#For reference it's taken me years in the past to score up a word count like that.

[roaldseth]

“It was a different story to each person Z'aanta told it to, and even then it was not a sure thing of staying the same for any consecutive retellings[. ...] The hunt was not even one commissioned by the Order, and yet it still existed amongst it in its records, [...] a completely different tale than the one from the master hunter’s mouth despite it chronicling the exact same events.”

【 Full Wage 】 an Octopath Traveler fanfic

Z'aanta | Rated M | 11,065 words, 3/3 Chapters

COMPLETED

Please mind full tags on AO3. Prologue - Story - Epilogue format

Fic linked below ↓

[m1ckeyb3rry]

CONGRATS ON 500 FOLLOWERS WOOO!! its been a little over a year since ive found your writting, how time flies T-T Could you possibly write a platonic gojo & reader oneshot where its just snippets of Gojo's first year teaching and the reader is a 1st year student not part of jujutsu society? I'd prefer if the mc had a somewhat introverted personality while being grumpy bc of being forced to attend the school. U can change their behaviour to what u feel more comfortable writing if u want tho!!

── THE SCHOLAR

Synopsis: A short snippet of how Satoru Gojo convinces you to be his first student in full.

Event Masterlist

Pairing: Gojo & Reader

Chapter Word Count: 2.6k

Content Warnings: not many tbh…reader is a d1 hater of gojo and ino ig?? also just a hater in general LMAO she does NOT want to be there

A/N: wow anon i can’t believe it’s been a year since you found my account and that you’ve stuck around for so long, that means a lot to me!! i apologize for how long this took me and how short it is 😫 it was a bit difficult for me to write gojo as a teacher without feeling like i was just rehashing his dynamic w a previous y/n i’ve written 😓 but i hope this is somewhat close to what you wanted?? also idk if you’ve read my fic pomegranate ink or not but i did throw in a reference to it at one point so props to anyone who catches that hehe

Additional: part of my 500 follower event! see the event description and rules to make a request of your own.

You weren’t really sure what cause your classmate had to be as pleased as he was, but for some reason, the boy was bouncing in his seat, scribbling down notes with the fervor of a scholar — though you were quite certain that he was nothing of the sort, at least not when his test scores were taken into consideration. 

“Hey,” you whispered, tossing an eraser at his head when your teacher’s back was turned. “Ino. What’s the big deal? We’re not even learning anything yet, so what are you writing down?”

“Are you kidding me? Gojo just told us an entire story of his past. That’s valuable information!” Ino said. You frowned at him.

“It’s not valuable information, because he’s so prone to embellishment that he’s all but an author at this point. Besides, do you think you, or anyone else for that matter, will ever face seven first grades and come out the winner, without even a scratch?” you said.

“He’s the strongest sorcerer in the world, though, so it’s feasible for him,” Ino said.

“Right,” you said, rolling your eyes. “Maybe for him, but not for anyone else. This is just bragging under the guise of an educational opportunity. We’re never going to be powerful enough to replicate such a feat, so what’s the use in wasting our time talking about it?”

“You’re such a spoil-sport,” Ino huffed. “We’re the first students to ever get to learn from Satoru Gojo, and somehow, you’re complaining about it? That’s ridiculous no matter what way you put it!”

“Is everything okay?” 

Both you and Ino jumped as Satoru Gojo appeared in front of your desks, peering down at you over the lenses of his dark glasses. He didn’t seem annoyed that you were talking while he was ‘teaching’; in fact, he looked excited, as if he wanted to join in the conversation as well. You could imagine him pulling up a chair and resting his chin in his hands as he gossiped with you, and it made you scoff.

“Everything’s fine. We were just wondering when you were actually going to start the lesson,” you said.

“She was wondering that!” Ino rushed to clarify. You shot him a dirty look out of the corner of your eye, which he ignored — you supposed loyalty didn’t mean much to him, as you two weren’t really friends and therefore couldn’t inspire much loyalty in one another regardless. “I was telling her how fascinated I am by the story you were telling!”

“Suck-up,” you hissed.

“Stupid,” he hissed back. Gojo clapped his hands, returning to the front of the classroom with a distinctly unacademic swagger to his step that made you internally fume.

“No worries, we’re just getting to that part! Today, we’ll go over some basic curse theory,” he said, drawing simplistic shapes on the chalkboard to accompany his explanations. As usual, Ino was absorbed by the standard bullshit Gojo spouted, but you found it to be so boring that you actually began to nod off, catching up on the sleep you had missed last night due to a mission which had run later than expected.

Unlike Ino, who had been automatically enrolled in the school because of his family lineage, you had been scouted as a fresh talent by Satoru Gojo himself. It had been a long conversation, and he had only managed to convince you in the end by telling you all about Kaito Hinode, the well-regarded first year teacher who you would study under. Hinode was a sorcerer you believed you wouldn’t have trouble respecting, and so you begrudgingly agreed to attend the school and give the whole notion of ‘jujutsu sorcery’ a shot.

Then Hinode retired, mere weeks before you were set to begin at the school, and his replacement was revealed to be none other than that irreverent, inept, and decidedly unserious man who you had secretly hoped you would not see much more of: Satoru Gojo.

You didn’t even want to be a sorcerer in active duty, but the theoretical side of it interested you to an almost unhealthy extent. You spent days upon days studying the workings of curses and cursed energy, to the point that you could be considered almost an expert. That was the only thing cheering you about coming to the school, that you’d get to discuss with individuals on your level, and so it had been such a heartbreaking disappointment when Gojo, who cared little about the causes and more about the results, was the only proper sorcerer you came into frequent contact with.

The other teachers didn’t have time to entertain your pestering, far too busy with their own students, which meant that Gojo was really your only option. And of course you had tried — really, you had. You had presented him with your questions and ideas, but he had only made a face and told you that studying curse theory to this extent wouldn’t help anyone, and least of all yourself.

He wanted you to learn how to fight, but you didn’t care for that. You didn’t want to fight. If you could spend the rest of your days shut away in a study, reading your books and taking notes on them, then you’d be quite content. You were reluctant to go on missions, even if you were ten times better than your peers, and you often dragged your feet heading into your practical classes. More than once, Ino had had to hoist you over his shoulders and sprint to the training field so that you were not both late, and you knew that you probably shouldn’t be so harsh on him given that, but because it meant that you had to exert yourself on the battlefield instead of rereading your favorite essays, his good intentions only made you resent him more.

“You know, you could really be a great sorcerer,” Gojo said to you one day. You were sitting on a bench while Ino did exercises, ink smudging your hand as you meticulously annotated a book that the principal had given to you. You blinked up at him, amazed once again at how tall he was. He blocked out the sunlight, his shadow looming over you in a way that would’ve been ominous if he wasn’t so typically harmless.

“Hm?” you said, returning to your book when you realized he wasn’t going to say anything of importance. “Sure, I guess I could be.”

“Becoming a first grade isn’t an impossibility for you. It’s something attainable, which is incredibly rare for someone as young as you,” he continued.

“Right,” you said.

“Do you care about that, though?” he said.

“Nope,” you said. “I have no interest in being a first grade sorcerer. It just means more dangerous missions, doesn’t it? I don’t care about all of that.”

“It also means a higher salary,” he said.

“Probably not high enough to make up for the risks,” you said.

“Well, it’s pretty high, though only you can decide if it makes up for the risks or not,” he said.

“Listen, sir, I’m only even here because you told me I could further my studies with people renowned in their fields. Do you mind telling me what field you’re renowned in? Because for some unfathomable reason, you’ve ended up as my teacher,” you said.

“I’m…the strongest sorcerer? In the world?” he said, though the way he phrased it made it seem like he was asking you instead of telling. You shrugged.

“That’s an intrinsic talent. You didn’t learn to be that way; you were just born with it. Sure, you had to practice, but practicing and studying are different. Anyways, even if you are the strongest soldier, I think we’ve established that that’s not something I’m interested in. I was supposed to be under the tutelage of wise and experienced professors, but instead, I’m being instructed by you, who’s barely even a few years my elder and has never taught before,” you said, closing your book and holding it to your chest, smiling tightly at him. “I’m staying here because my parents already paid the tuition fee, but I’m not happy about it. Just so you know.”

“If you’re a first grade sorcerer, you also get more access to information,” he said after a moment. “Stuff behind a million clearances that only people of a sufficiently high rank get access to.”

You froze, your eyes brightening at the thought of this forbidden knowledge. You already knew that you were missing several key pieces in your preliminary research, but no matter how hard you looked, you had never been able to find the answers to the seemingly obvious questions. Was this why? Was it really because you did not have the seniority to warrant the understanding?

“Is that truly the case?” you said.

“I can’t help you in terms of books and learning and all of that boring stuff,” he said. “But if you put in a bit more effort, I can turn you into someone that the higher ups listen to, instead of the other way around.”

You mulled this over before nodding, standing up and leaving your book on the bench.

“Okay. I’ll do as you tell me to, but like I said earlier, I’m not going to be happy about it,” he said.

“Who cares? You can be the gloomiest girl alive!” he said, reaching out to ruffle your hair. “Let’s work together, Y/N!”

“I’m your student,” you reminded him. “Not your friend.” 

He waved you off. “You’re old enough to be both. Now let’s get to training!”

It was horrible, being Gojo’s favorite student. For one, Ino was jealous — although soon enough he found another mentor to cotton on to, and then your relationship with him mended into something a little more cordial and polite. For another, Gojo had this strange penchant for throwing you into impossible situations and watching in glee as you struggled to get out of them.

His missions also tended to be errands disguised as pressing matters. Once, he made you run around Tokyo, stopping in various stores so that you could improve your conditioning — stores which just so happened to carry the items on his week’s grocery list. Another time, you single-handedly had to exorcise every single curse harassing a nearby bakery — a bakery which just so happened to carry a specialty flavor of cake that was his new favorite. Whenever you complained about the silly chores, he asked if the exercise had made you stronger or not. You would begrudgingly admit that it had, and then he’d tell you that you should just think of it as a win-win scenario and stop whining.

“Y/N!” That was how it always began: he would shout your name as he entered the classroom, usually accompanying it with a wad of paper or some other, similarly harmless object sent flying your way. You’d catch it in one hand and glare at him.

“What?” This would prompt him to explain his ridiculous plan for the day, after which he would turn to Ino and hand him his assignments. He had gotten special permission from the school to train you in this non-orthodox manner, given that you were so far ahead in any material that giving you homework would be redundant and a waste of time for all parties involved. For his part, Ino did not complain, for he had long ago lost interest in training with Gojo, who was admittedly terrible at actually explaining anything of note.

You made a good pair, you and Gojo, or at least as good of a pair as could be made given the circumstances. As the year went on, you grew more and more familiar with the reasoning behind his atypical style, and though you would never cease to complain, it was more lighthearted, a habit instead of a genuine gripe.

“You’ll be promoted any day now,” Gojo told you on the last day of your first year — the last day that he would be your director supervisor. “They’re waiting for you to grow a bit older, but it’s maturity you lack, not talent. If you participate in the Exchange Event next year, you’ll get the recommendations you need without a problem.”

“If?” you said, picking up on what he had left unsaid. “Isn’t it mandatory? Why wouldn’t I participate?”

“It’s mandatory if you’re living on campus, yes,” he said.

“And what cause would I have to not be living on campus?” you said.

“You’re interested in curse theory, aren’t you?” he said. When you nodded, he sighed. “Still? I was hoping you’d have moved on by now…well, I can get an alternate course of study approved for you by the principal, if you want.”

“An alternate course? What would that entail?” you said.

“One of my fellow special grade sorcerers, Yuki Tsukumo, specializes in researching the exact types of things you find so fascinating. If she agrees to it, then you could serve as an assistant of sorts to her. It’ll be like an internship or something. She won’t let you slack off — it’ll be much worse than anything I put you through, that’s for certain — but if that’s the path you want to take, then it’s an option,” he said.

You had never loved him quite as much as you did in that moment. Without even taking a moment to think about it, you nodded enthusiastically, beaming at him.

“Yes! Yes, Gojo, sir, that would be ideal. I’ve read some of the proposals Tsukumo’s submitted to the higher ups, and oh, if I got to work with her, it would be such a dream,” you said.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” he said. “She still has to agree to it.”

“Do you think she’ll say no?” you said.

“Maybe at first,” he said. “After she meets you, though? No way. You’re my pupil, after all. You’ll be the most impressive student she’s ever taken under her wing — and I can attest to the fact that you’ll be far and away the most dedicated.”

You supposed you had some things to thank him for, then. The corners of your lips twitched as you bowed your head at him, causing him to grunt in confusion; after all, you had never shown him such deference before.

“You’re not that bad as a teacher,” you said. “You know, for it being your first time, I think you did alright.”

“Yeah?” he said eagerly before composing himself, clearing his throat before speaking again. “Yeah, I guess you turned out just fine.”

“Thank you for everything, Gojo,” you said. “Please know that you’ll always have an ally in me.”

His black sunglasses slid down the bridge of his nose, just a bit, but enough that you could see the way his eyes softened ever so slightly. Then he reached out and socked you in the arm affectionately.

“Considering how often I butt heads with the higher ups, I might call upon you one day,” he said. “Don’t make that kind of promise lightly, is what I’m saying.”

“I’m not making it lightly,” you said. “If you call upon me, I’ll come. That’s what you do for someone who’s changed your life, right?”

Even the shades he had shoved back into position could not hide the breadth of his smile nor the depth of his fondness. He nodded, slowly at first and then quickly, like he wanted you to be very sure of his agreement.

“True,” he said, and then he patted you on the head. “Guess that means you can call on me whenever you want, too. I’ll be there.”

You smiled at him over your shoulder as you left for the summer and thought that you might never be so fortunate — or unfortunate — as to have a teacher quite like him again.

[offside-the-lines]

tell me who i run to (if not you) | anthony beauvillier | Ep 2. Winter

This is a completed series! Read Full Fic | 🧸 Series Cover Page/Masterlist 🧁 | 🎵 Playlist 🎶 << Previous Episode || Ep 2 || Next Episode >>

Chapter Summary: Tito injures his wrist in the first game of 2024, he’s out for 6-8 weeks and then his car breaks down. He thinks maybe he’s cursed. Evie becomes a shoulder to lean on. Barzy gets suspicious.

A/N: You can refer to cover page for the series summary, author's notes, tropes, general warnings and other fun tidbits. This series contains mature themes. Minors DNI. Disclaimer: This series is set in Chicago but does not mention the name of the team.

Word count: 4.4k // 44.5k

Requests (open) | Masterlist & Who I Write For | Join My Taglist

I. Winter

Evie — December 31

In the past few days, her text chain with Tito has settled into a nice rhythm. At first, it was a couple of texts a day: when one of them saw a funny Instagram post or reel, they would send it to the other. 

Things changed on Friday when she broke her usual routine of curling up on her couch with a blanket and book and instead found herself watching Tito's game. Her book lay untouched in her lap as her eyes tracked number 91 across the ice. After the game, she stayed up later than she meant to, eagerly picking up her phone every time it vibrated with a new text from Tito.

So, she concluded, I watch hockey now.

Which is why Evie ends up being late for the New Year’s party that Kelsey had invited her to. She couldn’t bear to leave when she had planned to, watching as the score kept ratcheting up for the wrong team. Her stomach curled every time Tito’s frustrated face is shown. 

To Tito 🌞🏒: i’m sorry about the loss, tito. fucking sucks. i hope you’ll still try to enjoy your new year’s eve?

By the time she gets to the party, she’s glad she can slip in among the partygoers without much fuss; everyone’s already a little tipsy on champagne. She knows she keeps pulling out her phone to check her notifications, but she can only hope she doesn't seem too rude.

It’s almost 11:30 pm when her phone buzzes, and she’s surprised to see it’s an incoming call and not a text. She slips out to the balcony as she connects the call.

Tito’s voice comes through too loud, “Evie!”

She laughs, “Hi, Tito. You good?”

“Yeah, you said I should enjoy my New Year’s Eve, so I went out with some of the guys,” he says, his words slurring ever so slightly. Evie can hear the background noise dim through the phone as if he had also stepped outside.

“New Year’s Eve in Dallas; you living it up?”

He laughs, “Dickie’s taken us to some fancy bar he used to go to. There’s a bunch of the Stars guys here too. Not that I really want to see them right now,” he groans.

“God, yeah. I saw, I’m sorry. That was a rough way to end the year.”

“Yeah, well…” He clears his throat and tries to inject some levity into his voice, “I don’t want to think about that right now. We’re trying to have fun, right? What're you up to?”

“Kelsey— my coworker— she’s also friends with Leanne— she invited me to a party. I’m at someone’s penthouse apartment. I have no idea whose. It’s pretty cool, though— Great view. There’s a lot of people, actually.”

Tito whistles. “A lot of choices for a midnight kiss then, eh?”

“I guess?” she laughs. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Not that much,” he says unconvincingly. Evie can picture him scrunching his face at his own blatant lie.

“Okay,” she laughs, “I’ll have to let you go back then. Get some more champagne in you.”

“Nah,” he whines a little. “No midnight kisses in there. Fuck! I’m going to be even more unlucky next year if I don’t get a kiss.”

It startles a laugh out of her. “Anthony, buddy, I don’t think that’s a thing,” she chuckles, shaking her head.

He hums and doesn’t say anything else.

“Are you making friends at least?” she asks.

“Eh… more like passing time. A party’s a party, right?” 

“Come on, I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

“They’re not!” he says a little too loud before repeating himself, “They’re not bad. That isn't what I meant. I just… I don’t know. I don’t really know if we’re friends, so much, just teammates.”

Evie softens. “Jason and Alandra were nice. They seemed to be trying to be your friend, at least. I bet he had to drag you out tonight.” 

“Yeah, he’s cool. It’s just—” He groans. “I think we’re both a little too drunk to try to figure out the difference between a buddy in the league who I’ll spend a couple of months playing with and will almost never talk to again and a friend.”

Leanne catches her eye through the glass and raises an eyebrow in question. Evie sends a small smile back. 

“It’s tough, Tito, to move around. I’m sorry this year has been so fucked for you as well.” She sighs. “Listen, I gotta get back inside. Leanne's making weird faces at me. And you should go back inside, too.”

She hears Tito suck in a shallow breath, voice once again full of false cheer, “Of course, of course. Shit, sorry for being a fucking downer. I promise I’ll go back inside and have a good time.”

“Have fun, dude. You’re a hot professional athlete at a fancy bar on New Year’s Eve. I think you’re not going to have any trouble finding someone to kiss at midnight.”

“You think I’m hot?” his voice genuinely lightens; she could hear the smile lighting up his face.

“Goodnight, Tito,” she laughs pointedly, “Happy New Year.”

She hears him finally let out another genuine laugh, a sound that warms her despite the cold Chicago air, “Happy New Year, Evie. I’m really glad we reconnected last week. It’s nice to have a friend in the city.”

And with that, they hang up, and she slips back into the throng of party-goers. She doesn’t get far before Leanne catches her elbow.

“What was that?” Leanne asks, handing over a new champagne glass.

“Oh. It was Tito.”

Leanne’s eyebrows immediately jump. “Oh yeah? You guys are calling now?”

“I mean, I guess? That’s the first time we’ve called so,” she shrugs.

“Mhmm,” Leanne hums, clearly unconvinced, a smirk lacing her lips.

Evie bumps her shoulder. “Oh, shut up. His team just lost 8-1 on New Year’s Eve. It fucking sucked. Cut him some slack.”

“Yikes. Okay, in the spirit of the season, I’ll let it slide just this once.”

Evie laughs and rolls her eyes, letting herself relax into the drink and the rhythm of the people celebrating around her.

Evie — January 2

To Tito 🌞🏒: shit, just saw the hit. are you okay?!!

Evie sits on her couch and stares at her silent phone, her knee bouncing. She hasn’t been able to sit still since she saw the hit, and it just got worse with each replay, so she turned her TV off. But now, she's just sitting in unsettling silence— I’m not entirely sure that this is better.

She checks her phone again. It has been 15 minutes since she watched Tito skate himself off the ice, clutching his left arm. She calms herself with the thought that his silence doesn’t mean there’s something very wrong; if they were running tests, it might just take a while before he sees his phone. 

She decides to make a cup of tea and pick up her book again. It makes her feel a little settled, but not enough, as she’s still checking her phone every few seconds. If she’s honest, she's just reading the same page over and over.

Finally, an hour later, her phone lights up, and she picks it up so fast it almost flies out of her hand.

Tito 🌞🏒: doc says it’s probably broken. they’ve immobilized it but i have to come home for more tests.

“Shit,” she says to her empty apartment, hitting Dial on her phone. She fiddles with a loose thread on her shorts as the call tone rings before she finally hears the click of Tito picking up.

“Tito,” she says too loud, leaping up from her couch. Her book crashes to the floor, startling her; she sits back down in embarrassment.

“Hey,” his voice sounds tired.

“Hey,” she responds, voice gentler, “Shit, I’m so sorry about your wrist, Tito.”

He sighs, “Yeah. It was so fucking stupid. I shouldn’t’ve had my hand like that there.”

“Hey! Dude, no. This is not your fault. And maybe it’s not the other guy's fault, either. But it’s definitely not your fault. How many times have you done the exact same thing and not been hurt? It’s not your fault.”

Tito’s silent for a bit; she listens to the jagged ins and outs of this breath. Eventually, with a voice so quiet, she’s only able to hear him due to the utter silence in her apartment: “Yeah, I guess. Thanks.”

She feels a lump form in her throat and tries to clear it away. “You said they’re sending you home?”

“Yeah. It’s definitely broken, so I won’t be playing for a while. It’s probably too late for a flight tonight, so I’m probably going to be on an early one tomorrow.”

They're both silent for a moment, letting that hang in the air.

“Can I pick you up from the airport?”

“You really don’t have to do that. The team’ll pay for a Lyft.”

“Are you going to be on pain meds?”

“Yeah. I’m already feeling it, to be honest,” Tito says with a light laugh.

“Are they sending you back alone?”

“Yeah, it isn't a concussion, so I don’t need supervision.”

“Okay. Then, I would like to pick you up if that’s okay.”

“I—” He pauses for a long time, breaths getting heavier. When he continues talking, his voice comes through thick, “I really don’t want to put you out, but if you’re offering, I would really like that.”

“Well, I'm offering, so I’ll see you tomorrow. Text me the deets?”

“Yeah.” She feels something in her chest loosen. “And Evie?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

She chuckles, “No problem. Text me. And try to have a good sleep.”

“You too,” he whispers, pausing before hanging up.

Putting her phone down on the coffee table, she lets out a shaky breath.

Evie — January 3

“Are you sure you want me to drop you off at yours?” Evie asks, looking over to Tito in her passenger seat. His curls poke out under the hood of his sweater, and his skin looks pale and clammy. His usually bright blue eyes are dulled, shadowy smudges betraying his lack of sleep. 

He sends her a soft smile before closing his eyes and leaning back against the headrest. “Yes, please.” His voice sounded as tired as he looked.

“Okay.” 

Evie reaches over and gives his good hand a light squeeze before pulling away from the airport. She keeps the drive to his apartment quiet, and she's surprised that she feels less tense than on her drive to O’Hare despite the silence. 

Every so often, she peeks over at Tito, cradling his wrist, eyes closed, and face carefully neutral. She doesn’t feel good about leaving him alone in his apartment, but she also knows that they haven’t known each other long enough for her to insist.

Half an hour later, she pulls into the entrance of a very fancy-looking apartment building in the center of Downtown Chicago. The doorman helps them unload Tito’s suitcase and drags it into the lobby for him. 

Too soon, they're left standing at the curb.

“Thank you so much,” Tito says, his tired eyes warming a little as he regards her.

“It’s absolutely no problem. Please let me know if you need any help, okay? I make my own hours and work from home for a reason. Call me anytime.”

His smile broadens. “Seriously, Evie. Thank you. You didn’t have to come get me.”

“I know. I wanted to.”

Tito leans in for a hug that Evie reciprocates, careful to avoid his broken hand. They stay connected for a few seconds longer than normal, but neither complains.

“Alright, I’ll leave you be then,” Evie says after they disconnect, stepping into her car with a nod.

Tito remains at the curb, one hand in a sling, the other reaching up for a wave as she pulls away. His figure stays in her rearview until she turns the corner.

Tito — January 11

The days that follow the injury become monotonous quickly. Tito wakes up. He does his morning routine. He takes his pain meds. He rides with Foligno and Bedard into the training facility. He gets poked at by some doctors and told to not do anything with his hand. He rides the bike by himself while everyone else gets to skate. He avoids Bedsy angrily pouting in the hallways; not his rookie, not his problem. He goes home and sits on his couch, just clicking play on whatever comes up on Netflix. He eats his microwavable frozen meal plan. He watches the team drop three of four games. He sleeps. 

Rinse and repeat. 

It has only been a week, and he's close to losing his mind already. The only bright spots are his ongoing text conversation with Evie, and his daily FaceTime calls with Barz. The boxes still sit unopened in the corner; well, at least he has a good excuse now. 

Today was meant to be a break in the monotony. While the team is on a short road trip, Tito’s schedule is a little different. No one ever talks about how uncomfortable it is to drive with a broken wrist. The facility is only 15 minutes away, so he figures that he’ll go in to see the trainers and maybe do some grocery shopping afterward. 

The plan was going quite well until he noticed that he had a flat tire on his way to the grocery store. 

He pulls over to the side of the road and just sits there for a minute, fighting the urge to cry. He rests his forehead on the steering wheel, letting out a small scream before he gets out to assess the damage. He mutters a few choice swears when he eventually finds the big nail in his tire. 

He pulls out his phone and texts Evie while he returns to the driver's seat.

To evie 🧁: i told you my year would be unlucky [attachment: photo of his flat tire]

He starts looking for the roadside assistance card, but since it's a new rental, he’s still frustratedly fumbling around when his phone rings.

“Hello?” he answers, not even looking at his phone.

“Tito, what’s going on?”

He pauses his rustling, surprised to hear Evie’s warm voice pouring through the sound system. The familiarity of the French immediately relaxes him. He sighs.

“Oh, um. I was driving to the store. And I just realized the tire was flat. I think the hole has been there for a while, but because of the wrist and stuff, I hadn’t driven since before the roadie.”

“Shit. That’s annoying. Where are you? You wanna drop me a pin or something. I can help you change your tire; you definitely can’t do it with a broken wrist.”

He pauses, surprised by the offer. “Oh! Um… I was just going to call roadside assistance. If I can just find the card…”

“Don’t be stupid. That’s gonna take ages. If you’re close by, I can come help.”

“Um… Are you sure?” 

“Yeah,” she huffs, “I could use a break from the computer anyway. I’ll grab my coat and keys.”

“Okay, if you’re sure. I’m probably not far away because I just left the training center like 5 minutes ago.”

“Sweet, no problem. Drop me a pin, and I’ll be right there.”

In less than 10 minutes, Evie is stepping out of her car in her wool coat, leather gloves, and an oversized winter scarf that cocoons her up to her nose. She smiles and waves as she jogs over to give him a tight hug. Whatever tension was left in his body from the long week drains from his body as her arms wrap tightly around him. 

They remain connected for a few seconds, his face buried in the mess of scarf and hair around her neck; her perfume fills his lungs with warmth despite the cold Chicago winter air.

“Thanks again for coming.”

“Stop thanking me. My god.” She exaggeratedly rolls her eyes as they finally separate. She starts getting all the tools as she says, “I want to help the city’s best winger. It’s a public service. I’ll forward the bill to the owner. Or maybe even the mayor.”

It startles a laugh out of him, relaxed by her light-heartedness. He realizes that he has been kind of down recently, only leaving his apartment for meetings with trainers. 

“Well, I hope you’ll charge them a fair rate, considering the express service surcharge. You did get here very quickly.”

She nods mock-sternly, “Yes, of course.”

With all the necessary tools laid out next to her, she bends down to begin jacking up the car. He fishes out his snow jacket from the trunk and hands it to her. 

“Here. So you don’t have to kneel on the ground.”

She smiles up at him from where she’s knelt, “Thanks.”

The rest of the tire change happens in silence; Tito’s content to let her focus on what she’s doing. He watches intently and doesn't want to acknowledge his embarrassment that, at 26 years old, he still doesn't know how to change a tire. 

As she’s working, it starts to snow lightly. The flakes stand out against her glossy coffee-dark hair that has fallen to curtain her face, and Tito resists the urge to brush it back so she can see better in the overcast dimness. He stuffs his hands in his pockets to have something to do with them.

When she’s done a short while later, she spins around, still kneeling, beaming up at him with pride as she sings, “Voila!” 

At that moment, as she sparkles up at him, their eyes meet, and a snowflake catches on her eyelashes. It hits him square in the chest; this might be the most stunning thing he’s ever seen. The realization knocks into him so unexpectedly that he has to fight through the tightness in his throat to exclaim back in excitement.

“Awesome!” he strains.

“Yep!” Her voice is bright and melodic as she turns back to lower the car. “It’s all done. You’re going to need to get this tire patched or something at a shop, though, and—”

She continues to explain some important details that are totally lost on him as he tries to quash the twisting of his guts. She is indeed beautiful, engaging, and scarily competent, but none of that matters. 

None of that matters because his stay in Chicago is temporary. So he takes that feeling and shoves it down deep. But, he hopes that a transient athlete who is, as it turns out, not very good at his job will adequately fulfill the role of Good Friend.

Being a good friend is something he can do. 

Being a good friend is something he’s good at.

“— groceries for dinner, if you want?” 

He tunes back in just in time to catch the end of what she's saying. Maybe he should also retract the previous statement about being a good friend.

“Um, I’m sorry. I’m feeling kinda out of it. What was the question?”

She laughs and squeezes his elbow sympathetically. “Tito, it’s okay. You’re kinda pale right now. Like, you look like you’re gonna be sick. Look, I know you said you were going to the grocery store, but I really don’t think you should be driving and stuff right now. I’ve got plenty of food at mine. I was probably going to cook pasta or something tonight. Just come over and hang out? It’ll make me feel better.”

He mulls it over, and the dull throbbing in his wrist convinces him to nod. It does sound much better than what he had been doing this past week.

So they do just that. Tito isn't complaining: not about the delicious home-cooked meal or watching B99 again. He didn’t realize he was waiting to watch it with her. They find themselves pausing the show numerous times just to chat about something the show brings up: a memory from childhood, something from her life in Toronto or his life in New York, or just a passionate opinion that they have. 

He's burrowed deep into the opposite end of her couch with the latest cup of tea she has made him, feeling more at home than he has in over a month when he discovers the time is so much later than he thought.

“Oh crap, it’s past 10 pm. I really should get going,” Tito says, finally sitting up.

“Shit, I didn’t even see that,” she laughs. Evie looks out the window. “You know. It’s really late, you’re on pain meds, and the roads look kinda slippery with the new snow. Why don’t you just stay here? This couch actually has a really comfy pull-out bed— my brother Will said so anyway when he visited.”

“Oh,” he pauses, comfortable and heavy-limbed but uncertain, “I don’t really have anything with me.”

“That should be okay. I’ve got a bunch of extra toiletries and some of Brandy and Will’s clothes.”

“Yeah, I guess so. I mean, if that’s really okay with you, I’d love to not have to drive home with my wrist. It sucks.”

“Of course,” she smiles, reaching over and squeezing his knee before standing up and walking into her bedroom.

He figures he should help, so he moves the warm fuzzy blanket she had over her legs and the throw pillows to the corner of the room. He clears the tea mugs that litter the coffee table before pushing it back. He’s inspecting the couch for the pull-out function when Evie returns with a small pile of sheets and clothes and a few pillows.

“Oh, thanks for clearing the space!” She smiles at him brightly. “So, I found you a T-shirt and some sweatpants. There are spare toiletries under the sink.”

“Thanks. You’re truly the best.”

“You are so right,” she winks, laughing softly. 

They put together the couch-bed in tandem, and both take turns getting ready for sleep. Eventually, Evie, in her pajamas, bids him goodnight warmly before shutting her bedroom door, and he's left lying on the pull-out bed looking around at the living room, lit only by the city lights streaming through with big windows. 

Tito — January 19

“Wait, so you’re telling me you’ve been replacing me with this girl, and you haven’t even bothered to introduce us?”

“Okay, Barz, that’s a little dramatic. I have not been replacing you.” Tito desperately pleads with his eyes for Mat to stop talking so loud in this somewhat nice Italian restaurant he and Evie had discovered a few nights ago.

“No, seriously. Why didn’t you invite her? You should invite her. You know what? I’ll do it. Hand me your phone—” Mat makes a desperate grab for Tito’s phone that was sitting face down on the table. 

Tito puts his hand on it and whispers. “Dude, stop it. I’d like to come back here again sometime. The food’s actually so good.”

Mat grins and wiggles his eyebrows, “Oooh, come back here again, like on a date with Evie?” he says, dragging out her name in a suggestive tone.

“No, Barz. Not a date. We’ve been over this. We’re just hanging out- like you and me. We’re friends. That’s it. Neither of us even wants to date right now anyway.”

“Okay, bud. If you say so.” Mat rolls his eyes while taking a sip of his wine. “So, you’re saying if you were both open to dating, you’d be interested.”

“No— Well—” Tito pauses and sighs. “I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about it. And it’s not what’s happening, so it doesn’t matter.”

“Oh, come on, Beau. I’ve known you for ages, dude. There is no way— you’re telling me that you’ve seen her almost every single day, for most of the day, this whole month, and you haven’t even thought about it?”

Tito sighs pointedly, clenching his jaw. “Yes. I haven’t thought about it. Because there’s nothing to think about. We text. We hang out. We watch TV and eat food. We—” He cuts himself off abruptly. He knows if he mentions the sleepovers, even though he's always on the pull-out couch, Mat will take it the wrong way. “Look, I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I get to see you, like, twice during the season. I want to hear all your dumb stories.”

Mat eyes him skeptically but eventually relents. “My stories aren’t dumb. But okay. So, last week…” he excitedly recounts.

The night returns to a familiar rhythm. He misses this: the easy conversation with a guy who’s known you for ten years. There are no awkward lulls or having to explain a joke or backstory. It’s just comfortable, and it feels like home: a warmth burrowed deep in his chest. 

There’s a gaping vacancy that gnaws at him later when he’s lying in his own bed, unable to sleep. It’s almost as if Mat took that feeling of home with him when he gave him a lingering hug goodbye, squeezing Tito so hard it hurt a little.

He stares at the ceiling and thinks about how his favorite sleep shirt— one of his early Islanders t-shirts with a 72 on it— was still at Evie’s apartment. He also thinks about the hoodie that he left there.

The team's about to head on an extended roadie while he remains behind, doing not much. He hates it when he’s the one left behind watching the team play without him. That’s the thing with professional sports. You’re around a team all day, every day, for most of the year. You know everything about everyone. You’re almost never alone. Which makes it all the more stark when you’re with a new group of faces. Or when you’re suddenly stuck at home, injured, and alone.

He leans over and picks up his phone, the sudden brightness of the screen making him squint. 

To evie 🧁 : hey, so on second thought, if the offer still stands, i’d like to stay over this week? totally okay if you changed your mind. just figured it’d be nice to have some company, and you’re much closer to the rink. To evie 🧁: and you still have my favorite hoodie. i want it back.

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[scones-and-texting-and-murder]

Bookends

(This story was originally written for and published in the DeanCas Anthology back in 2018. )

Word Count: 2223 Rating: General ao3 link

Cas pulls as close to the door as he can, checking the rearview mirror to make sure he isn’t blocking traffic as he waits for Dean to get out of the car. Before heading inside, Dean ducks his head back in to smile at him. “I’ll get us some coffee.”

Instead of driving away, Cas stays there, watching until Dean pulls open the diner door. Leaning heavily on his cane, he shuffles more than walks, his bow-legged gait made stiff by the arthritis that wracks his joints. Cas waits until he’s safely inside, then pulls past the open handicapped space Dean stubbornly refuses to use, and finds an empty parking spot.

Cas’s car is boxy and utilitarian, and Dean often proclaims that he wouldn’t be caught dead behind the wheel of something so ugly. Cas plays along because giving up driving had been Dean’s toughest concession to age, but as his vision deteriorated and his reflexes slowed, it had become an unavoidable sacrifice. With replacement parts for the Impala harder and harder to come by, Dean had finally agreed to keep her stored safely away in their garage. Cas knew it pained him to see her shrouded under a tarp, her motor idle and useless, but Dean would rather enshrine her in pristine condition than risk one more run-in with a light pole or curb.

With his ugly car parked, Cas crosses the lot to join Dean inside. While he’s aged as well, aged to the point that nobody questions the two of them together, he’s been spared many of the maladies that Dean’s combat-wrecked body has endured, and he moves with relative ease. The best they can figure is that the grace he’d had on and off over the years left his body with a certain resilience to the passage of time. Cas can’t cure Dean as he once could, can’t ease the aches or slow the aging process, but he can use his own comparatively good health and mobility to take care of him.

Inside, Cas navigates past the hostess stand to find Dean at their usual booth, chatting with their usual waitress. The two of them go to this diner religiously each Sunday morning, where the pews are scuffed burgundy vinyl booths and the altar is the breakfast buffet with the generous senior discount. As always, Dean has maneuvered himself across the bench seat to make room for Cas to sit beside him. His cane rests against the wall in easy reach, the simple carved wooden handle belying the fact that the base unscrews to reveal a bayonet-like tip. It’s never been wielded as a weapon (although Dean uses it, still sheathed, to poke at aggressive pigeons who muscle in around their favorite park bench), but that potential made it “badass” enough to overcome Dean’s resistance to using it.

To Sam’s everlasting chagrin, Dean has kept all of his hair, and it’s turned a stunning silver. The crinkles around his eyes have deepened, meeting the roadmap of lines that cross his face. His shoulders are stooped, his joints are stiff, and Cas thinks he’s never been more beautiful. After so many seemingly certain ends, so many years assuming Dean would die young and bloodied, the fact that he’s living out a full, lengthy life is an unparallelled blessing. Cas marvels at the gift of days that have unfolded into decades, granting them time he never dreamed they’d have together here on earth.

As Cas settles into the booth, he smiles and greets their waitress.

“Two for the buffet?” she confirms as she pours their coffee. Cas doesn’t even have to check to know that she’ll leave Dean’s at a little more than half-full so he can lift it without the tremor in his hands sloshing it over the brim.

They drink their coffee quietly, simply enjoying the ritual of being here. Dean peers at the laminated card that lists the specials, even though he never orders off the menu.

“Shall I?” When Dean nods, Cas gets to his feet. “Any requests?”

“You know what I like,” Dean says, leaning over to swat at Cas’s butt.

Picking up two plates from the warmer, Cas slides them along the metal counter, filling them in tandem as he traverses the buffet. Pancakes are too difficult for Dean to get on a fork, but the crisp waffles are good. Bacon he can pick up and eat, and Cas uses the tongs to place precisely two strips on his plate. If Dean wants more, he can get up and get it himself.

Dean can argue with Cas’s choices, but they’d had a hell of a scare a few years back. Cas will never forget the look on Dean’s face when their phone rang in the middle of the night, alerting them that Sam had been taken to the hospital in an ambulance. They’d rushed there themselves, Cas driving in silence, knowing that nothing short of seeing Sam with his own two eyes could reassure Dean. Thankfully, it had been a mild heart attack and, after spending a few days in the hospital, the discharge plan called for cardiac rehab and an appointment with a nutritionist. With Sam’s release imminent, Dean had relaxed enough to crow at the irony. “Don’t either of you try to tell me what to eat ever again. Mr. Organic Produce is the one lying in the hospital bed while my pork-rind-fueled ticker is going strong.”

Still pale, Sam’s brow furrowed with resignation. “I’m beginning to think you can’t die.”

Dean jabbed a finger in his direction. “You don’t get to go first. We have a deal.”

“Yes, sir.” Sam lifted the hand without the IV in a mock salute.

“That’s more like it,” Dean said. “Speaking of which, I need a snack.”

Cas helped him up and they walked to the elevator that would take them to the cafeteria. As they waited for it to arrive, Dean pulled Cas into a hug. Cas left a hand on his shoulder when they stepped apart again. “All right?”

Dean nodded, his green eyes shining with tears. “I’m glad you’re here.” Cas started to respond, to remind him that there was nowhere else he would be, but Dean cut him off. “I know you know. But I wanted to say it anyhow.”

Cas noticed a change after that. Dean was still the same stubborn mule Cas had fallen in love with, but he gradually became more willing to let Cas help. And somehow, Cas loved him even more for it. He loved seeing the slow-blossoming acceptance that came when Dean stopped seeing Cas’s help as a sign of weakness.

Now, standing in front of the steaming trays of food, Cas considers what else to add to their plates. He bypasses the cauldron of oatmeal (they eat that at home most mornings) and continues along the buffet. There’s a tremendous satisfaction in being allowed to care for this man who has done so much for so many and asked for so little in return. In fact, Dean has now embraced this new role so fully—no longer questioning what he deserves, or grudgingly accepting help, but full-on enjoyment of being doted on—that Cas has to be careful he doesn’t get lazy. There’s nothing Cas would rather do than settle Dean in front of a sunny window, snug in the recliner for Cas to wait on like a pampered cat, but he knows that sort of inactivity would do Dean’s joints and his heart no favors. So he watches Dean’s diet and insists on them taking slow walks after breakfast when his energy is highest.

Their neighborhood is a mix of young and old and everyone knows the two Mr. Winchesters who circle the block on days when the weather permits. The kids on bikes and scooters know to give them a wide berth, their parents warning them that the old men need the entire sidewalk, but they call out their hellos as they go by. They’re friendly with everyone except the woman who lives on the corner. Dean is convinced she’s a demon, but Cas suspects his distrust of her stems more from the fact that she seems immune to his charm. (Whatever the reason, he’s had to talk Dean out of chalking a devil’s trap inside her mailbox more than once.) They chat with their neighbors about the weather and the score of last night’s ballgame, and it’s so painfully normal that Cas sometimes feels his throat tighten up at the wonder of it all.

When Cas returns to their booth, Dean examines his plate. “They outta bacon?”

Cas cuts the waffle into manageable pieces and peels the wrapper from the muffin before sliding Dean’s plate over. “You know the deal.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean says. “You just like to look at my ass when I get up.”

They eat in congenial silence with Dean methodically working his way around his plate, eating everything heartily, even the fruit. Sitting next to him, Cas can easily scoop up any bites that miss his mouth, plucking them from Dean’s lap or his shirt.

“You two good?” The waitress asks when she comes to refill their coffees. “Need anything?”

Dean swallows the bite of muffin he’s working on, and rests his hand on top of Cas’s. “I’ve got everything I need right here. An actual angel, this one.”

She nods agreeably. “I can almost see his halo.”

Cas has learned that an old man can say just about anything and receive an indulgent smile in return. When Dean references angels or demons or the apocalypse, people assume he’s speaking in metaphor and they’ll nod pleasantly. Sometimes he’ll do it purely for effect, telling rambling tales from their past for the sheer enjoyment of being able to speak openly. He can’t always keep the details straight, but Cas is there to remind him. Some days, though, he seems to lose where he is in time, and there’s nothing Cas can do for that. Cas has taken to keeping a watchful eye on him in the late afternoons when he likes to doze on the couch with their one-eyed black cat curled up on his chest. Cas stays close in case he wakes from his nap agitated, calling for Cas, wanting to know where Sam is. Cas helps him to sit up as the cat springs down and scurries away.

“Don’t go,” he says again and again, and Cas takes him in his arms, assuring Dean that he’s here and reminding him that Sam is safe at his own home. He holds him until Dean shakily dismisses it all as just a bad dream.

The unfairness of it overwhelms Cas, and each time he’s left filled with wrath. These final years should be spent in well-earned peace, but instead Dean seems cursed with reliving his most frightening memories, traumatized anew by old, familiar fears. If Dean’s mind is destined to slip, why can’t it be toward blissful forgetting? What Dean has endured goes beyond what any human should; to ask him to bear it again is nothing short of cruel. But it’s a torture chamber created in his own mind, and all Cas can do is sit helplessly by, doing his best to ground Dean and bring him back to the present.

Cas looks at Dean’s empty plate. “Did you want to get some more?”

“Nah.” He’s full and happy and it’s time for their walk.

The waitress arrives to clear their plates. As he does every week, Dean asks if she needs to see his ID for the senior discount. As she does every week, she pretends to consider it before leaving the check. “You boys take your time.”

“Tip her well,” Dean says, leaning in to supervise Cas as he signs the bill.

“I always do,” Cas assures him.

When they’re ready to leave, Cas stands next to the banquette, waiting for Dean to retrieve his cane and slide himself to the edge. Using a combination of the cane and Cas’s extended arm, Dean hoists himself upright, groaning a little. Cas keeps a firm hold on him until he’s steady on his feet. Dean still dresses in layers, but these days it’s because he gets chilled easily. He favors heavy knit cardigans and as long as Cas gets the zipper started for him he can tug it up or down as needed. Cas checks him for crumbs then together they walk through the other tables crowded with families. They continue by the hostess station where a woman is wiping down menus. “See you next week,” she calls as they pass.

Cas steps forward to push open the door, and stands holding it. “Watch your step,” he says as he always does, pointing toward the raised metal threshold of the doorway.

Using his cane to steady himself, Dean shuffles his way over it, then stops to lay his hand on Cas’s cheek. His knuckles are gnarled, the skin of his palm is dry and warm, and Cas feels the same flare of awe go through him as he has since the moment he first found this glorious soul in the depths of hell.

“I am the luckiest man who has ever lived,” Dean says.

Cas kisses his palm, then takes his arm to help him on his way.

[brywrites]

Date Night I

I got so many requests in my inbox for a version of “Date Night” set in The Keeping of Words universe. There were so many suggestions for how that could look, but I’m really happy with this version, so I hope those of you who like TKOW enjoy it! Part 2 coming very soon!

Summary: Three years after leaving the BAU, Dr. Spencer Reid has given up chasing monsters to be a part-time professor and a full-time dad. It’s all domestic bliss - until Cat Adams turns up at the BAU.

Warnings: mentions of violence, kidnapping, references to past kidnapping and assault

.......................................

“Now, it’s rare for serial killers to go that long between murders, but years passed between the BTK attacks. How did Rader manage to go that long between murders?”

Reid’s students stared at him expectantly, a few flipping back through their notes. A girl in Georgetown hoodie raised her hand. “Well it seems like he stayed connected to what he did in like, other ways? He wrote up detailed plans for each attack so maybe he focused on that.”

“Yeah,” added a boy with round glasses and a sticker-covered laptop. “And he wrote to the police a lot with information and puzzles, so that could have given him the feeling of power he needed.”

“Good, good,” Reid said. “Those are both great points. Rader did all of that and more. The stalking, the planning, the communication with the media is all part of what we c-” His train of thought was interrupted by the ringing of his phone. He gave it the briefest of glances – just Emily, likely asking for an obscure fact he could provide after the lecture – before pocketing it once more and continuing. “Sorry. Uh, so all of his behavior is what we call sublimating. Psychologically speaking, it’s the process of diverting one’s impulses or desires into a more socially acceptable activity. Forensically, it’s how unsubs curb their urges during a cooling-off period. In this case we see that…” His phone began to ring again. The name on the screen was the same.

“I’m so sorry,” he said again. He made it a point not to use his phone in front of his students and to give them the same respect he asked of them while in his class. He quickly sent Prentiss a text. In lecture – call in 30? “As I was saying, in this case it’s clear that–” Before he could even return the phone to his pocket it rang again.

A sudden chill came over him. This wasn’t just about a consult. “I – uh, sorry,” he stammered. His students glanced between themselves. It wasn’t like their hyper-focused, luddite professor to take a call in the middle of lecture. Reid turned away from them as he raised the phone to his ear. “What is it?” he asked.

“Reid, I’m so sorry. We need you to come in immediately. Luke’s out front to bring you to Quantico. We have a kidnapping case and there’s one demand – that we release Cat Adams within 24 hours.” The name made every muscle in his body tense. An automatic trauma response.

“No.” The sound of her name alone sent flashbacks flickering through this memory. Glimpses of Mexico, the inside of a prison cell, his mother screaming, Bianca crying on the witness stand in a courtroom. There was no way he was letting that woman any chance to get near him or his family ever again.

“She insists she’ll only speak if she can talk to you.” This exactly why he’d left the Bureau in the first place.

“Emily, I’m retired, I’m not an agent anymore and–”

“And there are lives on the line, Spencer. I wouldn’t ask if we had any other choice.” And so he ended class early, hurried out of the lecture hall, and climbed into the waiting SUV. Luke tried to catch him up – that morning Garcia had received a video from a woman with dark hair, showing two huddled, hooded figures tied up on the floor of a warehouse. A woman and a small child. They seemed to be crying and while Garcia couldn’t make out their identity, the woman filming wasn’t trying to hide her face at all. The demand attached said they would be killed if Catherine Adams wasn’t released from prison, and Cat only wanted to talk to him. The only man she’d ever lost to.

“This doesn’t follow her typical M.O.,” Reid said. “She usually goes after men, fathers specifically. Why go after what’s likely a mother and child?” Cat was a creature of habit. Her impulsive nature was her downfall. This didn’t seem like her at all.

Luke shrugged. “You know her better than I do. I’ll have Garcia show you the footage when we get there, maybe you’ll see something we didn’t.” But as soon they arrived at the BAU, Emily ushered him off to an interrogation room. There she sat in an orange jumpsuit, staring at the one-way glass, waiting for him with a Cheshire cat grin. It made his blood boil. Reid inhaled deeply before stepping inside. He stood there staring at her in silence. He didn’t trust himself not to scream.

Cat laughed. “Classic negotiating technique. First one to speak loses, right?” The sound of her voice took him right back to that awful night – leaving Milburn, nearly losing his mother, Bianca crying in the roundtable room. Scratch and the crash and Stephen’s death and everything that had come after.

He wasn’t in the mood for her games. He wasn’t supposed to be here. He should have been finishing his class and going home to pick Eliza up from pre-school. “You arranged the kidnapping of two people and you did it the same way you did it before,” he sighed. Cat immediately launched into her usual banter. She had given up fighting her case, she insisted. Now she just wanted to stave off the boredom by playing with her favorite toy. The only thing she hadn’t done, she claimed, was him.

“You sexually violated me in Mexico,” he reminded her.

“I did? Are you sure?” she asked. He gritted his teeth. “Stop being the boy who cried rape, Spencie, it’s not a good look.”

The room was too small, too warm. He couldn’t bear to be in here with her but he had to be. “I want to go a date,” she declared. “With you.”

“A date?” This was absurd. This was ridiculous. This couldn’t be happening.

“Yes. I want to look pretty. And I want to have fun. And I won’t even get physical, ok?” Cat rolled her eyes. “Unless you want me to.”

There was no way he was going to take Cat Adams on a date. There were only two people he’d ever been on a date with in his life (the ill-fated Redskins game and the Lila Archer incident didn’t count, he’d decided), and he had no desire to add a third to that list. Going out on a date was what he did with Bianca, because he loved her. He took her to bookstores and symphonies and New York City. He bought her flowers and watched her favorite movies and made a list of all her favorite restaurants. That was something special. Something sacred.

“The only date I’ll be there for,” he whispered to Cat, “is the one where they stick a needle in your vein.”

“You’re gonna let a mother and daughter die?” Cat asked. So whoever was in that video Luke mentioned, it was a mother and her child.

“I never said a mother and daughter. You’re already slipping. We’ll find them, we always do.” The team would find them and he could go home and be with the only two people he wanted to sit across a table from.

“Not tonight,” Cat laughed. “Tonight, I win.”

This was a waste of his time. “The score between me and you is two to zero. By tomorrow morning, it’ll be a clean sweep.” He turned to glare at her. “Enjoy eternal nothingness. It’s a metaphor for your life.” It was petty, he knew that, but he couldn’t resist letting the bitterness he felt rising in his throat out in some small way.

Cat snorted. “You don’t even realize you’re already losing.” Before he could ask her what she meant, the interrogation room door opened. Prentiss stood there staring at Cat with an expression of utter horror. That Cheshire cat smirk returned. Reid’s glanced between the two women whose gaze held an unspoken secret he couldn’t make sense of.

“What is it, Emily?” he asked.

“Outside,” the unit chief said.

“I did something bad, Spencie,” Cat sing-songed. His stomach dropped. He was missing something. Cat knew it. Emily knew it. And whatever it was, it was big. Emily grabbed his arm, pulling him out of the room. Cat’s laughter echoed. The blood rushed in his ears. Something was wrong.

“Spencer,” Emily began. She shut the door behind her and placed herself in front of it, blocking his way. “The unsub sent another video to Garcia. The woman removed the hoods from their faces and we’ve been able to identify the two victims in the video.” Two people. A mother and daughter. A mother and daughter. I did something bad, Spencie. You don’t even realize you’re already losing. No. No, he couldn’t go there.

“I’m sorry,” Emily said. She turned over a tablet. The video showed a dusty warehouse with big windows. And even if the two people had been wearing hoods, he would’ve recognized them immediately. If Luke had been able to show him the video in the car, if they’d taken him to the roundtable room first, he would’ve known. That was her favorite cardigan and the dress he’d zipped up for her in their bedroom. And those were the tiny shoes he’d carefully tied while she sat patiently in the carseat. And now, those were the faces of the two people he loved more than anything in this life, staring back at him.

“No.” His voice cracked.

“We don’t know how she got to them, but I promise you we won’t rest until Bianca and Eliza are safe.”

“No.” In her wisdom Prentiss had blocked him from running back into that room and doing something he might regret later. Reid bit down, forcing back every curse he wanted to shout. He turned and stormed down the hall, pushing his way through the glass doors until he came upon Morgan’s empty office. He stepped inside, slamming the door behind him. It was too hot, his clothes were too tight, everything was too overwhelming and he couldn’t think straight. Fingers fumbled with the knot of his tie, only able to loosen it enough to yank it over his head. He undid the first few buttons of his shirt and shook out his arms. Stimming always helped to center him. He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed a hand to his stomach. Breathed in and out. In and out.

She had them. Cat had them.

Reid screamed, a guttural sound that came from his throat of its own accord. He spun around and set eyes on a desk piled high with books and papers and he pushed them all off to the floor. A lamp went with them, which crashed into a water cooler that tumbled over on its side. It wasn’t enough. He screamed again, flipping a table in the center of the room and throwing a book at the wall. “FUCK!” he shouted. “GOD FUCKING DAMMIT!”

It was like his body didn’t know how to handle the rage. He fell to his knees and curled into himself on the floor, sobbing. This was his fault, all his fault. His only job was to keep them safe, and they were in danger now because of him.

....

Their captor lowered the video camera, smirking. “I think that’ll be a nice video to send your husband, won’t it?” Bianca grit her teeth, inhaling through her nose and willing herself to keep it together. She had to stay calm, for Eliza’s sake. Her ribs and shoulder ached, the blows the woman had landed to her jaw stung sharply. She thought distantly of the night she’d punched Spencer on accident on their anniversary, thinking him an intruder. There would be a trail of bruises left behind for days at least.

“Mama are you okay?” Eliza asked.

Her daughter’s voice brought her back to the present. Bianca nodded carefully, the movement painful. She needed to keep Elizabeth calm and keep them both alive. “I’m okay, sweetheart. Everything’s going to be okay.”

“Where’s Daddy?”

“He’ll be here soon, okay? He’s gonna come find us and then we’ll go home.” He would find them. He always would. No matter how far apart they were or how lost they felt, they always found each other. They saved each other, that was what they did. He made sure she ate and protected her from her family and came to find her in the woods. She helped him through grief and stayed with him through withdrawal and guarded his heart from the monsters. He would find her.

The dark-haired woman squatted down on the ground beside them. “It’s cute,” she laughed, a sharp and cold sound. “That you have so much faith in a man. Men are nothing but disappointing.”

Bianca had been let down by men in her life plenty of times. Her father, who she was never good enough for. Her brother, who held the knife against her throat. They were the reason she jumped when doors slammed and flinched when someone yelled and ran far away from her problems. But Hotch and Rossi had welcomed her like a daughter, Morgan had loved her with the playful protectiveness of an older brother, Lorenzo had been a friend when she needed one, and Spencer – Spencer was the opposite of everyone who had ever hurt her.

“What do you want from him?” Bianca asked. “Did he arrest you? Put away someone you love?” The woman – the unsub, Bianca was beginning to think of her as – just glared back. “If this is a trap, he’s not going to walk into it,” she said. “He’s too smart for that. No matter what you have planned, he’ll outsmart you. He always does.”

Her husband, the genius. He’d win. He find them.

“I don’t think he’ll outsmart us,” the unsub said. So there were two of them.

“Really? Because if he finds us, you’ll be outnumbered. Is your partner smart? Or just too cowardly to take him on?” Despite her fear she tried to maintain her best lawyer voice, imagining she was cross-examining a difficult witness on the stand rather than a kidnapper with a gun.

“Cat’s not a coward,” the woman snapped. She froze, realizing her slip.

“Cat? You’re working for Cat Adams?” She should’ve known. Who else hated Spencer more than her? The woman who’d nearly taken his wedding ring, his mother, his life. Cat was the reason he’d been gone during her pregnancy, the reason he’d been traumatized in Milburn, and drugged against his will. And Cat was the reason that her little girl was tied up in this warehouse. Feeling fury burn in her chest, Bianca forced herself to smile through the pain. “Then you’re definitely going to lose. Cat never wins. You’ll see.”

There was a smack, and Bianca could feel the slap across her face before she processed it. She winced, biting her lip to hold back a groan. “Shut up!” the unsub shouted. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.” She turned and stalked off, slamming the door behind her, leaving the two of them alone. Bianca could hear her speaking to someone on the phone.

She leaned down close to Eliza. “Eliza Lou, listen close to me, okay?”

“Okay, mama.”

“Remember how I told you we’re playing a game?” She’d begun this elaborate lie when the unsub grabbed them from the preschool parking lot at gunpoint. It was all a game, and they had to follow all the rules to win. “Well this part of the game is a race. We’re racing to get home. I’m gonna try to untie you, alright? And if I do that, I need you to stay really still and pretend you’re still tied up. But if that woman leaves again, or she’s not paying attention and you can get up without her noticing, I need you to run okay? You get up and you run as fast as you can. You run and run and run until you get outside. And when you do, you go to the first grown up you see, and you tell them my name is Eliza and I’m lost. My dad is Doctor Spencer Reid with the FBI and I need to call him. Do you remember daddy’s phone number?”

Elizabeth recited it perfectly. “Good girl,” Bianca said. “Exactly right. You get them to call daddy, and he’ll come and find you. Okay?”

“What about you, mama?”

“That’s the fun part. We’ll be racing each other home. You and daddy are gonna race me and we’ll see who wins. That’s why you have to be super super fast, okay?”

“Okay!” Eliza smiled up at her, and her heart twisted. She was so young. If they were lucky, she would really think it was all a game – and then she’d forget any of this ever happened. And if they were really lucky, she’d get to see that.

Please, she thought. Please find us, Spencer.

...

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there before the door opened and Tara appeared. She sat down next to him, knowing better than to touch him. “I know this is hard,” she said. “But they need you right now.”

The people he loved harder than he’d ever imagined he could love were in danger. And it was all his fault. Cat did this because he loved them. She was hurting them because he loved them. And unless he played her game, it wasn’t going to stop.

“I. Can’t. Lose them.”

“And you’re not going to,” she said. “We won’t let that happen. We all love them, too, Reid. But we can find them a lot faster if you’re helping us. Okay?”

He tried to focus on the sound of Tara’s voice. Tara, who Bianca had taken a liking to immediately, who had gone with the two of them and Penelope to a Doctor Who convention, who had never been one to throw the word love around lightly. “Okay.” He forced himself to stand and follow her to the roundtable room. “Catch me up,” he insisted.

“I just finished talking with Cat,” Emily said. “She wants to go ice skating so she can, and I quote, skate circles around you. When I told her that wasn’t going to happen, she instructed me to tell Garcia to check her email.”

“Which I am doing now…” Garcia said, typing furiously. “Okay, this just came in.” A video popped up on the screen. A dark haired woman was in the center of the image. “Juliette Weaver, she’s Cat’s old cellmate and she just made parole,” she explained. Even before the video started, Bianca and Elizabeth’s faces were visible. Garcia glanced it him, her kind face pained. “Reid, I’m sorry.” She pressed play.

“Here we go,” Juliette said.

“Mama, what’s happening?”

“It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s just a game. Everything’s okay.” Bianca was trying so hard to keep her voice even.

“It’s not a good idea for parents to lie to their children.” Juliette walked over to Bianca, whose hands and feet were bound. The woman aimed a swift kick to her ribs. Bianca’s yelp physically hurt him to hear.

“Eliza, close your eyes. Close your eyes, sweetie!” The little girl did as she was told just in time to avoid seeing her mother take a punch that knocked her over. They all heard the sound of flesh hitting flesh several times, and Bianca’s muffled cries. And then there was a gun in Juliette’s hand.

“No, no, no,” whispered Garcia, turning away from the screen.

“Don’t do this,” Bianca said.

But the gun went off anyways.

“NO!” he screamed. Reid felt his knees give way at the sound of the gun and Bianca’s screams as every face in the room froze in horror.

But then Bianca kept screaming. And then the scream turned to a gasp.

“Mama!”

“It’s okay, I’m okay, everything’s okay.” The video abruptly cut off.

“Blanks,” Luke said, putting his hand on Reid’s shoulder. “She fired blanks.” He could feel the air returns to his lungs. Bianca was still alive – for now. But that video was a clear warning. If he wanted to keep them both alive, he had to do what Cat wanted.

“You realize what we have to do, don’t you?” Rossi asked. Reid looked away, the fury building inside of him once more.“It’s the only way to get her to slip up. We have to give her what she wants.”

 “Me,” Reid said.

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Resol’nare - Part Four

A/N: Making jokes in tense situations is my coping mechanism and it is also Navina’s. And neither of us are funny under pressure. We sure do try though. 

*this story will regularly be using words in Mando’a. for a good list of references click here.*

Summary: With Navina and Firo off to hit an abandoned Imperial base on Nevarro in hopes of scoring a hot new ride that won’t litter bolts all over the galaxy like the Flare will, and Mando responding to Cara’s holo about a beskar sighting, the stage is set for an introduction to remember... and hopefully not a bloody one. 

Warnings: talk of death, violence, weapons, language 

Word Count: 4.8k

Nevarro. 

“You sure about this, Nav?” Firo peered through a pair of binocs, turning a dial on the side to zoom in. He had them pointed at the fenced off facility that they had cased out shortly after landing on the volcanic planet. Abandoned by the Empire twice now, the base, carved into the side of a cliff out past the lava flats, had still not been addressed by the New Republic. Although it was clear from their cursory recon that the place had taken some recent damage, it appeared as though it still housed plenty of small ships and speeders. 

The plan had originally been to fly in on the Flare, Firo’s current ship, and set down on the landing pad. They’d discussed it first in the caves on Yavin, Firo sharing the location of the base and what limited information he had heard from a fellow smuggler over a game of Sabacc. Rumored to have no security detail, not even droids, they had figured that it would be an easy job. Load up the Flare and another small ship with a few speeders that they could sell on the black market, then split up, Firo in his ship and Navina in the one previously owned by the Empire. The goal was to be in and out and off of the planet so quickly that even if there were cameras or sensors on the base, they’d be long gone before anyone could turn up to stop them. And that had seemed completely feasible. Until now. 

Plans have never really been my thing anyway. “I’m sure.” Besides, this might actually work out to my benefit...

Pulling the lenses away from his eyes, he turned to face her. “Even though the Marshal is-” 

“Since when has a Marshal ever stopped us, Firo?” She shot him her cockiest smirk, casually crossing her ankles as she leaned her palm against the Flare’s hull. “Since when has-” Her friend gritted his teeth and tried to stop her, but it was too late. The panel she’d chosen to press her weight into gave under pressure, the metal creaking as it dented inwards sending Navina off balance. “Woah!” Firo sucked air through his teeth as he reached out to help her catch herself, but she brushed him off with a huff that he knew she had to work hard not to allow to turn into a laugh. “Alright, on an unrelated note, you need to have that looked at.” She pointed at the flimsy piece that upon closer inspection she realized had been poorly soldered on in an attempt to reinforce a previous repair. Shaking her head, she looked up at the ship and then back at Firo. “I can’t believe I got on this thing and flew here with you.” 

“Hey!” He tried to keep a straight face too, but a snicker threatened to turn into a full blown snort if he didn’t let it out. “Alright, yeah, she needs some work.” That’s the understatement of the century. “Still beats taking a commuter shuttle though, Harsa,” he teased, knowing that she had had to put up with a series of shuttle transfers to get to Yavin from Coruscant, and that it was her least favorite way to travel the galaxy. 

“Not if she falls apart the second you make the jump to hyperspace,” she teased back. He couldn’t come up with anything quickly enough, so she steered the conversation back to the task at hand. “But as I was saying, we’ve always been able to get around the Marshals we’ve come across. We’ll just have to... “ She shrugged. “Improvise.” With that, she turned and headed around the back of the ship to climb the ramp. Taking a large step up as the ramp no longer opened all the way, she sighed. This ship is a kriffing disaster. 

“Improvise?” Firo followed her around and hoisted himself up onto the ramp as she started rifling through her bag to gather what she would need. He crossed his arms and tilted his head, watching as she pulled two comm links from an inner compartment. 

Navina blew into one of them, then tapped the receiving end to make sure it was still in working order. “Yeah,” she said, tossing it to him with a grin. He snatched it out of the air and tucked it into the front pocket of his pants. “Improvise.” She checked the second comm link, giving it a shake for good measure before hiding it away under her shawl. 

Firo waited for her to look back up at him to respond. “We are pretty good at that.” 

“Good? Who’s better?” She asked with a wink, turning back to her bag to dig out her armor. “Remember that time on Onderon?” She pulled out a purple painted shoulder pauldron, untwisting the leather straps that were used to keep it in place. “When we-”  

“Nav?” He cut her off then, walking completely through the doorway to stand in front of her, and she knew instantly that he was concerned. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and set the second pauldron on top of the first one, the durasteel clinking softly. With a sigh, he went on, green-gold eyes narrowing briefly and his lips turning down into a slight frown. “I know there’s... something you’re not telling me.” 

She stiffened, a sudden wave of guilt making her wince. He’s right. There was a lot she hadn’t told him, and while she had reasoned that the less he knew about some of her plans the safer he’d be, she also knew better than to think that he wouldn’t be able to tell when she was being withholding. He knows me better than anyone, of course he knows that I’m… that something’s… “Firo, I-” 

“Look,” he placed a hand on her shoulder, gently turning her the rest of the way so that he could look straight at her as he spoke. “I didn’t want to say anything on Yavin, because I know that,” his forehead furrowed and he swallowed as he dropped his arm back to his side. “I know... what time of the year it is. I know that,” he shook his head and dropped his chin. “I know you were hoping that…dank farrik.” 

He knew that she was hoping that this would be the year that she would be reunited with her father and the little one. Navina’s mother was gone, that was a fact, but the rest of her family was a mystery. He knew that she only allowed herself those three days to hope that they were still alive, because the last time that they had seen each other they had agreed on a designated time each year that they would return to Yavin 4, the last place they had called home, if it were safe for them to do so. She and her mother had missed the first few years, the need to stay hidden keeping them from being able to make the trip. At that time her parents were still able to at least transmit the occasional holo, and while she wanted nothing more than to be able to see her father and the child that she affectionately called verd’ika, she understood, even then, that their hiding was necessary. This is the Way. She could remember thinking it even then, could hear her own small voice repeating the words back to her mother, the two of them tucking their hopes away for another year.

Twenty three years later, she was still packing and unpacking that hope, the thing riddled with creases and worn thin along the folds. She knew that the odds weren’t good that her family was still alive, or if they were, that they hadn’t been captured or separated. Regardless, every year she gave herself three days to air that hope, to go home and wait for them to join her there. But this year was no different from the last one. They’re- she squeezed her eyes shut against the word. No. She wouldn’t even think the word until she had confirmation. 

Ni partayli, gar darasuum. I remember you, so you are eternal. As the phrase played in her head, she reached under the cowl of her shawl for the pendant around her neck, squeezing it until she could feel the tusks digging into her palm and then running her finger around the rim of one carved eye, nail scratching against the hard, faceted stone that had been set inside. I remember. 

And she had been remembering so much lately, the flashes from the night they had fled Concordia coming much more clearly than ever before. It made no sense to her that she would suddenly be able to recall clips of dialogue or images of faces with increasing ease as more time passed, but for the last few months that had been the case. And then when Firo had found her father’s kal, it had been too simple to give in to the time-worn hope, too tempting to see it as a sign. But it had obviously been there the whole time, she told herself, despite the fact that it wasn’t obvious at all. 

She hadn’t told Firo about the increased power or frequency with which the amethyst tinted memories were coming to her, but that wasn’t all she was keeping from him, and it was the second omission that she truly felt guilty about. He was extremely gracious in granting her whatever level of secrecy or privacy she wanted or needed when it came to her family and the closure that she longed for there. While he knew she didn’t truly consider herself to be a Mandalorian as she’d never sworn the Creed or been fitted for her own armor, he understood that she still held fast to the traditions and beliefs that she was raised on; that her clan - her aliit, one of the few Mando’a words that Firo had picked up through the years, and one that Navina thought was appropriate for him, always looking at him as a brother of sorts - was bonded together indelibly, and that she’d never turn her back on that bond.  

The guilt she felt was in no way related to her family or Yavin or her memories. It was in regards to what she’d heard in the lower levels of Coruscant, the city under the city at the center of the galaxy. A rumor, but one she’d been chasing for a long time, had caught her attention, and she couldn’t let it go until she’d seen it through, and it was for that reason that she was insistent upon going through with their plan to hit the abandoned base. Yes, she needed a ship. Firo could do with a new one, too, honestly. But she also needed to know if what she’d heard was true- that the Darksaber had changed hands once more… but that it had once more eluded both of the women who sought it most fiercely, herself, so that she could destroy it, and Bo-Katan of House Kryze, the radical who at one point plotted to overthrow her own sister for the Mandalorian throne. And if it is true, if it’s no longer in Imperial hands… I need to know who has it now. 

While she didn’t know the exact location of it, Navina knew that there had been, until recently, a Mandalorian covert here on Nevarro. She had no idea how large their numbers were, only that there had been a very violent standoff with the Imperial remnant who’s base she and Firo were about to loot. But the most interesting part of the rumors that she had collected in her travels from the Core Worlds to the Outer Rim, was that the New Republic’s Marshal stationed there had been linked to a Mandalorian- to the Mandalorian that the Imps had been targeting. So when she saw the woman with the badge pinned to her belt and the heavy blaster rifle she carried with absolute confidence, it had the exact opposite effect that that sort of deterrent would have on anyone else. I need to know. She sighed, binging one hand up to her forehead and pushing it back over her scalp. She grabbed the base of her long, thick braid and followed it down to the end, pulling it as she looked back up at her friend. But he needs to know, too.  

“Firo, it’s…” 

“It’s about that damn saber, isn’t it?” He raised one eyebrow in a high arch, and her stunned silence paired with the stupefied expression she knew she was wearing answered for her. “Yeah,” he nodded. “I know. You get…” he squinted at her, “you act differently when you have a lead on something about your family or that kriffing sword.” 

“Firo,” she reached for his arms, her hands cuffing around his biceps to emphasize how important this was to her. “That kriffing sword is what-” 

Bending his elbows, he grabbed her hands and pulled them down, not angrily but forcefully, holding her wrists as he spoke. “I know. I know what you… how you feel about it and about what it stands for and… and the part it played in…” He clamped his eyes shut then, but before he did she noticed how prominent the golden flecks in them were. He’s nervous. Of the two of them, Firo was absolutely more likely to worry when it came to her safety. She flinched, knowing that she had given him plenty of reasons to throughout the span of their friendship. The scrapes that he typically got himself into were almost always easy enough to weasel him out of with a little careful negotiation or a generous bribe. The spots she found herself in however, usually resulted in drawn blasters and blades. He let out a breath and released his grip on her wrists. “Nav, I just need to know you’re not gonna get yourself killed.” 

She clicked her tongue, trying to lighten the mood. “Come on, Firo, I’m a hard woman to kill. I have the-” 

“The scars to prove it,” he finished the second part of her sentence in unison with her, rolling his eyes. “I know. I’m trying to be serious here, Harsa.” 

“I know.” She said it quietly, blinking up at him as his hard frown softened. “I’m sorry, Firo, I should have told you what I was…” she shook her head, the end of her braid bouncing behind her. “I should have told you that I knew about…” she groaned, leaning forward until her forehead met his chest. 

To her surprise she felt it rumble as he chuckled. Huh? He’s… laughing? She picked her head up, a confused look on her face. “Apologizing is really rough for you, isn’t it?” 

With that she let out a laugh of her own. “Only with you though, isn’t that strange?” She winked at him, swatting at his stomach. 

“Very strange indeed,” he agreed, intercepting her swat and pushing her hand away. “Alright. So we’re improvising. What have you got so far?” 

Her grin climbed her cheeks then, and she laid out her new plot. “Not going to get myself killed, Firo. Just captured.” 

Less than an hour later they were prepped and ready to put their backup plan into action. Navina removed her gray shawl,  strapping her purple chestplate and pauldrons to the black flak vest she wore over her short sleeved black top. Next she wrapped her wrists in padded black fabric and slid the vambraces over them. The left one was utterly useless in terms of weaponry; it appeared as though at one point it was equipped with whistling birds, but the mechanism had been damaged by the previous owner and now its only use was protection. But it’s beskar, so it’s worth wearing. The right one still had a functioning flamethrower, though it was low on fuel, and a grappling line, though it had snared the last time she tried to deploy it so she made a mental note not to count on it cooperating this time either. Holstering her blaster on her thigh, she took her father’s beskar kal from her bag, attaching the sheath she had made for it on the trip to Nevarro to her belt. The last piece of armor she donned was her mother’s helmet, the traditional “T” shaped visor smashed along the eyeline, but the modulator and audio features still in working order. 

“Well look at you, Nav, you look like a real live Mando if I ever saw one.” You haven’t, bantha brain. “I like the,” he grasped his right wrist with his left hand, a quizzical look coming over his face as he tried to search for the right word. “Those things.” 

Firo had armed himself as well, a pair of blasters on his hips, a small knife in his boot, and a handful of different blaster cartridges on his bandolier that he could switch out for different effects if necessary. Navina felt a knot twist in her stomach though as she remarked not for the first time that he wore no armor at all, nothing to protect him but his speed if triggers were pulled down there. We’ve got to change that if this is the type of thing we’re going to be doing.

“Alright,” she let out a breath and locked her eyes with his through her broken visor. “Last chance to back out. This is my thing, you don’t have to be involved if you-” 

“Would you knock it off already?” He tapped the side of her helmet softly, the action causing her to snort as she recalled the first time he’d bopped her on the head while she was wearing the beskar helmet, and how he had nearly broken his hand. “You ready?” She nodded. I am. “Okay. Let’s go get you captured I guess.” Grumbling under his breath about how he had a feeling that he was going to regret this, he walked down the ramp, hopping off the edge where it dangled a foot or two from the ground. She followed on his heels, smiling to herself. 

Since they were changing the plan, they were no longer flying the Flare down to the base’s landing pad, as only one of them- Firo-  would be flying out. Instead they left the dilapidated ship where it was and headed for the entrance furthest from where the Marshal and the man she had with her were stationed. Navina would hold them off, distracting them while Firo made his way up to the landing pad to make off with a ship, and then hopefully, after she found out what she needed to know and got herself out of whatever lockup situation the New Republic’s Marshals instituted on Nevarro, she’d rendezvous with him here where the Flare was waiting, and they would head for some place where they could lay low for a week or two. They had their comm links in case they needed to contact one another after they separated. But Navina had a good feeling about how this was going to go. She kept that to herself though, sure that Firo would have some snarky comment about how her good feelings were almost always bad portents.

As they neared the edge of the cliff face that had been providing them cover, Navina reached out and stopped Firo in his tracks. “Promise me you’ll bail if I tell you to.”

“Uh oh,” he joked. “You have a good feeling, don’t you?” 

“Firo,” she groaned. “I mean it. Promise me if I tell you to leave you will. I-” 

“I promise, Nav.” He acquiesced then, giving the tail of her braid a slight tug where it stuck out from the bottom of her helmet. “Now, let’s go.” 

She nodded, and with that, they split, both heading off in different directions- Firo towards the secondary entrance that they’d found on their initial recon mission a few days back, and Navina straight towards the waiting Marshal. She glanced back over her shoulder as she reached the last of the small boulders she was darting between for cover, and seeing Firo’s boots disappear through the door, she took a deep breath and ran. 

“What’s the town to do with the law this far out on the flats?” Navina projected her voice over the empty space as she rounded the corner, making for where she knew the two temporary sentinels were waiting. 

But the second she got close, a third figure stepped into view, one that halted her in her tracks. Dank. Farrik. She raised her hands, palms facing outwards, as the sharp end of a long beskad stopped just shy of her helmet. Holding it was the most imposing Mandalorian she had ever laid eyes on. The man wasn’t much taller than she was, but the stance he took, the way that he held his body and his weapon would have been enough for her to know that he was a formidable fighter. On top of that, he was covered head to toe in beskar armor more pure and pristine than she knew to exist. The sword in his gloved hand was just the first that she noticed of what she now realized were many weapons- a blaster, spear, and vibroblade all visible, plus whatever devices he had installed on his vambraces. And that’s just what I can see. A Mandalorian like this one was liable to have at least four more weapons concealed. A Mando like this is a weapon.  

The Marshal and the the older man that had been waiting with her- as bait, Navina realized too late- stepped up behind the Mandalorian, the woman speaking. “You got this from here, Mando? I’m gonna go check out what her friend is up to inside.” Navina scowled at the woman who gave her a condescending look before the man answered. 

“Sure. I can take care of her. Take Karga with you.” He hadn’t turned away from Navina, and he hadn’t lowered his weapon. His voice, though modulated through his helmet, sounded calm and even, and she knew that while it likely offered some of his prey a false sense of comfort, she knew better. The Marshal and the other man didn’t hesitate to do as he said, the woman telling him to call for her if she needed him. He won’t, Navina fumed at her retreating figure. 

Neither of them said anything until the other two were out of sight, and all Navina could do was hope that Firo was running through the base at top speed. He just needs to get off of the pad, get out of here and then he’s- 

“Are you a Mandalorian?” He asked the question as he slid the end of his blade up onto the curve of the armor on her left shoulder, the beskar sword scraping a long divot into the top layer of painted durasteel with a sharp shing. 

She let her eyes flick down to where the blade sat without moving her head, hands still in front of her. Stall. Give Firo more time to get out. The blade had only cut through the outer shell of her pauldron, but he had barely used any force at all and she knew she had to answer carefully because one wrong word or uncalculated move would cost her more than the time needed to repair her armor. He’ll chop my arm clean off with that thing. “That depends on who you ask,” she raised her eyes back up to where his would be if she could see them, noticing a sculpted signet in the shape of a mudhorn on his own shoulder piece. 

“I’m asking you,” he answered, tone shedding some of its evenness as with the quick turn of his wrist the blade slipped between her pauldron and flak vest, slicing it off in one fluid motion. “And I want an answer. Are you a Mandalorian? Did you swear the Creed?” 

Loud bangs coming from the landing pad above them told her that Firo was almost home free. Just a few more seconds. “I was never given the chance to. My clan was attacked when I was a child.” Honesty seemed the best course of action at this point. Though she was a skilled fighter, Navina knew when she was outmatched and outgunned. 

“Your armor,” he nodded his head in her direction then, the first move he’d made that hadn’t been to slice her pauldron to pieces. “How did you come by it if it wasn’t made for you?” 

“Took the pauldrons and chest piece from a trooper,” she stated, though she knew that was the least of his cares. “These?” she raised her wrists up higher, “these I stole from a back ally trader. You want ‘em? They’re yours.” He nodded again, and she mirrored the gesture, glancing up to the pad as the rumbling sound of thrusters preparing to take off told her that Firo was going to make it out safely. Good. That’s all that… all that matters. She slowly pulled the vambraces from her wrists, tossing them at the Mandalorian’s feet. “They’re busted and they don’t fit, so by all means.” 

“Your helmet.” He demanded. 

“Now that I will not be parting with,” she told him, trying to muster up all of the evenness that she could. 

“It looks like pure beskar.” It wasn’t a question. 

“It is. It’s the only piece of pure beskar I own, aside from,” she pointed to her belt with one hand, the other still suspended in the air between them. He nodded his approval for her to pull the kal from the sheath. “Aside from this.” Holding the dagger out for him to see, she brought it slowly up to his beskad and clanged them together, the sound ringing out and making it clear to both of them that both blades were entirely pure. “And I won’t be giving you either of them, Mando.” Sheathing her kal again, she brought that same hand up to her chest, digging under the flimsy armor and pulling out her mother’s mythosaur necklace. “They belonged to my parents, and if you want them you’re going to have to kill me.” 

At the sight of the pendant he lowered his weapon and cocked his head to the side. “The Mythosaur… but what is, why is there…” 

Navina looked down at the pendant in her hand then, the stone visible in its eyes seeming to glow a fierce shade of purple. She sucked in a breath as she brought her other hand up to cover it, thinking that it was just the harsh Nevarro sun that was causing it to shine more brightly than it ever had before. But when shaded by her other palm the purple light seemed only to shine brighter. “It’s never… it’s never done that before, never so…” 

Just then a comm link clicked in the Mandalorian’s pocket, and he pulled it out, pressing the button on the side. “Cara,” he spoke the woman’s name. 

“The other one got away with a ship and a few speeders. You good down there?” 

Navina felt a fleeting relief as she heard that Firo was off the base and that he’d even managed to make it profitable for himself. The Mandalorian stared at her for long seconds before answering, holding the communicator in his fist close to his helmet. “I’m taking this one back with me.” With that, he switched off the communicator and put it back in his pocket, unhooking a set of binders from his hip. “I can put these on you and you can follow me,” he offered, “Or,” he looked down at the blaster on his hip. “I can set that to stun and-” 

Navina shoved her wrists in his direction. “Clap ‘em on then,” she sighed and he did, securing them so smoothly she was sure he’d done it hundreds of times at least. “Where uh… where are we going?” 

Sheathing his sword on his belt, he looked straight at her and answered. “No questions.” He bent down and picked up the discarded vambraces, then started walking in the opposite direction. When she didn’t follow right away, he reached for his blaster. “I’m not sure when the last time I used the stun setting was,” he said, hand poised over his weapon. “Not sure if it still works.” Looking back over his shoulder at her, he finished the threat. “Don’t make me test it on you.” 

“This is the Way,” she responded reluctantly. 

With that he started walking again, Navina following closely behind in silence. 

Nope. Plans are not my thing.   

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Thank you for reading! Please feel free to let me know if you would like to be added to or removed from the tags! :)

tags: @something-tofightfor​​​​ @alraedesigns​​​​ @pheedraws​​​​ @valkblue​​​​ @malionnes​​​​ @gollyderek​

[is0gild]

Ice Cream and Fire Oven Pizza - Bonus Chapter 1

Pairing: Elsa x Lea/Axel || Side Pairing: Riku x OC

Summary: Modern AU. She's an introvert ball of nerves who works at Ice Palace, a mall food court ice cream shop. He's the outgoing, sassy goofball who works at the Pizza Planet across the way. Hilarity, snark, and fluffy romcom hijinks ensue.

Word Count: 12,577

FIRST CHAPTER || PREVIOUS CHAPTER  | | NEXT CHAPTER

Credit for super friggin’ cute and super friggin’ amazing cover art goes to the super friggin’ talented ky-jane here on tumblr!

"Do you think Kristoff is cute?" Anna asked, elbows propped on the table and chin in both hands as she watched the man in question from across the food court.

"You kiddin'? The dude's a hunkasaurus. Total dreamboat," Lea replied distractedly, not looking up from his current task. He was seated atop a different table, this one behind me, his feet perched to either side of me on the armrests of my chair as he played with my hair, slowly braiding and unbraiding it only to rebraid it again. "Better snap him up quick. If you don't slice yourself off a piece of that beefcake, I might beatcha to it."

My sister blew out an amused pft through her teeth as she looked over at him. "Sure, like he'd even give you the time of day."

"Oh-ho, trust me. If I wanted that boy, I'd have him."

"Anna," I sighed, interjecting myself back into the conversation. "Focus, please."

She blinked owlishly back at me, clearly having already forgotten my question. Or quite possibly not even having heard it in the first place. "...on…?" she asked at last, dragging the word out uncertainly.

I exhaled softly. "About Mother and Father?"

Her eyes darted to the left as she squinted and tried, "As in… do they think Kristoff is cute?"

My eyelids drooped and I gave a flat, "No."

Today found me with not one visitor on my lunch break, but two. Lea came as little shock. Even though he had the day off, he'd lately taken to doing his homework here in the food court whenever I was on the clock. That way, he could spend my lunches with me, not to mention score free ice cream throughout the day. Anna, on the other hand, had been an unexpected surprise, but always a welcome one of course. However, it was quickly becoming apparent that it probably wasn't really me she'd come to see.

Not if the way she kept eyeing my coworker as he ran the ice cream counter was any indication.

It'd been a few weeks now since her rather explosive breakup with Hans. Given that she normally got over past boyfriends in under a day, maybe two tops, the fact that it'd taken her this long to quit moping over him said something. But it seemed at long last she was back to her old, perky self again and all but wearing a "cute, single and ready to mingle" sandwich board sign. And apparently it was Kristoff's lucky day, for it seemed my sister had set her mingle-crosshairs on him as her latest conquest.

I didn't know whether to congratulate the guy or tell him to run. My sister would eat him alive.

Anna was now staring at me expectantly, waiting for me to elaborate. I bit my bottom lip, looking down as my fingers absently began to trace the snowflake pattern of my stockings. "I just… I was wondering… how Mother and Father were doing, that's all."

I'd still yet to speak to them since the little blowout at their house the weekend of Grandfather's birthday. If they weren't going to contact me, I certainly wasn't going to make any effort to reach out to them either. Still, I couldn't deny that it weighed on me a bit. I'd mostly been trying to keep my mind off it, trying to distract myself by throwing all my attention and energy into rehearsals.

She frowned then puffed out a heavy breath, causing her lips to flap. "Ya know, I'm not sure really… Fine, I guess? The same? They're not really on speaking terms with me since they found out about me and Butthead."

If you couldn't guess, that was her oh so charming nickname for Hans now.

Not to mention the only name anyone was allowed to refer to him as in Anna's presence these days.

"Ah," I breathed, fingers fidgeting with the hem of my work skirt. "...I see."

Her lips pursed to one side. "Now that I think about it though… them and Grandpa haven't really been on speaking terms either lately. But no clue if that's so much as his choice or theirs."

"Oh? Huh…" my brow furrowed and my head tipped to one side.

What could it mean?

"You should talk to 'em, ya know," came Lea's low voice suddenly as he hunched down next to my ear.

A tiny scowl twisted my face as I glanced over at him. He quirked an eyebrow back at me from beneath my Ice Palace cap, which he was currently wearing backwards. I huffed and crossed my arms, "If they want to talk to me, they know where to find me."

He snorted and sat up straight once more, his fingers returning to gently combing through my hair, eliciting a tingle in my scalp that made me shiver. "Someone has to be the first one."

"Yeah. Them," I harrumphed.

Now he pressed his lips to the back of my head before his hand ruffled my bangs. "You can be so stubborn sometimes, ya know that?"

No comment.

"Right!" Anna was abruptly hopping up to her feet and pumping a fist as she set her determined eyes on Kristoff once more. "I'm gonna march up to that boy and work my magic! Prepare to have your socks knocked off, you big sexy manbeast!" She then smoothed a hand over her hair, tugged on the neckline of her dress to flash a little more cleavage, and took one confident step towards the Ice Palace.

That was as far as she got before, "Hold it!" A hand shot out to snag her elbow, stopping her in her tracks. "We need to talk to you."

Anna blinked down at the offending hand, then at its owner, Rayne. She'd just shown up with a grinning and waving Kairi at her side.

Where'd they come from? I hadn't even seen either of them approaching.

"...me?" Anna asked, pointing at herself as both eyebrows flew up her forehead.

My roomie nodded then turned her eyes towards me to clarify, "Both of you."

Huh. This now brought the count up to four people dropping by to see me on my lunch break today. Never before had I been in such high demand.

Had I become, dare I say it… popular?

Dear god, I hope not!

Rayne's gaze narrowed on Lea. "Beat it, Red. This doesn't concern you."

"You beat it!" Lea shot back as his arms hugged me from behind, pulling me back against his chest. He made a small hmph that I more felt than heard as he rested his chin atop my head, "This is my El Time. You're not allowed to cut in on it, you live with her."

She rolled her eyes. "You two have plans together tonight once her shift is over, right?"

"So?"

"So you can give up five minutes of your precious El Time for me and Kai here to have a quick chat with her. Now go on, shoo," she dismissed him with a bored flick of her wrist.

He grumbled, "Ugh, fine. Looks like the kiddos just punched in over at Pizza Planet, so guess I could go grace their sad existences with my glorious presence." Releasing me, he pulled my elastic band off his wrist so he could tie my hair back into its ponytail. Then he was nuzzling his face into my neck, planting a quick peck there before whispering in my ear, "Be back in a sec. You'll miss me, I know, but try to keep the tears in check, hm?"

In response, I turned my head to kiss him on the nose… followed by smothering his face with my hand and shoving him away. He sniggered, pushing himself off the table.

"Hope you're ready to have your ass curb stomped tomorrow, Organization scum," Kairi slyly smirked at him.

"Big talk coming from someone's who lost the last two years runnin' now, Princess twerp," he tugged down his left lower eyelid with his middle finger and razzed his tongue at her before turning and jogging off, still wearing my cap.

Eyes flicking back and forth between him and Kairi, Anna asked, "What was that about?"

"Laser tag," I grinned softly as my gaze followed Lea for a second before I reached back to tighten my ponytail and glanced at the rest of ladies once more. "It's practically all he's been talking about for the last week."

"Mm-hm," Kairi nodded as she and Rayne pulled up chairs to sit with us. "It's also what we want to talk to you about. We're here to recruit you two!"

My head rocked back slightly. Then my brows knit together as my eyes darted about. Uh, heh… no thanks! Checking my phone, I stood up quickly, "Er… would you look at the time? I'm due back from lunch! I should go cloc-"

"Sit!" Anna snagged my wrist and jerked me back down into my seat with a firm thud. "You still got at least another ten minutes, liar!"

"Snitch," I grumbled back.

Lifting her chin with a smug little smirk, she looked back at the other two. "Please, continue."

"You know Space Paranoids, right? The laser tag place here in the mall?" Rayne began, addressing Anna more so than me, seeing as how I already had some clue as to what was going on, thanks to Lea. "Well some years back, a buncha us rented the entire place out for like a whole day and it was a total blast. We all had so much fun that we decided to make it an annual thing. More and more kept joining every year and as people kept getting more and more competitive, it wasn't long before two official teams were formed. Lea's group calls themselves the Organization."

"Such a buncha dorks," Kairi shook her head with a snerk. Then she was pointing back and forth between her and Rayne, "Our team is way cooler. We're the Princesses."

Anna bit back a grin and cocked one eyebrow at my roommate. "The Princesses? Really?"

She closed her eyes and heaved a sigh, "Kai's idea. It stuck."

"Hey now. Princesses are cute and kick serious butt," Kairi cockily flipped her hair back over her shoulder.

"Anyway," Rayne chimed back in, "we thought this year those Organization losers were gonna have to forfeit because they were down two teammates that moved away recently. However, not only did those jerks manage to snag the mall security guards as replacements, but now we're down two people ourselves."

"Really? Who?" Anna eagerly leaned forward in her seat, thoroughly invested now.

"Me," she muttered, face twisting sourly as she gestured down to her belly. At five months along now, she was starting to look very much pregnant. She huffed indignantly, "Some people think it might not be safe for the baby."

By the tone of her voice, I was guessing "some people" included her husband.

"You are getting pretty big now, Ray-Ray," Anna snickered. "Maybe it's a good idea-"

"Shush!" she glared, striking up a finger in warning. "I get enough of that from Riku!"

Kairi spoke up once more, "Our other person who's out this time round is Ariel. She's got bronchitis."

I blinked. "Again?!"

"Again," she and Rayne groaned in unison. Kairi then beamed, clapping her hands together once, "That's where you two come in! Could ya please, please, pretty please help us outta this major jam here and top off our team? Whaddya say?"

"Sweet! Count us in!" Anna declared, excitedly balling her hands into fists in front of her chest.

"Correction. You can count her in," I touched Anna's shoulder, then placed a hand over my chest, "and me out."

Kairi's face fell, "But we need you!"

I snorted, "No you don't, I'm the last person you need. I've never played laser tag before. I've never even held a, uh… um…" I grimaced, floundering for the right word before saying lamely, "...laser… beam… shooter… thingie ever in my life!"

"You can just call it a gun, sweetie," Rayne cooed, reaching over to pat my hands.

"But that's the beauty of it! That doesn't matter! We don't need you to be good," Kairi argued before a tiny, wicked smile broke out across her face. "We just need you to take care of Lea."

My head tilted to the right as I frowned. "...Lea?"

Rayne nodded, "Yup! He's one of their best players, along with Xigbar and Saïx."

"Saïx?" I echoed, squinting at her. "You mean to tell me he's awake during the daytime for this?"

"There's three days a year that dude'll brave the sun, and our yearly laser tag game is one of those days. He takes it surprisingly seriously," Rayne explained solemnly.

Wrinkling my nose up at the ceiling, I inhaled and exhaled loudly. "I still don't understand how I'm supposed to help you with Lea, especially if he's as good as you say he is."

"Simple!" Kairi chirped. "You just need to keep him distracted! Mess with his head a lil. Throw him off his game just long enough for the rest of us to knock him outta the match early."

I furrowed my brow at her. "...and how exactly am I supposed to do that?"

"Isn't it obvious?" She gave me an impish wink. "Use your feminine wiles."

"My…?" A crease formed between my eyebrows now as I stared down at my lap. "...do I even have those?"

Kairi laughed, "Course you do! All girls have them."

"Yeah, even you, Sis!" Anna pinched my cheek. I shut one eye against it, swatting her hand away.

"Trust me, all Elsa has to do is exist around that boy and he's a total goner. He'll be eliminated so fast, he won't even know what hit him," Rayne muttered to Kairi, who nodded in agreement. Then my roomie was locking eyes with me once more, "So how 'bout it, sweetpea? Will you help us out?"

I shifted in my seat uncomfortably. "I… uh…"

Anna nudged her shoulder with mine, "C'mon, Sis, pleeeeeeeease? I'm super friggin' pumped, this sounds like so much fun!"

Clasping my hands between hers, Kairi pleaded, "Help us, Elsa-Wan Kenobi! You're our only hope!"

"Well, I… er…"

Then they did it.

I was the victim of a triple-decker puppy-dog-eyes pout.

Perhaps I could have withstood one, even if it was Anna's. And maybe, just maybe I could've even resisted the combined force of two. But three?

I defy anyone to say no to that.

Shoulders slumping, I gave a long drawn out sigh. "...what time tomorrow?"

All three of them threw up their hands and cheered. After they took a few seconds to settle back down, Kairi said, "Don't worry, we'll get all the deets to you soon! And remember, you're our ace in the hole. Our secret weapon!"

A tiny gulp. "I am?"

"Yup! So don't breathe a single word of this to Lea!"

And breathe a word I did not. Thus, the next day…

"What the…? Oh, hell no!"

At Lea's outburst, I glanced towards him as Kairi, Anna and I walked out into the Space Paranoids lobby. We'd just been freshly geared up with blasters, half-helmets and vests - and by vests, I meant small, impossible-to-hit (at least I thought so anyway) targets over our hearts held in place by glow-in-the-dark, suspender-like straps that latched back behind our shoulders where a second target was located. The helmets also had targets on them, as well as see-through plastic visors that covered our eyes.

The lobby seemed to be split by an invisible line, with what looked to be the Princesses grouped up together on one side and what I could only assume was the Organization on the other, given that Lea was standing with them as he glared daggers at Kairi from across the room. She merely shot him a cheeky smirk and called, "Problem, beanstalk?"

He marched over, crossing enemy lines to glare down his nose at the considerably shorter redhead. "Uh-uh. Nope. Not allowed. I call foul. Objection!"

She snorted, unconcerned as she checked her nails and shrugged. "Dunno what has your panties in such a twist, big guy. Care to enlighten me?"

He jabbed a finger in my direction while still directing his snarl at her, "Get her outta here. She's not part of this, find someone else."

Kairi scoffed, "There's nothing in the rules declaring girlfriends off limits. In fact, there are no rules."

"Well there should be! In fact, I'll draw some up right this damn second!" he huffed, tucking his blaster into the back of his pants before storming over to a counter, behind which a pasty-complexioned employee currently stood. Lea snatched a pen off the countertop before stomping back over to us, angrily jamming his hand into one of his pockets and fishing out something crumpled. Then he slammed it to the wall and attempted to smooth it (without much success), uncapped the pen with his teeth and began scrawling across it.

"Rule 1…" he enunciated as his pen furiously scribbled, "...no… girlfriends…" He paused, then amended, "or boyfriends…" Another pause, then he scribbled it all out and started over. "Rule 1… no… smooch-buddies…" he underlined those first two words three times before continuing," ...on opposite… teams. Period. That's it. That's all… the rules." His pen stabbed down hard with finality before he shoved the crinkled thing with his handwriting all over it in front of Kairi's face. "There. Rules. Happy?"

Kairi dully stared at what he was holding, unfazed. Then her eyelids drooped. "...that's a napkin."

Lea rolled his eyes, "So what? Doesn't make 'em any less ironclad!"

She gingerly took "the rules" from him, eyeing them with a thoughtful nod for a second. Then she looked him dead in the eye as she ripped them in two, forcing a horrified gasp out of him as the shredded halfs fluttered to the ground. "Sorry, I don't recognize your napkin rules. She's playing, so suck it up."

He narrowed his eyes down at her. "I'm onto you. I know what you're doing."

"Oh? What, pray tell, is it that I'm doing?" she asked all sugar-sweet like.

His face pinched and there was a low, annoyed growl in his throat. Then he pointed two fingers at his eyes, then at her, then back and forth a few more times. "I see you, villain!" he hissed before turning away from her to address me now, his face and tone softening. "...can I talk to you real quick? Please?"

I fidgeted with my gun, struggling to keep a straight face after the sheer ridiculousness of the tiny spat I'd just witnessed, especially with them both wearing their little cheap, plastic helmets the whole time and looking absolutely absurd. At my nod, he slipped his hand into mine and led me over to an empty corner of the lobby where we could chat with some small amount of privacy.

"If those girls pressured you into doing this, you can ignore 'em, ya know," he told me quietly, shooting the Princesses one final scowl out of the corner of his eye. "You don't hafta do this if you don't want to."

I bit back a grin. He actually kind of looked adorable right now, sulking like an overgrown child behind that silly eye-visor he was wearing. It was hard to take him seriously. "It's okay. Really. I'll admit, I was a bit nervous and hesitant at first, but this also sounds like it might be kind of fun. It's fine. I want to play."

"But I don't want you to," he frowned, his fingers reaching out to idly fiddle with the tip of my braid. I don't think he even realized he was doing it. "...some of the guys don't hold back, El. Once that starting buzzer blasts, all bets are off and it can get pretty rough in there. You could get seriously hurt."

I slowly shook my head, "But the other girls-"

"-have played this before and know what they're getting into. You don't," he insisted.

I made a small hmph in my throat as my stubbornness began to spark. "How bad could it be? Really?" Glancing back towards the Princesses, I pointed out one of them in particular. "What about her, right there? She's, what… ten? Eleven years old? If you got grade schoolers playing, I think I'll be fine."

"She's one of their scariest players. Seriously, they hop that kid up on a mega shit ton of sugar from the Wonderland candy store until she's stark raving mad, then set her loose to wreak unholy hell in the laser tag grounds."

Huh. On second glance, the little girl did look twitchy. Almost freakishly so.

Sighing, I looked back up at Lea once more. "Look, I told Kairi and the others I would play, and that's what I'm going to do. I'd feel bad backing out now as I doubt they'd be able to replace me at the last second like this. I can take care of myself, you know. I promise I'll be careful, but I am doing this," I brought a comforting hand up to stroke his cheek, my eyes crinkling slightly. "So suck it up."

He snorted, dragging a hand along the nape of his neck and puffing out a heavy breath. "Fine, I guess I can't stop ya. But know this," he hunched down to my eye-level, tapping me lightly on the nose, "if we cross paths in there, don't think I'll go easy on ya."

"Good," I grinned back. "Neither will I."

"Oh-ho, pretty sure of ourselves, are we?" he smiled, rubbing a finger over his chin now. "In that case, care to put a lil wager on this?"

I turned my head to one side, shooting him some side-eye. "...I'm listening."

"How 'bout… whoever is the last one standing between the two of us, wins. And if I win…" his eyes hooded as he ducked down next to my ear, his voice silky and low as he continued, "...you ravage me senseless tonight. Maybe while wearing that lil mini skirt I like ya in so much."

My face warmed. Flirting was a part of relationships that I still wasn't fully accustomed to just yet. Hans had never really done it and it's not like I could simply brush it off as Lea's empty teasing anymore. Clearing my throat, I just asked, "And if I win?"

He gave a soft chuckle, nipping at my earlobe. "Then I'm the one who ravages you senseless."

A tiny smirk tugged at my lips. "...maybe while you're the one wearing the mini skirt?"

Lea shot up straight, eyes wide. Then he laughed, "Deal!"

I stared at him blankly. "I was joking."

"I wasn't. Be careful whatcha wish for," he singsonged, wagging a finger in my face. I merely drooped my eyelids at him and he snerked. Then his hand was cupping the back of my head, pulling me in for a sound kiss to the lips and murmuring, "Good luck."

"You too," my arms hugged his neck as I gave him a light peck in return. "You're going to need it."

"You have way too much confidence for someone who's never played before," he snorted and I just shrugged. Then we reluctantly parted and started making our way back to our respective teams.

I glanced around as I walked, getting a better look at the lobby. It had a very retro futuristic feel to it, what with all its hard angular lines that glowed neon blue and red decorating the walls, ceiling and floor. Even that pale employee behind the counter was dressed head-to-toe to match the room. His nametag read TRON - I had to wonder if that was an actual real name or (more likely) just the name he was assigned while on the job. On the wall beyond the two teams were a pair of doors, one that was dark grey and blue like the colors of the Princesses' helmets, while the other was white and red like the Organization's. I could only assume each group would enter through their matching door once the game was about to start.

Opposite the room from there was a wall made entirely of thick glass, through which could be seen the front desk where customers came in to sign up and pay for laser tag rounds. That area had several flatscreens hanging on the walls showing live feeds of various sections of the laser tag arena for onlookers to observe the match in realtime, so the place was currently packed with a small mob of people who'd come to watch our little face-off. It seemed this annual event drew quite the crowd.

While I didn't recognize most of the faces, there were a few familiar ones here and there. Aqua, Ventus, and Terra grouped together on one side… Yuffie and Leon on another… and over next to Sora, I could even spot Naminé there with a sketchpad in hand. I think she was drawing us players all decked out in our gear. And was that… Vanitas, of all people, trying to cozy up next to her? She seemed oblivious to him. Rayne, on the other hand, most definitely was not. She shoved her baby bump in between the two of them, forcing Vanitas to stumble back a step as she plucked Naminé's art pad from her hands and smacked the goth lord across the face with it. She then handed it back to Naminé, who just went back to sketching as if nothing had happened. Then Rayne was smiling and waving at me through the glass as Riku stepped up behind her to slip his arms around her waist and rest his chin on her shoulder.

As I waved back and took my spot next to Anna with the rest of the girls, I heard a wry voice coming from the enemy team, "Trouble with the lil missus, Flamesilocks?"

"Bite me, Cyclops," Lea snapped as he rejoined his team, his sour mood apparently resurging.

"Heh. As if," that same smug voice shot back. It belonged to a tall man with a jagged scar on one cheek and an eyepatch that looked rather odd to say the least when paired with his helmet's visor. His long black and grey-streaked ponytail swished as he then bent low into a dramatic, mocking bow directed towards another guy with long silver hair who I recognized as the supervisor over at Cinema XIII. "If I may do the honors, oh illustrious leader?"

The man - presumably their team captain - said nothing, just gave an uninterested flick of his hand.

That was all the go-ahead Eyepatch needed. Raising his voice so both teams could hear, he called, "Alright, listen up, scrubs! For most of you, this ain't your first rodeo, but I'll give a quick rundown anyhow seeing as we have a few first-timers in the ranks today. Here's the short and skinny of it: This first round - as in the only round that really matters - is one shot, one kill. Meaning all it takes is one hit and," he smirked, dragging his thumb across his throat, "you're out. Luckily for you gals, friendly fire has been disabled. This is where we separate the real men from the thumb-suckers. And there are zero points this first match, so when all you pretty, pretty Princesses are KO'd-"

"When?" Kairi sneered, narrowing her eyes at him from across the room.

He flashed her a toothy grin. "You hard of hearing, Strawberry Shortcake? Must be all that glitter and unicorns jamming up your earholes. Yes, when all you ladies are down for the count," he jerked his thumb to his chest, "we win. And for any boohooers out there who wanna play by points and multiple lives, don't worry. All the matches after this one are wimp-friendly. But might I suggest instead of relying on those lame handicaps, you all just get good like me?" he puffed up his chest, planting one hand on his hip while twirling his blaster in the other.

Suddenly the target on his vest lit up red and started beeping loudly, indicating he'd been hit. His assailant - a chick on our team with long, wild, curly red hair - lowered her gun with a snort before roaring with laughter while several of the other girls joined in.

Eyepatch chuckled, "Nice potshot, Hotshot. Save it for the game."

I had to wonder if this guy was Xigbar - one of the Organization's three best players besides Lea and Saïx, or so I'd been told. He certainly seemed cocky enough, that was for sure. Then again, cocky didn't necessarily mean he was any good.

As I eyed the other Organization members, I spotted a few I recognized from around the mall. The team leader wasn't the only one from the movie theater - that kid with the emo haircut was there too. So was Larxene, the blonde chick sporting the funky hairdo. I'd finally had a chance to learn her name, seeing as how she was assistant director in the musical I'd joined. The director himself, Marluxia, was there too, as well as Demyx who was helping provide our play's music and who also worked at The Blue Sitar, if I was recalling correctly. Then there was Roxas and Xion, who were doing their best to perk up a still slightly pouty Lea. Saïx was near at hand to those three, although he seemed to be keeping to himself and concentrating… or more like… meditating? Maybe... honing for the upcoming match? Wow, he certainly did take this seriously!

Next in the lineup were the two mall security guards who I'd met that night I'd accidentally pushed The Anger Button on the soft serve/milkshake machine - their names were escaping me at the moment. And lastly, there were two blondes. The first one had a goatee and piercings and I believe I remembered seeing him working at the magic shop here at the mall. The other one wore his hair long and had a chilly expression. I don't think I'd noticed him around the mall ever. In any case, I suppose there was a chance one of them could be Xigbar too.

A siren blast suddenly blared out through the overheard speakers, making me jump as the team doors slid open. Whoops and hollers from the players filled the room as they all started shuffling into their corresponding doorways. Anna hooked her arm through mine, flashed me a grin and dragged me along to follow the others.

"Don't worry, big guy, we'll try to return her to you in one piece," Kairi gave Lea one last parting shot. In response, he merely flipped her the bird as he disappeared through his door and all the Princesses erupted into cackles.

Beyond the doorway was a long winding hallway that got darker and darker the deeper we went, the only light source now coming from those neon glowing lines above, below and all around us. The further in we got, the more it began to look like we had somehow found our way inside a ginormous computer from the 80s. Eventually it brought us to another big room that was decorated in nothing but blue lines - our team's HQ, if I had to take a guess. There were three more sealed doors that would probably lead out to the rest of the map once they opened up, with huge, light-up timers over each one counting down until the start of the match. We had less than five minutes.

Quick introductions were made - I actually knew a handful of the Princesses already. There was Snow White and Tiana, who were in the musical with me. Aurora, who I remembered from auditions. Belle from Friday night drinks at the 7th Heaven. Then some girls I recalled seeing around the mall and was just now getting to know their names: Cindy from The Glass Slipper, Jasmine from Cave of Wonders, and Rapunzel from Hair, Here, Everywhere - gosh, how was she not going to trip over all that hair of hers while she ran around playing laser tag?!

"And this," Kairi went on, gesturing towards the redhead who'd landed a hit on Xigbar earlier during his little speech, "is Merida from over at DunBroch Goods, the camping and sporting goods store. She's our best shot."

"You're damn right I am!" she declared proudly in a thick Scottish accent. "And I've been putting extra time in over at the archery range! All those scaffy dolts aren't gonna know what hit 'em!"

Next Kairi was nodding towards the little twitchy girl. "This here is Alice. She's Luxord's baby sister from over on the other team." I smiled and Anna began to wave, but Kairi grabbed her wrist and lowered it with a subtle shake of her head, whispering, "Try not to make eye contact."

Apparently lost in the sugar-rush sauce, Alice just gave another twitch.

"And last but most certainly not least, this is Kida from Atlantis Electronics," Kairi pointed to a girl with long white hair and a blue face tattoo who grinned big, "annnnnnd Moana from Heart of Te Fiti, the lil surf outlet we have here." The chick with a mane of frizzy black hair next to Kida wiggled her fingers in greeting.

"Right, that's everyone! Now, onto the plan of attack!" Kairi clapped her hands and rubbed them together with an evil gleam in her eyes. "Everyone knows their positions except for the newbies. Anna, stick close to Alice and Punzie."

"Got it!" my sister nodded before giving a tiny squeal and bouncing on the balls of her feet. "Ahhh! I'm so excited!"

Kairi then looked to me, "As for you, you're with Merida and me. We'll keep you safe until we can track down your boy toy. Then it's all up to you to do your stuff!"

My forehead wrinkled. "My… stuff?"

"Ya know," she waggled her eyebrows at me. "Work that groove thang, girlfriend!"

...first it was feminine wiles. Now apparently I also had a "groove thang?"

I was learning so much about myself within the past twenty-four hours.

"Once you got him good and distracted and all puddy in your sweet lil hands, Merida and I will be sure to put him six feet under," Kairi smirked, squeezing one eye shut as she aimed her blaster and mimed firing it, shouting, "Blam!" before blowing the imaginary smoke away from the barrel and beaming.

"Blue combatants prepare to enter the Grid in sixty seconds," a synthesized female voice announced over the sound system.

Kairi glanced up at it, then added, "Now! Real fast before the game starts, let's show you ladies how these bad boys work!"

In the scant time we had remaining, Anna and I were given a quick rundown on how to aim and reload our guns. Then we broke into smaller groups that stood ready at each of the three doors that would soon open. As my teammates started giggling and counting down the final seconds in a loud chant, I swallowed hard.

All that confidence I'd been flaunting to Lea earlier? Yeah, nothing but talk. Now that the time was finally upon us, icy anxiety began to flood my veins and my free hand came up to twist at my braid. On its own, playing laser tag for the first time was scary enough since I really had no idea what I was doing. But all this talk tossed around about feminine wiles and, er… groove thangs? Wasn't helping. I wasn't sure if I could pull off what the Princesses were asking me to do.

...Rayne had said me just existing around Lea would trip him up. Maybe that would be enough? Maybe-

Another siren blast startled me once again and those big metallic doors slid open. Alice let loose a blood curdling war cry that was surprisingly loud for one so small before charging off out of her door. Anna mimicked her with a bellow of her own as she and Rapunzel raced after her. "Come on!" Kairi snagged my elbow and I staggered into a run between her and Merida as we exited through our own doorway with Moana and Kida bringing up the rear.

The place was an absolute maze inside. We took so many turns that it wasn't long before I was utterly lost and couldn't have found my way back to HQ if I'd even tried. Each new section we entered looked exactly the same as the last. It was all just dim lighting and those glowing blue, red, and now orange lines. Part of me was beginning to wonder if we were just running around in circles.

I could hear muffled shouts and digital blasts echoing from beyond the walls surrounding us, coming from somewhere that sounded far away and making me wonder just how big this map really was. Regardless, each zip and every zap that reached my ears had me flinching and almost stumbling over my own two feet as I ran. I was getting more and more on edge with every passing second.

Alright, Elsa, deep breath. In and out. Nothing to worry about. This is easy. This is fun, in fact… or so I'm told, anyway... Just relax and have a good time. It's a new experience. We like new experiences, right? New experiences are great. New experiences can be liberating. New experiences-

"Watch our backs!" Moana suddenly yelled.

I jolted and started to spin around to look back at her, "Wha-?"

She shoved me out of the way, getting us both around a corner to use for cover just as the sound of laser fire reverberated down the hallway we'd just come from. Breathing heavily, Moana gave me a firm nod and a fierce grin. "You're welcome!"

I just stared wide-eyed back at her, panting to catch my breath after all the running. Then she was ducking low and darting across to the other side of the hall, laying down cover fire as she went.

"Damn," Kairi hissed as she and the other two girls pressed their backs against the wall next to me. "How'd they get around behind us so fast?!"

"Embrace the nothingness!" someone roared from the other end of the hall before several blasts went off.

Returning fire, Moana called over to us, "Sounds like its Xemnas! He has someone else with him, but I can't quite make out-"

More rapid laser zaps cut her words off, followed by someone else snarling, "Grovel before me!"

Wait… I knew that voice… but no, there was just no possible way it could actually be-

"Crap," Kairi hissed, face turning stark white. "Saïx."

I stand corrected. Apparently, it could be and in fact was him.

Talk about being a completely different person! It seemed laser tag turned Saïx from Dr Jekyll into Mr Hyde.

As the gun fight grew louder around me, my heart began to pound in my ears, my knees shook, and my mouth went dry. I felt totally paralyzed and had to keep reminding myself that this was fun. Just... oodles and oodles of fun!

Oh dear, I was hyperventilating a bit…

...hyperventilating from all the fun, of course!

Kida was suddenly in front of me. I think she'd sensed my anxiety, because she was gripping my shoulder tightly and giving me a warm reassuring smile. "All will be well, Elsa," she told me calmly, soothingly… right before her face twisted ferociously as she leaned around the corner and shot off her blaster several times while letting loose a banshee shriek, making me flinch. Then she pulled back to reload and look me in the eye again, face serene once more. "Be not afraid."

...right. Okay. I came, I saw, I experienced… I'm done. Where's the exit to this ride? I want off.

To Kairi and Merida, Kida said, "The three of you keep going, find the target! Merida and I will keep them busy here and get them off your backs. Go!"

"Roger! Let's get outta here!" Kairi snatched my wrist, pulling me along with her. Merida shot off a few final blasts down the hallway behind us to help the other Princesses before dashing after us. I took one last look back to see Kida and Moana locked in a heated laser battle with our opponents before I lost sight of them as we took a sharp turn down a new corridor.

We hadn't been running for long when a tiny, red vertical slash lit up in the upper right corner of my visor. Huh… so these things had some kind of display built into them? But what did it-

The overhead speakers let out a long, resounding beep followed by that female announcer voice again, "Red combatant derezzed."

"Yes! We drew first blood! Take that, Organization trash!" Kairi crowed happily.

Ah, so the display was showing me a sort of… death count? I guess? I don't even know. There was a lot going on and I was just struggling to stay sane and-

"Freeze!" a new voice abruptly shouted.

So I did.

I froze.

Because, I mean, that's what you're supposed to do when someone yells that at you, right?

Apparently not. At least, not when you're playing laser tag.

"What are you- ugh, get down here!" Kairi was suddenly yanking me to the ground where she and Merida had dove for cover behind a low barrier just as I heard more blaster shots going off, presumably aimed right where I had just been standing like a deer caught in the headlights. Shaking her head at me, Kairi sighed, "Never fall for that. It's the oldest trick in the laser tag book. Vexen tries it every. Damn. Year."

As enemy fire abruptly died down, presumably so they could reload, Merida sprung up to her feet and released a torrent of zaps from her gun, roaring, "Choke on my laser, ye gutless, lily-livered bawbags!"

"Yeah! What she said!" Kairi popped up from our hiding spot as well to blast off a barrage herself.

Not wanting to feel left out and just now remembering I was in fact holding a gun that I'd all but forgotten about since the match started, I squeezed my eyes shut, lifted said gun up above the barricade and pulled the trigger, blindly firing several shots into the fray and hoping for the best.

Woo, look at me. I'm helping.

As my two teammates ducked back down to reload, Merida shouted, "Don't think I didn't see ye skulking behind that pylon, ye namby-pamby, scone-guzzling twat! Best get running with your tail tucked between those toothpicks ye call legs cuz we got ye outnumbered three to two!"

"My my, that does sound pretty grim for us, doesn't it?" a male, distinctly British voice called back. "But maybe the odds are more in our favor than you realize. By my count, we're the ones who have you outmanned four to three."

Merida and Kairi exchanged a look. Then Kairi scoffed, "You're bluffing!"

"Maybe… then again, maybe not… do you really want to roll the dice and risk it?"

Now Kairi lowered her voice so only we could hear her, "Definitely bluffing. Merida, let's go see if we can sneak around and get the drop on 'em." She then glanced towards me. "Stay here. I'll call out when it's safe for you to follow."

I blanched. "But-"

"You'll be fine, trust me. Just stay down, keep your back to this barricade, point your gun that way," she nodded towards the corridor we'd come from, "and pull the trigger if anything so much as moves. The advantage is yours from this position. We'll make it quick, so just keep your head down and wait for my signal." And with that, the two of them slipped off into the shadows and I quickly lost sight of them.

So I did as I was told. I stayed on the ground, knees hugged to my chest as I aimed my blaster and waited. There was a slight tremor to my fingers. The sound of blood rushing in my ears made it hard to hear much else.

Gosh, this was really just… so much fun.

It felt like an absolute eternity, but it was probably only seconds before I heard the fighting break out from beyond the barrier I was using for cover. Sounded like the girls had found them, as their maniacal laughter mingled with the digital blasts filling the air. Then Kairi was yelling, "We got 'em on the run! C'mon, Elsa!"

Jerking at the sound of my name, I scrambled to stand only to catch my foot on something and crash back down to the floor hard.

Ow.

Elsa, Queen of Grace and Dexterity.

Picking myself back up and dusting off the knees of my leggings, I ran towards where I'd heard her voice coming from…

...only to find no one there.

The area was completely empty except for me.

Fudge, they'd probably gone chasing after Vexen and that British guy, thinking I was right behind them. Which I would have been if I hadn't tripped over my own two friggin' feet. Worst still, I had no clue where they'd gone and three different archways to choose from.

Now what, oh Nimble One?

...should I just wait here and hope they come back for me? That'd probably be the smartest call. Better than blindly picking a direction to run off in and getting myself even more lost.

Several far-off blasts from behind me made me wince.

...then again, I was standing out in the open and an easy target. Maybe it would be better to just select a path, start running, and hope the next person I came across would be one of my teammates. But now, how to choose which way to go?

Eeny… meeny… miny…

More laser fire went off from behind, this time closer and making my heart leap up into my throat.

Screw it, that one, just go!

I didn't even know which hallway I'd picked, I just took off and didn't look back. My feet propelled me forward, not hesitating whenever new forks in the road appeared. I'd just take a turn on impulse and keep going. A left here, a right there, and another right. Far too soon however, I was puffing for breath. I couldn't keep this pace up, I needed a break.

As I slowed to a walk, sweating and chest heaving, I held my gun up at the ready. I was jumpy as I crept along now, twitching at every distant hollar, laugh, or laser burst. Something rattled behind me and I gasped, spinning on my heel and jerking my blaster around to point at… nothing. I narrowed my eyes and kept my weapon aimed behind me as I started inching backwards, heart jackhammering and breathing shallow.

If anyone was back there, they certainly weren't going to get the jump on me! No sir! I was vigilant. My eyes were keen, like that of a hawk! No one was going to be sneaking up on me, nuh-uh, not today, not-

"Pssssst."

The sudden low noise in my ear sent a chill running up my spine, making me yelp and nearly drop my gun. My hands desperately fumbled it for a second before catching it at last and I whipped around to target-

"Lea?!" I squeaked out.

Quite valiantly, I might add.

He'd already leapt back to put some space between us with his own weapon trained on the target over my heart.

So there we were. Locked in a mortal standoff. Our fated clash to the death would soon be upon us. You could all but hear the-

"You're holding your gun backwards, ya know," he said flatly, eyelids drooping.

...so I was. Heh… oopsie. I hastily corrected it, almost dropping it again before managing to direct the barrel at Lea instead of myself.

Now where was I...? Ah, that's right!

So there we were. Locked in a mortal standoff. Our fated clash to the death would soon be upon us. You could all but hear that whistling tune that plays in cowboy movies right before a pair of desperados have a shootout. Only one of us would be walking away the victor here.

...was it wrong that I was starting to relax and feel comforted by Lea's presence?

Yes. Yes it was. He was the enemy! And I had a job to do! To be fair, that job had only just been to play decoy while somebody else took him out. But seeing as how I was the only one here, looks like I'd just been promoted to executioner.

But now, how to get that killing blow? It wasn't just as simple as shooting. I could see the way he was warily watching me. I knew the second I started to squeeze my trigger finger, Lea'd be dodging out of the line of fire and then it'd be curtains for me. I had to catch him off guard first, distract him somehow or-

Ah-ha! This was it! The moment we'd all been waiting for! It was my time to shine!

Alright, feminine wiles… go!

...aaaaaany time now.

Hmmm… nothing.

Alright, you're up, groove thang. Care to take a crack at it?

...I'll take your silence as a no.

Well, fudge. Now what?

...wait! Hold on… something was possibly stirring…

Yes, I think I might be feeling a feminine wile coming on!

Oh yeah. This was definitely it. Get ready, here it comes…

I clicked my tongue and winked at him.

Nailed it.

Lea blinked at me. Then he snerked and choked back a laugh, shaking his head, "What was that?"

I hesitated, shifting my feet awkwardly. "...my, uh... my feminine wiles?"

Now he spluttered, struggling to keep his gun pointed at me. "El. Sugar-darlin'. Honey-boo. I adore you, you know I do. I worship the very ground you walk on and think you're smart, gorgeous, perfect and God's gift to all mankind. But babe… you wouldn't know a feminine wile if one came right up to you and bit you on the nose."

My spine snapped straight and I blushed. "I would too! I… I have feminine wiles!"

"Uh-huh, sure ya do. By the way," he pointed at a spot behind me, "what's that?"

I rolled my eyes at him, "You really expect me to fall for-"

In the blink of an eye, he'd kicked my blaster out of my hands and sent it clattering to the ground.

Huh. Guess he didn't even need me to fall for it. Apparently it was enough for me to just be irked at him for thinking me so easily tricked.

Crud, he was way better at this whole distraction thing than I was.

"Say goodnight, babydoll," he smirked, aiming his weapon at the target on my chest once again. I held my breath, screwed my eyes shut, twisted my face into a grimace, balled my hands at my sides and waited. Any second now, my target would vibrate and beep, announcing I'd been hit and taken out.

...only nothing was happening.

Why was nothing happening?

Slowly, I creaked one eye open. Lea was still standing there, still with his gun pointed at me… but for some reason, he hadn't pulled the trigger yet. Gone was the smug look on his face, now replaced with a tiny, sour frown. He grit his teeth angrily, his blaster wavering slightly before he lowered it and growled, "Goddamnit!" Then he ducked down and snatched my gun up off the floor, holstering it into the waistband of his pants at his hip.

I cocked my head at him. "Lea? What are you-"

That's as far as I got before he was then picking me up by the waist and flopping me over his shoulder like a rag doll. With one hand maintaining a grip on my legs to keep me secure while still holding his weapon in the other, he took off running.

I grabbed at the back of his shirt to prop myself up and turned my head so I could yell at him, "Just what exactly do you think you're doing?!"

He didn't break stride, just kept speeding straight ahead. "What's it look like I'm doing? I'm taking you hostage!"

"But that's not how the game is played!" I snapped back, making a grab for a metal bar sticking out of one of the walls as we rushed past, my fingers latching on.

He stumbled and nearly toppled over backwards, but caught himself. "Shit! Leggo, you lil..." he pried my fingers free before taking off again. "And I can play the game however I damn well like! Deal with it!"

Huffing out a grumbling breath, I just hung my head and let myself be carried off to wherever it was that he was taking me.

Turned out to be the Organization's HQ. I mean, that was my best guess anyway by the look of it, considering how similar it was to the Princess's HQ. The only difference was there were nothing but glowing red lines decorating every surface in here instead of blue.

"Now what?" I heard a voice unhappily mutter. Sounded like Larxene but I couldn't see her to verify, not with ninety percent of my vision being filled up by Lea's upside down backside and the other ten percent taken up by a lovely view of the floor.

"Whaddya mean, now what? What are you guys still doing in here?" Lea asked as he slid me off his shoulder and unceremoniously plopped me down onto one of the benches that lined the inside of the HQ's walls. I started to stand back up, but Lea narrowed his eyes at me and held a finger up in front of my face, "Ah-Ah!"

I sighed through my nose but stayed put, crossing my arms and slouching down into my seat.

Now that I could see the rest of the room better, I was able to confirm that it was indeed Larxene who'd spoken, with Marluxia in here as well. Larxene quirked an eyebrow at me but apparently decided not to comment just yet, instead opting to answer Lea's question. "We're trying to drag this dumb loser off his lazy ass and get him out into the fight," she ground out through her teeth, pointing at-

Oh! Apparently Demyx was in here too! Almost didn't spot him cowering behind that column over there.

Lea groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Crap, this again? He does this every damn year! We seriously need to stop recruiting him!"

"That's what I keep saying!" Demyx piped up. Or rather, his voice did. The guy himself remained in hiding.

"Dude. Why do you bother signing up every year if you don't even wanna play?" Lea shook his head.

"Because Larxene always threatens to taze me until my nose lights up brighter than Rudolph's if I don't," he whimpered, just barely poking his head out now. Then he seemed to spot me for the first time. "Oh! Hey Elsa!" he waved cheerily.

"Hi Demyx," I mumbled, returning a halfhearted wave myself.

Larxene slammed the sole of her boot against the column, making him squeak and hide again. She snarled, "This fuckwit's actually a halfway decent player whenever we finally manage to chase the damn baby out of his hidey-hole and-"

"Lea! There you are!" Roxas suddenly came barreling in through one of the doors, his sneakers skidding to a stop as he doubled over, wheezing for breath. "We've been looking everywhere for you!"

Xion was hot on his heels, stumbling to a halt beside him and huffing, "You shouldn't have run off on your own like that! Why'd you come back- oh, hey there, Elsa!" she blinked at me in surprise, tilting her head slightly. "What are you doing here?"

Marluxia settled his cool gaze on me, "Yes… why indeed?"

Larxene pulled a face and spat, "Ugh, Firecracker! Please tell me you didn't sneak back here so you could make out with your little girlfriend! You seriously need to stop thinking below the belt all the time!"

"Agreed," Marluxia nodded with a frown. "You should learn to show some decorum. Xemnas will be most displeased when he finds out you were squandering precious game time to nurture your budding romance."

Shaking his head and rapidly waving his hands back and forth in front of him, Lea said, "Guys, guys, it's not- Ah!" he exclaimed the last syllable in warning to me as I tried to get up again to tiptoe off. Placing a hand on my shoulder and pushing me back down firmly into my seat, he addressed the others again, "It's not like that! I just-"

"We don't have time for this!" Xion cut in. "Why is half our team just chilling back here at the base? Get all your butts out there before everyone else gets slaughtered!"

Lea batted his hand through the air, "It's fine, Xigbar's out there! That psycho could take out the whole other team solo with one hand tied behind his back!"

As if on cue, two blue slashes suddenly lit up in the upper left corner of my visor opposite of the red one from earlier. Overhead, that synthesized female voice announced, "Blue combatant derezzed," twice, one for each mark.

"See?" Lea pointed up towards the speakers triumphantly.

"Wait…" Roxas's brow furrowed. "...those were the first two kills our team's gotten… meaning…" he was eyeing me now.

"Son of a… she's not dead yet?! Firecracker, you dumbass!" Larxene hissed, whipping her blaster up and aiming it at me.

Lea was quick to jump between her and me, his hands shooting up in a placating gesture, "Woah now, easy there!"

Not lowering her weapon, she yelled, "The hell do you think you're doing, bringing her back here alive?! Just shoot her already!"

"C'mon, give her a break, it's her first time playing!" Lea argued back. "I just wanna make sure she has a good time! She can't do that if she gets eliminated right out the damn gate."

Larxene made a noise of disgust in her throat. "You are seriously whipped, numbnuts. What'd she do to get you to fold like a wet paper towel, just bat her lashes and pout and go," she poked a finger into her cheek and mockingly cooed, "pwease don't shoot me, I'm just a poor, defenseless widdle girl!"

My shoulders tensed and I snapped, "I most certainly did not-"

"Butt out, Princess! This is Organization business," Larxene growled.

Roxas sniggered as he flumped down beside me on the bench, "Ignore her, she's just cranky."

"Yeah, we lurve you," Xion sat down on my other side, beaming and making a heart with her hands.

Lea was rubbing the back of his head with his gun. "Look, I just wanted her to have fun, is that so wrong?"

A scoff erupted from Larxene. "Yeah, sure, cuz getting taken hostage is so much fun!"

"More fun than being dead in the first five minutes!"

She was glaring down at his hip now, something having caught her eye there apparently. "Wait a minute, is that…? For fuck's sake, you brought her gun too, bonehead?! The hell is the matter with you, are you trying to get us all shot?!"

Rolling his eyes, Lea brushed it off, "Relax, I won't let her get her hands back on it. I just didn't want it to get lost or totally busted and for them to charge her with some bullshit replacement fee for the thing. And trust me: me taking her hostage is a good thing."

Larxene fixed him with a dull stare. "...I think your brain is what's lost or totally busted."

"No, hear me out!" He tossed a hand in my direction, "El is valuable to the Princesses and they know she hasn't been eliminated yet. Once they realize we got her prisoner, they're gonna make stupid moves trying to get her back. They'll be easy pickings!"

"It would seem to me that you're the one making stupid moves," Marluxia deadpanned.

Lea snapped his fingers and tapped his nose, "Exactly! That's why the Princesses'll want her back! To make sure she stays in the game and messing with my head! But if we keep her here and alive, then I'm less likely to screw up while the Princesses keep tripping all over themselves trynta to rescue her! It's a win-win!"

The silence stretched for a bit. Then Larxene sidestepped so she could point her blaster at me again, "I'm just gonna shoot her."

As Lea moved to block her again, Marluxia placed a hand on her weapon and gently pushed it down. "No, let's hold off. His plan, ridiculous as it may be, holds some merit. Let's see how it plays out."

Larxene wrinkled her nose and gaped. "You have got to be shitting me." However, Marluxia's stern look brooked no argument. Curling her lip with a tch, she grumbled, "Fine, whatever. But you!" She marched up to Lea, stabbing her finger into his chest several times, "This is your dumb idea, so your stupid ass gets to be the one to watch her!"

"Lea has so just earned himself a date with Larxene's taser after the match," Xion whispered with a giggle.

Roxas snerked under his breath as he looked to me, "Hope you like your boyfriends with enough electricity coursing through 'em to power a small toaster oven."

"What are you two twerps snickering about?!" Larxene turned her wrath on the pair of them now and they both yelped. "Get off your asses, get out there and bring me those Princesses' heads on pikes or don't come back all!" They leapt up to their feet and bolted out of there as if their lives depended on it. Which, let's face it… they very well might've.

Now Larxene's dark scowl zeroed in on the column that Demyx was using for cover as she snarled, "And you!" A terrified squeak could be heard from beyond the pillar. Muttering a long string of curse words, Larxene stomped over and disappeared behind it as well. Then there was a high-pitched scream before Demyx tore out of the base like a bat out of hell. Re-emerging and dusting her hands together, Larxene smirked with a satisfied sigh, "I do so love being part of a team. The feeling of encouraging and uplifting my fellow players can be so rewarding."

Retrieving her blaster from where she'd tucked it into the top of her pants, she glanced to Marluxia and jerked her chin towards one of the doorways. "Now let's go snuff out some Princesses!" However, as she was moving past Lea, she stopped to narrow her eyes at him. "...swear to god, Firecracker, if we lose because of your bullshit here, I'll-"

"Yeah, yeah, my head will be the one on a pike, I get it! Will ya just beat it already?" Lea lazily shooed her away with his gun.

She glowered but said nothing more, simply stepped outside the door and waited for Marluxia. As for Marluxia himself, he walked over to Lea and fixed him with a hard stare. "I trust when the proper time comes, you won't hesitate to pull the trigger," he told him, shooting a meaningful look my way out of the corner of his eye.

"Not for a heartbeat," Lea waved a dismissive hand. Marluxia squinted at him. "What, I won't! I hate losing just as much as you do, Mr Bubble Yum!"

If Marluxia felt reassured, he didn't show it. Regardless, he faced me now. "No hard feelings, of course. See you at rehearsal tomorrow."

"...looking forward to it," I muttered back as he slipped out the doorway to join Larxene, the two of them stealthily sprinting off.

Now that it was just down to the two of us, Lea glanced towards me with a tiny frown. Then he looked away and readied his weapon, poising it in front of him. He began patrolling from one HQ door to the next, keeping an eye out for any foolhardy, would-be rescuers.

The minutes slowly ticked by. Save for the occasional announcement whenever another player had been derezzed, the silence was absolute. Were this any other time, Lea would probably be cuddling up close to me and delightedly chatting my ear off. But not now. Not while there was a laser tag game to be won. Apparently, laser tag was very serious business. At least, if his expression and posture as he stood guard right now were any indicators, that is.

After a time, I released a low sigh. If anyone was trying to come save me, they were certainly taking their sweet time about it. I felt restless. My muscles were stiff from sitting still for so long. So, I gave a small stretch and began to rise to my feet.

In a flash, Lea had his gun's crosshairs centered on me. "Hey, hey, hey! Plop that cute lil butt of yours back down, Missy!" he ordered, gesturing the barrel of his blaster down towards where I'd been seated.

I hitched my chin. "The bench is hard and uncomfortable. Just let me stand and stretch my legs for a min-" I took a step forward and I winced, a soft hiss escaping me. "Ah, my ankle!"

He blinked, then his eyelids drooped. "Please, that lame ol' trick? Nice try, but I wasn't born yesterday."

"It's not a trick, I think I'm really hurt!" I huffed. Then setting my lips into a grim line, I gingerly tested putting some weight on it. "...you must have smacked it against something while you were manhandling me earlier and- ow!" My ankle gave out and I stumbled forward.

Lea instinctively moved to catch me, his arms wrapping around my waist while mine latched around his neck for support. But then his eyes were immediately suspicious and his empty hand clasped protectively over where he had my weapon holstered.

I rolled my eyes at him with a scoff. "You actually think I would go to this much trouble if I were only faking it? All just to get my stupid gun back? Seriously?"

He continued watching me skeptically, his hand remaining steadfast over my blaster. "...maybe, maybe not. Jury's still out."

"Damn it, Lea, this really hurts!" I snapped at him.

I felt his muscles relax somewhat as he puffed out a breath, bringing his free hand up to ruffle at his hair now. "Then why ya standing on it, dummy? Go on, sit back down."

"No," I turned my head to one side with a tiny hmph. "I told you already, that bench is uncomfortable."

"Whaddya expect, it's a bench. You'll live," he laughed incredulously. Then he was carefully shifting me around, mindful of my ankle as he took a seat himself to demonstrate. "See? Perfectly fine. Now c'mon El, please, if you would just-"

I finally sat back down.

Right on his lap.

I felt him tense beneath me. Then he was shaking his head with a chuckle as he brought up his hand to tweak my nose, "Cheeky."

Slipping my arms back around his neck once more, I drew in a deep breath before giving a pleased little exhale. "Ah, much more comfy."

"I would hope so," one corner of his lips twitched up. Then he was setting his gun down on the bench beside him and readjusting me in his lap a bit so he could more easily reach down, gently feeling my ankle. I flinched, sucking in a little breath. His eyebrows knit together, "Sorry… hm, doesn't seem to be any swelling, so probably isn't sprained or fractured. Guessing it just got banged pretty good. Probably only gonna leave a nasty bruise."

My eyes crinkled as I watched him. "...it's sweet."

"What's that?" he asked absently, still cautiously inspecting my ankle.

"The way you always take care of me." I leaned in closer to murmur into his ear, "It's sweet."

Lea stiffened, then cleared his throat as he straightened back up in his seat and laughed sheepishly. "What can I say? Gotta make sure my lady's taken care of!"

I gave him a warm smile before resting my head on his shoulder, my arms hugging more tightly around him as I sighed against his neck with a soft, "Hmmm."

He shivered and echoed a low, "Hm?"

"Nothing really." My fingers began to lightly toy with the hairs at the nape of his neck as my lips brushed along the side of his throat. "Just trying to think of how I might show you my gratitude later."

"...well, I might have a… few suggestions…" There was a gruffness to his voice now as I felt his thumb idly stroking along the curve of my hip.

"Mm, I'd love to hear them," I hummed a quiet laugh as I trailed my hand down his chest, avoiding the target strapped to it as I went. Then I lifted my head once more to meet his gaze while using my other hand to press a fingertip to his lips, silencing him before he could answer me. "But first… told ya."

His eyes hooded as he playfully nipped at my finger before ducking his head down to press kisses to my jawline as he whispered, "Told me what?"

"That I have feminine wiles."

His whole body went rigid. "Motherfu-"

Too late. I already had my gun back, barrel directly up against the target over his heart. I pulled the trigger and-

"Red combatant derezzed."

"Ha!" I dropped the blaster and shot up to my feet, hopping up and down in triumph on my fine, healthy, and one hundred percent pain-free ankles. Lea groaned and slumped down in his seat, thumping the back of his head against the wall a few times. His moping only made victory taste all the more sweet. Giggling, I lightly clapped my hands a few times before holding my palms together, pressing my fingertips to my huge grin.

My tiny victory party of one was interrupted however as someone else suddenly came charging inside the base. I turned and gasped as their feet came to a screeching stop, revealing the person to be none other than that weirdo with the eyepatch.

He took one look at me, both eyebrows shooting up his forehead. "What the…?" Then with a bemused smirk, he aimed his weapon at me, "Oh-ho no, not on my watch. As if!" He fired and, well… as you could probably guess…

"Blue combatant derezzed."

With a self-satisfied snerk, Eyepatch twirled his gun and took off running once more, disappearing out the door opposite the one he'd come in through.

...well then.

My stint as a legendary, professional laser tag assassin supreme may have been brief, but it had been undeniably glorious.

"That was a cheap, dirty underhanded trick ya pulled," Lea said, pulling my attention back to him as he stood up and removed his helmet, shaking out his crimson spikes. Then his lips stretched into a crooked smile, "One I completely saw through, by the way."

I arched an eyebrow at him, biting back a small grin. "Oh really?"

Tucking his helmet under his arm, he then reached out to undo mine as well. "Mm-hm! You were as transparent as a soap bubble."

"If I was being so obvious, why'd you play along then?" I challenged, crossing my arms.

"Rather, the question you should be asking is... why wouldn't I play along?" He ruffled my bangs before offering me my helmet with a wink. "Never have I more thoroughly enjoyed being proven so totally wrong."

I felt heat creeping up the back of my neck as I took it from him, averting my gaze with a dignified sniff. "I don't believe you. I don't think you saw through it at all."

He snorted, scratching a finger behind his ear. "Alright, ya got me. Can't blame a guy for trynta salvage what lil dignity he has left! But damn, El, you've been holding out on me. Where've you been hiding those lil moves of yours this whole time?"

Rocking on my heels a bit, I mulled over it for a second. Honestly, I'd even surprised myself a bit there. Only reason I hadn't been blushing furiously the whole time was because I wasn't really here to fraternize - it'd just been a means to an end. I'd had a job to do. Finally, I gave a tiny shrug, "Suppose I just needed the right incentive."

"That incentive being making me eat crow on this most holy of battlefields that is laser tag."

I smiled brightly. "Bingo."

He crinkled his eyes at me, then sighed and dragged a hand across the nape of his neck. "Shit, the rest of the team is gonna be out for my blood when they find out 'bout this. We're talking torches, pitchforks, the whole nine damn yards." However, he was next flashing me that dimple of his as he retrieved both our weapons, holding them together in one hand. "Still, was definitely worth it for this lil revelation. I'm telling ya, never woulda thought you had it in you, especially not while we were entertaining an audience no less."

"An audience?" I repeated, frowning. Then I slowly shook my head, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Did you forget?" A half grin tugged at his lips as he pointed up at a corner of the ceiling where one of the arena's cameras could be spotted. "Big Brother's watching."

Just about every last drop of blood drained out of my face.

Fudge, the cameras! All over this damn arena! Feeding a live stream of events as they unfolded here back to anyone watching in the store front! And there had been a lot of people there, meaning…

...every single one of them had just had a front row seat for watching me seduce my boyfriend.

Bolting behind Lea to hide from the camera, my arms clutched around his waist as I buried my now roasting face into his back.

Oh, what I wouldn't give for the cold, sweet embrace of death right about now.

Laughing softly, Lea patted his hand over mine, weaving our fingers together but not removing it from where I still had it clasped against his stomach. "C'mon, we're not s'posed to linger this long after getting KO'd. Let's find a way out. Your adoring fans await."

Remaining firmly latched onto him from behind, I staggered as he began to lead us towards the nearest exit. "I don't think I can face any of them ever again," I muffled into his back. "I am never going to live this down."

"Well, we can hole up in one of the equipment rooms between matches, but that'll only buy you a lil time. Sooner or later they'll hafta kick us out when this place closes up for the night." As he pushed open a door beneath a glowing green EXIT sign, he glanced back at me over his shoulder with a smirk. "But you got bigger problems to worry 'bout now, boo."

I glanced back up at him, gnawing on my bottom lip. "...what do you mean?"

"Now that I know you've got feminine wiles, I'm gonna expect you to start using 'em more."

Author's Notes: It's the face-off of the century, the battle you've all been waiting for… Organization XIII vs The Princesses of Hearts! Gosh, now I want fanart of all of them decked out in laser tag gear and glaring each other down! Could look hella badass! Anyhoo, I think this chapter might have been even more jam-packed with references than that 7th Heaven chapter xD I went with OG Org as you can tell cuz, one, they're my fave incarnation of the Org, and two, let's face it… old man Xehanort would probably break a hip playing laser tag xD And of course, all the official Princesses of Hearts made an appearance, plus a few extras, any of which would get my vote for being one of the mystery New 7 Hearts that were never revealed in KH3! Minor fun fact: If you didn't recognize them, Xemnas's and Saïx's lines were direct battle quotes from the video games. I would've liked to have done the same for Vexen, but I couldn't figure out how to make any of his battle quotes fit, so I took the lame, cheesy way out by just having him shout "Freeze!" xD As for which team won this first match… Princesses finally managed to break the Organization's winning streak, woo! Yeah, Lea barely survived the wrath of his fellow teammates after their crushing defeat xD  I was originally trying to figure out a way to fit this laser tag chapter into the main story, but decided in the end it would be more fun if Lea and Elsa were already a couple for it - certainly had more fun with the chapter's ending that way at least ;D

Thanks for reading, I super duper appreciate it! And an extra BIG thank you to those of you who’ve liked, reblogged, and followed so far, seeing those lil notifications always brings the biggest, goofiest smile to my face!

See ya next week for the next bonus chapter, which will have a lil more substance than this one xD Your clue phrase this time is... hair dye. What could that possibly have to do with next chapter?! Stay tuned and find out!

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[jade4813]

Like Moths to a Flame, Chapter 9

Fandom: North and South

Title: Like Moths to a Flame

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: John/Margaret

Synopsis: “I hope you realize that any foolish passion for you on my part is entirely over.“ Margaret decides to confront John about his unjust judgment of her character, but the two have always been drawn to each other, and things quickly get out of hand. In the aftermath, she agrees to marry him to satisfy propriety, but she cannot forget how ready he was to believe the worst of her. Can love survive without trust, or will the two find a way to work through the misunderstandings that have plagued their relationship from the start?

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Until he met Margaret, John had never given much thought to marriage, other than to occasionally acknowledge he would one day be expected to enter into the institution. With so much responsibility to assume after the death of his father, he’d wasted little time imagining the type of lady he might one day take as a wife, and less time still pondering how such an arrangement would impact his life. Such concerns, while admittedly important, had fallen to the wayside in light of more immediate concerns, until they rarely crossed his mind at all.

Until her. Until Margaret. Though he could not now look back and identify the single moment when he first loved her, his attachment to her was undeniable, fixed, and constant. It might always be hoped that marriage should bring felicity to the involved parties, but in the privacy of his own heart, John felt he was likely happier than most, for few other men could be as fortunate in choice of bride or as unwavering in depths of love as he.

His only concern, in those first few days of married life, was that Margaret would not count herself quite as fortunate, not having the same manner of attachment. However, he was pleased to see that she seemed content in her choice of groom, and he strove to undertake any manner of activity that might please her.

Her initial shyness in physical matters quickly gave way to enthusiastic engagement (although he’d never forget that first, scandalized protest: “John, it’s the middle of the day!”). As her reservations faded, her playfulness increased, and he risked tardiness to more than one appointment due to her reluctance to let him leave her side, as well as his own unwillingness to do the same.

So it could be comfortably said that married life treated him well, and he hoped, at least, that it was equally as kind to Margaret. He had one initial reservation, early on, that she might not be as she seemed. The moment came upon her receipt of a letter from her cousin, Edith. After relaying the details of some ridiculous scheme to him over breakfast – the details of which had long since escaped his memory – John had remarked that Edith was a fortunate woman, thinking of her near scrape.

In response, a wistful expression overtook Margaret’s face as she remarked, “Indeed. She and the Colonel are very much in love, and she’s fortunate to find someone who can be so forgiving of her failings.”

John had watched as her attention fell to her plate, where she poked dispiritedly at her breakfast, the happy mood broken, and he’d wondered if she regretted that she had not married for the same reason. The moment soon passed, however, and the felicity between the newly married couple was quickly restored, leaving little more than a shadow in his own mind as evidence it had ever existed.

And so, secure in his own happiness and confident in hers (being, as he was, willing to do whatever he could to ensure it), the newlyweds’ happiness was only marred by the increasingly strained financial situation at the mill. Although John tried to protect her from such concerns, the stress of the situation weighed on him and took him away from his bride more often than he would have wished.

One evening, he returned late from work to find Margaret at her dressing table, putting the final pins into her hair to ready herself for dinner with Fanny and Watson. His sister had invited the family to dine with her that evening, which John suspected was due more to a desire to show off her newest furnishings than any filial yearning. She loved them all, in her own way, but she had never been overly susceptible to sentiment.

Exhausted by the day’s exertions, he lingered in the doorway, content to do nothing more than gaze at his wife, but he was drawn to her side when she threw a smile at him over her shoulder. “How do I look?” she asked coquettishly, and he found himself entranced by her smooth, pale shoulders. He had seen her in this dress once before, at his mother’s last dinner party, and it had been all he could do that evening not to pull her in his arms and press his lips against that skin bared so tantalizingly before him.

He gave into that temptation now, bending to press a kiss against the curve of her shoulder, but Margaret caught his arm and drew him down to her instead, until he was on one knee at her side. Cupping his face in her hands, her expression was grave as she stroked his cheeks with her thumbs in a slight, comforting gesture.

“You’ve been working yourself to exhaustion lately. Is there anything I can do to help?”

Touched by her concern, he leaned into her embrace and murmured, “This trouble at the mill will pass.” He hoped it would, at any rate. “Having you here with me is enough.”

Margaret was unwilling to be so easily placated. “But is there anything I can do at the mill? I’m not afraid of hard work, you know.”

Grabbing one hand gently in his own, he pressed a kiss against the inside of her wrist. “There may be,” he acknowledged, moved more than he could express that she’d taken an interest in the mill on his behalf, and not solely on behest of his workers. “Let me think on it tonight, and we can talk about it tomorrow.”

She looked so grave, so serious. While her concern over his wellbeing sparked hope in his breast that she was not indifferent to him, he didn’t wish to cause her concern, and so he remarked lightly, in an attempt at levity, “But only if you promise you won’t cause any mischief or encourage my workers to rise up in a revolt against me.”

For just a moment, he feared she might be affronted by his remark, but she quickly alleviated any concerns on that score. “No serious mischief, I assure you. Only the occasional minor act of rebellion,” she teased him in return. Growing more serious, she confessed, “I know it’s expected that I play the role of obedient wife, but I hope you’ll forgive me if I speak my mind when I think it necessary.”

The thought of her holding her tongue caused him wry amusement; Margaret’s opinionated nature had vexed him in the past, but he wouldn’t love her if she were anything other than she was. “Of course. I hope we can grow comfortable enough with each other one day that there should be no need for secrets between us. Should I take this to mean you’ve already planned your first mutiny?”

She looked troubled at his words, but she shook her head and reassured him lightly, “Hardly a full-scale insurrection! I’ve just been thinking. I know it isn’t possible now, but when matters at the mill are resolved, I intend to speak to you about raising your workers’ salaries to what they were a few years ago, at least. It would make them more comfortable, and that would make them more productive and increase their loyalty to you.”

While John would have resented anyone else’s interference with his affairs, he respected Margaret’s opinion at least enough to entertain the suggestion. There was logic to her argument, at least, although he was hardly in a position to enact the measure at the present time. “Perhaps,” he conceded, promising, “When the bank loan is paid in full, I’ll give your suggestion its due consideration.”

Her joyful smile was more than sufficient recompense for this concession, although there remained a shadow behind her eyes, and he reached up to brush a stray lock of hair off her cheek. “Does this mean you no longer consider me the overbearing monster you once believed me to be?” he asked, wondering how she could be ignorant of the feelings in his heart, betrayed as they were by the tenderness in his voice.

“I never thought you a monster!” she replied in faint protest.

Her obvious oversight made him smile. “But you did think me overbearing?”

She scowled at him in mock affront. “Well, perhaps a little,” she allowed. Her hands became restless, one rising to brush the hair off his forehead as she continued in a less playful tone, “I may have misjudged your character at first, but I’ve long since come to realize the depths of my misunderstanding. I suspect I think better of you than you realize.”

His heart began to race as hope settled in his breast, refusing to relinquish its hold upon him. He felt he could barely breathe as he asked, “Does that mean…do you think you might come to love me?”

The warmth in her eyes gave him momentary hope that she might one day return his affections, but he watched as an expression of such horror overtook her countenance that pierced his heart. “Oh!” she gasped in alarm, her eyes wide in mortification. “I—”

Suspecting she was searching for the words to reject him without causing undue injury or offense to his pride, and eager to make amends for his overstep and distract her from the unwelcome imposition of his feelings, he forced a smile. Sliding his hands under her skirts, he attempted to divert her attention to a less controversial subject. “We have some time before we should leave, after all.”

Margaret appeared surprised, and she sucked in a deep breath when he lifted her leg to brush a kiss against her bare skin. If she couldn’t accept his feelings, he could only hope she would believe that he had always intended to refer to the physical act of love rather than some deeper emotion. Whether she believed in his fiction or was merely happy to pretend in order to prevent awkwardness between them, she seemed willing to play along.

“John!” she gasped as he ducked under the heavy fabric of her skirts, rubbing his cheek against her leg, but she didn’t draw away. On the contrary; she placed her palms upon the mound of his head through her skirts and held him in place, even as she remarked, “We’ll be late!”

“Fanny will wait,” he murmured, scraping his teeth against her inner thigh. Her slight moan of pleasure was enough to drive him onward, and he occupied himself beneath her skirts until the chiming of the clock recalled the pair to their appointment. John’s body protested the rude interruption, but he was charmed by the brightness in his bride’s eyes and the flush on her cheeks, which spoke to her own smoldering desire. At least she had been adequately diverted from dwelling upon the words he’d so foolishly spoken, and he intended to resume his attentions to her later that evening to ensure that the memory dared not reenter her mind.

In the meantime, he turned his own thoughts to more repressive matters as he willed his blood to cool before the sight of his current state scandalized his dinner companions.

“Does that mean…do you think you might come to love me?” The words replayed themselves over and over in Margaret’s mind as she prepared herself for the day ahead. “Does that mean…do you think you might come to love me?” In her preoccupation, she stuck herself with a hairpin and winced, forcing her mind back to more mundane matters. Yet the memory of his softly spoken question the night before continued to plague her thoughts.

“Does that mean…do you think you might come to love me?” She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, striving to quell the mortification that arose within her at the memory. It was not the question that elicited such chagrin but the answer that had hovered upon her lips in return.

“I already do.” Her heart had been ready to confess to the feelings that her head had long been determined to deny, and Margaret had only swallowed the words at the last moment. That they could have crept upon her so thoroughly in defiance of her own awareness astonished her, but the certainty with which her heart had answered horrified her.

She loved him. When had the attachment first taken hold of her heart? For how long had she been living in denial of her own feelings?

Of course, it was not the usual nature of things, to meet such tender feelings with dismay – certainly not when the recipient of said feelings was her own husband. However, in the matter of Margaret and John’s marriage, things were not so simple. Margaret loved him, it was true. She loved him – the thought brought such a mixture of joy and alarm that it nearly made her lightheaded. But while they had not spoken of her presumed lover – secretly her brother – since their engagement, she had no cause to believe he’d changed his mind about her.

It would be the easiest thing in the world to force a change of heart from him. All she had to do was to reveal the truth. Doing so would undeniably alter his opinion of her, but it would do so without resolving her fundamental concern. Relating the whole truth to him now would justify his trust in her now, but it would not compel it in the future. And, regardless of her own tender feeling for John, Margaret knew she could never be truly happy in her marriage if her own husband couldn’t claim to truly know or understand her. If she told him the truth now and forced his concession of her own blamelessness (at least of the charges that had been placed upon her doorstep, though she had courted danger in urging Frederick return in defiance of the charges against him), she would never truly feel the assurance of her husband’s faith in her character and person.

But what was she to do? Carrying this secret in her heart grew more trying by the day, John’s coincidental use of the word mutiny the night before nearly sending her out of her own skin. His assertion that there should be no secrets between them had caused such a swelling of guilt in her own heart that she’d longed to tell him all. Her heart and her mind were at war, locked in a skirmish that she’d just come to realize had been waging for far longer than she’d ever suspected.

She loved him. It was still astonishing to her that those feelings could have crept upon her without her knowledge. Lost in her thoughts, she hardly registered the words her mother-in-law spoke as they took a tour of the mill, looking for ways that Margaret could lend assistance to her husband’s enterprise. Almost against her will, she found herself watching for him, scanning the crowd for his familiar – beloved! – figure and face.

She nodded at something one of the workers said, though she had no idea what it had been, as her eyes drifted up to the landing above. And there she saw him, as she had on that very first day. John. Her John. Her husband.

Their eyes met, and Margaret held her breath, unable to breathe from the twisting in her heart at the sight of him. So tall and commanding. She had once thought his features so remote – even severe – but now she knew the way they could soften with a smile. She’d once thought his eyes cold, but now she knew the only thing warmer was his touch.

If she reached out her hand to him now, would he come to her? Perhaps he would. He had always been there for her, even when another man would have turned away. When her mother was dying, he’d sent fresh fruit even after her rejection of his hand, demonstrating a level of thoughtfulness and compassion that had shamed her for her treatment of him. And when the man who had accosted her brother was found dead, not only had he chosen not to betray her lie in professing she hadn’t been on the train platform that evening, she had no doubt he’d spoken with the eyewitness and encouraged the recantation that had ended the matter. In doing so, he had betrayed his honor and fundamental sense of honesty on her behalf.

But it was not for the services done to her that she loved him. It was for his person. There were two sides to him – the hard Master and the devoted husband – but Margaret no longer struggled in reconciling them. She had once thought him proud, even arrogant. She had even once thought him unfeeling, but she’d come to understand the truth of his character long before, and well before their precipitous engagement. He could be hard, but he was never unscrupulous. He was honest in his dealings, his genuine care and concern for his workers hidden beneath a stern demeanor and a veneer of sound business acumen.

She loved him. She loved him. She loved him! She’d begun to wonder if it was possible she’d come to love him long before their marriage or even before their engagement. Had she loved him when she’d crept to his office to confront him about his callous accusations against her? Her behavior that evening had been so uncharacteristic of her, something she’d recognized even at the time but had refused to dwell upon for explanation. Had it been heartbreak, more than anger, that had propelled her to his doorstep? It certainly seemed likely that her attachment, hidden even from herself, had compelled her to kiss him that night. Let alone…well, everything that came after.

Oh, dear. Her newfound revelation couldn’t come at a worse time, and it was causing her to make a fool of herself, staring at her husband like a moon-eyed calf, for all the world to see. Tearing her gaze away from him at long last, she attempted to fix her attention upon her beleaguered mother-in-law, whose single-minded purpose could not be dissuaded by young love, particularly when she was likely skeptical of its existence. And rightly so, for hadn’t Margaret once openly scoffed at the notion of John’s attractiveness to the fairer sex?

What a fool she had been! What a fool love was making of her now! Her heart longed to lay itself at John’s feet, urging her to confess her feelings to her husband in the hopes that affection wasn’t just something he requested but something he offered her in return. More, that genuine attachment underlay his honorable intentions in offering for her. But that brought back the undecided question of his faith in her.

“Does that mean…do you think you might come to love me?”

She loved him, and so she owed him the truth of what he had seen that night on the train platform. If only there was a way to first assess whether he had succeeded in his efforts to grant her the wish she’d made of him before their wedding: that he find it in his heart to trust in her once more. As much as she loved him, any lingering doubt on that score would tear her up inside.

Pretending to attend to the task at hand, Margaret dutifully fell into step behind her mother-in-law, continuing her tour of the mill’s needs. But as she walked away, she couldn’t resist one last look over her shoulder at the imposing figure on the overlook above, and the face that had somehow become so dear to her. Her John.

For the sake of their marriage, for the sake of her own heart, she would find a way to restore his faith in her. Somehow.

[lambourngb]

Duty of Care and /or Gravedigger’s Union

I did Grave Dancer’s Union - a nod to my 90s love of Soul Asylum here.

Duty of Care was another torture Michael fic- I wrote it pre-season 2, when I thought the love triangle was going in a particular way. I don’t know if there’s still an appetite to season 1 au stories? There’s some season 1 characterization of Alex ahead, particularly in regards to Jesse.

Here’s what I had - some of which already appeared here before Last Year’s Wishes ate my brain.

****

“Can’t believe Maria is still wearing the pendant of alien poison around her neck while she dates your alien ass, Guerin..” Kyle commented watching the decay values multiply as Liz titrated pollen into the samples.  

The current theory on alien resurrection, and it said a lot about his life that he had competing theories on alien-involved resurrection, was that their ability to manipulate energy changed based on their needed life skills at the time of adolescence. Michael had been separated from his siblings young, and needed to develop defensive skills. The defiant and pained look on his face when he explained stopping an item being hurled at his head at the age of 7 was a needed survival tactic courtesy of foster homes he had passed through kept Kyle from questioning any further.

Isobel had through her mother Ann’s never-ending dinner parties and charity benefits, found comfort in seeing and knowing what was meant under the sugary sweet words of adults around her. Being a small child paraded around adults who were charmed by her blonde hair and blue eyes meant she had the most exposure to social events while Max hid in his books. 

Finally Max had anointed himself as a fixer early on in their life. He had taken responsibility for Michael being left behind, and had tasked himself to protect his sister afterward. The defensive use of healing fit with his offensive ability to kill in the service of keeping those he loved safe. 

At the most basic level, it was all energy from synaptic responses in brain waves to manipulating molecules to move or stop an object. How a pollen interrupted that energy use could theoretically solve the problem of how to jump start an ability.

“You think you might get around to telling her the big secret anytime soon?”

The mask over his mouth and face did little to block the glare Michael shot at him. “Shut up Valenti.” 

“I don’t see what the big deal is. It’s Maria. She is a card carrying member of the ACLU and the Nature Conservatory. I had to bail her out of jail last year during an ICE protest. She’s not going to turn you over to the government.” 

“Kyle!” Liz scolded, “We talked about this. Agency. It’s up to Isobel and Michael who knows. I already broke that with you.”

Michael ran a gloved figure over the counter absently. “I hate secrets, okay. This isn’t any fun for me, especially considering how many people already know. I went from having just Max and Isobel, to basically the whole graduating class of New Roswell High in on it. A lot of loose lips.”

The habit of 20 years of paranoid silence was probably a lot to try and break with a new relationship if that was the basis of it. There was a good amount of slack that Kyle could extend to Michael, including trying to be understanding when he started up with Alex’s best friend in the wake of Max’s death, but exclusion of Maria from the secret felt wrong to him.

He couldn’t fathom the reasoning behind lying to someone that he wanted to be in a relationship with, and he had a feeling that it wasn’t because of worries that she would tell someone about the aliens living in Roswell. While he couldn’t outright call Michael an asshole on Alex’s behalf, he could poke and prod him when the opportunity surfaced.

“You should look at this way Guerin, that larger circle means if something does happen, you’ve got more back up than just Isobel, with Max being out of commission.”

“Oh yeah, so if the government disappears me to a black site, you’re going to ride to my rescue?”

“Yes.” Kyle replied seriously. “I wouldn’t be alone either.” The name Alex Manes went unsaid, but from the brief wince on Michael’s face, he knew exactly who was being referred to obliquely. Scored hit again.

“Well as fun as this discussion is, I’m going to take off. Iz and I have practice plans.” Michael slipped his hat on, and tucked the stool away. “Liz, call me if you have a breakthrough on nullifying this stuff. For a rare flower, there sure was a lot of it stockpiled in Noah’s cave.”

“Sure thing, Mikey.” 

“Valenti, make sure she goes home to sleep and eat at some point. I don’t want to have to put her in a pod next.” He ducked out of reach of her hand, laughing at the offended look she sent his way. 

“Far be it for me to agree with him, but he’s right. You’ve been burning the candle at both ends and the middle between rebuilding your lab, researching Max’s healing power, studying this pollen, not to mention working at the diner. We should make time for something else, like a drink or a movie. Recharge.” The past month since Max’s ‘death’ brought back the manic energy burst from solving the issues with the depowering serum. From one catastrophe to another, it was barely time to recover before the next happened.

“I know, I just. I need to stay busy. It’s so quiet without him.” Liz stretched and started to tuck her last slide away into the cooler. “But I think I am done today, if I work anymore, I’ll just be making mistakes.”

Kyle slipped on his coat and held the door. “Not that I don’t believe you leaving on your own volition, but let me walk you out.”

“Lucky for you, I’m too tired to be offended.”

Kyle kept his hand on her back gently steering her through the hallways. The third shift was on at the hospital, and he winced to think about his own upcoming shift at noon tomorrow. Balancing football, his pre-med studies and his social life in Michigan taught him valuable life skills in working on short sleep, but even the hours of residency had no competition on his current life of alien lab work and tracking down government funding of a black ops prison project with Alex. When he mentioned a night off, he wasn’t only including Liz in that need.

Inhaling the cool night air, he calculated if he made it home, heated up a meal, and fell asleep promptly there was the opportunity for 6 good hours of sleep before meeting up at the bunker to check in on the data mining project Alex was running. 

“You know, you should go a little easier on Michael.”

“I thought everyone in this town was in love with Max Evans, but apparently it’s Guerin.” Kyle retorted sarcastically. 

Liz bit her lip at the mention of Max before sighing softly. “I’m serious, Kyle. He’s really messed up right now. I was actually shocked he was somewhat sober tonight.”

“I’m not going to be petty here Liz, and mention the obvious that we are all really messed up right now. I get where you’re coming from about their need for secrecy, but Maria really deserves better. I’m not her best friend like you are and Alex was, but I’ve been here in this town with her. She was there for me after my dad died, and she supported my mom’s election for sheriff. With Mimi getting worse, she deserves to have someone to count on, not someone who is lying to her, and by extension, making all of us lie to her as well.”

“Alex was? Past tense?”

He arched his eyebrow in disbelief, “I guess I am going to be petty tonight, but seriously Liz? Have you talked to Alex lately? Every time Maria comes up in conversation he puts his best ‘Baghdad was a little warm and I was just doing a job’ face on and repeats to anyone listening how happy he is for them. Guerin messed him up, and worse, took away from him one of the few people he lets himself drop that soldier bullshit front he has.”

Liz sighed, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I know the history with Michael is a little complicated, but we don’t always get to choose who we fall for and who we don’t. Love is messy. It doesn’t color inside the lines and follow any of the rules.”

“Maybe you’re right about that, and maybe there’s no avoiding the heartache. I do believe though that you can choose whether or not to be a dick about things, and Guerin not telling Maria is a dick move and it’s got consequences.” Kyle unlocked his car, and opened the passenger side with a gesture. “Our sister doesn’t have many friends, and he’s robbing her of one right now. Rosa lost ten years because of aliens, don’t you think that’s enough loss for all of us?”

“Do you know how annoying you are when you’re right? I’ll talk to Michael, better yet, I’ll talk to Isobel about letting Maria in on the secret.”

He slid into the driver’s seat, smiling across to her. “Tomorrow. Tonight, what’s left of it, is for sleeping.” He turned the ignition, and stopped,  as the headlights came up illuminating the familiar green Chevy sitting across the lot from them. “That’s Guerin’s truck.”

“He left before we did, what’s it still doing here?” Liz ducked out of the passenger seat and ran toward the truck without waiting for an answer. Kyle swore softly, untangling his hand from the ignition to follow her. The truck looked undisturbed, no sign of the occupant. Liz reached for the driver’s side door, testing it, and gasped as the door swung open. The ever present black hat slipped off the dash into the floorboards.

There were three things Michael prized above all others, his truck, his cowboy hat, and his sister. To leave two out of three unprotected was highly out of character for him. Kyle turned around the parking lot, scanning for signs of him. 

“Kyle, look,” Liz grabbed his arm and pulled him down toward the wheel well of the truck. Gleaming silver in the light , tucked on top of the tire tread, was a syringe needle with a depressed plunger.

“That’s not good.”

She stuffed her hand into her pocket and withdrew a spare latex glove to wrap around her fingers as she lifted the syringe from the tire.  She peered closely at the vial, a sickly yellow liquid film thinly coated the inside. “I think someone took him, and without testing it, I’m guessing this is some sort of knock out drug based on the pollen.”

Kyle reached for his phone, mentally saying goodbye to the idea of sleep anytime soon. “I’ll call Alex, you call Isobel. And I don’t know, I guess call my mom? I mean, we usually call the police when someone gets abducted.”

Liz thinned her lips, holding the needle with one hand as she dug out her phone with the other. “I don’t think you can call the cops on the government, which I’m guessing that’s what we are dealing with since they knew how to knock out Michael.”

The government, or more specially it was probably someone related to Project Shepherd. Kyle sighed, holding his phone to his ear. It rang once, before he heard, “What’s wrong?”

He pulled the phone away from his ear to make sure he had called Alex and not the psychic alien sister, “How did you know something was wrong?”

“You’ve called me twice in the last three months, once to tell me you put my dad in a coma and once to tell me about Max. You’re a texter, even though I explained it’s easier to keep things secret if you call. So again, what’s wrong?”

Kyle slowly walked back toward the hospital. He should have volunteered to call Isobel, because this was not going to be easy. “It’s Guerin.”

“Is he okay?” 

“We don’t know. We think someone took him. Liz and I found his truck at the hospital, unlocked. It looks like he got jumped by someone who knows how to incapicitate him.”

“I’ll be there in 20 minutes.” 

Kyle wasn’t surprised to see the call disconnected. It was a forty minute drive from the cabin to the hospital if someone followed the speed limits. 

*** 

“It’s Guerin.”

Alex was somewhat aware that he must have replied. He was in his SUV and away from the bunker, before he’d registered that the call had ended. He could only be thankful that today had been a ‘pull day’, rather than a ‘push day.’

Alex could divide his days into two motivations, he either wanted to be as far from town and the chance of running into someone he knew (Michael) or he wanted to be close in case something happened that he could help fix (for Michael). The cabin was isolated enough that only Kyle made the trip from Roswell, but not in recent memory with the pace of lab work and hospital hours. Alex could comfortably avoid reality with his laptop until the second feeling took hold. The Project Shepherd bunker was an easier location to reach Isobel or Liz from when the inviatble call for assisting an intoxicated Michael came. 

Seeing Maria meant seeing Michael in the evening hours, and it was strange to resort to in his post-service life the habit of a decade before; lying and hiding himself in every interaction. His calendar had a weekly reminder to join Liz and Maria at the Wild Pony for a beer, usually scheduled early enough that Michael was still at Sanders working, but late enough that the automated work emergency text to his phone could reliably give him cover for an exit. 

Psychic as she was, Maria always let him go with a pained but relieved look. It wasn’t her fault that he was still in love with Michael. It wasn’t her fault that Michael wasn’t in love with him. Neither he nor Maria had so many friends that they could afford to lose one, but neither was fooling the other that the relationship hadn’t changed in the aftermath of her dating Michael. 

This wasn’t his first go around with unrequited love. 

He’d survived Brendon Urie, and he wasn’t ashamed to have been a sixteen year old pouring over fan meet and greets on livejournal before hitting the road with Rosa to see Panic at the Disco in Albuquerque just after school let for the summer. He might have mapped out Los Angeles coffee shops to busk at after he turned legal and could escape west to be a musician, coffee shops close to Silver Lakes and Encino neighborhoods to be organically discovered by his crush.

He had survived his fourteen year old obsession with Kyle, that lasted until it was safer to love unattainable rockstars versus the childhood friend now high school bully. He could laugh at himself for thinking that Kyle had turned on him because he felt the same way but just didn’t know how to articulate it outside of shoving him against the lockers and jeering at him in gym class. 

Unrequited love that had once been returned was a higher bar to clear than a fan fantasy or a childhood crush, but then the sins Alex carried were deeper and more lasting as well. More than a ruined but now healed hand and a discarded scholarship, he had the murder of Michael’s mother to carry.  He would survive Michael not loving him, he was reasonably sure of it. He wasn’t sure if he would survive something happening to Michael because of the Manes family legacy. 

Someone knowing how to subdue and take Michael pointed to his family’s involvement. 

He didn’t bother with the visitor’s desk at the hospital foyer this time, walking purposefully toward the elevator and wing where Liz’s new lab resided. The door opened to his touch, revealing Isobel hovering anxiously near Liz’s shoulder as she swabbed a syringe. 

“You made good time.” Isobel greeted.

“I hacked the traffic lights.” Alex informed, setting his laptop case on the lab table, and popping the case open. A few keystrokes and he was inside the hospital network and probably breaking a dozen federal laws of privacy. 

Kyle closed the door, and shook his head, “Seriously?”

“No. I was at the bunker.” He brought up the internal security logs, noting visitors and elevator access. “So what do we know?”

“Not a lot,” Liz replied, her gaze fixed on a spread of swabs and slides. “I’m trying to pull as many samples as I can from this syringe so I can analyze it. There looks to be a reservoir of 3 CCs. My original serum required a dose of at least 6 CCs to incapacitate, so whatever they used was more concentrated.”

“Hopefully less lethal,” Isobel observed. “Are you in the hospital network already?”

“Just what’s linked to the internal wifi signals. I’m going to need access to their security office since it appears the actual camera footage is on a closed circuit.”

Kyle pulled out his ID badge, “I can take you there, but how are you going to get the guards to let you look at the footage? I can still call my mom and make this an official police investigation.”

Alex dug into his pockets for a thumb drive, and then turned to Isobel, “I’m hoping you can influence the guard into letting me download the footage. If you can’t, then we will need to bring the sheriff into this.”

Isobel tapped her forehead knowingly, “If I can’t influence the guards to let you in, I can at least make one of them think he left his car unlocked or his coffee pot plugged in.”

“Let’s go then. Michael has been missing for at least an hour.”

Kyle tapped his badge at certain checkpoints, opening the electronic doors as they headed down to the security room. Alex made a mental note to scrub the ID tags once they were done, on the off chance someone was curious about the movements of a doctor who should have been long off duty.

The windowless room was covered in screens and held one guard boredly sipping his coffee while he watched a television show on his phone. There was a chance they didn’t need a psychic to gain access, but it was probably better safe than sorry.

Alex moved quickly after Isobel held the security guard’s mind in hers and slide behind the desk to call up the footage on the parking garage. Mindful of time, he plugged in his drive and started transferring all the raw data from the camera recordings. The antiquated hospital computing system did nothing to soothe the anxiety. 

Long experience working with poor computing power and broken infrastructure while deployed in Iraq was the only thing that kept his inner impatience off his face. Touching the mouse or tapping his fingers never moved data faster. 

Finally the file clicked over complete, he slid back from the bank of monitors, and nodded to Isobel. The security guard took a deep breath and look around briefly before picking up his phone and restarting the television show on his app.

The door clicked shut as the three of them hastened back to Liz’s lab. His hip barked at the hurried extension he placed on his body. With the clock ticking, the discomfort slipped into the box marked ‘to deal with later’. Once the drive was inserted, it was a matter of minutes to set up a scan for vehcile traffic entering and exiting the hospital parking lot. 

Liz dug out a bottle of acetone for Isobel, who accepted it with a small smile and then nodded over to the laptop. “I hope you are having more luck with the security footage, than I am having with this drug.”

“I grabbed everything from the last 72 hours, just in case. It’s possible someone followed Michael to the hospital,” Alex balanced carefully onto the stool, keeping the weight off his prostetic. “I would have found a less populated area for a snatch and grab, but maybe they were worried about Michael’s powers and if so, then likely they scouted the view points of the cameras before they made their move to minimize their exposure. At least that’s what I would have done, if I had discarded the open road or home as possible targets.”

“Well we all know what a paranoid and careful asshole you are, Alex.” Kyle observed, working on a second set of samples. 

“I try not to repeat my mistakes.”

“Like Caulfield?” Isobel asked pointed. 

A sharp stab of pain went through him at the reminder. As if the prison ever left his mind for a moment these days. “Yes, like Caulfield. I should have found a more covert way to gain information than assume it was abandoned. I should have realized my dad had more going on than surveillance on Roswell.”

Kyle touched Alex’s shoulder with a comforting clasp, “At least we know he’s not personally behind this. Master Sergeant's main nurse likes me, she would have called if something had changed.” 

Alex stayed silent, knowing that his next task would be gaining access to the long term rest home in Santa Fe where they had transferred his comatose father after he had attacked Kyle. There had been initial protests regarding the forged records until he had pointed out the other option had been to kill Jesse. 

The classic body Chevy truck flashed on the screen with the timecode marking it as Michael’s arrival at the hospital. Alex paused and marked the frame for reference, then eased through the later clips watching for his exit. There were two cameras concentrated on the parking lot, one at the entrance/exit, and one with a long panoramic view of the lot, primarily to ward off a car thief or would-be mugger. It was grainy in grey scale, but at least he could be thankful that Michael drove such a distinctive truck. The task of finding an unremarkable Honda Prisius would have been daunting.

His hand stilled as he paused the footage on the slow but unmistakable swagger of a figure striding away from the hospital entrance toward the parked Chevy. Michael’s black cowboy hat hid his face but even absent such an identifiable marker Alex was sure could have picked out his body in a sea of others without question. 

Michael reached his truck with no issue, unlocking the driver’s side door. His hand swept off his hat and casually tossed it into the front seat of the cab. Behind him, in the next parking aisle a nondescript panel van, a door opened slid open and a glint peeked out. Michael reached behind his neck, his body half in the truck and slapping at the skin there. 

Alex inhaled sharply, fear and dread rising. It was a terrible thing to watch knowing it had already happened. Two figures dressed in plain dark clothing emerged from the van, and started toward the truck. Michael’s body half fell from the cab, and curled around the front wheel. Alex watched as the two effortlessly brushed off the weak struggles to fight their grasp of Michael’s shoulders, tugging him backward to the waiting van. 

His body was tossed without care into the back, the door sliding shut blocking the last view of Michael. The two men split up from the van, circling around to the front doors. Alex numbly clicked on the frame, saving it, and switched over to the second camera focused on the entrance. 

Watching his brother Flint calmly pay the ticket machine was not much of a surprise at this point. 

“Kyle, I’m going to need you to call your nurse friend to check on my father.” He was proud that his voice was calm and even, despite the rising sickness within. “The good news is, this wasn’t a government issued black ops team that took Michael.”

“And the bad news?” Isobel prompted.

“It was personal, which means they aren’t as invested in keeping him alive.”

* * * * 

[Isobel details their mental bond. That it feels blank]

“I was always closer with Max. I don’t know if it was a twin thing or being raised together, but Michael was always harder to connect with until recently. We’ve been practicing so much together, he started to take up a bit of space here, “ she patted her chest. “Not enough to fill the void where Max was, but enough that I could tell if he was happy or if he was angry. Strong emotions only came through. Lately it was a lot of anger but he wouldn’t tell me what was going on… “

“And now? Do you feel him now?”

Tears filled her eyes and she shook her head. “It’s empty. Blank. Like it was when we kids before he moved back to Roswell. I think he’s still alive, but he feels very far away, or very weak.”

[Alex waits patiently for the call. He thinks this is going to be an exchange of Michael for his dad, until he realizes his dad is not at the long-term care facility any more]

[Round table discussion at Max’s house to figure out what Jesse wants. Isobel finds out more about the shared past of Michael and Alex- and Maria shows up at the end looking for Michael]

“It’s been 2 days, why hasn’t your dad called with his demands? Is he not reading from the classic villain script this time?” Isobel wondered bitterly. “What is with your family, Alex?”

Kyle injected, “We don’t know that Sergant Manes is involved.”

“Don’t we? He disappeared from the nursing home just before Michael was taken. It seems pretty convenient timing to me.”

Alex pressed his fingers under his eyelids to relieve the building pressure. It had been a long two days of nothing after he received the call that the psuedonmyn he had checked his dad in unrder was no longer a patient in the long-term coma ward in Sante Fe. The staff was calling it a miracle that just after a devoted son had prayed at his bedside, he had woken up. Alex knew it was anything but divine intervention to have Jesse awake and free in the world. 

“Isobel is right, this has Dad written all over it. Somehow Flint found out what had happened and woke him up. It’s been two days because I’m guessing he is still weak from the inactivity.”

Liz stirred from her claimed spot on the couch, cracking an eyelid. “What makes you think there’s going to be a demand, Isobel? Manes has what he wants, a new alien to test and torture. If you look at the research side of things, the aliens in Caulfield were all weak and elderly, and Michael’s a healthy 28 year old. Whatever fucked up weapon he was developing might need a younger test subject.”

“Now there’s a comforting thought.” Kyle muttered. 

“I don’t think it’s research. This still feels personal to me. Michael still has an offensive power to defend himself with, the softer target would have been Isobel if he just wanted an alien to grab.”

“Gee, thanks Alex. Come closer and I’ll show you what I’ve been working on and see if you think I’m still a soft target after I turn your skull into crushed bone.”

***

Alex’s fingers were numb, as he pressed in his code to access his Whatsapp account. Waiting in his inbox was an unknown number and a video attachment. He abruptly dropped into the deck chair as the video opened to his worst fear made real.

Michael’s left eye was swollen shut, blood staining from the corner of his forehead, dripping down his cheek bone. His arms were stretched high above his head, disappearing out of frame. His shirt was missing, and there were sluggishly wounds striping over his shoulder and licking across his collar bone. 

The camera turned, Michael blurring out of view. The monster that starred in seventy percent of his nightmares filled the screen. “Hello, Alex. I was hoping to keep you out of this, son, but this creature is being very uncooperative.” 

Off screen, he heard a weak, “Go fuck yourself, Manes. I keep telling you, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Jesse nodded to someone out of frame, and Michael screamed in agonizing pain. Long hiccuping gasps for air puncuated another softer, “fuck you.”

“Like I said, uncooperative. When we last saw each other, you had something that belonged to me. Jim Valenti stole it from our base, and refused to tell me what he had done with it despite my best efforts at persuading him.” 

Michael cried out again, choking on a soft sob. Alex forced himself to watch, drinking in every detail for his later plans. 

“With N-38 gone, I can’t hurt this thing the same way I did dear old Jim so I’ve had to get creative. Electricity just makes some of them stronger, but good old heat and sharp still work on them. We both know you can break its bones with enough force.” Jesse turned, pointing the camera toward Michael again, focusing on the dangling bare feet. “There are more bones per square inch in the foot, than anywhere else in the body. I am telling you this so you don’t doubt my resolve. This thing is relatively harmless for its kind, and I’m willing to return it to you in more or less good condition, if you bring me what Valenti stole. Let me know what you decide to do.”

The video cut off. 

****

There was an expected role to play, like there always was when Jesse Manes was involved. Once it meant peppering his speech with ‘yes sir��� and ‘sorry sir’ and toning down his clothing in hopes of escaping his fists, and when that proved futile, it went in the opposite direction with makeup, nail polish, and piercings.

For all of his proud talk about the service, his father never served anywhere but stateside. His knowledge of tactical defense and enemy counter measures were likely twenty years of date, and Alex was counting on his father’s pride from keeping him unaware of the technology shift. The set up of the Project Shepherd bunker confirmed that.

He tucked his personal side arm into his thigh holster, securing to his left leg and reached for his secondary weapon to slip into his boot strapped to his prosthetic. The weight of the kevlar and vest registered briefly on his shoulders before it slipped into the blank shroud that had enveloped him as soon as he heard Michael’s cries. Knives and a pair of percussive grenades weighed down each side of his pockets.

A floorboard behind him creaked, his gun cleared the holster before his mind caught up on who would have followed him to his cabin. It was a little concerning that the sound of a vehicle hadn’t registered until now.

“Whoa, don’t shoot.” Kyle lifted his hands, halting abruptly.  He took in the dark clothing, combat hardware and the array of weapons spread on the cabin’s table. “I guess we are going full cliche today, good to know.”

Alex dropped his arm away, resecuring his gun. “Then you know what I’m going to say already.”

“Humor me, then. This is a trap, Alex.”

“I’m well aware.” Alex flipped open a black case and pulled out his phone and laptop. Carefully he pulled out three silver discs, and a pair of jeweler’s glasses. He sat down in the chair, slipping the glasses on to peer down at the discs. “I’m going anyway.”

Kyle sighed, aggrieved. “Well I did promise Guerin if he got his ass kidnapped by the government, I would come to his rescue.”

Alex didn’t look up from his work, pressing a small pin on each disc. “You’re not going with me, Kyle.”

“I know this face is distractingly handsome, but tell me you remember all the time we spent on the range together as kids. I can shoot a gun.” 

“Shooting a paper target is different from shooting at a human being.” Each disc beeped softly, then went silent. He pulled the glasses off with a satisfied smirk, “Besides, I need you to come with the cavalry. These are military grade GPS trackers that I’ve linked to my laptop and my phone. Once my father sees I’m there without the piece of the ship, he’ll take me to Michael so he can teach me a lesson.”

“What makes you think your dad won’t find these trackers?”

“I’m sure he will, but I’ve got a back up plan on that as well. My father has underestimated me my entire life. He thinks I am weak, that my emotions and desires cloud my judgment. He’s going to see he was wrong.”

“Alex.” Kyle hesitated, struggling for a moment before taking a seat at the table. He gently laid his hand on Alex’s wrist, stilling the other man. “We all want Guerin back safe but I want you to consider for a moment that your father is right, that your emotions are clouding your judgment. Because what I’m seeing right now is kind of freaking me out, dude. You’re dressed from head to toe in black ops murder gear with GPS trackers, which I didn’t even know you could buy, talking about going in alone, guns blazing, against your dad.”

“I got them on Ebay.”

“That’s what you’re choosing to focus on?”

“What are my other options, Kyle? He’s got Michael. He’s had him for two days, and there is exactly zero chance he doesn’t want both the UFO fragment and Michael.” Alex wrenched his hand away,. He inhaled deeply and pushed down the swell of thoughts of what had already happened to Michael in two days.

“I agree, but back when I laid him out with barbiturates in our bunker, you and I had a discussion about killing him. I seem to remember we decided against that.”

“No, Kyle, you decided against it and I went along with it. Which was clearly a mistake. This has been a long time coming, okay? He brought this on himself when he took Michael.”

“I knew there was no talking you out of this. I just don’t want you to do this alone.”

* * * 

The lights were all on at the formerly known as Evans-Bracken residence, now just Evans. 

“You look like you’re ready to storm the castle.” Isobel commented, before pushing the door open and turning back into the house. “I still haven’t felt anything from Michael. He could be dead, and all of this would be pointless.”

Alex winced and acknowledged the point before pushing the thought down. “He’s not dead.”

“How do you know? Your so-called cosmic connection?” She sipped from the glass in her hand, the scent of chemicals wafted to him. It was clearly not water.

Gently he wrapped his fingers around her hand, guiding the glass away before resting it on the table next to him. “Maybe, but in reality, if he was dead, my father would have taken someone else as leverage and he would have taunted me with my failure to protect Michael.”

****

[ So as you can see it needs a massive rewrite to fix my characterization- but I still like the plot of Jesse taking Michael for the ship piece- especially since the show fumbled on this so badly in 2x10-2x11. ]

[wickedsrest-rp-archive]

High Tide || Season 1 Finale Chatzy

TIMING: Current LOCATION: The beach PARTIES: @wardinasrani  @carbrakes-and-stakes @inconvenientsimonstrocity @hackysackace SUMMARY: Ritual at the beach

“Hey Bill.”

Bill Took looked from counting money behind the General Store’s cash register. He absently glanced across the counter to meet the unblinking stare of Sam Rainsbottom. A long silence passed as Bill waited for his teenage clerk to offer up some inane lacrosse trivia or give some hyperactive opinion of how ‘lit’ something was. But Sam just stood there absolutely still, only the slightless rise and fall of the short boy’s chest letting Bill know that he wasn’t having a staring contest with a statue.

“Um...yeah Sam?”

“They're calling me,” Sam said in a dull monotone. “I must go.”

“Sure Sammy, I can clock you out. Who is…” It was then that Bill bill noticed the bloody boxcutter on the store’s floor and shifted enough to see the designs cut into Sam’s palms, welling up like eyes crying red tears. “Oh my god, wait Sam! What..”

But Sam Rainsbottom was already out the door, each step matching a rhythm that sang through his veins. The chant filled Sam’s ears and rushed along his spine like ice, drowning out the words of friends and relatives that attempted to stop the boy, features transfixed in mounting concern. Sam apologized with a drugged smile and insisted in a soft far away voice that the stars Vanth and Orcus stood ready at the gate, and the great vaults of Amansinaya echoed with the cries of those who’d been born adrift from time. He mustn’t keep them waiting.

The cloud’s had congealed into the red-stained amber of evening by the time Sam’s slow steady steps carried him over Jericho Hill and through a small patch of woodlands suddenly devoid of bugs or birdsong. The wordless melody guided him past Dark Score Lake and beyond the habor’s docks where Sam’s father was probably anchoring his fishing boat for the night.

The waters of the ocean seemed to stretch out like a vast sacrificial slab, churning with strange whirls and ripples despite there being no wind. Hooded figures cavorted in a festival of antediluvian worship on the shore. Sounds of fire, lightless caverns, lightning turning sand into glass came from the congregations’ lips, bathing Sam’s ears in alien psalms that played havoc with his neurochemistry and instilled the air with a pressure that felt like the moon had drawn too close to the Earth.

Sam’s tennis shoes crunched on the sand as he approached the beach.

Simon didn’t normally find himself at the beach, especially after the last couple weeks he had. First the wolves, then the full moon and its… horrors, the past week with whatever illness he seemed to have contracted, the vision at the Morgue... All of it was worrying, almost so much so that he nearly didn’t even notice as he was walking to his car that he… wasn’t actually walking to his car, abandoning the things he had bought uh... Somewhere as he instead walked in the general direction of the ocean. He didn’t have a chance to go home as he was initially trying to head to his car with food for his dog nor did he have a choice for what he WANTED to do - there was a thought in his head, a new set of sounds that he couldn’t understand that felt like a string of ink being woven through his neurons, getting mixed up with the wires already crossed from his being a wolf and he wanted to stop walking but he couldn’t. He walked, feeling almost like a zombie that aimlessly shuffled though he did his best to make it look like he DID know where he was going and why and he didn’t let the facade drop until he found himself with a small collective of other people, two men and… Alain? What was he doing here? He glanced down and saw the things that he presumed one of the men had drawn, and though it didn’t look immediately recognisable to him, he deduced that it was magic of some kind. Another ritual? He noted the rock in the center and, not entirely sure what to do or why he was here other than some otherworldly compulsion, he rubbed an arm with his hand awkwardly and stood there, quiet and waiting for… HOPEFULLY some form of explanation, wondering if any of this had to do with the vision he saw from the supernatural eyeball that stuck to his hand.

Years of practice, hours of preparation, and yet Darwin's forehead was damp with sweat as he traced the lines of the Circle in the sand. It wasn't ideal, he'd have to make sure the waves wouldn't erase all his hard work, but the ritual had to happen at the beach. That's where everyone would be summoned, and where they'd stop the madness that's been plaguing the town. Or die trying, but Darwin tried not to dwell on that.

People started gathering, and Darwin finally decided to show himself. He walked toward the others, hands raised in an offer of peace. His movements were slow, calculated, and he used the shadows to mask his nervousness. When he spoke, his voice was calm and even. “Good evening. You might be wondering why you've been called here, or by whom.” He paused dramatically and turned to point at the area he'd prepared a little farther down the beach. A big rock had been placed at the center of the circle, forming a rudimental yet effective altar, and on it he placed his tools: a dagger, a bowl, and a small wooden box that somehow seemed to shake every now and then as if something inside was tossing and turning. “We're here to put an end to a great menace that could very well wipe this town out. We all have a role to play today, and it is imperative that we do it well, or we might be doomed. We'll only get one chance, so I expect everyone to follow my instructions carefully.”

Again, he paused. How did you explain to a bunch of strangers that you were a demon expert about to summon a monster in front of them and force them to fight each other in the hopes of channeling some mystical force and banishing a creature that they might not even have seen? Darwin pinched his nose and sighed. Tonight would be harder than expected. He let his eyes focus on each of the others, studying them, trying to figure out who everyone was supposed to be. “I know none of you have any reason to trust me... So trust yourselves. You all came here following an impulse, deep inside you know we must act now. I promise... And those of you well-versed in the supernatural know that's not a word that should be used lightly... I promise that everything I'll ask of you will be for the good of everyone. Now... One of you should be able to change their form. Now would be the time to do so. Their natural enemy should encourage them.”

The hunter still had patches of grey ash in his hair as he approached the sea shore. This was not his plan for the night, but he had left the cemetery with no complaints, crossed the road ignoring the sound of honks and ended up stepping on wet sand, toward the group of people who he knew he had to join. His true purpose was to be here, with these people, with that kid who worked at the store next to his garage, this guy with the really excellent barber, and Simon ? What the hell was Simon doing here? The last time the two had been near water, Alain had ended up in jail. Yep, he did not like how this was going.

The promise made by Barber guy did not convince him, but he was right about everything he had said. Something had brought them here, something bigger than them all, certainly. Completely ignoring whatever rules he had on discretion, the hunter drew his sword out and turned toward Simon. There was something in the way Simon had reacted to the news of a shifter being present that did not sit well with the hunter. Pointing his sword in his direction, Alain stepped forward. The look on his face was neither grim nor menacing yet, but the threat was very present. He spoke calmly, although his tone and attitude would change, should he not listen. “Simon, I have no idea what is going on, but, I think this guy is right?” He would not have been able to explain why, but the man was right. He had to be.

And so it was that Sam Rainsbottom found himself on a beach with a bunch of Metallica Fans, a guy who believed the lake was possessed by demons, a guy who looked as confused as Sam himself, and a last guy who apparently was a preacher trying to get the other guy change and accept Jesus into his heart...or be stabbed?

“W-woah woah,” the teenager said, trying to interpose himself between Alain and Simon. The chanting and growing sense of dread had taken Sam’s nerves to a feather pitch. But though Sam was visibly shaking in the face of horrors he didn’t understand and the lacrosse championships were about as “violent” as he was up for. However he wasn’t going to let some guy get stabbed because of this creepy lake jesus religious stuff.

“Stop!” It suddenly occurred to Sam that he was interposing his attractive yet very soft and slashable body in front of a dude with a sword. ...Regrets? Yes. “I don’t know what’s going on, but don’t hurt him!”

So in one moment, Simon had no idea what he was doing but in the next, the man with the fantastic facial hair had given a succinct, yet understandable explanation for why they were gathered - well, understandable as it could’ve been given that he was correct about this being a ritual. The part he was a little more concerned with, however, was how the man with the facial hair mentioned that one of them should be a shifter. He wasn’t referring to… Simon, was he? Maybe he was talking about the younger man… he didn’t peg Alain as a shifter either and he obviously wasn’t talking about himself. “Y-yeah, about that last part--” He didn’t get to finish his sentence when Alain suddenly pointed a… sword at him. Alain owned a sword? “Hey!” He held his hands up, taking a step away from Alain. “Alain, it’s… me? Simon?” He asked uncertainly. He wanted to mention that he was not, in fact, a shifter; just a normal person with other people and this was all some massive misunderstanding. Even if he was, he didn’t CHOOSE to shift - that was something only born wolves could do, right? Then the youth jumped in front of him and while he didn’t necessarily feel protected, it was slightly comforting to see someone so noble as to take a sword for him, if only for a couple seconds until the sword pierced through him and into Simon himself. “Uh… I think you have the wrong guy,” Simon mentioned, looking over at the ritual-performer despite something inside him knowing that something was wrong. Well, wrong-er.

“No, no, no!” Darwin blurted out, shaking his head. “First the shifter will change, then blood will be drawn, you're doing this all wrong!” Amateurs. He had to remind himself that these people didn't know what Darwin knew, and admittedly his explanation had been vague. At least they seemed the heroic, self-sacrificing types, that bode well for the ritual. With an exasperated sigh he took another couple of steps backward, moving closer to the circle. “Very well, let me be more clear. One of you is a shifter, one is a hunter, one is a human. And then there's me, I'm the magical one. And the sharpest dresser, clearly.” That last bit wasn't necessarily true, but it helped him: while the dark clothes, the many mystical symbols hanging from his neck and the eyeliner only made him look like one of the bad guys they gave him confidence, and he needed to project the aura of a man perfectly in control if he wanted to inspire trust. “Now, I don't care who's who. And if you're worried about your identity being discovered, there are spells we can do to make people forget. We're here as allies, not enemies. But,” he paused dramatically, his eyes focusing on each of the others. “Balance must be restored. Hunters hunt, and shifters shift, that's how it's always been, and how it must be tonight.” Of course, he kept it to himself the role the human would have to play. Somehow he figured it would be best to save certain revelations for the very last moment. “We don't have much time. The cultists might find us. So, you, with the sword...” He focused his attention on Alain. “I assume you're the hunter here. If a change won't happen in the next moments, it is your duty to make it happen. By force, if necessary.” Darwin took another long pause, this one clouded with genuine fear. Then, after a moment of hesitation, he opened his arms. “You can even attack me if it'll make the shifter change. Just... Not the face, please.”

Alain’s attention went back toward sharp beard, who looked exasperated, at best. Alain, who was far from impressed by the man’s accusations, did not comment, and instead listened, lowering his sword. It wasn’t like he had anything to fear from grocery boy and Simon. Yet. If anything, he was more worried about the man who claimed he was a magician. He reminded him of Felix in some aspects, and that was not really a good sign for the hunter. “So this is about bringing balance back to the force? Dude, that’s the plot of Star Wars.” If he shook his head with disapprovement, he did not leave. He would have left, maybe he should have left, but he had this feeling he couldn’t quite catch, that kept him here, with this group of seemingly normal people. He had to play his part, and if whatever this guy said was true, then maybe they would finally stop getting fish rain, eyeballs everywhere, endless nights, and other types of horrors. He was not the kind to get his hopes up, as he could not afford being disappointed again. And so he listened, and looked at Simon from over the kid’s shoulder. “Simon, you have to shift. You need to shift,” they did not have time to lose. Cultists were everywhere and they would find them if they did not get this over with, and that’s what brought him to get his free hand on Sam’s shoulder, pushing him aside as easily as if he were a toddler. “I don’t know why you’re here, kid, but let’s make sure you don’t get hurt.” And if Simon turned, then Alain would keep on making sure of that. “Now Simon, don’t make me do things I don’t want to do, and turn.”

Black waves lapped at the shore. Sam’s lived near the ocean all his life and been running around his father’s fishing boat since he’d been old enough to walk. Each wave usually had gradations of color that reflected the hues of the sky, topped by white froth as the tiniest particles of water reacted with friction against the air. Sometimes algae deepened  it with green or undercurrents dredged up bioluminescent creatures that made the sea look a starry tapestry unto itself.

But now the waves were just a cold stygian void, broken only by beach debris of eyes whose neve cords tangled together on the sand like some perverse nightmare version of kelp.

Sam Rainbottom did not believe in magic, demons, aliens, werewolves, superhumans, or wizards. Even God, karma, and the angels seemed like wishful thinking in a world where so many were hungry and hurting for seemingly no reason.

But as he looked at the grim travesty that afflicted nature and say cavorting cultists beseeching the chthonic depths of the sea and outest reaches of space with sounds no human tongue could utter, something instinctive in Sam knew that something was wrong. Not wrong in the sense that this preacher guy was going to stab this other guy, or weird as in whatever sexy Gandalf over there was talking about. There was a more profound wrongness in the air right now that Sam felt in his bones, but didn’t have the words to explain or deny.

Sam wasn’t thrilled about being pushed by sword-preacher guy, but had been manhandled so easily that even Sam was stupid enough try his luck on that front.

“S-so uh...what d-do you need me to do,” he asked Sexy Gandalf, glancing nervously at the clusters of hooded figures by the shore whose chanting was rising in sonorous urgency. Sam wasn’t really sure why he was actively volunteering for whatever Satanic ritual was going down here, save that Sexy Gandalf seemed to be the sole point of certainty in a world going increasingly mad.

Wait wait wait WHAT? What was going on right now, where did Simon make the wrong turn and how did he get off the ride? He still held his hands up in surrender and looked at the strange cast of characters he was around. “I don’t know what you’re thinking is going to happen,” Simon didn’t address anyone in particular but his quiet voice was taking a tone to it - fear, most likely. He didn’t think they knew what was going to happen because HE didn’t; up to this point, he had no memory of when he’d transform and was forced to put the pieces of the night together going by clues he was left the morning after. He wanted to protest that he wasn’t a shifter insomuch as an ‘involuntary curse-bearer'; when he thought ‘shifter’, he thought of someone like Nora who could control her form or even a Born wolf like Salva or Ariana. Simon not only didn’t have control, he didn’t have memory of those times. “I, uh… I can’t,” He decided to conclude lamely. “I have no idea what I’m doing or how I’m… doing.” This was awkward. He hated talking about himself and what he... Could or couldn’t do. “You sure you can’t find any actual shifters?” He was pushing the problem off and he wanted to help, almost more than anything at the moment given the evident peril but he had ACTUALLY no idea of how to help.

“I haven't seen Star Wars, but I can only assume it ripped off from other ancient stories, because this is the plot of many rituals older than the written word itself.” Darwin replied to the Hunter, a hint of annoyance in his voice. Comparing magic to some ridiculous sci-fi flick. Tsk. At the very least the Hunter seemed willing to go through with things, as was the human.

Darwin turned to the kid and put his arm around him, doing his best to sound reassuring and comforting. Not a role that fit him, but he tried. “Young man, you're going to have the biggest part in this. Aside from mine, obviously, I'm the main character in this play.” A wink, playful, meant to ease the tension and to buy some time. How could it break to him the news that he was going to be a sacrifice? Darwin hoped it wouldn't be fatal, they needed the human to survive, but with the cultists so close, a demon about to be freed and a shifter that was obviously as green as the lettuce he had earlier... Things were looking grim. He hid his concerns behind a practiced smile. “You, my dear, are going to make this whole ritual possible. Without you,” without your blood he mentally corrected himself, “We wouldn't be able to do what needs to be done. You'll make it vulnerable.” Darwin didn't elaborate on the 'it', deciding to turn to the shifter instead.

The very reluctant shifter. “You don't seem to grasp the situation here. Hear the chantings? That's a bunch of cultists. You know all the eyes? In the sky, in the sink, in people's flesh...” To further make his point, Darwin raised his palm, showing the empty eyelid still there, sleeping quietly in the center of his hand. “They're working to bring forth something even worse. The magic we'll perform here will stop them, will stop everything. But we need you to transform.” With every word he took a step closer to the shifter. The instructions were clear, the hunter was supposed to force the change. But things weren't going according to plan, he needed to improvise. Of all the hunters and shifters he could get, he had to be stuck with the peaceful ones... He had to push them, somehow. With a sudden movement, he raised a fist toward the Shifter's face. Darwin closed his own eyes as he swung his fist, hoping that an old-fashioned brawl would get the Hunter and the Shifter into the proper mood.

The hunter looked at the self proclaimed leader, who sure had a lot of wrong opinions, with all the disdain he could summon. He must have been the spitting image of his father right now, and his disdain grew bigger, but for himself this time. His wrinkled nose still there, Alain watched as Darwin wrapped an arm around the kid.

If there was something Darwin could do, it might be to make sure that Sam was kept from harm’s way. However, something the magician said brought another frown to his face. What could he possibly mean by this? Was Sam in danger? A bigger danger than this situation, being near those cultists, was? Pinching at the bridge of his nose, Alain gave Mr.Talkative a look. “And what part exactly does he play?” Although, instead of an answer, all he got was Darwin raising his hand on his friend.

He had to react, fastly, and that’s exactly what he did although, now that Darwin’s fist was out of the way, they still had to find a way to make Simon shift. Force him to shift. If he was close to dying, he would have no other choice, no matter how good a person he was. “I’m sorry, bud,” with no warning, he wrapped his hand around Simon’s throat, and started squeezing the life out of him. With his hand on him, whatever happened next, he would at least have some sort of control over the situation, right? Unless…

This whole situation seemed like a bunch of bad ideas rolled into one grandiose bad idea. Everything the snappy dresser said made the hair on the back of Simon’s neck stand up all over again. The more he talked, the more Simon was being put under the impression that this was another one of those blood rituals. GRANTED, the last time he participated in one, they only needed a couple drops so surely that might be the case here, right? But then the man turned to him and he tensed up instinctively. The cultists, the unnatural eye the man flashed on his palm, the recollection that there was possibly a supernatural eldritch squid in the lake and the sun being reduced to a giant eyeball… the werewolf took a step back for every step the supposed spellcaster took towards him to maintain that distance but stopped when the other man did. There was a soft exhale, maybe it was-- Aaaand it wasn’t over. While he didn’t flinch necessarily, Simon’s reaction time already prepared him for getting decked in the face but the impact never came, instead blocked by Alain’s hand. What was wrong with these people? If they could just talk things out, this could be solved, right? “Look, I’m sorry but I can’t just--” He didn’t have a chance to finish his sentence when Alain went from blocking the mustachioed man's incoming punch to starting to strangle him. He was caught off-guard by it and at first, for just a split second thought that it was a ploy but he quickly realised that it wasn’t as superhuman strength dug fingers into his neck, rapidly blocking off his circulation. Without thinking, his hands went up to Alain’s, scrabbling at it to get him to let go but he felt like he was in the lockjaw of a crocodile. “Alain--” He gasped, managing to figure out what was happening in those few seconds and if he was permitted to remember this, he would be sure not to blame Alain in any way for his decision. It made perfect sense; neither of them knew what would spark a forced transformation and the thoughts refused to cross Simon’s mind. He was killing him, that much he could feel. The human kept struggling fruitlessly, trying with every fiber to regain control of the situation because in the bottom of his gut, this was not going to go how it was planned anyway. At this point, he could only hope for forgiveness for what he was about to do. “I’m-- sorry…” Then it began; unimaginable pain coursing through his body, ripping over and under and in between every cell of his being. Grunts morphed into yelling that one usually heard on a battlefield accompanied with a missing limb before the shock took them. The hands that grappled Alain’s sharpened, lengthened and mutated where the claws started to dig into the skin. Clothes were ripped as though they were made of paper mache as fur sprouted like grass in tufts; this was no partial transformation, not this time. The yells turned into snarls and growls as Simon was twisted around and subsequently unfurled like a blooming flower, a writhing mass of sharp bits and angled limbs, gangly and wiry. Though the process might’ve seemed like it took several hours, it was over in a matter of minutes; where the man stood before was now a lithe, deep brown beast with piercing blue eyes and a long, scraggly tail that hung behind him, swaying faintly and breathing heavily through its nose as if it just ran a marathon. And it was fast. Eyes dancing over Alain’s features for a few seconds, then the spellcaster’s, a thin snout took to the air briefly before it dropped onto its long front legs and turned sharply to find Sam. Weak link. First prey. It leapt for the human, hearing only the call to destroy something, someone.

Like most human residents of White Crest, Sam lived in a state of a pathological denial. On some level it was a defensive tactic that the mind employed to shelter itself from grim truths best left unknown. Since colonial antiquity, Sam’s ancestors had been born and raised on land that teetered on the liminal horizon between Earth and Non-Euclidean dimensions whose alien realites defied hominid understanding. The only way for a powerless mortal to cope was to censor their own perceptions. The blindfold had been handed down generations and placed over a child Sam’s eyes by parental admissions whenever he mentioned things half-seen in the night.

But now, as a man contorted and seemed to split open before him, there were no more safe lies that Sam could tell himself. There was no sanitized logical explanation for the cracking of bones as they forcefully elongated or the serpentine slithering of muscle cords beneath the skin as organs and fibers reshaped themselves in seconds. The familiar form of human being was punctured by claws and fangs before distending until a sickening skull-crunch followed a man’s visage vanishing into something elongated and lupine. This was impossible..wrong. Sam must be dreaming, crazy, or high maybe. But when that feral sapphire gaze met his own, the young man knew in his blood that he was fully lucid.

Sam’s pale blue eyes widened with the terror of revelation, as if rose-tinted glass had been finally shattered to let in true light for the first time.

The teenager staggered a few steps back as the hulking russet-furred predator charged at him, stumbling on the slick occipital nerve seaweed as his pale lips mouthed soundless words of panic.  

Darwin didn't fight back when the Hunter pushed him away from the shifter. That sort of quick reaction, when blood boils hot and instincts take over, that's exactly the sort of reaction he was hoping for. He didn't bother answering the other men's questions, he just hurried back to the circle. The sound of bones shifting and rearranging was disgusting, but to Darwin's ears it was music: it meant the transformation was underway. He checked the circle on the sand, still intact despite the waves lapping at it. This would work.

In the few seconds they had before the transformation was complete, Darwin shouted “The shifter needs to draw blood from the human! I know it's horrible, but it's what must happen.” Again, he regretted being the bearer of such bad news, but he had no time to reassure the group: he opened the box and picked up what looked like a glowing orb covered in runes. That was a family heirloom, or the closest to it Darwin had: a powerful artefact he'd stolen from the Asrani and had used to trap the demon with Nell's help. Without warning, Darwin grabbed the dagger and used it to stab the orb. The blade dug easily into what looked like stone, cutting it as if it was flesh, and demonic energy started flowing from it. It fell on the lines in the sand, and expanded, filling the circle and making it glow with an eerie light that mirrored the moon's. Darwin started chanting, ancient words of power he had committed to memory, and the light shone brighter, blinding even, as something started to take form in the center of the circle as the creature was being released by its magical bounds.

“In a moment, a demon will rise from this.” Again, Darwin made sure to raise his voice, making it loud enough to be heard over the growls and fighting. “It'll attack us. I need its blood. And the human’s blood. And time to perform another ritual. And no one must die!” Channeling his own energy into the circle to give the demon form was already draining him, truthfully Darwin wasn't sure they were going to make it, but he had to act confident. The creature in the circle was almost solid, drawing his magic and using it to feed its own appearance, and Darwin felt he could move his focus from the summoning to the fight behind him. He turned to watch the wolf, the hunter and the human. “Remember, I need blood, not death!” Reeeally helpful, Darwin.

The leap was the quick part but the Wolf was soon inches from Sam’s face, drained of colour and frozen with shock. He was on the ground, not as exciting for the kill. The wolf loomed over him, dark umber fur brushing against Sam’s pale skin as its nose took in the terrified scent of the boy, his face, his hair, his neck. As it absorbed the stench of its prey, pitch-black claws held Sam’s arms, digging into the soft flesh as though they were made of melting ice cream. It drew back its head, the mangy fur on its thin neck bristling with a snarl that rumbled in its throat and it pulled its claws out sharply, leaving eight deep, dark gashes on his arms, four for each. The smell of blood flowed through his senses and it panted with a cruel desire. With another deep, guttural growl it reached forward again to put a paw on Sam’s stomach when suddenly it yelped and recoiled, feeling something pierce its hide on its hind leg and it whipped around to see Alain with his sword puncturing its skin, deep and sure as it sliced past part of the bone and leaving it notched. The blood dripping from its claws, it abandoned its previous quarry and instead turned to regard the slayer, keeping low to the ground with a limp immediately noticeable.

Demon. Blood. No dying. Ritual. Motherfucking magic nonsense.

Simon did not leave Alain any chance to protest or actually do what he wanted to do. Punch Darwin in the face. This pretentious fuck. He couldn’t stop the wolf from lashing out at Sam. Far from the hunter the idea of killing his friend, but some silver would have been nice to have. He did not really think this through, and while he was not entirely sure that this would work, clearly he could still do some damage with his sword, and stop Simon from hurting the poor kid. And so, as the wolf lifted his paw to strike again, the hunter bolted forward. The sword went easily through the flesh. He barely had time to breathe out in relief, for the beast was turning toward him (which he expected), menacing as ever. He had no other choice but to keep the damn thing away from Darwin and Sam, and so, readjusting the weight of his sword in his hand, Alain stepped back, luring Simon away from the two. Although the more he stepped back, the more he got close to the cultists. Perhaps this would end up being a two birds one stone situation. If he was being honest, facing a werewolf was not something he often had the chance of doing (to say the least) and improvisation being what it was, the hunter could not help but have a bad feeling about this. He had no idea, whatsoever, of how he was going to get out of this situation. If anything else failed, perhaps he would have to go for his usual methods, but losing Simon would truly be heartbreaking, and he wondered, what if, if someone died, none of this would even work?

One of the few tangential benefits of overwhelming confusion and terror is that your brain is so chock full of white noise that pain has to wait its turn. Sam looked down at his arms, palms bearing dried cuts from a boxcutter in the shape of eye-like sigils and now cruelly symmetrical slashes that welled up in scarlet. The athlete had lived a rough and tumble life with plenty of hard knocks and pain during practice, but the gulf between that and what he was experiencing now was so wide that Sam felt like he was being swallowed.

He had tunnel vision, eyes rimmed with wet red and darkness as the huge beast and man with a blade gracefully danced like deadly shadows at the edge of his consciousness, their movements like flickering flames as everything else threatened to be swallowed in smoke. For a time Sam heard only the steady crash of ocean waves and the ragged sound of his increasingly shallow breaths.

But something in Sam fought against the descent from shock into unconsciousness. When rational thought failed, instinct took the wheel, and a stubborn neanderthal part of Sam didn’t give a damn about things making sense so long as he lived. The teenager’s breathing steadied, perhaps having his coaches to thank for years of being hollered at as he powered through the enervating weakness brought on by blood loss and overstimulation. He staggered back to his feet and made his way over to Darwin, the memory of being needed there managing to cut through the dark fog in his head.

Darwin watched the fight, secretly grateful that he was a few feet away from that monstrosity. He had no qualms against werewolves, but seeing the wild beast going on a rampage only fueled his convictions: demons were better. You could reason with demons, bargain for your life. There was no talking to that bundle of muscle, fur and fangs, and seeing it in action he realized the Hunter would be too busy dealing with it to help Darwin with patching the human up.

The human was soon becoming Darwin's favorite person: even with deep gashes on his arms, he still made his way toward Darwin and the circle, and for that Darwin was grateful. He stepped closer to the wounded human and helped him walk where he needed him, right at the edge of the still glowing circle. “You're doing wonderful, just a few more steps, a few drops of blood and then it'll be over.” Darwin paused and quickly added “In the good way, not that you'll die. I won't let it happen.” As he spoke Darwin moved Sam's arms gently, so that they were right above the circle, and then... “I'm sorry, kid.” With only that as a warning, Darwin squeezed one of Sam's arms, watching as the blood dripped onto the circle where the demon's blood still awaited with an ominous glow. “With this sacrifice, thou art free,” he murmured, fueling those words with his own magic.

The moment Sam's blood touched the magical energy on the sand, it quickly spread, painting the lines of the Circle a deep, rich red, glowing with the demon's life force. The human's blood mixed with it, swirling and bubbling as it anchored the demon to this world, and the glowing figure in the center of the circle grew more concrete. The light solidified in a humanoid shape, wearing a dark suit that would be more fitted in a fashion show rather than here, on a beach, next to a rampaging werewolf. The creature's head, though, was far from human: instead of a face, a giant round mouth filled with curved teeth, the sort that would leave their victim no chance to free themselves.

The demon hesitated, bringing his hands to his own throat, and Darwin let out a sigh of relief: the magic was working: Sam's blood not only anchored the demon to this dimension, it also made it breathe. The logistics of it were lost on Darwin, he wasn't a scientist, but seeing the demon gasp for air let him know one thing: it could be drowned. And so...

“Hunter, wolf! Over here, drown the Dator! In the water! When the moon is at its peak!” Which was right about now, and would probably only last a few more minutes. They had to act fast. Of course, wolves were not known for being able to follow specific instructions, and the hunter was probably too busy to really listen to Darwin, so he had to come up with a new plan, quick. He considered using mental magic on the werewolf, something that normally he hated: he'd sworn he wouldn't use his powers to bend someone else's will, he was better than his family, but did he have a choice here? He focused, and tried to tune his magic to the wolf, sending it images of the demon, hoping it would make the wolf focus its attention on a new target, but as soon as he started channeling his energy, the Dator Vitae sensed Darwin's magic and turned its head toward him. Still struggling for air, the creature jumped forward, and Darwin wasn't quick enough to dodge: the demon tackled him to the ground, and the two started struggling on the sand. “Little help, here!” Darwin grunted, doing his best to keep the demon's mouth away from him.

He could hear Darwin shouting from afar, although what disturbed him the most was what he could see in the darkness. What the fuck was this monstrosity? Thoughts of beheading and burning it crossed his head, and this sounded like a much more pleasant option than Darwin’s. “Fuck no, I don’t wanna spend the next week hiding my hands and legs,” he cursed in French, and then started cursing at Darwin, and his whole family while he was at it. Alain knew what would happen if he put his hands in the water. He had ended up swimming in it just two weeks ago, and what followed had not been pleasant. No matter how hard he scrubbed, the ink did not fade, and he had to wait, and wait, and wait.

Alain, however, knew that he did not have a choice, and instead of keeping on dancing around Simon with his sword still in hand, the hunter darted on the wet sand toward Darwin, Sam, and the demon. In the long term, he doubted that he could outrun a werewolf, but what mattered now was to keep Darwin alive. It turned out that his habit of wounding legs was really a good habit to have.  Taking advantage of his short advance, the hunter kicked into the demon’s side, sending it flying a few meters away, head falling into the water. Heh. Maybe they wouldn’t have to walk into the water, after all. “Don’t thank me,” he shot a sarcastic smile at the all too proud magician, who had lost a bit of his glow now. Walking past him, the hunter kicked against the demon who was trying to get up, shaking his head. Glancing over at Simon in worry, Alain pressed his foot to the demon’s back.

The Wolf kept its bright blue eyes on Alain, seeing the glisten of its own blood on the blade he held up and pointed at it but not acknowledging that the blood was its own. Sam's gore filled its senses but now Alain was the prey and it circled with the hunter in a staring contest, eyes boring through the slayer, waiting for an opportunity to lunge, a spot of weakness, a move to counteract. Other voices were heard but ignored, other sounds tilted an ear but the man with the sword was the target.

Then it shook its head briefly but fervently, as if hearing an acute noise that punctured its concentration, images of something it couldn't understand but didn't inherently fear flashing before its eyes and in its head. The images were short enough not to fully register but in those few moments of distraction, Alain had made a move. Teeth bared and dripping saliva, the Wolf started to give chase and staggered with the first bound as its leg gave out before it had a chance to send adrenaline through its system to keep it going, sending the beast skidding along the ground. Once it righted itself, steeling its muscles, the second push was enough and the Wolf pursued, seeing Alain occupied with something. Perfect. It leapt at Alain, mouth gaping and claws out like a cat about to catch a bird.

Sam had responded to the appearance of a lamprey faced monster from the tribute of his own blood at first with dumb incomprehension. However when the creature had summarily attacked Darwin, Sam had immediately attempted to football tackle the Demon. Sam’s body was quickly losing blood, life, and strength. Nonetheless he fought against the creeping feeling of numbness in his limbs and tried to wrestle the strange suited thing off Darwin, teeth gritted in a blind determination to make the madness stop. Unfortunately Sam’s strength was purely mortal and wouldn’t have likely budged a Demon even if Sam’d was bodily sound and four feet taller.

The fact that the dude with the sword then interrupted Sam’s fierce mortal struggle to simply punt the lamprey monster into the water and do a Captain Morgan pose on it might have been a bit emasculating if Sam had the mental space to think about anything other than pain and the enormous wolf-thing making another charge.

“Dude heads up!”

Darwin was thankful to the human: even with his wounds still fresh he tried. Granted, he only managed to get the Dator Vitae more upset and to bleed all over Darwin's clothes, but that was secondary to the fact his intervention kept the demon from latching its face to Darwin's body and sucking him dry of magic. When Alain arrived and kicked the creature away, Darwin crawled back, trying to put a few more feet between himself and the fight.

“I'll thank you all once this is over,” he replied to Alain, voice tinted with a hint of frustration: his part had been done, and now that brawns were what truly mattered he felt useless. The Wolf's growling drew Darwin's attention to the giant shifter charging at them, and he panicked. The wolf seemed out of control, and headed toward Alain. He doubted the hunter would be able to handle both a Dator and a werewolf, so Darwin gathered the few magical energy he had left and focused again on the wolf, trying to create a mental connection between himself and the creature.

Despite being a skilled magician, and having studied mental magic for years, it was difficult: a shifter's mind was always slippery. Ever changing, and working on instinct more than rational thoughts, it gave Darwin very little to work with... There would be no communication with the wolf, at least not with words. Instead, Darwin pictured the Dator Vitae, and sent that image to the wolf, along with visions of raw, succulent meat, the smell of a grill and the woodlands, and hoped that would be enough to lure the wolf into attacking the demon instead of Alain. Still on the ground, out of breath and almost magicked out, there was nothing more he could do, and he lacked the human's stamina (or maybe it was willpower, the human truly seemed to be a remarkable individual) to push his own limits. Not to mention, he needed to save his strength to conclude the ritual once the demon had been drowned.

The Dator Vitae, for its part, refused to just stay down quietly. Using its supernatural strength, it struggled against Alain's foot, grabbing it with both hands and pulling, trying to make the hunter lose his footing and drag him into the water instead. In the distance, the chanting grew louder and louder… There was a good chance the cultists were approaching. Darwin could only hope Bertrand had somehow managed to lure them away from the ritual and would be able to distract them long enough.

“Putain de…” Alain frowned and did what he should have done seconds ago. Chopping off both the Dator’s arms, he turned toward the whole coming right at him. Good luck getting yourself up with no arms, the hunter thought to himself, although he didn’t really have time to check whether this thing could regrow limbs fast, as he now had to worry about Simon, who was leaping at him. A glimpse to the left and he saw Darwin and Sam looking somewhat safe. While he doubted that the human would help (and he did not blame him for it, or expected him to), Darwin sounded both like someone he would detest, and like someone capable, who knew what he was doing. Maybe it was the comment about Star Wars being a rip off, but the hunter had a bad feeling about the magician.

He tried to grab the wolf’s front legs, but the claws dug into his arms as he did so, and his foot slipped from the demon’s back. Alain really hoped that having cut off the arms would play its part into keeping this thing drowning. Right now, this was not really his priority anyway, razor sharp teeth were inching closer to his face the more the claws dug into his arms, forcing him to give more room to the wolf. “Bordel de coui- Simon, tu fais chier,” there were more curses in French as the hunter struggled to get the damn beast off of him. “A little help here,” he called out. Alain had not noticed it yet, too focused on Simon, but the chanting of the robed cultists had gotten louder and louder, as they were getting closer.

Everything seemed to be going in a blur yet standing still in time and the Wolf was no exception, in one area for a moment then advancing on Alain in the next, static yet in motion. It struggled with the hunter, snapping wildly at his face as its claws pierced the skin on his arms, being held at just enough of a distance though it pushed with strength that certainly belonged to it and not the human it was forced to share a body with. As it lunged and growled and drooled, however, its mind was filled with something else, something familiar yet distant and it recalled the images it suddenly saw, having been from minutes before. The combination of the images coupled with the new stench of whatever was coming from the armless thing in the water overrode the wolf’s instincts; Alain wasn’t the target anymore. The sensation was roughly akin to seeing another predator threatening to take away its prey. The wolf, with no trace of care, tore its claws out of the hunter’s arms and twisted in a fluid motion until its bright blue eyes fell upon the demon. Threat, thief, enemy of what was the wolf’s. With a barking snarl, the wolf dropped onto all fours again and dug its claws into the ground to get an extra burst of thrust as it aimed for the armless creature in the water, sharp night vision seeing that it LOOKED like water but it was pitch black. It didn’t need to focus on the water though, it only had eyes for the creature and it landed on the demon with the many rows of teeth, taking its paws to the snappy suit it was wearing and clenching its teeth into the shoulder of the other as the two rolled into the water, falling beneath the surface and becoming invisible in the murky black depths save for bubbles and splashes of activity from a stray limb.

Sam sat exhausted on the bloodsoaked sand watching as both wolf and lamprey creature vanished beneath black waves. It was easy then, as blood poured over his arms, to imagine that this wasn’t anything more than a dream. The pain was real though, climbing up his spine and guts. He coughed in thick shuddering gasps. Wide blue eyes drifted from Alain to Darwin, but nothing about their bloodstained appearances and bearing offered up any alternative explanation to Sam’s mind.

They’d murdered a wolf that’d split open from a dude, and a fish thing in a suit that’d been lubricated with blood out of a rock.

“This isn’t...that doesn’t.” The sky, sand, and sea began to spin like a gyroscope, switching places with each other. The world somersaulted and Sam felt like he tumbled off its axis. Damp sand and slick eyeballs pressed against his cheek as Sam slumped down on the shore and the world went dark.

The Dator Vitae had let out a terrible screech when its arms had been severed, but it didn't lose any of its fighting spirit, and only the weight of the werewolf kept it from lounging. Instead of attached to the spine of the hunter who'd hurt it, the Vitae found itself tackled by a wolf. Unable to fight back, it was dragged underwater, the black liquid filling its mouth. There was some sort of magic in the water, the demon could feel it, but it wasn't a magic it could feed on. Instead of strengthening it, it made it weaker. Its movements were sluggish as it tried fruitlessly to struggle against the beast keeping it underwater. The Dator's legs kicked, its teeth scratched, but the wolf was just too strong, and without its arms the demon couldn't get the upper hand, nor could it get free. And eventually, once the water was all it could taste, see and feel... The Dator Vitae stopped struggling.

“Good boy, keep it down!” Darwin mumbled to himself as he watched the wolf disappear under the pitch black water of the ocean. As the one who'd summoned the demon, he could somewhat sense its energy, and he smiled in feeling the way it faded with each passing second. He tentatively stood up and took a couple of steps toward the hunter, keeping a safe distance. “I think... Only a few more moments, and then it'll be over.” He sounded far more exhausted than panicked, but the look in his eyes spoke volumes of his concern. Gone was the façade of the confident magician, he was too tired, too drained to keep it up. He looked up and sighed. “Right on time... A few more minutes and it would've been too late.” As tired as he was, Darwin couldn’t keep a small smile off his face: the ritual had been completed, he could feel it. He gathered the last of his magical energy to send out a quick signal. A small flash in the sky above them, so that Nell would know they made it.

“Now we just need to find a way to calm the wolf and get out before the cultists arri” Darwin's voice was cut off by a sudden thump, and he turned to watch the human faint, his fall softened by the sand. “New plan. He needs a doctor, he lost a lot of blood.” Darwin silently vowed to keep watch on Sam's unconscious body once this was over, they owed it to him. Slowly, he reached the human, and did his best to lift him up, ready to carry him away, on his own if he had to. “Hey, Hunter...” Darwin frowned. They all worked together, risked their lives together, and he didn't know how else to call him. “We can’t do anything for the wolf, but he’s gonna be fine. He’s a wolf. And the cultists… They deserve an angry wolf.”

[moominquartz]

rating: T fandom: Steven Universe prompt: Secretly Drawing the Other warnings: None Apply word count: 3.4k requester: @kohakhearts​

[IMG attached]

Connie is in desperate need of a reference picture.

My first complete fic for Fluff Bingo, which is something solely in a writing discord I’m apart of! Yes, it was inspired by BTHB, but it’s fun to have something to go to when I’m all out of angst juice. :)

[Read on AO3!]

~*~

Connie has never been especially talented at anything outside of school. She wins only as many tennis matches as she loses, and she struggles with the advanced sheet music that most of her peers seem to pull off flawlessly. Her grades are always A’s, sure, but that hardly seems like talent or skill, only an ability to test well.

The one thing Connie has never allowed herself to itemize — never allowed herself to compare herself to others, no matter how tempting it is — is her ability to draw.

To be fair, she knows she isn’t very good. When she begins, she’s heavily influenced by the wide-eyed, shoujo anime she adores, and proportions are the furthest thing from her mind. She draws solely for the fun of it, for pure expression. She draws when she’s ecstatic, she draws when she’s angry, she draws when she’s so sad that her tears stain the pages.

It’s only pencil drawings, but they’re very personal to her, and it’s something she doesn’t want anyone knowing she’s doing. Her parents know, because they’re her parents and she needs them to buy her the sketchbooks and the pencils. None of her friends do.

No one except Steven.

“Whoa,” Steven whispers with wide, childlike awe as he holds her sketchbook between his hands. He cradles the book as if it were scripture bound in expensive, gilded leather. “Connie, you’re amazing.”

She blushes. “Oh, it’s not anything special.”

“Are you kidding?” He looks at her with such fervent belief that it throws her off-kilter. “Connie, I don’t know anything about drawing, but look at all the details you put in here!”

That isn’t quite true; Steven draws as well, though maybe not as frequently as she does. Still, she supposes she can see what he’s saying. Even though the proportions are way off and Archimicarus should not be double the size of Lisa’s head, Connie took the time to put in every accessory she loved into Lisa’s outfit. She was determined to make sure Lisa was recognizable, despite the fact that the movie hadn’t come out yet and nobody knew what Lisa was going to look like.

“Okay,” she murmurs, feeling high on the praise. “All right, I’ll take that. Thanks.”

He grins. “Will you show me more sometime?”

“Oh, uh… sure.” Flattered that he’d even ask, she agrees without thinking about it.

-

Connie starts to draw him. Not out of any intention, and certainly not because she wants to. It happens entirely by accident that she looks down at her sketchbook, struggling to find inspiration, and realizes she’s doodled his head in the corner.

It becomes commonplace that, when they’re spending time together — time not always spent doing something, but rather, sharing the same space and simply being — Connie will draw.

Sometimes Steven asks, but more often than not she says no. He takes absolutely no offense at all, and that’s part of why she likes him. He just lets her do her thing while he chugs through another playthrough of GolfQuest Mini or plans out his next TubeTube video. 

Connie’s never been good at drawing real people. They’re even harder to get right than her anime characters. But the doodle doesn’t look entirely bad. It doesn’t look like Steven, but it doesn’t look bad.

And this is how Connie learns to use references: she stares at him while he doesn’t look at her.

She’s nervous at first, watching him while she draws. She’s afraid he’ll realize what she’s doing and draw attention to it. He’ll strike a pose or blush and say something about how she should be drawing someone else, or worse, he’ll ask to see it when she’s done. But Steven doesn’t do any of that. He keeps right on going, completely oblivious.

Connie gets pretty good at drawing him.

-

Years pass and Connie gets pretty damn good at drawing him.

The way she draws him changes with time. Her skills transform and puberty hits Steven like a freight truck. Every time she sees him, he seems to have grown a few inches. She hardly gets the chance to draw him more than once or twice while he’s in front of her. Once she reaches high school, she has far less time to just “hang out” — or if she does, and they aren’t doing anything, she’s forced to spend her time doing homework.

And then she figures out the work-around.

“What’re you up to?” she asks aloud as she types it into text. “Send pics.”

It sounds as if she’s asking for something else, but she absolutely isn’t. She hopes her Mom doesn’t still go through her text messages, or else she’s going to have a very awkward conversation with her later.

Her phone dings in response before she even sets it down.

w/ lars at the bakery!! lookit this! [IMG attached]

Yes, score! She only hopes it’s got a good enough angle—

—aaaaand it’s a picture of a dessert. It’s a very delicious-looking chocolate orange mousse, but it’s not of Steven.

She tries again on a different day, when she’s so tired of studying her eyes will fall out if she has to read one more word. She pulls out her sketchbook, lays on her bed, and texts him again. I’m so boredddd. Doing anything fun?

To prompt a photo in return, she attaches a selfie while she’s lying on the bed. It isn’t the best selfie she’s ever taken, but this isn’t about that. It’s about getting one back.

Steven, as always, replies quickly. sry, @ LH, can’t talk now. No picture. Connie glances at the clock just to make sure it is, indeed, past 8 PM, and she frowns.

Fine. Maybe she can ask for some help.

I am so sorry, Connie. Pearl’s texts are always way longer than they should be. You should’ve asked me a few weeks ago! I had a ton of pictures saved, but I recently exported them to an external harddrive. And he’s been so unwilling to let me take pictures of him recently.

Connie bites her lip. Pearl isn’t exactly a ‘grandma’ with technology — most of the things she’s learned how to operate, she’s done herself or only after one demonstration — but Connie wonders if she pressed, if she asked Pearl to retrieve her most recent picture of him to send to her, that Pearl would be a little too curious in return.

With all other options exhausted, Connie turns to desperate measures.

“Why am I doing this, again?” Amethyst asks over the phone. “Can’t you just, like, ask him yourself?”

“Please,” Connie all but begs. “I can’t tell you what it’s for, I just need a picture of him from the front, and it need to be at least waist-up. Although if you could get a full picture of him standing up, that’d be even better. Oh, and please don’t let him know that it’s for me.”

“Hmm.” Amethyst’s little hum is plotting, and Connie absolutely hates it. “Well, what do I get in return?”

“Huh?”

“What, you’re not expecting me to do this for free, are you?”

Of course. This is Amethyst. Connie chews on her bottom lip, considering.

“Well, what do you want? I could order Fish Stew for you.” Connie’s mom gives her enough of an allowance for her grades that that wouldn’t be a problem. “Or some of Lars’s bakery’s treats, if you like.”

Amethyst’s laugh goes to her bones. “What? I’m gonna need more than that. Hmm… How about this: I’ll take the picture for you, but you gotta come here to get it yourself.”

“What?” Connie’s voice squeaks. “You can’t be serious, Amethyst! It’s a school night!”

Amethyst snickers. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to get it tonight. I’ll text you when I have it, and you’ll get it when you come over. Oh, but when you do, you’d better bring two full pizzas with you, okay?”

“O-kay,” Connie mumbles, defeated.

“Sweet. Catch you on the flip side.”

-

do u need his face showin?

Connie blinks at the text on her phone, three days later. She’s just gotten out of school and Amethyst sent it three hours ago. 

Yes.

dam. well heres the outtake [IMG attached]

When Connie clicks through, she gets the full shot of Steven all right. But he isn’t standing upright and still; instead, he’s rushing past the camera, blurring the shot, a hand in front of his face to block it from being seen.

This is a shitty picture.

i kno, that’s why i sent it to u w/o getting pizza, dam!!

-

In the interim, Connie tries once more to provoke a selfie from Steven. This one requires a little more effort and is incredibly flirtatious — borderline forward — but she has to try it. Her sketches of him seem more and more off by the day, and it’s driving her nuts. She needs that reference shot, at least one.

She has a violin concert one Friday night. She dresses up for it, wearing black slacks, a white button-up with a high collar, and a black blazer. A simple tie, black with blue stripes, adorns her neck, and she lets her hair down. Like this, it would just barely tickle her shoulders. She puts on a little more makeup than she normally would for a concert; she dabbles in foundation, in blush and lipstick, when normally she would settle for mascara and concealer, if she decided on makeup at all.

Eyeshadow is still too foreign for her, but she hopes this is enough.

Then the trick is taking the selfie itself. At first she takes a shot without her shoes on, then decides it would probably look better with them on, especially if she’s trying to get one back. So she puts on her nice pair of loafers and stands at the full-body mirror in her room, taking a deep breath as she tries to set her nerves to rest.

“It’s fine, Connie,” she murmurs. “It’s fine. It’s just Steven, and what’s the worst thing that could happen? That he just flat out doesn’t respond?”

That is, by far, the worst thing that could happen. She doesn’t know what he’d do if he did that, because Steven is always the type to reply within a few minutes. She doesn’t know if it’s just like that for her or for everyone, but she has to trust that he’ll reply to this.

She takes the picture. It’s a little lopsided because her hand is shaking, but it’s the full picture of her, head to toe. She sends it off with a caption that, she hopes, is not too flirtatious, not too forward, because she would hate to put him off:

Don’t I look nice? What are you wearing tonight?

She bites her lip. Mom calls for her to get going, that she’s taken too long, but Steven’s response is almost instantaneous: a long, long string of heart eyes emojis and hearts of different colors and patterns. Then another text, this one saying, you look amazing!! i wish i was there!!!

It isn’t a selfie, and it doesn’t answer her question, but it makes her heart soften nonetheless. He’s so good to her, and of course that makes him difficult to manipulate. Maybe she really should just ask.

Several hours later, on the drive back home from the concert, she turns her phone back on. And to her surprise, there is a message waiting.

sorry this took so long, i wanted to match!! [IMG attached]

She blinks.

Steven has gone all out for this. He’s wearing a formal dress she hasn’t seen before, the same blue of her tie; an A-line that allows her to see the broadness of his chest, with off-the-shoulder sleeves that proudly display the freckles of his shoulders, and a pleated skirt that begins at his waist. His shoes are the same color, heeled, open-toed, and he’s even done his nails.

His makeup is more intricate than hers. Blush, foundation, eyeliner, mascara, an iridescent violet eyeshadow and vibrant lipstick.

He’s sent multiple pictures. One is of him doing a kissy face, eyes lidded; the next is him laughing, blurred from moving the camera, what might have been a shot he hadn’t done on purpose; and the next is of him doing a peace sign.

Connie’s face burns. She’s glad her mom and dad take the front seats, so that she can have this little moment all to herself.

I love it! She hesitates over the send button. He sent her all those emojis, and she can’t even say more than three words?

You look great! Oh, but he looks more than great, doesn’t he? 

Can I come over? Now that was honest, but way too suggestive!

She deletes it again and then realizes they’re almost home. She has to send something, she’s been thinking way too hard about it!

You’re the most beautiful, most handsome man in the whole world, and I wish I was with you.

She sends it before she can think twice about it. Steven responds immediately with many more emojis.

-

Connie can’t get the way he looked out of her head. In school, she doodles the dress in the margins of her notes. At tennis practice, she imagines trying to wear those heels and run at the same time. In orchestra, she pretends Steven is watching, that he came to her concert in that outfit.

She draws him, of course. For hours in her room, she flips through the pictures and draws, and draws, and draws. She draws him in the dress in different poses, in different settings, with different people.

… Mostly with her.

Her outfit’s different, though. It’s not the same, boring orchestra one she had to wear for the concert. She Googles different outfits and finds some fantastic, colorful tuxes, and of course pretends she would ever be able to wear them.

She’s in the middle of coloring a self-indulgent piece in which the two of them are dancing in these outfits (and this is one she would never, ever show to anyone), when she gets a text from Amethyst.

i got the pic. but uh… kinda havin some issues [IMG attached]

Connie blinks.

It’s a picture of Steven, though not the one Connie asked for. He’s closer to the camera, a rage in his eyes as he moves toward the person taking it, mouth open as if speaking.

Oh, no. Is he mad at Amethyst for sneaking pictures of him? Quickly, Connie tries to call her, but it only rings twice before going to voicemail.

Oh, no.

She calls Steven instead. He hangs up on her, too, but shoots her a short text: can’t talk.

URGENT, she replies in all caps and without punctuation. He does not reply.

She grabs her sketchbook, rushes downstairs. It’s late but not so late that she’ll be in trouble. She runs past Dad at the kitchen island, sipping on coffee before he goes in. “Sorry, I’ll be back before Mom!” she promises, slipping her shoes on.

“Where you going, honey?”

“To Steven’s!”

And when she opens the door, there, waiting for her, is a pink-hued lion.

-

When she throws open the door to the beach house, Steven is still yelling: “—you know I don’t like it when you take my picture—”

“Why?!” Amethyst yells. “Just because it’s me?!”

“No, it’s because I don’t want y’all snapping pictures of me for a scrapbook like I’m a baby—”

“AHEM.”

Connie’s clearing of her throat cuts through it, startling them both. They spin back around to face her, and while Amethyst’s glance goes askew, almost ashamed, Steven sees in her an immediate ally.

“Ugh, Connie, this isn’t a great time!” His voice is high, angry, but not at her; clearly, he thinks she’ll be on his side. “You won’t believe this, but Amethyst’s been trying to snap photos of me all week when she thinks I haven’t been looking, without even asking me or anything, and I’m in the middle of confronting her about it because if she thinks this is funny—”

“She doesn’t!”

“—just because that concealer isn’t working on the dark circles under my eyes, then she’s got another thing—” He cuts himself off, and Connie feels her nerves spike as he turns to her again, looking almost like a startled animal. “—uh… what are you talking about, Connie?”

“I asked her to do it.” Connie’s voice is one of defeat. Shame makes the room feel so much hotter than it is, and she wishes she could hide. She makes do by pressing her face into both of her hands and speaking against her palms. “I’m sorry. I just… I needed to get a picture of you and I didn’t want you to know, and that was probably really weird and creepy of me, and I’m sorry.”

The silence is suffocating. Steven whispers something to Amethyst, and Connie can’t hear the response. He must think she’s so creepy, that she’s been manipulating him somehow, and that she’s a horrible, untrustworthy person—

A moment later, Steven is right by her side. “Hey.” His voice is soft, and he pries a hand from her face to enfold in both of his. It should be comforting, but for a moment, she feels even worse; like she’s tricked him into offering her this kindness. “Um… So, why didn’t you just ask me?”

“I thought you’d say no.” That’s not quite it. “I… I thought you’d ask why.”

“Well, now I kinda really wanna know.”

“I…” And here it is, the big moment. The confession. She looks down, unable to meet his gaze as her free hand fists at her side. “I’ve been drawing you and I needed a reference.”

There’s another beat of silence. Then two. And then Steven bursts into laughter, loud and relieved and maybe even playful. It still is humiliating to hear, but at the same time, she’s so, so glad he isn’t angry.

“You totally could’ve asked! I would’ve sent one to you, because that’s like… really, really nice of you to draw me.”

“No, it’s not!” And as she looks back at him, she can see just how much he doesn’t see this. She doesn’t tug her hand free because, selfishly, she hopes he never lets go. “I haven’t been doing it because I’m planning to paint you a portrait or anything, I’ve been solely using you for practice and it’s probably a really selfish thing of me, I-I even used the selfies you sent me that one night, and I’ve kind of lost all control over that, because you were so gorgeous in that dress and I…”

“Wait.” He cuts her off, and she bites her tongue. “Can I, like… see the drawings you’ve done? Or a few of them? I know you don’t like it when I ask, but there’s got to be at least one or two you’re proud of, right?”

“You… want to see them?”

“I want to see everything you’ve ever drawn!” His voice is so sincere and enthusiastic that her heart soars, forgetting immediately every single thing she said that could have soured their relationship. “But only if you’re cool with it! You’re such an amazing artist, Connie.”

“I don’t know if that’s true.”

“Don’t start with me. I can go on and on.”

She smiles. She fidgets with a strand of her hair, and though it’s juvenile, she plays witness to the way such a small thing makes Steven’s face light up in adoration.

“Hey.” The word cuts through the moment, startling the both of them, and they look over at Amethyst leaning against the fridge with a raised eyebrow. “So now that like, the truth is out there and all that, I think I’m owed something.”

Connie opens her mouth at the same moment Steven groans, cutting her off. “I… yeah. I’m sorry, Amethyst. I shouldn’t have yelled at you, and I’m sorry for just… assuming stuff.”

Amethyst’s gaze then turns to Connie.

“Uh… Thank you, Amethyst.” Connie sighs. “For doing all of this for us.” 

Amethyst laughs. It startles Connie a little, but Amethyst just shakes her head, a knowing grin on her face. “I can think of, maybe, a way for you two to express just how sorry and grateful you are…”

Steven blurts out a “huh?” while Connie giggles, reaching for the phone in her pocket. 

“On it.”

[omgjasminesimone]

Love The One You’re With

Colt x MC x Teppei

Some NSFW

Author’s Note: Not gonna lie, I’m kind of nervous about this one. This might not be everyone’s cup of tea. It’s ultimately Colt x MC, but there’s also some Teppei x MC. And in real life I’d be against a relationship with that big of an age gap/power dynamic (looking at you Sam Taylor-Johnson), but this is pixel fanfiction and I’m not romanticizing it or anything so I’m going to go with it. 

Word Count: 6,250

When Ellie Wheeler first met Teppei Kaneko, she was desperate.

Her father, renown Detective Christian Wheeler, had died in the line of duty. It had been a domestic abuse incident. He had rushed in without backup. The wife and young daughter were saved, at the expense of his own life.

He was a hero, but the LAPD didn’t see it that way. They said he was reckless, he should have followed orders and waited for back up. They refused to pay out his life insurance policy, and Ellie was left orphaned and destitute.

She should have started her senior year at Langston that Fall, but she couldn’t afford it on her own. She was forced to withdraw.

She couldn’t make the monthly mortgage payments on the house. She was going to lose the house. She was going to lose everything.

Ellie was desperate. Desperate enough to call Logan, who she hadn’t spoken to in years. It took her several weeks to find his new number through his good friend Vaughn.  Her old flame was involved in some shady underground dealings back in the day, and Ellie assumed he would still be running in the same circles now.

When she found out about Logan’s criminal background when they were hooking up her senior year of high school, she had cut ties with him. At the time, she had a great deal of respect for law and order. But after how the LAPD handled her father’s death, that lawful admiration had waned considerably. Now, Ellie would do what she had to do in order to survive.

Logan had been reluctant at first, telling her she didn’t know what she was getting herself into, that she wasn’t meant for the criminal lifestyle. But she begged and pleaded. Eventually, Logan agreed to put her in touch with his boss.

She met Teppei Kaneko at a drag show. He’d taken one look at her, and then looked at Logan like he was crazy.

“I promise you she can drive. I taught her everything she knows personally.” Logan vouches for her.

Ellie sticks her hand out to Logan’s boss for a handshake. “Ellie Wheeler. Nice to meet you.” She greets.

Teppei doesn’t take the offered hand, continuing to look at her skeptically. “This isn’t some undercover sting operation, is it? I’m familiar with your late father.”

Ellie’s fist clenches as she allows her hand to fall to her side. “Then you should also be familiar with my hatred of the LAPD. I’m no snitch. I just need a well-paying job that doesn’t require a college degree.”

There’s several moments of silence as Teppei seemingly mulls it over. “If anything, you’ll be unassuming. That could be an asset.” Teppei finally offers his hand. “Welcome to the Mercy Park Crew Ellie.”

…

..

After a big score, the crew celebrates with a party. There’s beer, and music, and what looks like the entirety of LA’s criminal underbelly gathered in the Kaneko Autobody Shop.

Ellie maneuvers past drunk Mona playing pool with a tall beautiful roller derby type, past Ximena and Toby trying to outdo each other with the most ridiculous dance move, and past Logan making out with some girl that Ellie has seen at the drag show a couple of times when the crew is there on business.

She raises the two glasses of beer over her head as she tries to make her way through the makeshift dance floor to where Kaneko leans against the door frame of his office, looking aloft.

“Thirsty?” Ellie asks, offering him one of the beers.

Teppei smiles softly and takes the offered cup, thanking her with a nod.

“Why do you throw these victory parties when you clearly hate them?” Ellie questions, leaning against the wall beside him and joining him in wall flowering.

“I don’t hate them, I’m indifferent.” Teppei insists.

“Fine, why bother if you’re indifferent?” Ellie rephrases.

“It’s about appearances. Letting other crews know how well things are going, how happy my crew seems to be under me. Networking. It’s ultimately business.” Teppei answers.

“I can respect a hardworking business man. It’s a turn on.” Ellie’s usually not this forward, but she’s a little bit drunk. And there’s so much adrenaline from the successful job she needs to get out, preferably through a sexual outlet. She glances over at Kaneko, definitely an attractive older man.

“Are you flirting with me? I’m old enough to be your father.” Kaneko chides.

Ellie downs the rest of her beer before looping her arms around Kaneko’s neck. “I no longer have a father.” She responds before capturing his lips.

When the party has died down hours later, Ellie lies in Kaneko’s bed wondering what she’s done.

He snores softly, back to her. There was no snuggling or kissing afterwards. It was clearly just sex, for both of them. A way to relieve the tension between them had been building up in the months since Ellie rented out her father’s house to cover the mortgage and moved into a spare bedroom in the garage.

Ellie isn’t the kind of girl who just sleeps around, or she wasn’t. She’s only been with one man besides Kaneko, her college boyfriend who she was with for three years. When her father died, he couldn’t handle her grief and had broken up with her. Ellie squeezes her eyes shut to keep herself from crying. Who is she now? She can barely recognize herself.

She slips out of Kaneko’s bed to return to her own. She lies awake wondering what the crew is going to think of the new development between her and their boss, if it even means anything. Maybe no one noticed them slipping away. Maybe no one will even care.

…

The crew finds out there’s something going on between Ellie and Kaneko gradually. A lingering look there, Ellie not being in her room when someone goes to look for her late at night, a hand that rests on the small of her back for just a moment too long to be friendly.

They never announce it exactly, but at some point, it just becomes clear that everyone knows. Logan is the only one who ever directly says anything about it to her. Months after she and Kaneko start hooking up, Logan pulls Ellie aside on a lazy day in the garage, asks her if she’s okay, if she’s happy. Ellie assures him she’s fine, but she doesn’t say anything about whether or not she’s happy.

She and Teppei fall into a routine. She sleeps in his room most nights, he’ll kiss her in front of the crew, and his associates. Gradually, everyone just comes to accept that they’re together, that she’s his. Once, at a drag show, Salazar threatens her, but his goonies quickly try to silence him, with a whispered warning of “She’s Kaneko’s man, he’ll have you murdered.” He apologizes and slinks away.

Ellie feels that things are going fine, although she still feels lonely, adrift. She doesn’t think Kaneko loves her, she thinks he’s just lonely too. But maybe that’s enough? Two lonely people rolling around in bed together, so they don’t feel so alone for a few fleeting moments. But everything changes, when Ellie meets Colt and realizes maybe she can feel more than not lonely, maybe she can feel whole.

…

Before Ellie knows it, it’s been almost a year with the crew. She sees photos of her classmates graduating on pictagram, she stalks their LinkedIn pages to see what incredible jobs they’re getting. It feels very unfair.

Teppei doesn’t say anything about his son returning after finishing up his bachelor’s degree after five years at UC Davis. But then again, Teppei and Ellie don’t really talk much in general. It’s not the type of subject that would have come up as they lie in bed together afterwards, making awkward small talk since they don’t really know how to talk to each other. So, when she and Ximena return one day from a job, and she sees Teppei and a younger version of Teppei standing in the garage, she’s surprised.

Teppei waves Ellie over, and Ximena makes her way to her room after tossing a cheery wave to Kaneko’s offspring. “You’re back. How did it go? Did the cobras give you guys any trouble?” Kaneko asks, business coming first.

“It was fine. They didn’t want to pay the agreed price at first, but after Ximena took a crowbar to the car’s hood, they reconsidered and came around. Who’s this?” Ellie replies.

“This is my son Colt. Colt, this is my girlfriend.” Teppei introduces. Ellie’s heart fills a little at being referred to as his girlfriend, he’s never called her that before.

Ellie extends her hand to Kaneko’s scowling son. “Hey, I’m Ellie.”

Colt doesn’t take her extended hand. “Jesus Christ Dad, how old is she?!” He complains, glaring at his subtly smirking father.

Ellie’s eyes narrow, crossing her arms over her chest. “She isn’t deaf or mute.” She spits out.

 Colt’s eyes narrow as well. “Too bad, I think I would have liked you more if you didn’t talk.” He retorts.

The two early 20-somethings glare at each other.

‘What’s this gold digger up to?’ Colt thinks, looking Ellie up and down.

‘Who does this asshole think he is?’ Ellie wonders, taking in Colt’s sullen displeased expression.

“Well, I see you two are getting along famously. Oh, by the way Ellie, you’ve been staying in Colt’s room, but now that he’s back, why don’t you officially move in with me?” Teppei proposes.

Ellie’s eyes widen. First the girlfriend comment, and now officially sharing a room? Is there actually potential here for a real relationship? For an actual future? She doesn’t bother to question if that’s something she actually wants.

Ellie smiles. “That works for me. I’ll bring my stuff up.”

“Do it quick. I want to get settled.” Colt adds harshly, hoisting a duffle bag onto his shoulder and heading off to his room.

Ellie rolls her eyes as she follows behind him. If she and Teppei end up becoming a real thing, is she going to be expected to act like this brat’s stepmother? She doesn’t think she can do it, and she doesn’t think Colt would let her for one second.

…

..

Ellie watches with angry crossed arms as Teppei and the rest of the crew leave for a job. A job Teppei said she wasn’t ready for, that she couldn’t handle it. She hates when he underestimates her. He has no idea what she’s capable of. She wonders if the crew is doing something really bad, really evil, and that’s why he doesn’t want her to know.

Ellie expels an irritated huff, stomping over to the kitchen to make herself some lunch.

“Stop throwing a temper tantrum, if you think you’re old enough to date a grown man you should stop acting like a toddler.” Colt taunts from the front desk.

Ellie doesn’t bother responding with words, flipping Colt her middle finger. He’s been here a month now, and their relationship has not improved at all from the bad impression they both got of each other at their initial meeting. Teppei doesn’t seem to care that they don’t get along, never attempting to get in the middle or forge some kind of bonding between them.

Colt abandons the front desk, coming into the kitchen to make his own snack. He doesn’t return to his post even as the phone starts ringing, continuing to make his sandwich.

“Aren’t you gonna get that?” Ellie asks, irritated when the phone starts to ring again after Colt lets the first call go to voicemail.

“Why don’t you get it?” Colt counters.

“It’s not my job.”

“What is your job? It sure as hell doesn’t seem to be being an actual member of the crew.”

“I’m more in the crew than you are. You just get to answer phones. Is that what you studied for in college? Or did you get such bad grades that now Daddy is the only one who would give you a job?” Ellie retorts angrily.

“At least I finished college.” Colt hisses back, knowing it will hurt her. He knows the circumstances of why she had to drop out, what drew her to the crew instead of the professional career she had been working towards.

“Fuck you Colt.” She angrily finishes adding toppings to her salad, storming out of the kitchen and to her and Teppei’s room with her meal.

…

..

The crew starts going on more and more jobs without Ellie. Eventually, Teppei reveals it’s because he doesn’t fully trust her yet. He says she’ll need to prove her loyalty with time before he can bring her in on everything.

This lack of trust enrages Ellie. She’s been nothing but loyal to the crew, to Teppei, and he has the gall to tell her to her face that he just doesn’t trust her? She storms away before the tears welling up in her eyes begin to fall. She won’t give that man the satisfaction of her tears.

She goes up to the roof to cry, thinking she’ll be alone there, but Colt comes up a few minutes later, smoking a joint. He seems alarmed at her tears; no doubt consoling crying women is not part of his repertoire of skills. So, he silently hands over the joint, which she takes gratefully. And they don’t talk as they pass it back and forth, but they both feel a subtle shift in their dynamic.  

A gulf starts to grow between Teppei and Ellie. They lay in the same bed every night, but when Teppei reaches for her Ellie complains that she has a headache, or that she’s just not in the mood.

“Ellie, we’re leaving.” Teppei informs her weeks later as the crew heads out to another job she’s not involved in. She’s not involved in very much now-a-days, besides with the mess with the Brotherhood. Teppei needed all hands on deck for that one so he was forced to bring both her and Colt in.

“Teppei, when are you going to trust me? What do I have to do to show you that I’m 100% in?” Ellie asks as he turns around.

He turns back to face her, running a hand through his long dark hair. “There’s nothing you can do. It just takes time. The rest of the crew have been with me for years, they’ve shown their dedication.”

“And I haven’t? The fact that I’m here and not enrolled trying to finish my degree now that I’ve saved up some money doesn’t show you that I’m in?” Ellie counters.

Teppei lets out an impatient sigh. “I have to go. We can talk about this when I get back.” Teppei pulls her into a brief kiss before turning away and following the rest of the crew out of the garage.

Ellie sighs, she’s so sick of this. Maybe she should just leave if she’s not even a full-fledged member of the crew. But can she go back to college, and studying, and exams, when now she knows the thrill of running from the police? Pulling off a great heist? Coming up with a fool proof plan to get away with it time and time again?

She leans against a car propped up on a jack.

“Whoa! Hey!” A voice calls out from under the car.

“Huh?” Ellie looks down as Colt rolls himself out from under the car.

“You trying to drop this hunk of junk on me? I know you don’t like me, but are you seriously trying to kill me?” He complains, glaring at her. His eyes soften somewhat at the sad look in her eyes.  

“Can I lend a hand?” Ellie asks. It’ll be good to keep busy, make herself at least feel useful around the garage. She can tell Colt is thinking it over, so she adds, “I just…really need to keep my mind occupied right now.”

“Fine, lie down on that creeper.” Colt instructs, and Ellie follows his instructions, joining him under the car.

Colt meddles with the undercarriage. “We’re trying to get this driveshaft out. So, what’s got you all mopey?”

Ellie reaches into the undercarriage, loosening the wires around the driveshaft. “Why? So you can make fun of me?”

“I don’t make fun of you that much now-a-days.” Colt reminds her. They have been getting along better lately, mostly bonding over how they’re both irritated with how Teppei won’t let them really be in the crew.

“I really wanted to go on this job. I feel like I’ve proven myself time and time again and it’s never enough.” Ellie reveals.

“He’s never going to trust you. I think you remind him of my mom, who he thought was all in, but then she took me and left when he wouldn’t give up crime. For what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re like my mom. I trust you.” Colt refuses to make eye contact, fighting the blush rising to his cheeks when he can feel her turn to look at him as he finally gets the driveshaft out.

They both wheel themselves out from under the car, wiping the grease on their hands off on towels.

“Really? You trust me?”

“Sure, you really bailed us out with the Grapevine job.” Colt tries to play it off. “You’re smart, and I could really use your help if you have any ideas for how to deal with the Brotherhood. I feel like this is my big chance, my Dad finally bringing me into the fold, and I can’t fuck this up. Want to go for a ride? Out to the shore. It always…clears my mind.”

He steps to his motorcycle and tentatively holds out a helmet for her.

Ellie takes the offered helmet, buckling it on as Colt sits on his motorcycle. She gets on behind him, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist and trying to ignore the well-defined abs she can feel as he revs the engine.

…

..

“I can’t believe your dad made you jump from here as a small child.” Ellie mutters with disbelief after Colt tells her the story.

Colt chuckles, watching the sun set the sky on fire over the cliff’s edge. “What? That doesn’t jive with the warm cuddly image you have of your crime lord boyfriend?”

“My dad would have tried to stop me from jumping, worried about me getting hurt. Teppei doesn’t seem to have a paternal bone in his body.”

“Don’t let him get you pregnant.” Colt taunts, but there’s an underlying edge to his tone.

“You have to have sex to get pregnant.” Ellie mutters, looking away when he turns to look at her curiously.

“You’ve never-“

She interrupts. “We have. But not lately. We’re basically just roommates at this point.”

Colt seems to absorb that silently. Ellie is a little embarrassed that she’s revealed so much to Colt, so she changes the subject. “So, are we gonna jump?” Ellie asks.

“Seriously? You want to jump?”

Ellie is already stripping down into her underwear. “Seriously!”

Colt quickly strips down to just his boxers. Ellie can’t help but admire his fit physique. He’s hot, and young, and she’s definitely thinking things she should not be about her boyfriend’s son. But there’s definitely a hunger in his eyes as he takes her in practically naked that shows there are feelings on both sides. Feelings they should ignore.

Ellie shakes her head to try to clear it of any impure thoughts. “On the count of three.”

“One, two, three!” Colt calls out, and the pair run towards the edge together. Ellie can’t help but grip Colt’s hand just before they jump, and suddenly she’s not afraid.

They hit the water several moments later, and Ellie swims up to the surface. She spits out water and looks for Colt, who surfaces a few seconds later to her right. She swims over to him, drawn to him like a magnet.

He pushes his wet hair out of his face, grinning at her. “I almost forgot what that felt like.”

“See? Are you done downplaying everything?”

Colt looks at her with an intensity she’s not used to, and it stirs the fire that she’s felt building between them for months now. “Maybe I am.” He says, just before reaching out to cup her neck and bring her lips to his.

They fall into each other, like they’ve been waiting forever to do this. Colt’s fingers thread through her hair as he pulls her closer, treading water with just his legs as his free hand grips her hip. He bites her bottom lip gently, and then slips his tongue in her mouth when she lets out a little gasp of surprise.

Ellie’s arms grip his shoulders, trying to bring him even closer. She can’t get enough of him as her mouth moves hungrily over his. The electricity she feels as their tongues tangle is much more intense than any tingles she’s ever felt with Teppei, or any other man for that matter.

“Colt.” She murmurs as she rolls her hips against the bulge she can feel growing in his wet boxers.

Suddenly, he pulls away. “You’re with my dad. I can’t do this to him, or the crew.” He laments. Before Ellie can respond, he’s pulled her back in and is kissing her furiously once again, and she forgets what she even wanted to say.

He pulls away again, this time putting some distance between them. “Damn it, what’s wrong with me?!” Colt shouts, slamming his fist into the water.

“Colt, look, things are complicated with me and Teppei. I don’t think we were ever really together, and I feel like we’re certainly not together now.”

“Does he know that?” Colt challenges.

Ellie raises a brow. “Do you want to be the one to tell him?”

“That’s not my place. You have to be the one to do it.”

“And I will. When the timing is right, and it doesn’t leave me homeless and unemployed.” Ellie retorts.

Colt looks like he wants to say something else, but Ellie cuts him off with a gentle kiss that he eagerly deepens. “I want to be with you, but we have to be smart about this.” Ellie says softly.

Because they both know Teppei isn’t going to just give them his blessing and be happy for them.

Minutes later, the pair has climbed back up the cliff and put their clothes back on.

Ellie re-braids her hair, turning to look at Colt as they walk toward his motorcycle. “So, I was thinking about our problem with the Brotherhood…”

“You mean, how do we free ourselves from a violent gang without a full-on-turf war we’d definitely lose?”

“We need to offer them more than cars and money, we need to offer them the thing they want more than anything.” Ellie explains.

“Like what? They control the city, they have everything they could possibly want.”

“Then we make them think they don’t.” Ellie presses.

Colt pauses as he puts on his helmet, mulling it over. “…. huh.”

…

..

The only sound in the dark room is their labored breathing as they catch their breath. Ellie starts to climb off Colt’s lap, but he tightens his grip on her bare hips, keeping her in place.

“Again.” He murmurs, running a hand through her sweat dampened hair as he starts rocking up into her once again.

Ellie lets out a moan, digging her nails into his shoulders as she fights her urge to move with him. “I can’t. If I’m gone too long, he’ll be suspicious.”

“He’ll be in his office all night going over blueprints for tomorrow.” Colt insists. One hand leaves her hip to cup her cheek, bringing her lips to his for a tender kiss. “Stay with me tonight.”

Teppei trusts her now, after the success of her and Colt’s plan to take down the Brotherhood. They’re finally both all the way in with the crew. The fact that Teppei finally trusts her makes her feel worse about these trysts with Colt, but not bad enough to stop.

Ever since the night they went cliff diving, she sneaks out of Teppei’s bed in the middle of the night, tiptoeing down the stairs to his son’s room where they fall into his bed, mouths fused and hands eagerly shedding clothing. She continues to reject Teppei’s advances, saying she’s just not in the mood. She can tell he’s getting frustrated with her, but not frustrated enough to break up with her.

She wishes he would. Ellie doesn’t know how to end it, how to tell Teppei that she’s leaving him for his son. She knows it wouldn’t go over well. She’s not sure what Teppei is capable of in the face of such a betrayal.

Despite her fear of Teppei, her love of Colt makes her continue to risk getting caught in order to be with him. Colt loves her too, he’s told her so. Something his father has never said even though they’ve been together for over a year.

Colt has stopped urging her to tell Teppei. Now with time to think about it, he says they need a plan first. Their own money, their own criminal operation. Their own base. Colt has promised that he’s working on it, but these things take time. He can’t use any of his father’s contacts, he has to act secretly, and know who to trust, which is notoriously difficult in their circles.

But they’re in love, and some how they’re going to make it work.

…

..

“Shhh…. don’t cry baby. I promise you it’s going to be ok.” Colt soothes, kissing her forehead as he hugs her to him.

Despite his comforting words, Ellie doesn’t feel any better. There’s no way this is going to be ok. They should have been more careful. Ellie continues to cry into his shirt, clinging to his leather jacket desperately to keep him close.

“What are we going to do? I can’t get an abortion Colt, I went to Catholic school.”

Colt gently runs a hand through her hair before cupping her cheek. “No one is asking you to do that Ellie. This baby was conceived in love, of course we’re keeping it.”

“Then what are we going to do?!” Ellie asks again, looking up at him.

“Look, I hate to even suggest this, but if you sleep with my dad again could you convince him it’s his? Just to buy us a few months while I get the money we’ll need to start over.” Colt says weakly, hating the words as they come out of his mouth, but not seeing what else to do in this situation.

Ellie shakes her head. “I can’t. I’m already three months along. I’m going to start showing soon and the dates wouldn’t add up. He’s not stupid. Oh my god, what are we going to do?!”

“Shh.” He tries to soothe again. “Try to breathe sweetheart. Getting this riled up isn’t good for our baby.”

Ellie takes several deep breaths as Colt rubs circles into her back, trying to help her relax the tight muscles.

“We have to tell him the truth.” Colt finally acknowledges.

“He’ll kill us.” Ellie replies. “Like he killed the Brotherhood.”

“He won’t, he cares too much about appearances, legacy.” Colt rests his hand on Ellie’s stomach. “This right here? It’s the future of the Kaneko family, heir to the empire.”

Ellie squeezes her eyes shut, feeling like she’s going to be sick. She’s not as confident as Colt in the power of legacy and appearances.

…

..

“I need to tell you something.” Colt announces a week later, Ellie at his side as they stand in Teppei’s office.

Teppei looks over some documents. “Can it wait?” He asks, circling something in red.

“No, it’s important.” Colt responds.

“Then hurry up and tell me, I don’t have all day.” Teppei mutters, scratching something out and rewriting a number in black ink.

Colt looks to Ellie, slipping his hand into her’s. Teppei doesn’t even notice.  

Colt takes a deep breath before he speaks. “Ellie is pregnant with my baby. We’re in love and once I have enough money together, we’ll leave and set up out East, we’ll be out of your hair.” Colt says, voice strong and clear. But there’s an underlying nervousness that he can’t hide, a slight waver at the end when Teppei finally looks up, eyes narrowed.

The older Kaneko drops his pen, leaning back in his chair with eyes closed. He’s counting. Colt gulps. Teppei only counts when he’s so angry he’s afraid he’ll do something he regrets. “How long have you two been messing around behind my back?” He asks, thinly concealed rage evident in his tone.

“Six months.” Ellie admits softly.

Teppei glares at her. Ellie’s never felt Teppei’s rage directed at her, and if not for Colt’s grip on her hand she would have taken a step back. “Six months? For six months, you’ve been sleeping with my son? Lying to my face? After everything I’ve done for you? You ungrateful bitch.”

“You’re not going to talk to her like that.” Colt retorts, eyes narrowed.

Teppei’s enraged glare moves from Ellie to Colt. “And you. My own son? My only child? I offer you everything and this is what you do? Try to publicly humiliate me and drag the Kaneko name through the mud? Do you know how weak this would make me look? You’re trying to destroy everything my father, and his father, and his father before him worked for, you fucking traitor.”

“Fine, if you’re so worried about your precious reputation we can leave now. I’ll figure out the money.” Colt replies, starting to walk towards the door.

Kaneko moves quicker than either Ellie or Colt knew he could, gripping Colt’s arm roughly and turning him to face him. “You’re not going anywhere. There’s nowhere you can go where this won’t get out, where it won’t humiliate me.”

“Then we’ll leave the country.” Colt insists.

“I said no! You’ll stay in the country and do what you’re fucking told boy.” Teppei spits out. He rubs at his temples, formulating a plan. “I’ll tell everyone the baby is mine. It’s going to look like me after all.” Teppei decides.

“No.” Colt immediately responds.

“You’re in no position to try to tell me anything. I’ll blacklist your name all over the country, all over the world. You’ll never be able to get set up anywhere. I’ll ruin you Colt. Love won’t pay the bills. Love won’t feed your baby.”

Ellie’s eyes water as she takes in Teppei’s words. He’s trapping her in some type of loveless prison out of spite, and pride.

“Dad-“ Colt tries again to reason with his father, but Teppei puts up a hand to silence him.

“I’m not done. You’ll be going to Florida Colt. I’ve been in the process of setting up an operation there. You seem like the perfect man for the job.”

“I’m not leaving Ellie, or my baby.” Colt replies, hand squeezing her hand to the point where it almost hurts, but he seems so desperate to hang on to her that she says nothing.

“My girlfriend. And as far as anyone will know my baby.” Teppei replies darkly. “They’ll be fine, assuming you do as you’re told. Otherwise, I’m not so sure what will happen to them.”

“You sick motherfu-“ Colt starts, but Ellie interrupts him, pulling him down for a too brief kiss. He can taste her salty tears when she pulls away.

“Colt, I love you, but I can’t.” Ellie thinks back to the days after her father died, when she was desperate, and destitute, and scared. She can’t live like that, their baby shouldn’t have to live like that, struggling constantly and fearful of when Teppei will strike.

“Ellie, no. We’ll figure this out. I love you, and I’m not going to lose you.”

“You lose her either way. But I’m offering you a way where she and your baby are comfortable. What is it going to be?” Teppei asks.

…

..

3 years later

“Ellie, look up.” Teppei instructs as Ellie carries a tray of food over to the table. She’s trying to be a good hostess for this Christmas party, which would be easier if Teppei wasn’t constantly doing performative couple things like trapping her under the mistletoe for their audience of LA’s biggest criminals.

Ellie plasters on a fake smile, leaning up to give Teppei a chaste kiss.

Teppei returns a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, patting her bottom as she walks away.

“When are you going to marry that girl Kaneko? Hasn’t it been like 5 years? And you guys have a kid.” Salazar yells drunkenly, swaying unsteadily from too much eggnog.

Teppei shrugs. “I didn’t marry the mother of my other kid.”

Salazar laughs, clapping Kaneko heartily on the back. He’s clearly really drunk, thinking he can be so friendly with LA’s deadliest car criminal.

“Daddy!” A little girl clad in snowflake decorated pajama yells, running into Kaneko’s arms.

Teppei smiles, a real one this time. He loves his granddaughter dearly, despite the circumstances of her conception. He tickles her before throwing her onto his shoulders. “You’re supposed to be asleep Noelle.” He chides.

“How is anyone supposed to sleep through this?” Mona asks, chewing on a gingerbread cookie.

Noelle giggles as Logan makes silly faces at her. “I would also love to be asleep. Can we start clearing this party out soon?” Logan asks.

“All the guests haven’t arrived yet, so the party can’t end.” Kaneko insists.

“Who’s not here? They’re three hours late!” Toby complains.

“Yeah, yeah, you try getting in on time coming from the East Coast during winter.” Colt replies, dropping his duffle back to the floor.

“You live in Miami Colt, I assume you’re not getting delayed by too many winter storms.” Logan retorts, rolling his eyes.

“But my connection went through DC, asshole.” Colt fires back, glaring at his old nemesis.

“Colt.” Teppei greets warmly, for appearances of course. He can’t have people noticing splinters in the Kaneko family. That’s why he has to invite Colt to these gatherings, lest people get suspicious.

“Dad.” Colt returns, less warm, but nothing that would raise alarms to the deep-seated troubled relationship between father and son.

“Daddy, I want cake.” Noelle says when she spots her mother coming towards the group, a plate with a sliver of cake in her hands.

Colt winces when Noelle calls Teppei ‘Daddy’. That always hurts.

“Say hi to your brother first.” Teppei insists, taking Noelle off his shoulders and handing her to Colt.

“Hi Colt!” Noelle says happily, squeezing his neck in a hug.

“Hi Noelle. I can’t believe how big you are. I missed you!” Colt returns, hugging her tightly. He sets his daughter on the ground, turning to face Ellie. She looks beautiful in her red Christmas dress, and he physically aches from his desire to pull her into his arms and kiss her in greeting. But they don’t do stuff like that anymore, so instead he nods at her respectfully. “Ellie.”

“Colt. How was your flight?” Ellie returns.

“Delayed, but it was fine.” Colt answers, and that’s that. They have nothing else to say to each other.

“Mommy, I want cake.” Noelle says again.

“No Noelle, we already brushed your teeth.” Ellie replies.

“But I want cake!” The little girl complains, starting to throw a fit.

“Come on Ellie, it’s Christmas. I’ll re-brush her teeth.” Colt offers.

“Well aren’t you the sweetest big brother?” Ximena teases, squeezing Colt’s cheek.

Colt waves her off, taking the rest of the cake from Ellie and handing it to Noelle, who grins at him. “Thank you Colt! I love you!”

“I love you too peanut.” Colt replies.

After re-brushing her teeth, Colt tucks Noelle into bed. The music from downstairs is loud, so he sets his phone onto her nightstand and plays lullaby music as his daughter drifts off to sleep. He smiles when her sleepy brown eyes drift shut, placing a kiss to her forehead.

“She’s going to be so confused when we tell her the truth.” Ellie mutters from the doorway as she watches Colt put their daughter to sleep.

“Kids are resilient. She’ll adapt.” Colt insists.  

“How much longer?” Ellie whispers after she closes Noelle’s door, walking closer to Colt.

Colt draws Ellie into his arms, like he’s wanted to do all night, kissing her slowly and thoroughly. “Three more months.” He whispers against her lips, before he kisses her again.

“And you’re sure he’s not going to be able to find us?” Ellie asks, still dubious that their long nightmare could be ending.

“Not in Cuba. Thanks to the embargo he’s never had any business there, no contacts. And then we go from Cuba to London with new identities. It’s fool proof Ellie, I promise you. You just have to trust me.”

“I do trust you. I love you Colt.”

“And I love you Ellie.”

…

..

.  

taglist:  @brightpinkpeppercorn @choicesarehard @lovehugsandcandy@desiree-0816 @regina-and-happiness @iplaydrake @choicesgremlin​ @maxwellsquidsuit​ @eileendannie @liamzigmichael4ever​ @ohsnapitzlovehacker​ @client-327​ @cora-nova​ @umiumichan​ @angrypainterfarmopera @badchoicesposts​ @i-only-signed-up-for-fanfiction @sparklinglilac​ @pixel-thirsty @mrskaneko @lovemychoices​ @akrenich​ @crispycrunchyleaves​

[ladybugsfanfics]

Reciprocated [1/2] | Tom Hiddleston x reader

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x reader

Style: Two chapthered 

WC: 2079

Warnings: Idk, don’t think there are any

Summary: Inspired by this tumblr post I can’t find on tumblr. Your boss locks you, your coworker and himself out of the building. Good news; you don’t have to call a locksmith because you can pick locks. Little did you know, after countless of unimpressive things you’ve done, this was enough to tip the favors to you.

A/N: When I started writing this it just took over and became way longer than I thought it would so I split it into two parts. It’s all done so I’ll probably post the second part tomorrow. Also, this is kind of an AU where you and Tom work together in an office. Also, much thanks to @gamillian for being my beta reader and her very funny comments <3 Also, I do not know how to pick locks, I used research.</p>

Part Two

There was a million other scenarios that had run through your head when you first decided to learn lockpicking. There was the ‘impress others your age’ scenario, there was the ‘if I don't earn enough money maybe I’ll just become a robber’ scenario, and most importantly ‘if I throw away the key, I can just pick the lock anyway so I’m gonna destroy the key to my safe’. The last one was the only reason you still knew how to do it. And it had turned out to be a good thing that one day a few years back where you lost your keys, someone broke into your apartment and didn’t have a key for the safe―pretty nice because you caught the robber trying to break it open and therefore you didn’t lose anything. 

You hadn’t thought of the scenario of misplacing your keys; it was almost impossible when you double-checked before leaving the house everyday. 

On the other hand, it wasn’t you who had misplaced them. It was your boss. 

“I-I’m really sorry,” he says to you and your coworker. “I don’t know how… I was sure I took them with me.” The man fishes his phone out of his pocket. “I’ll call a locksmith and we’ll have this solved in no time.” 

“You don’t have to do that,” you say, your tone slightly nervous. “I know how to pick locks.”

Both your boss and your coworker give you slightly shocked expressions. “You know what?” asks Tom, who you’ve had a crush on since you started working there. The ‘impress’ scenario wouldn’t work though; Through the years you had worked together he had seen you do countless stupid things

Stumble at your own feet

This was like, the week you started and let’s just say some words were said and something hot was spilled

Fall out of you-lost-count-of-how-many trees

Don’t ask why because you honestly don’t know

Better question is why did you climb them in the first place?

Meet his dog and immediately switch to baby-voice when talking to him

Like he introduced you and there was no thinking in your brain. You went “aww, so cute, you are so cute” the minute you saw him and when you spoke to Tom again, your voice was caught like that for a few awkward moments

And then, there is the fact that he knows you write and read fanfics online about various sets of celebrities

The question is whether he’s found it and checked out what you’ve written

Maybe it’s best you don’t know

There were countless other things to add to the list of ‘this will never impress the dude I have a crush on’, but those were the highlights. 

And now, you stand between two guys looking at you like they just now realised you were a woman―like Ron realising Hermione is a girl in Harry Potter and The Goblet of Fire. Yeah, Tom also knows you have obscure references from like everything. 

“Yeah, I know how to pick locks,” you nod. “Any of you got a paperclip?” 

Both shake their head, clearly not over what you’ve told them. You rummage your pockets and are pleased to find a pair of hairpins. Thank God you know how to do it without an actual set. 

“Why do you know this?” asks Tom as you bend one of the hairpins into a long metal wire, stretching it out. You shrug, not wanting to answer and busy yourself taking off the rubber ends with your teeth. 

Your boss on the other hand, known as Mr. ‘I-care-so-tell-me’ Henderson puts an arm on your shoulder. “Is there anything you would like to talk about?” he asks, his voice laced with concern. 

“Nope,” you reply. You stick the pin into the lock a little bit and bend it, making it curl up a little bit at the end. “Honestly, I don’t know what’s so weird about this. A lot of people know how to pick locks.”

“Yes, robbers and... other people,” replies Mr. Henderson. He’s taken his hand off your shoulder, letting you work in peace. 

You shrug again, and bend the other end of the pin to create a loop making it easier to hold. Putting the prepared pin in your mouth, you take the other one and you put enough pressure on it to bend it in a right angle, which isn’t as easy as it sounds. 

Tom comes a little closer at your side. He leans against the wall next to the door, being able to watch you work. “Are you sure? This isn’t something a lot of people know.”

Putting the right angled pin into the bottom of the lock and turning it slowly to the left (the way the key is turned when you unlock the door), you glance at Tom. Since you have a pin in your mouth you can’t answer so you just give him a smile you hope puts some reassurance in his mind. He doesn’t look convinced. 

You put in the other pin, bent side up, and jiggle it up and down. This way you get a feel of how easy it will be. The pins inside the lock have to move into place, which they do with a click. Finding one hard one and putting pressure on it until it clicks gives way for others to become hard. Eventually though, with Mr. Henderson’s background noise sighing and muttering to himself and Tom’s almost worried look, the lock opens. You take out the pins and push down the handle. “Tada,” you say as the door swings open. 

The two men stare at you, both with mixed expressions of astonishment and worry. You also note the way Tom’s gaze also has a tiny hint of something more―you can’t pinpoint what, though. 

“Are you two just gonna stand there or are we gonna go inside?” you ask them, still holding the door open. “If I close the door, the lock’s gonna click back into place and you’ll be stuck. I’m not gonna help another time.”

Tom nods. “Of course. Uhh…” He walks past you, a frown deeply pronounced on his face. He turns back as he’s inside. “I…” His eyes meet yours. “I… Uhh, thank you, I guess.” Then he leaves. 

Mr. Henderson on the other hand walks past and says, “we have to talk sometime soon, Y/N. This isn’t normal.” Before you get to protest, he walks away. 

You sigh, shake your head and walk after them. Hopefully, being overtime to pick a lock has something to say about the next big project coming along, one that you would very much like to score. 

 _____

Walking out of your office with your belongings, being the last person out of the building, you can’t help but talk a little to yourself. Not only did you probably screw up your chances with Tom even greater than you already had, but Mr. Henderson had seemed quite eager for that talk. As he left, he’d popped into your office and asked when you had some free time, hoping to talk before the end of the week. 

It’s Thursday. 

Fortunately, you don’t have time. 

Tom, on the other hand, seemed to have exactly that, because you find him waiting by the elevator as you approach. You see him press the button as he notices you. Fuck, you think, he’s so nice. A wail sounds inside your head. 

“Hi,” you say and stop in front of the elevator. 

“Hi”, he replies, and steps to stand beside you. 

Your heart goes off. He’s so close. He’s too close. God, what to do? What to think? Maybe don’t think? You swallow a lump in your throat and let out a sigh of relief as the elevator plings and opens. The little break from standing close doesn’t last long as you end up standing with the same space apart inside the lift as well. 

“I was thinking,” starts Tom. He adjusts his tie slightly. “...would you like to have a drink? Sometime?” 

“A drink?” you ask, not sure if you heard him right. You shift your position to face him and note his pursed lips and how his eyes flicker, landing everywhere but you. 

His adam apple moves as he swallows. “Yeah, a drink. Tonight, maybe? Or tomorrow?” He sounds nervous. Is he nervous? 

You nod. “That sounds… great, actually. Yeah, I’m not doing anything tonight. Or tomorrow for that matter.” 

“Great,” he says, though he still sounds nervous.

 _____

“No,” you laugh, “that’s a lie.”

Tom shakes his head. “I’m serious. You said that at the, uhh, I think it was the office Christmas Party.” He smiles at you and takes a sip of his drink.

You shake your head. “How? Why…?” You take a sip of your own drink. “I wasn’t that drunk even.”

“Oh, sure.” Tom changes his expression to a serious one, clearly mocking you. “You weren’t so drunk you sang karaoke, yelled about how unfair work can be at times and also, though this no one else heard, told me you like me.” At the last part, the mocking part of his expression changes and he actually looks rather serious. 

“I.. I did not…” You bury your face in your hands. “I did not sing karaoke. No! I can’t have- I can’t sing!” Purposefully ignoring the part where he said you’d confessed to liking him, probably the part he wanted you to address. 

Tom laughs. “Oh, no. Don’t say that. You can sing, it just sounds like a seagull choking.”

 You gasp. “The audacity,” you say, and then join in laughing. “Anyway, you wanna hear something?” you ask, changing the subject.

“Of course I do,” replies Tom and raises his brows. 

You purse your lips. “The only reason I can pick locks is because I was a dumb teenagers wanting to impress other dumb teenagers,” you admit. 

“Really? So, what you did before was also you trying to impress someone? Or just dumb luck?” Tom smiles widely. 

“If you’re interested in knowing, it didn’t work.” You smile, and bite the inside of your lips as you meet his gaze. “Not sure if I really wanted to impress anyone back there though, but I did want to get into the building.”

Tom smiled. “You sure?” he asks. “You did impress me.”

Despite the really huge desire to not blush, you can feel the heat creep into your cheeks. You purse your lips to keep from smiling too big and look down into your lap. Your heart beats rapidly in your chest; had the bar been quiet, you are sure he would’ve heard it. 

“Really, you did.” You gaze up and meet Tom’s eyes. “Most of what you do impresses me.” 

“Really?” you ask.

He nods. “Yeah. With work, and the fact that you know all this random bits of information. Oh, and, uh, you’re a really good writer.” 

You swallow a lump in your throat. “You- You’ve read... “ You cough to get your voice back. “Please tell me you’ve read the original work and not the fanfiction.”

Tom lets out his patented ‘hehe’ laugh. “Both, actually.”

“Oh God,” you say and bury your face in your hands. 

“Don’t be hard on yourself. It’s good! Well written, amusing, other words I don’t particularly want to say out loud.” Tom chuckles softly. 

You look up at him. “Are you sure? Did you read everything? Most of them are more than embarrassing,” you say. 

Tom’s eyes crinkle as he smiles. “I have. I was wondering, though. One of the original ones, it’s quite recent. The little, uhh, it’s called ‘Unreciprocrated’ I think. Is that about someone?” Despite the smile and the soft tone, he looks serious as he asks. 

“That one, oh,” you bite your lips, “yeah, I guess it is.”

“Can I get to know who?” 

You shake your head. “No. You know the person and I don’t want… I don’t want him to know.” 

“I know him?” Tom’s eyes widen. “The only people in both our circles are from work.”

You nod. “Yeah.” 

Tom rolls his eyes. “Can I know something about him? I want to figure out who it is.”

“Oh, yeah, sure. Because I didn’t say no to tell you because I don’t want you to know,” you reply sarcastically. 

“Worth a try,” he chuckles. “I will figure it out.” 

You nod, making a face saying ‘sure, you will’. Though you kind of hope he does.

If you want to be added to/removed from the taglist, please let me know.

Taglist: @inlovewith3 @bookgirlunicorn @mindlesschicca

[boywizardscanbecute]

Confidence is Key

Hey guys! Sorry it’s so late, but as you all know by now I invest a lot of time and content into my stories. Here’s the Draco x reader Yule ball fic requested! This story had less drama and felt a lot more laid back. Reading it back, I think it’s a really fun one. Enjoy! And as always feel free to drop ideas and prompts in my inbox! Sweet Dreams loves <3 

request from @gred-and-forge-weaslley: Can you do a Draco x reader imagine during fourth year, maybe something with the yule ball? 

Word count: SHIT YOU NOT ITS EXACTLY 6666 AND NOW IM SCARED AHHHH 

Summary: It’s fourth year, the yule ball is coming up, and you’re anxious no one will ask you. Based on a Hufflepuff, sorry guys :) Note: in this version, the Quidditch season was not canceled for the triwizard tournament because in the words of Oliver Wood, “YOU CANT CANCEL QUIDDITCH” PS- I made this character exude confidence in the hopes that every person that reads this realize that you have great things to offer and should be confident in yourself.

    “Shit shit shit I’m late again,” you rush out of the common room, broom in hand, sprinting down to practice. Rounding the corner to the front of the castle you smack into a blond haired boy, both of you knocked back on the ground. “Oh shit I am so sorry,” you apologize. Looking up you see it’s Draco Malfoy. “Pathetic Puff. Watch where you’re going next time l/n,” he spits at you. Ignoring him, you hop back to your feet and run out of the castle, headed for the pitch, the November wind whipping against your cheeks. 

    “You’re late,” Cedric tells you, with a slight frown on his face. “I know I’m so sorry,” you say breathlessly. He just sighs and says, “Get on your broom. We’re doing passing drills with the Quaffle right now.” You nod and push off hard from the ground, stopping next to your other teammates. Putting your all into practice, you manage to score three times on Fleet, the keeper on your team. “Alright guys, good work. Now go shower!” Cedric calls out to all of you. You land gently and stride back up towards the castle, groaning at the Slytherins who now approach for their own practice slot. “Just ignore them,” Cedric walks beside you. “That’s nearly impossible,” you shoot back. “Well try at least,” Cedric nearly pleads. But the conflict was unavoidable.

    Walking straight up to you Draco teases, “Did you manage to run into more people on your broom l/n?” You attempt to push past him, but he repeatedly blocks your path. “Bet you flew into all of your teammates didn’t you?” Huffing, you growl, “Let me by Malfoy.” Cedric realizes you’re not behind him and looks back from the steps of the castle. “Uh oh this isn’t good,” he mutters under his breath. “Gonna run into me too?” Draco laughs. He made your blood boil at that moment, you weren’t usually his choice of prey. Draco sneers, looking down at you. “Please get out of my way,” you give him one last chance. When he doesn’t move, you check him hard in the shoulder, knocking him backwards and off balance. “I gave you a chance,” you grit your teeth and move towards the castle. Behind you, Draco watches you with surprise and intrigue. Approaching Cedric you shrug, “He was asking for it.” He groans in reply, “Y/n. I can’t have you getting banned from another match. You’re the best chaser we’ve got. Please control your temper.” You frown, “Alright Ced I’ll try.” Satisfied with your answer, he heads to the library and you head to the common room.

    The next morning you wake up, muscles extremely sore from going so hard at practice last night. Running late, you throw on your robes and tie your hair up in a thick ponytail and hustle into your routine.Throughout the day your friends from other houses ask you about the upcoming match against Slytherin. Neville runs up to you, “Ready for the match Saturday y/n?” “Always,” you reply with a stern look on your face. He laughs, “You’re probably the toughest Hufflepuff I know.” Replying you ask, “Now why does everyone keep saying that?” Neville thinks about it for a minute as the two of you continue towards Herbology. After a pause he says, “Well because you are really tough. Sometimes I’m surprised you’re not in Gryffindor. You face every problem, every bully head on, not fearing the consequences. You never back down from a fight. And you’re probably the most competitive Quidditch player I know besides Oliver Wood.” You grow quiet as you walk in stride next to him. “Are these good things?” you whisper. Neville realizes how you must have taken it and hastily reassures you, “They are great things! They’re really attractive qualities. You’d be surprised about how many conversations I hear of guys mooning over you.” You snort with laughter, “That’s a lie Neville and you know it.” He shrugs, “Suit yourself, but I swear I’m telling the truth.” You playfully roll your eyes and enter the greenhouse, Neville entering behind you.

    Maybe Neville was right. You work with your friends Justin and Hannah and can overhear a conversation at the next station. Blaise Zabinini whispers, “Have you seen her play Quidditch? Believe me I try to hate all Puff’s but she’s phenomenal.” Adrien Pucey agrees, adding, “I almost wish she was in Slytherin so she could play for us.” Draco rolls his eyes at his friends hissing, “Aren’t you dooey eyed boys going to finish this assignment?” Blaise argues, “Come on Draco. Even you can’t deny how good she looks playing Quidditch. Or just in general.” Draco shrugs, “What does that matter?” Blaise sniggers saying, “Well, if you answer the question I’ll stop bothering you and leave you alone.” This was all too attractive of an offer so Draco confesses, “Yes, she’s the most talented Quidditch player I know, and she happens to be the most attractive fourth year. Now can I please go back to my work?” Blaise nods, adding under his breath, “She’s the only person whose ever left Draco speechless too.” He was referring to you shoving him after practice last night.

    Suddenly your face flushes beet red and you can’t concentrate on your work. “Y/n are you okay?” Justin asks concerned. You shake out of your daze, “What? Oh yeah I’m fine.” You finish the work mindlessly, your mind traveling back to the conversation you overheard. When the lesson is over you walk out of the greenhouse, catching up to Neville. He raises his eyebrows at you in question. “You were right,” you admit. He laughs, “What did you hear?” Groaning you answer, “Some Slytherin boys talking about how I play Quidditch. Which doesn’t make sense to me at all. I don’t have a feminine build like other girls our age. I’m bulky, granted that’s from playing Quidditch, but I am! I don’t have dainty hips but I don’t have curves. I’m built like a 15 year old male athlete. How can that be attractive?” Neville listens to you ramble and comments, “It’s your confidence. You’re always extremely confident. Plus the way you’re skilled at Quidditch really is amazing. I even heard Viktor Krum complimenting how you play the other day.” You gasp, “No you didn’t! Neville Longbottom you better be teasing or I swear to god!” He chuckles, raising his hands in defeat he says, “Honest! I really heard him say that!” That silences you. Nearing the great hall you whisper to Neville, “That doesn’t change the fucked up way my body is built.” Neville turns to you and says, ���Y/n, you are my best friend. I wouldn’t lie to you, nor could I lie to you because you know me too well. And I’m telling you you are attractive.” Grinning in appreciation you say, “Thanks Neville. See you at the match tomorrow!” He waves and heads over to eat lunch with the other Gryffindors.

    Later that night you wander back to Hufflepuff common room from the library, a stack of books piled high in your arms. For the second time that week you run into someone. Your books scattered all over the marble floor. “I’m sorry,” you start to say but find yourself looking into the clear gray eyes of Draco Malfoy. Snorting, you correct yourself, “Actually I’m not.” Draco watches you with intriguing curiosity. Sighing, you begin to pick up your books. Silently, Draco bends down and helps you collect them. “Thanks, I guess,” you reluctantly tell him. He nods. Before you turn to leave he jokes, “You gave me quite the shove the other day.” Sensing the tone you tease back, “You had it coming.” He laughs, “I suppose I did.” This was a whole new side of Draco Malfoy. Or was it? You’d never interacted with him enough in the past to know for sure. But he was being friendly so you continue the conversation, “Ready for the match tomorrow?” He grins wickedly, “Always ready. The question is are you?” You blush under his intense gaze managing to say, “You have seen me play haven’t you?” He temporarily drops the teasing saying, “Yeah. You’re almost as good as Viktor Krum.” The blush creeps from your neck onto your cheeks, making you self conscious. “Well thanks Malfoy. You’re not too bad yourself,” you compliment. He shrugs off the compliment instead continuing to give you another. “I wish you could play for us. We could really use you,” he says. You laugh, “In your dreams. You’ll just have to cope without me.” He laughs. A silence passes over you, the books weighing down in your hands. So you announce, “Well I better be off. Gotta get lots of rest before we crush you tomorrow. Night Malfoy.” You flash a grin in his direction before leaving. “Night y/n,” he replies.

    The next morning you wake up extremely early, getting ready for the match. You had a pre-match ritual that you went through every single time. First you braid your hair back into a high ponytail and place a black ribbon around it. Pulling on your yellow Quidditch robes, you rummage around for your lucky socks. “Aha!” you exclaim, finding them in the back of your dresser. They had a pattern of Nifflers on them, which happened to be your favorite magical creature. “Good luck today! You’ll do great!” Hannah Abbott calls after you as you leave the common room, broom in tow.

    It was as if overnight, your newfound confidence that you were apparently unaware of, grew fantastically. You made a mental note to thank Neville. You felt Draco’s eyes on you as you sat down in the Great Hall. Shamelessly, you fuel up for the game, eating toast, eggs, sausage, and 2 glasses of orange juice. Satisfied, you exit the great hall and head for the pitch.

    As a part of your pre-game ritual you sat in the middle of the field, legs crossed and eyes closed, ignoring the light dusting of snow that left your backside damp. You focus your energy on the match, concentrating on relaxing your muscles so you’re free to move really quickly and flexibly. “I figured I’d find you hear,” a voice breaks your focus. Peeking one eye open, you look up and see Cedric watching you. “What do you want Ced? I didn’t beat up Malfoy, you don’t have to worry.” He laughs and sits next to you. He exudes nerves and you reluctantly inquired, turning to face him. “Alright Ced. Spill it,” you say. He sighs, “I asked Cho to the Yule ball.” You tilt your chin up, “And?” He groans, “And she said yes and I guess we’re a thing now and I don’t know, she’s coming to the match today so now I’m nervous.” Your laugh comes out as a bark, your chest shaking with amusement. “Cedric Diggory I have nervous seen you nervous before for a Quidditch match.” He responds, “I know, I know! That’s why I’m worried. We need this win to stay in play for the cup. I don’t want to fuck this up.” Growing serious you tell him, “Ced, your opposing seeker is Draco. He’s talented, but he’s easily distracted. The win’s in the bag.” Cedric laughs, “Did anyone ever tell you that you’re cocky?” Shaking your head you say, “Cocky maybe. But also right. Trust me. Forget Draco, forget Cho, just focus on the game. Alright?” He nods. Standing, he pats you on the back and says, “Changing rooms in 5.” “Alright,” you reply.

    Sighing, you refocus your energy on the match. Barely a minute later another figure approaches. “For the love of god could I just get some time to concentrate!” you complain, blinking your eyes open. Draco stood above you, smirking at your ritual. “Just came to wish you luck,” he holds back a laugh. Standing, you wipe your hands on your knees and say, “I don’t need it. But thanks anyways.” He chuckles, “See you in the air,” and walks to the other side of the stadium where the Slytherin team waits. You walk to the dressing room and enter, barely listening to Cedric’s usual motivational speech. “Ready?” Fleet elbows you, pulling your focus back in. “More than ever,” you grin wickedly. As Cedric passes you he asks, “Keep the temper in check yeah?” You reply, “I’ll try my hardest.” You follow your teammates out on the field and line up, waiting for Madam Hooch’s signal.

    The whistle blows and the Quaffle’s up in the air. Shooting towards it, you kick  it soccer style, over your shoulder to your fellow chaser Peter. Without a look back you fly to the other end of the pitch, waiting in position. The Quaffle transfers handlers so quickly that Marcus Flint, the Slytherin keeper, doesn’t see it land in your hands. Pawing it with one hand, you toss it through the left hoop easily. Cheers erupted from the crowd. Slytherin gets possession and you back track, ready to intercept. Fleet had no problem with you hanging by the goal posts. And as the Quaffle flies towards the center hoop, he bounces it off of the tail of his broom, directing it towards you. Snatching it, you race in the other direction, charging the hoops instead of passing. The adrenaline rushing through you, you whip the ball over Marcus’s head through the center hoop. Cedric swoops past shouting, “That’s great, keep it up, but use your passes!” He was right. Returning your focus to the Quaffle you watch it land in Peter’s arm as he makes his way across the field. A Slytherin chaser slams into him, forcing him to drop the Quaffle. “Oh Foul! That’s a foul!” you shout angrily. But Madam Hooch didn’t see it. Peter regains his balance and shoots you a reassuring grin. Diving towards the ground you scoop up the Quaffle and reposition yourself, looking for an opening. Your other chaser, Heidi, was open near the base of the right hoop. You chucked the ball to her, watching with bated breath to see if she catches it. You don’t get a chance to see though, because half a second later a huge green mass slams into you, knocking you from your broom. Luckily you weren’t that far from the ground, but the wind was still knocked out of you as hit the grass, your broom landing softly next to you. Sitting up on your elbows, you could swear steam poured from your ears. The whistle blows, calling a stop to the game. First Madam Hooch approaches Goyle. “Goyle, that’s illegal contact, forcefully violent! Second offense, you’re benched from this match!” Goyle screams in outrage and she silences him with her wand. Then she turns to you. You hastily stood up, feeling your face. The blood was coming from your nose, as it received the brunt of Goyle’s elbow. Your arms and legs were only slightly scuffed up from hitting the ground. Coughing, you pull your mouth guard out and taste blood. You turn your head a spit some blood into the grass. Hooch lets you wipe your mouth before saying, “Well l/n what’ll be? You have a sub if you need.” She waits. You look at Cedric and read his face clearly. He wanted you to stay in, and you couldn’t blame him. The only sub chaser you had was Ernie MacMillan and he wasn’t great. Spitting again you tell her, “I’m staying in.” She smirks, “I figured as much. You’ll have to see Madam Pomfrey after the match, but you should be fine.” Nodding, you shove your mouthguard back in and mount your broom. When the whistle blows, you kick off with newfound determination.

    Your resilience wasn’t lost on anyone, and with the Slytherin’s being down a beater you went on to score three more times. It was 70-50 and you paused for a moment, scanning the field for any sign of the snitch. The blood dried on your face, a line of it dripping from your nose. Wiping it on your sleeve you watch a gold glint hovering at the edge of the stands. Cedric who was determinedly focused saw it as well. So did Draco. It was a close race as they both reached for the snitch. The snitch traveled lower to the ground, now hovering only 2 feet from the grass. Cedric smartly tucked his feet up, but Draco didn’t, losing his balance. Cedric was victorious and held the snitch up in his fist. Cheering, you joined your team as you all dog piled on top of your seeker. Feeling eyes on you, you looked up to see Draco smiling at you.

    As you walked back to the castle with your teammates Cedric said, “Thanks for staying in the match. You’re a real warrior.” You laugh and ask, “How bad is it?” Cedric tries not to chuckle and responds, “You’ve got a dried trail of blood going from your nose all the way down your chin and neck. You’ve also got blood on your sleeve.” “Course I do,” you joke sarcastically. When you near the kitchens Cedric says, “Go get fixed up. The party will still be here when you get back.” “Alright,” you sigh and march up to the hospital wing.

    When you enter Madam Pomfrey frowns, “Good god girl what did you get into this time?” She was annoyed at seeing you so many times. You bite back a laugh, “It was the Quidditch match. We were playing Slytherin what can you expect?” She nods knowingly. “Sit there,” she commands, pointing to a stool outside of her office. “Lumos,” she mutters, peering into your nostrils. “Ruptured blood vessel, nothing too serious. In fact it’s pretty common amongst Quidditch players so I’m sure you’ll experience it again,” she comments. Pointing her wand at the afflicted spot she says, “Tergeo.” You feel the slit in your nose close up. “Now go clean yourself up,” she laughs at the state of you. “Yes Madam Pomfrey,” you hop up and exit.

    Outside there’s someone waiting for you. Draco walks up beside you and asks, “All fixed up?” “Yeah,” you laugh in his direction. He takes your hand and stops you walking. “What’s up?” you huff. He sighs, “Goyle’s a gigantic mass with no brain. I’m sorry he did that.” Your jaw drops in surprise. “Why are you sorry? It wasn’t your fault?” you question. Running a hand through his hair he states, “I didn’t want to see you get hurt.” “Oh,” you say lamely. You both stand there, shuffling your feet awkwardly. “You know I admire your tenacity. You’re so determined,” Draco comments. “Thank you,” you reply. For the first time in your life, you look Draco Malfoy in the eyes. They were extremely peculiar, you’d never seen a pair of gray eyes before. Draco studies your own e/c ones. Reaching up he hesitates, but wipes a flake of dry blood from beneath your nose. You close your eyes at his touch. Laughing nervously you ask, “So are we like friends now?” He shrugs, “I guess.” Smiling you say, “Works for me.” He stands there once again silent until you announce, “Look Draco I’ve got a party waiting for me back in the common room. I’ll see you later.” He smiles, “See you later y/n.” And he strolls away, hands in his pockets.

    The celebration of the match was glorious and you got absolutely wasted off of firewhiskey. As a result you woke up the next morning with a headache. When you emerge into the common room, you’re met with a questioning look from Cedric. “What?” you laugh at his expression. He shakes his head, “Nothing, I just thought my eyes deceived me last night. Are you friends with Draco Malfoy now?” You shrug innocently, “I guess so. Is that a problem?” He chooses his words carefully before saying, “You pick your own friends. But you should now I haven’t heard anything positive mentioned about him. Ever. And you’re gonna get judged by some other people.” You laugh, “Cedric I really don’t give a fuck what people think about me so that’s not a problem.” He laughs and leaves you with a, “Well alright then.”

    He was right. Over the next two weeks you got the biggest death glares and all the slytherin girls shot daggers at you. But like you told Cedric, you really couldn’t care less. Besides your time with Draco mainly consisted of studying and homework, with the usual teasing mixed in. Waiting for Draco in the library, you smile as Neville approaches you. “Alright there y/n?” he smiles. “I’m great Neville thanks for asking. Just ready for break,” you admit. He intercedes, “But aren’t you at least excited for the yule ball?” Instantly you groan, “No. No one’s asked me yet and it’s two weeks away. That means no one wants to go with me. Or they’re scared of me. Or both.” Neville chirps, “Cheer up y/n. I’m sure someone will ask you soon.” You shake your head, “I don’t think so. Especially now that I’ve started hanging out with Draco.” Neville considers the thought and asks, “Why are you hanging out with him?” You sigh, “I don’t know, he was nice to me. Besides that he just gets my personality. None of my other friends like to be competitive or get teased. What’s the fun in that?” Neville snorts, “Well you are unique in that. Not everyone appreciates your dry sense of humour.” You nod, a knowing look on your face. “Who are you going with?” you continue. Neville beams, “Ginny. Just as friends but I’m really looking forward to it.” Draco entered the library and walked over. “That’s great Neville, I’ll see you,” you squeeze his hand. He gets up and says, “See you.”

    “What was that about?” Draco immediately questions. You tease, “Why are you so worried Malfoy?” He ignores your teasing comment and waits for you to answer. “Relax we were just catching up. He was telling me about how he’s going to the Yule Ball with Ginny.” “Oh,” Draco noticeably relaxes. You rub the back of your neck awkwardly and ask, “So who are you going with?” Draco’s teasing demeanor returns as he says, “Jealous are we?” “No,” you blurt a little too quickly. Ignoring this he looks away and admits, “I haven’t asked anyone yet.” “Oh,” you try and hide your surprise. Poking at his pet peeves you laugh, “I was sure Pansy Parkinson would be begging you to go by now?” He immediately grows frustrated and groans, “She has. Asked that is. 5 times. She’s a relentless shrew.” You snort with laughter and can’t stop laughing. “That’s the perfect description of her,” you wheeze. Madam Pince comes over and snaps, “Malfoy! L/n! Quiet please!” You gulp and nod. After she walks away Draco declares, I’m not gonna get any work done tonight.” “Me neither,” you agree. Building up the courage Draco asks, “So which of our dooey eyed classmates asked you?” The use of his words brought you back to the day you overheard him saying you were the most attractive girl in fourth year. Laughing cynically you say, “Absolutely no one has asked me.Not a soul.” Draco snorts with laughter and you think it’s a beautiful sound. “I find that hard to believe,” he says truthfully. You look at him across the table, trying to decide if he was joking or not. Finally you shrug, “I suspect they’re just scared of me after watching that Quidditch match.” Draco considers the thought. So comfortable with your new companion you let slip, “I think they’re all scared of me.” Immediately, your hand shoots up to your mouth and you blush with embarrassment. Draco sympathizes with you. “I am not scared of you y/n,” he states plainly. You smile gratefully at him, “And thank god for that. You’re the greatest friend I never knew I needed.” He only pauses briefly at your revelation before admitting, “Likewise. You’re my best friend.” The thought made you grin like a goof. It got really late and you and Draco decided to go your separate ways and off to bed. You felt like a weight had been lifted for you, admitting even just an inkling of the worries you experienced to Draco. Below you in the dungeons Draco hatched a plan. A plan that was seriously outgoing for him, but matched your confidence perfectly.  

    Your next match was against Ravenclaw, the competition fierce. On Saturday morning you saunter down to the Great Hall to eat breakfast before the match. Draco is also there, which is surprisingly early for him. Grinning, you walk up to him. “Coming to the match today?” you ask him. He looks at you like you’re stupid. He rolls his eyes, “No. I’m not going to come and support my best friend.” You nudge him in the shoulders at his joke. After a pause you ask, “But seriously, you’ll be there?” He stares at you seriously and answers, “I wouldn’t miss it.” “Thanks,” you hug him, which felt surprisingly normal. Retreating back to your table for breakfast you add, “Meet me on the field for my pre-match ritual.” Smirking, he nods.

    You shovel down your breakfast quickly and strut out to the field. There was a thick layer of snow but nevertheless you sat in the grass, crossing your legs and closing your eyes. Draco soon walks up to you. “Got all the blood stains out of your uniform I see,” he comments. “Took three spells but yes I did,” you reply. Setting down his book bag, he sits across from you. “Why do you have your bag?” you ask him. He shrugs, “Dunno. Habit I guess. Not important, you’ve got to focus now.” You smile at how well he already knew you. Taking a deep breath you hold out the palms of your hands. Draco sits there and watches you. After a beat you open one eye and say, “Draco idiot, take my hands.” “Oh,” he replies, hastily placing his hands on top of your own. Beginning with deep breaths you instruct, “Concentrate on the match. Or me. Basically concentrate on how well you want me to do, or what you want the outcome of today to be. Then channel that energy into my hands.” He groans, “This is stupid y/n.” You scold him, “If you think it’s stupid then leave. Maybe it works, maybe it doesn’t, but it helps me unwind before the match.” His hands don’t leave yours and he sighs loudly, taking a deep breath and following your instructions. You hoped he was thinking about you winning. But he wasn’t. Inside Draco’s mind he thought, “Okay, I'm thinking about y/n. She’s such a great friend and I want her to win today. I always want what’s best for her. Most importantly, when I ask her to the Yule Ball, I want her to be excited. I want her to say yes.”

    After another five minutes of this, you stand up, pulling Draco up with you. As soon as your palms leave his, the spark there fizzles out. Walking with you over to the changing room Draco says, “Good luck y/n. I’ll be in the stands watching. Look for me!” You grin, “Thanks Drac. I will. See you afterwards.” He shuffles into the stands, his hand on his bookbag.

    Ravenclaw didn’t play dirty, like Slytherin did, but they were extremely good. You were instructed by Cedric to score as quickly, and as frequently as possible. Because when the snitch was spotted, he told the team he would go for it, otherwise the game would last at least three hours. It was hard to score, Ravenclaw focusing on defense. Glancing at the scoreboard it was 30-30 and you’d been playing for an hour. Cedric floats near you as you briefly slow down. You groan in exhaustion, “Cedric Diggory you better catch that snitch.” He doesn’t answer, his eyes continually scanning the field for the shiny gold snitch.

    Another hour later and you were losing speed fast. The score only went up to 50-50 and you badly needed a break, the December air biting at your bones. From the corner of your eye, you’re thrilled to see the golden snitch. Cedric dives for it. So does Cho. You groaned at the thought of Cedric letting Cho win due to the nature of their relationship. Lucky for you, he doesn’t. In the last second, he snatches the snitch from the air, Cho’s hand closing around Cedric’s as she reached for it a second too late. The crowd was shocked and cheered loudly. You looked around for Draco, who would no doubt be cheering you on. Your eyes find his platinum blonde head, holding a large banner in his hands, but you couldn’t read it from where you were. Pushing your broom foreword, you swoop down to him, pausing in front of the banner. It read in yellow letters, “Will the best Quidditch player be my date to the Yule Ball?” Your breath catches in your throat. Everyone in the crowd stared at the banner. Draco smiled nervously from behind it and says, “How ‘bout y/n?” Grinning stupidly you yanked out your mouthpiece and shout over the rest of the crowd’s murmurings, “Yes! I’d love to go with you!” Draco beamed and put down his banner. “Meet me outside the pitch,” you tell him, whipping your broom around.

    Crashing down hard against the ground, your knees buckle briefly as you weave through your teammates, eager to get to Draco. Cedric stops you, “That gesture was quite un-malfoy like. What gives?” He still blocked your path. Pushing against his shoulder you reply, “When I find out I’ll tell you.” “Alright alright,” he gives in chuckling and let’s you aside. You burst through the gate, searching for Draco. He stands against a tree about 20 feet away, arms crossed, smirking in your direction. Grinning, you run up to him. Dropping your broom, he envelopes you in a hug, his arms holding you close. You felt you could stay that way forever, but your curiosity got the better of you. Picking your head up off of his chest you look up at him and ask cheekily, “What gives Malfoy?” There was no humour on his face as he shrugs, “Dunno. Maybe I just like you?” You study him intensely, rising up on your tiptoes to get a closer look at his face. He meets your gaze with an equally strong look of his own. Sighing you poke his chest and ask, “You sure you just didn’t feel bad for me for not having a date?” He shakes his head, “I’m sure.” Raising an eyebrow you pester, “No games? No tricks?” This time he laughs wholeheartedly, “No games or tricks. I just like you. Why is that so hard for you to believe?” Sighing you gaze at the ground, “I don’t know. I mean I knew you thought I was attractive but I didn’t think you actually liked me for real.” He boldly takes your hands and whispers, “How could I not like you? You’re amazing to be around.” You bite down on your lip hard, deciding what to do next. Returning his boldness, you stand on your tiptoes and kissed him before you can chicken out. Draco leans back for a brief moment in surprise before his instincts kick in. He casually places his hands on your waist, pulling you closer as his lips stay on yours. Your arms wrap around his neck as you stay on your tiptoes to continue kissing him. The last crowds string out of the pitch and shout loudly, “OOOOOOOOOOOOH!” Embarrassed, you bring your feet back down to the grass, lowering yourself from the kiss. Looking up at your best friend, his cheeks are flushed and his eyes dance wildly as he looks at you. “You’re a pretty good kisser Malfoy,” you tease him. And suddenly it felt like things were normal again, as if nothing had changed.He smirks, “Well you’re not so bad yourself.” You grin proudly. The sky got dark and Draco commented, “We should probably head back to the castle.” You nod, picking up your broomstick. Draco offers you his hand. Wordlessly you take it, and stroll with him back to the castle.

    Your attitude towards the Yule Ball instantly flipped from dread to excitement after Draco had asked you. The days felt the same, and yet totally different. You still spend all of your time with him, but this time there was kisses and close contact mixed in. As soon as he asked you, you went the very next day to Hogsmeade to get your dress. Feeling uncomfortable in your tall, bulky, athletic frame, it was hard for you to decide on a dress. Eventually you found the perfect one. With a high neckline and capped sleeves, the bodice sparkled with emerald beads. An A-line skirt flowed out from the bodice, the material the same emerald green but in satin. The back of the dress dipped low, down below where a bra line would be. But your favorite part was the pockets. You bought it immediately.

    Sooner than you would have wanted, the Ball was here. Usually confident, you’d never been more nervous for anything in your life. You got ready alone, the shock of your and Draco’s new relationship still sending shockwaves through the house of Hufflepuff. Admittedly you had some trouble. Being an athlete you almost never wore makeup. But somehow you managed to perform the eyelash extension charm and add a light pink blush to your cheeks. You swiped on one layer of a light pearl eye shadow that brought out the whites of your eyes. Finishing the look, you put on a deep red lipstick. Hannah Abbott was gracious enough to do your hair, you were hopeless at it. “Thank you so much,” you tell her as she sweeps your curled h/c locks into an elegant side bun. “It’s no problem,” she chirps, “I know everyone else has been giving you a rough time but in the end you should just do what makes you happy.” You smile at her insightfulness. “That’s great advice,” you tell her. She smiles at you in the mirror. A few minutes later she’s done and you stare in awe at the way she had managed to sweep your hair so elegantly to the side of your head. You place plain diamond studs in your ears and hunt for your shoes. Smiling, you pull out your white converse and slip them on. “Dear god what are you doing?” Heidi laughs at your shoe selection. You shoot back, “My dress is so long no one will see them anyways. You know me, I am not the girly type.” “Oh yes I know,” she laughs. The two girls make there way to the great hall and you follow shortly after.

    The ball had already started and Draco stood against a pillar, looking around anxiously. Peeking around the corner, you gasp at how handsome he looks in his tux. His silver bowtie matched his eyes perfectly and you were sure it was charmed. Leaning against the wall you suck in a breath. “Pull it together l/n,” you scold yourself. Letting out a slew of noises, you compose yourself and emerge from the corridor, making your way towards Draco.

    Draco’s eyes fall on you and he lets out a long, low whistle. Blushing, you walk quickly towards him. Drinking you in with his eyes he says, “You look absolutely ravishing y/n.” Pushing him playfully you say, “Draco Malfoy quit making me blush!” His voice comes out low, “It’s not my fault you look extremely attractive when you blush.” Giving him one last playful swat, you kiss him gently. He leaned into the kiss, but you tease him, pulling back. He gives you a pouty look. “I believe you asked me to a ball?” you raise your eyebrows at him. He sighs, “I did. But you’re mine later darling.” “We’ll see,” you smirk, pulling him into the Great Hall.

    The ball was spectacular, icicles hanging from the magical ceiling. You breathe in the energy of the night, and excitement fills your chest. Leading you to the dancefloor Draco says, “Dance with me?” “Happy to,” you reply, taking his offered hand. Boy did Draco Malfoy sure know how to waltz. With one hand on your hip, the other intertwined with one of your own hands, he lead you through all the steps gently. “You’re so light on your feet,” you tell him. He shrugs, “I’ve had years of practice from all the ministry events my parents dragged me to. Maybe I’ll bring you to the next one. Anything to see you in this dress again.” Gazing into his eyes you ask, “You really like it? I chose green because.. Well. you.” He beams widely, “I love it darling. It’s so flattering on you, though the back is a bit low,” he grins, wiggling his fingers on your bare skin for emphasis. It makes you shiver. Draco laughs mischievously at this. There’s a brief break in the music and you fiddle with his bow tie. “I like how it matches your eyes perfectly,” you tell him. “Thank you,” he replies.

    The music slows into a tender ballad and Draco removes his hands from yours, placing them around your waist. You lace your own fingers together behind his neck and try to stand flat. “Could you lean your head down a little bit?” you ask him, “You’re awfully tall you know.” He laughs and dips his head a bit, letting you rest flat on your feet. Your dress swishes around as Draco twirls you and he catches sight of your shoes. “Interesting choice,” he bemuses. You crack a smile, “I couldn’t help myself. You’re lucky you got the dress. I’m not very feminine Draco.” His mouth narrows as he states, “I know you’re not. That’s what I like about you.” He states this as a plain fact. “Thank you,” you take the compliment. “So what do you like about me?” Draco implores you. Deciding to abandon your teasing tone you tell him, “Everything. I like everything about you Draco.” He bites back a gasp and you smirk satisfied at catching him off guard. His head dips lower as he places his lips on yours. You smile into his lips, your fingers lightly playing with his hair. His bare hands warmed up the bare part of the small of your back that showed. And as he continued to kiss you, you felt the rest of the world fade away. Still swaying gently to the music, you let the passion build in your chest. Draco only pulls away when he runs out of breathe. He wears a look of satisfaction when he notices how swollen your lips are. “I could kiss you everyday and it still wouldn’t be enough,” he confesses, his hands leaving your waist to hold your own hands. You shake your head and place his hands back on your waist, his fingers yet again splaying across your bare back. He smiles at your boldness. “You’re confidence is extremely sexy,” he tells you. Looking into his beautiful gray eyes you reply, “Draco, shut up and kiss me.” And he happily does so.

[chronically-autistic-dinosaur]

This is an EXTREMELY long post, but there you have it:

With the exception of the first photo, these tests were taken in March. I took the same tests back in November and I took them even earlier than that as well. I got nearly the the same results. I score high for Aspergers. I’ve had questions and concerns for the past 5 or so years about whether or not I had ASD (certain things stuck out to me) and so I started to do some research. I did those tests, talked to some people, and looked into my childhood and realized the signs were always there. Now, I could pay almost $3000 and get my diagnosis on a piece of paper, but what’s the point of that? I’ll still get the same results on the tests. The diagnosis will just sit in my medical file and unless I plan on getting government benefits, I don’t see the point. Yes, I was diagnosed when I was 12. No, I don’t have it in writing anywhere (that I know of). My testing was done as part of a clinical trial I was in and the results of those are never made public or put in a medical record. It sucks, but that’s how those things work. My parents know my diagnosis and I know. That’s enough for me.

Yes, I hit every developmental milestone, but most of us with Aspergers do. We don’t normally have the speech and language deficits that those elsewhere on the spectrum will have. It’s why we are usually misdiagnosed/diagnosed later in life. We are more intelligent than most people. My IQ is 120 (according to all the free tests I’ve done here and the over the years). Now that’s not genius level, but it IS higher than normal. I was reading proficiently at 4 years old. By the time I was in Kindergarten, I was reading at a grade 3 level and could comprehend what I was reading. We have excellent memory recall. I can retain information a lot easier than most. I could name the capital cities of most countries (and if given a few minutes, I could still remember). I love reference books and text books and I was the same way as a child. I’ve always been smarter than my age, which is common for Aspies.

In the language category though, I DO have minor echolalia. I will mimic/repeat what people have said to me. When a customer tells me they are paying with debit (or whatever their payment method is), I will repeat what they said. I’ll repeat numbers back when someone is telling me them. I’ll repeat phrases I hear on TV or movies. It may be immediate or it may be a delayed response somewhere down the road. I use words and phrases out of context. I’ll print something or a receipt will print and I will say “perfect” or “excellent.” I heard the word somewhere and I’m now repeating it in a situation. I talk to myself. And I’m talking full on conversations. Extremely common in those with ASD. I did it as a child as well but it would have been chalked up to “oh she just has an imaginary friend.”

I have very particular interests. At the age of 5, I was reading medical dictionaries and encyclopedias. I love anything medical. I love true crime and serial killers. My favourite TV shows are either medical or crime related. In grade 2, I knew the name of every dinosaur and what period they lived in. If I’m talking to people and they don’t like either of those things, the conversation is over. I could go on and on about my interests and not get bored. This is another ASD trait.

I also inventoried my Halloween candy. I did this every year up until I stopped trick or treating. I organized my teddy bears and inventoried them as well. In fact, everything in my bedroom was inventoried. I had a massive Barbie doll collection and I would spend hours setting everything up in VERY specific spots. It would stay like that for months and the Barbies wouldn’t get played with because I didn’t want anything to get touched and wrecked.

Stimming. It’s a coping mechanism. It’s how I deal with the world around me. Stimming calms me down and can prevent a meltdown. As a child, I chewed things. I chewed my sleeves on my sweaters and the collars on my t-shirts. I sucked on my fingers/hands. I still chew. I chew on hoodie strings. I chew my nails (which I also did as a kid). I play with my hands. I bang my fists against my legs. I play with headphone wires. I also do the stereotypical autistic clapping of the hands. It’s the most obvious of my stims, but what can you do? 🤷🏻‍♀️

Sensory Processing Disorder. This is the most common sign of ASD. In fact, anyone with autism will have SPD to some degree. This was actually the first thing I started researching since a person can have SPD without being autistic. After doing my research, that wasn’t my case. I have mild-moderate SPD. I have always been a picky eater. I eat foods based off of their texture. It’s why I eat a lot of processed food. It has no texture. I don’t like sticky foods like fruit because I can’t stand having sticky hands. In fact, I can’t stand having dirty hands in general. I eat finger food with a fork and a knife for this exact reason. My food can’t touch (unless it’s a stir fry or something) I can’t have tags in my shirts. I don’t wear belts. I don’t wear tight clothing. I don’t like being touched or hugged. It’s uncomfortable. This is also common in people with ASD. As a kid, I was forced to hug because in a NT (Neurotypical) world, that’s what you do. So I learned to fake it. I get window seats on planes so the flight attendants and other passengers can’t touch me. I wear noise cancelling headphones so I can block out most of the noise outside. It can be a tad overwhelming at times. I am sensitive to bright lights, high pitched sounds and certain smells. My brain doesn’t have a filter to properly filter out all the different senses so overload is a thing and always has been. My migraines are more than likely because of sensory overload. As a child, my sensory overload may have disguised itself as something else, though.

Social Interaction. Those with ASD struggle with social skills. I can count on one hand how many friends I had in school. And I’m going from Kindergarten to Grade 12. And I no longer have regular contact with these people. I was able to copy (common for those with ASD) those around me and make friends that way. But I had no idea what I was really doing. Making friends is hard when you have ASD. I lack the social skills needed to talk to people. I was shy. I liked playing alone because it was easier than talking to people and I could be off in my own world. To this day, I still don’t like talking to people. I have to rehearse what I’m saying before I say it. I don’t like talking on the phone. I will use self serve checkouts if I only have a few items. I use the self serve kiosks at McDonalds so I don’t have to speak to an employee. I have learned to adapt in a NT world and I have a job that requires me to talk to people. But it’s repetitive. I say the same thing to each customer. If I have to deviate from that system, I’m flustered. I do not make eye contact with people. It’s unnerving. I look past people. I struggle with reading body language. I avoid most large social gatherings. I’m not trying to be anti-social. But having to deal with all the people and the noise gives me anxiety and overwhelms me. Even in school, when ever there was some event in the class, I would try and be in the back, so I wouldn’t have to interact with anyone.

Emotions. I struggle with empathy and sympathy. Not ALL those with ASD have issues with those but I do. I have a hard time feeling sorry for people or knowing what people are going through. I don’t know why people are crying sometimes. I don’t know what to do when people are crying. Even as a kid, I could hurt my siblings and it wouldn’t bother me that they were in pain. I simply didn’t care. I also don’t express my emotions correctly or know WHEN to correctly express my emotions. It’s why I threw tantrums as a child. It’s one of the reasons I saw a counselor in Grade 3.

Meltdowns. These are different then tantrums. Meltdowns happen when I get too overwhelmed with everything (sensory overload or stress) and I shut down. I CAN go non-verbal but that is extremely rare. I also suffer from shutdowns, which are milder forms of meltdowns.

Routine and Structure. Another big sign of those with ASD is routine. This is one of the the things that stuck out to me the most before I even started doing research. I always had a routine. And it couldn’t be changed or it would cause major problems for me. I have morning routine and it doesn’t matter where I am, I follow it. I have another routine for my Monday and Friday shifts. If it deviates at all, we could have a meltdown depending on how much of a deviation there is. I don’t recall much routine as a child, but I imagine it was there in some form.

Those with ASD have sleep problems. I wake up 3-4 times a night and I remember being this way even as a child. I am never tired though. 4 hours of sleep has always been sufficient for me and the research I have done on ASD and sleep shows this to be a common thing. I also have to sleep with my iPad on. I can’t have complete silence or darkness when I sleep. I can recall sleeping with my light on when I was younger.

Now how did I go so long without any of this being noticed by teachers or even my parents? Well I was born in 1989. Autism was not a big thing back then so it wouldn’t have been on the radar of anyone, really. My mom did tell me that I’ve always had behavioural issues and “strange and odd” behaviour since I was a baby/child but again, autism was not the thing it is now so there was no reason to have me tested when I was really young. Same as in school. It was chalked up to “behavioural issues” or “bad parenting.” Females are more commonly misdiagnosed or not diagnosed at all because doctors still hold the belief that only males can have ASD. Females are also better at masking their ASD traits than males. I have been masking the majority of my life. It’s how I’ve been able to keep the same job for 10 years. It’s how I managed to make the friends I did. I can appear NT even though I am not. Masking is also physically exhausting and I am trying harder to NOT mask.

Being part of an Aspergers group on Facebook and being a part of the autistic community on Tumblr has really helped me. It lets me know there are others JUST like me with the same things and that I am not alone.

“I have autism. It’s a part of who I am.”

[goldenhour-goldenboy]

hiya, just wondering if you could please write about the brotherly relationship between Will and benny, it wasn't really focused on too much in the movie and your detail is perfect!! thank u xox

I want to focus more on the points that haven’t been brought up by me or other writer’s in the past. I feel like I’ve been a bit repetitive in the last couple things I wrote and I’m sorry if those points seem a bit random to you. Also I think I have a fever right now so spelling is probably not too great and I think I’ll find a million mistakes when I read over it in a week again lol

Brotherly relationship (Miller brothers)

William and Ben don’t necessarily talk about each other’s feelings to each other a lot. They’re both used to deal with a lot of the emotional baggage themselves and tend to shut the world out of their heads, leaving them often more isolated than necessary. If they feel the need to communicate their thoughts it’s usually something with a big impact on them, going on for a bit before they finally mustered the courage to show that something’s not right with them. Then, they’re one of the first people they turn to each other, looking for the familiar bond they’ve been growing over the years. Growing up with each other has made it very simple for not only William but Benny as well, to read the other one and recognizing when something is not right it often doesn’t need much for them to realize something’s bothering the other one.

It’s usually shooting the other one a look if they’re in public and asking without any words “Are you alright, brother?”. The actual talk happens later, more often they find each other sitting in their car in the driveway, unable to get out before voicing their thoughts. It seems easier to do so in the safety of a car, easier to leave if the conversation gets too heavy and so they’re used to talk for hours, sitting on the worn out leather seats of William’s pick-up.

They’re both highly competitive with each other. It mostly shows when they’re training together or both happen to be working on perfection on a certain skill, though their competitive nature is triggered with anyone else, it’s worse when the two brothers are going against each other. 

They’re very particular in when to actively try to one up each other though, realizing quickly in which situation they have a real chance or not. It’s more for fun then, Benny knowing that William will outtake him any day if they’re wrestling and William being sure as hell that Ben can shoot him from 10 miles away with one eye closed.

Whenever they do feel as if they’re both the best in a field of expertise, they’re no stopping them though. Rounds will be counted, Tom used as a Referee as both Fish and Pope get too caught up in the excitement and neither can be trusted to handle a fair score and a win never lasting for long as a rematch is always demanded immediately.

It has happened more than often that they don’t approve each other’s partners or chosen fling for the week, though the last one refers mostly to Benny’s short term relationships. It’s a protective trait of their’s really, wanting a genuine person for the other one and accepting nothing less than true love.

William’s forgiving nature tends to create a problem in his relationship sooner or later, his partner’s often times taking advantage of that and it leads him to overlook obvious signs that this might not work out. Everyone else usually sees the breakup coming from a mile away but William is still heartbroken whenever it happens, knowing now what went wrong but often realizing it too late. Benny’s very vocal about his concerns from the beginning, urging his brother to call it quits a long time before William realizes that this relationship won’t work out in the long run.

Benny on the other hand tends to lose his heart on the weekly to this or that person, without really taking his time to get to know them and it’s a reflex at this point that William doesn’t even try to get to know the new person at his side anymore. At heart Benny is a hopeless romantic, often times glossing his own excitement over his partners flaws and idolizing them to a point where William can’t help but roll his eyes whenever Ben gushes about this new girl he met at the ring. Will learned that trying to reason with his brother is pointless, so he sits back and says nothing, letting the younger one swoon over his newest person of interest, simply waiting for the ship to crash. It’s over a couple weeks later and Benny’s moping the way Benny mopes - in training.

William helped his brother through his first kill, Benny retching everything he had eaten that day out behind a tent. They’re standing a bit apart from everyone else walking around camp and Benny’s glad that his brother followed him the second he tried to slip away from the group that just came back from the mission. They’re both still suited up, dried mud covering their boots and mixed in with their sweat on their face and Benny feels as if the dense heat will give him the rest. 

William waits until his brother is done, Benny wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and accepting a bottle of water from William more than grateful. Will kept his distance as his Ben tried to get the sickening feeling of having just taken someone’s life out of his stomach, but he never took his hand off of Ben’s back, rubbing small circles over his drenched uniform and making sure that his brother sat down after he was finished.

Will is careful not linger too much though, knowing that his brother tries to stand his own here and William still treating him as a little brother will hurt his pride more than than it helps him through this moment. It’s hard coming to terms with what Ben had just done, William knows that and there’s really nothing he can say to make it any less painful so he sits down next to his brother and just breathes with him for a bit.

One would think that it’s Benny who convinces Will to join him in his mischief but often enough it is actually the other way around. Whenever the two got together and had a stupid idea in mind they’d honestly be the most destructible duo because Benny is stupidly brave and William is one of the smartest people you’ll probably ever meet, making them the perfect combination for a disaster. 

They’d done a lot of stupid and sometimes even reckless stuff, leaving their mother fuming and even worse, their dad terribly angry whenever he found out about it and though they’d idolize their dad immensely, both brother’s would never think of telling on the other when they got in trouble afterwards. It was always them against the world, sometimes even meaning that it was them against their parents.

It becomes a whole other conversation when one of them felt they’re being treated unfairly though! At the end of the day they’re still siblings, both of them whined their faire share to their mother about the other one getting more candy or staying up later than they were supposed to do resulting in the other one defending themselves and pointing out that someone had failed their math test and hasn’t told it yet even though it’s been a week by now.

They have a very specific sense of humor with each other, built on memories and the undeniable influence of their dad. It’s a weird mix between black humor and the most childish things ever. A couple of little moments that amuses one of them leads to quickly locking eyes with the other one and both of them grin from ear to ear in seconds, remembering the same memory that none of the group can share with them. It’s quick teeth in a sharp smile, muffled laughter and a comfortable sigh at the end that let’s them both reminiscent in those moments.

The first time William gets shot in a mission Benny feels like punching everyone in sight until he’s allowed in the medic tent. He’s raging, mostly because he doesn’t know what else he’s supposed to do and neither Pope nor any of his other mates seem to find the right words to get through to him. 

When he’s finally allowed in, Benny feels as if his chest stops working and for a moment he can only stare. William is lying pale in front of Benny, half his chest covered with white fresh bandages, an IV hooked onto him and Benny is suddenly very calm as he carefully steps closer to his brother, eyes flickering over his body. „You’re such a fucking shithead.“ It’s the first thing that comes to his mind then and makes Will laugh, although it turns into a wheezing cough immediately and Benny regrets having said anything at all. He blinks aways some tears that involuntarily come instantly but one manages to slip down his cheek and he wipes it away hastily. William notices though and weakly lifts a hand to slap his brothers side, Benny misunderstanding his intentions and grabbing it on instinct, catching both of them off guard. Will takes a sharp, rattled breath and squeezes his brother’s hand for a second before forcing a smile onto his face, a tired one but a smile nonetheless. “Yeah well.. got what I deserved. Next time you can volunteer to get yourself shot, shithead.”

When William was nine and Benny was five they build a small tree house in their backyard, that’s mostly come apart by now. Back then they were kids, they didn’t want any adult help, being immensely proud to have accomplished to built it on their own, even though it’s mostly just tied wood together and some roughly assembled nails here and there (their dad might or might not have sneaked up one early morning and secured the whole thing so his sons wouldn’t end up in a tragic death) 

The old thing actually survived until now which is honestly a miracle and neither their mom or dad had the heart to take it down (”Maybe one day my grandchildren will want to play with it!”). One night, when Benny and Will just came back from their first tour, they celebrated in their backyard and got incredibly drunk and decided that NOW would be a good idea to climb that thing and of course, the minute William plants down his bottom they hear a very suspicious creak and next thing they now they’re on the ground, at least William is. Benny’s still tangling on one branch and yelling at William that he has gotten too fat and that he’s not allowed into any tree house of Benny’s ever again ensuring a whole discussion of whom’s tree house it was in the first place.

Even though Benny is Will’s brother and he obviously loves him to death, he is also his brother. Which means he’s the quickest to get on Ironhead’s nerves and he surprisingly does so more as a grown adult as when they were younger. Maybe William felt more responsible as a child for his Baby brother and might have let Ben get away with more but now that there both grown up Benny still likes to tease his older brother every once in a while and he’s brilliant in pushing Will’s buttons just so he can get a reaction out of him. 

In return Will likes to feed Benny false information that he hopes he will embarrass himself with in a conversation some time later (bonus points if it’s to try to impress a girl). It’s a longer process but as Will has an amazing amount of random knowledge and seems as the more responsible one, Benny trusts him almost when Will explains for example that they’ve just discovered a very a new planet in our solar system. Whenever William is within earshot and Benny talks to Pope about what he just heard one can hear William cackling silently to himself as Pope very slowly tries to explain to Ben that he’s been had - again.