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Heliophobia
Noun: An extreme and irrational fear of light. Children or adults with heliophobia experience an extreme aversion to sunlight and may seek darkness in response.
Ch.8
Ch.7, Ch.6, Ch.5.5, Ch.5, Ch.4, Ch.3, Ch.2, Ch.1 <–
Pairing: Logan Howlett x F!Mutant!Reader
Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence
Word Count: 15.8K
A/N: bejeezus this was a tough one to get through, crazy how i thought i might be able to fit these last two chapter in one it would have been like 30k words... insane behaviour from me. also i really like writing horror scenes :D
Taglist: @badbishsblog @reidsworld @idioticstar @toogaytofunctiondangit @ghostyv @wolviesgirl @over-bi-the-wayside @justice4billiam @holyhumorliteraturelight @cxptainbuck @sseleniaa @sadslasher13 @yallgotkik @whyamistillontumbler @maddiedinosaur @bethexo07 @pwpwppeepeoor @y08h
“Let me OUT!” Logan cringed as what he assumed was your foot collided with the oak door, thumping against the abused wood. You’d been at this ever since you’d woken up, throwing various objects at the door only for it to remain sealed shut, only succeeding in creating some kind of shattered glass trap after pelting a vase at the panels. Logan sighed heavily, checking his watch. Three hours. You’d been furiously screaming for three hours, trying every fucking trick in the book to get him or anyone else to open the door. Scott had to hold him back when you pretended to be hurt, whimpering and gasping behind the door as if you’d broken a bone. Only to scream in pure, unbridled rage when you realised it hadn’t worked.
Devious motherfucker.
You weren’t the only one either. They had Erin held in another room, only she was taking her isolation much better. It was the safest option whilst Charles worked on restoring each subject’s memories. They’d started with Morgana, and Logan didn’t think he’d ever be able to shake the image of crimson blood leaking from every orifice of that girl’s face as she writhed on the floor from his head. But the shift in personality hadn’t been too great. She was still pretty relaxed and unserious, but now she was a lot quieter. Subdued. Like she’d had the hope beaten out of her.
It fucking terrified him. How much would you change after Charles restored your memories? Would you still smile the same? Laugh the same? Would you still want to be around him? With him?
Would you still love him?
Logan sighed. It was selfish of him, for that to be his most pressing concern, but he didn’t know what he’d do if, after all this, you never looked at him again. Not in the same way. His heart constricted in his chest, dread pooling in his gut. He needed to entertain these scenarios. He needed to prepare for every eventuality. Even if it broke him apart.
“She still at it?”
He’d been too wrapped up in his head to register the light footsteps from down the hall, curly red hair bouncing at Morgana’s shoulders as she approached with two cups of coffee. She’d cleaned herself up since her ordeal, even adding winged eyeliner on either side of her scarlet eyes. Logan bristled slightly, though he truly didn’t mean it. Instinct had his muscles tensing and his gaze narrowing, the night he lost you playing in his mind’s eye, Morgana’s blank expression as she slowed his heartbeat, her shining irises.
But he made himself relax. She’d proven herself a friend to you, her concern touching a part of him that recognised he could trust her with you. Releasing a breath, Logan nodded in answer to her question. “Yeah… Hasn’t stopped.” He tried in vain to keep the defeat from his voice, gratefully taking the coffee Morgana held out to him. “How’s the other one?”
“Erin? She’s… hollow, I guess. One of our friends we’d left behind, she was kinda seeing him but also kinda not. It was complicated between them…” Morgana slid down the wall to sit on the floor, crossing her legs at the knee. Logan joined her, exhaling as he took the weight off his feet.
The silence wasn’t exactly comfortable, and Logan was acutely aware of Morgana’s guilt. Having her memories restored, she now knew she played a critical role in your capture, and if it wasn’t for her, none of this would have happened. She opened her mouth to speak, but Logan beat her to it.
“Don’t. You don’t gotta apologise. You didn’t know what you were doin’.” An apology would mean nothing to him. Sure, she’d aided your capture, but she’d also helped your escape, and monitored your blood pressure on the flight back to the mansion. She’d taken care of you where Logan couldn’t, and he was grateful for that.
Morgana simply nodded silently, unshed tears shining in her eyes as she tried to smile. “Yeah, I know. Doesn’t make remembering any easier though…” she paused, fiddling with the handle of her mug. “Don’t do this to her.”
Logan blinked. “What’dya mean?” He didn’t mean to growl, and felt a little bad when the girl tensed slightly, before taking a deep breath.
“Don’t do this. There’s shit Kreva did that wasn’t documented, Logan. Special assignments, he called them. She took the brunt of it, every fucking time,” Morgana took a breath, angrily wiping at a disobedient tear sliding down her face. Logan’s stomach hollowed. He thought everything was detailed in the file. He thought he knew everything other than the last two months… “She wanted to protect us. Where the rest of us would fight to get away, she’d fight to go. It was her way of making sure we were safe, or I guess, as safe as we could be.” Morgana drew her knees up to her chest, her arms hugging around her shins.
He couldn’t breathe, the steel lump in his throat clogging his airways, making oxygen rare. Why did you always have to be a fucking martyr? Why did you always have to put yourself last? Did you not know how important you were? How loved you were? Did you not realise how much it fucking hurt to see you in pain? And now he knew he wasn’t the only one, Morgana’s tears solidifying the impact you made on her, too. “What happened?” he asked a little shakily, bracing himself for whatever horrors he was about to hear.
Morgana clenched her jaw, her eyes closing against the nightmarish memories of her own past. “Field experiments. No point in creating an army if you don’t know how effective they’d be, right? I… I only did a few, but they were the shit you’d read in hidden government documents, ya know? Send us to war-torn countries to tear apart their refugee camps and hospitals. Infiltrate rebellions and silence their leaders before the spark of change could fan into a flame.
“And nobody was better than Phantom. Entire towns crumbled to dust in a night. Politicians were brought to their knees with nothing but a flick of her wrist. She was an instrument of chaos, Logan. Of death. It’s why Kreva fought so fucking hard to get her back. She was a scalpel he used to surgically remove anything he deemed a threat to his advances,” Morgana’s voice trembled slightly, her eyes rising from the ground to meet his. “You get it now? Remembering all that… what she was forced to do, the acts she was forced to perform, it would destroy her.”
Logan didn’t know what to do. Didn’t know what to think. None of that had been detailed in the file. How many layers of torment existed? How many secrets did he need to uncover to truly understand what you were put through? Was the cost of getting you back greater than the cost of leaving you untouched? If what Morgana said was true, would you even want to remember? You did before, but neither you nor him truly knew the depth of your torture. Fuck.
“I– I don’t–” He began before Morgana cut him off.
“Yeah, I know. I don’t know what to do either. We need her back to stop him. I sure as shit can’t beat Rowan, and neither can Erin. I don’t know everyone who lives here but I’ll bet you’d be hard-pressed to find someone who can. But her? She could. Theoretically…”
“Theoretically? Ya mean they’ve never been pitted against each other?” Logan asked, finding that hard to believe. Kreva put you through hell and back, performed every experiment under the goddamn sun on you, but never thought to match you against your brother? Maybe it was his own dark and twisted mind talking, but that would have been one of the first things he’d do.
“Nah. Even with Naji’s mutation, remnants of those experiments still stayed with us, usually affecting our mood. Pitting us against each other wouldn’t exactly build a good rapport since we were supposed to work together.” Morgana shrugged, her eyes now dry, having pushed past her initial flood of grief. “I just, can your Professor restore partial memories? I dunno, I just– she shouldn’t have to go through everything again. Shouldn’t have to remember everything she was forced to do.”
He could. Charles could. But Logan didn’t know if that would be enough. Even Kreva had said in your file you needed a certain number or specificity of memories to fully wield your mutation. He had no idea which ones they were, and whilst Charles was incredibly powerful, there was no way of him knowing either. But before he could respond, there was another cracking thump against the door and they both snapped their heads to where you’d once again tried to break through.
Logan couldn’t help his little fond huff, despite the situation. You were as persistent as always, and he could feel your furious determination from the other side of the door.
“Wow…” he shifted his attention back to Morgana who was looking at him with slight awe. “You really loved her, didn’t you?”
He swallowed, her use of the past tense grating slightly in his chest. “Still do…” he murmured, dragging his gaze back to where you continued to try and break down the door.
Morgana shifted next to him, her legs extending back in front of her, crossing at the ankle as she sipped her coffee. “So? Tell me everything. She’s my best friend and I know nothing about you, kinda unfair if you ask me.” She shrugged and Logan cast her a withering look.
“Yeah, well I didn’t ask ya,” he sighed, before dragging his hands through his hair. He didn’t even know where to start when it came to you. “What’ya wanna know?”
Morgana clapped her hands excitedly, turning completely to face him, and he felt himself die a little on the inside, already regretting his agreement to this.
“Where’dya meet? How long’ve you guys been together? Who said ‘I love you’ first, that kinda thing.”
Logan raised a brow. Were these seriously the kinds of questions people wanted to know the answer to? He couldn’t help but think Morgana would get along well with both Marie and Kitty and considering this girl was apparently your best friend, it made a lot of sense. He rubbed at the back of his neck, all of a sudden feeling inadequate.
“We uh, we met here, been together for somethin’ like eight months, last two not included and uh, I said it first.” His words came out a little jumbled, barely able to look Morgana in the eye as her grin widened.
“How long did it take the two of you to get together after you met?” She asked and Logan couldn’t help snorting a laugh.
“‘Round three days, I think.”
The red-head choked on her coffee and Logan took a long, slightly smug sip of his own. Not quite as good as the ones you make, but it would do the job.
“Three days?! I thought us lesbians moved fast.” Her eyes were larger than saucers as she chuckled heartily, glancing between him and the door, where you’d finally gone quiet. “Though I guess your bond must have been strong if it could push past Naji’s mutation, she’d still dream about you. Did things just click between you? Just like, that instant connection kinda thing?”
The corners of his lips pulled up as he remembered seeing you for the first time. He’d never fucking admit it to anyone, but he was excited to meet you. He’d heard so damn much about you, never being able to put a face to the name was killing him. He’d sort of had an idea of what you looked like from listening to various conversations, but he wasn’t prepared for you to steal the breath from his damn lungs. You smiled so easily, laughed so brightly. You had a glimmer of wicked mischief in your eye that danced with each teasing comment you quipped. You were utterly mesmerising. Ethereal. Logan knew he was in trouble from the very start.
“Somethin’ like that, yeah. She called me a son-of-a-bitch when we first met, I sorta stole her teaching position cuz she’d been away for two years and I didn’t think she even existed, to be honest with ya,” He too had noticed you’d gone silent on the other side of the door and he had a strong feeling you were listening. “Rest is history, but there’s very little I wouldn’t do to get her back…” he trailed off, swallowing around the lump reforming in his throat. He missed you. So fucking much. You were right there, on the other side of the door, but you looked at him with such unfamiliarity it broke him apart. You were right fucking there, but you’d never felt so far away. So out of his reach.
A touch to his shoulder brought him back, Morgana’s hand resting atop his skin as she nodded to the door. “Go,” she mouthed, flicking her eyes back and forth between him and the wood, and he understood what she meant. Draining the remaining coffee from his mug, Logan stood to his feet, sending Morgana a wary glance behind him. He wasn’t sure this was a good idea, to be honest. You’d been so hellbent on escaping, what if this was just another one of your methods to free yourself from the room?
As if reading his mind, Morgana nodded encouragingly. “Her heart rate has settled and her blood pressure isn’t as high. Just go.” She whispered, snatching his mug from where he’d left it on the floor to return to the kitchen. She wasn’t needed for this next part and she knew it. From that one conversation, she seemed to know that he would be able to get through to you. He may be the only one who could.
Logan took a breath, the metal of the bolt cool against his fingers before he pulled it across, twisting the doorknob and letting himself into an almost completely empty room. Before you’d woken up, Jean and Hank had set up a lighting system that didn’t cast extensive shadows. All the furniture had either been taken out or separated, each shadow on the ground completely isolated. Logan hated it. Hated that these were the lengths they had to go to in order to keep you safe. They were treating you no better than when you were a prisoner.
It ate at his mind.
The lack of your presence however didn’t alarm him. He wasn’t expecting you to be standing waiting for him, especially if you could hear the conversation beyond the door. Taking a few slow steps into the room, Logan scanned the walls and floor, as if he could sense you in any of the various shadows. His own silhouette crossed through darkness cast by one of the tables, but it wasn’t until his back started to itch unbearably did he know where you were. Smart, he’d give you that, but you didn’t remember doing this to him before. You didn’t know he knew what it felt like. Logan rumbled a chuckle, turning to the light behind him and that itching shifted to his front.
“You’re not as subtle as ya think, darlin’.” He mused, feeling you shift down his body and bleed through to his isolated shadow on the floor. His expression instantly softened as you rose from the ground, watching his every move warily, eyes flickering with every micromovement, nostrils flaring slightly as you prepared to make a break for it. Logan raised his hands like he’d done so many times before. “‘M’not gonna hurt ya. Never gonna hurt ya, firefly.”
“Stop calling me that.” You hissed, taking a step back from him. You’d finally learned his name, only thanks to eavesdropping on his conversation with Morgan. What the fuck had they done to her to make her so mellow? So willing to accept this. Rage flared in your gut at the thought of her being harmed. “What did you do to her? Morgana. What did you do?”
Logan almost winced at the way you hissed and snarled at him like a cornered animal, furious terror reeking off you in waves. “We helped her remember, like we’re gonna help you,” even if the idea still didn’t sit right with him. “You’re safe here. You both are.” He soothed, watching as you narrowed your eyes at him as if searching for deception. He let you look, knowing you’d find nothing but earnest truth.
“Okay…” you breathed, though you still didn’t fully trust him. You kept your distance as he took a seat, leaning forward to brace his elbows on his thighs. Questions burned in your mind, but you kept your mouth shut, not wanting to divulge just how clueless you were about what was going on.
Until it suddenly occurred to you. None of this was real.
You’d seen reality glitch and phase around you. You watched your flat disappear to nothing, your friends fighting amongst themselves. Maybe there was some truth in Joes’ words. Maybe nothing you’d experienced was real, and maybe this was a part of it. You nodded to yourself, laughing bitterly.
Logan’s brows furrowed in confused concern. “What?”
“You’re not real, are you? You don’t exist.” You bit, gesturing savagely to where he was sitting. Logan hummed a tired, melancholy smile, his eyes sinking to the floor and you blinked in confusion. “What?”
You really were the reflection of his own soul, your brows pinching in exactly the same way, head tilting in the opposite direction to his own. In another time, he’d be feeling the same electric hum he always did in the moments before he kissed you, but the absence of love in your eyes kept him at bay.
“S’just funny… I said almost the exact same thing when we first met.”
You shook your head furiously as if to clear your mind. “We’ve never met…” You whispered, though your voice faltered. Logan raised his gaze back to you, hope flickering in his chest.
“I don’t think you believe that.” He responded with equal hush, rising from the chair he’d just sat down upon, his hand still braced on the back of it. You shook your head again, eyes screwed shut as if to wall off whatever was going through your mind.
“I– Even if I didn’t, I don’t remember you. I don’t know who you are.” The way your voice cracked was mirrored in his soul, spiderwebs of fragility snaking across his heart. You were almost pleading with him. With yourself. And to see you so fragile, so fucking scared, it made him want to shred Kreva apart.
“Morgana said you dreamt of me.”
“That’s just a coincidence…”
Logan took a step forward. “I don’t think you believe that either.”
All the tension in your body exploded, the fraying threads of your emotions finally snapping, and your maelstrom of fear and confusion stormed through your mental walls. “I don’t fucking know what I believe! I don’t! You can’t honestly stand there and expect me to believe you. Expect me to believe that the last twenty-two years of my life have been a lie. Because that’s fucking insane and you sound insane!
“But then you look at me… You look at me and I feel missed. And it fucking hurts because I don’t know why. I don’t know why you look at me like that and I don’t know who or what to believe anymore. I don’t know what’s real and I’m really fucking scared.” You took a breath, hot tears burning your eyes as you finally confessed just how utterly petrified you were. You hated feeling vulnerable, even more so in front of people you didn’t know. Or you did know. Or you did know but didn’t remember. Or whatever the truth was.
Every other time Logan had stood to pull you into his embrace, you’d melted into him, willingly accepting his comfort and warmth. So to see you recoil from his sudden movement, flinch at the way he took a hasty step toward you, shining eyes wide with fear, he had to bite down hard on his lip to stop his own overwhelming sense of guilt from springing tears to his own eyes. He took a steadying breath, frantically searching his brain for something, anything, to convince you that this was real. He was real. He knew you were scared. Fuck, he felt your fear as his own, but losing you now simply wasn’t an option.
Then it came to him.
Slowly, tentatively, Logan extended his hand for you to take. “Eight months ago, you taught me something. I want to show you if you’ll let me.”
He saw you hesitate, eyes flickering from his hand to his face, then back to his hand. This would be it. Irrefutable proof that he was real, and the time he’d shared with you was real. Time ticked by, the clock on the wall mocking him with each rhythmic click until you nodded infinitesimally, slipping your soft palm into his.
“Okay…” you whispered, and he offered you a small smile.
“I need you to promise you won’t run.” He slowly brought you closer to him, keeping himself open to your suspicious gaze with each uncertain step. You sucked in a breath, still incredibly unsure.
“Fine. But I can’t promise I won’t try…” your mouth quirked in a half-hearted smirk, and though he could tell it was forced, Logan couldn’t help but feel like maybe, just maybe, you were coming back to him, piece by piece, little by little.
It was like nothing had changed, having you in the kitchen with him, the sun casting a firelike glow through the windows. Like clockwork, he’d chopped, diced, mixed and stirred. The sizzle of browning onions, the scent of searing meat, cooking like this was now simply muscle memory, his hands working with minds of their own. All the while you watched over his shoulder, suspicious recognition creasing your brows as he stripped a few leaves of basil from their stem, dropping them into the bubbling marinara sauce. This was your recipe. You’d know it anywhere. How the fuck did he know it? How did he know the exact timings? The perfect colour for the meat before adding the sauce? And how the fuck did he know about the basil…?
Your heart raced. What if he was telling the truth? How would you even handle that? How would you go about wrapping your head around the fact that the last god knows how many years of your life have been bullshit? He had to be wrong. He had to be lying. For the sake of your own mental wellbeing, this had to be some kind of fucked up prank. Or a set-up. Maybe by that weird fucker who had Naji.
That was something else you hadn’t allowed yourself to dwell on. The fact that your entire fucking flat simply disappeared. That you hadn’t seen any of your family since Naji tried to invade your mind.
Naji…
You clenched your jaw. You couldn’t think about that right now. You couldn’t think about any of them right now. You didn’t know where they were, how they were. If they were alright if they were safe. If they were alive…
Here you were feeling so fucking scared, but so far none of these people had done anything to try and hurt you. Were the rest of them in similar positions? Was Atlas okay?
Was Rowan…?
Logan spared a glance away from the bubbling sauce to gauge your headspace, his brows pinching when he saw your eyes slightly glazed, lost in a mental spiral. Removing the wooden spoon from the sauce, he held it up to your mouth, snapping you from your dissociated daze. “Here. Recognise it?”
You looked at him slightly warily, watching his hand shift to cup just beneath the spoon, preventing spillages. Logan noticed your hesitation, your trepidation, and understood. Even though you’d watched every step, you were still mistrusting. He couldn’t blame you. His gaze softened slightly, before bringing the spoon to his own mouth and tasting the food, proving to you there was nothing in it that could harm you.
As per usual, it was fucking delicious. He couldn’t help but feel a little proud of himself for nailing it so well. The suspicion in your eyes faded slightly, and you nodded in consent as he offered it back to you, and you let him feed you your own recipe.
It was uncanny.
“How did you…?”
Logan smiled slightly, placing the spoon back into the sauce. “I’d only known you for a day or so before we made this together. Actually, you made it and I just kinda watched.” The way he huffed fondly made your heart stutter and the realisation struck you like a punch to the gut.
“This was real, wasn’t it…?” You asked quietly, and Logan stopped altogether to take a steadying breath. You were coming around. Finally, you were coming back. Not completely, he’d need Charles for that, but you were getting there.
“Yeah. It was. I–” he paused, eyes trained solidly on the pan of spaghetti adjacent to the sauce. “It was my fault. I couldn’t keep you safe. I was fuckin’ helpless that night. I let them take you and couldn’t do anythin’ to stop it…” The memory still haunted him. Your bloodstained lips, your eyes fading before you dissolved, the way Kreva fucking laughed. It haunted every waking moment.
A jolt of electricity bolted up his arm when your hand came to rest atop it. He thought it almost laughable. You comforting him whilst you didn’t even know who you were. Who he was. Managing to tear his eyes from the stove, his gaze met yours, finding only forgiveness.
“What happened?” You asked quietly, finding warmth in the way his hand settled atop your own.
“There was a raid here one night. That piece of shit Kreva came lookin’ for ya. Didn’t take you, but left somethin’ behind. You weren’t safe here, so I took you somewhere you were. Stayed there for six months before we had to come back. They ambushed us on the road. I was immobilised, and he took you from me and fuckin’ laughed as he did it.” He hissed, and your hand tightened on his arm. Not out of fear, he realised, but to ground him. To remind him you were there. It shattered and mended his heart at the same time.
“Why you?” It was a loaded question. You knew that. But you needed confirmation. What you’d suspected from the moment he’d escorted you kicking and screaming into that room. From the moment you woke up.
Logan drew in a breath. He didn’t know if telling you would make things better or worse. Whether it would help you or break you. He searched your face, finding nothing but gentle curiosity and settled on showing you instead.
Turning back to the stove, he switched off the heat for both burners, before stepping from your touch and over to the radio. It had been a long time since you two had done this, but he couldn’t think of a better way to answer your question.
Your head tilted in confusion as you watched him flip through the stations, pausing as if he’d seen a ghost when a song you knew crackled to life. You recognised this tune, but from when or where, you couldn’t tell. Logan turned back to you, his hand extended, vain hope glimmering in his hazel eyes.
‘Pass me that lovely little gun My dear, my darling one’
With no small degree of hesitation, you slipped your hand into his, holding your breath as you stepped into his soft embrace. It felt familiar, like a smile from an old friend, or a spoken phrase lost to time. It felt nostalgic.
It felt like home.
‘The cleaners are coming in, one by one You don’t even wanna let them start’
You let your arms snake around his neck, melting as his hands met your waist. Turning your head, you settled against the centre of his chest, his heartbeat steady against your ear as you swayed with him.
“We’ve done this before, haven’t we?”
‘They’re knocking now upon your door They measure the room, they know the score They’re mopping up the butcher’s floor Of your broken little hearts’
Pieces of Logan’s soul started to slowly knit back together, his arms encircling your waist to hold you tight against him, settling his cheek atop your head.
“Yeah. Long time ago, but yeah.” He answered, his eyes stinging as you nestled closer into the dip between his collar and neck.
‘Forgive us now for what we’ve done It started out as a bit of fun Here, take these before we run away The keys to the gulag’
Your eyes closed involuntarily, basking in the unfamiliar familiarity of his smell. The dreams you had, weren’t dreams at all. They were memories. You realise that now. You were remembering a life you didn’t know you had. You were remembering him the only way you could.
‘Here comes Frank and poor old Jim They’re gathering ‘round with all my friends We’re older now the light is dim And you are only just beginning’
Logan let himself believe if only for a moment, you remembered him. He let himself sink into the alternate reality where nothing had happened. Where you were simply with him and you were safe. Where your brother wasn’t lost and you weren’t terrified anymore. Where he could hold you without being afraid it could be the last time. Where Jade wasn’t dead but just merely an ex of your past. Where you had complete control of your mutation and weren’t afraid of yourself.
He let himself breathe you in, your distinct scent wrapping around his mind and heart. Fuck he’d missed you so fucking much.
‘We have the answers to all your fears It’s short, it's simple, it’s crystal clear It’s roundabout and it’s somewhere near Lost amongst our winnings’
“I know why it was you…” You murmured gently, raising your head from the home you’d made. Logan’s hand slid from your waist to cup the side of your neck, keeping you there.
‘The cleaners have done their job on you They’re hip to it, man, they’re in the groove They’ve hosed you down, you’re good as new And they’re lining up to inspect you’
Logan didn’t dare ask. Didn’t dare prompt you to continue. Could barely whisper to you in fear of his voice cracking, the growing lump in his throat making breathing suddenly much more difficult.
��Poor old Jim’s white as a ghost He’s found the answer that we lost We’re weeping now, weeping because There’s nothing we can do to protect you’
Your eyes flickered between his, the sting of unshed tears lining your lashes as you swallowed thickly. “I loved you. Didn’t I?”
O, children Lift up your voice, lift up your voice Children Rejoice, Rejoice
Logan closed his eyes, fighting against the urge to sink to his knees. The past tense speared his heart, but he nodded nonetheless, taking in a shaky breath. “Yeah, you did.”
Your hand skirted from his neck to the side of his face, thumb gently smoothing over his cheekbone. “And you? Did you love me?”
His eyes fluttered open again to find slight, broken hope glittering in your irises, those windows he’d come to love so fucking much.
“Sweetheart,” he breathed, bracing his forehead against your own. “I still do.”
The moment his lips graced your own, you felt the tears in your eyes spill down your cheeks, a lost piece of your heart fixing back into place. You felt whole again, here in his arms, kissing him to the beat of the music.
‘Hey little train, we’re jumping on The train that goes to the kingdom We’re happy, Ma, we’re having fun The train ain’t even left the station Hey little train, wait for me I once was blind but now I see Have you a seat for me Is that such a stretch of the imagination?’
Your breath caught in your throat as you tightened your arms around his neck, his hold around your waist responding in kind. You loved him. No. That didn’t feel right.
You love him.
Logan released the leash he had on his emotions, allowing liquid heartache to slide down his cheeks. All the fear, all the doubt, every single thought of losing you washed away as your tongue softly swiped at his lips, and he pulled you home.
Home. ‘Hey little train, wait for me Was bound in chains, but now I’m free I’m hanging in there, don’t you see? In this process of elimination Hey little train, we’re jumping on The train that goes to the kingdom We’re happy, Ma, we’re having fun Beyond my wildest expectation’
The music faded and you pulled back a little, eyes fluttering open to find him already gazing at you, longing dancing in his eyes, damp trails lining either side of his face. “What now…?” you queried softly, and Logan sighed slightly.
“You gotta make a choice. Charles can help you remember everythin’ but… it won’t be easy for ya. I don’t know what you’ve gone through the last two months, but I know everythin’ you went through before. And Morgana filled me in on some shit Kreva didn’t note down…”
Your heart skipped a beat. “Morgana? Is she alright?”
Logan nodded, the relief on your face worth all the stars in the sky. “Yeah, she’s fine ‘n safe. Charles already helped her, so she remembers. Erin’s here too but uh… she’s less cooperative.”
You snickered, and Logan thought he’d have to die before he heard that sound again. “Yeah, sounds like Erin. Is Rowan here? I should probably see him, let him know I’m alright.”
Your heart dropped with the way Logan’s face fell, dread pooling in your gut.
“We’re gonna get him back, ‘kay? All of them. We’re gonna get ‘em all back. I promise.” Not even the conviction in his voice, nor the way his hands smoothed your hair, brought you any comfort.
“Where is he…?” You asked, though utterly terrified to know the answer.
Logan sucked in a breath, bracing himself. “We’d managed to get you, Morgana, Erin and Rowan out before we had to bail. Kurt can teleport too, but his last trip was Rowan before it became too dangerous. We were already in the air, and we thought we were safe. But Joes came out of nowhere and took him back to Kreva.”
You gasped a sob, attempting to wrench yourself from his grip but he held you fast. “L– let me go! I– I have to get him. I can’t leave him.” You bit between stuttered breaths, panic rising in your throat. “I can’t– I can’t leave him there. He’s my brother. Logan let– let me go!” You fought against his hold and took every weak punch, every struggled pound against his chest.
“I know darlin’, I know.” he hushed as you went limp in his hold, your shoulders shaking with each strangled cry. “Shh, it’s okay. We’re gonna get him back, firefly. I promise,” he whispered into your hair as you fell to pieces in his embrace, sinking to the ground in his arms. He pulled you in tight, bracing you against his chest. “I promise. It’s okay, shh, shh, it’s okay.”
He held you as you cried, having the distinct feeling you weren’t just crying for Rowan. And he was right. Everything had hit you all at once. Your lost life. Your forgotten memories. The lies. So many fucking lies. And the one person who had told you the truth you didn’t fucking remember.
How long you’d been sitting in his arms, crying into his chest whilst he whispered soothing nothings into your hair, you’d never know. But when your sobs reduced to nothing but hiccups, you raised your head, taking a long, shaky breath.
Logan’s palms instantly cupped either side of your face, thumbs wiping away the stains of tears from your cheeks before he offered you a small, empathetic smile. You slowly blew out the breath you were holding, brows pinching against another wave of anguish. “You said I had a choice. What was the other option?”
“You stay like this,” he began, his thumbs still smoothing over your cheeks though the tears were long gone now. “We try help you with your mutation and you don’t remember everything you’ve endured. We tell you what you need to know and you start again.” Both options terrified him. There was no easy way forward, and he knew that. He knew you knew that too.
“So, I’m spared of whatever shit I’ve been through but I won’t remember anything else?” you clarified and he nodded. “I won’t remember you?” Logan nodded again, though his time it was slight. “And you’re okay with that?”
No. He wasn’t. It was agony to think that you wouldn’t remember the last eight months you’d spent with him. “That doesn’t matter here–” He started before you cut him off.
“It matters to me. I want to remember you, Logan.”
His jaw tensed, eyes lowering to the floor. “I don’t wanna be the reason you’re in pain. I don’t want you to remember for me just to regret it after you remember everythin’ else. Your past wasn’t kind to you, sweetheart.” He couldn’t help the way his chest inflated when your hand softly cupped the side of his bearded jaw, raising his head back to look into your eyes.
“I’d want to remember anyway. I don’t wanna be some vacant shell who doesn’t know who she is. No matter how fucked up. No matter what I went through, it made me who I was. It made me who you fell in love with. I wanna be her again.”
“You already are.” He murmured, before capturing your lips in another gentle kiss and you smiled against him. “There isn’t a version of you I won’t love. Whether you remember everythin’ or nothin’,” he whispered against your lips. “I’ll always be right here.”
You rested your brow against his as if you could communicate everything you were feeling through touch alone. “I think we need to go and see Charles.”
You don’t think you’d ever been this nervous. Your heart beat like a freight train in your chest, nails digging into the palms of your hands as you stood outside Charles Xavier’s office alone. Logan had entered before you, telling you to wait whilst he spoke to the headmaster, about what you could only assume.
Your breath came quick, unsteady. You’d already agreed to get your memories back before Logan even brought it up. You wanted to know who you were, but now you were standing outside Xavier’s office, you weren’t sure you made the right choice. What if restoring your memories made you a completely different person? You didn’t know if they’d been restored before, had they been restored when Logan met you? Is that who he fell in love with? Or were you just as clueless then as you were now? You had too many questions and too few answers to feel calm about what lay ahead of you.
Your biggest fear was remembering that you agreed with Kreva, and whatever he was trying to do. From what you knew, he was pure fucking evil, running experiments on mutants for whatever sick and twisted gains he got out of it. You didn’t know his end goal, but what if you agreed with him? Surely that was how you wound up there in the first place, no?
Or were you taken? Or sold? You couldn’t even remember your parents. Did you have parents? Were you grown in that fucking facility?
Too many questions.
Your teeth gnawed on your bottom lip as you waited, savouring the slight bite of pain as you peeled a layer of skin into your mouth, sucking the blood from the hurt. This was taking too long. He’d been in there for too long. You didn’t know exactly how long, but it was only supposed to be a quick conversation, not whatever the fuck this was. Having just about enough of waiting, you’d resolved to knock on the door and not wait for an answer before heading in. That was until the door opened slowly, a dark-haired girl poking her head from the room inside.
“You uh, you can come in. Sorry it took so long…” she mumbled, avoiding eye contact. You tilted your head to the side. When the fuck had she arrived? You’d been standing outside this office since Logan went in and you hadn’t seen anyone enter or exit? She opened the door a little wider, revealing five other people, your eyes widened as you saw the familiar auburn curly hair of your best friend.
“Morgo…” You breathed, before rushing through the door and past the makeshift bed to wrap your arms around her, holding her tight. Morgana reciprocated, her hands braced against your back as she squeezed you in her embrace.
“Hey, freakshow. How’re you holding up?” She asked, pulling back slightly to give you a once over, making sure you weren’t hurt.
It warmed Logan’s heart to see you interact with your friends like this. The raw relief etched into your features brought him a kind of relief of his own. Morgana was safe, and that had somewhat set you at ease.
“Yeah, ‘m’okay. Upright and not crying.” You shrugged, and Morgana laughed slightly. Clearly, that must have been some kind of inside joke between the two of you. Logan didn’t fight to hide his smile, earning himself a sweet look from Ororo and a look of utter shock from Scott. He rolled his eyes at the latter.
“Sounds about right,” Morgana’s eyes fell to the floor as she thought about what she wanted to say next. “Look… if you’re gonna go ahead with this–”
“I am, Morgo. Why is everyone trying to convince me not to now? Surely the whole point in getting me back was to restore my memories, now you’re all questioning it?”
Logan could understand why you were so irate. Everything was so fucking confusing right now. It was hard to know what the right thing to do was. But you’d chosen, and he needed to respect that. As did everyone else in the room.
“I get that. I just… you need to prepare yourself. Mine wasn’t exactly pretty and I didn’t go through half the shit you did,” she continued, empathy flooding her crimson eyes. “I just– you went through so fucking much. For our sake. You were… different to how you are now.”
Logan felt the blood drain from his face. “Different how?” he asked lowly, prepared to drag you away and hole up with you somewhere safe.
Not that it had helped last time.
“Nothing bad! You never worked for Kreva willingly…” she paused, glancing at each mutant in the room. “You were just… scarier if that makes sense. You scared the shit out of us. Not because you did anything! Fuck I’m explaining this so badly…” she sucked in a breath, holding it for a beat before exhaling. “You were real good at sealing away your emotions. Most of the time we wondered if you had any at all. It was always Rowan who was the emotional one. You were just kinda… stony, about the whole thing. The only time you spoke out was when you volunteered yourself for certain things, and that was to protect us. You weren’t a bad person, you were just… yeah. Different.” She finished, leaving the room in stunned silence.
It didn’t come as too much of a surprise to Logan. You didn’t want to share your emotions at the best of times, at least at the start of your relationship. And knowing you had to do that almost your whole life, not because of lack of option, but because of self-preservation? It burned him.
“Okay… but I wasn’t like, fucked up or anything. Like, I didn’t kill a bunch of people, right?”
The silence was so loud you could hear it echoing against the walls of the room. You refused to let it scare you. You weren’t about to be intimidated out of this. No matter what you’d done in your past, it would stay where it belonged.
In the fucking past.
“This is taking too fucking long. Can we just do it?” You grit, folding your arms in irritation.
“You’re certain this is what you want?” Your head whipped around to who you assumed was Charles Xavier. Honestly, he wasn’t what you were expecting. You were expecting someone a little more intimidating to be the head of the school and the mutant everyone kept banging on about. Not just some older dude in a wheelchair.
“I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t.” You responded curtly, casting a glance at the others around the room. The girl with the brown hair stood close to Logan, her brows pinched in subdued fear. For you or of you, you couldn’t discern. Were you really that scary?
Charles exhaled a sigh. “Very well then. If you could all leave the room.”
“I’m stayin’.” Logan wasn’t about to leave you alone with this. He’d seen what had happened to Morgana. Watched as she writhed and contorted on the ground, blood streaming from her ears and nose. He wasn’t about to wait in ignorance whilst you were in agonising pain in here. He didn’t think he had it in him.
“Logan… this procedure is extremely difficult. Any distractions could cause further damage to her subconscious.”
“Then I won’t be distracting.” His tone left no room for argument, and you honestly felt a little better knowing he wasn’t going to leave you. He cast you a slight, encouraging smile and you nodded in gratitude as Charles huffed in defeat.
“Fine. If everyone else could leave the room.” He said pointedly, and Morgana enveloped you in another hug.
“I’ll see ya on the other side, girlie. You’ll be fine. You got your big strong dream man with ya.” She winked and you couldn’t help snorting a laugh, though you could tell by the look in her eye she was terrified for you. That one you could distinguish.
The woman with white hair placed a hand on your shoulder as Morgana left through the door. Though you couldn’t recall a single time you’d ever met her, she looked at you as if you were an old friend, though said nothing. Her hand squeezed slightly before she too headed out. The man you knew to be Scott strode passed you wordlessly, refusing to even look up at you through his sunglasses.
What the fuck was his problem?
“Kitty?” Charles prompted, and you turned to look to where the girl was staying completely still, her sad eyes still trained on you. You raised a brow, and she winced slightly, before running to pull you into a crushing hug.
“I don’t care who you are after this. I don’t hate you anymore. It wasn’t your fault, I truly understand that now. I’m so, so sorry for blaming you.” You held your hands up as her hold on you tightened, shooting Logan a panicked glance.
“Kitty…” he started, and she took a step back from you, angrily wiping at the tears down her cheeks.
“Yeah, right. Okay. You got this, yeah? Come find me after and we can have tea or something. We got a lot to catch up on…” She gave you one last hug before almost running from the room, closing the door behind her. You watched the closed door with complete confusion. Logan chuckled slightly behind you, placing both hands on either of your shoulders.
“She’s missed ya. We all have.” You leaned back, your head resting against the back of his chest as he pressed a kiss to your hair.
“You won’t have to for much longer, right?” You looked around Logan to where Charles had taken his place at the head-side of the bed. It looked like some kind of medical bed they’d dragged from a hospital. Did they have one here? You supposed it was useful if things were to go wrong.
The thought had your gut twisting. Just how wrong could things go…?
“Hey,” Logan caught your attention, a hand guiding your face to look at him. It’s like he had a sixth sense for whenever you started to spiral, noticing the moment your eyes looked even a little distant. “You’re gonna be okay. I’ll be right here, yeah? Not gonna leave ya.” He soothed, slowly wrapping his arms around your shoulders, a broad hand cupping the back of your head as you nuzzled into the crook of his neck, savouring the contact.
“Okay…” you breathed, steeling yourself before pushing back from him and turning to Charles. “Let’s just get this over with…”
Charles nodded finitely, patting the surface of the medical bed. “Just lie back and try to relax. I know it’s difficult considering the circumstances, but if you could keep your mind as clear as you can, it will greatly help the process.”
You sucked in a breath, hopping up onto the bed and swinging your legs over, lying back against the hard surface. They really hadn’t tried to make it particularly comfortable, but you supposed they didn’t have time before they tried this with Morgana.
Morgana.
You concentrated on how she was even after this procedure. She hadn’t all changed that much. Maybe you’d be the same. Maybe you’d still be you but with very little noticeable change. Thinking of her filled you with courage, even more so when Logan took your hand and knelt by your bedside.
“You ready?” He asked, trying his fucking best not to let his overwhelming concern leak through his voice. You nodded a little shakily as Charles’ hands came to rest on either side of your head.
“See you on the other side.” You smiled weakly, squeezing his hand slightly, before you felt a slight pressure inside your head, growing and pushing, rearranging, and your vision faded to black.
You were falling. Wind whipped your hair and face, arms flailing to catch yourself on something, anything, trying in vain to save yourself from the inevitable landing. Your stomach lurched up into your throat, guts writhing and flipping as you failed to control your descent. Mouth agape in a silent, wrenching scream, you plummeted down, down, down. Flashes of light burned against your closed eyes, colours singing your retinas as you clawed at nothing, deafening voices ringing in your ears, crashes of explosions, and bloodcurdling screams cut short. Your heart raced in your chest, your breathing ragged before everything stopped.
You plunged into an ocean of pitch black, lungs burning as you fought to breathe, only resulting in an intake of water, mocking bubbles rising from your mouth, legs kicking fruitlessly against the anchor wrapped around your feet. Cracking your eyes open, you looked down.
Not an anchor.
A hand.
A shadowy, skeletal hand gripped your ankle, seven more rising from the obsidian depths to grasp at your legs, your waist, scratching against your skin, tearing at your clothes as you struggled to free yourself, writhing and twitching to reach the surface.
You screamed again, muffled, jagged, noiseless in the muted depths of your own mind. Your vision tunnelled, oxygen scarce as your brain started to shut down. This was it. This was where you died. Trapped in the sea of black, drowned by your own fears.
Until everything stopped. Your feet touched solid ground and the ocean started to drain away around you. After being so weightless, your body felt like lead as you lay on the surface, coughing up inky liquid, your chest heaving with every strangled breath. Taking just a moment to remind yourself you weren’t dead, you roughly swiped your soaking hair from your face, lifting your head to at least try and take a look at your surroundings. But your eyes were met with nothing. Absolutely nothing. You couldn’t tell where the floor ended and the sky began. There was no divide. You were completely lost and for the first time, you found yourself wishing there was some kind of light to guide you.
As if on command, a flicker of white appeared ahead of you, illuminating the pit of nothingness and granting you the vision you sought. Shakily struggling to your feet, you looked down and froze slightly. What you were standing on wasn’t solid. Or at least, it shouldn’t be. Ripples shifted beneath your feet like water, the light reflecting in irregular patterns with one small step forward. Taking one knee, you pressed your hand against the surface, pulling back as it shifted with your contact, your own reflection looking back at you quizzically.
Releasing a determined huff, you wiped your wet hand on your soaking t-shirt, looking back to the pulsing light ahead of you, drawing you in. And you let it, your legs moving as if on their own, footsteps echoing in the emptiness. Some kind of chamber, then, if your footsteps bounced back to you.
Your eyes squinted the closer you got, your hand shielding your face from the light, before it dulled for you, as if understanding. You blinked away the spots behind your eyes, leaning closer to the orb, and tilting your head around it. Images flashed within the surface, faces you knew well, and faces you didn’t recognise. This was you, you realised. This was everything you were missing. Everything you’d been through, everything you didn’t remember was right here in front of you. Who you were. Who you are.
Reaching up, you lightly tapped the surface of the glow with your finger, watching as it started to pulse faster, light growing more intense before your vision exploded with white and you were thrust forward, the environment around you shifting and changing like ink in a glass of water.
Falling to your knees, you barely caught yourself before you struck the floor, your hands biting against a cold, steel surface. Shaking your head of a slight fuzziness, you inhaled, almost choking on the thick scent of sweat and fuel. Your heartbeat spiked.
You knew this.
Fear laced your blood as you raised your head, taking in the all too familiar interior of an aircraft, and your breath froze when your eyes landed upon a lone figure sitting against the wall, her hair bound behind her bowed head, fingers laced together, dressed in all black.
You knew her. Fuck did you know her. You knew her incredibly well.
Because it was you.
But it wasn’t you at the same time. You were sitting dangerously still, various knives and blades strapped across your back, your legs, and the sides of your combat boots. A black mask settled over the entirety of your face, two thin slits cut into the metal for you to see out of. You remembered that fucking thing. It stank of blood and fear.
“You’ve got your orders?”
Your attention shifted to a burly, broad-shouldered man who stood in the doorway between the hold and the cockpit, his arms folded across his chest, a gun strapped across his back, a similar mask concealing his features. But you knew who it was. Of course you did. It was the same motherfucker who’d held Naji by the throat not two days ago.
Your past stayed silent, simply wringing her hands together as if to resist wrapping them around his throat.
“Not feeling talkative, Subject Eight?” his voice lilted with mocking as he leaned against the doorway in a way that told you this must have been one of the first interactions between them.
Silently, the shadows in the craft started to shift, tendrils winding up his legs, around his waist and neck, and he only seemed to notice when they started to constrict.
“H-hey, what’re y–”
“Don’t fucking call me that,” your past hissed, slowly rising to her feet, her fingers flexing as darkness extended from her fingertips, sharpening into five long, razor-sharp claws. “I can show you things not even Kreva knows I can do.” With deadly quiet, she stalked across the floor, raising her hand to the man’s face, a claw pointed dangerously close to his eye. Those tendrils around his body tightened further, and you watched as he struggled to draw breath.
Kreva.
Even hearing his name sent ice through your veins.
“It was– just a joke, Phantom.” He managed through strangled breaths, struggling to free himself as he started to rise from the floor, Phantom taking a step back from him as if to admire her work.
“Drop zone in– what’s going on here?” another faceless soldier stepped through the door, sounding almost irritated at what he was seeing. Phantom’s head turned to him almost robotically, the shadows dissolving in an instant.
“Just joking around.” She responded flatly, her voice devoid of all emotion. Was this seriously how you used to be?
“K, what did Doc say about pissing her off?” he asked his companion who had crumpled to the floor, a hand braced around his neck, his breaths strained and harsh. “Fucking idiot. Drop zone in five.” was all the newcomer said, before turning on his heel and marching out, K now scrambling to his feet to follow, muttering something that sounded like ‘crazy mutant bitch’ under his breath as he went.
You watched as your past sighed, sitting back down heavily and bracing her head in her hands. You knew what she was doing. She was remembering why she was here. Who she was here for. This was one of the missions you’d volunteer for to save them. To save the rest of NLMO from the mental torture you were about to endure. Because that’s all these missions were. Mental, emotional torture. You didn’t want to hurt people. You hated how he made you hurt people. So many innocent lives would suffer because of the things you would do.
It made you wonder which particular mission this was.
Red lights flared to life, a deafening siren blaring as the doors to the hold opened and Phantom stood, checking her equipment one last time before another figure appeared through the door, and you felt yourself freeze in place.
Unnaturally skinny, tall, and had a pair of thick, round glasses perched on the end of his crooked nose. Terror stilled your breath as Doctor Kreva walked through the doors, placing two hands on either of Phantom’s shoulders.
She stiffened.
“My darling Eight. I wanted to wish you luck before your mission,” he drawled, relishing in the theatrics. “This should be easy enough for you, but in case you forget, Subject Five is primed and ready if you decide you want to stage another little rebellion.”
Phantom released a shaky breath, her eyes closing behind her mask. It was your punishment. It was always your punishment. If you acted out, if you even thought about fighting back, they’d torture your brother to tighten your leash and force you to cooperate.
She stayed silent, and Kreva’s hand clawed into her shoulders and you felt the pressure against your own before he released her and took a step back and said nothing else as Phantom opened her eyes and took off at a run towards the open bay door, leaping into the dark sky beyond.
You followed, copying her exact movements and dissolving into the dark before either of you struck the ground. You had a sneaking suspicion you couldn’t be hurt or killed within a memory, but you also didn’t particularly want to risk it.
Rising up from the shadows, you took a moment to look around, spotting your past lightly jogging towards a dirt track. Bile rose in your throat. You knew what this mission was. Even in the dead of night, you’d recognise this location anywhere. Breath flew from your lungs as you tried to call out to yourself, beg her to stop before she did what she could never undo. But no sound left your mouth. You were mute, powerless to do nothing but watch and remember as Phantom stood in the centre of the track, statue-esque, silent.
You followed at a sprint. If you couldn’t stop her verbally, then you’d take her out by force. You could stop this. You could change your past. This didn’t have to happen. Lowering your head, you lunged forward toward her, arms outstretched to tackle her to the floor.
Only, you passed straight through her, landing harshly on the other side of the dirt track. Though you felt no pain. Only the sharp jolt of coming to such a sudden stop. You looked back in terror as headlights shone from ahead, the low hum of engines cut through the silence of the night as four trucks approached your location, each with a silver caduceus painted into the back doors.
These were medical trucks. Transporting supplies to the refugee hospital a little further away. Your head whipped around. How had you not seen the small, twinkling lights in the middle distance? This was a camp for those who had evacuated the small local town after the airstrike.
Hundreds of children were taking shelter there. So many innocent lives you were about to snuff out.
The trucks trundled to a stop, engines stuttering, and you watched as Phantom raised her hands in faux fear, slowly backing out of the cones of light. Four gunmen rushed to the front of the convoy, fingers braced on the triggers of their rifles, though hesitant to shoot. These weren’t soldiers. They hadn’t been trained to kill people. You realised they were more likely fathers, sons, brothers of those who had been injured or killed in the attack. The town was the centre of the uprising, and in one fell swoop, it had been completely obliterated.
These people were just trying to survive. Trying to recover.
Voices rang out in a language you didn’t understand, and you know your past self didn’t understand either. You watched as she bowed her head in submission, backing up a little further until she was completely out of the light. You remembered this.
You knew what happened next.
With a flick of her hand, a tendril of shadow whipped out from the darkness, wrapping around the first gunman’s neck and dragging him screaming into the tree line. Gunshots were fired, but none of them met their mark. These people barely knew how to use their weapons, let alone accurately. A jagged spike erupted from the night, spearing another through his spine with a wet squelch and raising him off the ground for the other two to watch, before slamming him back into the dirt, knives of obsidian rising from his own shadow to pierce through his back.
Make them fear you. That was Kreva’s orders. Make them so terrified the thought of uprising was synonymous with pain and death. With loss and grief.
With utter, paralysing terror.
The two cowered back, a stray bullet firing into her shoulder. She took a single step back, the shadows in the gunman’s chest dissolving, leaving him choking in a pool of his own blood. Holy fuck he was still alive.
You watched with sick awe as darkness wound up her legs to cover the wound, sifting through her skin and mending it flawlessly, leaving nothing but a small spot of blood. With a tilt of her head and a flick of her fingers, two humanoid figures rose from the shadows on either side of the track, stepping fearlessly into the light to flank the two remaining men. Your stomach convulsed as one of the figures disappeared completely into one man through his own silhouette, flinching as his neck snapped back, a black hand exploding up through his mouth, blood raining onto his face as he stood in a horrific exhibition of your forgotten mutation. He slumped to the floor, the shadow figure remaining standing as he twitched before falling completely still.
The final gunman fell to his knees, muttering quickly and breathlessly and you realised he was praying. Several thorned whisps rose up from his shadow, snaking around his body, across his forehead, before Phantom’s fist started to tighten, and those thorns dug into his skin. Trails of crimson leaked down his face as they continued to constrict, his voice raising as he prayed, though for what or to whom, you didn’t know. Her fist closed completely, and with a sickening crunch of snapping bones, the shadows sectioned his body into pieces, his head split in two.
Blood soaked into the earth as Phantom stepped back into the light, her eyes trained on the remaining people inside the cars, each too terrified to make any kind of move. Tears trailed down your face as five more figures formed from nothing, almost floating to each truck to silence the screams of the terrified until one remained. He was dragged through the dust by two of her puppets and thrown at her feet face down. Phantom crouched, raising his head with the tip of her finger beneath his chin, obsidian solidifying once again to arm her other hand with five sharp claws, shadows extending beyond her shoulder blades into two broad, black wings.
She was every part the demon you used to be.
Dragging a razor down the side of his face, the man whimpered, flinching as she drew a line of scarlet over his brow and down his cheek. A mark. She was going to let him live, so there would always be somebody to remember what happened to those who fought back against the powers of the world.
“Run,” Phantom whispered, and the man scrambled to his feet, slicing his chin against your claw, before taking off at a sprint in the direction he came, his footsteps fading into the deathly silence. She watched him go, flicking her wrist to the figures before they set to work dragging the various trucks into the shadow, tyres dissolving, medical equipment disappearing as if it were never there, lost to the darkness.
Phantom took a breath before her shoulders shook and she sunk to the ground, her conjurations dissolving into nothing as she was left in total darkness, sobs wracking her chest. You felt her anguish as your own, hot tears still leaking from your eyes as you stood. You wanted to tell her this wasn’t her fault. She didn’t have a choice. He made her do this. And if she wasn’t the one here right now, it would be someone else she cared for so fucking much.
But you couldn’t say anything. Couldn’t do anything but watch as she tried to stifle her sobs, knowing her job wasn’t even close to being done yet. With hiccuping breaths, your past stood to her feet, sparing a glance at the carnage she’d left in her wake before her head turned to the camp in the distance. Her hands balled into fists, and you remembered the way you had to gaslight yourself into continuing. ‘This is the last mission.’ ‘He’ll set you all free after this.’ ‘Rowan will be safe.’ ‘Jade will be safe.’
Jade.
You felt your heart crack as you thought of her. How could you have forgotten about Jade? Why had Kreva erased everything of another one of his own subjects? Clenching your jaw, you shook your head slightly.
Not now.
Phantom had already started striding toward the camp, and you found yourself following her, despite the fear pumping through your blood. You didn’t want to remember this. You’d made a mistake. You didn’t want this. It hurt. It hurt so fucking much. The things you’d done. The people you’d killed. Was this all you were good for? A weapon for Kreva to use at his disposal? A tool to inflict the same amount of agony as those he would use on you in that fucking room?
You didn’t want this.
You didn’t want this.
Your surroundings started to stutter and glitch as you started to fight against remembering. Fight against Charles hold in your mind. You couldn’t do this. You were happyer forgetting. Happier not knowing who you were and what you’d done.
The darkness swirled like paint mixed on a palette, colours blending and twisting around you, your hands clawing at either side of your temples, clutching your head tightly as if to withdraw him from your mind.
You didn’t want this.
You didn’t want this.
You didn’t want this.
You didn’t want this.
Logan’s heart started to race as Charles grimaced, his hand clutching yours ached from the weight of your tight grip, your nails digging into his skin. His other hand came to brush your hair from your forehead between Charles’ hands on your temples, attempting to settle your switching head, swiping his thumb against your brow.
“It’s okay…” he hushed, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “‘S’okay firefly, you’re okay.” His soothing became more desperate as you started to writhe on the table, your back arching as if you were possessed. “The hell’s going on?” he asked, panic rising in his throat.
“She’s… she’s fighting it.” Charles grit, eyes screwed shut as he attempted to navigate your battling mind. His fingers against your head tensed, applying more pressure to either side of your temples. “I’m losing her.”
“Then get her back!” Logan cried, wild fear beating his heart like a warning drum. He couldn’t lose you. He just got you back for Christ’s sake. He couldn’t lose you again. And he was so damn useless when it came to this stuff. He didn’t know what the fuck to do. If you needed somebody taken out, sure, he’s the guy. But mind shit? Brain shit? He was floundering in the same darkness he imagined you were.
“What did I say about distractions?” Charles barked curtly in response, his neck flexing as he fought to keep you in his grasp. All Logan could do was continue to smooth your brow, whispering sweet nothings as you continued to twitch and bow. A whip of shadow lanced into his peripheral from the corner of the room, and he was barely able to lunge forward in time to shield Xavier from the spear before it lashed through his head.
Pain shook Logan’s system from his shoulder, blood leaking from where your mutation had pierced him and stuck there, sharp, thorny barbs preventing him from breaking free. “Y’alright?” He asked, voice a little strained as his entire body sang with pulsing agony. You must be remembering your mutation.
Charles nodded, though his eyes still closed, still focused on taming your hurricane of a mind.
Logan grit his teeth against the wild thrashing of the vine through his shoulder, his arm tensing as it pulls against his strength in an attempt to drag him back. But moving wasn’t an option right now. He knew the intention was to take out Charles, to stop whatever it was he was doing, and he had to remind himself time and time again that this was for your benefit. This was to help you, no matter how much it shattered his heart to see you in so much pain. Not only was he fighting against your own mutation, but he was fighting his instincts not to tear Xavier away from your head and shred him apart for doing this to you.
Another vine burst through his other shoulder, droplets of his blood staining your skin as you bucked to free yourself. He cried your name, terror lacing his tone as a third vine plunged into his back and through his chest, whipping slightly before pulling back and tugging.
He felt his weight start to shift, his feet grinding against the wooden floor as he struggled to win over the contest of strength. How was something seemingly made from nothing so fucking strong? Barbed thorns sank deeper into his skin, a grunt of pain flying from his lips, sweat beading his brow.
Jean burst through the doors, either having heard the commotion or after being called by Charles.
“Logan?!” She started, horrified by the display, but he waved her off quickly.
“‘M fine. Help Chuck.” He instructed harshly, though Jean hesitated a moment, her eyes wide. He knew why. Of course he knew why. After what happened three years ago, everybody was so damn afraid of you and what you could do. Fear had her glancing frantically between your possessed form and Charles’ struggle. “Jean, please. I– I can’t lose her again…” he admitted shakily, gritting his teeth against another sharp wave of pain from yet another savage tug of the tendrils in his body.
It seemed to be the push she needed, scrambling forward and around the foot of the bed to stand by Charles’ side, covering his hands with her own and closing her eyes.
Agony coursed through his system as his knees buckled, looking down to bare his teeth at another frantic thorn that had burst through the space between his joint and kneecap. He’d take it. Fuck, he’d take anything if he knew he was helping you in some way, even as the shadow wrapped around his leg, tearing at the flesh beneath his jeans. He’d endure it if it meant he’d get you back.
Everything was too loud. Like the centre of a tornado, your memories ripped and tore at your brain, slashing through your consciousness, ripping at your brain. Shards of agony, both physical and mental, had you sinking to the floor, hands clamped over your ears, head buried between your knees. Your hair whipped around your hidden brow, a cacophony of screams and torment bursting your eardrums. There was no happiness here. No comfort. Even memories of your brother were laced with poison. Every image of Jade followed up by the night of her death. Her death was brought by your own fucking hands. You’d seen how you’d torn her apart, desperation to help clouding your senses, seeing her as yet another adversary in your way. In a roaring cloud of shadow, you’d shredded her to nothing, and even as you flayed the skin from her body, she smiled. She told you she loved you.
And you’d left her skeleton in your wake.
You killed. You maimed. You hurt. You’d caused pain. You’d caused anguish. Heartbreak. Agony. It was as Kreva had said. You were a machine. An instrument devoid of any semblance of humanity. You had to be. The things you’d done… you couldn’t have had an ounce of empathy in your body.
You’d killed the woman you loved.
And you’d tried to kill the man you love. Memories of that day's training had circled your mind like a carousel of torment. Fighting tooth and nail to claw a path out and escape. Landing blow after blow on the man you’d fallen in love with, every strike flung to kill.
‘He forgave you.’
You tensed, waiting for the following punch to the gut that was taking far too long to arrive.
‘We forgave you.’
A sob wracked from your chest, your head pressing further into your knees. You just wanted everything to stop. The noise, the damn noise, you wanted everything to end.
‘You’re not alone anymore.’
Your breath shuddered from your mouth, tears and saliva staining your t-shirt. You knew that voice. Her soft cadence like a balm.
‘I forgive you.’
Slowly, and with no small degree of trepidation, you raised your head. Your lungs froze, eyes stuck on the woman before you. Her pearly smile. Her smooth, bronze skin almost glowed in the lack of light. Black hair cropped short by her ears, bright blond highlights making her look like some kind of alternative angel.
A gold locket shone brightly at the hollow of her throat, a beacon in the void. You shook slightly as she took a step toward you, taking a knee in front of your curled form.
“Jade…?” You breathed her name like a question, unsure if this was real or yet another nightmarish scenario in which you’d have to watch her die yet again. But the moment her fingertips grazed your cheek, you found your answer.
“Hey, Shadow.”
Tears flowed freely down your face as you looked into her cerulean eyes, so full of earnest forgiveness you felt yourself shatter. The nickname you hadn’t heard in so long breaking down every part of yourself you’d held together by a thread. You surged forward into her arms, finally finding something you could connect with in the warmth of her embrace.
“How… how’re you here?” You asked shakily, tears saturating her black shirt a few shades darker before you pulled back, shaking your head in disbelief. “How–”
“I’m a part of you, numbnuts. Of course I’m here.” She said it as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re focussing on the shit Kreva put us through. Focussing on the pain you’ve brought. So now I have to drag your sorry ass through a bunch of happy memories to remind you how much of a rockstar you actually are.” She punched your arm lightly and you laughed a little, the sound split by the lump in your throat.
“First time I see you in three years and you punch me?” You asked, wiping the tears from your face with the heel of your palm before taking her outstretched hand, your knees groaning at the release of pressure as you stood.
“Yeah well, someone had to slap some sense into you, and since your new boyfriend isn’t here, I guess I’m the next best thing.” She winked, though guilt spiked through your gut.
“Jade… I–”
“Shadow, I’m dead. If you spent the rest of your life single and sex-less because of me, I’d be so mad at you. Though I wasn’t exactly thrilled when you tried to forget about me, but I get it.” She shrugged, holding your hand in her own. You’d forgotten just how blunt she could be, though it was a breath of fresh air from everyone tiptoeing around you in regard to her death.
“Can’t argue with that, I guess…” you huffed a small smile, finding a calm sense of contentment simply being here in her presence again.
“Speaking of your new man, I think he’d be a great place to start.” She grinned at you, waving her hand as the glitching images of your past started to shift and change, settling on a scene you knew extremely well. It wasn’t so long ago you were there, reading in the little window seat of the forest cabin, watching whatever Logan was up to outside.
The colours of the cabin separated, morphing into the kitchen and lounge, and you watched the ghost of your past self materialise on the sofa, the tartan blanket covering your legs, your nose buried in a copy of Ghosted, the paranormal love story you’d been so hooked on in your first month moving there. Though from the way you were devouring the pages, you realised this must have been your re-read.
Jade raised a brow to you as if to say ‘seriously?’ and you snorted a laugh.
“What? It had a good plot. Sad ending though…”
“‘M’not judging.” Her voice told you anything but.
The occasional crackle of the hearth and swish of flipping pages broke the calm silence before the door to the cabin pushed open and Logan stepped through, toeing off his shoes at the door before closing it swiftly, preventing any further heat from escaping. Your brows furrowed as you tried to remember this specific memory. How had you instantly understood all those times where you’d killed so many and yet this was something you had to strain yourself to recall? Your eyes fell on a small, wrapped package he held in his hands.
What was this?
“Stop thinking so damn hard and just watch.” Jade elbowed you and you shot her a look of faux irritation but acquiesced nonetheless.
You watched your own ghost look to the door, her eyes lighting up instantly when she saw him, placing her book on the coffee table and rising to lean over the back of the sofa. “Hey Lo’! All done?” She asked, and Logan’s expression softened when he saw her.
Did he really look at you like that?
“Yeah. Should be good for ‘another month or so, weather depending. Come over here a sec, wanna tell you somethin’.” You could see the subdued excitement in his eyes as your past stood from the sofa, draping the blanket over her shoulders, a brow raised in suspicion.
Logan set the package on the table before his hands cupped the sides of your neck and he stooped to press a lingering kiss to your lips. Your past smiled against him, arms snaking around his neck as he pulled back from you, cheeks pursed as he tried to suppress a grin.
“What’s up with you?” She asked, eyeing him with amused scepticism. Logan turned her in his arms, resting his chin on her shoulder as she huffed a small laugh.
“Open it.” He ghosted his lips against her ear, and she leaned back into him, a hand holding his arm around her waist, the other picking up the little, strangely shaped package, brown paper crinkled in odd ways.
She cast him a glance, Logan nodding back to your hands with encouragement, before you started to slowly tear the paper from whatever was hidden inside. Your heart surged as your memory slowly returned, a fond smile pulling at your lips as you watched your past suck in a soft gasp.
“Logan… this is gorgeous.”
Paper now discarded, she held a small, delicate pinewood carving of a miniature cabin in her hands, accurate to the exterior of the one you were in right now, log pile and all. Her eyes filled with awe as she turned it gently in her fingers, tracing the artistry with the tip of her thumb. “Is this what you’ve been doing?” She asked, turning to face him, though still looking down at the carving as if she couldn’t tear her eyes away.
“Kinda. Been prepping for the weather too, but most of the time, yeah ‘ve been doin’ this. Happy birthday, firefly.”
Her head snapped up to look at him, confusion etching her features. “Wait, what? I don’t even know my birthday, how did you–”
He silenced her with his lips moving languidly against hers, his hands falling to her hips, thumb tracing smooth circles against the sliver of skin where her hoodie had risen up a little.
“I have my ways.” He murmured against her, taking the carving from her hand and placing it down on the table before lifting her against him, her legs instinctively locking around his waist.
“He found it in the file…” You breathed, the memory fading from view to shelter both you and Jade in muted darkness once again. “From the first time he read it. The first page had all my information, including my date of birth. He didn’t tell me because he didn’t want to bring it up, but I realised after we read it together. That was how he knew.” You explained quietly as Jade’s hand settled on your shoulder.
“You know… he’s out there now. Waiting for you. He loves you so much, Shadow. I know because he looks at you the same way I did.”
That all too familiar lump started to form in your throat, your hand crossing your front to hold your arm. “He does now but… how can I face him, Jade? Knowing what I’ve done, knowing how much pain I’ve caused. I– I killed you… I ripped you apart and I didn’t even remember doing it.”
Jade’s hands cupped the sides of your face, forcing you to look at her even when you begged to look away. “It was an accident. You saw what they were doing and your subconscious snapped. You felt their pain as your own and you couldn’t fight the urge to save them. I’m not about to hold that against you. Nobody should. You never wanted anyone to go through what we did, and the fact you volunteered for every goddamn mission solidifies that.
“You have saved so many. You have helped so many. And you are cared for by so many. And nobody cares for you more than Logan. You’ll face him because you love him. And you’ll forgive yourself because he forgives you.” Her thumb swiped against a tear sliding down your cheek. “Just like I forgive you.”
Her words splintered through your resolve of self-loathing, shattering every conception you had of yourself and leaving room for something new. Something unfamiliar.
Hope.
“Now c’mon. This isn’t the only thing I wanted to show you. In case you still need convincing, you have an arsenal of memories to prove me right. And there’s nothing I love more than proving myself right.” She grinned widely, and you nodded, words failing you as she waved her hand again, the colours of your mind swirling and settling to the image of the danger room, and she took your hand again as she showed you every forgotten part of yourself.
Logan steadied his breathing as your body settled back on the table, the thorns in his body retracting and slinking back into the shadows with your newfound calm. Whatever Jean had managed to do was working, his skin itching slightly as it knitted back together. Though he stayed in place out of fear of making things worse. He didn’t know if approaching you would spark up your torment again, so he stayed still, his knee against the floor, watching cautiously.
He didn’t know how long it had been since you fell unconscious, but his arms ached to hold you again, to have you pressed against his chest, your face buried in the crook of his neck. He fought every urge to move back to your side, knowing that staying was most likely for the best, and gave you the best opportunity of coming back to him. But that didn’t lessen the longing to feel you.
“So? Thoughts and prayers?” Jade asked the final memory she wanted to show you fading into the background of your mind. You sighed heavily, unable to deny it anymore. You’d done good in your life. Perhaps not quite enough to outweigh the bad, but you were getting there. She’d shown you the memory of when you first met Marie, forced you to watch as you tried so damn hard to convince her. Sure, you may have failed that time, but that didn’t take away from all the other times you’d succeeded. Besides, she’d found Logan not long after, so that had all worked out for the best anyway.
“Yeah, alright, maybe you were right… just maybe,” you admitted reluctantly, much to the girl’s triumphant laugh.
“Fucking knew it! Ha-HA! Told you I’d convince you. God, I’m so good at this.” She grinned wildly, and you huffed a fond smile. Though you knew this couldn’t last forever, you were so fucking grateful for the time you’d had with her now. The weight of unspoken words between you had lifted from your chest, though another had settled there.
You had to say goodbye.
“Jade…” you began, only to trail off instantly. Her grin shrank slightly into something of understanding companionship. Taking both your hands in her own, she squeezed slightly.
“Yeah, I know. Can’t last forever, right? Besides, I don’t think we would have lasted very long anyway. Not if tall, dark and broody had waltzed in a couple years later,” you chuckled tearily, knowing she was absolutely right.
“I was never blind to how you looked at Ororo, by the way.” You shot back lightly, and Jade shrugged in faux innocence.
“What? She’s gorgeous. Sue me.” She winked again, and a comfortable silence settled between the two of you. “Oh, right. I wanted to give you this. Since you chucked your away and everything and I don’t really need it…” her hands fiddled with the clasp of her necklace behind her, and your heart skipped a beat as the locket fell into her hands, before she placed it in yours and closed your fist around it.
“I can’t take this.” You muttered, searching her face for anything that would tell you she didn’t want you to have it. But your search came up short.
“Of course you can. What am I gonna do with it? Not sure it’ll come with you when you wake up, but let’s just give it a go, yeah?” Your breath choked as you saw her own eyes well up, and you realised this must be just as hard for her as it was for you. You wished you could have both. You wished you could take her with you.
But she was just a memory. Sure, she was real, but only in here.
“Okay…” you nodded slightly, and she tilted your head up with her finger beneath your chin.
“Don’t get stuck in the past. You have a family out there waiting for you. You’re not alone anymore,” tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear, your soul cracked as she started to fade. “Oh, and when you take on Kreva, kick his balls for me, yeah? Bastard deserves what’s coming for him.” She grinned wickedly, and you nodded again, your voice caught in your throat. “Give ‘em hell, Shadow.”
Jade punched her fist in the air as her image faded completely, the rest of your surrounding mind fading into white.
With a sharp gasp, your eyes flew open, seeing nothing but light before you blinked a couple of times, your vision returning as you registered both Charles and Jean looking a little worse for wear.
“Welcome back.” Xavier smiled tiredly, and you sucked in a breath. You were back. You were home. You remembered everything, from the start of your torture eighty years ago to the moment you lay on the bed. Steadily, you pushed your arm beneath you to rise into a sit, bracing a hand on your forehead as it to stem the slight headache from remembering over a century of memories.
“You feeling okay?” Jean asked a little hesitantly, leaning against the back of Charles’ wheelchair. You didn’t remember her being in the room when you started, but you guessed what had happened in your mind had been reflected in the conscious world.
“Yeah… I’m okay.” You responded, cricking your neck to the side before a voice you didn’t know you needed to hear called your name from your left.
Tears lined your lashes as you took in his appearance. Spots of blood stained his white singlet, a large rip had torn through the knee of his jeans, a bloom of scarlet had drenched the fibres. You didn’t need to ask what happened, you already knew.
But the way he looked at you, terrified hope dancing in his hazel eyes, you couldn’t stop the way your legs swung from the bed and you all but leapt into his arms, holding him so impossibly tight as if he’d disappear into thin air.
But he wouldn’t. Because this was real. He was real. And just as Jade as promised, he was waiting for you.
“Logan…” you breathed in his scent, comfort blossoming where it wrapped around your heart. And Logan swore he’d never let go of you, not as his hand braced the back of your head, his other pressed against your spine as he held you. And held you.
“Thought I lost you for a minute there,” he tried to play off just how utterly petrified he was when Charles said he was losing you, but the way you nuzzled closer into his neck told him you saw right through him, and he didn’t hesitate to press his cheek to the top of your head. Wordlessly, Charles nodded to Jean, and the two of them silently decided to leave you in peace, closing the door behind them as they left.
Logan shifted you so you were cradled completely in his lap, your legs straddling his bended knees as he basked in your presence, in your touch. He had you. You were back.
You were home.
“What happened in there?” He asked, his tone hushed as you pulled back slightly, only far enough to look him in the eye, his hand on the back of your head skirting to rest against the side of your face.
“I was focussing on the shit I’d done…” you explained quietly, leaning into his palm. “I was so wrapped up in the pain I’d caused I couldn’t think of anything else.”
Logan rested his brow against your own, empathy pulling at the strings of his heart. He knew that feeling so damn well, and to know you had experienced that exact same thing tugged at his very soul, harder than anything your mutation had done to him earlier.
“How d'ya get out of it?”
Only then did you brain register the warmth of metal in your closed fist, the slight dig of a dainty chain in your soft palm. Removing one of your arms from around his neck, you opened your hand in the space between you, a smile of fond disbelief creasing your brow as you looked down at the gold locket nestled in your palm. You didn’t question how it happened. Didn’t question how she’d somehow made something materialise from nothing but your memory. That wasn’t even part of her mutation.
It was something that wasn’t meant to be questioned, even as Logan’s head tilted in slight confusion.
“Ran into an old ex.” you said by means of explanation as recognition dawned on his face. He knew he’d seen that locket before, and gratitude filled his chest. He’d never get to meet Jade, but he hoped she knew, somehow, just how thankful he was for her. “She approves of you, by the way.” You grinned, and Logan wondered how he’d gone even this long without kissing you.
“I’ll have to find a way to thank her, then,” he whispered, before pulling you in and sealing his lips to yours, pouring every ounce of sheer, raw love he had for you into the way his tongue danced with yours, savouring how your arm returned around his neck and held him there, your chest pressed against his own, his heart almost reaching out to yours.
He had you back.
You were home.
#wolverine x reader#logan x reader#logan howlett x reader#james logan howlett#logan howlett#x men logan#x men wolverine#x men x reader#logan howlett fanfiction#the wolverine#wolverine x you#logan howlett x you#essa's works
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Fanfiction Year in Review 2022
I fill this out every year. It’s become a bit of a tradition for me. Allows me to reflect on everything that I’ve written and kinda think about where I want to go next. And I like it better from the ask games because I don’t have to wait for asks to come in. ^_^
1 List of fics completed this year in the order they were finished:
Don’t You Know People Care? (Adrino oneshot)
When You Love Someone (Love Square oneshot Reveal)
Rite of Passage (Love Square multichapter)
Meddlesome Friends (Love Square + Meddling Nino oneshot)
I Needed You and You Weren’t There (Love Square onshot)
Restorative Justice (Core Five - Chloé POV - multichapter -features love square and friendship fairly prominently)
2 Number of words written:
Written: 99,297
Published: 64,582
This number irritates me. It’s SO CLOSE to 100k and I just didn’t have time in the last few days to throw myself over the edge. And there’s a one shot that I think only needs about an hour of focused work. But I guess that’ll have to be a 2023 fic! Haha! BUT it’s also way higher than I thought it would be even if it’s less than half I what I wrote last year (and I published about a third of what I what I published last year). And that comparison is probably why it felt like I wasn’t writing much this year. But my 2019 numbers were almost exactly the same and I was SO EXCITED about how much I wrote that year. Which just goes to show comparison is bad! And when it comes to comparing myself to others I think I’ve internalized that years ago, but apparently I shouldn’t compare myself to myself either. Because I KNOW why I wasn’t able to write as much this year, and yet, I still wrote! And that’s amazing!!
Those published numbers include four one shots, two multi chapters. And four multi chapter WIPs saw at least one update.
3 Your most popular fic:
Restorative Justice, which is bizarre. I started writing this one closer to the fandom peak three years ago. And at the time, this fic was my LEAST popular. Chapter 4 took me almost a year to get out. And then Chapter 5 did take more than a year, but when I posted chapter five I got a lot more attention here than on anything else I’ve written this year. It wasn’t a whole lot more than Ch 3 got when it was posted though.
4 Your personal fav:
It’s Still Right Behind You and I imagine it will keep being this one until I finish it. My goal was to finish it this year, but that didn’t even come close to happening. Last year, I managed to update this one pretty consistently each month. If I had maintained that pace THIS year, it would have been almost complete I think, but I don’t think I would have made it. It has about 14-16 updates left. So another year and some change? *crossing my fingers* But Restorative Justice is a close second because it is also deeply personal - just from a different aspect of my life, and I do have a few unpublished WIPs that I’m also super in love with that I hope I will get to share before too much time has passed.
5 Your fav scene:
It’s so hard to pick a favorite!!
Okay, I loved the way Chapter four of Yin and Yang extended the same scene at the end of chapter three. The way Marinette’s and Adrien’s individual revelations dovetailed together at that moment was just so neat!
I’m also really really really proud of the When You Love Someone reveal oneshot (which wasn’t ACTUALLY a oneshot - this scene is from Right Behind You chapters 6 and 9). This oneshot was essentially a love square break up chapter, but what I love about it is how much love there is in it from beginning to end. How much they care for each other shines through every part of it. I made myself cry multiple times writing this scene, and I can sometimes still cry when I reread it.
6 A fic or scene that challenged you:
It’s all challenging right now, but let’s go with Restorative Justice. As mentioned already, it took me more than a year to update chapter five of this fic, but we did it 50 words at a time!
7 A line of writing you’re proud of:
“I’m right here” - from chapter 3 of Rite of Passage. Here it is with a tiny bit of context:
“But that’s not the hard part.”
“What’s the hard part?”
“He was my best friend, and I miss him so much.” Her voice broke on the last word and her face crumpled into wracking sobs.
Adrien or not, he instantly pulled her into his shoulder, and held her while she cried herself out. He didn’t say anything. He knew that if he said anything at all, he’d tell her everything.
And he wasn’t sure how bad that would be. He couldn’t talk to Fu or even to Plagg for all that the kwami was six inches away as evidenced by the fact that the wedge of cheese had disappeared even though he had never laid eyes on the black kwami.
“I just wish I knew what happened to him,” she said, her voice cracking.
The pain in her voice broke him.
“I’m right here,” he said softly, placing a kiss on the side of her head.
This scene also has fanart! - by @botherkupo (I’ve been reading that as brother kupo forever... oops!)
8 A comment that touched you:
Look, I can never answer this question. There are too many. There are my regulars who have literally taken care of me this year as I struggled with moderate depression and then repeated illness (myself and my children). And there are the comments that let me know that something I wrote has an impact on them and that’s really neat.
An example from Rosalind2013 this past week on Restorative Justice:
This is one of my favorite stories now! Thank you so much for sharing!
I feel like I learned a lot. And I really enjoyed Chloe’s characterization here!
Really and truly, I think it’s often hard for us (or at least me) to think of “mean” people as being victims too. The things I learned are things that are going to alter how I interact with people going forward, and I really appreciate you taking the time to explain everything in your notes!
Like woah!! I’m floored and squealing!
9 Something that inspired your writing:
Honestly? Spite. Haha! I keep encountering takes or reading things that irritate me and that often inspires me to write a fic that does it the way I would want it to be in the world to counter that perspective. But most of the spite writing I’ve done this year has yet to come out. So hopefully, ya’ll get to benefit from that in 2023! :)
10 Your proudest accomplishment (that one scene; finally finishing that one fic; posting your first fic; etc):
Honestly, the fact that I wrote anything is kinda amazing. 2020 and 2021 were really good writing years for me (like insanely good), and it’s been frustrating to not be able to maintain that flow. I spent the first half of 2022 in a barely functional level of depression and the second half taking care of sick children. People keep telling me that I don’t have to feel pressured to write - that we all need to take breaks, and I don’t disagree. But writing for me has always been one of my biggest coping tools, and this year, it felt like I couldn’t rely on it and it always seemed like a bad sign to me when I wanted to write and had time, but couldn’t do it mentally or emotionally. Every time I think I’m back in my writing groove, my life explodes again. So here’s me wishing and hoping that things actually stay calm for like the whole next 12 months! (It’s likely a pipe dream, but one can hope).
11 Do you have any writing goals for the next year?
I want to start making progress on Right Behind You again. I had a setback where I wrote a chapter and found it narratively redundant and scrapped the whole thing which was discouraging and made it hard to start again. And I really want to update each of my current unfinished WIPs at least once (hopefully more than once!), and get out some of these unpublished love square WIPs that I’ve been sitting on. (And maybe an Adrino one as well!!) Basically, I want to do all the writing! Haha!
But my main goal is really just to find my writing groove again to be able to use writing as a more reliable mental health support and creative outlet. Wish me luck!!
Happy New Year Everyone!!
#Year in Review#fanfic year in review#2022#my own content#life of a writer#reflection#I wrote a lot#I wish I wrote more#maybe next year#still proud of myself#happy new year
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Lady Cassidy's Lover
Summary: 1919 England, Emma Cassidy, wife of a baronet, finds herself trapped in a loveless marriage after the war leaves her husband, Neal, paralyzed from the waist down and unable to produce an heir.
Despite the obstacles, she sticks by her husband's side at Goldby Hall, his family's estate, but when she meets former army lieutenant and Neal's aloof gamekeeper, Killian Jones, she feels curiously drawn to his distant blue eyes and quiet demeanor.
At first, she seeks him out for reprieve from her soulless, mundane existence at Goldby Hall, but what starts out as purely physical quickly turns into more than either of them expects.
But Emma is a baronetess, wife of an aristocrat and Killian is a working class servant. Their love affair is frowned upon, and she risks losing her title, her wealth and her position in the world by being with him. But she is determined to get her happy ending with the man she loves. Even if it means losing everything else in the process.
A/N: Thank you @ultraluckycatnd and for looking this over and for being amazing!
After receiving a comment from the swanfire police, (and no, I don't care if this shows up in "your" tags), I'm feeling quite sassy and classy myself and feel even more inspired to make this fic VERY enti-Neal :-)
Hope you all enjoy!
Catch up: Ch 1 I Ch 2 I Ch 3 I Ch 4 I Ch 5 I Ch 6 I Ch 7 I Ch 8 I Ch 9 I Ch 10 I Ch 11 I Ch 12 I Epilogue
Also on: AO3
Chapter Two
Dear Mary Margaret,
I’m a thoughtless lout for not writing sooner. In my defense, Goldby needed an enormous amount of tending to. But we finally have a full staff who’ve done wonders in restoring the place. Neal’s strength has returned. I’m still the only one he’s willing to let help him, but every day he can do more and more on his own. He’s writing all the time, which keeps his spirits up, and he’s already finished his first novel.
It is quiet here in the country. I miss the life we had in London, and, of course, I miss you. We have had some guests. Mostly Neal’s old bachelor friends. It’s hardly surprising most of them haven’t found women, believe me. Now and again, we also get visits from writers whose advice Neal has sought out. Apparently, my old friends all seem to think misfortune is contagious.
I know you and David have been traveling everywhere since the war ended, but once you’ve settled back home, I would love to see you.
Your loving sister,
Emma
Emma and Neal take a walk through the park, the rolling hills sparkling with a thin layer of morning frost and the crisp air nipping at her skin. Or rather, Neal chuffs cautiously down the knoll in his motorized chair while Emma walks alongside him, keeping a hand on it in case it decides to roll on its own.
This is her life now. Taking care of Neal, bathing him, dressing him and now taking him out for walks. They had hired staff to cook and clean, but when it comes to helping Neal get around, he’ll only let Emma help him. She doesn’t mind the brisk air, though. It’s just as bitter as she feels, and it helps numb her thoughts.
But the idea she may never feel the touch of a man ever again, the idea she may never feel the warmth of his skin or have a man inside her sends a chill of loneliness through her. Unless she ever left Neal, of course. But it would seem so cruel to leave her paralyzed husband, all because he could not make love to her. It’s not just that though. The war had changed him. Hardened him. Like it had to a lot of people. Left a wound that goes deeper than his physical injury.
He’s no longer tender and thoughtful like he was. He never shows her affection except for a peck on the cheek every now and then. Whenever she tries to be intimate with him, he pushes her away, saying he can’t because of his injury. But he still has his hands. He could still touch her, caress her, make her feel less lonely, make her feel wanted at least, but he chooses not to. Every day, he chooses something else over her.
“Where are we going?” she asks him curiously. Usually when she tries to go for a walk, he begs her not to leave him to fend for himself, even though she never plans on being out for very long.
“There’s somewhere I’d like to show you.”
Ever since they came here to Goldby, he’s been working on a novel or painting or entertaining guests, making use of his hands by doing everything he possibly can with them except for those activities that would make him an affectionate husband to his wife. She tries not to blame him though, she truly does. He was forever injured, and she can’t even imagine the pain he has suffered and the guilt he feels. So she makes sure to never let him see her sad or ungrateful. She makes sure he knows she cares for him and will do anything for him, just as a wife should.
Emma opens the wooden gate to the forest, where everything seems to be motionless, with the exception of a jay jeering loudly and a flock of small birds flying around. There used to be deer and archers and monks paddling along, but now there is nothing. No game or pheasants are present, for they had all been killed during the war, leaving the forest unprotected.
They come to a clearing Sir Rumpelstiltskin had cut during the war for trench timber. There’s nothing left but dead bracken, large, lifeless stumps and patches of blackness where the woodmen had burned the brushwood and rubbish. The forest still has some mystery but Sir Rumpelstiltskin’s cuttings had all but wiped it out.
When they reach the crown of the bare knoll, where the oaks had once stood, he stops and gazes out over at the faraway trees to the colliery railway. “I used to come here as a lad and sit for hours. It’s one of the finest views in all the Midlands. I want to restore these woods. If these places aren’t preserved, there’ll be no England left. Our way of life will end, never mind what we gave up to defend it.” He sits in contemplative silence for a moment before turning his head to look at her steadily. “I mind not being able to have a son here more than any other place.”
Emma swallows the large lump in her throat, knowing it’s not possible for him to have a son. Or a daughter. They’ll never be able to have children and that doesn’t sit very well with Emma. She can tell it doesn’t sit well with Neal either. “I’m sorry we can’t have one.”
“Almost be a good thing if you had a child with another man.”
Emma chuckles softly. She’s positive he’s joking, there’s not even a doubt in her mind he is, but when she studies him for a few seconds, he doesn’t even crack a smile. “You’re not serious?”
“Why not?”
“Why not?” Laughing again, she plants herself on a stump next to him. She can’t believe they’re having this conversation. “Because…because we’re married. I married you, Neal.” She places a hand on his arm. “Why would you even suggest such a thing?”
“So you could have a child to dote on, to fill your days. As far as anyone else knows, I might still be capable of fathering it. If we raised it here at Goldby, it’d be ours, and if we had a son, it would carry on my family name. Don’t you think it’s worth considering?”
She stares at him like he’s gone mad. He might just have, as far as she’s concerned. What kind of man would be willing to let his wife be impregnated by another? It’s absurd! Nevermind that the child— her child—is just an it to him. “Do you really mean this?”
“Well, of course, I wouldn’t want you to yield yourself completely to him, but the mechanical act of sex is nothing when compared to a life lived together. If you govern your emotions accordingly, we could arrange this like a trip to the dentist.”
“A trip to the…” Emma scoffs, not believing what she’s hearing. A mixture of bewilderment and fear eats away at her. But if anyone is capable of the mechanical act of sex without giving their heart away, it’s her. She has done it before, so obviously she can do it again. Right? As long as Neal is the one she comes home to, what’s the harm in it?
But that’s not really the point. Neal is okay with his wife being touched by another man. It’s as if he wants her to be.
“And you wouldn’t mind who the man was?” She can’t believe she’s humoring this ridiculous idea of his.
“I trust your judgment. You wouldn’t let the wrong sort of fellow touch you. He would have to be someone of the utmost discretion. The Cassidy name depends on it.”
“Would you expect me to tell you who this man was?”
He shakes his head. “Best I don’t know.”
“An heir really means this much to you?”
“It means a lot to the people here. I know you can do it for them and for the Cassidys. You do agree with me, don’t you?”
She’s silent after that. And as they make their way back to Goldby, she’s overwhelmed by his words. Even if Neal claims to be okay with it, it’s so absolutely wrong. She couldn’t possibly be with another man just to give her husband an heir. Not only is it absurd, but it would be foolish. What would everyone think? They know he’s paralyzed and can’t have children, so where on earth would they assume the child is coming from?
Her thoughts are halted when Neal’s chair gets stuck in the mud, and she has a difficult time getting the thing moving again. She struggles with it as a black spaniel darts out onto the path in front of them, barking.
A man wearing navy blue velveteens and gaiters and holding a gun strides toward them so suddenly, Emma’s heart jumps out of her chest, fear jolting through her, afraid he’s about to attack them with how quickly he’s moving toward them.
“Jolly! Come here, lass!” He stops to salute them before continuing downhill behind them after the dog.
Emma lets out a sigh of relief.
“Jones?” Neal calls over his shoulder
The man stops in his tracks and turns around.
“I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind giving us a hand getting this chair started again? The engine isn’t really made for uphill work.”
“Not at all.” Slinging his gun over his shoulder, the man heads toward them. He’s tall and handsome with broad shoulders, his chin and cheeks sprinkled with a light dusting of ginger scruff. He doesn’t look at her at all, only at the chair as he approaches it from behind.
Emma steps back to give him room, and the dog runs around her in circles, leaping and barking, tail wagging excitedly. She watches in fascination with a smile.
He sets his gun down on the ground off to the side of the trail and rises, glancing at the spaniel. “Down, Jolly,” he chides softly with a thick brogue, his voice deep and gravelly.
Emma laughs a little, trying to ignore the way butterflies form in her belly from merely his voice. “She’s just being friendly.”
“Emma, this is the new gamekeeper, “ Neal announces proudly. “Jones, have you met her ladyship yet?”
“No, Sir.” The man removes his hat, revealing his thick, dark hair as he lifts his head.
Her breath catches as he stares straight into her eyes with his deep, ocean blue ones, as if he is curious to see what she’s like. Suddenly feeling shy, her cheeks flushed, she bends her head, and he switches his hat to his other hand and bows slightly. “Have you been at Golby for some time, Mr. Jones?”
“I was raised here, your Ladyship.” He tucks his hat into the inside of his jacket and grabs the rail of the chair.
He might almost be a gentleman. Nevertheless, he’s a curious and distant fellow, his eyes holding a look of suffering and detachment, yet a surprising warmth. He reminds her of a soldier, rather than a servant.
When Neal starts the little engine, Jones carefully turns the chair toward the incline and pushes the chair up the steep rise of the knoll, breathing sharply through parted lips.
Emma can see him struggle a little at getting the wheels of the chair through the mud. “Need some help?”
“Jones is quite capable of pushing on his own.”
Despite her husband’s insistence, Emma steps beside Jones and helps him push the chair through the last bit of mud, not failing to notice the small distance between them. He smells like forest and sweat and musk, making the inside of her nostrils tingle. She quite likes his manly scent.
“There we are,” Neal says triumphantly, not even noticing she had helped.
“Is that all then, Sir Neal?” the man asks.
“That’ll be all.” Neal continues ahead on his own, calling over his shoulder. “Good day!”
“Good day, Sir.”
Noticing her husband does not show the slightest bit of gratitude toward the gamekeeper, Emma turns around as Jones heads away from her, Jolly striding beside him. “Thank you! That was kind of you. I hope it wasn’t too heavy.”
He turns toward her, his eyes quickly moving to hers, a teasing yet gentle smile, playing across his lips, his eyes twinkling. There is something very charming about him and sweet, behind those distant eyes. “Oh, no, not heavy at all,” he assures her. “Good day, your Ladyship.”
As Emma catches up with her husband and helps him at the hill, she can hear the gamekeeper clicking his tongue and the dog barking. She peers over her shoulder and loses her breath yet again when he too looks back, their eyes connecting once more.
She quickly turns away and continues to push her husband’s wheelchair, trying to forget how blue the man’s eyes are. But why can’t she? She has seen blue eyes before, for heaven’s sake!
Surely none as alluring or beautiful as his.
“Not tired, are you?” Neal asks her, blissfully unaware of the pull between his wife and his gamekeeper.
“Oh, no. Not at all.” But she is. A strange yearning—a dissatisfaction, rather—had formed inside of her. Neal doesn’t notice, it’s not something he’d probably ever be aware of. The stranger, however, knew. Perhaps it’s why he kept his guard up around her.
“Who is your gamekeeper?” Emma asks curiously, wanting to know more about him.
“Jones. You saw him back there.”
“Yes, but where did he come from?”
“Nowhere. He was a Misthaven boy. Son of a collier. He was keeper here for two years before the war. Came back home a full lieutenant. My father always had a good opinion of him, so I took him back. I’m glad to have him. It’s almost impossible to find a good man around here. Gamekeeping needs someone who knows the people.”
“And is he married?” The question tumbles out of her mouth before she can stop it. After the earlier conversation she had with Neal, she doesn’t want him to think she’s asking for any reason other than pure curiosity.
“He is. But his wife carried on with other men while he was at war and is now with a collier at Stacks Gate.”
“So, they’re divorced now?”
“Not properly, I don’t believe. But there never was much proper about Milah.”
“So this man is alone?”
“As far as I know, yes. He had a brother, but he died in the war.”
Emma’s heart clenches. The man was not only betrayed by the woman he loved, but he also lost his brother and now lives in a small village alone.
She knows very much what it’s like to be alone. She once thought having a husband would make her feel less alone but being with Neal has only heightened the inward emptiness that is gradually spreading in her soul. They’re more like roommates than husband and wife, and she is his caretaker. They don’t even sleep in the same bed anymore. He sleeps on the main floor in the library among the books so he doesn’t have to fuss with the stairs, and at night Emma goes up to her bedroom and to her empty bed. Alone.
All alone.
With no one to give affection to, no one to show affection in return, no one to hold her, no one to wake up next to. She had truly missed him while he was gone, she read every letter he wrote her and she was excited for his return. She feared for his life, but she had held onto the hope that he would survive. The hope that they could finally get their honeymoon and begin their married life and that she would have someone to go to bed with and wake up next to.
Earlier, Neal talked about her having a child and giving an heir to Goldby. Perhaps having a child would make her feel less lonely. Perhaps a boy or girl would fill the empty void in her life that’s been there since Neal left for the war. But she’d hate herself if she only had the child so she would feel less lonely. Not to mention, Neal’s suggestion made her physically ill. The fact her husband would rather have an heir than a faithful wife rattles her mind and soul more than she can comprehend.
~*~
The next morning, she sits with her husband at the table eating breakfast. Or rather, he’s eating and she’s sitting quietly, playing with her food, her stomach full of knots as she thinks about what he had suggested yesterday.
Neal takes a bite of his breakfast and looks up, noticing she has barely touched her food. “You ought to eat something. You’re wasting away.”
She’s surprised he even noticed. Lately he has been occupied with everything other than her. Mostly with his next novella. “I’m not feeling well.” As she answers him, the housekeeper brings Neal his newspaper.
He immediately drops his fork onto the plate and spreads out the paper before him. The excitement buzzing in his eyes and the attention he gives to that paper is more than he has given her since he left for the war.
“I haven’t been feeling well since our conversation.”
He doesn’t even look up at her as he quickly leafs through the pages until he finds what he’s searching for.
“Neal.” Her voice is laden with irritation, but he simply chuckles.
“Ah, here we are, look!” He folds back the newspaper and turns it toward her, pointing at his photograph. “I got my picture in the paper.” He clears his throat and reads the article out loud. “Cassidy’s novella has garnered attention for its humorous analysis of people and their motives—” his smile transforms into a frown, the excitement fading from his voice as he continues— “though his views on modern society are not young and playful, but curiously old and obscenely conceited.”
“Neal, stop reading,” Emma suggests, his mood rapidly deflating.
“A wonderful display of nothingness.”
“It’s just one review,” she reminds him.
He finally peels his eyes from the page to look up at her. “But they’re right.” He gestures to the article. “They…they’ve seen right through me. It’s all nothing. Home, love, sex, marriage, friendship.” He sighs. “All of it.”
Emma narrows her eyes at him, anger spiraling through her. Did he just say their marriage means nothing to him? “You don’t mean that.”
“I think I do. The whole point of living is learning to accept the great nothingness of life.”
She rises from her chair and marches away from him, unable to listen to his rant any further. “I’m going to get dressed.”
Over the next few days, some of Neal’s family visit—his aunt and cousins—and Emma pretends to be interested as they chat her ears off the entire time. She is too exhausted from it all. From taking care of Neal, from being neglected by him, from feeling desperately lonely. And the company of Neal's family only makes her realize how much she misses her sister and father.
When everyone leaves, things are no better. The days seem to drag by painfully, and even the housekeeper notices how unhappy and bitter she is and that she is getting thinner since she is not feeling well enough to eat.
Fear for her life and of ending up underground with her ancestors, she calls Mary Margaret.
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A Mid-Winter’s Reprieve - Ch. 3
So, I suppose this’ll need a note beforehand, yeah? First off, I’m sorry this took so long! I was on track to have this finished before Christmas, but then the comic came out and I found myself unsure as to whether I should proceed or not. After receiving a few messages from people encouraging me to continue I decided to do so (thanks to those of you with the kind words!), but by then I was super busy with Christmas. Before I knew it, it was New Years and then I just got completely swamped with work. But I finally caught a break and got to finish this!
In regards to the comic and the canonicity of Tracer’s sexuality, I’d like to say that this fic (and any other fic I’ve written/will write) is not intended to be an attack on it in any way, shape or form. I wholeheartedly support Lenily, that comic was cuteness overload. I merely like this little ship of mine (I’ve been shipping it basically since McCree was announced as a character) and enjoy writing it.
Anyways, now that that’s out of the way, I hope you enjoy this! “A Mid-Spring’s Reprieve” will probably come around April or May. In the meantime, if you have any one-shot requests for “Shots In Time”, feel free to message me and let me know!
The Gunslinger put on his most charming smile as he held the British Sprite by her waist, “Well, that depends, what did you get me?”
“Nu-uh, that’s not gonna fly, Cowboy,” said Lena, smiling right back. Her hands began rubbing his back underneath his serape in a way that Jesse didn’t find unpleasurable before he realized she was searching for her gift. “I asked first! Now it’s time to put up or shut up!”
It wasn’t often that McCree found himself nervous but this whole situation was certainly trying its hardest to raise his heart rate. He had survived losing his family as a kid, survived being a part of a bike gang since his mid-teens, survived Gabriel as his boss for Chrissake. Now, faced with the prospect of giving a subpar gift to the woman that was quickly becoming the brightest part of his life, he found his palms getting sweaty.
Or maybe it’s because you still have your gloves on?
That might have something to do with it.
Jesse took his gloves off and slipped them into his back pocket before bringing the small gift bag out from under his serape. Lena’s eyes lit up as she gingerly plucked the gift from his hands, her smile growing into a beaming white grin as she opened the bag.
That right there made all this trouble worth it.
Hopefully you earned it, Cowboy.
Will you just enjoy the moment for once?
Lena’s smile wavered for a brief moment as she brought out her gift, the picture of the two of them playfully fighting over his hat that Ana had taken at the Halloween Festival resting nicely in the picture frame that Lena had mentioned she liked.
Oh yeah, she loves it.
Of course she does. Why did you ever doubt yourself?
“Why you little GIT!” exclaimed Lena, the look of mock consternation on her face.
Oh shit.
“I left my present for you on the table but you weren’t supposed to actually look at it!” said Lena, slapping McCree’s shoulder playfully. “It was supposed to inspire you! Not convince you to copy my gift!”
From behind Lena, she produced the fancy bag that Jesse had seen earlier that afternoon and quickly brought out the gift that she had gotten for Jesse, the photo of the two embracing each other on top of the hill in front of the airfield that Ana had taken just before she took the one he had.
Oh shit.
Is she mad or charmed? This is important.
Yeah, not sure, that slap on the shoulder was pretty hard.
But she’s smiling?
“See here, Darling, I didn’t look!” pleaded McCree, Lena’s smile mixing with her fiercely set eyebrows still thoroughly confusing Jesse. “I read your note and thought of my gift without peeking!”
“Is that so??” interrogated Lena who, at the very least, was enjoying putting the screws to an increasingly bewildered looking Jesse.
“Look, I swear! Gabe can back me up!” exclaimed Jesse, waving over the Blackwatch Commander.
Gabriel, holding a plate of Christmas cookies in one hand and a mug of black coffee in the other, made his way over to the couple.
Is Gabe wearing… reindeer antlers?
Focus, big guy. You need to clear this whole fiasco up if you ever want to take advantage of that mistletoe again.
Right. Present.
“Gabe, tell her that I didn’t look at the present she got me when we broke into her apartment,” said Jesse as Gabe pulled up next to the two.
Gabe finished his bite of snowman cookie, “Yeah, I didn’t really get it. He made us go through all that trouble and didn’t even bother looking. Especially after you left it out for him.”
“What? You expect me to trust the Cadbury thief??”
“Okay, about that, I have two replacement bars sitting in my fridge right now,” said Jesse. “But he’s telling the truth! I didn’t look! I read your letter, saw that you didn’t have any pictures of us anywhere and remembered you had said you liked this frame! That’s the God’s honest truth, right there.”
Lena bit her lip and pondered on McCree’s pleas of innocence before turning to Angela, “Whaddaya say, Mercy? You believe ‘im?”
Angela will have your back.
Are you kidding? Angela is one of Lena’s best friends.
You’re right. Bust out the puppy dog eyes.
McCree gave Angela the best pleading look he could muster as the Doctor looked from him to Lena, “I zink I believe him, Lena.”
McCree thrust his fists up in victory, “Thank you, Angela! I always knew you were the smartest woman I know.”
“Don’t push it, Cowboy,” said Angela, giving McCree a wry smile as she hugged Lena and went off to join the rest of the party.
“I suppose I believe you,” said Lena, holding the two frames in one hand as she grabbed his sweater with the other and drew him near. “I guess great minds think alike.”
Their faces were close enough that Jesse could feel her warm breath against his neck and he found that he couldn’t help himself, drawing her in close for another passionate kiss, only vaguely aware of the small voice in the back of his head wondering if this was her plan all along. The two enjoyed the taste of each other for a moment before separating, Lena looking contentedly at Jesse through half-lidded eyes and a wispy smile.
Lena leaned into McCree, putting her mouth next to his ear and whispered, “The rest of your gift will have to wait till later.”
She pulled back again and took in the blank slate that had become Jesse’s face and patted him delicately on the chin, “Now go enjoy the party a bit, love!”
Wha-what?
Oh, she’s devious. How are you supposed to just enjoy the party now?
Maybe sing a few Christmas carols?
Jesse watched Lena walk away before she turned her head back to him and gave him a devilish wink and grin.
And maybe some hot cocoa.
With some bourbon.
The Cowboy made his way to Jack’s kitchen where he found the hot chocolate and grabbed a mug. He took a sip while rooting through his cabinets looking for where the Overwatch commander had stashed his whiskey.
Angela must’ve made her Ovaltine again.
Or given the recipe to Morrison.
Either or, it’s delicious.
He finally found a bottle of the brown liquid hiding behind the flour, only briefly confused as to why the commander of Overwatch had a fully stocked kitchen in his house when he was almost always busy with work and poured a couple fingers into his Ovaltine.
“You know, you’re supposed to put schnapps in Ovaltine, McCree,” said Angela as she came up beside him with her own mug.
“I figured I’d make it a little more America s’all, darlin.”
“Uh-huh,” said the Doctor as she grabbed the bottle from his hands and poured some into her own drink. “You’d better put this away, Jack doesn’t take too kindly to ozzers sneaking some of his own supply.”
Jesse put the bottle back in its hiding place and the two turned around, leaning their elbows on the counter and taking in the rest of the party. Lena had managed to convince Winston to get on the impromptu stage with her to start an interesting rendition of Jingle Bell Rock. To his credit, Winston only looked slightly uncomfortable.
“So, did you look?”
“Oh come on, Angela. You don’t believe me?” asked Jesse, a mock-pained look on his face and his hand pleadingly pressed against his chest.
Angela gave the Cowboy a long appraising look before coming to her conclusion, “I suppose I do.”
The two stood in amiable silence, taking sips from their warm drinks and enjoying Lena and Winston make fools of themselves. As their song came to an end, Jack and Gabriel jumped up with them, motioning that they keep their place. Gabriel turned around and searched the crowd.
He’s still wearing those ridiculous antlers.
But he seems to be really enjoying himself!
Gabriel finally found who he was looking for, immediately making a face at Jesse and Angela, pointing at them both before rather aggressively motioning for them to join him and the rest for a carol.
Dammit.
“Dammit,” said Angela. The two put back the rest of their Ovaltine and started making their way to join the four others. When they got there, Jack and Gabriel motioned for the group to get into a huddle.
“Gabe, this is ridiculous,” said Jesse in a whisper.
Wait, why are you whispering?
I don’t know, it’s a huddle.
“Shush your mouth, McCree,” said Jack.
“Hey now, Jack, he’s Blackwatch. Only I get to talk to him like that,” said Gabriel. “Hush your mouth, McCree.”
Lena let out a little snicker at that and the others smiled before Gabriel brought their attention back into focus, “We’re going to sing Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.”
“Does this have anything to do with your antlers, love?” asked Lena.
“What it has to do with is being an absolute Christmas classic, Miss Oxton,” responded Jack.
Jesse and Angela groaned a little bit, Winston, surprisingly, appeared to be totally on board. The Gorilla apparently had taken to caroling after singing with Lena.
The gang huddled for a moment, seemingly unsure on what to do next, “So, are we supposed to shout ‘Break!’ and clap our hands?” asked McCree
“Don’t be ridiculous, this isn’t football,” responded Morrison, before hitting a button on a remote that had seemingly materialized out of thin air. The opening beats of the song started coming through the house’s speakers and their huddle fanned out, the six of them lining up with their arms around each other’s shoulders.
They were surprisingly good, Winston and Gabriel providing a good bass for the others to work off of while Angela and Lena harmonized. The rest of the party quickly joined in and the house filled with Christmas Cheer.
The party moved seamlessly into another carol when Lena grabbed Jesse’s hand and pulled him to the side, “Well, I think we’ve had enough of this party, don’t you think?”
Yes.
Hell yes.
“I guess so, Darlin,” replied Jesse. “What’re ya in such a rush for?”
“Just thinking about that kiss earlier, is all,” said Lena in her worst Southern drawl as she batted her eyes. “Now come on, back to my place.
The couple stealthily made their way out the front door and raced through the snow back towards Lena’s quarters. Once inside, the two kicked the snow loose and made their way towards her couch. Lena took great care to ensure her newly framed picture of the two of them was placed perfectly before she turned the lights off and switched her monitor over to a crackling fire.
Lena climbed onto the couch and snuggled herself into the Cowboy, Jesse putting an arm around her. The two shared a lingering gaze before leaning into each other and sharing another passionate kiss. When their lips finally parted, Lena’s half-lidded look was back as she bit her lip.
No need to sneak off now, Cowboy.
Merry Christmas.
#overwatch#jesse mccree#lena oxton#McTracer#Blinking Deadeye#McCree x Tracer#Fanfic#AU#I wrote a thing#I hope y'all like it!#Now I get to start writing Ch. 2 of Hope Restored!
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Xue Yang's ritual to resurrect Xiao Xingchen in Lan Xichen's body has failed.
Unfortunately for the wounded, guilt-wracked Lan Xichen, Xue Yang doesn't seem to realize this. All he knows is that he's finally got his daozhang back...
Stroking his hair, Xue Yang kisses his forehead, so gently that Lan Xichen almost cries. He doesn’t deserve this tenderness. Lan Xichen doesn’t, rather. But Xiao Xingchen— Xiao Xingchen deserves everything.
Xue Yang/Lan Xichen & Xuexiao - E - Ch. 1 Ch. 2 on Tumblr - AO3
Chapter 3 - The Coffin
Xue Yang’s fever breaks the next morning.
Lan Xichen sits up from where he’s fallen asleep at the table pushed near the bed. A light doze, plagued by nightmares. “How do you feel?”
Xue Yang blinks in the pale gold light streaming through the uncovered windows, then snatches at the bed as if reaching for the sword he slept beside before returning to Yi City.
“Jiangzai is safe!” Lan Xichen says before Xue Yang can panic at the missing sword. They’ve been through this many times over the past few days. “I even cleaned it for you.”
Xue Yang relaxes slightly. “What happened?”
Lan Xichen crosses the room to fill a bowl with cold rice. “You went out in the cold rain to fix the roof.”
“You don’t get sick from cold,” scoffs Xue Yang. His voice is hoarse, but it’s back to its old teasing, flippant self, with the new note of fondness it’s acquired since coming to the Coffin House. “I’ve been cold and wet more times than I can count.”
Lan Xichen imagines a young Xue Yang huddled outside in the rain and feels a twinge of—not regret, as there had been nothing he could have done about it while it was happening, but something akin to it.
“Your infection didn’t help matters,” he says, closing Xue Yang’s fingers around the bowl.
“Infection?”
Lan Xichen pours him a cup of water. He’s been trying to get him to drink for days, with little cooperation. “You can’t let things go like that again.”
Xue Yang grins through a mouthful of rice. “ ‘Again’? You think I’m going to run around getting slashed up by qi-deviating clan leaders again, daozhang?”
Daozhang. So he’s Xiao Xingchen again….
“Is that what happened to you?”
Xue Yang’s smile vanishes. “He attacked me.”
“Were you two…friends?”
Xue Yang shovels rice into his mouth, avoiding looking at Lan Xichen. “He reminded me of you,” he says, almost hesitantly. “Much better manners, of course, having been raised by gentry.” He grins to himself, as if Xiao Xingchen’s unusual upbringing is an old joke between them, but it’s not much of a smile.
“You sound rather...displeased with the man.”
“He turned on me,” Xue Yang says shortly, “as I always knew he would…I tried to help him, and he tried to strangle me.” Almost unconsciously he touches a hand to the pallid skin of his throat, and memories of purple bruises mottling that same throat spring to Lan Xichen’s mind.
Lan Xichen can’t imagine why he’d hurt Xue Yang. Why he’d do something like that to a smaller, weaker man—to anyone. The time before the Coffin House is increasingly hazy. A former life, a bad dream…
But despite not wanting to, he can remember that day at the Chang Manor, the bright blazing pain of that day like a beacon.
Lan Xichen had been distraught. Xue Yang had restored A-Yao to life, only for him to vanish in the morning. Temporarily, but Lan Xichen hadn’t known that, and he’d blamed Xue Yang...
But it wasn’t Xue Yang’s fault, A-Yao’s state of limbo. If anything, Xue Yang had done everything in his power to bring A-Yao back to him…
And A-Yao’s final decision to leave for good had not been Xue Yang’s fault. That had been A-Yao’s choice.
…No. He couldn’t blame A-Yao. A-Yao had simply done what he had to after Lan Xichen had destroyed everything about himself that A-Yao might have cared for.
And Xue Yang…
Lan Xichen has been avoiding these thoughts, but they break in on him now.
Xue Yang had tried sacrificing Lan Xichen to bring Xiao Xingchen back. Lan Xichen knows this.
But he, Lan Xichen had done far worse in his quest to bring back A-Yao, and unlike Xue Yang, Lan Xichen had a clan, a position, a life…
A family.
Who is Lan Xichen to judge someone such as Xue Yang?
He rises and refills Xue Yang’s bowl.
Xue Yang’s eyes follow him around the room.
“You’re wearing your old robes,” he says.
Lan Xichen glances down at his robes. They’re Xiao Xingchen’s white ones. “I thought you might like them.”
“No, no, of course not,” Xue Yang says teasingly. He’s…he’s blushing.
Lan Xichen bows, smiling despite himself. “I can take them off, if you’d like.”
Xue Yang laughs, wagging a finger. “Let’s wait until your stitches are out.”
"I..." Lan Xichen swallows and glances at A-Qing on the porch, hoping she hadn't overheard. He's been trying to avoid thinking of that terrible night together, of Xue Yang's hand inside his robes, of Xue Yang's tongue on his—on his—
Xue Yang laughs again, perhaps at the look on Lan Xichen’s face, and closes his eyes with his forehead slightly creased, as if he somehow doesn't want to see the white robes drifting around the Coffin House again. Though Lan Xichen thinks he must be imagining that part. Xue Yang is tired, that's all....
“Can you fix my hair later?” Xue Yang murmurs, long after Lan Xichen supposed he was asleep.
“Fix…”
“Braid it, like you used.” Xue Yang rolls over, pulling the covers up so only his eyes are visible. “I’ve been waiting for you to offer...”
Lan Xichen has never braided hair before, but he nods. “Once my wrist feels better,” he promises, though in truth it no longer pains him. He’ll have to practice on his own hair.
Xue Yang nods sleepily and drifts off.
It takes Xue Yang several days to recover his strength.
He spends most of them sleeping.
Lan Xichen cooks, changes his bandages and, while he sleeps, sketches, being sure to hide the drawings. There’s a large store of fresh paper and ink in the house, as if Xue Yang had prepared it for Xiao Xingchen somewhat recently.
On the third day Xue Yang gets out of bed. A-Qing sits in the doorway as usual, watching him with sightless eyes, while Lan Xichen sets the table.
Xue Yang kneels in front of the shelves in the corner, prying open a small casket Lan Xichen didn’t notice until now. Humming to himself, he messes around at the stove, pouring hot water into a small cup. He sets it down before Lan Xichen, eyes fixed closely on his face.
Lan Xichen sniffs at the fragrant steam curling up from the cup. “Is that…”
Every tooth in Xue Yang’s head is showing. “Jasmine tea. Your favorite.”
Jasmine has never been on Lan Xichen's list of teas he enjoys, but he blows on the steaming cup and takes a sip.
“It’s good,” he says, trying not to breathe through his nose. “Thank you.”
Xue Yang comes to stand behind him, slipping his arms around Lan Xichen, chin resting on his white-clothed shoulder.
“Wasn’t easy to find,” he says, nuzzling his ear, then pulls away.
Lan Xichen doesn’t eat much that night. He’s quite thin, but Xiao Xingchen’s robes are still a bit snug around his middle thanks to his larger bone structure. There isn’t much rice left, anyway. Tomorrow they won’t have anything to eat at all.
They sit at the table after dinner, Xue Yang with his brush poised over a sheet of paper, A-Qing motionless in the doorway, and Lan Xichen with a second cup of the vile tea. From the distance comes the haunting trill of a night bird, and the breeze from the open door is cool but not cold. A sprinkle of stars is visible in the crystal-clear sky, an enormous full moon casting long black shadows.
It’s…peaceful.
“The autumn wind enters through the window,
The gauze curtain starts to flutter and fly.
I raise my head and look at the bright moon,
And send my feelings a thousand miles in its light,” Lan Xichen recites.
“Winter wind.”
“…winter wind,” Lan Xichen corrects himself, though the poem, by an anonymous poet, is entitled “Midnight Song of the Seasons: Autumn Song.”
Xue Yang finishes the last stroke and lays the brush down. “I like this one.” He tugs at his hair, hard enough to hurt. Lan Xichen doesn’t think Xue Yang quite understands why poetry has an effect on him, or would be willing to admit it if he did. Or perhaps it’s all simply because it’s the daozhang’s poetry. He winks teasingly at Lan Xichen. “Better than all that stuff about flowers and birds and sunshine you used to write...”
He carries Xue Yang to bed that night after Xue Yang falls asleep at the table. He lays him out gently and pulls down the window's paper curtains so that they're not woken too early by the sunlight. He slides into bed beside Xue Yang but doesn't lie down. He's exhausted from days of tending to Xue Yang when his own strength is diminished, but he's afraid of falling asleep.
Sleep brings dreams.
There’s ink on Xue Yang’s face from where he fell asleep with his face on the table. Lan Xichen fights the urge to lick his finger and wipe the ink off.
Xue Yang’s face has lost much of its boyishness these past few weeks, the fever and wound taking their toll. He looks older, more worn, his once disarmingly innocent face finally matching how Lan Xichen views him.
Except…Xue Yang has been more like a besotted puppy these past few weeks than the hardened monster his reputation made him out to be.
Most of the rumors about A-Yao had been untrue…
Lan Xichen tries to shove the thought away, but another one springs up in its place like a corrupting weed: Xiao Xingchen couldn’t have fallen in love with the kind of man people made Xue Yang out to be.
Which must mean that…that…
Ridiculous. He knows it. And yet…
A-Qing rises and closes the door, shutting out the moonlight, and cocks her head at Lan Xichen.
He knows what that means. He wouldn’t have thought to look at her, but A-Qing, with no other entertainment, has developed quite a taste for poetry.
“Excerpt from ‘Last Night the Wind and Rain Together Blew’ by Li Yu,” he obligingly, keeping his voice low.
“Last night the wind and rain together blew,
The wall-curtains rustled in their autumn song.
The candle died, the water-clock was exhausted,
I rose and sat, but could not be at peace.
Man's affairs are like the flow of floodwater,
A life is just like floating in a dream…”
A mountain of white-robed corpses comes to him in his sleep that night, piled to the sky. Waterfalls of blood pour down the sides, gushing from beneath the once-stainless white robes, forming a crimson lake surrounding the towering island of dead cultivators.
He starts awake, heart hammering. Xue Yang murmurs something intelligible and draws him closer, arm around his chest, warm and solid and firm, but Lan Xichen can’t fall back asleep. He’s up early the next morning, still tired. To the accompaniment of the drumming of the rain that began overnight and the steady dripping of the leaky roof, he sifts through Xue Yang’s clothes until he finds a meticulously-maintained pale silk coin purse that seems out of place among Xue Yang’s belongings.
Lan Xichen wonders how Xue Yang survived before he came to the Cloud Recesses. Stealing? Certainly not begging. Perhaps he’d scrounged off the goodwill bought by his Xiao Xingchen mask?
“You stay here and watch over him,” he tells A-Qing. “Is there anything you would like me to buy you?”
He’s relieved when she gives a slight shake of her head. Xue Yang’s purse holds only a few coins, and he wouldn’t want to disappoint her.
He heads out into the rainwashed courtyard. A tapping sound stops him at the gate. A-Qing stands behind him, extending her stick to him.
“I couldn’t—”
She nods.
Lan Xichen bows. “Thank you, A-Qing. Now, why don’t you go inside out of the rain?”
The thin white material of his blindfold is already soaked, and he can see relatively clearly through the wet material and by peering out from underneath it, but he’s glad to have the stick as he ventures out of the courtyard for the first time.
He’s faced battle countless times without so much as a tremor, but his heart pounds as he taps his way past the abandoned houses surrounding the Coffin House courtyard and heads deeper into the city.
He isn’t sure what he’ll find. It’s been suspiciously quiet in the Coffin House’s corner of the city. But he finds shops in the center of town, and houses, though the city appears to be sparsely populated and run-down. The rain has emptied the streets, and he meets only the occasional pedestrian and a single donkey-drawn cart.
“This isn’t enough to pay for the vegetables or basket,” says the young man at one of the few stalls open despite the rain. He pokes at the coins set down on the table. “Just the rice.”
Lan Xichen swallows. He’d had no idea how much fresh food cost. Servants had always taken care of it, or Xue Yang. “I—I don’t have any more money.”
The young man starts to empty the basket. “Come back when you do, then.”
“A-Tong!” An old woman’s voice, shocked. “Are you being rude to the daozhang?”
He can’t see him clearly, but Lan Xichen imagines the young man making a face. An old woman-shaped shadow approaches him from the run-down house behind the stall.
“Is it really you?” The old woman bows low. “The daozhang, come back to us! My eyes are failing, but I would recognize you anywhere.”
Lan Xichen ducks his head, wondering just how bad her vision is. “Madam.”
“The daozhang, come back to us! I knew you would return. The good daozhang, returned to help us!” She bows again, and Lan Xichen averts his eyes.
It’s Xiao Xingchen she’s bowing at, not him. If she knew the things he had done—
“It’s been difficult since you left us, daozhang. Nobody cares enough to build a watchtower nearby, and there's talk of fierce corpses roaming the forest outside the city…” She bows yet again. “But now that you’re back, everything will be all right again. Here. Take this. Your money is no good here.” She fills the basket with vegetables. “You’ll have to come back when the rain stops for the rice. It’ll spoil in the rain.”
Lan Xichen returns her bows. He knows he shouldn’t be so affected by her kindness, that it’s merely another testament to the goodness and purity of the man whose name he’s soiling, but he is. “I am most grateful, madam. And if someone could help me find my way back to the Coffin House, I—”
“Anything for the good daozhang. A-Tong! Show the daozhang to the Coffin House!”
A-Tong glances curiously at Lan Xichen as they walk.
“I’ve heard about you,” he says. “And your friend in black. About how you used to protect the city and the village around here, and then you disappeared and left us on our own. Don’t know why my grandmother gave you all the free food. As if we can afford it! If it were up to me—”
He talks all the way to the Coffin House—not quite the Coffin House. He stops when they're just in sight of the courtyard.
“I’m not stepping foot within a hundred feet of that cursed place,” he says.
Lan Xichen wonders what happened here. Considers asking Xue Yang, decides against it. Doesn’t matter. It’s…
It’s home. For lack of a better word.
“Well, go on then,” says A-Tong. He turns and walks off, not soon enough for Lan Xichen, who had found himself wishing Xue Yang were there many times during the walk. Xue Yang would have had no compunctions about punching the young man in the face—
He winces. Since when are his thoughts so violent?
As if imagining a punch is any worse than what you’ve already done?
Xue Yang is pacing the porch when he returns.
“Where were you?” he demands, following Lan Xichen into the house. He tugs almost anxiously at the long thin wisps of hair framing his face. “I thought—”
Lan Xichen sets the basket down on the table. “We needed more food.”
“Yes, but…” Xue Yang grips the back of a chair. “You can’t just run off like that. You’re not fully recovered. You almost fainted the other day...”
Lan Xichen hands A-Qing her stick and lights the stove. “I didn’t expect you to be up so early.”
“I feel much better.” Xue Yang relaxes his grip on the chair, but he does it with a forced casualness. “Did anyone remember you…?”
“An old woman.”
“And she recognized you…? Did anyone else see you?”
“Her grandson.”
“What was her name?”
“I didn’t get a name, but she called her grandson A-Tong. A rather…unprepossessing young man.”
For the first time in weeks—months?—the thought of Gusu Lan’s rules flash through Lan Xichen’s mind.
Rule 900: Do not hold grudges
Rule 901: Love all beings
Rule 1,019: Speak not ill of others
Odd that memory of the rules should return over something so innocuous, of all things…
He tries blinking the thoughts away, but to his surprise, the words lie warmly in his mind, beckoning to him.
How much easier things were back then. How comforting it was to have a ready-made trellis upon which to wind his life. A proven morality, a sense of structure, a set path.
Too late for that now. Can’t go back. Can never go back.
Not now.
Not anymore….
But they’re coming for him. He’s certain of this. Any day now he expects to see the white of the Lan as they invade the grim gray peace of Yi City, any day he expects to be whisked away in spirit-binding ropes.
Back to the Cloud Recesses. To the one place he can never return to.
Even if he could go back…
He’s no longer Lan Xichen, Zewu-Jun, the Lan’s Clan Leader.
He’s…something else, now.
Someone else.
“A-Tong, and his grandmother the grocer. I know who that is…don’t run off like that again, daozhang.” Xue Yang bites his lip, drawing blood, then reaches for the collar of Lan Xichen’s soaking wet robes and tugs it aside slightly, revealing Lan Xichen’s collarbone.
Lan Xichen’s skin still crawls at his touch, but…Xue Yang’s hands are warm, and Lan Xichen’s skin is cold, and Lan Xichen welcomes the gentle heat.
Xue Yang brushes a thumb over his clammy wet skin, gazing at his exposed collarbone as if looking for a symbol he can’t find, perhaps one of the bruises he’s marked Lan Xichen with. His hands slide down to Lan Xichen’s waist, as if measuring it. Lan Xichen can just fit into Xiao Xingchen’s wide gray belt, but despite Lan Xichen’s thinness, it’s snug.
“You should change into dry clothes,” Xue Yang says, and he abruptly turns and heads out of the house.
Lan Xichen glances at A-Qing, glad that she couldn’t see Xue Yang’s hands on him. She shrugs as if she could see his glance and goes to sit on the porch.
After changing into dry clothes Lan Xichen busies himself with boiling water and slicing radishes, the extent of his culinary skills. After a few minutes he hears a scraping sound coming from outside and a rustling, thumping sound from the roof.
“Be careful!” he calls up through a window. "Wait till after the rain stops."
"Sure, sure. The roof is leaking."
He goes outside and peers up at Xue Yang, who’s perched on the roof. “I mean it, Chengmei.”
“Go nag A-Qing.” Back to his usual cheerful self, Xue Yang flashes a grin at him over the dripping edge of the roof and disappears again.
Shaking his head, Lan Xichen goes returns to the house.
“The grocer told me there are fierce corpses in the forest,” he tells Xue Yang as they eat the boiled eggplant and radishes, something Xue Yang gratifyingly declares to be as good as anything Xiao Xingchen cooked in the past.
Xue Yang looks up. His hair is still damp, and he gives off the impression of a wet black kitten. “Are they killing people? That’s good—I mean, it’s great that we’ll get to night hunt again.”
“Not until you’re stronger. You’ll get yourself killed in your condition."
“I was crawling around on the wet roof, no problem—”
“We’re waiting until you’re back to yourself,” says Lan Xichen firmly. “We can’t have you getting hurt.”
Xue Yang swallows hard. “Anything you want.”
Lan Xichen hesitates. “There is something else.”
“Anything!” And then, as if ashamed by his response, Xue Yang shrugs and repeats, “I mean, you know, if it’s not too hard.”
Lan Xichen lowers his voice. “A-Qing. What is she, exactly? She’s not a fierce corpse.”
Xue Yang glances at A-Qing sitting still and silent in the doorway. “I don’t actually know. Some form of ghost, I’ve always figured, or maybe a new breed of fierce corpse.”
“We need to set her at rest.”
Xue Yang frowns. “Kill her?”
“Of course not. We need to make sure she’s sent off properly.”
“Before she kills me.” Xue Yang grins teasingly. “Sometimes I think she’s haunting me.”
Lan Xichen doesn’t bother asking what Xue Yang might have done to deserve this. Couldn’t be anything worse than what Lan Xichen has done…
“She’s had plenty of chances to harm you since we got here, and hasn’t,” he points out instead.
Xue Yang turns towards where A-Qing is in her usual spot at the door. “You hear that, A-Qing? Oblige the daozhang and kill me quick!”
A-Qing raises several fingers in a vulgar gesture.
Xue Yang grins delightedly. “Takes her a while to come back to herself after her little naps, but seems like she's back to her old charming self," he says. “Isn’t that right, A-Qing?”
A second gesture, even more vulgar than the first. Lan Xichen winces, but Xue Yang thinks it's the funniest thing he’s ever seen.
“How much are you contr…” Lan Xichen tries thinking of a better way of wording it. “…how far is she under your influence?”
Xue Yang makes a face and begins to play with his hair. “Not much. I try to avoid using the Yin Iron as much as possible. Just to get her not to kill me in my sleep and stuff like that.”
“When you were laid out in the snow, she carried you inside when I couldn’t.”
“She did? She…well, I think she just doesn’t want me to die by anything other than her hand so she can be set at rest and all that.”
“But you could do it, with the Yin Iron. Set her at rest without her having to harm you.”
“Maybe, but she’s been with me here for years. She’s…” Xue Yang stops and glances down into his bowl of slimy eggplant, now cold. These past few weeks have revealed a myriad of surprising new emotions from Xue Yang, but this strain of bashful hesitancy is something entirely new.
“I wouldn’t want to—” Xue Yang stops. “I—”
Lan Xichen reaches out and rests a hand on Xue Yang’s gloved left hand, just as he’s certain Xiao Xingchen would have done to reassure the man he loved. His thumb touches the scarred skin showing through the palmless glove, sliding inside the glove, rubbing his bare skin. Caressing the disfigured part of Xue Yang, the part Xue Yang tries to hide from the daozhang.
He touches his blindfold with his other hand, quickly removing his hand at the slight bulge of his eyes beneath the material.
“You won’t be alone, Chengmei,” he says, very quietly. “I’ll still be here.”
Xue Yang stares down at his hand for a long time in silence. Lan Xichen wonders if he shouldn’t have touched him, if he should have used his other hand, the hand without that odd little wrist wound he still can’t account for, if he misread things entirely.
“I won’t leave,” he tells Xue Yang, putting it into as simple words as he can.
Xue Yang pulls his hand away. “You did before,” he says, almost blurts.
The accusation is like a dart to the throat before Lan Xichen remembers it was Xiao Xingchen who had abandoned Xue Yang, not him.
But he cannot not blame Xiao Xingchen for leaving Xue Yang, just as he can’t blame A-Yao for leaving him.
Xiao Xingchen must have had a good reason, as he had for everything he did.
Just as A-Yao had.
Lan Xichen can’t think of what to say to Xue Yang, who sits staring off through the window. Instead of speaking, Lan Xichen pulls a paper-wrapped candy from his robe. The old grocer had sent it “for his friend in black.”
He sets the candy down on the table, a little offering of friendship.
Xue Yang shakes his head and steps out past A-Qing, disappearing through the courtyard gate.
But the candy is gone when Lan Xichen wakes the next morning.
Happy as he is to have the bed to himself, Lan Xichen again dreams of dead bodies that night.
Dead bodies bobbing in the darkness, illuminated by Shuoyue’s solemn silver-blue glow. By its light he can see the white uniforms of the Lan, the silver of the Nie, the skewered body of Wu Shen, the mutilated corpse of Chang Ping.
Floating amidst the corpses is a figure in white, its face blurred save for a white blindfold that stands out stark and clear.
It says nothing. Just stares reproachfully at Lan Xichen through the blindfold while a disembodied old woman’s voice whispers around him, over and over: The good daozhang, returned! The good daozhang—the good daozhang—
Lan Xichen wakes in a sweat.
The bed is cold and empty.
Xue Yang sets a bowl of rice down on the table at Lan Xichen’s seat. Half-filled, as usual. Lan Xichen looks up at the sound.
“Where were you last night?”
Xue Yang grins. “Miss me? I was night hunting. Killed two fierce corpses. Had to check it all out before I let you anywhere near it.”
“Where did we get the rice?”
Xue Yang taps the basket on the table. It’s overflowing with rice, fish, and dried meat. Near the door he sees three more, each with rice, fruit, and vegetables. “Someone left food at our door with an anonymous note addressed to you. Guess word’s out that you’re back.”
“A note?”
“It blew away in the wind. Welcoming back the good daozhang in white.”
Lan Xichen recognizes the color and weave of the baskets as ones on display at the old grocer’s stall. “Do you think it was the old woman from yesterday?”
Xue Yang eats a few mouthfuls of rice before responding. “I doubt it. They’re moving away today.”
Lan Xichen frowns. “Moving?”
Xue Yang shrugs. “That’s what I hear. Some relative died and left the old woman and her grandson a house or something in another town. They won’t be back.”
“Really? She made it sound like she would be around for a while yet…Perhaps I can catch her before she leaves, thank her for her kindness—”
Xue Yang looks up in something approaching alarm. He really doesn’t want Xiao Xingchen wandering around the city, Lan Xichen thinks. He had no idea Xue Yang could be so protective, not even of the people he cared about.
As soon as I go night-hunting with Chengmei, he’ll be forced to acknowledge that I've recovered enough to go out on my own again, he thinks, and is about to ask about the weather when Xue Yang speaks, as if eager to change the subject on his own.
“I have a better idea than running after the old grocer,” says Xue Yang. “What you said yesterday about A-Qing—” and all thoughts of the old woman or the weather are driven from Lan Xichen’s mind.
Lan Xichen, trained his whole life in diplomacy and the social graces, finds himself completely unable to find a way to address A-Qing.
Xue Yang explains things to her instead. “I’m going to set you at rest, or whatever it's called. How does that sound, Little Blind? Ah, you’re speechless.” He laughs as if this is a joke, stopping when Lan Xichen frowns at him.
“Can she speak?” he asks.
Xue Yang makes a face. “Well…she doesn’t breath, so she doesn’t have a voice, and I hated to see her try to talk, so…”
“Let her speak, Chengmei.”
Sighing, Xue Yang does something, though Lan Xichen’s not sure what, and A-Qing gets to her feet and eyes Xue Yang coldly.
“Well, A-Qing?” Xue Yang says. His tone is a bit too cheerful. “It’s been fun, no?”
A-Qing bows in Lan Xichen’s direction. “Thank…you….” she croaks, and Xue Yang was right, it’s an awful sound, all throat and no breath. “Can’t…leave…you…with…him…”
Xue Yang laughs. A bit too loudly, as if to cover anything else A-Qing might want to add. The pathetic sound of his old friend must affect him terribly, Lan Xichen thinks.
“You talk to her,” Xue Yang says, and he goes to stand on the porch, close enough to intervene if necessary. Lan Xichen would never do anything to distress A-Qing, but he appreciates Xue Yang's concern for her.
"Please let us help you, A-Qing," Lan Xichen says. "I can't bear to see you living like this."
"Not...leave....you...." she rasps out.
“I’ll be fine, A-Qing."
“….happy?”
“Yes,” says Lan Xichen. He’s surprised at how readily he responds, though he hasn’t given it any thought. Happiness had not been something he’d been raised to need or want. Duty and moral rectitude were. Two things he’d abandoned.
And yet—
“I’m as happy as I deserve to be,” he says, trying to untangle his thoughts, but when he remains just as confused as before, he moves on. “But don’t think of me, A-Qing. You’ve been through enough. You deserve to rest. You deserve peace.”
She cocks her head stubbornly. “Kill…him…”
Lan Xichen feels a pang of pity for both the girl and Xue Yang. “I know you feel some kind of…animosity towards him, but don’t you see that’s only keeping you trapped here? I’ve forgiven him for what he’s done. If you can’t let go of it and set yourself at rest, then allow him to repay you for what he's done by freeing you.”
A-Qing glances towards the silent Xue Yang. The makeshift Yin Iron is in his hand, and he’s staring just past her without so much as a trace of a smile on his face.
“…come….back…for…you…one…day…” she tells Xue Yang in a croaking rasp that’s truly awful to hear. Her clouded eyes glow like white-hot coals, and Xue Yang looks away.
Lan Xichen closes the door and goes to sit on the bed.
Xue Yang enters almost an hour later.
“It’s done,” he says shortly.
A bit shakily, Lan Xichen goes out into the courtyard. It's empty.
Xue Yang follows him out. “She’s over there,” he says. He jerks a finger at the large lacquered black coffin underneath the awning. Beside it is a smaller one in blue and gray.
Lan Xichen bows at the blue and gray coffin.
“The high tower is a hundred feet tall,
From here one's hand could pluck the stars.
I do not dare to speak in a loud voice,
I fear to disturb the people in heaven.
“Rest well, A-Qing.”
Xue Yang gives him the smallest of smiles. “If you think she got into heaven, I suppose there’s hope for any of us.”
Feeling slightly dizzy, Lan Xichen lays a hand on the black coffin to steady himself, and all expression drains from Xue Yang’s face.
Lan Xichen removes his hand.
He dreams that night of the lacquered black coffin.
He is both inside it and outside it, watching his hand creep over the coffin’s rim, watching himself watch himself as he rises, standing upright in the coffin.
His flowing white robes are stained with blood, the coffin filled with it. As he watches the coffin grows into an immense lake rimmed with lacquered black wood and bare white trees with clawed branches. Boiling blood laps at his waist as the coffin’s bottom sinks lower and lower, finally giving away altogether and plunging him into the crimson lake.
White and silver-clad arms reach up out of the roiling red surface to drag him down, covering his mouth so he can’t so much as scream as they rip him to shreds.
A-Yao is there too, grasping at his wrist, puncturing it, leaving a small red mark—
He wakes with a smothered gasp.
“What is it?” Xue Yang is sitting at the table, sifting through a stack of poems. He crawls back into bed with a handful of poems, pressing his forehead to Lan Xichen’s. “Another bad dream?”
“I’m fine, I’m fine—”
“You’re shaking.”
“I’m fine, I’m fine—”
Smoothing his hair, Xue Yang kisses his forehead, so gently that Lan Xichen almost cries.
He doesn’t deserve this tenderness.
Lan Xichen doesn’t, rather. But Xiao Xingchen—
Xiao Xingchen deserves everything.
Lan Xichen raises his hand, touching the bandages on his wrist.
He remembers now. A-Yao, seconds before he disappeared for the last time. Gripping his wrist, leaving a soul mark:
“Goodbye, Xichen. Find me—”
And then he had vanished in a handful of golden sparks, dissipating into the gloom of the temple.
Lan Xichen shuts his eyes against the memory.
“I was going through your old poems,” says Xue Yang quietly. “Do you remember this one? Your only good one.” He kisses Lan Xichen again, so he knows he’s only joking, and reads aloud:
“I tip my cup to the bright moon
The moon, its shadow, and I make three
Fleeting friends we three, the moon, its shadow and I
Still, let us make merry ’til the end of Spring
The moon swaying as I sing...”
“The black coffin,” Lan Xichen whispers into Xue Yang’s throat—Chengmei’s throat. His shoulder is pressed against Chengmei’s chest, and he can feel Chengmei’s heart start to pound at his words. “I know what’s inside it.”
Chengmei doesn’t bother asking him how he knows the coffin is black. “And?” he says, a new sharpness entering his voice. He’d snaked one arm around Lan Xichen while kissing his forehead, and now his fingers dig into the thin material of Lan Xichen’s inner robe.
Lan Xichen raises himself up onto one elbow, looks down at Chengmei. Chengmei stares up at him, face deathly pale.
“I think it’s time,” he says.
Xue Yang swallows. His breath seems stuck in his throat. “Time?”
Lan Xichen struggles to remember. Where had he learned what he’s about to say? At the Coffin House? At Guanyin Temple? The past month is a hazy blur of corpses and coffins and fever and rain. “I remember, when we wer at the temple…”
“Remember?”
Lan Xichen winces at his own clumsiness. “Not…not remember. Heard. As I…” He stops.
There’s an odd look on Chengmei’s face. “Not remember,” he repeats. “Heard, as you were coming back.”
“Yes. Exactly. I heard. It wasn’t at the temple, it was while you were sick here in the Coffin House. You said that you wanted to…to…” He sits up all the way and glances out the window at the large black coffin, standing out darkly against the gray of the courtyard. He’s finding it difficult to put his thoughts into words. “That I was not meant to stay like this. That the body in the coffin was meant to…”
He makes as if to get out of bed, and Chengmei grips his elbow, guiding him back beside him.
“Are you sure?” he asks Lan Xichen. He’s gazing at Lan Xichen as if he’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, something Lan Xichen knows is not the case. After all, he does not look like Xiao Xingchen…
“I didn’t want to say anything,” Chengmei continues, his voice barely audible. “I thought you might…” He trails off. “I don’t know.”
“We’ll do it in the morning. One final use of the Yin Iron.”
Chengmei nods, swallowing hard, and turns so his back is to Lan Xichen, drawing Lan Xichen’s arm around him and covering his hand with both his own.
His glove is off.
Lan Xichen melts into the other man’s warmth. Outside it has begun to rain, a heavy patter as the large cold drops fall on the trees, fill the courtyard, speckle the window. But the roof is repaired, the Coffin House snug, Chengmei warm beneath the covers beside him.
Tomorrow…
Tomorrow, the mark on his wrist will be gone.
Tomorrow, everything will be as it should be.
A part of him knows it’s only a matter of time before the Lan find them. Only a matter of time before this interlude is over and the Coffin House collapses around them.
But for now...
Chengmei squeezes his hand.
Moonlight pours over the windowsill, casting long shadows on Lan Xichen’s face and filling the Coffin House with a soft silver glow.
He drifts into a dreamless sleep.
* * * *
Liked it? Spare a reblog? A kudos? A comment? It means a lot! : ) Without reblogs, nobody actually sees it.
#mdzsnet#xuexiao#lan xichen#xue yang#the untamed#a-qing#mdzs#xuelan#fractured ice au#1000 miles in its light
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fav fic titles
[Rules: List your 20 favorite fic titles, whether they're story titles or chapter titles! They can be funny, creative, eye-catching, whatever makes them your best. :) If you don't have 20 favorites, or don't have 20 stories, just do however many you want!]
tagged by @impossiblepluto and believe or not, 237 fics and I really don’t have many.
1) Half Past Midnight - my first re-emergence into writing and publishing CSI fic after many, many years (though honestly I don’t count a lot of my teenage stuff cause it was hot garbage anyway) and I didn’t actually even notice until I think I posted the first or second chapter that technically, when the team is watching the feed for the first time, it is a little half past midnight so. that was just cool to sort of subconsciously gather lmao
2) The All In series: Atrophy, Agony, Augury - Alliteration, pure and simple lmao very satisfying and esp in my most recent graphic series for it. It’s all about that Suffering
3) Agony Ch. 26: Would’ve, Could’ve, Should’ve - The longest I’ve written for any of my multi-chaps to date, this chapter means a lot to me on so many levels and I feel like it’s title is due in part to my own bout of agony going on with some pretty severe depression so. Yay self projection
4) Specimen Stokes & its chapter titles - Even before the shrinking twist I was giddy about dubbing Nick a “specimen” just for the like. idk, human experimentation aspect and because he’s super hot. The chapter titles are all composed of things you’d find in a lab which has actually started to become a little tricky for me (and I super want to name this one chapter “Feed My Frankenstein” but it’ll break the trend lol) but I had a dream recently about a chapter called “scissors” and I know exactly what would happen in it. Whether that’ll be this story or the sequel, I’m stoked.
5) First Flight - It originally had a double meaning but I scrapped half of the fic’s plot for reasons but recently I figured out how to restore that double meaning with a brand new twist that wasn’t necessarily gonna happen. I also have a tentative chapter called “no cake in the breakroom” that’s gonna be the most angsty, gut wrenching thing I ever write and I’m weirdly excited for it
6) Finder’s Fee - Out of all of my episode-related titles I actually think I like this one the most? and by that I mean where I either twist the name of the episode (i.e, Assume Nothing > Everything Assumed) or take a line from the episode as the title. This was another “means a lot to me” fic too (coughSelfProjectioncough)
7) For Your Viewing Pleasure - Okay this was another episode related one and I just like it cause it was a super underrated creepy ass line in Grave Danger and I wrote an entire fic about it in a week. out of nowhere.
8) Last Breath & its chapter titles - Mostly composed of song titles, I tried to choose things that would kinda give a clue/set the tone for the chapter. I’m a sucker for Evanescence’s knack for angst in their lyrics lmao
9) Hollow Heart & its chapter titles (specifically “The Rescue”) - My first lemon fic! Angsty lemon!!!! Really kinda harder on the angst than the lemon aspect esp since I’m (still) not that good at writing smut but! I thought it turned out pretty good.
10) Stone Heart - Grave Danger AU, so naturally love it because of that, but it’s a reference to the lyrics of Outside Chance and something I actually want to get tattoo’d some day (I’m thinking a tattoo of the tape recorder, a pair of glow sticks, and a ribbon that reads “stone heart” on it)
I swear I do actually love more of my fic titles but these were the ones that resonate with me right now.
Also bonus, some titles of unreleased fics (subject to change) mainly just an excuse to gush over my WIPs that I actually have a name for cause otherwise I legit have documents titled “shock waves word vomit” or “attempt at writing word vomit hospital meat jekyll shit::
Bonus #1 The Violence in the Pouring Rain - Nick/Naomi (OC), one of my favorite uses of lyrics from Halsey’s “Hurricane” cause yeah. They’re trapped in a hurricane. Also a dream fic.
Bonus #2 Augury Ch. 1, I Just Died in Your Arms Tonight - I’m gonna be taking a real dangerous leap with this chapter into a territory I’ve never written before and feel a little idk not uncomfortable but just. worried about doing BUT...I feel like it’s gonna be one of my best in terms of build up and action and how the chapter ends. (and if you’ll notice, I used that song for the “trailer” I made even though I gotta finish Agony first LMAO)
Bonus #3 The Pancho Problem/The Sanders Solution - The Pancho Problem was one of the earlier CSI fics I posted when I started publishing in 2018/2019 but unfortunately I had a moment of weakness and deleted what I had going for it. I do want to revisit it one day and re-work what I thought was wrong and one of my chapter titles for the Pancho Problem was “The Girl with the Flower Tattoo” which at the time, I thought was fucking amazing.
Bonus #4 The Beast You Made of Me: More Nick in captivity, but think of The Most Dangerous Game for the human hunting aspect, and idk other creepy shit like The Texas Chainsaw Massacre for torture. Basically I’m gonna make Nick into a feral human beast by the end of it. With long hair and a scraggly beard. And literal shit thrown at him. Eventually finds his way home after a full on YEAR to find out...he doesn’t have one anymore.
Bonus #5 The Day the World Went Away: The assclowns haunted mansion fic I promised for years lmao. Combining inspiration from Twin Peaks, Silent Hill and my own dreams, I hope it ends up being done in time for this year’s Halloween lmao (or earlier)
Bonus #6 Nick + Jack + Nick: DaltonStokes + Nick Corelli. Cause we need to give Nick Corelli some love dammit.
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Cycle - Steve Rogers x reader ch.2
previously: ch.1
Summary: As you acclimate to your new workplace, you make a very interesting acquaintance - Bucky. Meanwhile Steve is persuaded by said acquaintance that maybe tonight’s his chance to finally... ahem... “get some”.
Word Count: ~2,320
Warning: explicit language
a/n- Hey lovely people! Just wanted to thank everyone who read the first one and enjoy this one! sorry in advance because it’s probably gonna take me more time to upload the next one because i’m updating this as i write it (which means any requests you have could definitely be included in this so feel free to send them in!) the awesome divider is by @whimsicalrogers <3
It was Monday, your favorite day of the week.
Just kidding, you're a normal person.
You groaned at the sound of your alarm, hitting it to turn it off and making your way out of bed. You went about your usual morning routine, dressing up and going to your kitchen to grab a bite to eat.
Once you were feeling a little more awake, you looked at your phone, checking all the good luck messages from your friends and smiling while you replied to them. Your mood lifted the littlest bit. It's a new week, and you're getting a new start.
And you made good on your word, not clubbing or hooking up with anyone in the past week. You hadn't actually started seriously dating yet, but, you know, baby steps. Get rid of your habits, restore other's perception of you, start dating, break the cycle. That was your focus for the last week.
Now, you were thankful to have a distraction in your new job. On your way to the Avengers compound you practiced your introduction. Hi, I'm the new head of research. My name is – or maybe I should open with my name and then my job? Ugh, I'm overcomplicating this. I should just calmly and professionally introduce myself. Yeah, that's it. I can do calm and professional. I AM calm and professional.
After that charming pep talk on the way, you were standing and looking up at the tall building, shining in the hot sun as you took a deep breath and went through the entrance into your new job, reminding yourself your future starts now.
You welcomed the cool breeze of the AC on your skin as you made your way to the reception desk. "Hi, I'm here for the—"
"Oh, you're the new lab girl, right?" the receptionist smiled and you sent her a tight-lipped smile, nodding.
"I knew I recognized you!" she said. Being called a girl kind of threw you off, but she didn’t know you well yet. You were sure she didn't mean it in a patronizing way. She was just a little older than you. Yeah, that's it.
As you rationalized this, you noticed her typing away on her computer in search of something.
"Okay," she turned to you once more, "your office is on the twenty-second floor. Your schedule's probably there already, but if you need anything don't hesitate to call down," she smiled.
"I'm sure I can handle it, thank you," you said and walked towards the elevators. You might regret your little quip later, but right now you were too pissed at the patronizing bitc—
Your breath was knocked out of you and you tripped forward, panicked as you thought you were going to hit the ground, but a pair of strong arms quickly held onto yours, holding you up.
You looked up to see a handsome man with brown hair and blue eyes, which were filled with concern. It took you a moment to regain your composure but then you realized standing in front of you was Bucky Barnes, THE Bucky Barnes, aka winter soldier. And you had just tripped and embarrassed yourself in from of him. Shit, that's one way to start off your first day.
"Are you alright?" he asked, a little frown on his face.
Probably because you just stood there in stunned silence for the last 30 seconds, staring. It was a miracle your mouth hadn't opened and reached the floor like it does in those cartoons, because you surely felt that way.
You idiot, just say something already!
"Yeah, I'm fine, thank you. So much." You fumbled over your words a little, but quickly regained your composure. You came into work today wanting to make a good first impression, and there was definitely still time to salvage that. After all, Bucky was still standing there, a small smile on his face.
You introduced yourself, this time not fumbling over your words but being clear, professional. You mentally cheered for yourself, now let's keep that energy going.
"It's my first day here," you explained, "so I'm actually just getting to know this place." You gestured at the busy building around the both of you. "I know that's not really an excuse for bumping into you, but… all I can say is that I'm sorry, and I hope working with me will be less bothersome," you said lightheartedly while internally hoping desperately you haven't ruined his impression of you already.
"Come on, it's nothing," Bucky smiled, putting a comforting hand on your shoulder. He looked into your eyes, a lopsided grin stretching across his face. Dammit, he's hot. And by the looks of it, he knows it too.
"Honestly," he continued, "I'm glad I got to know you before anyone else did," he smirked, "more for you than for me. Trust me, the others… they're a bit much."
You both chuckled. "Well thanks, but I'm sure I can handle them. It's part of the job if what I'm researching is for them," You smiled and Bucky returned it.
"Speaking of which," you said, "I should probably get going and do that. My job."
"Yeah, you should," he grinned, "see you around," he winked.
He turned to walk away, so you didn't have much time to dwell on that wink. However hot he was, you were coworkers, and you're on a new path now. So, you turned towards the elevators, getting into one and going up to your office. First first impression, check.
Once you were in your office you sat down, taking a moment to appreciate the fact that you even got an office. In your previous workplace you hadn't been given one, due to space limitations, so you just had the lab. You felt your gratefulness wash over you. You haven't been here for even an hour, but you were getting pretty convinced that doing this was one of the best decisions you've ever made.
After that moment of introspection, you shook your head and went to work, looking at all the files for the new developments being made for the Avengers. You made a mental note to be sure to talk to all of the lab techs over the next few days.
Since everything was a bit last minute, you hadn't really had a chance to get to know many people here, except for the people who hired you. You knew they were taking a chance on you, bringing in a new head of research from outside and not promoting someone already working for them. It was a security risk, surely, but that didn't really concern you, since you knew you wouldn't do anything to compromise the Avengers. No, what worried you was the workplace atmosphere. You knew some on them must be annoyed that you weren't "one of their own", and that needed to be fixed.
At lunch you finally left your office, walking into the large dining area/cafeteria that was there for the benefit of employees like you who didn't want to go out to eat. You figured this would be an easy place to start getting to know your staff.
You bought some food and looked around. It was high-schoolish, every group sitting in a table, some sneaking looks your way. You were contemplating where to sit when a woman came up to you. When she got closer to you, you realized that she was taller than you, her brunette hair pulled into a sleek bun, secured by a hair clip.
"Hey," she came up to you. "I'm a little embarrassed to ask, but… we've been told that the new research head is coming today, and I was just wondering if that may be you? It's just you seem a little lost…" she trailed off, sending a small smile your way.
"That is me! And well, I can admit I am a little lost." You both chuckled as you introduced yourself, smiling.
"I'm Kate," the woman introduced herself. "I'm a lab tech. I'm working on the new Falcon wings."
"Oh, that's so cool!" you couldn't contain yourself from geeking out a little. You remembered the project file from before. "vibranium hinges, right? So they'll get less wear-and-tear and we won't spend too much vibranium on each one. That's a great idea," you smiled.
"I agree," Kate said and you both smiled. "How about we continue this discussion over there?" she said and gestured towards a table behind you, where the lab techs were sitting, waving a little once they saw you looking at them.
"Sure thing," you said and started walking beside her towards the table. "By the way, I love how high-schooly this place is," you said, sarcasm evident in your voice, while Kate chuckled.
"Trust me, we all think that. But in the end, we're no better than high schoolers. But it's a fun sitting arrangement and it works for everyone, so really you can't complain."
Once you arrived at the table you made acquaintances with everyone, and to your surprise they were all extremely welcoming, willingly discussing the new projects with you. Knowing you all have such a cool job making stuff for the Avengers brought you all pretty close, and you started bouncing ideas off of each other, staying way after you finished the food.
After lunch you went to the lab, which was pretty close to your office. You spent time getting to know the projects better, listening closely to your coworkers, who were each explaining in detail about the project they were working on. You obviously had a general idea about them, but you knew stuff like this matter. Also, you got to know them all, the conversations often steering towards personal stuff, which none of you had minded.
Time flew by, and before you knew it, it already the end of the day. You bid goodbye to everyone and went to your office to collect your things.
You opened the door and nearly jumped out of your skin. There, you had found Bucky Barnes, standing and looking at the bookshelves on your walls.
He noticed your not-very-subtle entrance and turned towards you grabbing onto your arm in a soothing manner, but also an unnecessary one, which didn't escape your attention.
"You okay there doll?" he asked, the nickname rolling off of his tongue effortlessly. Heck, if it were different circumstances, you'd be very appreciative of Bucky's forwardness, but right now it really wasn't the right move.
"I'm fine," you sent him a tight-lipped smile and tore your arm out of his grip. "Did you need anything?"
"I'm sorry for coming in unannounced like that," he said, suddenly bashful. "That probably wasn't the best thing to do was it?" he grinned timidly, realizing how his actions could come across.
"Probably not," you agreed, smiling a little more genuinely this time.
"Well, I just wanted to ask you how your first day was. And also ask if you might wanna go out for drinks tonight. Steve and Sam are gonna be there, and a few more people from work," he said the last sentence as if it was a question.
"Thank you. My first day was great, but that doesn't matter, did you just ask me out for drinks with Captain America and the Falcon?"
"And me," he added, smiling. "But yes, I did. And you haven't answered yet."
"Of course that's a yes," you smiled. "But you have to promise not to barge into my office again, cause you scared the shit outta me."
"Deal," he smiled, holding his hand out. You shook it, smiling back at him.
"NO. I'm not going tonight, final," Steve complained.
"C'mon Steve," Sam tried to persuade him. "It'll be fun! We invited some people from work as well, it's not gonna be just the three of us. And tonight might be the night you get lucky!" he smirked.
"Ugh, that is exactly why I'm not coming," Steve groaned. "Every time I go out with you guys I never get laid." He couldn't believe he was stooping to their level of expression. Stupid Sam with his fucki—
"So what you're saying is that we're better looking than you so girls want us and not you?" Bucky teased.
"No, I'm saying you're giving me bad luck," Steve retorted.
"Steeeeve" Bucky drew out his name, "It's gonna be great, and you should really come. The new head of research is coming, maybe you could talk to her about your new shield or something. It'll be…" he paused, searching for the right word, "very beneficial and efficient. You like efficiency don't you Steve?"
Steve covered his face with his hand, exasperated. "Please get your annoying back under control. It's a problem." Bucky didn't answer, simply smirking. "Fine," Steve drawled, "If I come would you get off of me for like, a week or two?"
"Done!" Bucky agreed quickly, "see you at 8."
"See ya," Steve said, walking out of the room.
"Why the hell would you agree to that?" Sam asked. "Now he won't go out with us for like a week. Good job Barnes. You know, you just cost me the priceless entertainment of watching Steve trying to fuck girls and fucking it up instead."
"I have a feeling we won't need to do much persuading for Steve to come with us next time," Bucky smirked. "The new head of research is super cute, and I'm sure once she meets Steve we won't need to worry about him getting laid anymore. I could've hit on her myself today, but you know, the good of the many." Bucky failed to mention his attempts at flirting didn't go over that well with you, but that was unimportant.
"Sure," Sam said, guessing something probably close to what had actually happened. "Ten bucks nothing happens between them over the next week."
"Deal," Bucky agreed and they shook hands. "I have a good feeling about this."
ok admittedly the gif at the start was because you don’t meet Steve yet but i promise next chapter it WILL happen!! i just saw that this one was kinda getting out of my hands length wise and i wanted to give this meeting it’s proper space so yeah i’m sorry but i just had too much fun with Bucky in this one :) (also i’m so sorry if he’s a little ooc i just don’t wtire for him that much🥺)
Taglist: @horny-nd-bored @shannon124 @perfectlyharolds @wintersoldierslut @iceebabies @sleepingpapermouse @steverogerswasalwaysworthy @holtzkinnon @angelicl-y @stydia-4-ever @thatoneperson5000 @fangirlfree @kaitcordx25 @bequeening @steve-barry-damon-logan @itscrazycherryblossomcollection @hollandxmarvel @stargazingfangirl18 @readsreblogsfics @onetwo3000 @beritmetal @harrystylesholland@jazbot2000
Cycle Taglist: @dee-vn
if you wanna join / be removed from these taglists, comment/message me! much love <3
#chris evans#chris evans x reader#steve rogers#steve rogers x reader#chris evans x female reader#steve rogers fluff#captain america#captain america x you#steve rogers x female reader
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Norwegian
45-minute lesson
Read 3x chapters Harry Potter og Føniksordenen
Watched 8x Superkrim episodes
Watched 3x Norsklærer Karense videos + took notes
Wrote about seasons & books + described a picture
Speaking practice: talked about my city
Wrote 767 words of fiction
Japanese
Writing practice
Kanji drills
Duolingo: Family 2 + restored various skills
Watched 3x Japanese Ammo with Misa videos
Listened to 2x Nihongo Con Teppei episodes
Read a JLPT N5 practice text
Norwegian
I’ve continued reading Harry Potter this week, and I’m still surprised at how much and how easily I understand everything. It’s rare that I have to look up words, and when I do I use a monolingual dictionary rather than google translate.
Other than that, I don’t have much to report. Obviously I did a little speaking for the wotd challenge, which I’ll probably do again at some point because WOW that was awkward and I need to work on my pronunciation again!
Last week’s goals
Mysteriet om Nils ch 39 grammar sections ✅
Read 4x chapters of Harry Potter og Føniksordenen [5/4] ✅
Watch 3x TV episodes or broadcasts [8/3] ✅
Start the langblrwotdchallenge & make a post for every day [4/4] ✅
This week’s goals
Mysteriet om Nils ch 39 exercises
Read 4x chapters Harry Potter og Føniksordenen
Watch 2x Norsklærer Karense videos + take notes
Keep up with wotd challenge
Write 1000 words of fiction
Japanese
I’ve been making the effort to do more writing and kanji drills and actively studying this week. I was pleased to discover I remember a fair amount of kanji I’ve not practised for a while.
This week I’m gonna start working with JFZ again. I only have 4 chapters left so I’m hoping to finish it by the end of May. I probably won’t continue with the series, but I want to at least finish the book.
Last week’s goals
Writing practice on at least 2 days [2/2] ✅
Kanji drills on at least 3 days [3/3] ✅
Duolingo: start Family 2 skill ✅
Listen to 2x Nihongo con Teppei episodes [2/2] ✅
This week’s goals
Duolingo: finish Family 2 skill
Kanji drills on at least 3 days
Listen to 3x Nihongo con Teppei episodes
JFZ ch 10 reading
Other
I’m feeling super burned out again. I hate this feeling. I think a lot of it is caused by the fact the house is such a mess right now. We’re sorting it out and gradually getting through it, but the lack of space and having so much mess everywhere really stresses me out and brings my mood down.
I’ve also been sleeping later and not going out to exercise. I’ll use any excuse I can find: I forgot to set out my outfit last night, my headphones aren’t fully charged, it’s cold and windy, blah blah blah. I’m disappointed because I was so on it and reaping the benefits, but then the clocks changed and it’s thrown me right off. Hopefully I’ll adjust soon. We’ve cleared enough space in the spare room now for me to roll out my yoga mat and exercise in there, so even if I don’t make it out early in the morning (and it’s gonna be cold and windy this coming week, “feels like -7ºC” kind of weather, so I probably won’t) I can still do some training at home at least.
Last week’s goals
Stretch on at least 3 days [2/3] ❌
Train pole/hoop on at least 2 days [0/2] ❌
Train at home/outside on at least 2 days [2/2] ✅
Do something creative on at least 2 days [4/2] ✅
This week’s goals
Stretch on at least 3 days
Train pole/hoop on at least 2 days
Train at home/outside on at least 2 days
Do something creative on at least 2 days
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Walk Me Home - Ch 4
Summary: Twenty-four years ago, Kimberly Harper met a boy who changed the course of her entire life before up and leaving one night. She spent years moving past the memories, building a stable, satisfying career as professor of folklore and mythology at the local university. Then the accidents start, and she’s forced to seek help among her hunter contacts. All it takes is a knock on her office door to send Kimber’s carefully built emotional walls crumbling to the ground.
Featuring: Teen Winchesters, high school romance, reunions, misunderstandings, high intensity emotional turmoil, Dean’s love of pie, Dean being adorable, Sam being adorable and maybe a bit nosy eventually, much group adorkable-ness, show-style investigation, mention of our favorite werewolf, gratuitous and obvious love of fall, DID I MENTION ROMANCE, fluff, smut, tension.
Warnings: Show level violence, show level parental neglect (let’s not John bash, I’m just saying), show-style witchcraft, show-level mental manipulation, stalking, bit of angst, sexual content (higher than show level),swearing, general yearning
Word Count: 2702
Author’s Note: At last!!! I almost didn’t make it, but here I am, literally in the eleventh hour (well, okay, three minutes to go until the eleventh hour, but still)! All the thanks to @mskathywrites , @fang, and @cracksinthewalls for editing, revision, flailing, and all that stuff I need. I still love this story, and I hope y’all will, too!
Keep in Mind: There are a lot of flashbacks. I tried to write current events in present tense and flashbacks in past tense. Here’s hoping I got everything right!
Please read/heed the warnings. 18+ ONLY.
In Case You Missed It: Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 ItMightHaveBeenIntentional’s Masterlist
Chapter 4
Kimber knows she’s staring, but she can’t stop herself. His fingers, rough and strong from years of the hardest work, brush circles over her wrists that send her pulse fluttering through her veins. So many emotions flicker behind his eyes, some of them mirroring her own, some of them alien and unreadable. So many years have passed, so much water under the bridge, as the saying goes.
The thing is, he was completely right earlier. She could have called him, once she learned who he and his family were, once she found a way.
But he had left town with her phone number memorized. He was in a much more logical position to get in touch, and right away, at that. And he never did. She knows he had a good reason, a completely reasonable one that would make sense if she just asked him.
But she’s scared and drained and confused and more than a little ashamed, and she’s tired of making a fool of herself.
She drops her eyes before the tears fully form and murmurs a quiet thanks as she loosens her hands from his grip. Though walking away is not what she wants to do, she forces her legs straight to the bathroom, closing the door behind her with a firm click.
She’ll feel better after a hot shower. That’s all she needs, a hot shower and a few hours of sleep. They’ll figure this out tomorrow, and then Dean and his brother will ride off into the sunset, and everything will go back to normal. She’ll go back to her classes as usual, helping out the occasional hunter or scholar with some lore, and she’ll bury all these feelings behind her heart again, drown them so deep they’ll never dream of resurfacing.
At least, that’s the fairy tale she tells herself as the scalding stream washes the saltwater from her cheeks.
She actually does feel moderately restored by the time she steps out of the bathroom. She feels a little ridiculous in Dean’s clothing. The sleeves of the t-shirt hang past her elbows, and the pants legs are rolled up several times to keep her from tripping.
At least the waist has a drawstring, she thinks as she rounds the corner back into the room. She pulls the towel from her hair, shaking it out a little just as Dean looks up from his laptop at the small table. His mouth opens, eyes widening. She’s not sure because of the poor lighting of the room, but his face seems to color a little as his eyebrows lift.
She is suddenly, acutely aware that she did not put her bra back on when getting dressed in his white t-shirt that is probably not nearly as thin as it feels.
Dean clears his throat, turning back to his computer, swallowing whatever comments have entered his mind. Kimber can’t decide whether to laugh or blush even harder and settles for the third option of hanging her office clothes up so they can air out a little before tomorrow.
With nothing else to do, she drops onto the edge of the bed gracelessly, feeling every minute of the last few weeks catching up with her. Uncertainty and fear claw at her, ripping away what little defenses she has left. The image of the mutilated doll flashes before her eyes, red paint splashed luridly on her favorite comforter. Her lungs clench, and she sags on the mattress.
She presses her fingers hard against her face. Acid burns at the back of her throat, bitter and biting. Her fingernails are just beginning to dig into her scalp when she registers the click of the laptop closing. Half a moment passes, then the bed dips beside her.
She doesn’t consciously decide to move; her body simply molds itself to his side as Dean slides his arm around her back. He turns into the embrace, his other arm gathering her tightly against him. His cheek comes to rest on top of her head. The silence between them is the comfort she needs, his warmth and solidity the anchor that keeps her from drifting too far into panic.
When he finally speaks, his words rumble through her nerves, settling heavy and soothing in her chest.
“We’re gonna get this son of a bitch, Kimber. I’m sorry they got into your house, but I’m glad I was with you. I…” She rises gently with his deep inhalation, pressed as she is against his chest. “I’m sorry.”
She hears what he isn’t saying, and her hands drop from her face, her arms slipping around his middle as her eyes close.
“Me, too, Dean.”
...
“That pumpkin pie was somethin’ else,” Dean murmured. His arms were folded behind his head as he stretched out on top of Kimber’s bedspread. He crossed his ankles, settling in like he belonged there. His thin t-shirt stretched across his wiry frame, jeans lying enticingly low on his hips, and she could just see a glimpse of pink toe through a hole in one of his socks.
A pleasant, off-balancing thrill skipped down Kimber’s spine, twirling through her stomach and making her head spin a little. Dean’s jacket was hung carefully on her desk chair, his boots lined up on the floor underneath, and his button-up overshirt folded neatly on the desk.
Her parents had gone to bed long ago, and she had snuck Dean in the back door. After their exhilarating but chilled stroll that afternoon, she’d decided against the treehouse. Dean had been amused but willing, although he’d had one stipulation that had nearly made her laugh aloud.
“We get caught and your folks kick me out, you’re bringing me your mom’s leftovers to school every day for breakfast. I’m not missin’ out on home cooking just because you can’t stand to be away from me.”
Now, seeing him so comfortable on her bed, like he just belonged...Kimber knew the smile on her face was on the goofier end of sappy, but she couldn’t help it. He was just so damned…
“Cute,” he said, smirking up at her. “I know what you’re thinking. And I’m not cute. I’m adorable.”
She sighed dramatically, feigning exasperation. “Fine, you’re gorgeous, adorable, vital, the absolute most. Now close your eyes so I can change.” Smirk still firmly in place, Dean dutifully closed his eyes. She knew, despite the short time she’d known him, that she could trust Dean to keep his eyes shut.
She spent a few seconds regretting the lack of any silky, dramatic nightgowns or cute, sexy little matching pajama sets. Oh, well; couldn’t have everything. She stripped quickly, tossing her school clothes into the hamper and slipping on her “Aaahh!!! Real Monsters” t-shirt. Thick socks and plaid pajama pants completed her night ensemble.
That she had just been naked (however unseen said nakedness had been) in front of Dean Winchester had not escaped her. She licked her lips, cheeks warm, and turned slowly back to the bed. He lay still, chest rising and falling steadily, and she marveled, not for the first time, that he was here, in her room. Just for her.
Her pulse jumped, her lungs tightened, and for just a second, Kimber panicked.
“You can, uh...you can open your eyes. I’m gonna go brush my teeth; I’ll be right back.”
She fled silently down the hallway, brushed her teeth in record time, and then stared in the mirror. Her hair was just her hair, nothing amazing or horrifying; no point trying to fix that before bed. Maybe…make-up?
“Kimber. What the hell?” she muttered. “You’re not seducing him, just be cool. Jeez. You can’t wear make-up to bed.”
She splashed cold water on her face, scrubbing her skin dry with a hand towel more forcefully than necessary. She gave her reflection another once-over and took a deep breath.
“You’re his choice, too,” she reminded herself. “Just chill.”
She found him exactly as she’d left him, completely relaxed on the bed, eyes still closed. She thought for a moment that he might have fallen asleep. Kimber wasn’t sure if she felt more disappointment or relief.
“You left in a little bit of a hurry,” he murmured, eyes still closed, and she started. “Everything okay?” She almost put him off, could feel the brush-off on her lips, but his eyes slid open, pinning her on the spot. She got the eerie sense that he would know, that he already knew she was trying to put on a front, and she deflated a little.
“I’m nervous,” she finally admitted. The heat in her cheeks turned up a few degrees, spreading down her neck, and she crossed her arms over her chest defensively. “I’ve never...snuck a guy to my room before. I just...this is mostly new to me, but with you, I want...I don’t know.”
Without a word, Dean slid from the bed and crossed the room, his mesmerizing eyes never leaving hers. He stopped a few feet away and waited, his arms open. With the bed suddenly out of the equation, Kimber felt a hidden knot of anxiety untie in her chest.
She let out a breath and stepped into his embrace, her arms circling his waist in a way that felt easy and right. Dean’s lips pressed a warming kiss to the crown of her head.
“Sweetheart,” he whispered. “This is your room, your space, but even if it wasn’t-” He paused, leaning back and brushing his thumb over her cheek. “Kimber, look at me.”
She did, and his earnest expression left no room to doubt his next words. It barely left room for breathing.
“ ‘M not here to make you feel uncomfortable or scared. I’m here because you want me to be. The second that stops, the second I make you feel something you don’t want, that’s it. Period. Does that work for you?”
His eyes, so plaintive and weathered in that moment, cut right to her heart. Never in her life had Kimber felt so safe, so protected, and so very sad. She couldn’t think of any words that lived up to the magnitude of what Dean had just said, so she simply squeezed him tighter, pressing her face against the side of his neck.
“Can you stay?” she asked. She knew he had obligations, probably needed to get back to his brother or at least check in with his dad. She felt terribly selfish in her warm, safe house with her parents right down the hall. Still, she asked.
“Yeah, I can stay for a while.” His smile, soft and open, laid her doubts to rest. They settled onto the bed, fumbling a little awkwardly to find a position they both liked. There was some bumping, mumbled apologies, until they finally sorted out a comfortable twist of limbs that didn’t set her heart beating out of her ribs or threaten to cut off blood flow to anything important.
She relaxed by increments, her cheek resting on his collarbone. He hugged her close with his left arm, his right hand combing slowly through her hair over and over. The silence settled around them like a second blanket, soothing and heavy.
“What do you want to do when you finish school, Kimber? College?”
“Probably,” she murmured. “I don’t know specifically, but I like research.”
He snorted, and she poked him in the side.
“Shut up, you jerk, I do. And I like sharing the information. I like helping people. I don’t really want to be a teacher, but maybe I can find something where I can do all of that.”
Dean resumed combing her hair, having paused when she poked him, and they settled a little more closely together.
“Dean?”
“Mmm?”
She blinked slowly, sleep pulling at her eyelids. Her thoughts spun out languidly, losing their urgency as his warmth seeped through the thin fabric of her pajamas.
“How about you?”
His answer came quickly, rehearsed and without thought. “Join the family business. Dad’s been training me for years. Don’t have a lotta choice, but I know I’ll be good at it. Was raised for it.”
Her fingers crept up, her eyes staying closed for longer and longer periods between blinks. She slid her thumb over his chin, just brushing the line of his bottom lip before sliding slowly up his jaw.
His words weren’t emotionless, but they were automatic. There was so much he never said, and she hated to push him, afraid he would just leave or shut down, but…
“But what do you want?” She persisted, drowsiness interfering with her usual restraint. “Who do you want to be?”
He was silent for so long, she nearly gave in to fatigue. She drifted on the edge of unconsciousness, fingers stroking through the silky strands of hair behind his ears. She felt his face turn, his lips press against her wrist.
“I want...this,” he said. Even half-asleep, she couldn’t mistake the raw longing behind his words. “I want...I want to work a boring, regular job and come home to someone who missed me all day as much as I missed her. I want my kids to cannonball into my legs so hard they knock me over. I want…”
His words choked off, and she stilled her fingers against his cheek, waiting for him to continue.
“I want a house. No...I...when I was little, Dad would come home, and he would just...sweep Mom up sometimes, swing her around, when they weren’t fighting. Even when they were, he’d do it sometimes anyway just to get her to laugh.”
She felt his face shift beneath her hand, but his smile didn’t feel quite right, and she moved closer. His arm tightened around her back, and he smoothed the palm of his free hand down to cup her jaw.
“I want a home. I want to be a dad, a husband. I want a family.”
She felt childish, shallow next to the depth of his simple declaration. Dean wanted what she had, what she took for granted every day of her life. This was the first time he’d spoken of his mother, and though curiosity burned hot inside her, she didn’t dare ask further questions, afraid she’d break the spell of the moment.
Dean’s voice dropped until she could feel it more than hear it, his lips pressing softly against her forehead.
“I want to come home and hold someone until I fall asleep every night. I want to wake up to her and know that my whole day, every day, is gonna be just that, all over again.”
She lifted her face to his then, and in the darkness of her bedroom she could only just make out the barest lines of his features. Their noses brushed, his hand gently pulling at the back of her head, and their lips met. His cheek was damp under her fingertips, and her heart clenched.
She pulled his head down, brushing her lips over the tears trickling down his cheekbones more by feel than by sight. Both his arms came around her then, pulling her against his chest as he buried his face in his hair. They breathed together, memorizing each others’ scents, heartbeats, rhythms as the night crept by.
The moment didn’t pass so much as gradually relax until Kimber felt him shift beneath her, smoothly sliding her off his chest and down to the pillows. He kissed her temple, and her face automatically turned to his, chasing his lips. She felt him chuckle against her mouth.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart, I gotta go. Need to check on Sammy, make sure he got dinner, did his homework, all that mess. I’ll see you tomorrow. Walk you to school?”
She nodded, humming her agreement even as she blindly reached for him. Something soft brushed against her fingers, and she automatically pulled it down, cuddling against the fabric.
“Hold onto that for me. I’ll get it back from you sometime.” She felt a kiss press to her forehead, and then the click of her door closing. She breathed in, Dean’s scent surrounding her as she slipped under again, his button-up shirt pillowed under her cheek and tangled in her fingers.
…
Chapter 5
#SPN#spn fic#spn fanfic#spn fanfiction#supernatural#supernatural fanfiction#Supernatural fanfic#supernatural fic#dean winchester#original female character#original character#Sam Winchester#teen dean#teen sam#teen winchesters#romance#high school romance#high school sweethearts#drama#angst#witchcraft#still no wizardry#no sexy times either#but sexy times#oh they're comin#heh#see what I did there
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Six [Ate] Ain’t Seven Ch. 2: Repairing the Seam
Summary: The Host and Patton go into the tear to save their future, and fight their past along the way.
Chapters: 1, 2
The two heroes were standing back outside the warehouses, but this time right in the parking lot to the east side of the warehouses. Logan and Virgil nowhere nearby. Patton was still in the suit, but the Host had changed.
He was in a pinstripe black shirt, a notebook in hand, but the thing that caught Patton were his eyes.
Namely that they weren’t just black sockets covered by bandages. They were there, his pupils the same color of brilliant gold that was normally streaked into the front of his hair.
“Ughhh!” The seer shielded his recently restored eyes from the sun. It had been a long time since light had hit his nerves like that. His visions and narrations had been his eyes but now having his old ones back were agony.
“Host!” Patton gasped, rushing to the Host’s side. “What can I do? Should I call Iplier?”
“He would not recognize the Host, and if the Host and Patton leave the warehouse parking lot without this reality’s anomaly they will have to re-enter and try again.”
“Yeah, but,” Patton began before the Host’s aura wrapped around his eyes to lessen the pain and disorientation. After a couple minutes he shakily got up, helped by Patton.
“I could go in alone,” Patton offered.
“Morality would not be able to find his way to the anomaly to retrieve it,” the Host denied. “Being alone would only increase the likelihood of failure.”
With that the Host began to lead Patton towards Dark’s main warehouse, with each step he gained strength, but also felt the Author trying to smother him out. People parted for them at even the sight of the Author. Dark was out dealing with a problem, the Host had made sure of it before even setting foot into this reality. So entering the office was easy.
The Host walked over to the huge family portrait and used his aura to tip it out of the way far enough to crack the safe open and extract a single black day planner. He then closed the safe and restored the portrait to its natural position.
“Is that what you were looking for?” Patton asked in confusion.
“Yes,” the Host answered. “Morality should not be fooled by the anomaly’s current appearance. This is a magical artifact that has the ability to destroy realities if used improperly.”
“Okay, so, we have it, then we can leave?” Patton looked around uneasily.
“Yes, and the Host and Morality should be quick,” the Host checked over the office to make sure everything was in order before starting to lead the Side out. But as they started leaving the warehouse the pull to return was only getting stronger.
Patton was mentally fading in and out of himself, like he was drowning at sea and barely able to keep his head about the frothy depths of his own mind. It felt like some part of him, some gaping, empty hole in his soul wanted to pull him back in. It was some cautious, hungry creature and Patton didn’t like him.
All it would take was the lightest shove to his attention, and he would be gone. He could see the parking lot in the distance. They were almost safe.
The Host was doing so well, the Author was trying to steal back control. But he was distracted when Illinois came stomping out of a portal with King following him. An errant squirrel scurrying off of him, and out into a random warehouse. King’s usual cape was gone, as was his child that typically clung to King. He was in his suit instead.
Illinois looked pissed, as if he’d kill the next person who spoke to him. As Illinois and the Host passed, the seer’s newly restored eyes tracked of their own volition and as he glanced at Illinois a sadistic sense of victory came over him. King was glancing between them in uncertainty.
“How’s it going lover boy,” the Author baited, the distraction giving him the push he needed. His feet stopped.
“Not now, shitbag,” Illinois grumbled, glaring at him as he kept walking.
“Not my fault you dug your grave with Mr. Right,” Author dared. “I mean, he gave you everything and you burned his base down. I’m a certified sadist, but at least I clean up after myself and don’t fucking get involved with my food.”
“Shut up,” Illinois seethed.
“I mean, did you see his face?” Author continued to goad, “I mean the one fucker you don’t kill and instead you fuck up so badly that he dumps your ass.”
“Shut up!” Illinois shouted, King and Patton looking between each other in unease. The two young men were attracting a crowd.
“I mean, you should have just fucked him and run, would have saved you both the trouble,” Arthur dared and Illinois screamed in a heartbroken fury before throwing himself at his brother and the two starting a fistfight.
Patton and King both called for Dark with their stars, not wanting the two to kill each other.
Dark immediately ripped open and portal and froze when he saw the fight. He saw the screaming and knew he’d been wrong to leave Illinois alone with his brothers while he was still so emotionally raw.
“Philly!” Dark shouted and yanked his adopted son through a portal. “A word!”
“He started it!” Illinois shouted in a rage before the portal closed.
Author had the good sense to wait until he was sure Dark was gone, reprimanding Illinois, to start cackling like a madman. The weight in his pocket was almost nonexistent.
“Did you see his fucking face?” Author laughed. “I think he was crying.”
“You’re a fucking dick, Art,” King glared at him. “You know that right?”
“Come on,” Author stood up and brushed himself off. “He deserved it. Besides it’s not like one slip up is going to kick Daddy’s favorite off his pedestal. I need to try much harder for that.”
“If you weren’t such a complete asshole, I might agree with you,” King glared at him. “Come on, that hero he was dating was the best partner yet.”
“And Phills chose his side,” Arthur reminded. “We all did. I don’t get why he’s so upset that his boyfriend didn’t like his choice.”
“Just once I’d like you to get a taste of your own medicine,” King sighed, before he turned to see a couple squirrels rush over and he let them climb up his leg and onto his shoulder while they chittered at him. “Gotta[1] go, one of the heroes is causing trouble over by warehouse six.”
“I’ll come with, it’s been a while since I had some fun,” Arthur grinned.
“Hey, maybe we should,” Patton began to suggest as the two other Lost Ones looked towards him, “go back inside, Author. I think you’ve had enough fun for now. We can fight them next time.”
Author was about to protest before Patton sent a calming wave towards him, and immediately there was this glazed look to Author’s eyes. He huffed out, already stomping away, “Yeah, whatever fun police. I hate that the Old Man stuck me with you.”
Patton rushed to catch up with his adopted brother, “I just don’t want you to get in trouble, or get hurt.”
“Too late for that Pat-attack,” Arthur reminded.
Patton smiled warmly, a smile that despite Author’s best efforts he couldn’t hate. The guy was sunshine personified. “Come on, I’m gonna[2] lose my touch if you keep smiling like that. I’m gonna[2] have to punch you in the gut or something.”
Still smiling, the two were about to head into Dark’s main warehouse, when someone walked over to them.
“Umm, Author?”
Author and Patton turned to see a young man standing not too far from them. He had an oversized purple hoodie with a green swirl on the front and back. He had a thick book held to his chest.
“You talking to me?” Author asked, pointing to himself.
“Yeah,” the young man nodded with a smile before pulling out a folded up note from his hoodie pocket. “Philly wanted me to pass this on. You know, to keep it off the record.”
“Oh,” Author smiled, suddenly overly smug and sure of himself. He plucked the note out of the young man’s hand and opened it.
Written in Illinois’s handwriting was:
“I want you outside 5th and Center St. We can settle this where Dark won’t see. I’m sick of your shit. Be there, or I WILL find you.”
Author chuckled, writing his bat back into his hands, “Well, well, if Daddy’s favorite wants his teeth kicked in, I’m more than happy to oblige. Hey buddy, you wanna watch a narcissistic asshole get his hopes and dreams crushed?”
The young man’s left eyebrow hitched up as he gave the Author a knowing look, “That’s certainly one way of putting it. Sure, I like watching a train wreck in motion.”
“Alright,” Author smiled. “I like you, I promise not to kill you immediately.”
“Thanks, I guess,” his tone clearly insulted. “You gonna[2] go, or should I go and jump off the roof of the closest warehouse? I got stuff to do.”
“Hmmm,” Author hummed. “You got a name?”
“Karl Jacobs,” Karl smiled again as he watched Author write down his name. “With a “K” and it’s not short for “Carlton” either.”
“Boy, aren’t you just dumb as shit?” Author chuckled to himself as he crossed out the first spelling and wrote the correct one.
At that Karl just glared at him, but didn’t say anything.
“Not my fault this is your first day on the job,” Author smiled.
“Hey, uh, maybe we shouldn’t,” Patton began but stopped when he saw the look in Author’s eyes.
“Not my fault Ills wants his teeth bashed in,” Author waggled his finger before he turned and started heading towards the parking lot again, moving quickly to get to where he thought Illinois was. “Come on, I’ve been dying for a rematch.”
“Yeah, but,” Patton tried to interject.
“So give me some motivation,” Author told Karl as they kept walking, ignoring Patton completely. “What makes you tick?”
“Well, one of your dads killed my dad,” Karl admitted.
“Well, Wil kills a lot of people so you’re going to have to be specific,” Arthur shrugged, slugging his bat over his head, causing Patton to quickly duck as he was racing to keep up.
“No, I meant Dark,” Karl corrected. “My dad was doing some dumb things, hoping to blackmail him. But he died and now I have to deal with the bridge.”
“Ohhh, that was your dad,” Author realized. “Man, he was an idiot.”
“So do have, like, a grudge against us then?” Patton asked as they were weaving around cars.
“Kinda,”[3] Karl admitted, “but only to Dark, and don’t worry it’s not enough to screw you guys over. You guys weren’t even adopted yet and Dark was just looking out for his kid.”
The suspicious part of Arthur’s brain lit up like a series of waved semaphores, how did this asshole know I’m adopted and not their actual kid‽
“How—” Arthur asked as his feet finally crossed the invisible barrier of the parking lot, and the Host woke back up. He had just enough time to pull Patton along with him as their exit ejected them out of the little pocket reality.
The three of them stepped into the white of the In-between. Patton suffered the most disorientation.
“You back to normal?” Karl asked.
“Yes,” the Host started coming back to himself more and more, fighting the vestiges of the Author still left inside of him. His eyes were gone again and covered with bandages, but blood was coming from the sockets. “The Host is in control.”
“Good,” Karl told him, before slapping him in the arm with his huge book. “That’s for being a jerk.”
“The Host deserves that,” the Host flinched away from the blow.
“Yeah, yah[4] did,” Karl agreed.
“Is everyone still okay?” Patton asked fearfully.
“Yes,” the Host answered, talking out the day planner. “There is still time for the Host to fix their mistakes. Thanks to Karl, the Host and Morality can still remember everything.”
The Host turned his attention towards where his aura was telling him Karl was, “The Host cannot thank Karl enough for intervening.”
Karl shrugged, “You’re the one who gave me the note, I’m just here to help.”
“So we’re going back home, right?” Patton asked. “I want to go home.”
“The Host has what they need,” Host promised. He turned to Karl. “Does Karl need assistance in returning back to the city?”
“I’m stuck here until I die again,” Karl sighed, looking at the castle in the distance, his breath stuttering a bit. He was not looking forward to the pain, nor the disorientation, that always followed moments like this. Usually dehydration or starvation got him.
“The Host can help with that,” the Host’s aura gripped the back of Karl’s head. “After all, Karl did save the Host, it’s only fair for the Host to return the favor.”
Karl felt the sensation of failing before his mind fell out of this reality, right into the white void of the In-between, and then he was yanked back upwards and into a hospital room where he was weak but alive. Hospital machines beeping and giving him life, and the dull chatter of a nurse talking with another doctor.
He stirred and the hospital room flew into action, the nurse immediately paging Quackity who would rush from a meeting to sit by his fiancé’s side as he started his recovery treatment.
Back in the In-Between, the Host used the anomalies to keep the hole he’d ripped open for Karl pried open so that they could easily step through.
“Morality should go first,” the Host ordered the Side. “The Host is hesitant to take the anomaly through before Morality. In case it strands him alone in the In-between.”
“Oh, thanks,” Patton said and stepped through, his suit changing back to his superhero outfit and his freckles fading behind his mask. He felt a hum of his magic surge back, and a connection with Thomas was restored as if he was waking back up from a terrible dream. Patton hadn’t even realized he’d been disconnected from it in the first place.
The Host stepped through after, two black day planners in his hand. The tear was still there but fragmenting by the second. Curling his aura around the day planners they began to turn into dust and swirl together until a single planner was held in the Host’s aura.
With that the tear that had been long since been a nuisance and a threat to the Host was fully disconnected. It became one of the hundreds of thousands of alternate worlds loosely ringed around theirs. No more a danger to him than the dark mirror world that the Host and his allies had found themselves in not so long ago.
“Morality!” Logan yelled as he and Virgil were running over.
With a couple narrations, the Host sent the Sides back to their home to rest, Virgil would be salty and upset at the Host. But the Sides would be together, and that was what was important.
The Host ripped a portal into Dark’s office and saw Illinois sitting and talking with Dark. The Entity was discussing some Network business and some details about Illinois’s upcoming wedding.
The seer stalled a bit, not expecting to see Illinois at this moment. He felt apprehension, his actions under the Author’s insidious influence came back to his mind.
“You okay?” Illinois asked, noticing the hesitant way the Host was holding himself.
“No,” the Host answered. “The Host does not deserve the adventurer’s kindness, nor his consideration. The Host is a terrible brother, he always continues to be so.”
“Hey, hey,” Illinois kicked his feet up and walked over to the Host. He signaled over to Dark, who summoned a portal and seamlessly sent them to the Manor. It was not ideal for the Host but the action had already been done. “What’s this about?”
The Host began explaining to Illinois, to the best of his physical abilities, what he had done. The situation of their missing brother. That Patton had been the price to keeping them safe, but also he told Illinois of his barbed words to Illinois. How at his core he was not any different than the Author.
“Host, Host,” Illinois cut in, curling his aura around the Host, instead of suddenly grabbing onto him, so he didn’t startle him. “Yeah it does concern me that you can just make one of us permanently disappear. I don’t know who this “Patton” was but I’m certain that if he helped you then he was one of the best brothers we ever had. But you’re not a terrible person, you’re doing your best. You were just trying to look out for us.”
“That does not excuse what the Author has done,” the Host cut him off. “Or what the Host has done.”
“No, it doesn’t,” Illinois agreed seriously. “Artie was a lot of things: a pain in my ass, desperate to reenact “Lord of the Flies” and kill me. But he was my brother, and besides Kay, he knew what it was kinda[3] like to be unwanted for a long time. I think both of us forgot that. But now you’re here, and you’re my brother too.”
A smile came back to Illinois’s face, “Besides, you being so worried about me proves that you don’t mean to hurt me. That we’re brothers.”
“The Host supposed that Illinois may have a point,” the seer reluctantly agreed.
“Of course I do,” the adventurer gave him a smug smile. “Trust me more, we’re both in this together. Although, I should admit, I do appreciate not being attacked or threatened with a bat on a regular basis. That, plus you helping me protect 아빠[5] makes you a much better brother than he ever was. If that makes you feel better?”
“The Host is somewhat eased by the adventurer’s words, yes,” the Host agreed.
“Alright, you want to spend the rest of the day with me, or should I take you to the heroes, your eyes are bleeding pretty badly.” Illinois was looking in concern at the seer’s face.
“The Host originally had important matters with the Entity, ones that he cannot put off,” the Host corrected. “The Host was not expecting to see Illinois in his office.”
Illinois lightly whistles, a huge smile splitting his face. “I threw you off your game? Never thought I’d see the day.”
“The Host was pressed for time, he couldn’t check before he opened the portal,” the Host snapped back.
“Sure, I got yah[4],” Illinois chuckled, taking off his hat and tapping on the bronze star hidden inside. “you’re still seeing your boyfriend after this though, your eyes need cleaning before they get infected.”
Dark came to them in an instant, a flurry of overprotective worry.
“Is everything alright?” Dark asked as he portaled in, he was looking Host over for any wounds or signs of a fight. The Host let him fret as he looked at him.
“Yes, the Host was merely discussing something with Illinois,” the Host reached into one of his pockets with his aura and pulled out a plain black day planner. “The Host merely wished to return this to the Entity.”
“Oh,” Dark patted himself down to find his planner was missing and quickly took it back. “Thank you, I didn’t realize it was gone.”
“Yes, the Host had to borrow it for a little while,” the Host told him. “He thanks the Entity for his assistance.”
Dark paused to think about that, confused and suspicious, but he chose not to comment on his thoughts. He turned and headed back to his office.
Host watched him go, aware of the presence watching them. Watching Dark’s every move. Carefully the Host spoke wards into being and they quietly curled around the Entity, protecting him from harm. The Host would have eliminated the threat completely, but such was not in his power. He wasn’t strong enough to disrupt the anomaly entirely, but he would protect what was his. He would protect his family from the Actor, or any other threat.
No matter the cost.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Post A/N: Information on Lost One Patton: his superpower was empathy manipulation. He was the emotional heart of his family and helped keep Author from getting too violent with his siblings. As such Patton and Author were close. His codename in the Network was: Pathos. Also since he has a January birthday, and Author had a February one, that makes him the eldest Lost One, by barely a month.
Accessibility Translations:
1. Have to
2. going to
3. kind of
4. you
5. Dad; used informally. Phonetically reads as: Appa.
#Superhero AU#Masks and Maladies#footnotes#the Host#Patton Sanders#ahwm illinois#illinois the adventurer#king of the squirrels#karl jacobs#magically tampering with the bounds of reality#magic#angst#existential dread#existential dread hour#magically deleting your brother from your family#and then getting away with it#overprotective Host
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Strength to Protect the Things That Matter (Ch. 23)
Pairing: Terra/Aqua (eventually) Rating: T Word Count: 7,792
AO3 FF.net
A/N: Surprise! So I said that I may have to split this entire “Feckless” section into three parts, but it turns out that I can blend the other two parts together into one. I couldn’t help myself but indulge in some Terra and Riku bro-bonding, and there’s all the plot development you need for now. It has been a hard chapter for sure, and I barely have time to really hash it out. At the moment, I tried my best and I may re-edit when I have the time after the game comes out. For now, I worked very hard on this and I’m tired, y’all. Enjoy the extra word count!
Feckless, pt. 2
The first thing Terra needs to do is organize all of the tea leaves. He is in the kitchen storage, gathering cubby boxes and labeling them – one for each type of herb. Then he hunts for paper and writes down recipes, the vast majority of them medicinal. He defines which herb is good for which symptom, which ones give a magical boost, which ones taste good boiled with fruits, and how one can make even the most vile magical plant tolerant to the tongue. He also mixes some for the most common sicknesses, for easy access. He pins several pages of these instructions onto the wall next to the shelf that houses all of these ingredients, for anyone to see.
Finally, he is of use to these people.
Next on the list is to make a fresh brew for Rydia. With a more potent mix this time, he should be able to give a stronger dose that will be able to quell her fever. The cats have followed him to the kitchen, and Duchess in particular is fond of rubbing herself on his leg. It’s comforting to him, but only barely so. What she cannot ease is dealing with knowing how close he is to Aqua, and yet he is still stuck at the hotel, adhering to his duties to those who are in need.
The life of a Keyblade wielder. How long is he going to keep stalling Aqua just to make sure others are safe, when she needs him just as badly? Or is she expected to suffer longer because it, too, is her responsibility to keep the lives of innocents in check?
He puts a few empty mugs and the steaming teapot onto a tray, and carries it out of the kitchen, the cats following him. In the dining room are Balthier and Fran talking amongst themselves at a table. The pirate has his arm around the backrest, his tall companion right by his side, her jackrabbit ears standing straight out of the helmet she is wearing. Terra manages to catch a few words.
“…grip the hairs that stand on my skin. We cannot stay long. The earth here is sick,” Fran says. The delivery of her tone is flat, and it doesn’t sound at all she’s too pleased.
“Yes, the cobblestones underneath my feet cannot bear the weight of them,” Balthier says, though he nods.
It’s a rather sarcastic sentence, but not one that is meant to dismiss her concerns. The nod, the movement to relax into his chair, the crossing of his legs – he believes her. It’s just his way of coping.
Fran notices Terra as he passes by, frowning at him. The scowl on her face is like an animal on edge, waiting for predator to make its move. “A shadow has befallen this land,” she says.
Terra manages to smile at them in acknowledgment, trying hard to ignore that she knows something isn’t right with him. And she isn’t wrong, exactly. Balthier nods back with a cocked grin. A pleasantry. Or is it suspicion? Will there ever be a day where he won’t feel eyes staring at him or hear a snicker?
Rydia’s room is illuminated by warm sunlight, and he finds her sitting on a lounge chair underneath a painting of a hooded figure wearing a brown cloak, with a damp towel around her neck. The figure holds a lit lantern in a dark cave, his face hidden from the sight of the onlooker.
She tells Terra she won the last game she and Riku played, and dismisses his concerns about being out of bed. She feels better. She can walk. She’s getting bored lying in bed for too long. To Terra, though, she looks the same – ghastly. He also can’t ignore that at times, she clutches her oblique where she has been stabbed.
“You know, this is more delicious than the last one you made me,” she says as she sips the new tea he brewed for her. He’s happy to hear it, though saddened to know that no tea exists for eliminating poison.
“I’ve bought sleeping weed for the batch I’ll make you tonight,” he says. “You’ll need as much bedrest as you can handle.”
Rydia mumbles something about how lame that sounds, hasn’t she had enough rest already? “Is it going to be yucky, then?” she asks.
“No. It’s absolutely tasteless.”
Riku is packing up the board games that are all sprawled out on the bed, and Garnet is sitting on a desk with several files sprawled out. Each one has photos of mages that have gone missing in the past. It’s quite a substantial stack. Once a breathing person, now a pile of papers.
Garnet says that she writes out details of them so they are not forgotten, and so that she can pray for them. Hope’s photo stands out amongst a small pile of the other six that were lost with him that night. Aside from him, it’s difficult to find another male mage in the collection. The rest of the women were of all ages, some who look as young as Hope. Some who look like they could have been new grandmothers. Most were young adult women who were at the prime of their lives, and should have begun their careers or looking for love. Terra can count at least two other male mages, both young adult men.
When Riku is done tidying up, he tells Terra that he’s ready. With a large enough teapot to last Rydia the day, Terra allows himself to relax - if only just a little. It’s time to leave the caretaking in Garnet’s hands and find Aqua with less guilt on his shoulders.
What’s left is to grab the map of the sewers, flashlights, and-
“Gas masks?” Terra asks when Riku tosses one to him.
“I’d like to keep my lunch in this time,” Riku says.
The cats stop following as the Keybearers leave the hotel. Down an alley way not too far, they find a manhole that Terra has marked on the map, and don their masks before they drop inside.
The plan is to search every nook and cranny of the sewage system within the second district. They mark an ‘X’ over every door and room they inspect, and write checks over hallways they have passed through. With the map, the maze isn’t so intimidating. With the gas masks, traversing through the sewers, particularly the really dirty areas, is tolerable – except for the sweat that is trapped underneath them.
Of course, there are Heartless around every corner, lurking right under the streets where so many people are walking around with their groceries and with their friends. Riku is sure to nag Terra about practicing his dark powers – at the very least to build some sort of resistance to them.
But they always bring a headache. Terra forces himself not to drink what little is left of Tifa’s potion, just so that he can start to build a tolerance to the pain.
They talk about Heartless and the nature of darkness. Riku is most interested in hearing about how darkness has been formed in the past, before the Heartless. Terra talks about the Unversed, and decides to trust Riku enough to talk about Vanitas and his connection to Ventus. He talks about darkness before the Unversed – how many worlds, especially magical ones, will develop beings of darkness naturally. Keyblade wielders are tasked with restoring balance when it is threatened.
Some forms of darkness become legendary as they lust after the abyss, and will either haunt a world into oblivion, or will travel in the in-between. For many of them, there is no record of where they come from, but most of them are ancient.
The tale of Chernabog is an example. So is the legend of the Horned King. The Headless Horseman is another, although its existence hasn’t been confirmed. The man who killed Aqua’s parents, Ardyn, is a story that is true, and Terra recalls how terrified he was to meet him face to face. Kefka seems to be on this track to great and terrible power. Riku talks about Heartless Sora has faced before – large, powerful ones that are ethereal and substantially frightening in comparison to the others. Behemoths and phantoms alike. Sora has faced a man named Sephiroth, who also fits such a description. Maleficent, too, is a possibility.
“Should we consider Xehanort legendary, then?” Riku asks as Terra checks off one more hallway. They have just passed through the waste system – disgusting in its collection of rust and other nasties.
It’s the thought that Terra is carrying Xehanort and is therefore the definition of such a thing that gives him pause. “I would say so, considering how bad the situation has gotten. The worlds haven’t been in this much trouble since the stories of the Great Keyblade War. At least from what I know.”
“It’s just that sometimes I wonder... if I open him up, will I find a heart in there or just some big, black mass,” Riku says.
Terra can’t help but snort. Blass mass, indeed. It’s exactly what it feels like when he gets a headache – like it’s trying to swallow him. The only person who deserves to suffer punishment in the Realm of Darkness is the old, sniveling man who should have been stabbed the day he met Eraqus.
The two wielders will often hear the clock tower bell ring, which sounds muffled underground. It marks every hour that passes by, but with no need to worry about Kefka tonight, Terra dismisses the sound. It’s just background noise tonight.
At first, he doesn’t have much to worry about if they don’t find anything right away. The second district is large, and he is bound to discover something. But they keep rounding corners, and the clock tower keeps ringing, and every room comes up empty.
Up until they reach the final area where they haven’t checked through, and Terra tells himself that perhaps they are unlucky to choose this spot last. There has to be something there.
But there isn’t. It’s just more Heartless and more rooms filled with machinery and large, unused fans. When they get to their last room, Riku caresses Terra’s shoulder, and the latter is grateful that he has a mask on so he doesn’t show just how devastated and angry he is.
I don’t understand.
They stand there in silence. Riku mentions that maybe they are misinterpreting Terra’s dream, and Terra silently hopes that Riku doesn’t bring up plan B – wait until the world finally falls.
The headache is worse and Terra grunts. He grips the map so tightly that he wrinkles it, and barely stops himself from tearing it in half.
“Let’s not ruin the map,” Riku says as he slowly pries it from Terra’s fingers.
With his hands free, Terra summons his Keyblade. She isn’t here. But she has to be. Behind the walls. The headache pounds a little harder, and he swings it against the wall of cement next to him, gashing it so that it shows bits of the stone that keeps it standing.
“Terra.”
Terra grips his Keyblade so hard that his hand shakes. I hate that tone. It’s like he’s scared of me.
“Come on,” Riku continues. “Let’s go over our next steps. We do have all that territory the Heartless inhabit out in the east. It’s not the end of the world.”
There is just too much weight hanging on those last few words, and the room suddenly feels claustrophobic. Terra doesn’t say anything and bolts out, treading up a ladder nearby until he finally can feel the freshness of the late chill air on his skin.
It’s night, and the clock tower reads half past seven. Riku comes up behind him, and the first thing they notice is how everyone around them keep their distance, their fingers clenching their noses.
Riku mumbles that they must stink, but again, Terra doesn’t reply. He briskly starts a walk back toward the direction of the hotel, Riku silently by his side. My dream can’t be wrong. Naminé wouldn’t lie to me. So then what am I misinterpreting?
Even with all the paces up until they reach the hotel, Terra can’t come up with a better explanation. Something in his stomach turns when he considers the thought that he might have to swim in the sewage water, murky in its image and probably hiding many more secrets that it’s letting on. If it’s for Aqua, then so be it.
He mentions it to Riku, who replies with an “ABSOLUTELY NOT. Let’s try to search through the quarantined areas first. It’s a less crazy plan.”
He hears a loud gasp, and sees Garnet standing outside the hotel entrance with both of her hands covering her nose and mouth. She stomps one foot and brings her hands to her hips, telling them that they smell positively toxic. She claps her hands as if to shoo away a dog, leading them through the hotel with pointed fingers, and commands that they leave her their clothes and shoes for cleaning, and that they bathe immediately.
In the spacious bathtub of his hotel room, Terra stands under the cold, clean water gushing out of the showerhead. He leans against the wall, his eyes wandering around the edges of tiles. More time wasted. More pointless adventures. Aqua is in need of her best friend, and he’s doing a terrible job.
He wraps his towel around his waist when he is done and sifts through the closet and drawers. There aren’t any clothes.
Someone knocks on his door. Riku is dressed in pajama shorts and a loose shirt, and has a pile of some comfortable looking garments in his arms.
“I figured you haven’t picked any clothes from the donations pile, so I brought some. I also got some of Lea’s stuff, since you are the same height,” the teenager says as he drops the clothes on Terra’s bed. Behind him come the cats, who chirp as they enter the room and scatter to explore the exciting new territory that is Terra’s bedroom.
“Lea is a stick,” Terra says.
“And you like to wear your shirts tight anyway. I figured you’d like the silhouette.”
Lea’s shirts are so small that they can’t go past Terra’s shoulders.
Riku flexes his own bicep, already toned. “What does it take to get them that big?”
Terra goes for another shirt – one he is sure doesn’t belong to Lea. “Protein, protein, and more protein. And resistance exercise. Sometimes it’s just genes.”
“Which you don’t seem to lack at all. What do you think it would look like if I started building them like yours?”
For as much confidence Riku likes to flaunt he has, the thought that he would ask such an intimate question about his appearance makes Terra smile warmly. He wonders if Riku ever asked Sora this question. Knowing Sora, he probably will crack a joke.
“I think your muscles look pretty good for your size. You’re quite strong, you know.”
Riku caresses his bicep as a response, his eyes looking over at whatever is faraway and nonexistent, never meeting his friend’s.
Terra tries on the pajama pants in his bathroom. Most are too short. Lea’s are so tight that they scream for attention toward his... personal assets. He figures he may have to keep the towel, until he finds one pair that are of perfect length and pack the comfort of cotton to boot.
Once dressed and back out in his bedroom, Terra and Riku move the furniture up against the walls, and carry curious kittens onto the bed.
They practice their form with their Keyblades. Riku instructs his student to move slowly while purposefully channeling darkness through the Ends of the Earth.
As long as he can focus on a directive, like the dream of obliterating any threat that can ever come close to Aqua and Ventus, darkness will flicker and lick his Keyblade. To use darkness for valiant efforts... What if he is so powerful that Aqua - who must have been fighting this entire time for her life - will never have to defend herself again? He can be her shield. He can swallow any darkness she has absorbed for her, and cure her of nightmares.
To think of using this power for protection makes the darkness manageable, and it hurts the least it has ever been. He swings his Keyblade gently, feeling the darkness seep out of him, resisting the temptation to blast a hole through the wall just to see how powerful he can be. He can protect his family. He can use darkness as light.
And she can rest.
But is that the solution then – to be selfish and tell her to never attempt to fight again so he can play hero all the time? She’ll hate him for that.
It’s so hard not to remember how he left them to fend for themselves that day, when he fought Xehanort atop that tall plateau. Or how stupid he was to believe Xehanort in the first place.
There it is, the pounding headache and the sensation that his hair is being pulled. Xehanort knows and is watching, just waiting for the opportunity. And Eraqus – will he be disappointed, again? Is this the life for Terra, to shun everything his Master has done for him, when he probably should have never been picked up at the orphanage in the first place?
Riku holds his hands to Terra’s right wrist, which is shaking as he grips his Keyblade. “You got this,” the teenager says.
Terra lets his Keyblade drop and exhales. “It takes so much effort to control it. How will I ever wield darkness easily enough to be any use?”
“Cutting out any hard time you’re giving to yourself is a good place to start.”
Easier said than done. Riku’s been forgiven.
Terra rubs his face and runs his hand through his hair. There is a power that is yet to be threatening. “I have to show you something.”
Terra dismisses his Keyblade and takes note of the chairs and lamps scattered around his room. “I’ve tapped into Xemnas’ powers.” He holds both of his palms up on either side of his body. “It’s like a push. I simply need them to move, and I make the particles around them solidify and pick them up. I think Xemnas wanted complete control over anything he wanted.”
Riku snickers, but stops short of saying anything as the lamps and the chairs in the room shake and gently float in the air. With a wave of one hand, Terra can make the objects spin slowly, and with a wave of the other, make them come together. Riku stares, his eyes wide, and approaches one of the lamps hovering in the air.
“Make the particles around them move, huh?” He inspects the underside of the lamp. “I wonder what that means for his offensive magic. He was able to do all sorts of stuff. He had sabers of light, and created explosions and could protect himself – pretty much anything he thought of. Maybe you can crush those same particles?”
It’s worth a shot. Terra focuses on an empty space right in front of him, and brings his palms close together. He contorts his fingers, and mimics a movement that looks as though he is squeezing the space in between. He imagines the space just imploding on itself. A tumbling force of fire appears, combusts, and blows out.
An open smile pulls at Terra’s lips. He and Riku stare at each other and stumble into laughter. It feels good, not having to face pain when acquiring such power.
“Okay, now put these things down,” Riku says, waving towards all the objects that are still suspended in the air.
Terra thinks about gently pushing them down. It only really forces the chairs and the lamps onto the ground, but he can’t let go of them. They fly back up into the air. He tries again, and it creates the same reverb affect.
“Ugh, just let go,” he says shortly.
The lamps and chairs all drop in a vibrating crash. It makes the floor rumble and it’s loud enough to make the two of them jump back in surprise. The kittens run everywhere while a startled Duchess arches her back on the bed.
Riku snickers. “Xemnas did enjoy hurling things at people.”
The sound of footsteps hurrying over makes its way. The door bursts open and in walks Garnet, her face frozen in shock as she pauses to survey the scene.
“Sorry, we were experimenting,” Terra says, immediately beginning to pick up one of the lamps and inspecting it for damage.
Garnet smacks her lips, and slams her hand to heart. “Terra, you gave me a fright!” She goes on to lecture them about the value of silence, and how much she worries over them while she retrieves her cart from the hallway. On it are their clothes, shoes, and the gauntlet and braces that Terra wears on his left arm.
“What took you so long?” Riku asks as he helps Terra re-organize the lamps into their proper places, and straighten out the chairs.
“I happened to make a discovery.” She is delighted, almost as if she has gone through the most intriguing journey. “A contraption called a washing machine.”
Not even Riku can hide a wide smile on his face, even if he tries to shake his head of it.
“Of course, I didn’t have the knowledge to operate it,” Garnet continues, handing Riku his clothes, arm braces, and shoes. “So I’ve requested Noctis’ wisdom on the matter. But he didn’t know how to command it, either.”
“Did you guys not have washing machines in your worlds?” Terra asks, collecting his shoes and armor from her. From the looks of it, she scrubbed and polished them.
“Oh, Noctis knew of them, but they simply weren’t part of his expertise,” she says.
What kind of answer is that?
She hands him the pile of his newly washed clothes. “Thankfully, Cloud was able to help us.”
Riku starts to move the furniture that have been stacked against the wall back into place, scoffing over the idea of Cloud acting like their mother. Garnet thanks Terra for the tea and appreciates his efforts in helping her. Learning to wash his clothes is the least she can do for him in return. She then leaves the men to get dressed, and Riku hurries off into Terra’s bathroom to change.
It’s much more comfortable being dressed in what he considers his uniform. The map is sprawled open on his desk, and he knows he probably shouldn’t look it over. It will only make him feel worse. But he can’t help it, his headaches be damned. He needs to know what he’s done wrong. He traces his fingers on the blueprints of the hallways and doors he has marked notes all over.
Something catches his eye. He traces them over fairly faint lines that are printed alongside the heavily inked illustrations. He has noticed these when he first found the map, but didn’t have an answer for them at the time. There is still no answer for what these are.
“Riku,” Terra calls out when the bathroom door opens, “do you see these?”
Riku looks over his shoulder. “They look like more hallways.”
“But we didn’t see any entrances to them. We’ve searched every room.”
“Maybe they’re not part of the sewers?”
“What does that mean?”
“I’m not sure. But look,” Riku points his index finger at a couple of places where these faint lines come close to noted manholes. “We know where these streets are. If we can find a separate entrance that leads underground-”
Terra immediately folds the map up and moves to quickly put on his armor. Impatient, yes, but enough time has passed. He has all night to do this. “Let’s go.”
Back out in the streets, the night air is cooler. Terra feels some slight fatigue, but it’s worth forgoing sleep for the chance to explore more. He opens his map to orient himself, but he suddenly stops. It’s that feeling again. He’s being watched.
People are leisurely spending their evening getting lost in their food and shopping. Parents are distracting their children with desserts. Some are still haunted from the night before, picking at their food like it can never satisfy them– perhaps they are the loved ones of those lost.
There. A man in a black cloak, standing on an intersection of the sidewalk and a narrow alleyway in between a toy store and restaurant. He turns the moment Terra notices him.
“Hey!”
Terra immediately charges, leaving behind a surprised Riku who calls his name. The man runs into the alley, dashing into angled corners the moment he has any opportunity to. Immediately, Terra loses his own sense of direction, unsure where he is among the crossovers of spaces in between tall buildings and past garbage dumps. Riku must be looking for him, too, also probably lost in the fray. But it doesn’t matter. This man will talk, so he can’t lose his target.
Eventually, Terra finds himself in the third district, which still has leftover rubble from the night before. Many of the light posts have been demolished, and some of the former residential homes have been blown open. The man stands in the middle of the square, his arms at his side.
“It sure has been a while, Terra,” the man says. He carries with him an aura as if everything to him is a joke. “I was almost starting to think you weren’t interested in seeing me.“
“Do I know you?” Terra doesn’t move. He simply observes, his right hand flexed for the moment he needs his Keyblade.
“Oh, I’m absolutely crushed you don’t remember me.” The man wraps his arm around Terra’s shoulders, as if greeting a close companion. “After everything I’ve been through - sheesh, do you pack quite a punch. Every time I look at my own face, I get reminded of you.” The man pulls his hood back. He’s older, streaks of gray invading his greasy hair.
He is the man Terra thought kidnapped Xehanort, though he has an eye patch now, his one visible eye a sickly golden yellow.
Terra shudders looking at him. This man has only been a rouse. An object to make a fool out of him. From the looks of it, he is still a tool. With no answer, the man simply pokes at Terra’s chest. “You smell peachy. Being squeaky clean is good for your health, you know. Running ‘round the sewers isn’t really the best-”
Terra grabs the cloak and pulls the man in, their faces so close that their noses almost touch. Terra stares down into the yellow eye, making certain that the pupil is staring back – that this man gets the message. “Tell me what you know of her.”
The man waves his arms back as if giving up. “If you’re asking about your little girlfriend, I don’t know jack squat. She’s not what I’m here for.”
Terra squeezes the leather of the cloak so much that it squeaks in between his fingers. A need to gut the man in the stomach rises in him. “Then I don’t have the time for you,” Terra says, pushing the man so hard that he stumbles to stay on top of his feet.
“Wait just a minute!” the man calls out as Terra walks away. “You gave Saïx, of all people, your undivided attention but you can’t spare a little time for an old friend?”
It takes too much strength to muster the patience to stop himself from summoning his Keyblade and clobbering this yapping idiot, but Terra is once again distracted.
Riku runs up to the area, panting when he comes up to his friend’s side. “Terra, Xigbar’s dangerous,” he says through sighs.
Terra feels himself smile, narrowing his eyes. “Don’t worry about him,” he says, holding a hand up. “The scars on his face are proof he’s no match for me.”
His words are far better weapons than his blade, being that Xigbar’s face contorts from that snarl of a smile to a snarl of contempt. And it’s satisfying. “Why you little brat,” Xigbar starts.
But a soft, low voice interrupts the tension, saying, “Let’s not allow ourselves to get carried away, when we haven’t the time.” A shadow forms beside Xigbar, and out of it steps a young man, barely Terra’s age.
He has a deeper skin color, contrasting so much with his stark white hair and round, yellow eyes that it’s impossible not to know who he is. If the eyes are the windows to the soul, the one that makes him up must be artificial – though he’s practiced in pretending. His voice is detached, yet respectful. It feigns care, yet it is interested enough to make anyone think otherwise.
This young version of Xehanort smiles at Terra. “Hello, Terra,” he nods. “I’ve been quite at work, ever since you’ve decided to wake up.”
Terra has expected to look into these eyes in the face of his own reflection in a mirror, at the very least. The voice is so young that it cannot compare to the raspy nature of the old man’s, though it’s the same. Polite and fake. Like everything else about him. His mentorship, and his friendship with Eraqus. That bastard.
Terra summons his Keyblade and nearly lunges forward when Riku grabs onto his arm. “If you fight, I’ll fight with you,” Riku says to him in a low voice.
Xehanort has his arms slightly open, as if welcoming a fight. A smile braces his face, and it’s eerily familiar. It’s the smile he wears when he’s close to getting something he wants, and Terra has sworn to himself that he would never see it again. He decides to dismiss his Keyblade and try his best to relax back into a neutral posture. Xehanort’s smile weakens, his arms slowly lowering.
“I expected more out of you,” Xehanort says. “You have such an important destiny laid out, yet it’s impossible for you to comprehend what that is.” Almost as if he wills it to happen, he smiles again. “You truly are good-for-nothing.”
Terra steps forward, his throat constricting and his eyes starting to burn. He’s heard this phrase too many times. Never again.
“Every time someone curses their awful situation, they’re cursing at you,” Terra says, trying his best not to allow his voice to get brittle. “Even if they don’t know it. You’re the most hated person in the universe, and that makes you pathetic.”
“It’s amusing how you think that is so significant.” Xehanort cocks his head to lean toward Xigbar, but doesn’t bother to look at him. “You came here to deliver a message.”
Xigbar, jolted out of his silence, holds his hand to his forehead. “What did you guys name that Heartless? Ah, Kefka. I originally came here to tell you that’s it’s dropping a visit tonight.”
It’s Riku’s turn to step forward. “That’s not possible. It comes every two nights, and it never broke that rule.”
“You can say that it didn’t really get the fix it needed.” Xigbar shrugs.
Riku trembles, slowly getting angrier. “Seven people turned into Heartless last night. That isn’t enough?”
Xehanort surveys the scene around him. The debris on the ground. Front doors from buildings that are scattered on the walkways. Burnt flags.
“Kefka is a fascinating case,” he says. “It is a Heartless that has grown beyond our control. Perhaps it was once a sorcerer, who lusted after power and couldn’t stop even beyond being swallowed by darkness. Does it matter, its former identity? Yet the implications of its sentience – it makes me wonder whether people turn into Heartless because they have given up and succumbed to their fright, or if they sought it for themselves.”
“It killed people,” Terra says shortly.
“Yes,” Xehanort nods. “It is messy.” He says this with a slight disgust, as if killing is below him.
Bold words for a man who killed someone who loved him.
“I hate you,” Terra says, hating himself for shaking his own words so much. Hating himself for feeling Riku’s eyes on him, because he simply isn’t strong enough to let the past go.
Xehanort scoffs gently. “Predictable.” A shadow forms behind him, and he turns to make his leave. “Do take care of yourself, Terra. You wouldn’t want to rob yourself a reunion with her.”
Xigbar waves his Adios and his It’s been a nice reunion, before exiting through the shadow. It dissipates, leaving the two Keyblade wielders standing by themselves.
The silence around them is thick and loud. The headache is awful, and Terra wants to wrangle something at the thought of Xehanort even mentioning her existence. Riku gently rubs his back, telling Terra to let the anger out. Aqua... she has to wait again.
“We need to tell the others,” Terra finally says. However, he is unable to regain much of his composure.
“Now hold on,” Riku brings a finger up. “I don’t understand the purpose of giving us this information.”
“They don’t want to see me get hurt.” There is something gross about that statement. To be kept safe, when Aqua isn’t.
“Xehanort looking out for other people? That’s new.”
“I’m still a vessel for the older Xehanort’s heart.” It’s nauseating to say. “They need me.”
Riku’s mouth hangs, agape. “Have you ever considered that maybe he wants you to find her? That he wants to use you to get to her?”
Terra feels his eyes quiver. He shakes any ideas off his head. He will be there to save her, and there is no way Xehanort will get near her. “But Kefka-”
“What if this is a trap? What if he’s planning something to take you back?”
The clock reads just before nine. It’s barely any time for preparations. “Riku, we can’t gamble with their lives over this.”
Riku takes turns looking at the clock tower and back at Terra, muttering something to himself. Defeat looks like frustration on the teenager, and he snarls. “I hate this.”
“Are you saying Kefka has a quota that needs to be filled?” Noctis is standing in Rydia’s room, addressing Riku directly.
Rydia and Garnet are sharing the table, the notes of the fallen mages scattered about. They have moved on from writing details of each person to organizing their names in a chart. The teapot also shares a space on the table surface, a mug of freshly poured tea by its side. Rydia is crying silently, clutching her oblique. Garnet has her hands folded, staring blankly at the wall in front of her.
“I’m not exactly sure,” Riku says.
This only makes Noctis angrier, and his voice raises in volume. “That’s not good enough, Riku. What am I supposed to do?”
Garnet calmly closes her eyes when he yells, and a single tear falls. Terra stands close to Rydia, consistently checking on her to see if she has a bad reaction to any of this. Stress really shouldn’t be added to her list of ailments.
Noctis slams his palm into his forehead and wipes away his bangs as he looks up to the ceiling. “And to top it off, this world is going to fall?” His voice starts to growl into a whisper. “We can’t keep doing this. We can’t fight it every night. I’m calling an emergency meeting. Be there in a few minutes.”
With that, Noctis abruptly leaves the bedroom, Riku immediately following. Terra has to wonder how awful the guilt must be for Noctis, who is the target Kefka is after.
It is under the silent assumption that Rydia isn’t included in that command, which is why Terra and Garnet are surprised when she speaks up.
“I want to go, too,” Rydia says. Her voice cracks a little.
“Are you sure you’re okay to walk?” Terra asks.
“I’m only feeling a little nauseous, that’s all.” She sniffs back her tears, takes the mug of tea and drinks from it. “But I do want to support everyone else. I hate not being able to do anything.”
Garnet attempts to help Rydia stand, but she is dismissed. Rydia stands on her own, the mug in one hand, and walks a few steps.
Then she wobbles and collapses forward, the tea spilling all over the dark green carpet. Garnet shrieks and Terra rushes to carry Rydia onto her bed, her skin hot from the fever.
Under Garnet’s command, Terra takes a metal pail next to the bed, and fills it with clean water from the tub. He isn’t the best at conjuring magical spells, but like any other Keyblade wielder, he knows how to do it. He casts a Blizzard into the pail twice in order to get some ice forming, and dashes it to the bedside table.
Garnet dips a towel into the water and folds it over Rydia’s forehead. Terra goes ahead to pour another cup of tea.
“I’ll be there in a moment,” she says. When he simply looks at her, the teacup suspended in his hand, she almost snaps. “You should attend the meeting. I'll be alright.”
The meeting starts in the small employee lounge room that Noctis likes to take naps in, on the first floor. He came out of this room when Terra initially met him. There are random paintings of nature and still life on the walls, a small television set, a coffee table, a long couch, and several chairs. Fran and Balthier sit on the couch, where she is crossing her legs, and he is resting an ankle on his knee. Cloud and Cid stand on either side of the coffee table. Terra takes his place by Riku, who is leaning against the wall.
“This is a disaster,” Cloud says, mostly to Cid. “Now I have to deal with the tempers of two rich kids.”
“Not just any rich kids,” Cid says, licking his teeth. “Royal kids.”
“What are you saying?” Terra asks.
“Didn’t you know?” Cid says. “Noct and Garnet are both castle brats from wherever they come from. Prince and princess.”
“Well,” Cloud interjects, “Noct is a king now.”
“Some king,” Cid scoffs.
“Have a little faith, why don’t you,” Cloud says quietly as Noctis enters and stands in the middle of the room, right in front of the coffee table.
Garnet finally walks through the door, and takes her place in front of Fran and Balthier, directly across the coffee table from Noctis. Terra tries to get a read on her for a silent update on Rydia, but as usual, Garnet is practiced in keeping her emotions distant.
“First things first,” Noctis says, leaning over the coffee table. “Like I told all of you, this world is going to fall.”
Cloud crosses his arms. “We’re going to need to take people to Radiant Garden right away. Fran, how much time do you think we have?”
Fran glances at Terra for a hot second before leaning on the arm rest of the couch, her face scowling in disbelief. “I shall say no more than a day before the earth loses its strength. At most, three.”
Balthier scoffs at the suggestion. “Clearly, you don’t expect me to be able to fly everyone in one trip? I cannot carry a whole city of cargo.”
“You’ll start at the crack of dawn, and take multiple trips,” Noctis says. “I need you tonight in the third district for the fight with Kefka. Fran, can you stand guard here?”
“As you wish,” she says.
Balthier leans on an arm rest of his own. “I’m assuming we’ll be following proper protocol in these situations. The sick, the injured, the children, the families, and everyone here in this staff room?”
Noctis takes a long breath. “No. I’ll be staying with everyone being left behind.”
Garnet widens her eyes. “What do you speak of?”
“If it’s really that short of a time frame, I’ll stay behind to comfort the ones who won’t be able to go.”
She stares hard at Noctis, her lips quivering. “I object to this!” She slams her hands on the coffee table.
“The people who leave need a leader with them. The people who stay behind need the same.”
She shakes her head furiously. “But you haven’t even sought my counsel-”
“And I need you to agree with me.”
Garnet maintains strict eye contact with Noctis. Despite how short she is, the way she holds her head high makes her seem taller than him. “Under one condition.” She stands even straighter, lengthening her appearance. “One of us must endure. If misfortune should befall me, you must be the one to leave with the survivors.”
“What kind of demand is that?” Noctis says with a broken tone, shocked. Cloud takes turns watching the both of them, his lips in a hard line but not pursed.
Garnet closes her eyes, and swallows. But she does not drop her head. She brings her hands together in a prayer stance, and looks earnestly at Noctis. “Rydia will not make the night.”
The silence drops, heavy and suffocating. Noctis is the most expressive, taking a lot of effort to stop himself from reacting harshly. Cloud, perhaps most experienced with these sorts of news, hangs his head. Riku clenches his fists and he, too, hangs his head. Terra is nauseous and feels light, wishing he can run outside into the fresh air, just to avoid vomiting.
“Noctis,” Garnet continues, “we need an elixir.”
He scoffs harshly. “We don’t have any. And it takes two weeks to make one.”
Garnet rubs her hands together, and scatters her eyesight around the room. She catches sight of Terra, and immediately draws it away. It’s so difficult reading what she’s thinking. “We do have elixirs,” she says.
Cloud gasps. “No way. We’re not allowing anyone to go out there.”
Terra steps forward. “What gives?”
“There used to be a hospital ward,” Riku says. “Way out east, where the Heartless have taken over the streets. We left in such a rush that we weren’t able to carry everything. There should be a whole cartridge of them.”
“This is the worst timing,” Noctis says. “Kefka will be coming at eleven, and we need fighters.”
“Then allow me to go,” Garnet says. “I’m useless in battle.”
“You are not,” Noctis snaps. “I need you there.”
“You need her. She can effectively fight with her magic.”
Cloud leans on the coffee table to meet Garnet face to face. “What I’m more interested in is keeping as many people alive. What’s the point of sending you over if that means we have to lose the both of you?”
“Then we all go together,” Noctis says, perhaps a bit too quickly.
“Kid, we don’t have the time,” Cid says. “You expect to find Rydia a cure with Kefka and a bunch of nasties chasing you around?”
“If we do it fast enough, we can save her-”
“Can I call that too optimistic?” Cloud says.
“What do you expect me to do?” Noctis straightens his posture and sizes up Cloud.
“Make a rational decision. Is that too difficult for you?” Cloud is only slightly taller, but the way he carries his voice is piercing enough.
Garnet is wide-eyed, gently shaking her head but she doesn’t say anything. It’s as though her thoughts are distant, and she is in denial of what is happening in the room. Again, it’s so difficult to read her face.
Cid breaks the silence. “Let the little lady go. I think it’s much safer out there than fighting Kefka anyway.”
Noctis jumps at this opportunity. “Then one of the Keyblade wielders will escort her.”
It’s just not possible to deduce what she’s thinking. Her eyes shut together, and for a second it seems like she’s ungrateful for the suggestion.
Riku jerks a bit. “You realize that if this is in fact a trap, Xehanort will just turn her into a Heartless.”
“We can’t afford to make the mistake of assuming Kefka isn’t coming,” Cloud says simply.
Riku looks as though as he will start arguing, and Terra squeezes his shoulder. “Riku, it sounds like I’m either fighting Kefka or fighting Xehanort on my own.”
His successor glares at him, and Terra supposes that it’s just a matter of time before he angered or disappointed him.
“All it takes is Xehanort striking you in the chest with his Keyblade,” Riku says. His glare trembles, and he fights back a brittle voice. “Don’t make me choose between losing you and leaving Rydia to die.”
Cloud places his hand on Riku’s other shoulder. “I forgot how young you are,” he says softly. “You really shouldn’t be making such hard decisions now, and I’m sorry you have to.”
Terra nods in agreement. “The sticks, Riku. Shortest escorts Garnet.”
Riku reluctantly takes them out. Two sticks. Terra picks one, and by comparison, his is the shortest.
Terra chuckles a bit, a stupid effort to lighten the mood. “Looks like I may be fighting Xehanort out there.”
Garnet is holding one hand to her chest, as if to stop a heart attack. Her expression is terribly grim, and Terra wonders if she’s disappointed that he will be the one to protect her. Does she not feel safe enough with me?
“Cid,” Noctis says with a commanding tone. “Set up the curfew siren manually.”
Riku also holds his hand out, as if to catch Cid’s attention. “Can you also send a mayday to Yen Sid’s tower? Somebody has to respond.”
Cid mutters his Sure’s and exits the room, leaving behind a room full of tense, quiet people.
“I’ll prepare protection crystals for the rest of you,” Garnet says, struggling to keep her voice even. She attempts to wait for Noctis’ attention, who has his arms crossed and is refusing to look at her. She leaves, still holding her head high.
Cloud glances at Noctis and rolls his eyes.
Riku, too, isn’t happy about the situation. Terra attempts to hold his shoulder again but Riku shrugs it off, bolting out of the room. Holding just a tiny stick that has been broken into its size, Terra twirls it around in his fingers. What is left is an empty feeling. The others leave the room, Balthier and Fran being the last to leave. Fran connects her eye contact with Terra, keeping it until she disappears out of the doorway.
The clock strikes ten.
#terraqua#kingdom hearts fanfiction#kh fanfic#kh terra#riku#xigbar#young xehanort#ALL THE FINAL FANTASY CHARACTERS#holy shit#my fic
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Author’s Note: HIATUS (for good?) - Goodbye and Thank you.
My angels. This may come as a shock but i’ll say it.
This blog will be inactive.
Yes. I already knew that this blog wouldn’t last long. It’s already a given. In the span of just a year and 10 months, many of you knew that I’ve been really inactive starting from last Nov 2017. I keep bringing your hopes up that i will update and post more- which i thought i would, but no - and it only left you guys empty handed.
Every,
Single,
Time.
For that I’m sorry, it breaks my heart too. As many writers will say, writing is just a hobby. There are days where I’ll feel pressured and not motivated to give you guys good stories to tell, hence me having writer’s block.
And I for one, am no stranger to those facts above.
Life’s been busy and is getting busier as we speak. I found myself having much more important priorities than this. Ouch- but it’s so true. We get older and things indeed change. Some things will end up being memories, and this blog for sure is definitely a great one. Who knew my writing could touch people’s hearts? I didn’t! And it makes me super, super happy.
I’ll leave my writings here for you to read.
Thank you for boosting my confidence in writing and inspiring me to do better.
....
Anywhoo enough dramas!!! Here are the endings for your favourite series “Wildflower” & “Beastly Beautiful” (Wonwoo’s and Jeonghan’s respectively) to fill your empty hearts <3
WILDFLOWER stopped at ch.2 where they Royals are chased by the Shadow hunters. Captured each royal and the ex shadow hunters and held them captive in the places they’ve been into. There were 5 places i believe and there were more ex shadow hunters. War in the other kingdoms along the way, having the final war back at Y/N’s kingdom, leaving Wonwoo and Y/N alone. And they developed feelings.
In comes Junhui and tries to tell them that King of the Wen Kingdom is not his real father, but his father’s twin brother. King Zhangfei wanted the throne but since Junhui was born and is next in line, he tried to kill Junhui but his father saved him. Zhangfei told junhui not to say anything or he’ll be next. He wanted alliance with the two but it was hard for them to trust him, but they did after Junhui told them Zhangfei’s plans. Then two princes tried to get Y/N’s attention and love triangle between Y/n and the two princes ooh.
So in reality, the other princes and ex shadow hunters will be brought back to Y/N’s kingdom with the kings and queens and be killed, but it was the Royal children’s plan all along, led by Wonwoo and Y/N, to do an underground attack to up land- appearing out of nowhere like a wildflower- on Zhangfei and the Shadow Hunters.
They won the war in short and Zhangfei died and all kingdoms are at peace. Wonwoo and Y/N’s kingdoms are ruined the most so they did an alliance and became the ruling king and queen.
...
BEASTLY BEAUTIFUL stopped at ch.5 where you all found out that Kang Ji-ae is Jeonghan’s fiance, well I’m here to tell you guys that Jang Doyoon, is in fact Y/N’s fiance since they were kids. Surprise surprise! Both Kang Ji-ae and Jang Doyoon and their flirtatious natures and their ‘sad’ backstories to draw Jeonghan and Y/N to fall in love with them. Such as changing their personal schedules and school activities. And indeed Jeonghan and Y/N do fall in love with their fiances, and they spend less time together (despite liking each other).
Jeonghan’s stepmother wanted Ji-ae and Jeonghan to marry so that she’ll get a position at YDH-tech, (something she couldn’t have even if she’s married to Jeonghan’s father.) and Ji-ae is a gold digger bc her dad threw her out of their company.. Y/N found out about this and tried many ways to tell Jeonghan but Jeonghan is blinded.
In case you didn’t know, Jeonghan and Y/N’s work is actually helping Y/N’s father’s project for third world countries. It was hard to put that in somewhere in the chapters while Ji-ae was interfering. LOL.
Jang Doyoon and Y/N are engaged because well, he wanted to have Y/N’s inheritance money from her mother and will divorce Y/N once he gets his hands on it, since his family’s company is in huge debt and is going downhill. It doesn’t go his way though.
Kang Ji-ae wouldn’t stop humiliating Y/N and calling her “Jeonghan’s ‘mistress” at the cafeteria every time and Y/N finally snaps.
Yas girl. Yas.
And a slap fight begins. But instead, Jeonghan held Y/N back and Doyoon held Ji-ae back. Y/N finally showed her “Beastly side”. Jeonghan calms her down despite the huge awkwardness they’re having. Both found out the Kang and Jang’s intentions and confronted them. Turns out that Doyoon and Ji-ae are the ones engaged to each other. Surprise surprise #2!, but you know, they both broke.
Time went on and Jeonghan and Y/N developed feelings, restored friendship fixed and changed things at the university. Jeonghan is in fact very kind but scarred by the deaths of his mom and sister.
Both found out that they are the real ones engaged, by their parents. Surprise surprise #3! Jeonghan became a doctor, Y/N became an author and teacher for little kids. They got married.
They both are beautiful and can be beastly.
Hence the title Beastly Beautiful.
That’s all I have for you my angel readers!
Thank you for everything!
This has been jhmyguardiangel, now signing off.
9JUL2016-9APR2018
#seventeen#seventeen kpop#seungcheol scenarios#jeonghan scenarios#joshua scenarios#jun scenarios#wonwoo scenarios#hoshi scenarios#woozi scenarios#dk scenarios#mingyu scenarios#the8 scenarios#seungkwan scenarios#vernon scenarios#dino scenarios
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A new body
that is eternal in its True nature is what has been promised to us, to those who “believe...” in the True illumination of the Son.
and we have this promise documented and conserved in the writing of Scripture, inspired by the Spirit of our Creator.
Today’s reading from the New Testament is from Paul’s ancient Letter of 2nd Corinthians:
[Chapter 5]
We are convinced that even if these bodies we live in are folded up at death like tents, we will still have a God-built home that no human hands have built, which will last forever in the heavenly realm. We inwardly sigh as we live in these physical “tents,” longing to put on a new body for our life in heaven, in the belief that once we put on our new “clothing” we won’t find ourselves “naked.” So, while living in this “tent,” we groan under its burden, not because we want to die but because we want these new bodies. We crave for all that is mortal to be swallowed up by eternal life. And this is no empty hope, for God himself is the one who has prepared us for this wonderful destiny. And to confirm this promise, he has given us the Holy Spirit, like an engagement ring, as a guarantee.
That’s why we’re always full of courage. Even while we’re at home in the body, we’re homesick to be with the Master—for we live by faith, not by what we see with our eyes. We live with a joyful confidence, yet at the same time we take delight in the thought of leaving our bodies behind to be at home with the Lord. So whether we live or die we make it our life’s passion to live our lives pleasing to him. For one day we will all be openly revealed before Christ on his throne so that each of us will be duly recompensed for our actions done in life, whether good or worthless.
Since we are those who stand in holy awe of the Lord, we make it our passion to persuade others to turn to him. We know that our lives are transparent before the God who knows us fully, and I hope that we are also well known to your consciences. Again, we are not taking an opportunity to brag, but giving you information that will enable you to be proud of us, and to answer those who esteem outward appearances while overlooking what is in the heart.
If we are out of our minds in a blissful, divine ecstasy, it is for God, but if we are in our right minds, it is for your benefit. For it is Christ’s love that fuels our passion and motivates us, because we are absolutely convinced that he has given his life for all of us. This means all died with him, so that those who live should no longer live self-absorbed lives but lives that are poured out for him—the one who died for us and now lives again. So then, from now on, we have a new perspective that refuses to evaluate people merely by their outward appearances. For that’s how we once viewed the Anointed One, but no longer do we see him with limited human insight.
Now, if anyone is enfolded into Christ, he has become an entirely new creation. All that is related to the old order has vanished. Behold, everything is fresh and new. And God has made all things new, and reconciled us to himself, and given us the ministry of reconciling others to God. In other words, it was through the Anointed One that God was shepherding the world, not even keeping records of their transgressions, and he has entrusted to us the ministry of opening the door of reconciliation to God. We are ambassadors of the Anointed One who carry the message of Christ to the world, as though God were tenderly pleading with them directly through our lips. So we tenderly plead with you on Christ’s behalf, “Turn back to God and be reconciled to him.” For God made the only one who did not know sin to become sin for us, so that we who did not know righteousness might become the righteousness of God through our union with him.
The Letter of 2nd Corinthians, Chapter 5 (The Passion Translation)
Today’s paired chapter of the Testaments is the 3rd chapter of First Kings that describes a dream Solomon had:
Solomon arranged a marriage contract with Pharaoh, king of Egypt. He married Pharaoh’s daughter and brought her to the City of David until he had completed building his royal palace and God’s Temple and the wall around Jerusalem. Meanwhile, the people were worshiping at local shrines because at that time no temple had yet been built to the Name of God. Solomon loved God and continued to live in the God-honoring ways of David his father, except that he also worshiped at the local shrines, offering sacrifices and burning incense.
The king went to Gibeon, the most prestigious of the local shrines, to worship. He sacrificed a thousand Whole-Burnt-Offerings on that altar. That night, there in Gibeon, God appeared to Solomon in a dream: God said, “What can I give you? Ask.”
Solomon said, “You were extravagantly generous in love with David my father, and he lived faithfully in your presence, his relationships were just and his heart right. And you have persisted in this great and generous love by giving him—and this very day!—a son to sit on his throne.
“And now here I am: God, my God, you have made me, your servant, ruler of the kingdom in place of David my father. I’m too young for this, a mere child! I don’t know the ropes, hardly know the ‘ins’ and ‘outs’ of this job. And here I am, set down in the middle of the people you’ve chosen, a great people—far too many to ever count.
“Here’s what I want: Give me a God-listening heart so I can lead your people well, discerning the difference between good and evil. For who on their own is capable of leading your glorious people?”
God, the Master, was delighted with Solomon’s response. And God said to him, “Because you have asked for this and haven’t grasped after a long life, or riches, or the doom of your enemies, but you have asked for the ability to lead and govern well, I’ll give you what you’ve asked for—I’m giving you a wise and mature heart. There’s never been one like you before; and there’ll be no one after. As a bonus, I’m giving you both the wealth and glory you didn’t ask for—there’s not a king anywhere who will come up to your mark. And if you stay on course, keeping your eye on the life-map and the God-signs as your father David did, I’ll also give you a long life.”
Solomon woke up—what a dream! He returned to Jerusalem, took his place before the Chest of the Covenant of God, and worshiped by sacrificing Whole-Burnt-Offerings and Peace-Offerings. Then he laid out a banquet for everyone in his service.
The very next thing, two prostitutes showed up before the king. The one woman said, “My master, this woman and I live in the same house. While we were living together, I had a baby. Three days after I gave birth, this woman also had a baby. We were alone—there wasn’t anyone else in the house except for the two of us. The infant son of this woman died one night when she rolled over on him in her sleep. She got up in the middle of the night and took my son—I was sound asleep, mind you!—and put him at her breast and put her dead son at my breast. When I got up in the morning to nurse my son, here was this dead baby! But when I looked at him in the morning light, I saw immediately that he wasn’t my baby.”
“Not so!” said the other woman. “The living one’s mine; the dead one’s yours.”
The first woman countered, “No! Your son’s the dead one; mine’s the living one.”
They went back and forth this way in front of the king.
The king said, “What are we to do? This woman says, ‘The living son is mine and the dead one is yours,’ and this woman says, ‘No, the dead one’s yours and the living one’s mine.’”
After a moment the king said, “Bring me a sword.” They brought the sword to the king.
Then he said, “Cut the living baby in two—give half to one and half to the other.”
The real mother of the living baby was overcome with emotion for her son and said, “Oh no, master! Give her the whole baby alive; don’t kill him!”
But the other one said, “If I can’t have him, you can’t have him—cut away!”
The king gave his decision: “Give the living baby to the first woman. Nobody is going to kill this baby. She is the real mother.”
The word got around—everyone in Israel heard of the king’s judgment. They were all in awe of the king, realizing that it was God’s wisdom that enabled him to judge truly.
The Book of 1st Kings, Chapter 3 (The Message)
my personal reading of the Scriptures for monday, november 16 of 2020 with a paired chapter from each Testament of the Bible, along with Today’s Psalms and Proverbs
A post by John Parsons about the new moon that marks a new month on the Jewish calendar:
Rosh Chodesh marks the start of a new month in the Jewish calendar. The Jewish sages metaphorically considered the lunar cycle to be a picture of ongoing "sacrifice and restoration." The renewal of the moon (i.e., the first crescent) was regarded as a kind of "rebirth" that issued from the previous service of the month (i.e., the moon's "self-diminution," or waning to complete darkness). On the Biblical calendar the month of Kislev (כִּסְלֵו) is the ninth month of the year (counting from the first month of Nisan), which this year begins Monday, November 16th (after sundown) and lasts two days....
The month of Kislev is one of the "darkest" months of the year, with the days progressively getting shorter and the nights getting longer. Indeed, the Winter Solstice often occurs during the last week of Kislev, and therefore the week of Chanukah (which straddles the months of Kislev and Tevet) often contains the longest night of the year. It is no wonder that, among other things, Chanukah represents an appropriate time to kindle the lights of faith - and to remember the Light of the World in the Messiah’s advent to earth...
Chodesh Tov to you all, chaverim. Remember that the Divine Light shines like a fire and yet does not destroy or consume. The light of God does not necessarily take away the darkness but always overcomes it and shines within it: “The darkness and the light are both alike unto Thee” (Psalm 139:12; John 1:5). May this month be one of blessing and the Presence of the Divine Light of Yeshua within your hearts (John 8:12). [Hebrew for Christians]
https://hebrew4christians.com
11.15.20 • Facebook
Today’s message from the Institute for Creation Research
November 16, 2020
Business Structure: Servants
“Servants, obey in all things your masters according to the flesh; not with eyeservice, as menpleasers; but in singleness of heart, fearing God.” (Colossians 3:22)
Most of the world accepted slavery as ordinary social strata for much of recorded history. Slavery was certainly normal during the time of Roman domination and therefore public routine when the apostle Paul wrote to the Colossian church.
The most common term (and the term most often used by the apostles) is doulos, a bondslave, purchased by an owner and viewed as property under the legal system of Rome. Many of the biblical instructions are given to the doulos of a household or business enterprise.
The English word “employee” of today is essentially the same as the servant of biblical times. The “master” of today purchases service with wages rather than buying the life of the “servant” from a slave broker. The biblical instructions to employees are just as valid today as they were to the doulos of Bible times.
“Servants, be obedient to them that are your masters according to the flesh, with fear and trembling, in singleness of your heart, as unto Christ; not with eyeservice, as menpleasers” (Ephesians 6:5-6).
“Let as many servants as are under the yoke count their own masters worthy of all honour” (1 Timothy 6:1).
“Servants, be subject to your masters with all fear; not only to the good and gentle, but also to the froward” (1 Peter 2:18).
All similar commands insist that a godly doulos should give the same effort and same quality to his employer as he would to the Lord Jesus. “But God be thanked, that ye were the servants of sin, but ye have obeyed from the heart that form of doctrine which was delivered you. Being then made free from sin, ye became the servants of righteousness” (Romans 6:17-18). HMM II
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Aru'e Tio'r (Enemy Within)
Hay mates! Here's a new one for ya! Kinda shorter than others, but I think it makes up in content =P
Okay mates, here we go! I really liked writing this one, so I hope you enjoy it! Read, review and enjoy~
[Ch.1] [Ch.2] [Ch.3] [Ch.4] [Ch.5] [Ch.6] [Ch.7] [Ch.8] [FanFic] [AO3] [Master-list] Aliit ori'shy tal'din (Family is more than blood). [FanFic] [Ao3] Memory (Tome'tayl) [FanFic] [AO3] or [Tumblr]
Chapter 9
Rex walked down the hall towards the room Krell was supposedly staying. He hadn't gone to check on the tech boys, but he heard their chatter from the control room. The twisting feeling in his gut never went away, but as he got closer, it started feeling sick.
"I got bad feeling about this," he said to himself, the door in sight.
Just before he actually did reach the door, it opened and Pong himself stepped out, eyes staring down at the soldier.
"Sir!" Rex instantly gave a salute, clicking his heels together.
"Captain," Krell had his arms behind his back as he spoke. "Have you been able to restore communications?" the question made the blonde take a double take. That wasn't what he expected to be asked.
"N-No sir," he said soon after, covering up his shock. "…How did you know they were down?" he couldn't stop himself from asking.
"I tried to contact General Kenobi and congratulate him on successfully destroying the enemy supply ship."
The two stared at each other, one calm and collect, the other feeling chills up his spine and barely suppressing a shiver. His instincts were screaming at him to move, to run and get away because this was wrong. There was a pressure coming from the Jedi, one that threatened to crush the soldier. It was… terrifying.
"Is something the matter?" the words came to his ears weakly, muffled almost as Rex felt sick enough to almost throw up. What was this? From behind the General, he could almost see shadows or tendrils of mist emerging, licking the walls and ground. A voice followed them, but he couldn't understand or really hear anything.
"Perhaps you should have someone have a look at you," the feel of the Besalisk's hands on his shoulder made his body numb and turned his legs to jelly as he collapsed on the ground, heaving up empty. The cold which wrapped around him was unlike anything he's ever felt, and it made him tremble. His breath shuddered and as the shadows seemed to close in on him, an ear piercing scream emerging from it.
Fixer, Patch and Scar rushed to the tower as soon as they were able. Frost sounded panicked as he called them, saying the Captain had collapsed in the hall and that the General had told them to get him into a medical wing.
"What happened?" Fixer asked immediately as he saw Rex trembling, propped up against a wall. His eyes found Pong standing by, looking bored as hell. But there was something in his eyes… Like he seemed mildly surprised. Maybe he expected Kix to be here as well.
"I am unsure," Krell said, looking from the medic to the blonde. "We were speaking one moment and the next he was on the ground."
"We need to move him," Scar said, kneeling next to Rex as he and Patch checked his vitals.
"Can you tell what's wrong?" Fixer was already working on getting the blonde up.
"Best guess? Exhaustion. I doubt he's slept more than three hours since we arrived on Umbara," Patch said as he helped moving the Captain.
"Great, this just keeps getting better and better," Fixer grumbled. First the Umbaran fighters, then Kix and now Rex? What's next?
"Let's go. Hopefully he'll get better soon…"
As the medics carried off their unconscious brother, Krell never took his eyes off them. He frowned when they were out of sight and turned back around, to head to his room.
"It would seem I was correct," he said to himself. "Some clones are sensitive to the Force."
He woke up with a start, his body jerking upwards and his lungs greedily taking in air. So much so, that he started choking and barely kept himself from throwing up empty yet again. His eyes stung and he could only see blurry images, but he could tell he was in the medical wing. The calls from around him showed there were others as well, and soon enough he felt hands on his shoulders, pushing him back down.
"Captain, you need to calm down!" he wasn't sure who it was, but he managed to do as he was told and felt something on his neck. Stimpak.
Moments later, he could breathe normally, his vision cleared and he only caught slightly to clear his throat. However, he felt incredibly cold and could still feel himself shiver, even under the blanket wrapped around him.
"Wha-?" he couldn't speak yet though, wincing at how his throat hurt. Luckily enough, Scar reached for a bottle of water and handed it to him, before sitting on the edge of the bed.
"You collapsed during your meeting with the General," the medic explained as best he could, concern and worry in his eyes.
"I… I," Rex couldn't really explain what happened or why, just that the feeling was still creeping around in him.
"Patch said it's because of exhaustion and we pretty much agreed," he added, a sigh escaping him. "You need your rest, Rex."
"I know," the Captain said, his shoulders dropping. "It's just… There was something back there… At least, I think it was…" his memory of it was fuzzy, unclear, like a dream, but he knew it wasn't normal.
"Here," Scar handed him a protein bar. They aren't many clones are given, and usually reserved for long battles so they can keep pushing on without feeling too tired. "I know you won't sit and rest like you're supposed, so at least take this."
"Thanks," Rex managed a weak smile as he took the bar. He had work to do.
"Where is he?"
"Hey, c'mon, calm down!"
"He just woke up man!"
"I need to see him!"
The commotion caught Rex's attention as he was getting ready to leave the medical wing. He turned and saw brothers trying to keep an angered Kix away.
"REX!" the medic yelled and everyone seemed to pause as he moved towards the Captain.
"Kix-?" Rex never saw the punch coming, and it knocked his head to the side as the medic barely kept his balance.
"They're dead!" Kix screamed as the blonde held his jaw, turning back to the younger man. Kix was visibly shaking, his breath coming in quick and harsh. "They're all dead because you sent them away!"
"Kix!" Appo called from nearby, moving closer. The others weren't sure what to do.
"Don't you dare!" the medic spun around, his glare stopping the Sergeant in his tracks. "W-Were you even going to tell us?!" he turned back to Rex, voice breaking. "Or were you just going to pretend it was all okay?!"
"Kix…" Rex felt a lump in his throat as a familiar scene flashed before his eyes.
"Bishop is dead because of you Rex! He trusted you and you let him die!"
"Jezdec, calm down! If you don't they're going to take you away!"
"Let them! I'm gonna die either way, right Captain? How do you plan on leading a whole battalion and get everyone out alive, when you couldn't even save two brothers in a small team?!"
"You gave the go ahead! You let them out! They're dead because of you!" Kix moved forward, aiming another punch, only to have the blonde grab his arm.
"You need to calm down and think about what you're doing, Kix," somehow, to everyone's astonishment, Rex remained calm, his eyes unwavering.
"It's not fair…" the medic spoke through gritted teeth as he lowered his head. "It's not fucking fair…" he trembled in the Captain's grip, tears slipping down his face.
"…" Rex wanted to say that life for them isn't fair, that they don't get any fairness. But he couldn't. This was far too similar to what he already experienced and he couldn't stand a repeat.
"I don't want to live anymore…" the whisper froze everyone as the medic collapsed on the ground, released from the blonde's hold. "I just want the pain to end…"
"…Scar, see to him will you?" Rex kept his voice form and cold, for fear of having it crack and losing himself in his emotions. "Make sure he's okay."
"Yes sir," Scar moved quickly, picking up the fallen brother and getting him to his feet.
"The rest of you, back to your places. We still have work to do."
"Understood!"
Rex stepped out of the medical wing and felt the air on his face. He took a deep breath, calming himself as memories continued to torment his mind. It's been a long time since he's last had memories of Jezdec and what happened…. And now of all times.
He turned towards the hanger and started walking there. He had to make sure that what Kix was saying was true. He wouldn't go on blind belief – not again. He just hoped that by the time this was all over, the poor medic wouldn't have to face the same fact as his old squad mate.
"Tup, Dogma, any news?" the Captain asked as the rookies gave quick salutes.
"Well…" Tup looked at his brother, anxious.
"We saw signals that, Umbaran fighters did crash and were destroyed… Many, if not most…" Dogma started, looking away.
"And our fighters?" the blonde managed to keep his voice steady.
"…Crashed…" Tup said when he saw his friend didn't want to. "No idea where or when, but their signals are dead on any channel and frequency we check."
"…I see…" it was hard to swallow, but he managed. "Turn it all off and get some rest. We'll see what happens next soon. Hopefully, we'll get our communications and sensors back up."
"Copy that!" the rookies gave finals salutes as the older man left the hanger.
"…Did you see his face?" Tup asked when Rex was gone.
"Yeah… Solid punch. Wonder who got him," Dogma couldn't think of anyone.
"Yeah but, his eyes… He looked so… lost."
"…"
"Any sign of the 501st boys?" Cody asked as the pilots and fighter units checked for any last enemies.
"No, nothing," Broadside reported in.
"All clear on my end," Killer said.
"Only craps and clankers," Eagle added.
"Has anyone been able to contact the airbase?" Cody asked, worry gripping his heart.
"No, communications are blocked. We can only get ours around here, and they're probably dead on the surface," the way Fiddle said it made the Commander wince. Dead. Yeah, that's what he was afraid of.
"I'm going down there," Ahsoka spoke up, glancing around the debris in the air.
"Commander Tano, you need permission to do so," Cody didn't like it, but in a situation like this, they had to follow protocol.
"Permission granted Commander Tano. Say hello to the men for me," Obi-Wan cut in, the relaxed tone in his voice putting many at ease.
"Thank you, Master Kenobi. I'll report back as soon as I can," Ahsoka couldn't help herself as she smiled, changing directions as she flew.
"May the Force be with you…"
Rex was outside again, and he looked up at the tower. A cold engulfed him again as he tried to recall what happened back there and why exactly. But he couldn't think of anything solid.
"…I need to get back up there," he told himself, biting his lip. Yeah, but how? Getting past Krell would be near impossible, especially if he's going to his room. He needs a plan.
"…Dogma!" he called and turned back towards the hanger, a nervous smirk on his face. "I need a favor from you and your silver tongue!"
"General Krell," Fangs spoke up as the Besalisk watched the layout of the base again. "Dogma is requesting your presence in hanger 9-4," he added quickly.
"What could he possibly need?" Pong frowned, clearly annoyed.
"Didn't say sir, just that it's important."
"W-W-What are you gonna say?!" Tup was in a full panic as Dogma shook by the control panel, looking pale.
"I um… I don't know yet…" he admitted, swallowing hard.
"Y-You don't know?! DOGMA!"
"Hey, I'm trying okay?! It's not easy! Don't put more pressure on me!"
"We're both gonna die…"
"…Probably…"
Rex was causally patrolling not too far from the tower when he saw Krell exit and grinned to himself. Whatever Dogma did to get him out worked, and he had to remember to thank the rookie after he was done.
Not hesitating, the Captain moved towards the tower and quickly passed the halls to get to where he needed to go. It was surprisingly easy to find the room – he just followed the apparent cold and uneasiness he felt before. That, and he memorized the whole place.
He snuck past the tech experts, who were chatting among themselves and down the hall. He froze in the middle actually, because of the familiar feeling from before.
"I have to do this," he told himself and pushed forward, hands clenched and teethed gritted. Whatever lay behind those doors, might explain at least some of what's been going on.
There was some hesitation as he opened the door, but closed his eyes and did it anyway. The room was dark, but there was that box the General collected before, and there was light coming off it. Neon blue, but it made the place more creepy.
He couldn't see what was inside it, but he spotted a datapad on the table, as well as a small computer. He didn't know how much time he had, but he couldn't keep himself from checking all of it. And he went for the computer first.
"What the-!" he took a step back, seeing his own file open and free to read on the computer. And it's been thoroughly read, by the looks of it. Fives was there as well, along with the rest of some of 501st more known soldiers. Those files are supposed to be sealed and off limits – only their own General and a few others had access to them. So how did Krell get it?
He couldn't really check anymore, so he went to the datapad and feared what he might find there. And what he did, chilled his spine.
"This is our newest experimental development. With the help of the Techno Union, we are able to use it as counterintelligence. It is, thus far, untested, and you shall be the first to see it in action. Take care of it, Krell, as it is a valuable strategic item."
He looked at the box and swallowed as he looked back at the datapad. There was more under, about how to properly use whatever this was and what it can do and all that. What bothered Rex most, was the codename. Echo Effect.
He found the code and with shaky hands, set down the datapad. He walked closer to the box and entered the code, and started feeling sick again. The world seemed to spin as he leaned on the edge to keep himself steady. And then-
"W-What is this?" it was low, whispered and shaky as his eyes saw what was inside.
Wires and small machines connected from the box to a person. But it wasn't just any person, it was a clone. The eyes and the face couldn't be mistaken, even if he looked more machine than human. Pale skin and murky eyes, all sorts of contraptions, wires and connectors spread over the man's body. There were glowing lights around the head, and it made Rex all the more sick as he heaved empty on the side.
"What have they done to you?" he whispered, arms shaking. He didn't know who, it was. But then he recalled the code name. Echo Effect.
"Echo…?" a shuddered breath and he couldn't breathe. "No… It – It can't be!" he screamed in his mind, unable to look away from… this.
He couldn't think, couldn't move, couldn't speak, breathe or do anything as he kneeled there, leaning on the box, staring at the hollowed face of a long supposed dead brother. But why was he here, in Krell's room? Did the bastard even know?
"We are able to use it as counterintelligence." He recalled what the message said and opened his eyes wide. Was it… Did they turn Echo into something that could gather intel from anywhere and, probably, mess with communications? Was it all because of Krell that they couldn't reach anyone? Just what was going on?
Suddenly, there was a familiar sound of lightsabers being activated, as blue and green light filled the small room. Stiffly, Rex turned his head to the side and saw none other than Pong Krell standing there, mostly covered in shadows.
"My dear Captain," he started and the blonde couldn't move, even to reach his blaster. "You have seen too much."
"…Why?" the word was weak and shaky, but Rex tried his best to glare. He knew it was pointless, this bastard could see right through him right now. Could probably see through him all along.
"Someone like you would never understand," the anger and hate in the tone reached the pit of Rex's core and somehow, his body instinctively reached for his blaster. The world seemed to slow down for a few seconds as Krell jumped forward, lightsabers in the air and Rex aimed his pistols. And in a moment, it was all over.
Ahsoka didn't like the coldness she was feeling as she got closer to the airbase. It was wrong. But she managed to ignore it, as she landed and saw some of the boys gathering around the landing area.
"Commander Tano!" they called and she smiled as she jumped out of her fighter. But seeing them, and the feeling the Force around them… Her smile dropped and she couldn't help the look of sadness and pity on her face.
"Hey boys, how're you all doing?" she tried to ask, but their own expressions were grim.
"…A lot's happened…" she saw Appo and her heart skipped a beat. Where were the others who usually stood out? Fives, Hardcase, Jesse… She couldn't see a single medic. But lastly…
"Where's Rex?" her tone carried a pinch of panic as she couldn't even sense him.
"He's-,"
"I have given him a task," Krell walked up, hands behind his back, his usual frown on his face. "Young Padawan Tano, I did not know of your arrival," he gave a small bow of the head.
"I came as soon as the battle topside was over. Master Kenobi gave permission, if you think that might be a problem," Ahsoka said clearly and bluntly, arms folded.
"Not at all. I am glad to have you here," Pong ginned. "Come, I must ask about-,"
"WE'RE UNDER ATTACK!" someone yelled and before anyone knew it, Umbarans were swarming the airbase, some of their fighters fly overhead and even two of those spider tanks making their way closer.
"Everyone, get ready to fight!" Ahsoka called and activated her sabers, defense position ready. So much for getting a break.
Cut! Hahaha! A cliffhanger! ...I'm so sorry xD I couldn't resist! And this one is short, well, because I wanted to keep some suspense. But yeah, a lot of stuff is revealed here, and I'll continue to work my way through this... mess I've created. We'll see how well that goes, eh? xD Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed and thanks for reading! Do review and tell me what you thought! Till next time~
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La La Land -- (Ardyn Izunia x Reader) Ch. 2
Hey everyone, I finally finished chapter 2! ^_^
I was going to finish it earlier but I had homework to do and then as I was writing this last night, it was so late that I started falling asleep, so I’m posting it now. Anyway, I hope you guys all enjoy it.
Tagging: @poisonous-panda, @valkyrieofardyn, @maty-yami, and @ardynium again. If anyone else wants a tag, just let me know. :D
Chapter 2 – The Fall
“I have a hard time trusting people. I just never wanna jump unless I’m sure somebody’s gonna catch me.” “Oh, I’ll catch you. And if I should miss for any reason, I’ll sit by your bedside and nurse you back to health.” -The 10th Kingdom, 2000
The flames of the Meteor shinned brightly across the fields of Duscae, painting the twilight skyline with unique shades of orange, pink, purple, and blue. It looked so perfectly picturesque that Ardyn could not help but smile at the sight. Soon he would see for himself if the young prince was truly the Chosen King. But until then, he simply had to play the waiting game.
Walking up the stairs of the lookout, Ardyn entered Lestallum proper. The main thoroughfare was filled with people, laughing with one another or dancing to the melodies that street musicians were playing. Children raced after each other with joyful smiles, innocent to the horrors that lay beyond the lights of the city. Coming to the nearest restaurant Ardyn sat down at an empty table, tapping his hand along to the music.
“What do you think of Lestallum my dear?” He asked aloud, watching the sun set beyond the horizon.
“It reminds me of the Summer Festival at Galdin Quay. All that’s missing is the fireworks.” (f/n) answered, giggling slightly at the memory.
Ardyn looked to his companion, who was sitting in the chair opposite as him. Still clad in the same white sundress with indigo ribbons tied in her hair; she truly was a sight to behold.
“Hello sir, what can I get you?” A waiter asked politely.
“A glass of wine please, red if you have it.”
“Excellent sir. And will you be dining alone this evening?”
“….No. My companion will be arriving later.”
“Not a problem sir, just let me know when you are ready.” The waiter replied before leaving for the other customers.
“A table for two again,” (f/n) spoke, followed by slight chuckle. “Who is the lucky girl?”
Ardyn did not met her gaze, instead choosing to focus upon the flickering flame of the candle placed between them. “You should already know that once you’ve fallen, nothing else will truly compare.”
“….I know.”
The walk back to the cottage was made in silence, and Ardyn briefly considered knocking the woman unconscious and fleeing from the village. But the gentlemanly nature he believed to have abandoned him, refused to comply with such an act. So Ardyn followed (f/n), appearing much like a young boy who had been caught with sweets before supper. It was a humiliating experience, yet one that held a feeling of normalcy that was welcomed amongst the constant fear, anger, and sorrow.
Having arrived back at (f/n) home once more, Ardyn was able to view the farm in it’s entirety. There stood the cottage, with a small vegetable path beside that held all manner of produce. To the right of the cottage was a large pen that held several Daggerquills, some nesting while others soared out of the cage and high into the air. Though what caught Ardyn by surprise was a chocobo that sat within its own pen, it’s plumage a beautiful shade of ivory that gleamed like the finest pearls from Altissia.
“Beautiful chocobo,” He whispered, the creature reminding him painfully of his own obsidian-colored chocobo.
“Thank you. Lux was a gift from my father, and we’ve been together for many years. Though I often wonder if I am his owner or his servant.”
Ardyn chuckled, raising his hand for the massive bird to sniff. Lux moved his head all about Ardyn before deeming him worthy and allowing him to touch him. He gently let his hand stroke the snow-white feathers while the chocobo chirped happily. “I understand. My old mount often tried to bury his beak within my pockets in search of snacks.”
(f/n) laughed, “I wish I could have seen that.” She grinned before opening the front door and walking into the cottage.
He stood awkwardly upon the threshold before (f/n) voice shouted at him from within, beckoning him to enter too. Slowly Ardyn placed the satchel of stolen belongings and beside the front door and continued f into the living room. The blankets that lay before the fireplace were still there, indicating that (f/n) noticed his disappearance early and had chased after him.
“I hope Magnus did not give you too much of a scare.” (f/n) asked, picking up the discarded blankets on the floor. “He can be rather serious about his job without realizing it.”
“Nothing of any consequence.” Ardyn answered honestly, if uncomfortably.
Folding the blankets that she had used the previous night, (f/n) came to a halt before Ardyn; head cocked to the side as she stared thoughtfully at him. Those sharp (e/c) iris’ made Ardyn shift nervously while under their gaze. It was as if the young woman could see every secret he possessed with a mere glance…
“Lady (f/n) I….I wish to apologize for my actions toward you. You restored me to health, while disregarding your own; and I repaid that kindness by robbing you.”
“Apology accepted Ardyn,”(f/n) said.
“I…I do not understand….”
“Well; while your actions were certainly rude, and uncalled for, I have already forgiven you. I may be shocked at such an occurrence, but I am not going to throw you to the sabertusks of the world due to your hour of self-preservation.” (f/n) spoke before proceeding into another room.
“…. Thank you.” She stopped at his words and turned to face him, smiling brightly. “Your welcome.”
He would often hear throughout his long existence that women fall first, but men fall harder. In that moment, Ardyn had realized that he had fallen; though how hard he had, he would have to see.
Time waits for no one, and before he knew it; it summer was coming to an end. Slowly but surely Ardyn helped (f/n) all around her miniscule farm in exchange for her saving him and residing within her home. Though she was generous beyond belief, Ardyn refused to take her bed from her and instead slept before the fireplace. However, Ardyn’s favorite activity was tending to Lux, as the majestic chocobo reminded him fiercely of his old black chocobo, Ebony.
“At this rate, Lux will consider you his owner.” (f/n) laughed.
Though there was much about the world that Ardyn knew nothing about, and (f/n) strived to help him as best she could. She did not ask questions as to why he did not know what an automobile was, or why he did not know how to work the shower head to wash himself. (f/n) would simply give him a wry smile, as if trying not to laugh at his new problem, and correct him if necessary….
But the nightmares still haunted him in the evening hours. Every time his eyes closed, he would remember it all once more; the arrest, the trial….and the execution. Ardyn would cry out in pain and terror as he felt himself approach the headman’s block, while the very citizens who had once praised his name now cheered for his death. There would stand his betrayer; a gleeful smirk of victory present across his face as Ardyn was dragged before the large crowd.
A boot slammed into his back, forcing him to his knees and his gaze to the blood-stained stone block. “Let us end this daemon’s hold upon us forever!” The man he once considered a brother shouted, causing the crowd to shout for joy.
He leaned down and chuckled. “Do you see brother? How they laugh and smile? Such loyal sheep, and so easily swayed.”
Ardyn felt a forceful tug of his mated, wine-colored hair before his head was slammed against the executioners block once more. “All hail the Chosen King,” he whispered cruelly into his ear.
In one movement, the executioner came forward and Ardyn struggled against his bonds and shouted in horror as the large great axe fell upon him while the spectators laughed.
…Yet the blow did not come.
The sound of the crowd died and Ardyn felt a gentle pressure brush across his hair instead of pain. Flesh as soft as silk and warm as the sun slowly danced across his hair. “It’s alright, you’re safe.”
He opened eyes and stared upward, gold meeting (e/c) iris’. The windows were still dark, signaling the late hour, and the fire had turned into a smoldering pile of embers. (f/n) was kneeling beside him, still dressed in her sleeping attire with her hand running through his magenta locks. She simply smiled at him, “don’t worry, I’ll stay.”
Ardyn closed his eyes once more, smiling in content at the presence beside him.
“Come Ardyn, we’ve much to do today!”
“I don’t understand, I’ve already collected all eggs.” He frowned in confusion.
(f/n) grinned, “Our tasks are not work related. Today is the Summer Festival! It happens every year in Galdin Quay at the end of summer to celebrate the end of the season.”
“Oh? Is that what that construction has been for the past few days?”
“Yes, and we are going to participate. Come!”
Grabbing hold of his hand, (f/n) pulled him outside the cottage; the sky a beautiful pale blue with the sun shining brightly. Ardyn watched as (f/n) opened the gate to Lux’s pen and began saddling the chocobo. It had been 3 days since his more recent night-terror and he had awoken to see (f/n) comforting him. He tried to explain the reason of his nightmares, but she had stopped him. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. But I am willing to listen if you wish to speak of it.”
The gesture was appreciated more than she knew, and Ardyn only wished he could speak to her of it.
“Oh, so your affections have changed, hmm?”
Ardyn blinked in surprise at (f/n) words before realizing she was glaring Lux, who was chirping happily at him and rubbing its large head against his cheek. He chuckled and stroked the bird’s plumage, causing (f/n) to huff in mock anger. “Traitor,” she said.
“Jealousy is not a good look for you, my dear.”
She raised an eyebrow, “I appreciate the tip, Ardyn.”
He grinned and in one motion, mounted the ivory chocobo before holding out his hand to her. “Your welcome. Now come, if I recall there is a festival that is waiting.”
“Then let us be off!” She replied happily, taking hold of his hand.
During his time with (f/n), Ardyn had visited the village of Galdin Quay many times. Though now it appeared almost as an entirely new place. Strings of paper lanterns hung throughout the town and colorful booths stood in front of the stores and homes. Children chased one another wearing masks or cheered one another as they played the array of games displayed for prizes.
“Come, let’s go!” (f/n) laughed, dragging him along after they tied Lux to a post to graze.
Together they journeyed throughout the festival stands, trying every street food there was while playing the silly games for prizes. He couldn’t help but laugh as (f/n) placed a moogle mask onto her face while she applauded his skills at the shooting gallery. She even managed to purchase a simple scarf from one of the vendors which she gifted to him. He smiled at the gesture before wrapping the scarf about his neck, making her beam happily. As the sun began to set and evening approached they walked to the edge of the festival, sitting upon a hill on the edge of the village.
“This was very pleasant.” Ardyn spoke.
(f/n) nodded, her moogle mask now within her hands than on her face. “I’m glad you liked it. Sometimes we need to enjoy ourselves to appreciate life.”
“Thank you (f/n).”
“Don’t worry about it, Ardyn.”
“No.” Ardyn spoke, taking hold of her hand. She glanced at their interlinking hands before meeting his gaze. “Thank you…. for everything.” He said, moving closer to her.
“…Your welcome.” She replied right before their lips met just as the fireworks lite up the night sky.
“Would you like to order now or wait for your companion?” The waiter asked.
Ardyn twirled the wine-glass between his fingers, watching the now empty seat that sat across from him. “I’m afraid that will not be necessary. Thank you for your service.”
He tossed more than enough gil onto the table before leaving the restaurant and to the hotel, the joyful laughter mocking him as he walked alone.
And that is the end of chapter 2! I’ll be working on chapter 3 as soon as I can, so stay tuned! ^_^
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Walk Me Home - Ch 4
Summary: Twenty-four years ago, Kimberly Harper met a boy who changed the course of her entire life before up and leaving one night. She spent years moving past the memories, building a stable, satisfying career as professor of folklore and mythology at the local university. Then the accidents start, and she’s forced to seek help among her hunter contacts. All it takes is a knock on her office door to send Kimber’s carefully built emotional walls crumbling to the ground.
Featuring: Teen Winchesters, high school romance, reunions, misunderstandings, high intensity emotional turmoil, Dean’s love of pie, Dean being adorable, Sam being adorable and maybe a bit nosy eventually, much group adorkable-ness, show-style investigation, mention of our favorite werewolf, gratuitous and obvious love of fall, DID I MENTION ROMANCE, fluff, smut, tension.
Warnings: Show level violence, show level parental neglect (let’s not John bash, I’m just saying), show-style witchcraft, show-level mental manipulation, stalking, bit of angst, sexual content (higher than show level),swearing, general yearning
Word Count: 2702
Author’s Note: Mega thanks to @mskathywriteswords , @fangirlxwritesx67, and @cracksinthewalls for editing, revision, flailing, and generally knocking sense into me when I’m being stubborn. You all made this story way better than it started it, and I love you. Thanks to everyone who read/reblogged/liked the first chapter. I hope you enjoy the story as much as I do.
@thoughtslikeaminefield , I hope you still love this as much as the first time you read it. I know I do.
Keep in Mind: There are a lot of flashbacks. I tried to write current events in present tense and flashbacks in past tense. Here’s hoping I got everything right!
Please read/heed the warnings. 18+ ONLY.
In Case You Missed It: Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 ItMightHaveBeenIntentional’s Masterlist
Chapter 4
Kimber knows she’s staring, but she can’t stop herself. His fingers, rough and strong from years of the hardest work, brush circles over her wrists that send her pulse fluttering through her veins. So many emotions flicker behind his eyes, some of them mirroring her own, some of them alien and unreadable. So many years have passed, so much water under the bridge, as the saying goes.
The thing is, he was completely right earlier. She could have called him, once she learned who he and his family were, once she found a way.
But he had left town with her phone number memorized. He was in a much more logical position to get in touch, and right away, at that. And he never did. She knows he had a good reason, a completely reasonable one that would make sense if she just asked him.
But she’s scared and drained and confused and more than a little ashamed, and she’s tired of making a fool of herself.
She drops her eyes before the tears fully form and murmurs a quiet thanks as she loosens her hands from his grip. Though walking away is not what she wants to do, she forces her legs straight to the bathroom, closing the door behind her with a firm click.
She’ll feel better after a hot shower. That’s all she needs, a hot shower and a few hours of sleep. They’ll figure this out tomorrow, and then Dean and his brother will ride off into the sunset, and everything will go back to normal. She’ll go back to her classes as usual, helping out the occasional hunter or scholar with some lore, and she’ll bury all these feelings behind her heart again, drown them so deep they’ll never dream of resurfacing.
At least, that’s the fairy tale she tells herself as the scalding stream washes the saltwater from her cheeks.
She actually does feel moderately restored by the time she steps out of the bathroom. She feels a little ridiculous in Dean’s clothing. The sleeves of the t-shirt hang past her elbows, and the pants legs are rolled up several times to keep her from tripping.
At least the waist has a drawstring, she thinks as she rounds the corner back into the room. She pulls the towel from her hair, shaking it out a little just as Dean looks up from his laptop at the small table. His mouth opens, eyes widening. She’s not sure because of the poor lighting of the room, but his face seems to color a little as his eyebrows lift.
She is suddenly, acutely aware that she did not put her bra back on when getting dressed in his white t-shirt that is probably not nearly as thin as it feels.
Dean clears his throat, turning back to his computer, swallowing whatever comments have entered his mind. Kimber can’t decide whether to laugh or blush even harder and settles for the third option of hanging her office clothes up so they can air out a little before tomorrow.
With nothing else to do, she drops onto the edge of the bed gracelessly, feeling every minute of the last few weeks catching up with her. Uncertainty and fear claw at her, ripping away what little defenses she has left. The image of the mutilated doll flashes before her eyes, red paint splashed luridly on her favorite comforter. Her lungs clench, and she sags on the mattress.
She presses her fingers hard against her face. Acid burns at the back of her throat, bitter and biting. Her fingernails are just beginning to dig into her scalp when she registers the click of the laptop closing. Half a moment passes, then the bed dips beside her.
She doesn’t consciously decide to move; her body simply molds itself to his side as Dean slides his arm around her back. He turns into the embrace, his other arm gathering her tightly against him. His cheek comes to rest on top of her head. The silence between them is the comfort she needs, his warmth and solidity the anchor that keeps her from drifting too far into panic.
When he finally speaks, his words rumble through her nerves, settling heavy and soothing in her chest.
“We’re gonna get this son of a bitch, Kimber. I’m sorry they got into your house, but I’m glad I was with you. I…” She rises gently with his deep inhalation, pressed as she is against his chest. “I’m sorry.”
She hears what he isn’t saying, and her hands drop from her face, her arms slipping around his middle as her eyes close.
“Me, too, Dean.”
...
“That pumpkin pie was somethin’ else,” Dean murmured. His arms were folded behind his head as he stretched out on top of Kimber’s bedspread. He crossed his ankles, settling in like he belonged there. His thin t-shirt stretched across his wiry frame, jeans lying enticingly low on his hips, and she could just see a glimpse of pink toe through a hole in one of his socks.
A pleasant, off-balancing thrill skipped down Kimber’s spine, twirling through her stomach and making her head spin a little. Dean’s jacket was hung carefully on her desk chair, his boots lined up on the floor underneath, and his button-up overshirt folded neatly on the desk.
Her parents had gone to bed long ago, and she had snuck Dean in the back door. After their exhilarating but chilled stroll that afternoon, she’d decided against the treehouse. Dean had been amused but willing, although he’d had one stipulation that had nearly made her laugh aloud.
“We get caught and your folks kick me out, you’re bringing me your mom’s leftovers to school every day for breakfast. I’m not missin’ out on home cooking just because you can’t stand to be away from me.”
Now, seeing him so comfortable on her bed, like he just belonged...Kimber knew the smile on her face was on the goofier end of sappy, but she couldn’t help it. He was just so damned…
“Cute,” he said, smirking up at her. “I know what you’re thinking. And I’m not cute. I’m adorable.”
She sighed dramatically, feigning exasperation. “Fine, you’re gorgeous, adorable, vital, the absolute most. Now close your eyes so I can change.” Smirk still firmly in place, Dean dutifully closed his eyes. She knew, despite the short time she’d known him, that she could trust Dean to keep his eyes shut.
She spent a few seconds regretting the lack of any silky, dramatic nightgowns or cute, sexy little matching pajama sets. Oh, well; couldn’t have everything. She stripped quickly, tossing her school clothes into the hamper and slipping on her “Aaahh!!! Real Monsters” t-shirt. Thick socks and plaid pajama pants completed her night ensemble.
That she had just been naked (however unseen said nakedness had been) in front of Dean Winchester had not escaped her. She licked her lips, cheeks warm, and turned slowly back to the bed. He lay still, chest rising and falling steadily, and she marveled, not for the first time, that he was here, in her room. Just for her.
Her pulse jumped, her lungs tightened, and for just a second, Kimber panicked.
“You can, uh...you can open your eyes. I’m gonna go brush my teeth; I’ll be right back.”
She fled silently down the hallway, brushed her teeth in record time, and then stared in the mirror. Her hair was just her hair, nothing amazing or horrifying; no point trying to fix that before bed. Maybe…make-up?
“Kimber. What the hell?” she muttered. “You’re not seducing him, just be cool. Jeez. You can’t wear make-up to bed.”
She splashed cold water on her face, scrubbing her skin dry with a hand towel more forcefully than necessary. She gave her reflection another once-over and took a deep breath.
“You’re his choice, too,” she reminded herself. “Just chill.”
She found him exactly as she’d left him, completely relaxed on the bed, eyes still closed. She thought for a moment that he might have fallen asleep. Kimber wasn’t sure if she felt more disappointment or relief.
“You left in a little bit of a hurry,” he murmured, eyes still closed, and she started. “Everything okay?” She almost put him off, could feel the brush-off on her lips, but his eyes slid open, pinning her on the spot. She got the eerie sense that he would know, that he already knew she was trying to put on a front, and she deflated a little.
“I’m nervous,” she finally admitted. The heat in her cheeks turned up a few degrees, spreading down her neck, and she crossed her arms over her chest defensively. “I’ve never...snuck a guy to my room before. I just...this is mostly new to me, but with you, I want...I don’t know.”
Without a word, Dean slid from the bed and crossed the room, his mesmerizing eyes never leaving hers. He stopped a few feet away and waited, his arms open. With the bed suddenly out of the equation, Kimber felt a hidden knot of anxiety untie in her chest.
She let out a breath and stepped into his embrace, her arms circling his waist in a way that felt easy and right. Dean’s lips pressed a warming kiss to the crown of her head.
“Sweetheart,” he whispered. “This is your room, your space, but even if it wasn’t-” He paused, leaning back and brushing his thumb over her cheek. “Kimber, look at me.”
She did, and his earnest expression left no room to doubt his next words. It barely left room for breathing.
“ ‘M not here to make you feel uncomfortable or scared. I’m here because you want me to be. The second that stops, the second I make you feel something you don’t want, that’s it. Period. Does that work for you?”
His eyes, so plaintive and weathered in that moment, cut right to her heart. Never in her life had Kimber felt so safe, so protected, and so very sad. She couldn’t think of any words that lived up to the magnitude of what Dean had just said, so she simply squeezed him tighter, pressing her face against the side of his neck.
“Can you stay?” she asked. She knew he had obligations, probably needed to get back to his brother or at least check in with his dad. She felt terribly selfish in her warm, safe house with her parents right down the hall. Still, she asked.
“Yeah, I can stay for a while.” His smile, soft and open, laid her doubts to rest. They settled onto the bed, fumbling a little awkwardly to find a position they both liked. There was some bumping, mumbled apologies, until they finally sorted out a comfortable twist of limbs that didn’t set her heart beating out of her ribs or threaten to cut off blood flow to anything important.
She relaxed by increments, her cheek resting on his collarbone. He hugged her close with his left arm, his right hand combing slowly through her hair over and over. The silence settled around them like a second blanket, soothing and heavy.
“What do you want to do when you finish school, Kimber? College?”
“Probably,” she murmured. “I don’t know specifically, but I like research.”
He snorted, and she poked him in the side.
“Shut up, you jerk, I do. And I like sharing the information. I like helping people. I don’t really want to be a teacher, but maybe I can find something where I can do all of that.”
Dean resumed combing her hair, having paused when she poked him, and they settled a little more closely together.
“Dean?”
“Mmm?”
She blinked slowly, sleep pulling at her eyelids. Her thoughts spun out languidly, losing their urgency as his warmth seeped through the thin fabric of her pajamas.
“How about you?”
His answer came quickly, rehearsed and without thought. “Join the family business. Dad’s been training me for years. Don’t have a lotta choice, but I know I’ll be good at it. Was raised for it.”
Her fingers crept up, her eyes staying closed for longer and longer periods between blinks. She slid her thumb over his chin, just brushing the line of his bottom lip before sliding slowly up his jaw.
His words weren’t emotionless, but they were automatic. There was so much he never said, and she hated to push him, afraid he would just leave or shut down, but…
“But what do you want?” She persisted, drowsiness interfering with her usual restraint. “Who do you want to be?”
He was silent for so long, she nearly gave in to fatigue. She drifted on the edge of unconsciousness, fingers stroking through the silky strands of hair behind his ears. She felt his face turn, his lips press against her wrist.
“I want...this,” he said. Even half-asleep, she couldn’t mistake the raw longing behind his words. “I want...I want to work a boring, regular job and come home to someone who missed me all day as much as I missed her. I want my kids to cannonball into my legs so hard they knock me over. I want…”
His words choked off, and she stilled her fingers against his cheek, waiting for him to continue.
“I want a house. No...I...when I was little, Dad would come home, and he would just...sweep Mom up sometimes, swing her around, when they weren’t fighting. Even when they were, he’d do it sometimes anyway just to get her to laugh.”
She felt his face shift beneath her hand, but his smile didn’t feel quite right, and she moved closer. His arm tightened around her back, and he smoothed the palm of his free hand down to cup her jaw.
“I want a home. I want to be a dad, a husband. I want a family.”
She felt childish, shallow next to the depth of his simple declaration. Dean wanted what she had, what she took for granted every day of her life. This was the first time he’d spoken of his mother, and though curiosity burned hot inside her, she didn’t dare ask further questions, afraid she’d break the spell of the moment.
Dean’s voice dropped until she could feel it more than hear it, his lips pressing softly against her forehead.
“I want to come home and hold someone until I fall asleep every night. I want to wake up to her and know that my whole day, every day, is gonna be just that, all over again.”
She lifted her face to his then, and in the darkness of her bedroom she could only just make out the barest lines of his features. Their noses brushed, his hand gently pulling at the back of her head, and their lips met. His cheek was damp under her fingertips, and her heart clenched.
She pulled his head down, brushing her lips over the tears trickling down his cheekbones more by feel than by sight. Both his arms came around her then, pulling her against his chest as he buried his face in his hair. They breathed together, memorizing each others’ scents, heartbeats, rhythms as the night crept by.
The moment didn’t pass so much as gradually relax until Kimber felt him shift beneath her, smoothly sliding her off his chest and down to the pillows. He kissed her temple, and her face automatically turned to his, chasing his lips. She felt him chuckle against her mouth.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart, I gotta go. Need to check on Sammy, make sure he got dinner, did his homework, all that mess. I’ll see you tomorrow. Walk you to school?”
She nodded, humming her agreement even as she blindly reached for him. Something soft brushed against her fingers, and she automatically pulled it down, cuddling against the fabric.
“Hold onto that for me. I’ll get it back from you sometime.” She felt a kiss press to her forehead, and then the click of her door closing. She breathed in, Dean’s scent surrounding her as she slipped under again, his button-up shirt pillowed under her cheek and tangled in her fingers.
…
To Be Continued...
#SPN#spn fic#spn fanfic#spn fanfiction#supernatural#supernatural fanfiction#Supernatural fanfic#supernatural fic#dean winchester#Sam Winchester#teen dean#teen sam#original character#original female character#fluff#angst#drama#all that good shit#they're so frickin cute#i might explode#also#teen dean might break my heart#keep saving that sam hug#he's right around the corner#you're going to love teen sam too#I LOVE THIS STORY SO MUCH
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