shit so I kinda just thought it would be nice, I don’t know.” He flicks his thumb across the lighter and the yellow flame illuminates his face before he blows it out.

“I mean.. I guess. I’m probably gonna cough super bad.” I laugh and straighten my legs in front of me, crossing my ankles.

“Eh, fuck it. I probably will too.” He laughs and rips the pack open.

He brings a cigarette between his lips and holds it there, cupping a hand around it to block the wind. His other hand comes up with the lighter and sparks it a couple times before he gets it to light. He holds the flame against the end and draws in a breath, the tip glowing red as it catches fire. He immediately pulls it away from his mouth and coughs loudly, standing up and holding his chest.

“What… the FUCK.” He says between heaving coughs, small puffs of smoke escaping his mouth each time.

I can’t help but laugh, throwing my hands over my mouth and taking in the sight in front of me. He shakes his head back and forth with his eyes closed, his brown waves flopping around. He extends his arm to me and squats down trying to take control over his breath again.

“Good fuckin’ luck.” He coughs out.

I lean forward and grab it between my fingers, his warm ones brushing mine in the process. He looks up and smiles before shaking his head in disgust again.

“So fucking dizzy.” He says as he sits down fully on the asphalt.

“Baby’s first nicotine buzz!” I joke, stopping my laughter quickly as he squints his eyes at me.

I bring the cigarette between my lips and drag on it, my lungs immediately filling with thick, rancid smelling smoke. I cough one big time and try to hold it in, puffing my cheeks out and attempting to hold my breath. My chest starts burning and my eyes are watering, and my body instinctively coughs over and over to try to clear my airway. I see Chris laughing through my blurry vision, smacking his knees and stomping a foot on the ground.

“Oh… my.. god.” I choke out, my head spinning and my fingers erupting with a static feeling.

“Yeah, shit’s no joke. How do people enjoy this?” He stands up and drags himself back over to the bench, reclaiming his spot beside me and grabbing the cigarette from me.

I cough on and off, still trying to rid my lungs of the contaminants. I throw my head back and my hair dangles off the backrest of the bench. Chris’s hand finds its way to me and strokes my hair softly and slowly. I bring my head back up and look at him, shaking my head with disappointment.

“Can’t believe you would do that to me.” I tease through a stifled smile.

“Just wanted to see what it was like..” he giggles and brings it back to his lips, the end glowing again as he takes a smaller puff.

He coughs once or twice as the smoke billows out of his mouth and dissipates into the foggy air around us. He looks at me with wide eyes. “Hey, that one wasn’t so bad!” He holds it back out to me, gesturing me to try again.

“Uhh.. I think I’m good. My lungs feel like they’re collapsing.” I push his hand back.

“You should try one more time..” he looks away in thought before snapping his head back. “What if we shotgun? I’ll take the brunt of the smoke and you can have whatever’s leftover. It’ll be less harsh that way.”

I’m sorry, but shotgunning a cigarette? First of all, that’s nasty. Does not sound appealing in the slightest. Secondly, I can’t fathom bringing my lips that close to Chris.

“Uhhh..” I trail off and shake my head slightly.

“Come onnnn Y/n/n!” He pouts, scooting closer to me on the bench. “I’m not gonna peer pressure you into it if you really don’t want to..” he says seriously.

“Fine. ONE more time.” I say and narrow my eyes at him.

He nods furiously and scoots even closer, our thighs touching and his cologne strong in the breeze. I can see every detail of his face under the light of the lamp post. His bushy but clean brows, his smile lines, his pink lips wet from obsessively licking them. His hair falls over his eyes as he brings the cigarette back into his mouth and takes a big drag. His eyes widen and he grabs my face in a rush, his warm hand against my cold cheek.

He pulls me close and our noses brush against each other. Time feels like it slows down to a crawl. I open my mouth and he does the same, our lips micrometers apart. His hot breath mixed with the smoke fan over my face as his eyes close, his long eyelashes fanning across his cheeks. I can feel heat in my cheeks that I’ve never felt around him.

He exhales as I inhale, the smoke that was once in his lungs filling my own. I take all that I can and he stays for what feels like a moment too long, his icy blue eyes opening to lock onto mine. I feel a weird pit in my stomach and the blood stills in my veins. Why am I feeling like this?

He pulls back and scans over my face, watching as I exhale and a comically small puff of smoke blows out.

“Well, that was lame.” He laughs and brushes his hair back.

“Yeah, little bit.” I agree flatly.

We sit in silence and finish the cigarette together, our lungs adjusting and my mind racing. I try to take my mind off the feeling of his thigh still brushing against mine, but the nicotine doesn’t have any effect at all. I thought these things are supposed to relieve stress.

Once we’ve burnt it to the end, he rubs the bud against the asphalt and flicks it away. It rolls until it hits the curb and we both sigh at the same time. We look at eachother and laugh at our ‘jinx’ moment, not knowing just how different we were feeling internally but thankful that we feel no pressure to be perfect when we were together.

“I’m so thankful to have a friend like you, Chrissy.” I smile and blow some warm air into my frozen hands.

He smiles lazily at me for a second, an almost sad look flashing across his eyes as his hand comes to lay on top of mine and stroke the back of it with his thumb. “Don’t know what I’d do without ya.”

•••

The morning sun comes out from hiding, her rays illuminating his brown hair on his pillow beside me. I watch his chest rising and falling steadily, a calming rhythm that could lull me back to sleep any day. Nothing makes me happier than waking up and feeling warmth on his side of the bed. I feel whole in his presence.

I look around at our bedroom and realize just how far we’ve come. We’ve both left the comfort of our parents homes and have made these four walls our own. Piece by piece we made a sanctuary like a bird collecting sticks and paper straw wrappers for its nest. I could go anywhere with him and build a nest. He makes everything okay.

I take my phone off the charger and scroll around aimlessly, hoping not to disturb his sleep, his pink lips hanging open and his eyes moving under his lids. I go through instagram and flip through recipes, gym videos, and dog compilations before I’m bored and close it out. I try Facebook and my distant older relatives have flooded my timeline with political garbage, so I close it out too. I open Snapchat and see a memory, smiling as I start to click through the photos and videos taken on this day from the previous years.

The first video plays, a snippet from last year of us in his car, lip syncing to one of our favorite songs. The next one is from the same night, a photo of him with his arm around me in front of the door to our then-new apartment. His eyes shimmered with happiness, mine mirroring his own with a huge smile plastered on my face.

I click again and watch as our past plays out on the screen in front of me. I can’t help but feel so thankful for the way everything worked out. So much would be different if the world hadn’t knitted us in the exact pattern it planned, one frayed thread and I wouldn’t be sitting in this room with the love of my life.

Click

My smile fades as I scan over the photo. I reminisce on the night, remembering everything as if it were a movie playing in my brain. They used to be some of the best times of my life. He made me so happy.

It’s strange how well you can know the inner workings of someone, sometimes more than your own. You know the temperature they like to drink their water, their favorite salad dressing, the commercials that make them cry. And you sit together and watch the commercials from time to time, because you know the end makes them smile again.

It’s strange how quickly it can all fizzle out, both of you existing in the world without a clue of who the person could be today. Here one minute and gone the next. I know he’s out there. He knows I’m out here. But who is he?

How different would my life had been if I did end up with him? Would I have had the same opportunities, the same zeal for life, would I be happier? Would it be my single biggest regret?

I wonder if he thinks about me and everything we went through together. I wonder if he remembers the angsty songs we played in his car late at night, or the scent of the air freshener I always bought for him when he ran out. Does he wonder what his life would be like with me, or has he moved on and found his own paper straw wrappers?

I know he was in love with me. I knew I loved him. But sometimes things are star-crossed and confusing and they hurt and there’s nothing we can do about it. Sometimes the right people come into your life at the wrong time. Do we pine about it forever, or do we let the world continue knitting while hoping the strings don’t fray?

I look over the photo once more, our shadows on the ground innocent and unaware of the future.

I look over and the boy beside me stretches his arms above him and takes in a deep breath before turning over to me, his brown waves a mess. He smiles from ear to ear and I can’t help but return it.

“Morning, baby.”

“Good morning, Garrett.”

a/n: i sobbed many times writing this im sorry if you like happy endings

taglist: @lustfulslxt @whotfisade @soursturniolo @recklesssturniolo @lxvlysworld @chrisolivia4l @kiarastromboli @mattnchrisworld @cupidsword @kvtie444 @xplrfear @knowingnothingnoel

[lesbianalanwake]

Ok i didn't phrase that correctly, Alan could have asked like, Tim or somebody to help him write his way out of there and he didn't, he didn't ask for ideas or anything, which Door directly criticizes as well as the fact that Alan doesn't notice the people that want to help him get out of there. Like he could have said hey, help me save Alice to Tim or Zane, but he just put it on his own shoulders because he wanted the hero status, which is supported by the Eternal Deerfest. Like no he didn't do anything to get the dark to target him, but he didn't do anything to help himself out either, like asking the number of people down in the dark place for help or getting offended when they do try to help him (Tom Zane). His pride was that he felt that only he could help himself, if that makes sense

Tom Zane is the guy with the motif of continually trying to shove alcohol onto Alan, and is Red Flags all around, and Alan is responding to that like most people would. I wouldn't trust him either.

Alan continually forgets Tim.... Tim even comments on it. he does let Tim help him. he uses his map and supplies, and is comfortable enough to rest there with him. Tim is stuck there too and is focused on finding Door, not getting out.

who is Alan supposed to ask for help? he's surrounded by shadows that sometimes become people and attack him. he doesn't know Alice is there and guiding him, because she doesn't want him to know. the Casey in the Dark Place is hostile and unfriendly when Alan talks to him, and then dies. Alan reaches out to Jesse in the AWE DLC; she just can't do anything about it at the time. he accepts Ahti's guidance, even though Ahti is cryptic about it. he reaches out to Saga for help as soon as he's aware that she can help him, which causes what Door is actually pissed off about - putting his daughter in danger.

Door doesn't really know or care what's going on with Alan. he's blowing hot air because he's mad about Saga being drawn into the situation. I would even venture to guess that what Door is saying is more applicable to himself than Alan - if we take Hatch from QB into account, Door is presumably deeply stuck within the maelstrom of space-time, he schemes in a way that ultimately isolates him from people, he had bad blood with his wife's (?) family (though Tor and Odin admitted to their part in that), his own daughter has no idea of his existence or presence even though he clearly cares about her, and we only ever see him operate in facades and falsehoods. he is living in an isolated hell, whether he sees it that way or not, with no identifiable lifeline outside of it that hasn't been a bridge burned or a person unaware of his existence.

Door is probably the second-least reliable narrator (the first one being Tom Zane), and I think his statements are a reflection of himself.

Alan has many issues, and in the first game an unwillingness to accept help is one of them, but by the time of the second game, he is pretty desperate for someone's help. he's just not dumb about it (Zane), and he has every reason to doubt perceptions and appearances in The Place That Continually Fools Your Perceptions. he doesn't necessarily think that anyone else will write him out of it, because who can? who does? he isn't aware of anyone else who has both the capability and the willingness to do so. Alice does, but he doesn't know that.

his enduring flaws are really his tunnel vision and his attachment to despair (the same things that drive him into the lake for good in the first place), which in turn causes the Dark Place to warp and mirror that. he talks about hope in the second loop that we get to experience, because he has been utterly stuck in despair. going through the motions again and again because he's got a kernel of determination that won't easily let him give up, and because he knows how dire the consequences could be, when he remembers them, but at this point not really expecting anything to change (and so it doesn't stand a chance of changing at all). and Alice notably understands how to tug on those exact strings - tunnel vision and despair - to get him in a better position to get out and to break the loop into a spiral, knowing that Alan will latch on to any glimpse of her like a bloodhound and that witnessing her apparent "death" will push him over just the right edge at the right time.

[burst-of-iridescent]

Zuko is peaceful when he sleeps. 

Katara doesn’t get many opportunities to see him like this so she takes her chance now, tracing the line of his jaw, the pall of his eyelashes against his cheekbones, the way the skin turns from ivory to rusted crimson just beyond the bridge of his nose. The early morning light softens the harsh edges of his scar, the furrow of his eyebrows; he is more a child now than he has ever been, ensconced in her arms. 

She can stay here a little while longer, Katara decides, can let herself have this before the duties of a lifetime of war draw her away once more. Besides, she can’t bear to wake Zuko when he looks like this, content and undisturbed as he rarely is in life. He must be more tired than she thought, to sleep so far past the sunrise that calls to the fire in his blood. 

The first rays of dawn wreathe his hair like Agni himself has come to crown him, the golden prince who reclaimed his kingdom, and he looks so very young suddenly that her entire being aches with the need to protect, to love, to pour in through his skin all that he’s ever lost so no hurt can ever touch him again. 

He’ll wake any moment now, she knows. Blink at her with those sleep-dazed golden eyes and give her that lopsided half-smile that’s tender and disbelieving all at once, like he still can’t quite believe any of this is real. 

(She hates herself for that, hates the girl of misplaced rage and caustic grief who pushed him away, hates that he always flinched like he expected a mortal blow. She’ll spend a lifetime in penance.) 

But that’s okay, she thinks. Everything is okay now, because she has a lifetime to change that, to love him, to live. They have time, so much time that she doesn’t quite know what to do with all of it, but they’ll figure it out together. 

Katara curls closer to Zuko, looping her arms around his neck and waist, and closes her eyes. 

He’s still warm, the way he was when she first hugged him with the sunset at her back and the waves beneath her feet. Still warm, still burning, still here.

Her brilliant, beautiful firebender.

A hand settles on her shoulder. 

“Katara?” 

The word comes to her across a great distance, as though Sokka is still back in the South Pole instead of right beside her. Or maybe she’s the one who’s far away, gone somewhere he cannot follow. 

She blinks, and watches the final, fading trail of the comet recede into the blue, blue horizon. Blue for new beginnings, blue for peace, blue for the crack of Azula’s lightning. 

“Katara,” Sokka says again, and now there’s something terrible in his voice, something she’s heard only once, almost seven years ago. “Please.” 

At Zuko’s side, his uncle weeps. He’s bent to press his forehead to Zuko’s hand, murmuring words of guilt and love and sorrow.

There’s no need, she wants to say. Can’t you see? He’s right here.

She brushes the hair off Zuko’s face and gently kisses his scarred cheek.

“Katara.” There is no joking Sugar Queen, no teasing in Toph’s trembling voice. “You have to let him go.” 

Katara shakes her head mutely, and curls her body around his.They’re partners, her and Zuko – them against the Southern Raiders, against Azula, against the world. 

She’ll always have his back. 

(Later, they’ll tell the stories of how the last Southern waterbender held the crown prince’s body through the night. Later, they’ll whisper about how she had to be dragged kicking and screaming from his side, how every bit of water in the courtyard rose to cover the fallen prince with a shield of ice, how they had to knock her unconscious to keep her from flooding the palace.)

Later, Sokka will not meet her eyes when she wakes. 

Katara goes where he tells her to, in the days that come after. Follows him to a garden of white silk and ash, to the shaky beginnings of a new world, to a ship that carries her across the element that failed her. 

She stands on deck and watches the long-hated land of her childhood fade into the distance until it is nothing more than a faint speck on the endless expanse of the sea. She thinks of a smoke-singed courtyard, the beat of a ruined heart; thinks of a beautiful boy lit in lightning and the sobbing girl he died to save and the story that died with him, forever unfinished, forever frozen.

“It’’ll be okay,” Sokka tells her gently, when a faintly familiar land of ice and snow forms in the distance. “Let’s go home.”  

(She doesn’t, though. Not really. Not ever.

She never goes home again.) 

[whump-tr0pes]

Honor Bound 6 - 32

This is a series. Start here, continued from here.

This is a sequel to Honor Bound, Honor Bound 2, Honor Bound 3, Honor Bound 4, Honor Bound 5, and the prequel Vera.

AO3

Masterlist

Contents: past hallucinations, PTSD, past abuse of a minor, attempted confrontation with abuser, abuser co-opting language of activism, gendered slurs, fucky headspace about abuse, thoughts about self harm, flashbacks, harm reduction

~

Isaac only realized he had been tensing every muscle in his body when Gavin started to fall asleep. It happened slowly at first, Gavin’s head relaxing into the pillow, then the pained lines in his forehead disappearing bit by bit. Gavin’s breath slowed, and his hand released its death grip on Isaac’s shirt. Gavin’s leg twitched, as it sometimes did as he was drifting off, but Gavin didn’t wake. Then, and only then, did Isaac take a full breath and release the tension that had been surging through him since Gavin had looked at him with suspicious, terrified eyes and refused to take the medication that would bring him relief.

It was only through sheer will that Isaac had not collapsed to his knees right then. Isaac had withstood so much within these past weeks, and could have withstood more; the ever-present fear of Gavin’s death had hung over him like a sword both waking and asleep. Isaac had nearly watched Gavin die. He had thought he had watched that very thing.

And yet, nothing could have prepared him for the moment Gavin looked at him in distrust, in fear, and thought Schiester was the man standing before him.

Isaac crushed the thought before it could fully bloom. I have him back, he thought fiercely. It’s enough. It’s more than enough. It’s more than I thought I would ever have again. If this is… If this is the price…

He shuddered and wiped his eyes. Even having Gavin look at him with that much distrust, it was worth it. Of course it was. He leaned forward, brushing his lips to Gavin’s forehead as gently as he could manage. Gavin drew in a shuddering breath, but stayed asleep. Isaac’s chest ached as he gazed at him, his eyes lingering on the darkened, puckered scars that stretched over Gavin’s nose, cheek, and eye. If Gavin was awake, Isaac would kiss them. For now, Isaac just wanted Gavin to sleep.

An icy finger of dread brushed down Isaac’s back. He turned his head towards the front door, listening for a sound his body had known to listen for before his mind even registered there had been a noise. Even through the closed bedroom door, he could hear the front door open. He was up and out of the bed before he had time to draw breath.

“Don’t fucking shoot, Isaac, it’s me,” came Vera’s voice.

Isaac’s fingers ached. His hand was already in a fist at his waistband, closed over a gun that wasn’t there. He panted heavily and rushed out of the bedroom, terror and rage ebbing away, replaced with sharp annoyance.

“Shh.” He closed the bedroom door behind him and glanced at Vera – and Gray, who stood behind her, face like a stormcloud. “Gavin’s sleeping. He has a bad—” The rest of his thought evaporated when his eyes returned to Vera – her eyes were wild, a muscle standing out in her jaw like she was trying to crack a molar. “Wh-what?” he breathed.

Vera snorted. “We should probably talk,” she bit out, voice thin with sarcasm.

Isaac’s stomach dropped. “Oh… fuck, what—”

“Vera met Rosa,” Gray said darkly.

Fear punched through Isaac’s chest. In the same breath, hope threatened. “Is… Oh. Is she… alive?”

Vera barked out a mirthless laugh, then covered her mouth with a hand and threw an apologetic look at the closed bedroom door. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “Ah… yeah. She’s… she’s alive. Because someone—” She roughly elbowed Gray in the ribs. “—wouldn’t let me murder her in front of this town’s mayor.”

“Kali isn’t the mayor,” Gray said, their tone only a little imperious. “But forgive me for not allowing you to burn one of the few bridges we have up here.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Vera said. A slight smile undercut the harsh words. “But yeah, uh… we should probably… talk about that.”

“Talk about what?” Isaac said. His hands were starting to shake. “What is there to talk about? She did what she did, and I… did what I did, and—”

Gray stepped forward. “Isaac, that’s not—”

“—now we just have to… deal with her. That’s just how it is.” He pulled a shaking hand through his hair, forced himself to breathe – then breathe again, and slower. “If we’re going to… coexist—”

“They’re dead because of you. You know that? We went out to fight and you were supposed to be there, to protect us, and you weren’t. You preferred to not take the shot. You preferred to run like the useless piece of shit you are.”

He shuddered. “We h-have to—”

“But we don’t, Isaac,” Gray said carefully.

“Vera said we’re not allowed to kill her,” Isaac said, doing his best to loosen his hands from the fists they were in.

Vera rolled her eyes. “You know where I stand on this issue,” she sighed. “But yeah, like Gray said, we don’t actually have to deal with her. At least not all that much. Because she doesn’t actually live here.”

Isaac stared at her for a long moment. Then, slowly, he said, “What do you mean, she doesn’t actually live here?”

Vera massaged her temple and gestured for Gray to speak. Gray wet their lips and said, “We just finished speaking to Kali. And… meeting Rosa, unfortunately. Kali said she doesn’t live here, she just gets mail here and passes through every now and then. And that… well, Kali said she would like to mediate a conversation between you and Rosa.”

“When?” Isaac choked out.

Gray spread their hands. “I… don’t know. She didn’t say. Rosa left in a huff before we could work anything out.” They gave a half-hearted shrug. “I don’t think it’s a bad idea, Isaac. At least you would have a chance to air your grievances. But either way, Kali wanted to do it because she thinks it would help. And because… well, because essentially we aren’t allowed to keep trying to kill her every time we see her.”

Isaac surged forward and staggered out the front door. Vera and Gray stumbled to follow.

“Wait… where are you going?” Vera said.

“I can’t keep doing this,” Isaac whimpered. “I can’t… keep wondering when she’s going to turn up again, expecting her around every corner. If Kali wants to do this fucking talk, and this is what it’ll take in order for us to live here, then fine, but…” He muffled a sob into his hand and dashed tears from his eyes. “I’m not fucking waiting. I’m doing this now. I…” He stumbled, then stopped. His heart pounded against his lungs as he sucked in breath after too-small breath. “Wh-where is she?” he rasped.

“Rosa?” Gray said cautiously. “I don’t—”

“No, Kali,” Isaac said. “If she wants to have a talk, I’m going to talk to her now.”

“I don’t know, Isaac,” Gray said. “When we saw her she was in the post office, but—”

Isaac whirled and began to jog down the lane into town.

Gray and Vera hurried to follow. “She might not still be there, Isaac!” Gray said, already breathing hard. “She, I told you she was there, I have no idea if she—”

“Call her,” Isaac said over his shoulder. “Call her and tell her to meet me.”

“Isaac, stop,” Gray said. They skidded to a halt and braced their hands on their knees to catch their breath. “Let’s talk about this.”

“No,” Isaac begged. Gray raised their gaze to his. “Don’t make me fucking wait, Gray,” he croaked. “Don’t make me keep going through this. Please.”

Gray straightened and took a deep, wheezing breath. “Fine,” they said roughly. “But I’ll go with you.”

Isaac turned on his heel and kept walking in the direction of the post office. His heart felt bruised; every beat felt like a blow to the inside of his ribs. Vera fell in beside him. Gray lagged behind, tapping away on their cell phone. After they sent off a text, they jogged to catch up.

Goosebumps rippled across Isaac’s arms and back. He didn’t speak as they walked into town, didn’t glance at Vera as they all passed by the shops on either side of the street. When he finally laid his eyes on the post office, his stomach twisted like he might be sick.

“Is she there?” he said thickly.

Gray checked their phone. “She responded,” they murmured. Then, “Yes. She’s there.”

Fear and revulsion thundered through Isaac’s veins as his feet carried him closer. He couldn’t feel the tips of his fingers when he reached out to grasp the worn wooden handle on the door. He didn’t wait to take a breath before he yanked the door open and walked in.

Only Kali stood inside. Isaac’s throat tightened and he turned to look at Gray, eyes wide with terror and confusion.

“I… meant Kali was here, not Rosa,” Gray said, shaking their head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

“Where is she?” Isaac rasped. He looked helplessly at Kali. “You said you wanted to talk, so…” He held his arms out wide. He hated himself for how hard he was shaking. He blinked back the tears that threatened in his eyes. “I’m here to talk. I’m not… not armed, so…” His hands fell to his sides again. “Let’s just get this done, if this is how you think we should handle this.”

Kali’s brow was deeply creased as she looked at Isaac. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Alright,” she said carefully. “I see you want to… make things better.”

“No, I just want this to be fucking over,” Isaac whispered, so he wouldn’t choke. The tears in his eyes spilled down his cheeks. “If you want me to talk to her, I’ll talk to her. If that’s what I have to do, then…” He shrugged and held his arms down at his sides, hands balled into fists. “Let’s just get this done.”

Kali held Isaac’s eyes with a steady gaze. “Isaac…”

“Now!” he cried. Kali flinched back minutely from the booming command. Isaac buried his face in his hands and muffled a sob. “What the fuck?” he breathed. “You wanted to talk, can I please just—”

“I’m sorry,” Kali said in a rush. “Isaac, I’m sorry for causing you grief. I didn’t mean to, please believe that. But I… well, maybe you should just read it.” She pulled a phone from her pocket, tapped the screen a few times, and handed it to Isaac.

On the screen was the end of a text conversation between Kali and Rosa.

September 22, 2030 2:45pm

Kali: we got mail for you today

September 22, 2030 9:50pm

Rosa: thnk u

September 28, 2030 10:22am

Kali: I’d like to resolve this between you and Isaac Moore’s family. What do you say to having a conversation with him that I mediate? This would be planned and in a neutral location, with no threats allowed on either side, with safety and repair being the goal.

September 28, 2030 10:24am

Rosa: r u serious? fuck that actually

September 28, 2030 10:24am

Rosa: I can’t believe ur taking his side

September 28, 2030 10:25am

Rosa: after everythng I’ve gone fr the resistance I can’t believe this

September 28, 2030 10:26am

Rosa: if ur willing to allow those people to stay nd continue to spread their lies about wht happened to Jordan, fine. ur in charge here. but I will no longer affiliate w Laporte. this isn’t just smthng u can just ‘mediate’. consider me gone.

September 28, 2030 10:30am

Kali: I understand you being upset. I’ll give you some time to yourself and reach out again in a few days.

September 28, 2030, 10:30am

Your message cannot be delivered.

Isaac realized he was breathing hard when the words on the screen began to blur. He held the phone out with a shaking hand and looked up at Kali.

“What…” His mouth was dry. He swallowed hard. “What does that mean? What…”

Kali threw a glance at Gray, who was looking at her inquisitively. “It looks to me,” she said with that same sense of unending patience, “That she isn’t interested in having this conversation or… being in Laporte anymore.”

“Give me that,” Vera snapped, and grabbed the phone from Isaac’s hand to read the last exchange. She snorted and looked up at Gray. “‘I will no longer affiliate with Laporte’? Is she serious? Was she somehow contributing in a huge way to the resistance that we just… haven’t heard of over the past several years?”

Kali opened her mouth to speak. “I—”

“What, is her presence here so fucking special that her refusing to come here anymore is some sort of punishment?” This time, Vera fixed her eyes on Kali. “Well? Have we just misread this?” her lip pulled back in a snarl.

Kali met Vera’s vicious gaze with her own steady one. Finally, she said, “Sometimes people lash out when they feel hurt. Her identity as a resistance fighter is clearly very important to her.”

“Perhaps, then, she should work on being an effective one,” Gray hissed from the corner.

Isaac still stood in the center of the room, shaking like a leaf. He kept waiting for fear to hit, or rage, or relief. Nothing rose up to fill the emptiness that had opened up inside him. He felt like he might buckle under his own weight.

“Wh-what does this mean?” he repeated.

“It means the trash just took itself out,” Vera spat. “I wouldn’t spend any more time worrying about her, Isaac. Apparently being confronted with the truth is enough to send that bitch packing.”

Isaac’s eyes and mouth were dry. He swallowed hard, swallowed again. “She’s… just gone?” he said softly into the room. The words seemed to fade into the buzz of Vera’s rage and the pounding of blood in his ears. “She just… left?”

His eyes snapped to Kali’s when she took a step closer to him. She had to crane her head back a bit to look up at him, but she met his eyes without blinking. She reached out and took both his hands in hers. They were rough, calloused, but warm and dry. She squeezed his hands in hers, and he found himself squeezing back.

“I am so, so sorry,” she said, her voice so kind that it brought more tears to Isaac’s eyes. “She clearly hurt you so much, and I’m sorry. I was hoping for some kind of healing. But… I hope this is a solution that works almost as well.”

Vera snorted. Isaac couldn’t see her where she stood behind him, but he could see Kali’s mouth tighten in response. “I understand if you see this as better,” Kali said.

“The woman was okay with using a child soldier as her own personalized bodyguard and hitman,” Vera sneered.

“I wasn’t a child when she first brought me into the field,” Isaac said, releasing Kali’s hands and turning to face Vera. “I was… t-twenty-one when she—”

Vera held up a hand, silencing Isaac. “I don’t want to hear it,” she snapped. Isaac’s mouth fell shut.

Kali cleared her throat softly. “If I might suggest something, Isaac,” she said. He looked down at her and waited for her to speak. He was tired in his bones, tired in his soul. He was tired of fighting, tired of being afraid. He was tired of being tired. She wet her lips and said, “It seems like the people who hurt you… well, it seems like they’ve all decided to stay in your past. So maybe something that would be helpful for you… would be to start by learning that the things that were done to you… were indeed mistreatment? Were indeed unjust?”

This time, it was Gray who snorted. “I’ve been trying to tell him that for… oh, over a year at this point,” they said with a gentle, good-natured laugh.

Isaac couldn’t find it in him to laugh, or cry, or even reach for the flame of anger that always burned inside him. He shrugged, a hollow, jerky movement. “Probably, yeah,” he said flatly.

Kali’s mouth pursed, and she gently patted Isaac’s shoulder. “Alright,” she said. She glanced at Vera and held out a hand for her phone. “If I could have that back…?” Vera placed the phone in Kali’s hand, and at least had the dignity of looking a little embarrassed for having snatched it away in the first place. Kali tucked the phone in her pocket and rubbed her hands on her worn jeans. “Well,” she said. “I’ll… I’ll keep y’all posted on the goings-on of the town. And I’ll make sure you get notified next time mail gets dropped off. I know that… once you’ve settled in, it’ll feel like home. I’m… sorry things have started so rough.”

For a long time, no one said anything. Isaac’s jaw ached as he clenched his teeth, swallowing over and over against the lump in his throat. It was the only sensation in his body, and he clung to it, all too familiar with the numbness that was creeping through his veins.

His knife could chase the numbness away, he knew that. It had done it so many times already. If he just took his knife, and—

“Who gave you this, huh?”

“M-my—”

A blow lashes across his face, spilling the tears that had been brimming in his eyes. He presses a hand to his stinging cheek and returns his frightened gaze to the woman kneeling in front of him. He didn’t mean to fall asleep, he didn’t, but he’s been awake for two days already, maybe three, he lost count, and he’s so tired…

Rosa is fiddling with his pocket knife, the one with the sharp steel blade and the red plastic handle, the one he has using to try and keep himself awake, the one given to him by his—

“My… dad gave it to me,” he hiccoughs, fighting back a sob.

Rosa chuckles, folding and unfolding the blade from the pocketknife. “Your dad, huh?” she says, her voice cold and sarcastic.

“Yes, please give it back…” He reaches for it.

She snatches it back, out of his reach. “No,” she says with a vicious grin. “You fell asleep on watch. Second time this month. Clearly giving you triple duty didn’t teach you better. Maybe this will.” Isaac’s stomach drops as she folds the knife a final time and tucks it into her pocket.

“No!” Isaac sobs, and lunges for it. He’s so tired, he’s so tired, and Rosa easily trips him. He goes sprawling into the dirt.

Rosa snickers and walks away. “Don’t fall asleep on watch again, Isaac,” she says, not bothering to look back. “You won’t like what happens if I catch you doing it again.”

Isaac blinked and shook his head against the sudden memory. His right hand was curled into a fist – no, curled around his father’s pocketknife, lost forever because of the mistakes he had made.

Enough sensation returned for him to register a weight in his stomach as he released his fingers, one by one. He felt the loss of his father’s knife as if it had just happened – as if Rosa had just walked out the door with it a few minutes ago. He swallowed against more tears and pressed against the unhealed cuts at his wrist.

“Gray,” he said weakly, unable to feel embarrassed when his voice cracked as if he was sixteen years old. “Can we head home? I… I’d like to… I need some ice.”

He felt Vera’s confused gaze, but didn’t look at her. He turned and looked only at Gray.

They took a deep breath, let it out. “Of course,” they said gently. They stepped forward and tucked him under their arm. “Thank you, Kali, for meeting us again so soon.”

“Anything y’all need,” she said with a shrug. She gave them a kind smile as Isaac let Gray lead him out of the post office and back out into the morning sunlight. Isaac wound his arm around Gray’s waist as they walked. Vera followed silently behind. Isaac could feel her confusion and curiosity, but couldn’t bring himself to explain the ice right now. She would find out when they got home anyway. For now, Isaac let the tears fall freely as he walked down the main street of Laporte, not caring if anyone else noticed.

Continued here

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[toboldlygohome]

Pining

Leonard McCoy x Reader

Summary: Leonard has it bad for you and doesn't know what to do about it. All he knows is that this little crush is getting out of hand.

Character(s): Leonard "Bones" McCoy, James "Jim" Kirk, Spock, Nyota Uhura, Pavel Chekov,

Warning(s): Wounds, Cursing, Slight Angst (Don't worry, there's fluff at the end)

"Bones.... Bones.... Bones?...............Bones!"

Leonard snapped back to reality and returned his focus to the conversation he was having...well...supposed to be having.

"Seriously Bones, what's with you lately?" Jim raised an eyebrow.

"What are you going on about?" Bones scoffed.

"I've been trying to discuss this report with you and you're not even remotely paying attention to me."

"I'm paying attention!"

"Really? Cause it looked like you were staring at Lieutenant-Commander Y/L/N." Kirk crossed his arms.

"No I was not," Leonard frowned.

"Were too!"

"Was not!"

"Were t-" Jim was cut off by Uhura turning around in her seat.

"Boys, seriously. You bicker like an old married couple. Some of us actually have work to do." She scolded.

Leonard sighed and shook his head. "Look Jim, I was just spacing out. That's. All."

"Yeah, spacing out while your eyes are burning holes into Y/N's back. Sounds an awful lot like staring." Jim laughed

Leonard's eyes darted over to you as you patted Chekov on the back, said goodbye to him and Sulu, and made your way out of the bridge. When he turned back, he found three pairs of eyes watching him with amusement.

"Oh what now?" Leonard put his hand on his hips. "Seriously, do you all have nothing better to do with your time than speculate on where my attention's at?"

"There is no need to speculate doctor, you have your sights set on Lieutenant-Commander Y/L/N. It is perfectly natural, there is no need for you to feel ashamed," Spock said.

"I'm NOT ashamed! I'm a doctor, not some giddy little schoolboy with a crush," Leonard defended.

"Hey, no one ever said anything about a crush. We just said you have a staring problem," Jim laughed.

Leonard sputtered for some sort of comeback. Some way to deny any validity to the things they were saying. But the truth is that they caught him in a lie. He was staring. Bones had been watching as you talked animatedly to Chekov about an experiment you were doing in the botany labs. Leonard imagined it was him you were talking to, him you were laughing with. Just the thought of it made his stomach churn in a mixture of delight and grief.

"Aaaaand now we've lost him," Jim snickered, interrupting his thoughts again.

"Really doctor, it's not that big of a deal. We've all been in your predicament before...well... maybe not all of us." Uhura glanced at Kirk playfully, who shrugged in response. "Y/L/N is a great scientist, and an even greater friend-"

"Yes yes and very beautiful, with eyes like stars!" Chekov added, "Y/N has many admirers, you are not the only one."

"Chekov?" Bones asked

"Yes sir?"

"Stop talking."

"Yes sir." Chekov turned back to his screen.

"Look, Bones you don't have to admit it just yet. You have that whole brooding cowboy doctor thing going on, I get it! Just don't let it get in the way of your happiness," Jim reasoned.

"You are all delusional! Now are you all going to continue turning me into a spectacle, or can we get back to this mission report?" Leonard demanded.

"Whatever the doctor orders. Try to listen this time will ya?" Kirk teased.

~~~

Leonard was noticing it more and more. How his eyes searched for you every dinner, every meeting, in the hallways, even in the medbay. And once his eyes found you, they rarely strayed too far.

When you weren't around him, his thoughts always drifted back to you. How nice your hair looked, how fascinating your last report was, how enchanting your voice is, ...how soft your lips look. It was all getting out of hand. He was regularly staying later to finish paperwork because he was too lost in his own head.

Leonard was having one of those moments where his mind was far away, musing about you. He was so spaced out, he nearly didn't notice the tap on his shoulder.

When he turned around and saw you standing there smiling shyly at him, his heart nearly went up into his throat.

"Lieutenant-Commander, what can I do for you?" Leonard asked, finding a smile of his own.

"Can you take a look at my hand please?" You asked, holding one of your hands closed. Leonard noticed some red peeking from between your fingers.

"Oh boy, what did you do this time?" Bones asked as he led you to sit on one of the biobeds.

"You know those plants I picked up from Lainatha?" You asked

"The ones with the purple flowers that smell like a dead body?" He asked as he grabbed his kit.

"Mhm!"

"What about em?"

"They have VERY sharp leaves," You laughed.

Leonard shook his head and groaned, "Let me take a look."

You winced as you slowly opened your hand, revealing a cut that spanned the length of your palm.

Leonard lightly cradled the back of your hand as he inspected the minor wound. "Damn darlin' those leaves must be mighty sharp to nick you this deep." He murmured. "this plant ain't poisonous, right?"

"Not that I've found, doctor." You laughed. His ears welcomed the sound. He felt his cheeks warm as he admired you. When you laughed or smiled, it was contagious. Even to him.

"Leonard?" You asked gently, breaking from his daze once more.

"Sorry, just thinking that um... We're gonna want to keep an eye on this, just in case you have some unexpected reaction," He returned his focus to your hand. "I'm gonna clean this up, put some bandages on it and give you something to speed up the healing process," Bones explained.

He went straight to work on your palm, handling it as carefully as possible. Luckily it didn't need stitches. He bandaged it nice and tight before giving you a couple hypos to prevent pain and infection.

"I expect to see you here at least once a day, so I can see the progress and monitor for allergies or poison," Leonard instructed.

"Do you always worry this much?" You giggled.

"Only about my favorite patients," he said without thinking. Perhaps it was just a figment of his imagination, but he could have swore you were blushing. Impossible! You? Blush at him?

'In my dreams,' Bones thought.

"I promise I'll stop by," You said sweetly.

"You better. If I don't see you in here by the end of my shift tomorrow, I'm coming after you." He teased accusingly.

"I'm counting on it," You...did you just... wink at him? "Thanks for the help Bones, I'll see you tomorrow!" You lightly patted his shoulder with your uninjured hand and hurried back to your lab.

Leonard slumped in his seat and contemplated the mess of feelings he was experiencing. He wasn't sure if he was ready to love someone again. He wasn't even sure if he knew how to love anymore, but he was sure of one thing. You had him wrapped around your finger and you didn't even know it.

~~~

The next day, Leonard strove to keep his mind on work. When his thoughts drifted to you, he would immediately turn his attention to the task at hand. It worked for awhile, but toward the end of his shift he realized he had not seen you all day. You had promised to come in so he could take a look at your cut again, but of course you were nowhere to be seen.

Leonard asked around the medbay, but no one had seen you except for one nurse who claimed you were still in the botany lab. "That's just typical," Bones grumbled, grabbing his kit. "I'm always running around, gathering these officers like a cat chasing chickens."

The moment he stepped into the lab, he couldn't find it in his heart to be mad at you. You were totally engrossed in your work, testing the ph levels in some alien soil.

"How are the tests coming along, Lieutenant-Commander?" Leonard smirked.

You beamed at him, "wonderfully! I'm learning so many new things, it's crazy. I-" Your face fell. "Oh no! Forgot to meet with you! I'm so sorry Leonard," you hurriedly put down your soil container and made your way over to him.

"Yeah yeah you're so sorry, whatever. " He teased. "Get over here so I can see that hand."

The inspection went just fine. Your hand was healing nicely and there was no sign of infection or allergic reaction. He changed the bandages and gave you something for the pain.

"All finished. I still want to observe it, just to make sure it heals nicely... And wear gloves from now on! I don't want to have to keep chasing you around for injuries like this." Leonard quipped.

"Yes sir," you giggled, "I won't forget to come in next time."

"I'll believe it when I see it," he closed his medical bag.

"I mean it! i'm almost done testing all the samples, so I should have ample time for remembering... at least until we visit another unexplored planet." You shrugged playfully.

"Then you'll find some new plant to creatively injure yourself with. Razor sharp leaves... give me a break," Leonard ran his fingers through his hair.

"Oh! that reminds me, I have something to show you. Come on!" You nudged him with your leg and stood up, striding over to the 'plant nursery' as you so lovingly called it. Leonard grinned at your enthusiasm and followed.

"You're sure none of these are poisonous?" He asked

"We don't keep the poisonous ones here, silly."

"But you do have them?"

"What's your obsession with poisonous and allergy educing plants?"

"I wouldn't call it an obsession, a mild concern maybe," Leonard smirked.

"I'm not gonna poison you doctor, I want to show you this!" You proudly presented him with a somewhat unassuming plant. It had a black stem with thorns on it, as well as wide black leaves. On top was a bulb; the kind that usually holds flowers inside. He couldn't for the life of him understand what was so interesting about it, but he was sure he was about to find out if that dazzling smile on your face was any indication.

He loved when you ranted about your work. The joy in your voice was infectious, your ramblings were so passionate, and he always learned something new. He would listen to you talk all day if he could.

"What is it?" he raised an eyebrow at the plant and bit back a smile.

"Don't sound so unimpressed Len, this little guy is one of my favorite plants to date." You crossed your arms. "I found him during our exploration of Conate Ultima-A." Leonard nearly melted when you called the plant a 'little guy.'

"The planet orbiting the red dwarf star?" Leonard clarified.

"Mhm! he's black all over because black absorbs all available wavelengths of light. That's important for a plant feeding off such a dim star like Conate Ultima. He has these big leaves, you see." You lightly touched one of the leaves. "That's also for absorbing light. Not only that, but they've developed thorns to keep herbivores from eating them." You explained.

"Like Earth roses," Leonard smiled at the way your eyes lit up.

"Exactly like Earth roses!" You agreed, "They also have this really unique trait where if you pick the flower, it doesn't wilt. Instead, it sprouts roots at the bottom and you can transplant it!" You beamed "But that isn't even the best part."

"It isn't? Tell me darlin', what could possibly top that?" Bones asked.

"Technically, this is another defense mechanism, but..." You cradled the bulb in your hands. "When you caress the bulb like this," You delicately brushed the sides of the bulb with your thumbs. Slowly, the bulb opened to reveal the brightest yellow flower he had ever seen. It practically glowed against the black leaves. He had to agree with you, this was the best part."

"Wow..." Leonard tried it with another bulb. It slowly opened for him as well.

"I know, awesome right?" You lightly bumped his shoulder with yours.

"What do you call it?" Leonard inquired, pulling his hand away from the plant.

"Well, officially we call it Conate Rosaceae... but I've named this one Leonard." You looked up at him with those gorgeous eyes and he couldn't look away.

"You named it after me?" He asked.

"Yeah, it reminds me of you."

"How so?"

"Well, it's perfectly designed to find light in dark places." You chuckled, "no matter how many times you try to cut it down it just comes back bigger and stronger." You fiddled with your bandages sheepishly. "It has this intimidating exterior that most people try to avoid... but... on the inside, It's the brightest, most breathtaking flower. So bright, it stands out from all the others."

To say Leonard was flattered would be an understatement. He had received compliments before. On his work, his hands, maybe even his hair, but he couldn't recall the last time someone had told him something so meaningful. Bones didn't know what to say; he didn't even know what to do with his hands. This was ridiculous. He was a grown man for crying out loud! But here he was, nervous as a long-tailed cat in a roomful of rocking chairs.

He needed to say something, anything. A simple thank you didn't feel like enough. Nothing about him felt like enough after Jocelyn.

He swallowed.

You made him feel like enough.

"Y/N..." Leonard stepped closer. You looked up at him with those eyes again. Those eyes he loved to get lost in. Your gaze met his and it was like something clicked inside him. Your eyes flickered down just for a moment, but he caught it. His heart fluttered and his blood rushed to his face. It was now or never.

He leaned in.

You leaned in.

There were mere inches between you.

He could feel your breath on his lips.

"Lieutenant-Commander Y/L/N to the bridge," the intercom startled you both apart.

"Dammit Jim..." Leonard slid a hand over his flushed face and sighed, clearly displeased with his friend's interruption.

"The captain always has the most impeccable timing, doesn't he?" You smiled awkwardly, bouncing on your heels.

"That's one way to put it, yes" Bones frowned at ceiling. There was an awkward pause. He could sense your expectant gaze on him, but he could already feel his walls coming up again. The love would start off sweet, sure, but it wouldn't last. It never did. Leonard cared about you- no, that wasn't right, it was more than that. He couldn't bear it if this didn't work out.

Maybe this is for the best.

"Leonard?..." You said softly.

"It's okay Y/N. You'd better get up there, see what he wants," Leonard offered you a terse smile.

You nodded softly, "yes sir, I'll um.. I'll see you later." He didn't miss the disappointment in your eyes as you left.

He was disappointed too, but Leonard was used to disappointment.

~~~

Two weeks went by and Leonard seemed to be avoiding you. Your cut had healed, but another form of hurt took its place. Had you done something wrong? Pushed him away somehow? It made you sick to think that your almost-kiss had cost you a dear friend. You had tried to speak with him several times, but he always had somewhere else to be. He was busy immunizing security personnel for an upcoming mission. Your silly affair in the plant nursery was probably the last thing on his mind. Still, you felt incredibly lonely. You missed sharing meals with him, stopping in the hallway to chat with him. You missed his anecdotes about Georgia and his snide remarks about Jim's inability to stay out of trouble.

As much as it pained you to think this way, you wished you could take back what you said in the lab. You wished you had just kept it buried, then none of this would have happened. Leonard would have patched you up instead of Christine, and you wouldn't be left in this weird limbo between friends, lovers, and strangers.

"Lieutenant-Commander?" Spock interrupted your lamenting.

"Oh! I'm so sorry Commander, what can I do for you?" You forced a smile.

"I want to discuss your productivity. Can we speak in your office?" Spock asked.

"Of course, right this way." You led him to your office and shut the door behind you. You already had an idea of where this was going. You had been feeling anxious lately and your work was suffering because of it.

"Should we...have a seat?" You asked awkwardly.

"I do not believe that will be necessary, this will only take a moment." Spock pulled out his PADD. "Tell me, are you feeling well?"

You were a bit taken aback by the question. It wasn't often Spock inquired about your state of being. "I um... yeah, I feel fine. Why?" You lied.

"Your colleagues have informed me that you seem... fatigued during your experiments. I have also noticed your report was full of misspellings and grammatical mistakes, which is unusual for you. Additionally, you appeared distracted and dazed when I approached you just moments ago. Normally you greet me by the door." He slightly raised an eyebrow.

"I'm sorry Spock..." You sighed and sat on the edge of your desk, "I've just been feeling...uneasy I guess."

"Uneasy?" Spock inquired.

"Yeah, my anxiety has been really bothering me lately. I don't mean to worry you." You gave him a half smile.

"Have you spoken with the doctor?" Spock asked. Your stomach sank at the thought.

"I um... no, I haven't."

Spock studied you for a moment, scrutinizing you for any hints as to why you haven't sought medical assistance or counseling when both were readily available.

"I just...don't feel welcome there right now." You met Spock's gaze. A silent conversation passed through you.

"I see." Spock said and looked down at his PADD. "Well, Lieutenant-Commander Y/L/N, I was pleased with your research on the razor-leaf corpse flower. I have kept a watchful eye on your lab access logs and have determined you are due to have two cycles off."

You smiled. For real this time, "thank you Commander Spock. I will use them well"

"I trust that you will. Good day Y/N."

"Good day, Mr. Spock."

~~~

Leonard stared at his PADD in frustration. Everything had irritated him lately, even the blinking of the cursor on the screen. His irritation quickly turned into aggravation when Jim barged in unannounced.

"Bones! My good, good friend Bones!" Kirk shut the door behind him.

"What?" Leonard grunted.

"Yeesh, don't sound too excited to see me." Jim sat in the seat across from his desk.

"I'm busy, what do you want?" Bones refused to look at the captain. Maybe if he just didn't look at him, he would go away.

"Can't I just chat with a pal without wanting something from him?" Jim fiddled with a paperweight on the desk.

"Jim." Bones warned.

"You know doctor, it's very unprofessional to scare away patients, right?"

Defeated, Leonard looked up from his work. "What in god's name are you talking about?"

"Y/n" Jim crossed his arms and stared hard at him. Something about his expression put Leonard on edge.

"What about Y/N?" Bones narrowed his eyes at the captain.

"Spock just got done telling me that Y/N, and I quote, 'doesn't feel welcome here right now.' I wonder why that could be."

Leonard huffed and ran a hand through his hair for the umpteenth time that day. "Dammit..."

"What happened bones?" Jim leaned in.

"Nothing happened." Leonard snapped.

"Clearly something happened for you to be so-"

"Nothing happened... that's the problem," Bones clarified. Leonard didn't realize it was even possible to feel so terrible. He hadn't felt this bad since the divorce, but at least with the divorce he wasn't the only one at fault. Leonard had been childishly avoiding you, and now you didn't feel comfortable in the one place you should always feel safe to go. "I'm a goddamned coward, Jim."

There was a long pause between them. Leonard didn't need to tell him what happened for Jim to understand. "What did I tell you about not letting the brooding cowboy act get in the way of your happiness?" The captain teased.

"Not helping." Leonard rested his face in his hands.

"Right, sorry." Jim shifted awkwardly. Bones was grumpy at the best of times, but he always had this undertone of playfulness. He could scold you about missing an exam or tell you your plan is trash, but it would be wrapped up in southern metaphors and clever insults. This was different, this was real. "You...you really love them, huh?"

Leonard nodded.

"Something happened and... now you aren't sure how to take that next step." Jim said.

"Something like that... I thought I knew what I was doing, but now I'm not so sure. I thought some distance would make it clear to me, but I'm more lost than ever... I've made a terrible mistake Jim, one I don't know how to fix," Leonard peered into his coffee mug to avoid the captain's piercing blue eyes.

"Look Bones, clearly you and Y/N are miserable, so why don't you do the both of you a favor and talk to them. I'm sure Y/N will understand if you just...explain how you've been feeling," Jim attempted to reassure his friend.

"I don't exactly have the best track record on talking about feelings, Jim. I'm a doctor, not a psychiatrist." McCoy frowned.

"First time for everything," Jim reached over and patted Leonard's shoulder. "Go make it right. That's an order."

Leonard took a long drink of his coffee, "can't believe I'm taking dating advice from James T. Kirk"

"Like I said. First time for everything."

~~~

You had spent the entirety of your day off attempting to read, but you really weren't in the mood for much of anything except sleep. Nyota had stopped by earlier and you greatly enjoyed her company, but the sick feeling in the pit of your stomach hadn't gone away.

You just really wanted to talk to Leonard, apologize for misreading the situation. You handled the unrequited love for years and you'd do it for many more as long as you knew you could still be friends.

You heard a buzz at the door and contemplated ignoring it. It was way past normal visiting hours and you were trying to wind down. Perhaps it was something important. You answered the door, expecting Chekov, Nyota, or maybe even Spock. Instead, you were greeted by an extremely exhausted looking Bones.

"Oh, doctor I um, wasn't expecting you." You said, feeling your heart-rate skyrocket.

"Can I come in?" Leonard asked with that rough, gravely voice you had always loved so much.

"Of course," you stepped aside "Come on in..."

Leonard hesitated a moment before stepping inside. Your room was homey, full of furnishings that were so you, it made his insides churn with affection.

"Len, are you okay?" You asked softly from beside the door, afraid to get any closer.

Leonard watched you for a moment, trying to find the words to say, but one look at you and all of his practiced lines had disappeared for good. All he could say was, "I'm sorry darlin'..."

"You're...sorry?" You asked.

"I've been acting like a kid... I'm sorry I haven't been around. We should have talked about this as soon as it happened."

You sighed. You knew this would be coming sooner or later. You were glad he at least wanted to do it in private. "I'm sorry too, I shouldn't have come onto you like that... I scared you off and made things awkward for us both professionally, and as friends-"

"No, no, wait a minute. That's not." Leonard took a deep breath to organize his thoughts. "Y/N, you are so beautiful and smart and dedicated, and funny. You light up every room you walk into."

You swallowed the lump in your throat and wondered if this was a dream. Leonard stepped closer and gave you a hesitant smile. "I'm damaged goods sweetheart. You deserve more than I can give, but it's only been two weeks and I'm a goddamned wreck." Leonard's voice was strained as he poured his heart out to you. "I can deny it all I want, but-" His breath hitched when you placed your hand on his cheek. You could feel the warmth of his skin, the sharp poke of his stubble.

"Leonard, please..." You whispered, eyes pleading with him.

"Please what, darlin'?" He drawled, bringing his hands to your face. He noticed the heat of your blush in his fingertips, he could feel you quiver, eager for him to close the distance.

"Please, just-" His lips were on yours before you could even answer. Your mind was fuzzy. All you could think about was how soft his lips were, how perfectly they fit with yours. His smell was everywhere, it was intoxicating.

He was intoxicating.

He hummed as your fingernails scratched the base of his neck. Leonard pressed you against the wall, desperate for some way to bring you closer. He couldn't remember how to breathe, how to think. All he could do was press his body against yours.

You sighed blissfully against his lips. His hands on your waist were your only anchor to the real world. You clung to him, crumpling his uniform, but you hardly cared. You just wanted him to keep kissing you.

Leonard suddenly remembered to breathe and pulled back, only to press his forehead against yours. Your breathing was shaky and your legs felt weak. You caressed his cheeks once more and placed another soft kiss to his lips, which turned to two, then five.

At last, Leonard pulled you into his chest. He didn't want to let you go just yet. You didn't want to let him go either.

"Darlin'?" He whispered.

"Hm?" You replied, face buried into his neck.

"I love you," Leonard kissed your temple. Your heart leaped in your chest and you held him a little tighter.

"I love you too Len," you whispered softly. Leonard smiled against your cheek and placed another kiss there. "Oh, and just so you know..." You started.

Leonard pulled back to look at you curiously.

"If I ever hear you call yourself damaged goods again, I will kick your ass." You grinned at him.

"Message heard loud and clear Lieutenant-Commander," he chuckled and captured your lips in another searing kiss. Leonard's communicator chimed in his pocket, but he ignored it. There was no code red, the captain could wait. After all, they could have been together by now if it weren't for him. There was a lot of lost time to make up.

[colleybri]

It’s not what it looks like!

Well, ok - it kind of is but it also kind of isn’t.

I didn’t watch Andor when it came out but apparently this scene (link at the end) caused a bit of a stir at the time as the ‘first sex scene in Star Wars’. Hmm. Well, you don’t actually see the sex bit so it’s more accurate to say that it’s a scene where sex is ‘very heavily implied to be about to happen’ as someone put it, a little demurely, on X.

So yes, in that sense - it’s exactly what it looks like. But there’s so much more to it than that, because this scene is absolutely packed with story-telling richness in a way that just can’t be appreciated from seeing it out of context. Which is why I am kind of promising myself that I’m no longer going to try and predict anything about Season 2 based on trailers etc.

The storytelling richness turns a ‘sex scene’ into something so much more, and this explains why it’s here at all - Tony Gilroy seems to be the last person to indulge in ‘fan-service’ of this kind. It’s all about what it’s telling us about these characters and this situation. Two things feed into that - the background information that we’ve gathered so far and what’s actually unfolding in the narrative.

Background: Timm and Bix are co-workers, but she’s his boss. They’ve been dating for an unspecified period of time, but it’s implied to be pretty recent: they have apparently agreed to do something together ‘one night a week’ and Timm earlier suggested ‘starting the week tonight’ with dinner in a way that almost implies that they haven’t gone further than that. More speculatively, this very cautious approach seems to come entirely from Bix and suggests a cautiousness about committing too hard, too soon. Meanwhile, Bix has a secretive working arrangement with Cassian, a man who is one of her oldest friends, a kind of sibling figure and also - crucially - something of a serial ex. Gilroy tells us that she’s ‘done with him’ by this time because he’s ‘burned every last bridge’ even though they’re ‘meant to be together’. Cassian turns up to conduct some kind of business with Bix (and we know it’s about providing stolen parts for her to sell on to contacts such as Luthen) from which Timm is deliberately and pointedly excluded. We don’t know if Timm and Bix have even discussed it, but what we do is that Timm is both jealous and suspicious, noticing that Bix “seems upset…” and that this “always seems to happen whenever you come around”. Add to all that, Cassian seems to have a low opinion of Timm anyway, as revealed by their brief confrontation in Ep1 (‘you need to find yourself a less complicated woman… good luck with that!’ - all adding to the shady-ex vibe). Cassian also has a reputation as a womaniser, with a particular predilection for those already in a relationship (Bix’s quip about his ‘fall’ being on a ‘jealous husband’).

Timm thinks his suspicion is justified as soon as he sees what Bix had been reading

Then there’s the actual plot as it stands at this stage. Cassian, desperate to get enough credits to flee from Ferrix, meets up with Bix in a bar. She’s done him yet another huge favour, and has called Luthen ahead of her usual schedule. By this time, the Pre-Mor bulletin asking for information on a ‘Kenari Human Male’ has been issued and Bix knows Cassian is yet again a wanted man. She doesn’t know when or if she will ever see him again, even if he manages to get safely away. In gratitude, he puts his hand on hers. Timm, drinking hard and spying on them, sees this and jumps to a final conclusion. We will find out in the next episode that Bix had told him Cassian was born on Kenari.

Just after Timm leaves, Bix pushes Cassian’s hand from her own. Perfect ironic timing.

If only he’d stayed in the bar another ten seconds… bad timing, Timm With Two Ms :(

Timm betrays Cassian - and by extension Bix - by calling PreMor. He then goes home, sits in moody silence and broods. Bix apparently continues drinking for a while offscreen and then comes to Timm’s door.

So to the sex scene. The obvious immediate point is that as soon as he sees her Timm must on some level realise his mistake. In his typical love of irony, Gilroy even has Bix say “Is it too late?”… oh boy, yes it certainly is for Timm. And he obviously knows it. He knows the relationship is doomed. The end result of that is that he looks so unenthusiastic at the sight of her that Bix picks up on it immediately and looks hurt and depressed at a perceived rejection. ‘No it’s just … I’m surprised!’ Timm tries to cover. Which is also true, but not in the way he wants her to take it.

The obvious irony is that he’s probably been dreaming about this moment for weeks, maybe months, but it’s all just so … disappointing, because of what he’s just done to betray her trust. As for Bix, she doesn’t want sex for the ‘usual’ reasons. And she’s not particularly enthusiastic about Timm or making any real effort here to make him feel genuinely like he’s the man for her. Her whole attitude smacks of ‘having to make do with the consolation prize’ in combination with ‘looking for comfort’. In other words, Bix seems to be using Timm to ease her depressed mood in a way that’s genuinely unusual in these gender roles.

Yikes. Really not what you want to see when you wake up… your lover fully dressed and staring at you.

So it’s a sex scene that is not particularly sexy, beyond the obvious visual image of Adria Arjona starting to undress. OK, yeah, that’s kind of attractive by default I suppose if she floats your boat, but if you’ve seen her in ‘Hit Man’ you’ll know what she’s capable of when her characters choose to really crank up the sensuality dial. Honestly, there’s absolutely no chemistry between Bix and Timm at all in this scene. Her two conversations thus far with Cassian were about a stolen piece of equipment but there was so much sexual tension and angsty subtext between them I vaguely remember indulging my occasional childish habit of yelling ‘Get a room!’ at the screen the first time I watched them.

In summary, it’s a very unsexy sex scene, where ‘going through the motions’ barely begins to cover it. But the broader point is - there’s absolutely nothing on the screen in this series that is not there for a meaningful story-telling purpose. And I will try and keep that promise not to attempt to glean anything from Season 2 trailers. Yeah, I know - ‘good luck with that’.

[thezenanna]

Your bridge started to burn when you ran all across it.

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story behind this weird erie looking illustration (if u dare)

I recently had a bad fallout with a fellow tattoo artist friend whom I treasured so deeply like a twin sister (she looked exactly like me). I think it's neat when you're surrounded by people who are good for you (i.e, people who respect your experience, supports your growth, but won't hesitate to call out what you can do better as well as learn from you).

But it sucked when the person I realized was good for me wasn't at all genuinely good for me.

She burned away every single bridges down to the last one which is me.

If you bump the brightness on your device to max, you can faintly see an eye lurking in the background. It was a drawing I did of her eyes.

She was and still an amazing artist. Her personality was fierce unlike my soft one. People kept mistaking us as twins everywhere we went. So we started bonding like sister. I've always longed for an older sister figure in my life. She thought that I was much better than her actual younger sister. We made a promise that if we ever did something the other didn't like, we would say it to each other's face instead of hiding it and risk it piling up til one day one of us couldn't take it anymore. She was caring and helpful to me. I've always been attentive and treated her with utmost affection (more than my actual brother even).

I could say as many admirable things about here as well as her flaws. I saw her flaws but I looked away, or at least tried to think the best of her, such as coming up with some reasonable explanation for her unreasonable actions sometimes. I was mentally justifying her problematic behaviours with other people in other words. The way she treated other people wasn't okay sometimes, and I would say something to made her feelings valid and kept my actual opinions to myself, while receiving a much different story from others. It was working until it wasn't. I didn't see it coming because I would never thought one day she would direct those problematic behaviors right back at me.

She is a narcissist. I won't go into details what exactly she did to me, but it was enough to tell me that she didn't treasure me as much as I did to her. Hells, she never really treasured me at all. I felt deeply betrayed. I'm the kind of person who wears their heart on their sleeves, so the whole thing left me devastated for weeks, even a bit now still.

My girlfriend and my other tattoo colleagues who actually care about me pointed out and analyzed how she was gaslighting me and using me. She literally had problem with each and everyone in the studio and now me, the person who has been the most affectionate to her. They didn't want to intervene because they respected my personal life choices. My tattoo mentor sort of predicted the whole thing for awhile as well. I still would like to believe that she did actually cared about me at one point but then it turned into something else selfish.

All that said, I didn't regret loving her like my twin sister. I would not change all the things I did for her. I'm a firmer believer in love and kindness are what make people even though it sucks that some doesn't think of them so. My mentor asked me if I was trying to to fix her when I was close to her. I said no, I never thought of her broken to begin with. I just felt like she was so alone and she seemed like she lacked a lot of love, so I was happy to give her.

She could have been the greatest, but shame she just had to go burn down all the bridges and pushed out everyone.

That being said, I still believe in love and kindness, and will open the doors happily for everyone who comes into my life, even if it means risking my heart.

I'm most proud of myself for not quitting art, for still getting up in the morning knowing that I lost a sister. Even when I wasn't producing any commercial illustrations that benefit my career, just drawing alone has been quite meditative in helping me process my feelings peacefully, as well as giving me something to do, keeping me away from moping in bed.

[icee133]

This is part 4 of my ongoing Marionette series. I figured I'd answer this here as someone asked about it. I called her "Nette" as a shortened version of Marionette. Kinda like 'the radio demon' it's just her title. Hope you guys enjoy this part. Sorry for any writing errors 🤍

If you would like to be added to taglist let me know!

The Marionette

Part One, Part Two, Part 3, Part 4 🤍

Word count for this part: 1838. Enjoy! 👻👻

Synapsis:

A new overlord has manifested in hell seemingly overnight. One that overpowered many if not all of the current overlords in all the right ways. Will this overlord use her powers for good to help the members of the hotel? Will she fall in love with a man and end up in a loving gentle relationship? Or will she get her heart broken and turn against them all, burning each bridge she meticulously made. 

The Marionette is a heart wrenching fic with many turns you won't see coming. Stay tuned for each of the episodes as they are released.

¯⁠\⁠_⁠ʘ⁠‿⁠ʘ⁠_⁠/⁠¯¯⁠\⁠_⁠ʘ⁠‿⁠ʘ⁠_⁠/⁠¯¯⁠\⁠_⁠ʘ⁠‿⁠ʘ⁠_⁠/⁠¯¯⁠\⁠_⁠ʘ⁠‿⁠ʘ⁠_⁠/⁠¯¯⁠\⁠_⁠ʘ⁠‿⁠ʘ⁠_⁠/⁠¯

The marionette turned swiftly, taking a few steps forwards then turned to face the 3 boys kneeling on the ground. She squatted down to eye level with them before pulling on each of their chains towards her. “I told you all to behave on the trip over here. I suggest we quickly remember exactly what that means. Now sit on the couch and wait until you’re told to do otherwise. Understand?” She growled out at them. Releasing them they all stood moving towards the couch where they sat down quickly so as to not anger their mama further. Nette turned towards the gentlemen and princess before saying “I will fix the damage done to the building, Charlie if you could lead me there that would be great.” “Of course” Charlie said, walking towards the hallway with Nette following behind her. The men in the main area followed the 2 women with their eyes. Confusion setting in as the overlord didn’t allow another second for argument about the task. Just simply stated she was going to do it and walked away. ‘That woman has balls’ Lucifer found himself thinking. 

Down the hallway the 2 females walked in silence. Charlie not wanting to upset the overlord anymore than she obviously already was, but also worried she might not want to hear about the hotel anymore. “Apologies for my suddenness back there, I try not to raise my voice because I don’t like violence. But my boys tend to think themselves unstoppable and like to pick fights with anyone if it means they can prove their strength. Sometimes I have to remind them that just because they’re down here does not mean they can’t die again.” Charlie opened the door to a room before walking in. Nette following closely behind her. Upon entering Nette realized this must be the room that took the most damage. “It’s okay, I understand you’re worried about your children, as most parents are” she said to the overlord walking to switch on the lights. Nette quickly set her cane down, and walked towards the blown out section of the wall before untying a cobalt blue string from her wrist. She began using it to essentially ‘stitch’ the wall back into place. Pulling each piece up and putting the wall together like a puzzle. Every piece had a place and Each piece in its place. The strings were light with their movement easily lifting even the largest of pieces of the wall and dusting the smaller pieces back together. Charlie watched in awe as she hadn’t seen anything like this before. The strings were almost lucid. Like they had minds of their own, floating around moving with an almost musical approach. She thought it was beautiful.

Nette snapped her out of her trance when she began talking “ yes I protect them, but I’m worried they will get themselves into trouble in which I won’t be able to. And attempting to fight the king of hell isn’t something I ever want them trying to do. No matter how bad things get, or how things turn out I don’t want to see them walk that path.” Nette said with a strained face. Charlie could tell this overlord cared truly and deeply for the boys she called her own. She protected them with every fiber of her being and would do so no matter the cost. “You truly care for them” “with every fiber of my being” Nette said carefully. “Well enough of that, why don’t you tell me about this ‘hotel’ you guys are running here?” Nette said as her strings were putting together the small last part of the wall. “Of course! So the hotel is called the Hazbin Hotel. We are working towards redeeming sinners so they can get into heaven. So far we have been working on trust, and love, as well as caring for other people. We have made a lot of progress in terms of the sinners that are staying here.” Charlie said proudly, smiling the whole time. Nette could immediately tell she was very passionate about this project and about helping sinners. “Have you managed to get anyone into heaven?” Nette asked curiously. “Well no but we have managed to find out a little more about what gets a person into heaven so we are working on that for now.” “If you are trying to help sinners get into heaven why not ask the angels for help?” The question made Charlie’s skin crawl a bit. “Heaven is not as easy as you may think. We went there and spoke to a seraphim in front of a court to plead our case and it did not turn out well. It caused for the next extermination that took place to be targeting our hotel specifically. Which led to us losing a member of our family here at the hotel. He gave his life trying to protect us, and we are forever grateful for him.” 

“Hmm well can I give my opinion on the matter?” Nette carefully said. “Of course” Charlie looked right at her. “What if you're asking the wrong people for help? Angels such as seraphim are heaven born. They’ve never experienced life on earth. Living through a time where things are hard and you have to do things to survive. They’ve never gone through that. So why would you ask them what gets someone into heaven? It’s like asking a Sin down here what gets someone into hell- Granted that might be an easier question for them to answer- they’d have a hard time telling you because they’ve never lived a life on earth. Shouldn’t you ask the souls who ended up in heaven what happened during their lives that made them get into heaven?” Charlie looked at her for a second before standing abruptly. “Why didn’t I ever think of that! Of course, angels born in heaven wouldn’t know what gets someone into heaven. All they’ve ever known is what has been told and taught to them there.” She began walking out the room quickly before coming back in and gesturing for Nette to follow her.

Nette stood and walked behind her back to the living area. Quickly glancing back at the wall to ensure it was fixed completely. Upon looking at it she couldn’t tell the wall was ever damaged to begin with. Walking back into the living room, Nette saw that the boys were still seated on the couch but seemed to be glaring at both the king of hell and the radio demon just the same. Charlie then quickly announced “hey guys come here for a sec” Each member of the hotel walked back into the main area and took a seat waiting to hear what Charlie was so excited about. “We were talking in the other room and -sorry what do we call you?” “Nette is fine” “okay well Nette had a very good idea about the hotel. In terms of figuring out what causes a person to get into heaven. Why not ask the people who made it into heaven what their life was like so comparisons can be made and we can see what each of you has to do in order to get there.” “That actually makes a lot of sense babe, but how exactly are we gonna talk to someone who made it to heaven. We all know how our visit to heaven went last time” Vaggie said. “Yes, that's the one part we have to work out is how exactly we are going to talk to one of the souls.” Charlie said then sat down and began thinking. “In the meantime Nette would you want to stay at the hotel with us? We could really use your help if you are willing to” Charlie said to the blue-hued overlord who was standing behind her sons.

Nette turned to her sons, thinking quietly to herself. Would this really help? What could she even help with at the hotel? Of course she had to go off and open her stupid mouth about something and end up in this weird situation. Living alongside not only the radio demon, but both the princess and king of hell as well. But then again they wouldn’t have to pay such expensive rent, and each of the boys would get their own rooms. Which means no more fighting about who gets to use the shower first. The issue might lie in the fact the boys play games so often and bringing a newer model TV might be out of the question considering the asshole of a tv overlord. But in the end Wouldn’t this just be the best option for them? It provides security as well as safety knowing so many powerful people live under the same roof. Nette sat pondering over the options of the hotel comparing their current life to the one they would possibly have at the hotel. Quietly Charlie hoped they would say yes. Not only are her strings powerful but it was obvious her contracts were as well. This overlord was one that might be able to help against the Vees should that time ever come. “I don’t know…” Nette looked at each of her sons seemingly asking their opinion on the matter. The others couldn’t tell but each of the boys could talk to their mama through the string connected to their wrists. So they all had their hands on the string discussing the pros and cons about moving. Kai then said out loud “I wouldn’t mind it, doesn’t seem too bad of an option” followed by Alex smacking him and saying “well it’s not your decision” Nette turned to face Charlie directly and said “I think we might just take you up on your offer, but I’m sure the boys have many questions about what they are and are not allowed to bring with them.” Charlie smiled warmly and nodded quickly signaling she didn’t mind discussing rules and the like of the hotel. The group began discussing what things the boys have, and cracking jokes about the stupid things they would bring with them.

Nette found herself smiling as her boys seemed to get along rather well with Nifty and Angel. Hopefully things go well from now on and they can learn to get along with both the red-haired overlord and prideful king. For now anyway they would have to figure out a way to get things moved into the hotel. But Nette figured that conversation could wait till a bit later as she couldn’t bring herself to tear her boys away from the group who were laughing and talking about random things. Nette turned and saw Alastor standing just past the doorway into the kitchen. Slowly he made eye contact with her, giving her a look and then walking into the kitchen. Nette knew what that  meant. He wanted to talk to her alone, but what could he possibly want with her? She’d have to go into the kitchen to find out. 

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[star-girl69]

Keep Me Ablaze

Jake Sully x Neytiri x Fem!Reader

—-

a/n: it’s here!!!! i hope you all enjoy!!

warnings: kissing, swearing, allusions to smut, tell me if i missed anything!!

Chapter Fourteen- We Burn Bad

—-

There is no fire here. There is nothing besides the plants and Eywa, the naturalness of it all. There is no fire here- except for the one in your chest, the small little wildfires you can see in Jake and Neytiri.

She leads you deeper into the forest, her hair unbraided. A yellow flower rests at the back of her head, a matching one behind your ear.

You make it over a bridge, feeling more like a wildfire, more confident. You cross it with ease, convince yourself that it’s not because Jake is behind you. Not because you know he will catch you.

Animals whirl and flutter around, spooked at your arrival, and Neytiri laughs before turning to yours and Jake’s surprised faces.

“Come, come,” she says, tugging on each of you, like she knows the secrets to something special.

She leads you further into the brush of trees, purple-blue hanging down, green forest floor that lights up with your touch.

The hanging tendrils reach out, as if to touch you, and you make the journey easier for them by reaching out yourself. Plant-like, but nothing you have touched before. Newness. Thrill, excitement, confusion all flood your veins like you are the eye of the storm.

“This is a place for prayers to be heard,” Neytiri says, breaking the stillness of the moment. She grabs three tendrils, presses them close to her face. “And sometimes answered.”

You watch as she grabs her queue, everything curling out and the tree lighting up in response. Her eyes close, a sigh escapes her. She looks free. Otherworldly. She doesn’t look like your best friend, not now, not in this moment.

This looks like the girl who brought you whatever your heart desired, you kept you safe, who showed off every skill she had. She had always been trying to show you, you realize now, however subconsciously.

She was always trying to show you she could be good for you. And maybe then she could- when everything was easier. But this is now, this is the moment, and she isn’t good for you. Not now. Not ever again.

“We call these trees Utraya Mokri,” she breathes. She turns back to you and Jake. “The Tree of Voices.” Jake grabs a bundle of the hanging vines, the tendrils. You watch as his muscles flex, as he reaches behind him to grab his queue.

You think back to what he said. How you joked that you would crush him if he tried to carry you- and he said in that body. But he is not in that body now.

He isn’t good for you. Not now, not ever. Grace doesn’t approve of him- you could never be something. Never be anything more than a candle, burning at both ends, never meant to last.

“The voices of your ancestors,” Neytiri explains as you grab your own handful of vines. The tendrils of your queue wrap around it, and you can hear voice, ever so faintly. You can imagine ghostly pale people, stuck behind hospital curtains.

“I can hear them,” Jake says. He is still so new to all of this. All you can do is listen, let the world take over your body.

“They live, Jake. Within Eywa.”

You can hear children laughing. Sisters talking. Women crying.

“You are Omaticaya now,” Neytiri says, placing her hand on Jake’s chest, looking over at you. She looks back at Jake, and her expression is different now. Like she has seen the most beautiful fire in the world and now it is burning out, and she knows she’ll never see something like it again. “You may make your bow from the wood of Hometree.”

You feel like an island with no roots, a moon with no planet to orbit, a fire with no oxygen.

“And you may choose a mate.” She inhales quickly, then turns, an atokirina falling into her palm. “Ninat is the best singer, Jake, and very beautiful. Leyan is strong, Y/N, it was him who stared at you the night of the festival.”

“I don’t want Ninat.”

You do not want Leyan. With each passing moment, the world becomes clear for you, like blinking water out of your eyes after coming up. It is fresh air, a flare of fire. It is Jake and Neytiri, and you love for them that feels like a festering wound in your heart.

Neytiri blows the atokirina away.

“And I don’t think you want Leyan, Y/N.”

When you look at him, eyes wide, his eyes are flicking from you and Neytiri so fast, like he cannot decide who to look at. Like he would rather rip his eyes out and set them upon the two of you. Like he needs to look at the two of you.

You almost want to step closer to Neytiri, let her consume you like a rot, make the strain on Jake’s eyes easier.

“I…” words die in your throat, and Neytiri turns, eyes wide. His voice drops to a whisper, something secret and special.

“You told me that three people can mated.”

He says it almost accusatorially, as if to say “you cannot back out of this. I see into your fire and I know what you want. You want this.”

You want to hear him say it. You imagine yourself as a child, playing games with your Aunt Grace, running around the base while people laughed and yelled.

You are not that girl anymore. You are a wildfire and you will be kept ablaze.

“What are you saying, Jake?” your voice wavers, and you wish it didn’t. You wish you could be strong. But you can’t, not in the face of all this smoke.

“I’ve already chosen,” he whispers. Your heart stops, drops into your stomach, and you wish hands were there to hold it but it’s wrong. “But these women must choose each other. These women must choose me.”

You cross your arms over your chest, keep your eyes fixed on the ground. You tilt your chin down, like you’re ashamed, and you know this is wrong.

“I love you so bad,” you whisper, nose crinkling and tears ready to fall.

It feels like something is being sealed, some sort of ancient pact, predetermined decision that would always lead you to here. Lead you to them. Lead you to this moment, where all you will do is burn bad.

You are nothing but for them.

“I have chosen for years,” Neytiri mutters, like she is a starved woman staring at the first meal she has seen in a week. When you find the strength to look up, tears in your eyes, want and need and good and bad blending into one, she is looking at you.

She steps forward like it is the only think she can even think about doing, slightly desperate, but confident.

“I want you. I want you, I want you,” she says, like she’s pleading.

“We burn bad,” you say, hands falling to your sides, like you’re reprimanding her.

“We burn together,” she corrects. “Let me have you, Y/N, please let me have you…”

You don’t know when it happened, but she presses so close to you now, her nose brushing yours, forehead pressed against yours. Her hands cup your face and yours settle on your hips, until someone else puts their hands over yours.

You eyes meet Jake. Your lips brush Neytiri.

“We shouldn’t,” you breathe, chin stuck out, breaths so heavy they carry a physicality to them.

Jake shakes his head.

Neytiri presses her lips against yours, hard and fast, almost like you’re kissing a wall. But it’s more about feeling her, about knowing what it means than any possible pleasure.

Yes, it burns, and it burns bad, but you were always meant to burn with them.

—-

You remember names on your lips, a thousand little deaths in your stomach, skin on skin and fire on fire. You remember the soft ground and softer hands, and you remember warrior’s bodies and burning.

“Jake, Jake,” you call, pushing the plastic cage off of you and swinging your legs over the edge, much faster than you should. Your head spins but Jake always falls asleep before you- he is surely hurting his hand with how fast he pushes the wheelchair over to you.

You have to lean against the link pod, hazy and dizzy, until Jake grabs you so softly, your eyes closed. You’re drunk on the moment, on the feel of his fire.

You place your hands on his thighs, letting him have access to your face. He cups it like Neytiri did, like he did earlier that night. He had whispered so many devotions to you like this.

His lips press against your forehead first.

“You’re all fucked out,” he says, fondly. Proud. He knows that he made you this way.

“I want to know… if you taste the same.”

He grins against your forehead, chuckling softly.

“Okay, baby,” he whispers, leaning back. A kiss to your nose next. “Whatever you want, babygirl, whatever you need…”

You hum, and his hand cups the back of your head, and you finally press your lips to yours. You imagine everything you could do like this, everything you could feel. But you have already done all of that in another body.

And he tastes the same, tongue slipping into your mouth, and there’s no battle. He says whatever you want, whatever you need, and right now- you just want to feel him. He tastes like the forest. Like Earth, like home. He tastes like memories and bitterness but it goes down just right.

When he pulls away, tucking hair behind your ear, mumbling about luck and love and perfection, he presses his forehead against yours. You wonder if there is a mark of his lips on your forehead, on your nose. You are sure there are marks all over your Avatar body- but it is so late the two of you are the only ones up.

“Tomorrow,” you promise. “Tomorrow I want you to have me, I want you to make me in your bed like you did on the forest floor.”

He presses his lips to your jawline. “You don’t have to ask, baby, you don’t have to ask…”

You burn bad, but it feels good.

—-

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[crispyjenkins]

dha kar'ta "crispy has lost control of their life again" celebration sneak peek

am planning on starting up a wip wednesday sort of thing (maybe next week?), which will definitely be more than star wars related stuff, but i've also just exceeded a thousand hours on skyrim in less than a year and wanted to celebrate(?) (i actually hit a thousand a few days ago, but in true fixation fashion, kept playing instead of posting anything over here lmao) so here's a dha kar'ta wip 'cause jango is fighting me a little bit but new chapter soon!! i promise!!

 “As soon as Satine is unseated, the Mandalore System’s full neutrality nullifies, unless Jango chooses to reinstate it.”

  “And he’d rather die than do that,” Bosoloc pipes up helpfully.

  “Yes, and at that point, Mandalore can choose to pursue rejoining the Republic for the first time since the Kyr’am Turr’e, because New Mandalore never officially seceded to the Senate.”

  “Which Jang’alor would also rather die than do.”

  Obi-Wan acknowledges Ezovac with a nod. “The politics of sovereign states that exist within sectors technically under control of the Republic are a disaster at best, and almost no one in the Senate is willing to deal with it long enough for a planet to get the flimsiwork through.” Melidaan is a Republic planet now, but the Young didn’t always intend it to be, and Nield couldn’t read, so Obi-Wan had done a lot of that research between battles; and being on the run from Death Watch actually afforded a considerable amount of downtime during his year on Mandalore, and, well. A big part of that Obi-Wan had thought it was all information he’d need to know if Satine asked him to stay, and Obi-Wan still hasn’t quite learned how to let someone love him unless he can be useful to them.

  Actually, it’s rather convenient that he had done all this research for Mandalore specifically, if thirteen years too early — perhaps the Force was simply preparing him for this Mandalore, not Satine’s. 

  Across the mess table, Kal groans loudly and slumps his head down. “Fine, I’ll bite, kih’Alor: what’s any of that got to do with Duchess Demagolka?”

  “Theoretically,” Obi-Wan sighs again, pushing a grumbling Dha further into his mind so he can concentrate, “Mandalore does not actually have to declare itself as anything; there are plenty of planets in the outer rim that have sovereignty without officialising it with the Republic.”

  “But...?”

  “But, thanks to Satine, Mandalore is embroiled in Senate politics nine ways to Corellian Hells, and it’ll be even worse if she makes any headway with the beskar mines while we’re off fighting Vizsla. We simply can’t withdraw from those politics, not when Mandalore’s history is so entwined with the Republic’s, not unless we want to go full isolationist from the rest of the galaxy.” He glances at his other table-/councilmates, and is relieved to see they seem to be keeping up, if looking a bit exhausted by it; Obi-Wan shares the sentiment.

  Luckily, the mess is empty now with everyone returning to their increased post-battle duties, or Obi-Wan is sure they’d have had quite a few more complaints about the impromptu government lesson happening in the middle of the tent.

  Kal rubs his eyes, shaking himself before turning back to Obi-Wan, his frown as deep as ever, but at least he still seems willing to listen.

  “So, we can’t just go after the Senate’s pet Mandalorian without burning those bridges, unless we have proof she’s in league with a terrorist?”

  “Precisely. And technically, with Mandalore as a sovereign state, the Senate can’t do anything about the change in power, unless they plan to go to war with every Mandalorian in the galaxy, but proving she made the first move will give us significantly more support for instating Jango instead.”

  “I feel like my brains are coming out my ears,” Bosoloc whispers woodenly, staring down at the remains of the protein gruel on her tray. 

  “You don’t have ears,” Myles reminds her, chin in his hand, and she kicks him under the table. 

  “What I want to know,” Mij speaks for the first time, easily dodging one of Myles’ flailing arms, “is how you even know about the Kyr’am Turr’e, Obi-Wan.”

  Bosoloc turns away from tormenting Myles to add, “Yes, I was going to ask about that, because I have no idea what the Death Days are.”

-

[sleepywinchesters]

"Go for Kinard."

"What exactly are you doing with my daughter?" Maddie's voice was a low growl.

Tommy slapped his hand over the microphone, as if Maddie could hear his sharp inhale over the static. He turned to glare at the young woman in the co-pilot seat.

"You didn't tell your mother we were going up today?"

"Dad said it was fine."

"Chim said it was- oh my god."

If Tommy didn't need both his hands to keep them steady, he'd pinch the bridge of his nose. Someday one of the Buckleys were going to kill him and he was starting to suspect it might be Maddie.

"You know what I said-"

"That both of them had to agree."

"Tommy," Maddie's voice crackled through the headset again. "Is Jee flying a helicopter right now?"

"Technically, no."

"He won't let me touch anything yet, Mom."

"And he's not going to."

"Dad said it was fine!"

"And I'll be talking to him later too. Get back safe."

"We will." Tommy ended the communication.

He'd learned a long time ago to wait it out and he would get an explanation. It probably wouldn't be a good explanation, but it would be one. Jee remained uncharacteristically quiet as they flew over LA, Tommy narrating the controls and what a standard flight plan should look like.

"I'm sorry I lied about telling my mom."

Tommy waited, knowing more was coming.

"Just after the fires last year. I could have helped, there would have been fewer casualties. Dad's fire thing- being able to control it. I'm more powerful than he is, Tommy."

"Because it feeds you."

It shouldn't have been unexpected. Haechis were known for their ability to prevent fire, and hybrids weren't rare. When combined with Maddie's vampirism, the way she fueled herself in a way that also helped people, Jee-Yun was always going to be something special. Ever since Jee had figured out she could control fire, could gain her energy from it, there was only ever going to be one path for her. They had all known it, and Tommy hadn't thought twice when she had approached him for flying lessons.

"I mean, yeah. But I could have saved people. That whole neighborhood-"

"I know."

"I'm 18 in 3 months. Once I graduate in May I can head right into the academy. If I already have a provisional pilot's license by the time I graduate-"

"I get it. I do. But-" Tommy cut himself off with a sigh. "It's not just the technical skills. They're important. But, Jee, you also have to learn where the limits are. When you have to turn back, no matter how many people you think you can save."

"Then what's the point of knowing all this, of having this, if I can't save everyone."

"Because you can't. You can't save everyone every time. You can try like hell, but losing people is part of the job. You need to know that now and really think about if you can live with that."

"Ok." Jee was subdued, chastised in a way Tommy hadn't been intending.

"You call it when there's no chance left. You always try. But you have to come home, not just so you can try again on the next call. Because there's people who love you, who understand the risks you take, and still need you to come home."

"This is what I want. But, if I tell you something, can you not tell Uncle Buck?"

"Go for it."

"It's a lot of pressure. I mean how many times has Mom won dispatcher of the year? And Dad's done almost everything there is to do in the department- and every probie from the last 5 years is ready to marry him. Uncle Buck is-" Jee hesitated. "I don't know if I could even imagine half the stuff he's supposed to have done."

"He did it all right," Tommy said. "And half the time he shouldn't have."

Jee laughed a little. That was the common refrain that followed any story about her favorite uncle.

"How can I live up to that though?"

"You don't. Even when we're on the ground, it's different for us up here. We're involved, but we see the bigger picture." Tommy angled the helicopter, knowing they were almost to the burn scar from the previous year. "Look at it. You know what it looked like then, how the ground crews were managing the fire lines. But up here, we can see the whole neighborhood. What would you have done, if you had enough to drop one more round of supressant before having to go back?"

"Well, they-"

"I know what was done. What would you do?"

"The main street. The ground crews were so focused on the fire line they didn't notice it had jumped until there were already structures on fire while evacuations were still ongoing. No one could get out from how fast it was moving. I'd try to push the fire back over the line and do my last drop on the main street instead of the main fire."

"Good. You have the instincts for it. The benefit of hindsight sure, but yeah. You can do this, you can move the fire where you want it to go. You get the other part of it too. You gotta give yourself time, kid."

Jee smiled. "I just don't want to disappoint anyone."

"Well, you definitely disappointed your mom today. But I don't think you're going to disappoint any of them when you do this job."

"So you'll take me up again and tell Mom that it's ok."

Tommy pointed at her. "I didn't say that. You're gonna face her and take whatever punishment she doles out as an adult."

"Ok."

"I'll talk to her though. Because you need a bird's eyes view to be great. If, and only if, she agrees, then I'll teach you for real."

"Thanks. Let's head back. Better not give her time to stew."

"Good call."

[visage-of-hell]

Honestly didn't think I was ever gonna feel compelled to talk about this on here, but ... this just won't stop bugging the crap outta me.

I was vague about it before because it was just too raw and painful to talk about at the time, but on May 23rd, I lost the closest being to an actual child in my life and the vacuum that it left in my heart and in my life was ... more intense than any other loss I have ever experienced. I'm no stranger to animal deaths, my family has lost so many over the decades to illness and age--it's just part of the process. We outlive them, and it SUCKS. I thought I would cope the way I always have before. But this was different--she was MY little girl. Every moment of my day revolved around her and there was not a single facet of my life that didn't directly involve her somehow. To say I've been left feeling lost and empty ever since is a massive understatement. When she left, she took a piece of me with her. In that time, two moots that I thought I was relatively close with (and wrote with a LOT) dropped me without a word and I'd be lying if I said that it doesn't bother me quite a lot. I could get it if I just vanished without a trace, not letting anyone know what's going on. But even if it was too hard to go into detail, I did NOT leave anyone hanging. I promised I would be back (hell, tried several times to come back before I was really ready, but I still at least kept letting you all know what was up). I really trusted these people, that's what keeps gnawing at me. It's hard to not feel 'betrayed' at least to SOME degree, y'know? Especially when I still see them on my dash, interacting with other moots of mine, remembering what we had before the rug got pulled out. Adding to these feelings is the knowledge that one of them already had something like this happen to them with someone else within this fandom ... and the other is struggling for interactions with very few moots, yet still bailed on me in a vulnerable moment. These are NOT people I ever would have expected this turn of events to come from, is what I'm getting at. But I don't chase after people. If you make it clear that you don't want anything to do with me, then it's a done deal. That bridge is burned. But I hope you find what you're looking for out there, if it wasn't with me.