#So fine i’ll go fucking mop since you’ll die without it

[omtai]

Uou want me to mop. Oh i’ll fucking mop all right!!!!!!!

[fandomficsnstuff]

Guardian Angel - Part 5

Daryl Dixon x Reader

(Warnings: the reader goes off on Jenner, so get ready for that XD also time skips again)

You giggled as Glenn groaned at his headache “that’s what you get for drinking so much” you remarked, getting a glare from him that only served to amuse you further. Glenn scoffed at your amusement “it was Daryl who-” you hummed low as you interrupted him “I know, but you’re an adult, you can say no” Glenn groaned again at your response, holding his head in pain. You smiled to yourself as you felt Daryl’s hand on your thigh under the table, and you found Lori’s eyes, smiling at you, but something was wrong, you could see it, you were about to gesture her to leave the table with you when Shane arrived, and instantly her face dropped and you knew something had happened between them.

You tried not to mind as you continued to eat your scrambled eggs, but your eyes kept going to Lori, who gave you a very subtle shake of her head, telling you to leave it, so you couldn’t argue with that, she didn’t want to talk about it, at least not now, so you respected that, and continued to eat your eggs as you enjoyed the feeling of Daryl’s hand on your thigh, a warming reminder of last night, which you could still feel in the rest of your body, a tingly feeling was left between your legs, and judging by the hand that stayed on your thigh, it wasn’t just a one time thing for him either, as he said, he doesn’t just take anyone with him on hunts.

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You stared with wide eyes at Jenner, the noises of the others, Daryl included, trying to break down the security door was like static from an old radio, just there in the background, and without thinking your fist landed in Jenner’s face, something that surprised everyone, “how DARE you! You’d murder these kids?! So what if it’s shit out there and your wife died! Who are you to decide and play God?! You’re commiting murder right now, and so what if the world has gone to hell and that doesn’t matter anymore, so what if we die but you’re willing to kill the kids!? They haven’t even had a chance at life you asshole! They’re children they deserve a chance that’s what children are for, a second chance at this fucked up world! It was shit before the dead started to walk and that ain’t ever gonna change but you can’t just take their possibilities away from them! It’s their lives, and who knows if they’ll grow up to fix all this shit!!” Rick had to hold you back as you screamed at Jenner, who still held his cheek in shock, your body flailing and kicking “let me get him Rick!! He’s trying to kill us and the kids, YOUR kid!” you screamed again, this time feeling a second pair of arms, Glenn, holding you back, and you finally took a step back, still ready to mop the floor with his ass but you held back, realizing that kids shouldn’t see that, even now.

You were so lost in your rage that you hadn’t even realized that Rick had talked to him, and the security door opened, it as first when you heard your name that you turned and saw the door open, seeing Daryl standing there, waiting for you, a fire axe in hand and Glenn tugging at your hand to run. Your feet moved quicker than you thought possible, bolting towards the exit and reaching Daryl, his hand on your lower back as you both bolted towards the exits, but once again, you were trapped. You picked up a chair and joined the others in trying to break a window, slamming it against the glass and even trying with your own body, but nothing worked, it was only when Daryl tackled you and pulled you away from the window that a grenade did the job, Daryl straight up dragging you to your feet and back out the window, groaned as you landed on the grass outside but you didn’t have time to think or react, your feet picking up the pace once again and carrying you to the vehicles, Daryl right behind you as you hid behind a wall of bags of sand, your eyes scanning the group, only to come up with a few missing. You watched in horror as Andrea and Dale barely made it out of there, you quickly got up and ran over to them, helping them get up and run back to the cars just in time for the building to explode, the force of it making you trip and fall, scraping your knee and hurting your ankle even further.

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You held onto Daryl tightly as you pulled up on the highway, your way being blocked by, probably, thousands of cars, abandoned and dusty, like they left in a hurry, whoever owned them. You winced as you got off of the bike and instantly Daryl got off as well, frowning and studying your knee and how you took the pressure off of your injured ankle. You were about to tell him to leave it when you heard your name being called, turning to see Lori waving you over, you smiled gently at Daryl, giving his hand a squeeze as you carefully made your way over to Lori, smiling at her as you finally reached her “what’s up?” you leaned against one of the cars and she smirked at you “so, am I allowed to sing that song yet or…?” you scoffed and rolled your eyes “you can sing it all you want, just watch out of arrows that randomly fly your way” you joked, making her chuckle before noticing your knee “that looks like it hurts, are you okay?” she frowned, bending a bit down to get a closer look, but you stopped her, giving her shoulder a reassuring squeeze “it’s fine, it’s just a scrape” she gave you a worried look, but ultimately gave up and sighed, leaning against the car alongside you, having her eyes on Carl, “so, how’d you get one?” you frowned as you looked confused at her “what?” you gave her a puzzled look but she just smirked and kept her eyes on Carl “our room was next to yours, apparently” your blushed bright red “oh my god…” you mumbled, burying your face in your hands, making her laugh, “so, how’d you get one?” you glanced up at her again, still confused “get what?” she smirked at you again and nudged your shoulder with hers “a condom” you grew even more red at that “oh uh, I didn’t…” you saw Lori stare at you in shock as you kept your eyes straight forward, looking at her out of the corner of your eyes “but you still-”

“Yeah but… like… he pulled out…” you mumbled, making Lori scoff “yeah so did Rick, nine months later I’m in the hospital with a son in my arms” you glanced at her with part horror, part shock in your eyes, making Lori just smirk again as she moved over to Carl, leaving you to your thoughts, were that woman trying to scare you into becoming a nun?! You glanced to Daryl who glanced back at you, giving you one of his rare, soft smiles that you completely loved. You smiled back and went over to him, but were cut off by Glenn who looked at you anxiously, glancing between you and Daryl “spit it out Glenn, come on” you gave him a reassuring smile but it only seemed to make him more nervous, making you realize that this was probably a tad more serious than you thought, so you moved behind a few cars, standing alone with him “what’s up?” he looked away embarrassed “I-I just uh… I heard you and Lori talking and uh…” you frowned, you knew he wouldn’t spy on you, at least not intentionally “yeah, so?” Glenn sighed like you made everything harder for him “I just-... you know I care about you a-and… I-I just heard and I… what if… what if you and him-... and you… and what about me if-... if it happens?... what am I supposed to do you're like-...” you sighed, you got what he was trying to say, at least you think so, you looked down before back up at Glenn, hugging him a tight hug “it’s okay, it’s not gonna happen, I’ll be okay” he nodded and carefully hugged you back, both of you unaware of a certain archer who had come to check on you as you got out of his view, hearing what you were talking about, a pissed off look on his face as he moved away. You parted from Glenn “if it happens don’t worry, you’ll be Uncle Glenn” you gave him a wink and he exhaled half nervous, half relieved, and it made you chuckle “yeah, sorry I just-”

“It’s alright Glenn, you know how much I care about you and you’re like a brother to me” Glenn nodded at your words before moving away, you moved your way towards Daryl yourself, smiling as you see him by his bike, like he was before. “Hey handsome” you were about to lean in to give him a kiss when he leaned away, making you frown, maybe he didn’t want to be public about it, or maybe he didn’t want you again… maybe it was just a one time thing for him… you looked down before back up at him, he still hadn’t looked at you “hey, is everything okay?” he scoffed almost immediately “I don’t know, why don’t you ask the chinese kid” you frowned even more, you were sure a few wrinkles would have etched their way into your skin by now “what do you mean, Glenn? He’s Korea-”

“Yeah whatever, go to him instead with all your bullshit” you tilted your head to try and get his eyes on you, but he just looked away even more, making you straight up pissed “the hell are you talking about, my ‘bullshit’ ?” you snapped, and finally he looked at you “I fuckin’ heard you, ‘you and him’ and all that!” you scoffed and shook your head “he overheard me talking with Lori, Lori was worried about what we did last night because we didn’t use protection, you asshole! He was just scared that something should happen to me, he’s like a brother to me! Prick...” Daryl’s face visibly softened at your words, and he was about to say something when you just scoffed and went off, trying to find Lori, you needed to cool off and she was pretty much the only one who could help you calm down when you were this riles up, plus you needed to talk to someone about Daryl, and since she already knew, it was ideal.

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You held your breath as you hid under a car, watching the shuffling feet walk by you, your whole body shaking as you had your knife out, just in case, but so far they were unaware of your presence, that is, until one stumbled and fell, landing with it’s face facing you, growling once it spotted you. You couldn’t risk quickly stabbing it to keep it quiet, there were still others passing by and it might alert them, plus you didn’t really have a lot of room to wiggle around in, for now it were content with just laying there, watching you as it grew more aggravated with each second passing, when feet stopped coming from behind you, you took the opportunity, carefully sliding out from under the car, the walker growling and getting up slowly, on it’s way to chase you down, and without seeing another option, you jumped over the railing and slided down the hill, quickly taking off as you heard the walker follow you, unless it broke both it’s legs, it was probably going to follow you to the ends of the earth, just to get a bite, a taste. You pant heavily as you continue running, your lungs burning, and once you’re far enough out you stop, leaning against a tree as you try to catch your breath as quietly as possible, though it wasn’t as easy as you had hoped, and you probably sounded more like a dog in the summer with thick fur, panting and heaving for breath as you tried to listen for footsteps.

After a few seconds you heard some shuffling, turning you saw now more than the one that had chased you, there were now four of them, slowly walking in your direction. You sighed and glanced at your ankle, it had just gotten better and now you had to run again, for the hundredth time without a brake or a possibility to see how bad the damage was. You leaned your head against the tree, closing your eyes and giving yourself a few seconds to gather up your courage before bolting once again, your knife in your hand and your ankle burning, you had no idea where you were headed, you just needed to get away from those walkers, four were too many for you to handle on your own.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

When the Weight Comes Down - 1

Warnings: non-consent sex (series); nothing for this chapter

This is dark! (biker) Steve and explicit. 18+ only.

Series Synopsis: Your father’s a drunk, your mother a recluse, and you’re just another small town girl in Birch.

Sister series to Smalltown Bringdown

Note: This series features a very inexperienced and shy reader. Not so mouthy as my usual fare but I hope it’s still fun. I couldn’t resist a hot biker Steve spin-off. Most of this is already written and it’s looking like seven chapters total. Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Chapter One: She Didn’t Know

There's a lot you can see when there's nothing to do

💀

You stared out the window as you stood at the sink, your hands pruned in the lukewarm water as you scrubbed the last of the dishes. You could hear your mother in the hallway, wiping the walls. Again. Five, six times a day, she’d wipe down every inch of the place; gather up your father’s empties, and vacuum the old cigarette-scented carpets.

You didn’t remember a day in your life when your mother wasn’t manically tidying every inch of the place. Even when her lip was swollen or her eye was blackened. It was a religion to her. Cleanliness was next to godliness, after all. One of her many lessons.

She rarely left the house anymore. She had never been eager to go beyond the peeling walls but as you got older, she grew more reclusive. She got her check from the government, your father too, though his was often spent on beer and smokes. Some of hers too. 

The old house was ramshackle but someone had to pay for it. You’d worked at the bakery since you were sixteen; more than a decade now, closer to two. An excuse to get out as much as a means to pay for the roof over your head. Babs was like a second mother to you and always let you bring home the stale muffins and cookies.

Your eight hours was a brief respite from the home which had been your childhood prison. The cell without a door. Birch itself was impenetrable. Those born there seemed destined to die there.

You’d dreamt of leaving for years; in that very spot, as you washed the dishes and stared out at the lush grass. You’d float away to a world where you had the strength to walk away; from your paranoid mother and your volatile father. 

You belonged there though. You couldn’t leave knowing your father would beat your mother without a buffer between him. You knew one day the beer would push him over the edge. To leave would be to condemn her.

You pulled the plug and dried the plates one at the time, then the cups and the old bowls that belonged on a thrift shop shelf. Well, that’s where they came from. Your mother never bought nice things; your father would only break them.

Finished, you closed the cupboard and found your mother in the living room, sweeping the crumbs from your father’s old recliner into her hand. You straightened the pillows on the sagging couch and stood on the other side.

“Should I leave the leftovers in the stove for Pa?” You asked.

“It’s late,” She checked the old clock. It was broken. She stood and cupped the crumbs in her hand. “What time is it anyway?”

“Almost nine.” You yawned. You would have to wake up at five to get to work to do the opening bake. “I should probably lay down soon.”

“Would you grab some more vinegar tomorrow?” She asked. “And… a new mop.”

“What happened to the old one?” You blinked.

She looked down guiltily. Another casualty to your father’s temper.

“Ma,” You sighed. “Why do you let him break everything.”

“Better than him breaking me,” She muttered. 

You hung your head and touched your forehead. You wanted to ask her why she stayed, but you had too. You were little better than her. You were both stuck.

“You didn’t give him any off your stipend, did you?”

She frowned. She had.

“The electricity is due,” You said. “Tell me you held onto at least something.”

“I’ll pawn another ring.” She mumbled.

“No,” You waved her away. “No. Don’t.”

“But--”

“I’ll figure it out,” You huffed. “Like I always do.”

You left her there and went to your room. You closed the door and turned on the small lamp beside your bed. You reached under your pillow and pulled out the cracked copy of Frankenstein. 

You remembered when you were fourteen and your mother had found it there. A girl at the grocery store had told you she was reading it for class. You always wondered what they did at the school. Your mother schooled you herself. Times had changed and kids were rotten. She didn’t need you corrupted by the wilting branches of Birch.

Your mother had never read it herself so she confiscated it as filth. A monster! Well, you had sneaked into her room and stolen it right back. You were smarter after that; you hid all your good books as you kept the bland ones on your shelf.

Even when you were of age, well beyond truly, you wondered what other people did. Normal people. Working at the bakery, you made up a story for each customer who came in. And when you walked by the bar with Cleopatra over its door, you dreamt of the Egyptian queen and her many lovers. The world was behind a glass; passing you by as you stood still.

You sighed and opened the book as you laid back. A monster betrayed by his creator. So despised and reviled that his heart turned sour. A monster who was more human than his maker. A being who only wanted love. A soul destroyed by neglect.

You didn’t recall falling asleep but when you woke, the crickets chirped loudly outside your window. You yawned and sat up. The light from the living room streamed down the hall and under your door. You marked your page and tucked the book between your bedframe and mattress.

Your mother was in the living room. She sat on the couch as she held a framed cross-stitch and wove roses into the faded white cloth. You checked the time on the kitchen stove. 1:47 am. 

“Why don’t you go to bed?” You asked.

“Your pa hasn’t come home.” She said. “You know I worry for him.”

“It’s not even last call,” You countered. “Go, get some sleep.”

“I’ll wait for him.”

You chewed your lip as you put your hands on your hips. You went to her and stilled her needle.

“He’ll be home in a couple hours.” You assured her. “Besides, you know how he is when he’s drunk.”

She looked down and pulled away from you. You shook your head and crossed the room. As you entered the hallway and headed for the front door, your mother rose from the couch and her soft footsteps followed you. 

“Where are you going?” She asked.

“To get him, so you can sleep.” You shoved your feet into your shoes.

“Oh no, don’t do that, sweet pea,” She said as she clutched the wooden frame. “You’ll only make him mad and, oh, I don’t want you in that bar.” She lowered her voice as she came closer. “It’s full of those bikers.”

“So, go to bed,” You turned to her.

She scrunched her lips and you knew she wouldn’t. 

“Fine,” She relented. “But don’t talk to anyone. There are dangerous men there.”

You stared at her for a moment before you turned and pulled open the door. Your heart beat furiously as the screen door clattered behind you and you tripped down the front steps. You’d only ever walked by The Asp but never went in. You’d seen the men who went in and out and mounted their big bikes, but you kept to the other side of the street.

The walk wasn’t very long, like any in Birch. The spotlights illuminated Cleopatra’s breast and the snake at her throat. You stood on the curb as you thought of crossing the street. Just do it. You’d just get your father and go. That was it.

You hesitated and nearly fell as you stepped down onto the road. As you came up on the other side, a shadow moved and you flinched. A man in leather stood beside the door with his thick arms crossed, a bandana over his thinning hair. You stared at him and then door as you stopped before it.

“Well,” He said. “You going in?”

“I, uh, yeah, I’m just… getting my father.” You explained.

“Right,” He scoffed. “I don’t give a fuck.”

You pursed your lips and pushed through the door. Inside it smelled of alcohol and sweat. There was a group of men at one of the round tables and a couple around the pool table. Your father sat along the bar, two other drunks not far from him. He sucked on a brown bottle as he grumbled to himself.

You swallowed and made yourself step away from the door. You neared the bar and a woman looked up. She didn’t look very happy as she asked you what you wanted. You shook your head. You’d seen her before. You were sure she worked at the diner but you must have been wrong.

“Pa,” You leaned on the stool next to your father. 

“Huh? What’r’you doin’ here?” He slurred.

“I’m here to take you home.” You said.

“Sure,” He laughed. “Got ‘nother bottle then I’ll go when I feel like.”

“Ma’s waiting,” You insisted. “Come on.”

You tugged on him and he knocked over his half-finished beer. You stepped back at the splash and he staggered to his feet.

“You little brat, I tol’ya leave m’alone,” He snarled. “Fuck’s sakes.”

“You’re drunk. You’ll be lucky if you make it home,” You argued. “I’m trying to help… you got beer at home.”

“And you,” He sneered. “I dun’ wan’ drink there.”

He wobbled on his feet and caught the edge of the bar.

“Beer,” He ordered the bartender who looked over his shoulder. She didn’t move. “S’matter, I got money.”

A man with dark hair shifted in his seat as if to stand and another nudged his shoulder and rose instead. He was tall, a thick beard to match his light brown hair, and blue eyes which sparked as he rounded his table. His jacket was marked with the badge of the club. You grabbed your father’s elbow and he shook you off.

“Looks like you’re done for the night,” The man said as he stopped in front of your father.

“I don’--”

“Excuse me,” The man interrupted his argument. “It’s not a request.”

Your breath was caught in your chest. You’d never heard anyone speak to your father like that. 

“I’ll… I’ll get him home,” You said meekly. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” The man looked at you. “You don’t need to apologize for him.”

“Come on,” You whispered and grabbed your father again. 

He followed you. Barely. He stumbled halfway to the door and swore as he fell to his knees and nearly took you down with him. You bent and tried to pull him up and he batted you away as he rolled onto his back. His eyes were almost entirely closed as his hand fell to his stomach and he gave a loud snort.

Two boots came up on the other side of him. You looked up. It was that man again.

“I’m sorry. He fell. I’ll get him up.” You pulled on your father but he was too heavy. You could barely get his shoulders off the floor.

The man grabbed him and lifted him easily. He stretched his arm around your father and you stood.

“I’ll help ya, doll,” He smiled. You couldn’t.

“Really, it’s fine. He’ll wake up and--”

“Let me help you, doll,” He hushed you. “You’ll never get him home by yourself.”

“I can’t--I--” You gulped. Your mother had told you not to talk to anyone. You looked at your father. The man was right. You’d never get him home. “Okay. Thank you.”

He nodded you out the door and followed as you scurried ahead of him. Your father’s feet dragged heavily and you cringed. As you came out into the cool air, the man stepped up beside you, your father on the other side of him. You turned him in the direction of your house and he dragged your father along.

You were quiet. You didn’t know what to say. Perhaps it was better you said nothing. At the bakery, it was easy. You just had to ask people what they wanted. At home, neither of your parents said much; least of all, your father.

“So your Dorritt’s daughter?” He used your last name. “Old man ain’t very talkative.”

You nodded and kept your eyes on your feet.

“Your name?” He ventured. You cleared your throat before you found your voice to answer him. “I’m Steve.” He offered in return.

You were silent again.

“I don’t know you,” He said. “I know everyone in Birch.”

“Well, I… I don’t go out much, I guess.” You replied.

“Oh shit,” He scoffed. “You were the girl who was home schooled.”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to.

“We were always jealous of you,” He chuckled. “Hated going to school.”

“I still-- I still had class.” You said. “Just… my ma was my teacher.”

“Ha, wouldn’t expect him to be teaching grammar,” He gestured to your father. “You still live with them?”

You scratched your neck and nodded.

“Nothing wrong with that. Just curious.” He said. “Kinda… respectable. Helping them out and all.”

You were too ashamed to tell him that if you didn’t, no one would. That if you didn’t, your mother likely wouldn’t be able to keep up much longer.

“You’re like your pa,” He mused. “Not much on talking.”

“Sorry,” You said softly.

“But you’re a lot more considerate,” He said. “Apologizing for nothing.”

“So--”

“There you go again,” He laughed. “Look, doll, it’s fine. You don’t gotta talk. Don’t gotta apologize.”

You continued on and your house came into sight. Your father’s old mower rusting in the moonlight as the broken Ford loomed in the driveway. You helped Steve get your father up the front steps and opened the door for him. Your mother appeared in the hallway and gasped as she saw your father and the man who held him up.

“Ma, he’s just helping me get Pa home,” You assured her. “You know how he drinks and--”

She nodded frantically and backed up into the front room. You waved Steve through and directed him to drop your father on the couch. Steve looked around and his lip twitched. His eyes returned to you, clung to you, and he smirked.

“Well, you have a good night, Mrs. Dorritt,” He nodded to your mother then you, “And Miss Dorritt.”

“You too.” You breathed as your mother squeezed your arm.

He turned slowly and you both were still as you watched him go. The front door shut and your mother rushed down the hall. She locked the door quickly as you peeked around the door frame. She turned back and pushed herself against the door.

“I told you not to talk to anyone,” She said.

“I didn’t mean to. Pa, he just, keeled over, and Steve--”

“Steve!” She stormed towards you. “That man was one of those bikers. You better leave him alone. Pray he leaves you alone.”

“I didn’t--”

“Bad enough your pa goes down there,” She slipped past you and looked down at your father. “He’s better off drinking on the porch. No one to knock him one.”

“I wouldn’t blame them if they did,” You hissed. “It wasn’t me, ma. It was him.”

“I told you not to go,” She snapped.

“Yeah, I know,” You sighed as you turned to head back to your room. “You told me.”

[pigtownchronicles]

Chapter 2.3 - Getting the Runaround

As soon as Dennis stepped into the lobby at Precinct 27 on Tuesday around noon, he gave a little grimace. This was not the well kept, shiny sort of police station they had out in the suburbs (or at least, it wasn’t the idea of a well kept, shiny police station that he had in mind, since he had never stepped foot in one aside for a tour with the boy scouts when he was a teenager). The room was dimly lit, the tiles were dingy and didn’t look like they’d seen a mop in quite some time. There was one cop at a desk behind a plexiglass partition, but it didn’t look like he was doing any work--just reading a magazine or something, leaning back, and...no, he couldn’t be doing that, that would be so unprofessional!

Dennis cleared his throat as he stepped up towards the glass, and the officer sighed, put down the magazine under the counter, and scooted forward. If he had been engaging in something unpleasant down there, he made no effort to zip back up. Dennis hoped he’d been wrong in his assumption. “Hi, I’d like to file a report,” he said when he got to the glass.

“What about?”

“A club in the area. Depot. I was there on Friday, and I witnessed more code violations than I’d have liked to see. Underage drinking, indoor smoking, drug dealing, public sex, all sorts of stuff.”

He’d expected a little bit of concern from the officer, but he just looked somewhere between bored and annoyed that Dennis was standing in front of him at all. “That sounds like a job for the liquor control board and the health department, bud,” he said.

“I already called both of those places, and they said that, for whatever reason, Precinct 27 handles that stuff around here, so here I am.”

“Ah, I see. Alright, well, we’ll look into it then.”

Dennis stood there in the silence, and he realized that the officer was just expecting him to leave, after that. “Aren’t you going to take my name or number? File a report? I’m a witness.”

With a heavy sigh, the officer pulled out a pad of paper--not even anything official looking, and a pen. “Name?”

“I’d like to speak to your supervisor,” Dennis said.

“He’s out.”

“Out?”

“Yeah, he’s out. It’s lunchtime. You can wait if you want, but you look like a real busy fellow. Or how about this, you can give me your name.”

Dennis sighed, gave the officer his name, phone number and address, then watched as he tossed the pad back in the drawer beside him and closed it. “I’ll make sure to inform an investigator, don’t you worry.”

The condescension was almost enough for Dennis to take the man up on his offer and wait there for his supervisor to come back, but likely that would just waste more time, and he still had appointments that afternoon at the hospital. So he left. No wonder Depot was flouting the law so brazenly, if this is the sort of enforcement this part of town was dealing with. He was busy coming up with a list of folks even higher up to email that evening--police commissioners, city council members, the mayor even--when he saw a couple of guys on the other side of the street, and his jaw dropped.

It was Kyle again. Kyle, and...and was that the same fucking bear from the club that he’d pulled him away from? They were walking down the sidewalk, chatting, Kyle holding a bag of takeout, likely from one of the hole-in-the-walls around there, before going into a shop front for Marshall’s Cigar and Briar. Dennis jaywalked across the street and followed them inside, as they were doling out the contents of the bag between them.

“Hey bud, come back in a bit, it’s lunchtime,” the older bear said without looking up. Kyle though, recognized Dennis, and his face went pale. Twice in less than a week--was Dennis following him or something?

“Hey, Mr. Case...”

“Kyle, what are you doing here?” Dennis asked, “And isn’t that the guy from the fucking club?”

Marshall finally looked up, recognized Dennis, and gave a little huff. “Oh, it’s you. I hate how this place does this.”

“What?” Dennis asked.

“Bud, Kyle here is an employee of mine. We are currently having lunch. I assure you, everything here is perfectly fine. If you’d like to purchase something, why don’t you come back in half an hour. Otherwise, you can go ahead and fuck off.”

“You’re working? Here? For him? Since when?” Dennis asked Kyle, “Why didn’t you say anything about that on Friday?”

Kyle wasn’t sure what to say, and mostly he just wanted to slip under the floorboards for a while, and maybe die. “You...you won’t tell my dad, will you?”

“Tell your dad you’re working at a fucking smokeshop? Maybe I should. Maybe I should also tell him you’re going out to clubs underage while I’m at it! I still haven’t made my mind up about that, either, you know.”

“You don’t understand, alright? I’m fucking eighteen, you can’t just...just decide what’s fucking best for me!”

“You’re fucking eighteen, you don’t even know what’s best for you!” 

While they’d been yelling, Marshall had been calmly preparing a cigar for himself, and lighting it. Before Dennis could wheel on him, and likely try and chastise him for smoking indoors, He took an inhale, and pushed it all into Dennis’ face. Kyle watched, horrified, expecting Dennis to start coughing and explode even more, but instead, he watched as he went rather calm, almost like he was in a bit of a trance.

Marshall stood up, and beckoned Dennis over to the counter where he was standing, and without a word, Dennis did as the finger commanded. Then, Kyle watched as Marshall caught a wisp of smoke out of the air between his fingers, and twisted it, making it longer and thinner, with a little hook on the end. He put one hand on top of Dennis’s head and tilted it to one side, before sliding the wisp of smoke into his ear, twirling it a bit, and then pulling it out--along with...something else. Something a little smoke-like, but almost opalescent. Before Kyle could get a good look, Marshall had waved his hand through both hook and the bit he’d pulled free from Dennis’s head, and they dissolved into the air.

“Now, you’re going to leave my shop, and continue along whatever path you were going before, understand? You will never tell Kyle’s father about his activities. If asked by him about Kyle, you will only ever talk about what a good kid he is, responsible, and as an adult, he should be given as much autonomy as he needs, understand?”

Dennis nodded his head.

“Good, now get out of this shop.”

Dennis turned around and left, leaving Kyle with his jaw on the floor. “What did you do to him?”

“I know a few tricks,” Marshall said.

“Yeah, I’ve seen a couple of them, but what was that?”

“I pulled out the memory of him seeing us on the sidewalk, coming in here and trying to start a fight. Then, I used a little control on him, told him to carry on with his day. Easier than talking to him--I hate blowhards like that, they never know when to shut up. Come on, let’s eat.”

Marshall sat down and took a bite from his sandwich. Kyle stood on the other side of the counter, took a smaller bite from his own, and then set it down. After a couple of minutes, he asked, “Can...you teach me how to do that?”

“I’m not sure yet,” Marshall said.

“What...does that mean?”

“You said you’re going to college soon?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Out of state, right? One of those ivy league places,” Marshall put down the sandwich, and picked the cigar back up. “This place, Pigtown. It’s not just a place, you know. What’s happening here, it’s complicated. Most guys who come in here, eventually, they don’t go back out.”

Kyle thought about Marlon for a moment, the first he had all day, and pulling that memory free was like dragging it out from a swamp. He nodded.

“There’d be no college,” Marshall said. “No family outside of this chunk of city.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“I just need you to believe me, and trust me,” Marshall said, “What you want is not a simple thing. This place makes you give up more than you ever thought you’d have to. What you get back is...well, I wouldn’t want to leave, I can tell you that. But if he was right about one thing, it’s that you’re, well, young, Kyle.” He saw him start to get defensive and Marshall shook his head, “I don’t mean it like he does. I mean, you have potential. A future. Many futures. This place is hungry for people like you. It wants you, badly, and it brought us together because it knew I had something you wanted, and wanted bad. I don’t mind giving it to you. But you ought to know what you’ll be giving up. Most never get the choice.”

“I do want it.”

“I know you do,” Marshall said, and picked up his sandwich again, “But think about it. Really think about it for me. We’ll talk again tomorrow, alright? Now eat up, we’ll have some regulars looking for their smokes banging on the door soon.”

***

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[roccinan]

I'm risking sounding terribly egoistical by sending a public ask about my own url here but I'm doing it!!!!! I need the super graphic-details

Your ego is my ego, dearest nharidy. There's a reason the doc is named after you hahaha

[ 👉 My Wips ]

OK so the Absolvisti sequel's been sitting in my head since well, the week after I published it lmao. But I never got around to writing because I wasn't sure if it was being too self-indulgent (I'm feeling more confident about it now that I know you'll be pleased by it!). Also because I was having trouble deciding on a pov: should I continue with the Tatiana 1st person pov as always? Change it up to Martin 3rd person? or surprise: 1st person Don Juan?? Should it be a new chapter or new fic? (def. open to suggestions here!) Also I think it'd be Iconic to publish a story in the Dies Irae universe with our new cat profile pics.

Graphic detail time :D Prepare for a SUPER LONG answer LMAO. Most of the things I mentioned here and here will make their way in, with maybe a bonus ns/fw chapter from Martin or Andres' pov. The main story is SFW however, and there's like a hilariously high amount of hurt!Andres, who doesn't have demons to rely on anymore but still carries all the permanent damage the demons left on him:

It takes place some months after Absolvisti so Andres is doing better, but not fully well yet. He's not actively dying anymore but he does faint a lot and isn't exactly making a full recovery. Because I wanted to make things harder for Martin. Because he's not a young man anymore, the wounds were super extensive, and this is the result of years of accumulated damage + a form of "withdrawal" (the shadows/demons that used to feed on him were also the things that kept him alive so it's one big cycle that his body isn't leaving that easily).

This means every time Martin plans something nice for him like seeing a play or going out for a nightly walk, Andres can't go through the whole thing without feeling unwell. (Martin: "I over-exerted the love of my life. I am so SELFISH. what does Andres see in me??" Andres: "I disappointed the love of my life. I am the WEAKEST. what does Martin see in me??" Tatiana: feed me, bitches)

They manage to sit through one play though (not sure if I want this at the beginning or end of the fic LMAO). It's the one Bogota wrote, The Necromancer's Lament, a "biopic" about Andres' life. And it's every bit as terrible as Martin expected. Bad special effects, bad acting especially from Martin's actor, Andres' actor has a beard, and Tatiana looks like this:

Andres thinks it's the best play ever. Martin hates it and demands a refund. Tatiana hates it too but Don Juan's like, "mi amor, you are still beautiful to me, even as a deformed puppet."

Martin's 120-page complaints aside, Bogota runs the theatre troupe with his partner, Nairobi/Agata, and they're both going to start teaching performing arts at Santa Catalina because the last drama professor died lmao

Meanwhile, Santa Catalina has a new bad girl student, Tokyo/Silene! Sergio took her in as a charity case after some dark and mysterious events in her life. But Tokyo being Tokyo can't stay away from trouble, and she becomes obsessed with finding the demons that Andres expelled. Some bizarre possessions start happening again and the school's sponsors force Raquel to keep it under wraps. (Raquel: maybe if you increased funding, we wouldn't have so many problems!!)

In the meantime, Martin gets that letter from a long lost relative asking to meet him. Not sure about the order of this either. Anyway, Martin was planning to ignore the relative, but Andres insists he go. Either Tatiana or Don Juan accompany him. Martin learns that he's the sole heir of his dead parents across the sea (the will: “we forgive you for being a heretic, a freak of nature, and the alchemist of Palermo. also no hard feelings for leaving you to die as a baby xoxoxo”). There's one (1) condition though: he has to end his partnership with the necromancer. Martin: NO THANKS.

So while Martin's dealing with this unexpected drama, Sergio decides to call in Andres' expertise TM again because it's also a good excuse to talk to his brother. Martin is Very wary about this and rejects him. But Andres insists that it'll be fine. Plus, maybe he wants to turn a new leaf and help Santa Catalina for nothing in return this time. Not everyone gets a second chance at life and he doesn't want to be a bad person anymore uwu (Tatiana: "Andres was a pretentious piece of shit, surprising no one." Martin: "Nobody deserves Andres, not even me, and I'm like, the most amazing person in the world.")

Andres comes to do the exorcism with the random priest the school hired. And they discover there aren't any demons- it's just some ghost fucking around (maybe I'll make it the spirit of Gandia or Alicia since they haven't shown up yet lol). Anyway, it doesn't go very well but Andres gets rid of the creature or whatever. Not before it punctures a hole in his side though. Then Martin loses it, just full-on screams at Sergio for almost getting Andres killed again, makes a lot of threats against the school, etc. etc.

Raquel, being more useful, plugs up the wound. But the priest accidentally provokes Martin more by asking Raquel if he should mop up Andres' blood with holy water or something. What if the necromancer's blood is cursed?? And now it's all over the floor, so disgusting :/

Martin, already in a very bad mood, beats the priest up.

They go home. Martin's in a really sour mood and he just doesn't understand why Andres isn't mad at Sergio. Martin: "It's really emotionally damaging to me if you don't give a fuck about yourself." Andres makes him even angrier by bringing up the Berrote family will and having the audacity to suggest Martin leave him for money. He makes a huge case about how he literally has nothing to offer Martin except a body that barely works and a terrible reputation. Martin: "I lost a fucking eye for you??"

They fight and Martin storms away, and also kidnaps Don Juan, his honorary new soulmate who would never betray him like Andres.

A while after this, the Spanish Inquisition local clergy arrests Andres for "questioning." Because the shenanigans at Santa Catalina are still going on and that one priest suspects him of being behind everything just because. Raquel's the one who bails him out. She may not like Sergio's brother, but the way everyone else treats him is ridiculous.

Andres limps home, hoping Martin's still away. Surprise! Martin felt guilty and came back. And it's pretty obvious that Andres has just been tortured. Martin: "Say no more. I'm going to kill some people."

Andres gets Martin to not do anything stupid by dropping the thing with the will. He admits he was wrong for saying those things to Martin and he selfishly, genuinely wants to stay with Martin forever. Martin: "I'm still going to kill your brother. You may appease me with a kiss."

Does it end here? No! Because the shit at Santa Catalina is still happening. Andres and Martin solve it for good though. But it's all very dramatic. I'm vaguest about this part, but maybe Nairobi's injured saving Tokyo, and this gives Tokyo the wakeup call to move on from whatever baggage that got her into this mess in the first place. Then Andres' solution for saving Nairobi is to ask Martin to work that alchemist magic and transfer her wounds onto himself (at this point, we're just going overboard with the Andres whump but asdfasdf why stop??). Raquel: Sergio, tell your brother to stop dying. That's a bad example for the kids.

It takes a lot of convincing, but Martin relents in the end, only because he trusts Andres. At this point, Andres has been through so much that he physically cannot take any more damage. Like, he just can't lmao. So the whole process puts Andres into a coma or something. But we don't need him anymore because now we can revel in Martin's angst!

Martin spends the rest of his time crying and angsting and guilt-tripping Sergio, and just being very loud in general. He also writes back to his family and tells them to fuck off.

Once we indulge in enough of Martin's pain, Andres finally wakes up. Still very bad off but he's alive and not showing signs of dying any time soon. So that's good enough for Martin. They have a nice heart-to-heart, and idk, maybe Raquel comes to see them because Sergio's too embarrassed to. Until Andres insists, because he loves hermanito unconditionally uwu. Martin: "watch your back, Sergio. I might murder you in your sleep (:"

Then at the very end (I have no idea how long this story is LOL), there's some kind of family photoshoot between Raquel, Sergio, and Paula. Everyone's raving over this new invention called the "camera." Andres is admiring it from a distance until Raquel's like, "get over here. what part of FAMILY photoshoot do you not understand!?"

Andres is shocked pikachu face because good will towards him for once?? he's being included in something?? people want him around?? what is happening??

Martin's happy for him though. Then he's admiring from a distance until Raquel's like, "I said FAMILY photoshoot. Get over here, Martin!"

Tatiana didn't want to be a part of it, but Paula saw her favorite talking cat and like, grabbed her lmao. Don Juan photobombs it because he can't be excluded from an activity with Tatiana, especially when his former rival Andres is in the photo too. (His current rival is Casanova, an unworthy white cat vying for Tatiana's affections)

Sergio proposes to Raquel. The end! Yes, the kitty love triangle is also a central theme of this story LMAO Hope that satisfies you, nharidy! And I welcome any and all suggestions!

[let-the-dream-begin]

A Place to Belong Chapter 7:

A Sister’s Heart

Chapter 6

Read on AO3

About another week passed by of peaceful uneventfulness. Breakfast that morning had been quiet aside from Rabbie and wee Jamie chattering away to each other. There was a solemnity in all of the adults present, and even in Fergus.

It had been almost a month since they’d inquired about retrieving Jamie’s remains from Culloden. They’d heard whispers of people sneaking past the barriers the British had put up and retrieving loved ones themselves. Ian had mentioned it many times, but Jenny had insisted they do things properly. Claire was in enough danger as it was being Red Jamie’s wife. They couldn’t afford to do anything foolish to draw attention to her.

Jenny and Claire were sitting on the sofa in the parlor. Kitty was sitting on the floor, Bran laying dutifully, and quite patiently beside her as the toddler patted his head, and picked up his ears and paws over and over again, giggling madly when they dropped back into place. Jenny was attempting to teach Claire knit. Transitioning from stitching up skin to stitching fabric hadn’t been too difficult to manage, but knitting was an entirely different animal. She was failing miserably, and Jenny had taken the yarn and needles from her about three times now to correct something.

“Just tell me the truth,” Claire said, falling into the back of the couch and laughing. “I’m hopeless.”

“Yer not a lost cause until I say ye are,” Jenny insisted. “Come over here, watch how I fix this…again.”

Sighing, Claire sat up again and leaned over to watch Jenny fix yet another one of her mistakes, but something else caught her eye.

“Jenny!” she whispered excitedly. “Look.”

Jenny looked up and followed Claire’s gaze. Kitty was standing, still right next to Bran, having not used any furniture to get up. Jenny gasped in excitement. She threw the knitting down on the sofa and scrambled to her feet, grasping Claire’s hands. They silently crept several feet away from her, not wanting to startle her into falling back down before she attempted to walk.

“Kitty!” Jenny called, crouching down. Claire stood behind her, beaming. “Come on, Kitty. Walk to me, mo chridhe!”

Kitty stared for a moment, gaping at her. She made a little grunting noise, causing Jenny and Claire to laugh.

“Come on Kitty!” Claire joined. “Come on, sweetheart, you can do it!”

Jenny began egging her on in Gaelic, and she finally took a step toward them.

“Good girl!” Claire cried joyously, and Jenny stammered affectionately in Gaelic.

Katherine took two more steps, causing the woman to squeal. They continued to cheer her on, to praise her, until she finally took six, continuous steps into Jenny’s arms, smiling triumphantly. Jenny laughed joyously and scooped her up, standing and throwing her over her head.

“You did it!” Claire said. “What a clever girl!”

“She finally did it!” Jenny exclaimed. “I was worried, I was but…oh, mo chridhe..." Jenny kissed her yellow head, and Kitty laughed gleefully.

“I told you she was fine, just a late bloomer.” Claire cupped her little head and kissed her cheek. “Auntie Claire is so proud of you,” she said, and Kitty latched her clumsy hands into Claire’s curls, causing Claire to laugh out loud. Babies always had a tendency to latch onto hair, but there was something about Claire’s curly mop that was much more intriguing to her than her own mother’s hair.

Kitty made quite an indignant noise as Claire and Jenny worked to detangle her hands. They laughed and fussed over her; they couldn’t wait to tell Ian.

Suddenly, Fergus burst into the room.

“Fergus!” Claire said joyously. “You’ll never guess what wee Kitty just did!”

“I am sorry to interrupt,” Fergus said. “There are English soldiers coming up the road.”

Claire and Jenny’s smiles disappeared.

“Go fetch Milord,” Jenny instructed. Fergus nodded and scampered off. Claire went to follow after him, but Jenny grabbed her arm. “Ye’ll be staying inside.”

Claire burned a white hot stare into Jenny, but she did not release her. “I ken what ye must be feeling right now, but we canna afford for ye to make scene wi’ the British. I wouldna blame ye if ye did, but we canna take the chance. Ye’ll stay inside while Ian speaks wi’ them.”

“It’s my husband’s body they’re discussing,” Claire spat.

“Aye, and his child yer carrying. Would ye like it to be born in prison?” Jenny challenged. Claire’s jaw hardened, but she had nothing to say in response to that.

With a frustrated sigh Claire pulled her arm free of Jenny’s grip and dropped back onto the sofa. Kitty made another noise, sounding troubled, as if she could sense the change of mood in the room.

Jenny bounced her and kissed her head. “Mrs. Crook!” Jenny called. Before long the woman entered the room. “Take her please.” She handed her off to Mrs. Crook’s outstretched arms. “She just took her first steps,” Jenny said, smiling proudly despite the anxiety in her chest.

“Ah, what a braw wee lassie!” Mrs. Crook said, giving Kitty a tickle. “I’ll keep her occupied fer ye, Mistress.”

Jenny thanked her and called for Bran, who snapped into a standing position and trotted after Mrs. Crook, leaving Jenny and Claire alone in the parlor.

Jenny sat down beside Claire, putting a comforting, steadying hand on her knee. “Nothing so pure as a child’s laughter, no?” Jenny said in attempt to lighten the mood.

Despite her own anxiety, Claire smiled. “Yes…it’s a beautiful thing.”

“Won’t be long before — ”

The front door slammed shut, causing them both to jump. They both listened with bated breath as Ian’s uneven steps came closer and closer to the parlor.

Ian entered the room, his face solemn. “That was a British courier responding to our inquiry.”

Jenny sighed, not waiting for him to say it. “They won’t give him back to us.”

Ian shook his head. “They don’t even know where he is.” Jenny scoffed, disgusted. She buried her face in her hands as Ian continued. “They buried the dead in mass graves right on the moor. Hundreds and hundreds of them.”

“Fucking bastards,” Claire spat, abruptly standing up. She began pacing. “They slaughter him like an animal on that field and they don’t have the decency to give us a body to bury? It’s barbaric! I could fucking throttle him.” Claire made for the front door, intending to follow that courier to the ends of the earth and kill him with her bare hands. Ian stopped her, gently placing his hands on her shoulders.

“Let go of me.” she said through gritted teeth, but Ian only tightened his grip.

“It’s no use Claire. There are hundreds of other wives without bodies to bury. I’m sorry, lass.”

“I refuse to accept that,” Claire said firmly. “Now let me go!”

“Claire.”

She writhed in his grip, to the point where he had to wrap his arms around her entire frame. “Let me go! You fucking bastard!” She was screaming now, unintelligibly, trying to throw punches, to knee him in the groin, but unable.

“Jamie!” she shrieked, long and drawn out, his name tearing through her throat in an agonizing, blood curdling scream. She cried out his name again, but this time her knees gave out beneath her, and she dissolved into uncontrollable sobs. Ian, holding her up under her arms, glanced up helplessly at Jenny, who hurried off the sofa.

“Let her down,” Jenny instructed, and Ian gently lowered her to her knees. Jenny dropped to the floor and caught her in her arms. She held her tightly and rocked her back and forth as guttural cries wracked her body.

Wee Jamie appeared in the entryway to the parlor. “Mam?” His voice was small and scared.

“Ian,” Jenny said exhaustedly.

“It’s alright lad.” Ian hurried to scoop him into his arms. “Dinna fash. Let’s see if we can bother Mrs. Crook for some biscuits, aye?”

They disappeared to the kitchen, leaving the two women alone.

“Claire…oh, Claire…” Jenny stroked her hair, rubbed her back, cupped her cheek. “I ken it’s no’ fair. It’s downright sacrilegious. I ken it’s no’ fair…” Jenny kissed the top of her head. “Try to calm down, mo ghràidh…I ken it hurts, and I ken ye need to scream and cry…but it’s no’ good fer the bairn, ye told me yerself.” Claire seemed to not hear her at all. She was inconsolable. She hadn’t even been this upset when they’d first been told of his death. Perhaps she’d expected him to die; she’d been prepared to hear it. But being deprived of a body to part with him properly was another matter entirely.

It wasn’t long before her lungs couldn’t keep up with her anymore, and she began breathing heavily, her back heaving. She very suddenly and abruptly vomited on the rug, startling Jenny. It was nothing she hadn’t seen before; she’d been spit up on by all three of her bairns. She got her onto her hands and knees and soothingly rubbed her back until she was dry heaving, nothing coming up.

“It’s alright, breathe deep now. That’s it.”

Claire was silent, breathing deeply and staring at her own sick. “I…” she stammered, her voice hoarse. “I’m sorry, I…I completely lost it…”

“It’s alright.”

“No, it isn’t.” She sat back on her heels and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand “My behavior was abhorrent…I’ve soiled the carpet like a bloody child…”

“Grief makes us all fools, Claire. I ken I’d be wailing like that if the British took my husband and buried him in an unmarked grave. And didnae care to remember where.” Her voice wavered, stroking Claire’s hair.

“But I feel selfish acting this way. I’m not the only one that lost him.”

“Oh, I ken that, too,” Jenny said, taking a deep shuddering breath. “But he’s yer man. It’s different. And the two of you…ye were like two halves of each other. Drove me to drink to watch the two of ye,” she attempted to tease, and it worked, even if only slightly, bringing a tiny, tearful smile to Claire’s face. “It’s just…different.”

Claire forced down the urge to burst into more tears. “I’ll clean this.”

“Ye’ll do no such thing,” Jenny said firmly. “Let’s get you cleaned up. The servants can see to this.”

Jenny helped her to her feet, which was admittedly more difficult than either of them thought it would be. Claire was quite dizzy after the ordeal, and the pregnancy surely wasn't helping matters. They made their way slowly up the stairs, and then into Claire’s bedroom. Jenny helped Claire strip down to her shift and then sat her in front of the mirror. Claire absently stared at her reflection as Jenny wiped her mouth, face, neck, chest, and shoulders. She was vaguely aware of how pale she was, how gaunt her face had become. Was her flesh rotting away like Jamie’s was at this very moment, in his unmarked grave? Were they so inextricably linked that she was wasting away with him even as she lived?

“Ye’ll start showing soon,” Jenny’s voice interrupted her morbid thoughts. “Nearly been four months, has it no’?”

“Yes,” Claire said, her hands absently resting on her abdomen. “It has.”

“Are you happy to be wi’ child again?” Jenny said, dipping the rag again, then dabbing at Claire’s hairline. “I ken it’s different wi’out Jamie this time. But how does it feel to be carrying a bairn again?”

Claire smiled. “It doesn’t feel like much yet,” she said. “I admit, I haven't given it much thought, with everything else going on.”

“Give it some thought now.” Jenny put the rag aside and began pulling pins out of Claire’s hair.

“I feel…swollen, already.” They both chuckled. “And it’s only just begun. My breasts are sore, I’m exhausted…but,” she paused to look down at her abdomen. “When I really think about it, it’s…it’s a miracle.”

“How’s that?” Jenny put down the final pin and started gently combing through Claire’s curls with her fingers.

“I’ve heard of women who deliver…stillborn children, and they can never get pregnant again. I thought, perhaps, after how horrible it had been for us that I’d never…”

“Every child is a gift,” Jenny said, picking up the hairbrush. “But this one especially is a treasure.”

“I know. He’s the last thing Jamie will ever give me.”

“The greatest gift yer man can give ye.”

Claire smiled in agreement in spite of her urge to cry. “And when I really think about it…I’m also terrified.” Jenny didn’t have to ask. “I’ve also heard of women who’ve miscarried three, four, five times, or delivered stillborn after stillborn. After the first one they just…can’t bring a child into the world.”

“That’s always a risk, ye ken that.”

“I know but…it…it was horrible enough the first time. But to lose another one of Jamie’s children…I couldn't bear it. Not after all of this. I couldn't bear to…to lose the last thing he ever gave me.” Claire quickly swiped away her tears, not wanting to give into hysterics again.

“I understand.” Jenny laid down the brush and rested her hands on Claire’s shoulders. “I canna imagine how that feels, the usual fears piled on all the rest. Tell ye the truth, I dinna think I could bear losing Jamie’s child either. Not after all this. Like ye said.”

Claire sighed shakily. “It’s the only thing keeping me from wasting away.”

“I know.”

“I’d have died on that moor with him if I didn’t know I was carrying his child.”

“I know.”

Claire felt a heavy burden on her chest, one that she needed to relieve. “Remember I said that I…I never told him.”

“About the bairn?” Claire nodded. “Ye knew before ye left for Lallybroch?” She nodded again.

“I feel horrid for not telling him. I think about it every day. I could have given him one last thing…and I didn’t. He gave me the child itself, and to bring him that news, I could have returned the favor. It would have made him so happy.”

“Then why’d ye no’ tell him?” There was no judgment in her tone, just genuine curiosity.

Claire thought carefully about what to say. She’d thought time and time again about telling Jenny everything, especially now that they’d likely be spending the rest of their lives together.

She would eventually, but now didn’t seem like the right time.

“I…I promised him something. Something that would have had to come to fruition if I was with child…a promise I knew I couldn’t keep. So I…couldn’t tell him.”

“The guilt’s eating ye alive, is it?”

“Some days it does,” Claire said.

“Ye don’t have to tell me. I ken that husbands and wives make promises and keep secrets,” Jenny said, and Claire briefly wondered if there was more behind her saying it; if she was inferring that she knew she and Jamie had been hiding something from her. “But what I do know, is that Jamie is quite aware that yer carrying his child now.” Jenny wrapped her arms around Claire’s shoulders from behind and rested her chin on the crown of her head. “He’s smiling down on ye both, and he’s smirking to himself because he knows if it’s a boy or a girl before we will.” This made Claire chuckle. “Ye didna have to tell him then. It might have made it all the harder. He knows now, either way.”

“I’m sure he does.” Claire smiled through her tears, covering Jenny’s hands, which were clasped above Claire’s chest, with her own. “You know, we hardly talked about names for Faith. There was so much going on and then she…she came too soon for us to make a decision and then I…I didn’t name her.” Jenny tilted her head so her cheek was resting on Claire’s head. “But then, later on, months after, back in Scotland, here in Lallybroch actually, we were talking about your father. What a good man he was.”

“Aye, he was.”

“I told him I wanted to name our son Brian. When we had one. It…it made him very happy.” Claire briefly became lost in the memory. “So I promised him then that our next child would be Brian.”

“Father’d be honored,” Jenny said. “Ye know, when I first heard my brother married a sassenach I was red in the face, screaming at Ian that father was burling in his grave.” Claire chuckled. “But I’ve no doubt now that he’d have blessed the match a thousand times over if he could.” Jenny picked her head up again, returning her chin atop Claire’s head. “He’d be proud to have a second daughter in you. Just as I am proud to have ye as my sister.”

Claire beamed at Jenny through the mirror, touched beyond description. “Sister…I’ve never had one before. Or a brother for that matter.”

“Trust me, yer not missing much. Having a brother I mean.” They both laughed. “But I never had a sister either. And I didna ken what I was missing until ye waltzed yer proper English self onto my porch.”

“Yes, when you called me a trollop.”

Jenny tossed her head back in a loud guffaw. “I did, didn’t I?”

“Indeed you did,” Claire said, laughing nearly as hard.

“Oh…” Jenny gave Claire a brief squeeze and kissed the crown of her head before finally releasing her grip. She crossed the room to the armoire. “Let’s get some clothes on you, ye wee trollop.”

Claire bit her lip and reached for the wet rag. Not bothering to ring it out first, she hurled it across the room, hitting Jenny square in the back with a loud, wet slap. Jenny let out an undignified yelp, the likes of which Claire had never heard from her. Claire giggled uncontrollably, and Jenny whirled around, hands on her hips.

“Well, I never — !”

Claire could not stop laughing, and it was made all the worse by the face Jenny was pulling. Jenny shook her head, laughing in spite of the giant wet spot on her back.

“Jenny?” Claire said, finally able to abate her laughter. “You’re the best sister a trollop could ask for.”

“Aye, I am.” She bent down and retrieved the rag from the floor. “I’d have to be to put up wi’ this.” She hurled the rag back at Claire, who caught it, not without a little splash to the face. She laughed again, returning the rag to the bowl and standing to let her sister help her get dressed.

[bldreamer]

Orange Espresso | MorkSun

Dark Blue Kiss : MorkSun

Summary: Sun injures himself so can’t participate in the latest barista competition. Lucky for him, Mork is willing to step in and take his place. Based on THIS prompt for @dadamnerio. Genre: Stressed!Mork. Injured!Sun. Fluff. Hurt/Comfort.  Warnings: None?

A/N: Huge special thanks to @kdramama for her medical knowledge and listening to me whine a lot :) 

Sun wakes to a dark room and an empty bed. The sheets in the space next to him cold and undisturbed.

He wonders for a moment if he failed to convince Mork to stay the night but quickly remembers he hasn’t had to do that for months now. Not since he cleared out two out of the three drawers in his dresser and Mork officially moved in.

Now that took some convincing.

The door to Sun’s room is ajar, the light from downstairs faintly shining through the gap. If he listens closely, he can hear the clink and clank of the coffee machine.

Sun throws the covers off with his good hand and scoots to the edge of the bed. He stands gingerly, arm held close to his chest. His sling is hung on the headboard where he left it but it’s excruciating putting it on alone when his pain meds have worn off so he doesn’t bother. He just hopes he won’t regret it when he gets downstairs.

Deep breaths, Sun reminds himself, taking one step at a time down to the shop. Trying his best not jolt his injury.

It’s ridiculous, really. The cause. No doubt Rain will be telling the tale to his grandchildren. Kids, gather round, because this is the story of how your Great Uncle Sun convinced your Great Uncle Mork to a bicycle date in the park and ended up with a bruised coccyx and a broken collarbone.

As if no sex and a sweaty sling weren’t bad enough, Sun has had to pull out of the latest barista competition. He’s managed to downplay his disappointment with his brother and boyfriend. In truth, he’s a little heartbroken. Especially given how proud he is of the drink he created for it.

Lucky for him, he has an understudy willing to take his place. And a pretty remarkable one at that.

Sun stands at the top step above the coffee shop kitchen, smiling at the sight in front of him.

Mork in his loose sleep shirt and boxer shorts. Cheeks flushed with frustration. His forehead smeared with coffee grounds. Long hair in disarray. He started growing it out around the time he moved in. It looks good on him. Makes him look more youthful and carefree. Less like the boy with the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Sun makes a point of telling him how much he likes it when they’re alone. He knows if he says anything in front of Rain or Kitty, or any of their other friends, Mork would mutter in embarrassment and run the nearest barbers to cut it.

“Stupid fucking coffee,” Mork grumbles, half-empty glasses clinking against one another as he slams the latest one down on the counter like he’s creating an assembly line.

He grips the edge of the counter with both hands and groans with his head dipped to his chest.

“I thought you were coming to bed?”

Mork flinches, head whipping around and body ready for an attack. He may have promised to never get into another fight if he can help it. But subconsciously, old habits die hard.

Mork’s shoulders relax when he notices Sun. “P’, what are you doing down here?” he asks, brow furrowing deeply.

“I asked first,” Sun remarks from above. He steps down into the kitchen, doing his best to keep the pain from his face as the movement makes his eyes water and his breath hitch in his throat.

Mork narrows his eyes. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

Sun’s eyes trail over the mess in his kitchen. Coffee grounds over every surface, spilled milk on the floor, used glasses scattered on what looks to be every tray they have.

“I’ll clean this up, before you complain,” Mork sniggers, not making eye contact.

“I didn’t say anything,” Sun replies softly, taking in the dark smudges under Mork’s eyes. “Why are you still down here?”

Sun doesn’t mention the fact that he knows this is the third night in a row. The previous two he’s heard Rain arguing with Mork in the middle of the night until eventually Mork storms upstairs and Rain slams his bedroom door.

“The competition is tomorrow.”

“Mh, and?” he asks, voice a little shaky. He should have taken the time for his sling after all.

“And I can’t make your stupid drink how it’s supposed to be made.”

“You made it perfectly fine yesterday,” Sun says. “And the day before. And the day before that.”

Mork drags a hand over his face and pushes his hair back from his forehead. “Perfectly fine won’t win you the competition, P’Sun.”

“Neither will your exhaustion.”

Mork stays silent for a long moment, weighing up his thoughts like he always does. “I can’t figure out what I’m doing wrong,” he admits. “I do everything exactly as you do.”

“So what do you think is missing?”

“If I knew that it wouldn’t be missing would it?” Mork almost shouts. He shakes his head, “Forget it, P’. Just go back upstairs, before you give yourself another injury.”

Sun smiles carefully. “If you’re not going to bed, neither am I,” he tells Mork pointedly.

“That’s stupid.”

“Then we’re evenly matches because so is stressing over a drink.”

“Like you weren’t so much worse when you entered the first time,” Mork grunts under his breath, wiping his hands on a nearby cloth. He huffs and throws it in the sink when he’s done with it.

Sun looks at him fondly. It still astounds him how much Mork puts into the things that are important to him. The boy spent so much time pretending not to give a damn, and yet he cares more than anyone Sun has ever met when something truly matters to him or the people around him.

“P’Sun, what are you doing?” Mork grumbles.

Sun passes him and walks up to the counter. “You can’t work with all this mess.” He picks up two glasses from the side with his good hand and carefully puts them into the sink. “Come on. Help me clear this up and we’ll work it out together.” He takes a shuddering breath, reaching for another glass, which is harder than it looks in his silly state.

“Give me that,” Mork grunts, taking the glass from him. “Do you want your bones to heal? Keep this up and you'll have to get the surgery the doctor talked about.” He sets the glass down in the sink next to the others. “Where is your sling?”

“Upstairs. You weren’t there to help me put it on,” Sun pouts.

He receives absolutely zero sympathies for his troubles as Mork huffs and disappears from the kitchen.

It’s not often Sun is the one being nagged at. It’s not entirely pleasant, he’ll give Mork that. Still, it’s nice that he cares.

A moment later Mork re-appears with a padded chair from the cafe, one of the ones without armrests. They learned the horrors of those two days after Sun had his arm pinned and he caught his elbow on the corner. He spent the next half hour trying not to throw up while Mork sat across from him, hands on his knees, helping him breathe through it.

Mork places the chair down and points for Sun to sit. He does so without argument and watches Mork clear away the used glasses and spilled coffee. Methodically wiping down every surface and mopping up the milk from the floor.

“I’ll tell Rain to wash those tomorrow,” Sun says of the glasses and trays piled into the sink. He makes a mental note to buy Rain a stockpile of the potato chips he’s obsessed with as a thank you for the trouble this week.

Mork huffs in response and Sun takes is as an okay.

“Show me how you make the drink.”

“So you can nag me on all the ways I’m actually doing it wrong?”

“I’m just trying to help.”

“So was I, and that’s how I ended up in this mess,” Mork chunters.

“It’s just a coffee competition,” Sun reminds him. “We already won the award. And it’s not like the prize is actual money.”

“Then why did you enter if its so pointless, P’?” Mork leans with his back against the counter, eyes studying the floor. “I said I’d do it.”

“So show me.”

Mork purses his lips then gets to work making the iced orange espresso. There’s tension in the way he holds his shoulders and a constant unwavering line etched in between his squinted eyes. He pours the freshly squeezed orange juice into the glass with expert precision, places the perfect amount of ice cubes into the glass and carefully pours the espresso he just made over the top with a sprig of rosemary to garnish. It’s perfect, exactly right, save for one thing.

“You’re pouring the espresso too slowly,” Sun tells him plainly.

“You told me to pour slow, P’,” Mork barks in response. “You said it would sink to the bottom if I didn’t.”

“Not that slow. Your hand is shaking.”

Mork frowns and looks down at his trembling hand. That’s what you get when you haven’t slept much in three days.

“Make it again and I’ll help you pour.”

Mork makes another espresso shot and pours another half glass of fresh orange juice. He picks out the rosemary sprig from the previous drink and tosses a handful of ice into the orange juice.

Sun carefully rises from the chair and stands behind Mork, head over his shoulder, injured arm tucked to his chest. He places his fingers over Mork’s around the espresso cup with his good hand, the scent of coffee and mint shampoo lingering.

“Relax,” Sun says, moving Mork’s hand over to the glass of orange juice, tipping the espresso slowly but deliberately until the dark almost black liquid suspends on top of the orange, blending every so slightly in the middle. “See, perfect.”

“Will you be there to help me pour at the competition, P’Sun?” Mork tuts over his shoulder.

Sun smirks. “I think that’s probably against the rules.” He places a kiss on Mork’s neck, just below his ear. “You know you don’t have to compete if you don’t want to.”

“Shut up already, P’. I want to,” Mork quickly says. “For the cafe.”

“Mh, just for the cafe?”

“Why else would I be slaving away at this time?”

Sun grins, dropping his chin to Mork’s shoulder. “So you admit you love this cafe?”

“No,” Mork grumbles. “I like money, and the last time you entered a competition it brought a lot of wealthy customers. They tip me a lot better than cheap college students.”

“You’re a college student,” Sun points out.

Mork turns so they’re facing. “And I’m cheap, P’. What’s your point?” He asks, eyebrows raised.

Sun sighs dramatically, the motion pulling on his throbbing shoulder and chest. “Can we go to bed now? I’m tired and sore.”

“And who’s fault is that?” Mork narrows his eyes into a glare but there’s a hint of worry underneath. His hands hovering like he’s scared to touch. Sun is starting to miss his pushes and shoves.

“Stop worrying, I’m fine,” Sun tells him, rubbing his thumb in between Mork’s eyes at the frown line that is starting to become a permanent feature on his face. “Come on, come to bed.”

Mork huffs, placing his hands around Sun’s waist. “If you try to work in the cafe tomorrow while I’m not here I’m moving out.”

“That’s harsh.”

“I mean it, P’Sun. I asked P’Kitty to cover for me and keep an eye on you.”

Sun rolls his eyes, heart-swelling. “I’m not an invalid,” he complains lightly, letting Mork put a hand around his back and guide him towards the stairs.

“No, you’re an idiot.” He looks down at Sun’s swelling and the yellow bruising that stubbornly refuses to fade while they walk. “I’m not being your nurse if you need surgery.”

Sun laughs carefully. “You love being my nurse.”

“Do not,” Mork turns his nose up, a smile tugging on the sides of his mouth. “You’re a nag even when you’re medicated.”

“And you’re a grump when you’re stressed.” Sun moves up the steps, Mork by his good side, arm wrapped around his back to steady him.

“You’re the one who gives me stress, P’.”

It’s slow going. Up is always harder than down.

“Liar,” Sun grunts, breathless from the exertion. “You love me.”

“Hence the stress, idiot.”

Sun keeps his lips pressed tightly together to keep from grinning. They make it to the top, Sun clammy and pale, Mork frowning and hovering.

Mork helps him take another dose of painkillers and get back into bed, adjusting the pillows against the headboard for the right amount of support. He’s been vigilant since the doctor explained in great detail the best ways to help his recovery.

Sun wouldn’t say he loves being in constant pain and discomfort, but he’s seen another new side of Mork since he got hurt and it’s made his heart swell with pride each day.

Mork goes to wash his hands in the bathroom down the hall then carefully gets under the covers himself, perching on the edge of the bed as far away from Sun as possible.

Sun huffs at the distance. “I’m cold,” he complains, despite his long sleeve sleep shirt.

“Do you want another blanket?” Mork asks, resting against the headboard.

“No, I want a cuddle,” Sun pouts.

“Shut up, P’. I’m not falling for that.”

“But I’m lonely.”  

Mork grumbles. “I’m literally right here.”

“Mork. Come cuddle me, please? Mork.”

Mork folds his arms over his chest, looking away. “If you don’t shut up I’m sleeping in Rain’s room.”

Sun smirks, “He installed a lock on his door after the last time we argued.”

“Then I’m sleeping on the floor.” Mork shuffles down until his head is on his pillow. “Go to sleep, P’Sun.”

“I’m still cold.”

“Not my problem.”

“Mooork.” Sun’s bottom lip almost touches his chin. “Come here. Please?”

Mork grumbles something unintelligible under his breath then sighs heavily. He shuffles closer, only a few inches, then a few more when Sun continues to pout. His face remains drooped until they’re shoulders almost touch and he can feel Mork’s warmth.

“Happy now?” Mork asks rhetorically, turning on his side to face Sun.

Sun smiles, wishing he could face Mork too. “Mhh, very.”

He isn’t just talking about their sleeping positions.

“Mork?”

“What?” Mork blinks at him. “Do you need anything, P’?” he asks when he doesn’t get a reply.

Sun smiles, shaking his head. “Thank you.”

“For?”

“The competition,” Sun says, body starting to feel heavy. “Asking Kitty to cover. Helping me. Everything.”

Mork turns to lie on his back, hand behind his head, tired eyes staring up at the ceiling. “Mh, sure, P’.”

“You’re good,” Sun smiles, the medication melting into his system making his lips blissfully numb. “You’re so good.”

Mork snorts.

“You’re high.”

Sun smiles dopily. “It’s nice.”

“P’Sun.” Mork is quiet for a moment. “I’m sorry in advance for screwing up the competition.”

Sun shakes his head. “You won’t.”

“I’m not as good as you, P’. I’m bound to ruin it for you.”

“You could come last and you wouldn’t ruin it for me,” Sun whispers. “I already got the best prize anyway.”

“Corney.” There’s a faint smile on Mork’s face despite his words. “G’night, P’Sun.”

Sun watches his eyes slowly flutter, exhaustion winning over his stubbornness for the first time in three days.

“Sweet dreams, Mork.”

As far as Sun is concerned, he’s won the best competition of them all.

~Fin.

[the--sad--hatter]

Ice Cream and Grass Stains (Bucky x Reader)

Requested - #15 from My Avengers Prompt List 

Person A: This isn’t how I imagined saying this but… take all your clothes off. – With Bucky, for the two anons who requested it.

Warnings - Violence, Gore, Swearing and Really Bad Flirting...

Ice Cream and Grass Stains

When The Black Widow tracked you down and dragged your ass back to the Avengers compound, you’d really thought she was arresting you. She had jumped you in the middle of a heist after all, but she knew more than you thought she did. She’d known you were stealing classified files from a Hydra Agent and she presented those files and you to the team and recommended you join them. And the rest was history.

That had been three months ago.

Now, you were a fledgling hero on her first team mission. You had hoped for something easy, like taking down a base in the middle of nowhere. Not a knock down, free for all, fight to the death with aliens in the middle of Chicago.

 “Newbie, Falcon needs help getting civilians to safety, three block south of you.” Clint said in your ear, through the comm unit.

 “On it.” You said, running towards where you’d been instructed.

 You saw Sam pulling a group of people out of a café and pointing them towards the safety of the police blockade.

 “Little bird, big bird said you needed a hand?” You said as you jogged up to him.

 “Yeah, get these people to safety. I need to get back up there.” Sam told you, clasping you on the shoulder and making sure you were ok with it.

 “Fly away my friend, I’ve got it from here.” You assured.

 He gave you a toothy grin and took off.

 “Folks, if you’ll follow me?” You asked politely, trying not to show them how nervous you were.

 They dutifully followed you until you handed them off to the police officers who’d set up a perimeter around the battle.

 “Civvies are A-Ok, where to next, eye in the sky?” You asked Clint.

 “Barnes has been cornered in an office block not far from you. He says he’s fine but just tell him you got lost and needed his help to find your way back to the rest of the team.” Clint suggested.

 You bit back a snort of laughter at the fact Clint had Cheat Codes for dealing with The Winter Soldier and let him direct you to the office building.

 Bucky was on the fourth floor and he was decidedly NOT fine. He was fighting off twelve of the outer space bad guys with a pocket knife. Though to be fair to him, he was holding them back and looking unfairly hot whilst doing so. You sprung onto the backs of one of the aliens before they could even notice you were in the room and used your own knife to slice it across the throat, landing in a crouch when it fell dead.

 You spun around in the crouch, slicing through the calves of a second alien and angling your knife so it impaled its own skull on the blade as it fell. Out of the corner of your eyes you saw him take down three of them in rapid succession.

 “What are you doing here?” He snarled while he broke the neck of another with a sickeningly satisfying crunch.

 “Helping?” You offered, ducking under the swing of one of the extra-terrestrials coming at you.

 “Get out of here, go find the others.” He commanded.

 “But…”

 “Get out!” He shouted, kicking one of the ones coming after you in the ribs.

 You ignored him and tackled an alien round the middle of it’s long body, piledriving it to the ground and stabbing it through the eye socket. One of it’s friends grabbed your shoulder, fingernails piercing your skin. You hissed in pain as it bodily picked you up and flung you a good twelve feet across the room. You smashed into the wall, cracking the plaster and landing on the floor with a thump.

 You were seriously winded and it took you nearly a full minute to stand up. There was a horrific burning pain across your back and you saw the sharp jagged edge of a piece of metal on the wall. You must have caught your back on it, which explained why you felt so very dizzy and weak.

  Bucky saw your body sail past him and heard the impact it made with the wall and he snapped. Red clouded his vision and he tore through the remaining aliens viciously, destroying them before they could even think about going after you while you were vulnerable. When the last one died under his metal grip he whipped his head around to look at where you were landed and he felt relief flood his system when he saw you standing upright and looking sheepish.

 “Are you ok?” You called over to him tentatively.

 “Unlike you, I can take care of myself. Unlike you, I can heal on the off chance I actually do get hurt. I don’t need a pathetic, unskilled, wannabe hero to jump in and save me. You just ended up getting on the way and I had to save your ass.” He snarled.

 “Sorry.” You mumbled.

 “What, no snappy comeback? No witty one-liners?” He snapped.

 “Not today.” You said, hanging your head low.

 “Are… are you crying?” he asked derisively, noticing the sheen in your eyes.

 “You know what? I am. Because I’m bleeding to death over here and you STILL have to take the time to make me feel two inches tall.” You choked out.

 He rolled his eyes at you and stomped over, pulling the tact suit away from your injured shoulder.

 “It’s barely bleeding. You’re fine.” He told you, his eyes widening when he was the smear of blood on the wall and the puddle of the thick red liquid pooling at your feet.

 He cautiously leaned over to look at you back and let out a sharp intake of breath when he saw the large gash from your right shoulder to your left hip. It was deep and ragged, bleeding heavily.

 “Shit!” He swore, springing into action.

 “I need a med evac on the south side of the west building here.” He said into the comms, ripping his own jacket off and trying to use it to stem the bleeding.

 “Damnit. Ok kid, they’re coming but it’s going to be a while. I can’t move you, I’ll tear up your wounds worse.” He told you.

 You mumbled something in reply, swaying slightly.

 “Whoa, stay with me. I need you to watch my six while I’m cleaning up this mess.” He joked, gesturing to your back.

 “m’kay.” You muttered.

 “This isn’t how I imagined saying this but… take all your clothes off.” He instructed, getting up to search the room for anything that could be even remotely classed as medical supplies.

 He heard you fumble with the zipper of your tact suit as he tore through desk drawers, until he lucked out and found a first-aid kit with sterile wipes and a suturing kit. He also found a half-empty bottle of vodka. When he turned back to you, you were wincing in pain and trying to pull off the tact suit without moving.

 “I’ve got you.” He said softly, grabbing a hold of you.

 You were losing more blood than he had initially realised. He shoved stuff off of a desk and picked you up, gently laying you down on your front on the desk.

 “Sorry about this doll.” He apologised, using one of his many knives to cut the tact suit off your back.

 “How did you imagine it?” You asked him weakly.

 “Imagine what?” He replied, using someone’s discarded scarf to mop up as much of the blood as he could.

 “You said, you imagined it differently. Telling me to take my clothes off.” You told him and he briefly faltered in his actions.

 He hadn’t even realised he’d said that. He’d been distracted by your injuries, it must have slipped out.

 “Sorry.” He apologised, wiping his hands with a sterile wipe before gently probing at the edges of the gash.

 “Tell me…” You pushed.

  He sighed wearily and let out a self-deprecating laugh.

 “You’re not gonna let me live this down, are you?” He asked.

 “Well you’ll probably get lucky and I’ll die before I have the chance to tell anyone.” You laughed softly.

 “You’re not going to fucking die. That’s an order, do you understand me?” He commanded.

 “This isn’t how I imagined saying this but… Whatever you want, Sergeant.” You said cheekily.

 He laughed at your wit, even in the throes of agony.

 “I can stitch this up, there’s enough supplies but I need to clean it first and I’m sorry, but it’s going to hurt.” He apologised, holding the bottle of vodka.  

 “Gimme.” You demanded, gesturing to it and he sighed, but opened it and handed it to you.

 You managed to angle your head to the side and take several long gulps before handing it back to him. Before you could think about what he was going to do, he poured the alcohol directly over the gash.

 “MOTHERFUCKING FUCKER! FUCK YOU BARNES!” You screamed and he had to pin you down to stop you from thrashing.

 “Sorry.” He winced.

 “Don’t apologise you absolute wanker, I’m going to give you something to actually be sorry about. As soon as I can stand up.” You vowed.

 “I believe you sweetheart.”

 Oh so now I’m your sweetheart? Few minutes ago I was a thorn in your side.” You scoffed.

 He swallowed thickly, guilt seeping through his bones at the harsh words he’d spat in your face.

 “I was angry. I didn’t mean to make you upset.” He said, threading the needle and pinching the edges of the gaping wound together.

 “Well, fuck that hurts, I forgive you. Especially since now I know it was mostly just your pent up sexual frustration.” You said.  

 “We’re back to that huh?” He sighed.

 “I wanna know how you imagined it.” You pushed.

 “It starts with me finally working up the nerve to ask you to let me take you out.” He admitted.

 “And if I said yes? How would it have gone?” You asked him.

 “I would have picked you up at your door and given you flowers, the one’s you always stop and look at through the window in the grounds. We would take my bike, you’d have to sit behind me and wrap your arms around me.” He chuckled.

 “And where we would we go?”

 “Somewhere quiet, where nobody else was. I would have said a picnic but I know you, I’d just take you to the fucking McDonalds drive through because you’re a cheap date.” He scoffed and you tried to hold yourself still while you laughed.

 “I’d get a McFlurry right?” You checked.

 “With an apple pie to smoosh into it.” He confirmed.

 “That sounds good right about now. So then what?” You asked, biting down on your lip when he got to the widest part of the wound.

 “I’d take you to the park, and I’d lay my jacket on the ground for you to sit on. You always look so fucking beautiful in the moonlight you know?”

 “I didn’t know actually.” You giggled.

 “Stars have got nothin on you sweetheart, surprised they don’t just stop shining altogether.” He said, his old Brooklyn accent coming through.

 You let out a low, impressed whistle.

 “You’ve got lines Barnes.” You teased him.

 “And I’d pull them all out on our date, I’d make an ass of myself trying to impress you.” He laughed.

 “I’d think it was cute.” You assured him.

 “Yeah, you would. Eventually you’d get tired of it though and you’d kiss me just to get me to shut up.” He revealed.

 “Devious plan, I like it.” You sniggered.

 “I’d kiss you till you couldn’t think straight doll, then I’d keep kissing you. I think once I started, I wouldn’t be able to stop.” He admitted.

 “And when I was all dumbed out from your kisses, then you’d tell me to take all my clothes off?” You whispered.

 “You know me too well.” He confirmed.

 “Bucky?”

 “Yeah, sweetheart?”

 “I can’t believe you wanna fuck me in a public park, I didn’t figure you for such a pervert.” You said and his shoulders shook with the force of his laughter.

 “Couldn’t even spring for a motel room huh?” You continued and he had to stop stitching for a second he was laughing so hard.

 “You want The Ritz doll? I’ll get us The Ritz.” He asked, continuing with his task of sewing your back together.

 “Nah, I want Ice cream and grass stains.” You told him sleepily.

 He chewed his bottom lip anxiously as he tried to figure out if you were humouring him, or if he might actually stand a chance. He would have never have admitted any of this if he hadn’t accidentally blurted it out and needed to distract you from the pain.

 “So Doc, I’m I gonna live? My Sergeant says I gotta and I hate to disobey an order.” You asked.

 “You’re going to be just fine. Banner and Cho can fix this in no time, you’ll be up and about in a couple of days.” He promised.

 “Good, good. I’ve got a date this weekend.” You sighed.

 His heart panged painfully in his chest. You had a date… So you were only humouring him. You probably thought he was joking around, trying to keep you amused while he stitched you up.

 “Anyone I know?” He asked with a false cheeriness.

 “Yeah actually. Sam finally got it together and asked me out.” You told him.

 “Sam? Sam Wilson? Sam Wilson the Falcon?” He stuttered.

 “That’s the one, not sure if he has anymore nicknames though. I’ll let you know once I’ve seen him naked if there’s anymore we can add to the list.” You joked as he pulled the final stitch through your skin.  

 He felt physically ill at the idea of you and Sam, never mind you and Sam naked. Of course someone else would have asked you out though, you were beautiful and funny and brave. Even if he had moved faster, you would have probably turned him down, he wasn’t

 “You do know I’m joking right?” You interrupted his internal takedown of himself.

 “Oh. So it’s not Sam?” He said, almost relieved.

 But if it wasn’t Sam, it was still someone else.

 “Bucky…”

 “Yeah?” He said softly.

 “Ask me out you fucking idiot.” You commanded.

 “What?” He said, choking on his own saliva and scooting back from the desk so he could see your face.

 “I told you, I want ice cream and grass stains.” You said, smiling at him softly with so much fondness in your eyes it literally took his breath away.

 “Me, you want to go on a date with me?” He checked.

 “Unless you didn’t mean it? Oh god, you didn’t mean it. Ugh, I’m such an idiot.” You groaned, burying your face in your arms.

 “I meant it!” He exclaimed loudly.

 You peered up at him with a mischievous, cocky grin and he huffed out a laugh as he realized you’d played him.

 “Sweetheart, will you let this idiot take you out?” He asked, grinning.

 “Hmm, I’ll have to check my diary… make sure Sam’s not free this weekend.” You joked.

 “Doll…” He groaned.

 “You can take me out Barnes. I’ll wear something easy to take off.” You said.

 A/N - All is ok in my world again so I’m coming back to writing :) 

[theweakestthing]

Dawning (also on ao3)

Richie was laid out on the concrete. Lying in the middle of the road and staring up at the sky. No one ever came down this far on Neibolt Street, not on foot let alone by car. The chances of getting hit were probably the same as getting struck by lightning. It wasn’t out of the question, but it still wasn’t likely. He could barely hear the traffic from a few streets over.

His eyes traced over the clouds as they drifted slowly through the bleak grey sky. It was probably going to rain sooner or later. He should get up before that, he thought, considering the fact that he wasn’t even wearing a jacket. Still, he stayed lying there.

Long before it reached him, Richie could hear the approaching bicycle. The sound tumbled through Richie’s mind and cleared it. He thought it was going to pass right by him, maybe the rider would yell something at him as they passed, but he didn’t expect to hear the short squeal of the breaks as the bike stopped beside him.

“What are you doing Richie?” Eddie asked, brows furrowed, casting shadows over his eyes as he stared down at Richie.

Eddie was wearing a sensible jacket, a woollen hat and a serious face. Richie could still see the smattering of freckles sprinkled across Eddie’s face like chocolate chips in cookie dough. Fingers curled over the handles of his bike, feet planted firmly on the ground. Richie’s stomach flipped.

He didn’t want to see Eddie, he didn’t want to see anyone that was why he’d come there in the first place, but he especially didn’t want to see Eddie. No one was supposed to come out here. There wasn’t a damn thing on this side of town, the road led to the dead train yard where the freights only came every other hour. He only knew that because Eddie had told him. Richie almost groaned aloud to himself, of course he’d come to the only place where Eddie would stumble upon him.

“Waiting for you, Eddie my love,” Richie replied smoothly without moving from where he was, still laid in the middle of the road. He slid his hands beneath his head as though he was as comfortable as could be.

“Get up, you’re gonna get run over,” Eddie returned as he looked back down the street, Richie didn’t look because he knew that there was nothing there.

“I’ve literally never seen a car on this street, at least not down this far,” Richie said. He watched Eddie’s face screw up as he looked back down at Richie.

“What will you do if one does come, eh?” Eddie said, brows raised, like he’d caught Richie out or was at least trying to.

“Guess I’ll fucking die Eds,” Richie said, smiling up at Eddie.

“Don’t call me that, you know I hate it when you call me that,” Eddie muttered, but his cheeks were reddening despite his words. “Are you okay?” he asked after a beat, face suddenly serious, lips pressed into a thin line of concern. Richie hated that look, especially when it was aimed at him. It made his gut twist with guilt.

“I don’t know,” Richie shrugged, shoulders grazing against the asphalt.

Eddie looked up and down the road again. He sighed and climbed off of his bike, leaving it in the road as he sat down next to Richie. He pulled off his hat and ran a hand through his chocolate brown hair. It was messy and wild in a way that Eddie tried not to be but revelled in when he finally allowed himself to, the sight sent thrills through Richie that he tried to smother.

“Come on Rich, what’s up?” Eddie urged softly, toying with the hat in his lap, eyes resolutely on Richie’s face.

Richie stared back. He didn’t want to lie, especially when Eddie already knew that something was up, it wouldn’t be fair. Eddie had gotten down to his level and Richie supposed that he should come up to Eddie’s.

“I know I’m like super annoying, but you guys do like me right?” Richie said sitting up, staring at his feet, muttering as he fiddled with the hole in his jeans.

“What?” Eddie squawked, his brows flew up his head and his eyes went comically wide. Richie would have laughed if he didn’t feel so vulnerable, so exposed, so terrified of being told that this was nothing and he should just get over himself.

“It’s stupid, don’t worry about it,” Richie murmured, he brought his hands up and slid his fingers under his glasses to rub at his eyes and the bridge of his nose.

“No, Richie, of course we like you,” Eddie said as he closed his hand around Richie’s elbow, pulling Richie’s hand away from his face. “Why would you think we don’t like you?” He asked, brows pinched as though the thought alone pained him, his expression didn’t make Richie feel any better.

“I don’t know Eds, I guess I’m just overreacting, forget about it,” Richie said, trying to smile but failing miserably, he watched Eddie’s hand instead of his face.

“No I’m not gonna just forget it,” Eddie said firmly, “if I’ve done something to upset you Richie, then I want to know,” he added, flexing his fingers around Richie’s arm.

“It’s nothing,” Richie waved him off with his other hand.

“Richie, it’s clearly not fucking nothing since you’re lying in the middle of the road so just tell me,” Eddie returned, gesturing to the fact that they were still sitting in the road. It was kind of a miracle that Eddie wasn’t freaking out about how they could get run over at any moment, Richie figured that he owed Eddie the truth considering how uncomfortable this was probably making him.

“You guys told me to go away, at lunch, and I get it since you’re working on that project or whatever, but I don’t know, without you I don’t have anyone to hang out with,” Richie said, feeling exactly as miserable as he’d felt when he left the library, pretending that nothing was wrong.

“Richie,” Eddie said with feeling, as though there really was nothing to worry about, that Richie had been worrying about nothing, like he knew he was. When Richie finally looked up at him, Eddie was smiling. “Ugh, this is so dumb,” he groaned and removed his hand from Richie’s arm to drag it down his face.

“Gee, thanks Eds, I feel so much better,” Richie replied. His throat felt suddenly tight and his stomach was twisting so much, he was sure that he was going to puke at any moment.

“Shut up,” Eddie muttered, lightly batting at Richie’s shoulder. He hesitated for a moment before he pushed on. “We were planning your birthday party, since it’s coming up next week,” he explained, smiling as he stared at Richie, teeth showing in his relief.

“Oh,” Richie drew out, blinking wide eyed at Eddie, which must have looked comical considering the way his thick glasses magnified his eyes.

“Yeah, oh,” Eddie replied.

“So you don’t hate me?” Richie said, joking. He couldn’t help joking when he felt like this, all tense and lightheaded and stupid, he’d never been good at dealing with his feelings.

“No Richie I don’t hate you,” Eddie said, laughing lightly as he shook his head. He swallowed and stared at Richie for an immeasurable moment, blinking as they breathed in the thick air between them. Richie couldn’t help but watch the way that Eddie’s tongue darted out to lick at his lips. “I don’t think I could ever hate you,” he admitted, blushing as he ducked his head and pushed his hair behind his ear.

Richie was sure that Eddie would take it back as quick as he could, but as the seconds ticked by, Eddie didn’t say a thing.

“Thanks Eds,” Richie murmured, buckling under Eddie’s timid smile, “I could never hate you either,” he added, it was probably the truest thing that he would ever say.

For a moment, Richie was as brave as Eddie made him feel, he reached out and closed his hand over Eddie’s against the asphalt. There were probably like a billion and one different kinds of bacteria on the ground, but Eddie wasn’t pulling away and that small thing meant the world to Richie.

Then the sky opened up and rain began to beat against the asphalt and their bodies. Eddie snatched his hand away as he jumped onto his feet, picked his bike up from the ground.

“Come on Richie, you’ll catch the fucking flu if you don’t get off the ground, people die of the flu all the time,” Eddie yelled, even as Richie was getting up, shaking as he pulled the bike upright. He stuffed the hat into his jacket pocket and pulled his hood over his head. “My mom’s gonna fucking kill me, she’s gonna take me straight to the hospital and we’ll be in A&E all night, all night Richie because they know it’s bullshit and they make us wait all fucking night before they tell her that there’s nothing wrong with me,” he rambled, striding down the street as quickly as he could without running, without getting on his bike.

It would have been faster to get on the bike, but Richie knew that Eddie would be thinking about how dangerous it would be to ride in the rain, how different the breaks would feel. He could already hear the wheeze in Eddie’s breathing.

“I know Eds,” Richie said, walking as fast as he could for a fifteen year old smoker. He was already drenched to the bone. His glasses were dripping with water, it would be pointless to wipe them since they would just get wet again. His clothes were clinging to his body, slick against his skin, goose flesh rising over every inch of him. His hair was a fuzzy mop against his head. “You can come back to mine and get dry, we’ll call your mom and say that we have to do a project or something, she knows I get good grades so that’ll shut her up,” he suggested, pushing his hair out of his face.

“You sure that’s fine Richie?” Eddie asked, looking pensively over at Richie.

“Of course I am,” Richie said, smiling back at Eddie as the water slipped over his face, dripping off of his nose.

“Thanks Richie,” Eddie said, smiling softly as he tried to catch his breath without slowing down.

“Anytime,” Richie returned, hoping that his blush didn’t show, “my house is closer anyways,” he added, shrugging, because he didn’t know what else to say and he didn’t want to walk in silence.

They power walked the whole way to Richie’s house, water sloshing off of them. Richie was starting to get the shivers but was trying not to act like it because that’d worry Eddie. People were rushing through the streets. Newspapers held over their heads, kids screaming as they scrambled into their houses, people running from their cars, cats cowered on porches. Finally they made it to Richie’s house. They took cover under the respite of his porch as he struggled to fish his keys out of his damp pocket.

As soon they got inside, Richie began to strip. No one was home, his parents worked late all the time and it wasn’t even five pm yet, so they were fine for a while. It wasn’t like Richie wouldn’t have striped at the door even if his parents were there. Eddie was still in the hall, pulling off his shoes as he braced himself against the wall with his palm. Richie was down to his underwear by the time Eddie had hung up his jacket on one of the pegs by the door.

“Could you get me some clothes to, you know, change into?” Eddie asked, standing awkwardly in the entryway as he resolutely did not look at Richie.

“Sure thing spaghetti man,” Richie said and scrambled up the stairs and into his room. He pulled out his cleanest and most comfortable clothes for Eddie to wear, flannel pyjama pants and a grey t-shirt with a big cartoon sea bass on it, and just picked up whatever he could for himself. He went into the bathroom and got a couple of towels before he went back downstairs.

Richie led Eddie into the laundry room. It was dry and stuffy in there, and passed him the spare towel. He turned away from Eddie, giving the other some privacy, and towelled himself down as he tried not to think about how Eddie was undressing behind him. Richie got changed quickly, wiped his glasses on his shirt and left the towel on his head.

Eddie knew exactly what to do with the washer and the dryer because of course he did, Richie had no idea what to do so he just let Eddie get on with it. They sat on the floor and watched as their clothes spun around. They were lucky that they had both been wearing dark clothes.

It was warm and Richie felt strangely comfortable, all fuzzy inside. Not an hour ago, Richie had been lying in the middle of the road feeling pathetic and lonely, now he was sat in his laundry room next to Eddie who was wearing his clothes, looking just as warm and comfortable as Richie felt. His hair was a mess of brown waves that Eddie’s mother would hate.  

“You wanna call your mom?” Richie asked, remembering how much crap Eddie would be in if he didn’t, the last thing he wanted was for Eddie to be grounded. It might have been selfish, but he figured it was fine since Eddie wouldn’t want to be grounded either.

“Oh yeah, I almost forgot,” Eddie said and shot onto his feet, he practically ran out of the room and into the kitchen. Richie followed close behind.

He leant against the doorframe as he watched Eddie pensively speak into the phone, he towelled his hair some more, needing something to do as he crossed his fingers and hoped that Eddie wouldn’t be in trouble. A smile spread across Eddie’s face as he put the phone down with a click.

Usually, Eddie was a terrible liar, but the rest of them, especially Richie himself and Beverly, had taught him how to lie to his mother. They’d coached him in the clubhouse, sat around in a circle around him, critiquing Eddie’s performance like he was delivering a Shakespearian soliloquy. Eddie was a quick leaner and took to lying to his mom like a fish to water. It’d given them all a little more freedom.

“We in the clear?” Richie asked, flashing his own smile at Eddie.

“Yeah, she took it hook, line and sinker,” Eddie said, gesturing to the t-shirt Richie had given him to wear and pretended to throw a line at Richie, as though he were a fish in a lake. Richie pretended to battle against the fake fishing line and they ended up laughing on the floor like a couple of hysterical five year olds, then the washer dinged.

They made their way back into the laundry room. Richie watched as Eddie moved the clothes from the washer and into the dryer, moving with ease in Richie’s house. He tried not to think too much about how Eddie was still in his clothes, but Eddie looked so good in them. Of course they didn’t fit him at all. The t-shirt was too big, the collar was loose and Richie could see Eddie’s collarbone so tantalisingly close, the pyjama pants were too long and Eddie’s feet disappeared into them.

“So…,” Richie began because he couldn’t stay in the silence, torturing himself as he watched Eddie, “whatcha got planned for my birthday?” he asked, stepping into Eddie’s personal space as the dryer started.

“It’s still a secret,” Eddie said firmly and turned around, staring up at Richie, pressing back against the dryer.

“Well, I already know it’s going to happen so you might as well tell me,” Richie said, hands either side of Eddie on the machine, caging the other in.

“No, I want something to be a surprise at least,” Eddie replied, shaking his head.

“Aw c’mon Eds,” Richie whined, pouting as he bent down slightly, curled over Eddie.

“Don’t call me that,” Eddie said but there was no bite to his words.

“Please,” Richie pushed, face inches away from Eddie’s. Richie had no idea what he was doing, he was just being as annoying as he always was. He could see the length of Eddie’s collarbone as he stared down and Eddie’s round puppy dog chocolate eyes were staring up at him, he looked sweet enough to eat and Richie was suddenly starving.

“Shut up, I’m not telling you,” Eddie said resolutely, arms crossed between them.

“Make me,” Richie said, smirking.

Eddie rocked up onto the balls of his feet and pressed a chaste kiss to Richie lips. As a way of shutting Richie up it was pretty damn effective. Richie’s mind completely blanked out as every thought fled and scurried into the darkness, every part of his being was focused on his lips as they tingled from the after-touch, as though he could still feel Eddie against him.

“Richie I didn’t-“

He didn’t give Eddie a chance to backtrack. Richie cupped Eddie’s face in his hands and kissed him, sinking down against Eddie as his knees bumped into the dryer on either side of Eddie’s body. He knew that Eddie wouldn’t have kissed him as a joke, Eddie would never be that cruel. He tried to convince himself of that as he continued to kiss Eddie. When he finally pulled away, Richie’s eyes caught on Eddie’s swollen and ruddy lips.

“I thought you were into girls, like I though you and Bev were dating,” Eddie said, voice rattling as he gestured wildly between, so much so that Richie had to lean back to avoid getting hit in the face.

“What? No, Bev and I are not dating. We just go into the utility shed together to smoke. I mean Bev’s smoking hot and she’s a great guy, but she’s like my brother, sister whatever, we’re just tight,” Richie explained, frowning at Eddie, completely confused by how Eddie could have possibly come to that conclusion.

“So you don’t like girls?” Eddie said, like he needed Richie to be clear.

“I like whoever Eds, is this the fabled biphobia I’ve read about on the internet?” Richie said, trying to joke as he stepped back from Eddie. He felt kind of like he was choking.

“You’re confusing the shit out of me Rich,” Eddie whined and punched Richie lightly on the chest.

“I like you Eddie, I wanna kiss you, I want you to be my boyfriend, I wanna hold your hand all the time and shit,” Richie said, mostly because it was what he’d been thinking practically since he’d met Eddie and he wanted Eddie to stop freaking out. He could have just said that he liked boys and girls. But that was too impersonal when Eddie had gone and kissed him.

“That’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard,” Eddie groaned and rolled his eyes.

“Ugh, just let me kiss you again,” Richie said, stepping back into Eddie’s personal space, fingers ghosting over the tip of Eddie’s chin.

“You don’t have to ask, you tall idiot,” Eddie said through gritted teeth as he fisted his hand in the front of Richie’s shirt, pulling him down into a crushing kiss. Eddie’s lips were soft and warm, and Richie just wanted to kiss him for the rest of his life and it really wasn’t fair that he couldn’t.

“So you wanna be boyfriends right?” Richie asked, lips moving against Eddie’s as he spoke, smirking as he pressed their foreheads together. Bodies pressed against each other and against the dryer again, which was juddering in place and made their teeth chatter together.

“Yes,” Eddie nodded eagerly and captured Richie’s lips again, pushing them away from the dryer.

“Was this going to be my birthday surprise?” Richie asked as he was backed against the wall, “’cause you would be such an amazing birthday present,” he joked as ran a hand down Eddie’s back, pulling the other closer.

“I am not your birthday present,” Eddie muttered, batting away Richie’s hands. “You’re not getting me to tell you what we’re planning,” he added, frowning up at Richie, trying to reprimand him while looking all soft with his mussed hair and kiss wet lips.

“I could try to kiss it out of you,” Richie said and pressed a kiss to Eddie’s cheek.

“You could try, but it’s not happening,” Eddie said as he stepped back, trying to hold Richie at arm’s length. “I promised Bill and Stan that I wouldn’t.”

“They made you promise?” Richie laughed, buck teeth showing as he smiled down at Eddie.

“They don’t trust me not to tell you,” Eddie said, pouting as he looked off to the side, eyes on the doorway suddenly.

“Well, now’s your time to set yourself free from the burden of keeping this secret, I won’t tell Bill or Stan, I promise,” Richie said, urging Eddie on as he teased and bumped his nose against Eddie’s cheek.

“If you keep doing that, I won’t kiss you anymore,” Eddie threatened as he leaned away but didn’t step back from Richie.

“Let’s see how long you last then,” Richie said, smiling as he sat down against the wall, eyes on the door of the dryer as the clothes whirled around.

“I’m not going to break,” Eddie said firmly and dropped down on the floor beside Richie.

“How long have you been waiting to kiss me Eds?” Richie asked, smirking at Eddie as he leant his head back against the wall, glasses skewed across his face.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Eddie returned, brows pinched as he watched Richie’s face.

“Since we were like eleven, you’re just too cute, wanna kiss you all the time,” Richie said, smiling as he leaned over to kiss the top of Eddie’s head. He knew he’d just lost the silly little competition, but it didn’t matter, now that he knew he could kiss Eddie whenever he wanted, he’d do it every chance he got.

“You lose,” Eddie said, laughing erratically as he blushed.

“Okay, I guess you can keep your secrets as long as I get to keep kissing you,” Richie said, smiling dopily as he leaned in to capture Eddie’s lips again.

They stayed on the floor, lip locked and giggly as the dryer rattled in the corner. Richie couldn’t believe his luck. All thoughts of inadequacy and doubt fled his mind and were replaced with thoughts of Eddie. Thoughts like how soft and warm and wet Eddie’s lips were, how soft and fluffy Eddie’s hair was as he ran his fingers through it, how eagerly Eddie was leaning up against him, pressing hard and fast against Richie, the way Eddie’s hands gripped at him, keeping him close. He even completely forgot about his birthday and the surprise his friends were planning. Nothing else matter beside the way Eddie felt against him.

[soundofseventeen]

13 Days of Christmas (Joshua Hong)

I am very tired, rip. gif credit to owners...im off to cure my cold

Word count: 1676

You wouldn’t call yourself the grinch, but you definitely hated the holidays. You couldn’t stand how the moment Halloween was over, Christmas trees were not only put up everywhere you turned, but the music seeped from the stereo and into your brain (and sometimes your dreams). And then there was the holiday shopping. There were people who didn’t deserve anything but you still had to get them something because you hung out with them. But then there were those who deserved everything the world had to offer, but you couldn’t afford that because the money in your bank account liked to laugh at you for even thinking it. None of that, however, compared to the ridiculous hours you had to work.

The worst job in the world, you liked to say, was retail. You didn’t mind dealing with people as long as they were friendly and didn’t send you into a panic attack after one interaction. They made your days bearable...and also not hate your job too much. But the ones who treated you like gum under their shoe or a roach they couldn’t kill made you wanna gouge your eyes out...or douse them in gasoline and set them on fire. You were fine with either option. It seemed like they all came out to play during the holiday deals and make your life even more miserable than it already felt. You’d been mentally preparing yourself for these days since July, maybe earlier...you didn’t know to be honest. Time now seemed like a foreign concept. Halloween meant dealing with parents fighting over the tiniest accessories for costumes to screeching for a manager because of a nonexistent discount. And the teenagers who acted too cool for everyone had you screaming into whatever you had in your hands. And November brought angry people who basically cursed you and your future generations for not having a bigger display of Thanksgiving items (despite few people celebrating the actual holiday.)

But those didn’t compare to the month-long Christmas. Christmas, ironically enough, was the holiday from hell. Most of the time, you clocked in early in the morning as the sun rose and there was a good chance you wouldn’t come out until the stars were out. If your manager didn’t have you mopping the floor from a coffee that a careless mom spilled, you worked the register, praying that you had the strength to get through your shift. You envied everyone who walked in or passed through those doors because they didn’t feel dread coursing through their bodies. All in all, if you could quit your job without worrying about your next paycheck, you would’ve walked a long time ago, because sometimes it didn’t feel like they paid you enough to deal with that bullshit. 

Tonight seemed like no exception when you trudged through your apartment door, your feet feeling like they’d give out at any second a little after midnight. You let yourself fall on your couch, ripping off the ridiculous Santa Claus hat your coworkers begged you to wear with them, wondering if you could “lose” it somehow. Your face hurt from the mostly fake smile you wore the entire time. You wanted a hot shower to relax your muscles; you wanted to sleep in to the new year so the stress would go away. You needed to look for your laptop so you could start your Christmas shopping so you could spare the other retail workers. (While customers left you apathetic, the empathy you felt for everyone else who dealt with them skyrocketed and you vowed to make things easier for them.);  you needed food so your tummy would quit whining at you to eat something; you needed to remind yourself that no other job paid above the minimum; you needed the fucking cold to go away so you could be less cranky. You just hated everything right now.

As if your night couldn’t get any worse, a scream sounded next door to you. It wasn’t an, “Oh my god, I’m dying here, someone please save me,” yell but one of, “Oh my god; what is this?!” How that was possible, you didn’t know but it was enough for you to leave your couch and out the door in record time to give them a piece of your mind. Some people were asleep at this hour and some like you wanted to wallow in their self-pity because they had to repeat today tomorrow again. 

You had a few choice words for the white flakes falling from the sky because now you had to officially accept that Christmas was coming and you were gonna die of premature stress. But then you saw the culprit who startled you and ruined your night and yelled out an irritated, “Hey!” with hopes of rolling whatever you could spew at him.

He looked at you, his emotions one of wonder and surprise at being acknowledged, his hand midair as if reciting a Shakespearan monologue.

His eyes were a lot sparklier than the ornaments that decorated the Christmas tree at work and you weren’t expecting that, so your expansive vocabulary of bad words died on your tongue, and the longer you looked at him, the harder it was to form a sentence of, “Why the fuck are you so loud?” or something along those lines...and goddamn it, now you were blushing because you had no idea what to do now. His black hair fell into his eyes as the wind blew and he made zero effort to move it, making him seem more attractive and if you weren’t frozen on the spot, you would’ve gone back in and let the roof cave in over your head.

“Hello,” he finally spoke and you were officially fucked. “Can I help you with something?” That. Lisp. With lips redder than Snow White’s had you melting into a puddle and ready to scream at whoever decided to make your life this hard.

“Yeah,” you hated yourself for how meek you sounded when you meant to sound intimidating. “Why’d you yell? Some of us have to be up early tomorrow.” Or in a few hours...time lost its meaning. All you knew was that your alarm had been set up already.

“I’m sorry. I-I just I’ve never seen snow before tonight. See, I’m from LA and it never snows there. Like, we’d go somewhere like Lancaster or more up north, but this is the first time I’ve seen it fall while I’ve been here.”

“Yeah, but so loud? Was that necessary?” Fuck, he was really cute with his reindeer antlers and you really needed to focus because now was not the time to look like a fool in front of a cute boy. Well, any more than you already have.

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah well just don’t let it happen again.” You finally found the strength to move and you went back inside to let your neighbor have fun with the falling snow, trying to ignore your racing heart and blushing cheeks.

“Oh, shit this is cold!” 

“Dude!” you threw your head out.

“I’m Joshua,” he waved at you.

“And I wanna sleep.” You sighed. “Listen, I know you mean well, but I have to deal with unpleasant humans tomorrow and the day after that and this whole fucking month until the new year so if you shut up for the rest of the night, then I would appreciate it.” 

He shot you a finger gun and clicked his tongue. “Ahh, you work retail. I could tell by your attitude.” He shivered from the cold. “I’m sorry if I disturbed you; I was just excited to see it-”

And now you felt like a jerk. “No, I’m sorry it was just a really long day and people were annoying and some five-year-old kid almost made me cry and December is just a nightmare and it’s only the beginning. I didn’t mean to snap at you, and enjoy the snow.” You closed the door slowly and opened it again just as quickly. “Also, wear gloves because frostbite is not a joke. Okay, sorry for disturbing you.” *

The next morning, after digging in your closet to find all the accessories to keep you warm, you were running late. So much so, you didn’t even bother turning on your alarm. (It was insured so you weren’t too worried about something happening. And in your haste, you ran straight into...Joshua. Great. 

“I’m sorry. I’ll pay for any damages tonight. My boss’s gonna kill me if I don’t get there soon.”

“Do you ever just take a second to breathe?” He asked you, gently blowing on his coffee cup. The smell of it mixed with French vanilla wafted through the air and into your nostrils. “It’s not even eight yet. What’s the rush?”

“Traffic, and long lines to get breakfast.”

“Well, I have a bagel. Here.” 

“I don’t know you.”

“Well, it’s either take my word for it or you’ll be hungry for hours.”

“How’d you like the snow?” Better to change the subject even if meant getting there a little later than usual. You looked at his bagel a little longer and hesitantly reached for it. (And you realized you didn’t have dinner last night, making it look twice as good.)

“It’s really pretty. I’m kinda glad I live here now.”

“It won’t be like that after a while, trust me. And I really have to go. Uh, thanks for the bagel. I’ll pay you for that.”

“Just don’t yell at your neighbors anymore for seeing snow and we’ll call it even. Good luck at work. I think you might need it. Also, I didn’t get your name.” The cold air left his face red and you hated yourself for how attractive he looked.

“I’m Y/N.”

“Well, Y/N, I’ll probably see you after work. Have a great day.”

You couldn’t tell if he was being sincere or sarcastic but you knew that he was cute and you may have believed in Santa Claus for bringing a cute boy to be your next-door neighbor.

[whumptasticwednesday]

(Semi) Grown-Ass Man - (Peter Maximoff - X-Men: Dark Phoenix)

!!X-MEN DARK PHOENIX SPOILERS!!

Author’s Note: Hey, LividFigureSkatingLover (Ash) here! I hope you enjoyed the fic posted last week that Jimmy uploaded for me. That was actually something I’d written months ago but we felt like it would be an appropriate beginning fic. This, however, is a fresh fic that I started writing the day after Jimmy and I went to see Dark Phoenix on opening night. Needless to say, we were both disappointed with the critical lack of Peter in this movie. Like, you can’t just yeet your fan-favorite character into the sidewalk and have him carried off the jet in a stretcher without acknowledging anything! Anyways, next week will be Jimmy’s week to upload a fic, so you won’t see me for a while, but I can assure you my next fic is in the works. HINT: It’s addressing the critical lack of Dadneto in this film (although after that I think I’ll be done with the Peter fics for now.) Anyways, enjoy the fic! (This fic is also unedited so if you catch any errors, feel free to let me know!)

Word Count: 5749

It had all felt like an instant. One moment, the X-Men were emerging from their jet to bring Jean Grey home, the next, irreversible and horrific destruction. It all ended with Jean soaring into the sky and disappearing into the clouds with a distraught Scott and an angry and grief-ridden Hank on the asphalt. Charles slumped back into his chair and sighed. Nobody could have expected this. The crushed police cars and house smashed like a Popsicle stick craft project were just white noise to the heavy betrayal, anger, grief, and pain filling the atmosphere. The uncanny silence was only broken when Scott angrily shouted,"what the actual fuck are we supposed to do? Jean can't just, she didn't just, she wouldn't ha-"

"Damnit, Scott, can you shut your mouth for two seconds?!" Hank angrily seethed to the laser-eyed man. "You're not the only one standing here in the wake of Jean's unprovoked carnage. I don't think you can even begin to imagine how I feel right now... at least Jean's body isn't sticking out from a protruding wood spire"

Scott, being an impulsive young man, used every ounce of discipline in his reserve and resisted the strong urge to fire up an argument with Hank, and seconds after seeing Raven's impaled corpse, the fiery retort died on his lips, and it was instead replaced by a sudden realization as to the damage Jean had caused, emotionally and physically. The white noise of destruction was now a heavy screaming siren pounding in everyone's ears. Hank needed something to take his mind off of what had happened, losing his unrequited love due to a selfish impulse from one of his lifelong friends was too much for his mind to process at the moment. Since he couldn't do anything else, Hank did what he did best, took a calculated approach to fixing the catastrophe around him.

"We need to find Kurt and Peter. Scott, come help me... please," Hank trailed off as he turned away from Raven's lifeless body. "Charles, do something with her."

The cold and almost robotic tone from Hank was a sharp, almost eerie, contrast from the distraught tears that, only minutes ago, were streaming down his cheeks. Scott's mind, clouded by his own lovesick thoughts, followed Hank's orders on autopilot. Charles remained silent and observant as Scott and Hank trudged to the wooden remnants of Jean's childhood home in search of Kurt and Peter.

After what seemed like hours of precariously moving rubble and assorted wood pieces, Scott saw a mop of black and blue hair under a cracked 4x4.

"Hank, I think I found Kurt," Scott breathed a sigh of relief.

"Be careful, let's get all this off of him," Hank replied.

The two worked carefully and precisely until all of Kurt's body was exposed. His yellow uniform and his face were dusty and covered in grime and a small amount of blood. Hank gently tapped on the mutant teen's face as Scott hovered over his shoulder. Kurt didn't stay unresponsive for long though, and after a few of Hank's prods, he shot up off the floor with Jean's name fresh on his tongue, unaware of what had transpired after he'd been rendered unconscious.

"W-what? Jean, where's Jean? Is everyone okay?" the words fell out faster than Kurt himself could even process, and his mind hadn't quite caught up with the fact that he'd been crushed under the weight of an entire house.

"Kid, slow down. We'll explain later, okay? How do you feel? Do you know where Peter is?" Scott asked, questions firing faster than intended.

"No, I'm sorry. I can help you look for him though. Let me do something, I swear I'm fine." Kurt shot up off the ground, only to stumble into Scott's unprepared arms.

"Take it easy. Jean collapsed a house on top of you, I don't know how great you'll be functioning at the moment," Hank explained as Kurt nodded slowly with an exhausted and pained wince. "Alright, let's go find Peter."

Scott slung the lanky blue mutant's arm over his shoulder to support his weight as the trio began to search for the silver speedster. Since he moved so quickly it was hard to actually determine what Jean even did to Peter, as their confrontation lasted less than seconds to the average person's eye. The only thing Hank and Scott had seen was Peter being catapulted across the street and out of sight, so neither were all too excited to find out as to how he might be faring.

It took some time, but the three eventually stumbled upon Peter's battle-broken body lying slumped against a tree in a thick wooded area dozens of yards away from the street where Jean had wreaked havoc. Trailing his body was a coarse trail of uprooted grass and dirt, emphasizing the power and distance he'd been hurled across. Peter seemed almost as lifeless as Raven, his body heavily slumped against the tree he'd collided  with, blood streaking his X-Men uniform, face, and silver hair, along with dark dirt blotching his sweaty face, which was pulled up into a pained grimace. His signature goggles were loosely strung in his messily kept hair and one of the lenses was very visibly shattered, an ugly spider-like crack pronounced in the center of the lens.

"Oh my god, Peter!" Kurt let out a strangled cry as he laid eyes on his friend. He tried to stop the sobs as each one wracked his battered and sore body, but he couldn't. This was too much for him to bear.

As Kurt's sobs filled the forest, Hank ran his calculative eyes up and down Peter's body as his mind contemplated what would be the best course of action. He didn't want to risk worsening any external or internal injuries by jostling him in a carry to the jet, but he wasn't all too sure what help he could do with Peter out cold in the woods with no real medical assistance or tools around to help. As Scott tried to calm the ever panicked Kurt, Hank gingerly shifted Peter from his half-upright slumped position to lying flat on the ground. He ripped open the top of Peter's X-Men uniform and scanned the damage; bruises as black and blue as Kurt's hair dotted Peter's pale chest and his upper right shoulder. This wasn't going to be fun to deal with. Hank shot his eyes back to Peter's blood-stained face, hoping that tearing off his clothes would at least elicit some sort of response from the boy. Alas, nothing. As the seconds ticked by, Hank devised the one plan that would end in the least harm to all of them.

"Kurt, I know we're far away, I know you're tired, I know you're injured, but I need you to teleport us back to the jet. We can't move Peter like this, it's too risky, he's too badly hurt and I don't want to make this more painful for him than it has to be. You've gotta do this for us, okay?" Hank explained. He knew the kid's power took energy out of everyone he was teleporting, and with the damage eveyone'd sustained from the battle, it would be too dangerous to have Kurt warp multiple times, Peter wouldn't make it, and judging from his hazy eyes, Kurt didn't have enough energy for more than one teleport anyways.

Anxious scenarios began flooding Kurt's mind as his eyes filled with fear, the words he spoke dripping with self-doubt, "W-what if I can't? What if I mess it all u-up and I warp us halfway into a car and kill us all! H-hank, I can't do it."

Instead of coddling the boy like he normally would have, Hank let the dire situation speak for itself when he bluntly stated, "Kurt, I know you're scared, but Peter might die if we can't get him back to the jet. You've gotta take some faith in yourself and your powers and get us home, okay? Don't do it for me, do it for Peter. He needs you to do this for him."

It may have been the stern yet sincere tone of Hank's words, or hearing outright that Peter might die, but Kurt mustered up enough confidence to say, "alright... for Peter."

Hank shifted Peter into his lap as he joined hands with Scott and Kurt. Kurt silently prayed to God that he wouldn't kill all of his friends by pushing his ability's limits in an already weakened state, and with a last tension filled breath, the group disappeared into a dark cloud, appearing, seconds later, in the jet.

Scott felt extremely disoriented after the warp and his eyes raced around the jet before they landed on Hank's face, "shit. That felt weird."

"Indeed," Hank replied.

"I-I did it," Kurt sighed in relief as his eyelids fluttered closed and he collapsed onto the floor.

"Kurt!" Scott exclaimed.

"He's fine, just overexerted himself. He just needs to sleep for a bit and eat. This happened after his fight in Cairo too. Now hurry up and help me with Peter, he's not doing too hot," Hank explained as he set to work.

------

WOW A TIME SKIP...  At Xavier's School in the weird bunker area where they do X-Men stuff...

"He's still not up. You're gonna have to do something, Hank. He's gonna start healing and I don't think that his shoulder is gonna do it properly with the way it looks right now," Scott stated as he stared blankly at Peter's bloody and bruised body on the gurney.

Hank ran his fingers through his hair as he tossed his glasses onto the lab table. He didn't wanna set the joint without Peter being conscious, for fear he'd spring awake and cause himself even more harm if he took an instantaneous flight response. But, if he waited too long, Peter's enhanced healing would work against his favor and heal the crucial joint in the wrong way. He had to make a decision, and although it posed risks, it was better than Peter sustaining lasting joint damage.

Hank was just about to grab the limb to jerk it back into place when Peter shot up from the gurney with a blood-curdling scream of pure agony. Peter's eyes were hazy, confused, and full of pain as they raced around in search of what was going on and why everything hurt so bad. His eyes eventually met Hank's as he collapsed back onto the gurney, heaving heavy pained breaths into his cut and bruised chest.

"Hank, w-whass happenin, wha happened to me? E-everrythin's blurry and hurts," Peter slurred as tears unwillingly escaped the corners of his eyes. Throbbing, pulsing pain coursed through Peter's seemingly small frame as he started to unwillingly cry out of confusion and agonizing pain.

"Peter, you're at the X-Men base under the school. Jean threw you across the street with her powers and you hit a tree. You are safe and you're gonna be okay. I'm gonna help you, okay?" Hank said slowly to the shaken boy. Peter only gave a tiny pained nod as he bit his lip to try and stifle his crying.

"Can't we give him anything to numb the pain, like anesthesia or even ibuprofen? Setting the shoulder is gonna be excruciating for him," Scott asked, just wanting to lessen the agony for Peter.

"That's the thing, though. His fast healing and super speed are paired with an extremely quick metabolism. Anything we could give him in a normal person's dosage, he would burn right through."

"Can't we just give him a higher dosage?"

"If you wanna risk him overdosing, then sure."

Scott cast sympathetic eyes down onto Peter's terrified face, and although hidden by the signature ruby-lensed glasses, were full of sorrow as he fully realized what Jean had done. He felt nothing but pity for the pure fear and pain the boy was feeling. Peter's mind was racing back to when they had to set his broken leg and he didn't want to go through that again. He felt pathetic, a (semi)grown-ass man crying because he had to get a limb set. His sarcastic and dry-humored subconscious internally retorted: grow a pair!

"I'm sorry, Peter. We're gonna have to do this now. Bite this," Hank said as he dangled a rag above Peter's now bleeding lips. Peter grit his teeth and graciously took the cloth as the only thing to provide a semblance of comfort to the undoubted pain he was about to experience. "Alright, Scott, I need you to hold him down in case this goes South..."

Scott nodded in affirmation as he grabbed onto Peter's other arm and hovered above his already pretty immobile body while Hank took one more tentative glance over the silver-haired boy before locking eyes with Scott and clutching Peter's bicep in one hand and his shoulder blade with his other.

"Do you want me to count down?" Hank asked, knowing full well he would count to 3 but snap on 2. Peter nodded as he scrunched up his face with terrified anticipation, a visible layer of shining sweat collecting on his features. "Okay, one, tw-"

The last sound of 'two' was cut off by the cracking of a limb and Peter's howl and wailing cries of pure agony as he thrashed about violently on the gurney as Scott tried his best to gently restrain him without causing any more pain. Fat and ugly tears were freely streaming down Peter's face as the crippling pain in his shoulder coursed through his body and started to dull into an acute ache resonating from the base of his neck all the way down his bicep. His vision was blurred not only by his salty tears but by the waves of pain and adrenaline attempting to cancel each other out like an ocean current crashing into a reef bay. It was all a bit too much for Peter to handle. He went to curl in on himself, a primal instinct to go to the fetal position was shooting to his mind, yet when he tried, every dulled injury in his torso screamed back an affirmative and defiant: no!

Hank had sent Scott to get water bottles when he heard Peter's defeated and miserable whimper, which sent his own head whipping around to face the boy using his left arm to desperately clutch at his raw and tender torso, which was covered in dirt filled cuts and bruises that were attempting to heal over. Like any mutant power, there was a limit, and it was clear that Peter's advanced healing was taking on way more than it was able to handle, so his body's scattered attempts to heal his numerous external and internal injuries weren't doing him any favors besides exhausting him of what little energy he had.

"I'm sorry, Peter, I know you're in a lot of pain right now but I can't do anything for you but stitch up your major cuts and scan you for internal injuries. You know you can't have the regular pain medication," Hank stated, apprehension seeping into his every word as he ran his fingers through Peter's messy and unkempt hair that was now rifled with blood and sweat in an attempt to soothe the boy.

"I-I can't it... my c-chest," Peter stumbled through his attempted sentence, taking hasty and pinched wheezes instead of true breaths between his words. He was past humiliation at this point, any semblance of his normally sarcastic and fun-loving self was covered up by his embarrassment and indescribable pulsating torment wracking his body. Here he was, crying like a toddler while Hank of all people was petting his scalp, what an uncanny situation.

Scott returned moments later with extra towels and an armful of water bottles nestled hastily in his grasp. Much to Peter's dismay, Hank was terrified that Peter might choke if he stayed laying down, so his stitches and internal scan were going to be done upright. The simple shift in the gurney's position further aggravated the mysterious angry irritation in Peter's chest and sent him into a series of dry and forceful coughs, each one racking his exhausted body harder than the last. Peter never thought in a million years that the crack of the plastic seal on a water bottle would be so gratifying, yet here he was, face melting at the opportunity to soothe his parched esophagus and hopefully replenish at least some of his lost energy. Scott took to cleaning out Peter's minor injuries, starting the stitches, and helping him drink, while Hank was running a full body diagnostic on the silver-haired mutant. Peter's mind had slipped into a half-conscious yet fully-feeling feverish state where he wasn't really functioning, yet he knew what was happening. It took every ounce of his strength not to just pass out and sleep. He felt the tense prick of the needle every time Scott went back to further close up a gaping wound and he felt the ever present stare of Hank as he started running all his scans. The only time Peter came out of this hazy half-awake state was to drink that delightful and soothing water. Compared to every other sensory input, the water felt like heaven in the fiery depths of hell. The soothing liquid ran down his arid windpipe and seemed to address his every need, until it hit his stomach and he was met with a discomforted static strain in his abdomen. It was uncomfortable, sure, but didn't seem like it needed to be addressed, so Peter plastered on his bravest face (still kind of failing though) as he lightly furrowed his brow and drew his knees up closer to his chest, despite the protest of his aching (and presumably broken) ribs. Scott noticed, as did Hank, but neither thought too much of it as they continued with their busy work. Again, none of them were prepared as to what would happen next.

Fifteen minutes later, just as the diagnostic's results were finishing up, Peter's slight discomfort had warped into a stabbing and indescribable pain as he was wracked with waves of thick and heavy nausea. Scott was almost done with tying off the last gash on Peter's injured arm when he jerked violently to the side and began projectile vomiting, the only thing arising from Peter's forceful heaving being sticky yellow bile and an alarming mix of blood. Each unproductive heave was followed up by another wave of sickening nausea, which was followed up by another (usually successful) upchuck of fluids. Peter was running out of breath, strength, and stomach contents to empty as he grasped desperately to Scott's arm and his own horribly aggravated abdomen.

"Oh, Peter! Oh my god! Hank, what do I do?!" Scott yelled  frantically as he reached to hold back Peter's long and uncontrolled hair as the latter's body faltered over into another bout of wheezy heaving. Scott, however, was not expecting to have his hand be met with an alarming heat that seemingly radiated off of Peter's forehead. He touched his hands around the rest of Peter's face and his neck during a calm period of the heaving and Hank took the opportunity to hastily place a trashcan between Peter's legs to lessen the contortion his body had to do in order to avoid vomiting his own bodily fluids onto himself. "He's got a bad fever. Is this from th-"

"It's because his body's working too hard to handle everything happening to it," Hank cut him off  "It doesn't know where or when to start or stop and it's confused. He needs fluids to replenish his energy, especially after throwing up every ounce of water you just gave him. We're probably going to have to administer an IV."

The large technologically advanced screen in front of him blinked and beeped, signifying that the diagnostic was finished. At a speed that only Peter could best (at full health), Hank pulled up the imaging and was met with two giant glaring orange marks on an overall blue scan; those being 3 fractured ribs and some sort of internal injury on Peter's stomach lining. Oh my god, Hank thought to himself before nearly shouting to Scott, "He's internally bleeding in his stomach, that's why he vomited. That's why there's so much blood... " Hank took a second to calculate what to do. "We need him hooked up to an IV, NOW. Go get me the supplies."

Scott didn't even nod as he scrambled to his feet and dashed off to find what Hank needed. Peter himself was almost completely unconscious at this point, the high fever , empty reserves of strength, and overwhelming pain from every inch of his body were the perfect trio of unbearable feelings were one stroke away from completely pulling him under a fitful blanket of unconsciousness. He was just about to pass the brink and into the darkness when he felt the abrupt patting of Hank dabbing a soaked rag across his face and the dripping of cool water down his neck. The next thing he felt was the forceful jab in his arm and the strange dull feeling of the unknown slowly overtaking him. His spotted vision gave way to darkness as everything faded away.

"Peter? Damnit, he passed out. It's fine, we just need to keep him stable. I don't know how sustainable this is going to be for him. His body is gonna churn through this fluid faster than a toddler sips a juice box, but it's better than nothing," Hank sighed. And for the first time since Peter had awoken, the room filled with an unsettling complacent silence, the only other thing occupying the space being the exhausted pants from Hank and Scott, accompanied by Peter's tight and wheezy breathing.

------

WOW, ANOTHER TIME SKIP... At relatively the same location we were earlier, but like, a day later...

"Ughh..." Peter groaned. Unlike the previous day's events, though, was brought out less by discomfort, and more from boredom. He fidgeted anxiously with a loose thread on his pants while Hank swapped out his IV for what seemed like the thousandth time between the last 24 hours. "When can I get up and you know" Peter gestured abruptly with his hands "go."

"Give it a few more days, Peter. I know your mind is saying that it wants to get up and run 5 laps around the earth, but your body isn't ready for it. You're still running a temperature, your arm isn't going to be in full shape for a while, you might need physical therapy, the ligaments were pretty screwed up, and I don't want you aggravating your ribs or your stomach just yet," Hank insisted as Peter rolled his eyes. The speedster, despite knowing he wasn't nearly ready to be up and flying across rooms at the speed of sound, wanted to be productive. Part of his motivations for being up and at it was also the fact that he wished to hide his immense shame from the relented sob-fest that was yesterday evening by (like how Peter dealt with most of his problems) running until he couldn't feel his legs or until he couldn't give a damn and cared about nothing except the blurred scenery around him. However, it was hard to do either of those things when you were confined to a gurney in a bunker with an IV drip tethered to one arm and a sling on another.

As Hank left the room,  Peter was met by yet another sickening silence, this time, the only thing filling the room was his growing sense of wanting to be productive and just run, but alas, he couldn't. Having just slept for a sizable amount of the day, Peter was just itching for some entertainment, but being stuck in an empty room with no such objects to scratch that itch, he was growing irritable.

Little did the silver-haired mutant know that another certain lanky teleporting teen was standing right outside the door to his room in the medical bay, working up the courage to rebel against Hank's firm: "no, he needs to sleep" statement that Kurt was met with when he asked if he could go and visit his friend. Not being one to break many rules, Kurt was apprehensive about entering, hence his (kind of silly) minor internal dilemma. Mustering up enough courage, Kurt warped inside the room, where he was met with a "Jesus Christ!" from Peter. Kurt, startled by the shout, stumbled backwards and fell. From his position on the ground, he let out a shy,"hi, Peter. How are you feeling?"

"God, dude, you scared the shit out of me. Give a man a warning before you teleport into his private room where he's being held captive against his will next time!" Peter answered, sarcasm dripping in every syllable.

Kurt, being known to take nearly everything extremely literally, responded,"Has Hank been corrupted!? What has he done to you Peter? Do I need to tell the professor that Hank's gone mad, or is it all one big conspiracy?!"

"Whoa there, chill. As much as I'd like the added spice in life that a Hank-and-Charles-gone-mental plot would provide, I think it's safe to say that they're pretty sane... for now."

"Alrighty then. Well, I've come against Hank's wishes to keep you company, what do you want to do?"

"Hank wants me to suffer and die alone? What a traitor!" Peter grabbed at his chest, feigning heartbreak, wincing as his attempt at humor irritated his cracked ribs.

"I doubt that is true. I believe that the correct term to describe your behavior would be a drama queen."

"You'd be correct, buckaroo. Would you mind zipping to my room and grabbing my Walkman and my GameBoy?"

"Um, no problem," Kurt replied as he disappeared in a dark cloud.

Mere moments later, he reappeared with the music player and the gaming device. Peter eagerly reached out for both devices, acting like a hyperactive toddler who'd just been offered a lollipop. Although, the hyperactive toddler description wasn't too far off from Peter's personality normally. The plastic shells of both items were like comfort food and finally brought some form of distraction besides twiddling his thumbs for hours on ends or watching that 'maybe-speck-of-dust-maybe-spider' dance along the bright walls. He switched on his music and popped in an earbud, offering the other to a tentative looking Kurt.

"Dude, you've gotta try this. Please don't tell me Scott's scared you off from American music with his pansy-ass music," Peter insisted as he spun the earbud with his unslinged hand.

"It's not that... it's just, your music, in particular, has, on several occasions, shaken the entire school," Kurt replied as he took the listening device.

"It's called a 'jam session', Kurt," Peter explained as he used very visible air quotes to emphasize his point.

"Alright, if you insist," Kurt sighed as the guitar rifs and crashing of drums filled his pointed ears. He wasn't the hugest fan of all of Peter's loud rock or the deep heavy beats of Scott's rap, but he sat there regardless to try and enjoy a quiet moment with his friend. Moments like these were becoming harder and harder to come by as their world seemed to get even more hectic. The mutants had assumed that the battle in Cairo would have been the worst of it, it sure felt like it at the time, but now they were facing a new evil, one of their friends. Kurt really wanted to talk to Peter about it, maybe even break the news that Raven died, but he felt too timid, and compared to Peter's bold and audacious personality, he felt like nothing. Peter stopped his headbanging for a moment, and that sliver of time was long enough to notice the semi-uncharacteristic silence from the shy yet friendly Kurt, who was awkwardly staring at Peter's feet, caught in an apparent distracted trance, all headed by the semi-somber and contemplative look plastered on his face. Peter clicked the pause and the cassette stopped rolling. This seemed to snap Kurt out of his trance, and the new silence was quickly filled by Peter.

"You got a toe fetish or something? I mean, I know I'm incredibly sexy, but I didn't know you were into that, Kurt. Jeez!" he teased. Kurt just drew his knees up to his chest and shrunk up his neck to try and hide; whether he was hiding from embarrassment of having a strange sexual trigger or something else on his mind was completely beyond Peter's thoughts.

"You never answered my question..."

"What question?"

"How are you feeling. When we went to try and stop Jean, she crushed me with her house, and I couldn't help at all. I felt useless. It... sucked. And then, Scott and Hank dug me out of the rubble and we went to find you. You looked..." Kurt started choking on his own words, scared he'd start crying. Peter felt a strong urge to make another joke about his 'very undoubtedly sexy' body to finish the sentence, but he wanted to hear him finish. He knew Kurt was going somewhere serious when the German boy used the word: sucked, it didn't seem like something in his vocabulary, much less like a word he'd willingly use unless he really felt like he needed to. "I saw you there, laying on the ground, covered in dirt, bleeding everywhere, with this horrible, agonized expression on your face, just... stuck there. I'm so used to you smirking, laughing, or doing that weird thing where you raise your eyebrows up and down after you are sarcastic or make a joke, and to see you like that, still and sad, I just cried. I was terrified that you were already dead. I've never seen you sit still on your own for more than 5 minutes. Even after the fight in Cairo when you had your entire leg broken and in a cast on crutches, you were still smiling, animated as ever. I don't know how you do it, Peter... you're always so happy. I mean, I try, but I can't help but be..."

"Scared?"

"Yeah." For a few moments, the room was silent, seemingly becoming a common theme, and yet again, it did not last long.

"Hahaha..."

"Peter, are you... laughing?"

"You've got me all wrong, Kurt. I may be an impatient wiseass, but don't get me wrong, I've got plenty of moments in my backlog where I felt like I was gonna piss myself. You were talking about after the Cairo fight?" Kurt nodded "Well, during that fight, I went in, guns a blazin', ready to beat the shit out of this weird edgy blue raisin lookin' guy, yet a few seconds later, I'm getting my arm twisted way further than it's supposed to and my leg getting completely fucked up. In that moment, I was sure I was going to die. Had it not been for Raven and Erik, I probably would have."

Kurt gnawed his bottom lip and curled further in on himself at the mention of Raven. Peter didn't know. He doubted Hank would have brought up his resented heartbreak to the seemingly immature speedster. He wasn't sure if he wanted to tell him; Would the timing be appropriate? Would he be able to handle the weight of the loss? Peter'd even said that Raven had been a massive inspiration to him when he was younger on the jet where they had their first real conversation. It'd be hard to swallow the pill that one of your friends had been possessed and just murdered your childhood hero while recovering from blunt trauma. It all made Kurt's head spin and ultimately, he decided against it.

"Sorry to get all deep and edgy on ya. I didn't want you waltzing around screeching about my fearlessness or something, I don't know." Peter shrugged as best as he could before whipping out his GameBoy and waving it in Kurt's face.

"Umm, I don't understand what this is. It looks like a plastic box. Does this one also play music?"

"Naw, this is one of those cool new things from Japan. It's a handheld gaming device."

"Oh. So it's like the large arcade machines... but smaller?"

"Yeah, it's pretty bangin'. I've got Super Mario Land in the slot now, wanna try?"

"Yes!" Kurt took the device from Peter and was about to dive in when he tentatively asked "Umm, Peter? What is the objective?"

"You get the tiny man with the hat from the left to the right and eventually you'll find a lady and win. I guess even minuscule pixelated dudes need a babe," Peter joked. However, Kurt was already encapsulated in the tiny, unlit screen, a little beep going off every time he made the character jump. Peter watched with amusement as he resumed his mixtape with one earbud in, the other listening to the whirring air conditioner and the GameBoy's clacking buttons.

Content with his friend's newfound excitement and ease of mind, Peter felt his eyelids growing heavy and his breaths growing slower and deeper without any conscious feeling of pain with the intake of oxygen. And finally, without any thoughts of his dislocated shoulder, unsolved father-related problems, or his red-haired, newly space-fart-possessed, destruction causing friend, he drifted off to sleep with a content, comfortable, and very quicksilver-y smirk plastered on his face

[jugheadfanfics84-blog]

Hell No

(Y/N) and I walked into the second day of school at Riverdale high. We had been transferred there from Southside High and although we did miss it, we loved the new school. We had a locker that we shared, we had computers that worked, and we had athletic teams. I had joined the basketball team and she had tried out for cheerleading. I wasn’t happy about it.

“Oh come on, Sweets!” (Y/N) exclaimed throwing her arms around me and smiling.

“You can do whatever you want, babe. I just don’t like the idea of you dancing around for other guys.” I had said grumpily.

“You make me sound like a damned stripper, Sweet Pea.” She said in a tone that made me know I had just fucked up. Shit.

“That’s not what I meant, damn it. Quit taking shit out of context.” I say to her calmly, sitting down on her couch.

“It’s cheerleading. Toni is on the squad and so are Betty and Veronica.” (Y/N) says, crossing her arms.

“So you’re way of trying to talk me into this is tell me you’ll be hanging out with the two biggest preps?” I ask, chuckling. She knew I wasn’t crazy about those two girls, mostly because Veronica’s dad had tried to fuck the Serpents over way too many times for my liking.

“Toni is on the team for her girlfriend,” I say to her, standing up and grabbing my bag. “Do what you want. Doesn’t mean I’m gonna be happy about it.” I said shrugging and walked out of the trailer.

Since then we came to an understanding that she would at least defend herself if some scum hit on her. Inside I was hoping she just didn’t make the squad. We walked up to the sheet that had the names of new River Vixens on it and sure enough, at the top of the list was her name. I groaned and she jumped up and down excited.

“Oh my god! I made it, Pea!” She says happily and hugs me. I hug her back and roll my eyes.

“Oh joy!” I say sarcastically. She pulls back and before she can yell at me Toni runs up and hugs her.

“Congrats, girl!” She exclaims, hugging (Y/N). She turns and looks at me confused.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Pea? You look like someone just shot your dog.”

“He’s pissed because I’m on the squad.” (Y/N) says, glaring at me.

“Why?” Toni asks me, raising an eyebrow.

“Because, Topaz, I don’t like the idea of her jumping around in that short ass skirt where these pervy ass Northsiders can see her. One of them is going to try some dumb shit with her and I’m gonna end up in jail because I’ll kill them.” I growl and turn around, stomping to class without (Y/N).

All day I avoided (Y/N) and Toni. I was still super pissed at both of them. Yes, she had the right to do what she wanted but she couldn’t see my point at all. I sighed as I walk into the gym in my sleeveless shirt and shorts, for practice to see the Vixens taking a break from their practice. I see (Y/N) stretching, and talking to Reggie Mantle. I clench my fists as I see him put his hand on the small of her back. She pushes his hand away but he just gets a cheesy grin on his face and puts it back. I snarl and throw my bag down, stomping over to him. I shove him down on the ground and get in his face.

“Listen here, asswipe. I see you touch my girl again and I will make sure to mop this floor with your face.” I growl and shove him down on the ground again, making his head hit the floor.

I turn to see (Y/N) smiling at me, her face red. I pull her into a hug and kiss her head.

“I’m sorry I got mad at you, baby.” She says into my chest.

“It’s fine. Just know I always got your back.” I say smiling at her.

Everything was normal for a few weeks after that. No one dared to even look at (Y/N) when she was in her cheerleader uniform, not even Jughead or Fangs.

(Y/N) came in the lounge with her Vixen uniform on. I hear Fangs cough and I turn to look at him. He looked over at the snack machine.

“Hey, babe. Hey, Fangs.” (Y/N) greets us.

“Hey.” Fangs says, still not looking at her. She looks at me confused and I shrug my shoulders.

“Fangs, you okay?” She asks him, chuckling.

“Yep, just not gonna die at the hands of your boyfriend.” Fangs says and (Y/N) and I bust out laughing.

I was finally able to convince Fangs that I wasn’t going to kill him for just talking to her when she was in her uniform. Friday after school, I decided to go to the game, just to see (Y/N). I was sitting in the 3rd row of bleachers while the football team tried, unsuccessfully to score a touchdown. I chuckle to myself and see the Vixens come out to start cheering. (Y/N) had on her uniform and her (Y/H/C) hair into a long curly ponytail. She looked up to see where I was when she spotted me her face lit up and she blew me a kiss. I wink at her and her face turns red. I chuckle.

After they got done cheering they went over to the water station and was filling up their water bottles. As I got up to go down and talk to her, I see the Mantle punk walk over to her. I narrow my eyes as I quicken my steps and jump over the fence. When my feet hit the ground I see him walk up behind (Y/N) and grab her ass and pull her against him, I hear her yelp in surprise and that was all it took for me to flip. I storm over to him and push (Y/N) behind me and grabbing his jersey. I glared at him.

“I warned you once, you dumb fuck. Don’t fucking touch my girl!” I yell in his face. I pull my fist back and connect it with his face, as I feel his knee connect with my stomach. I groan and grab his neck, slamming him onto the ground. My fist connected with his nose as I felt someone’s fist connect with my eye. I snarl as I look up to see Andrews.

“This isn’t your fight, Andrews. I suggest you back off.” I warn him, getting up and shoving him.

“There’s no need to kill him. He learned his lesson.” He says helping Reggie up. I laugh and kick him back on the ground.

“No, you see he didn’t. I warned him once to keep his hands off my girlfriend. He didn’t listen, he would rather sexually assault her in front of everyone.” I say glaring down at Mantle. His nose was bleeding and his eye was starting to darken. “So again. This isn’t your fight.”

I yank Mantle up by his jersey and get in his face. “I’m telling you right now. Next time, I’ll have my switchblade on me. You think I mind going to jail for beating your ass? Hell no. No one fucks with my girl.” I snarl at him before hitting him one more time and going over to (Y/N) and taking her into my arms. She had been crying and I stroked her hair. “It’s alright, babe. He won’t fuck with you again.” I say kissing her head. She looks up at me and nods.

“Thank you for that. You didn't have to beat the hell out of him though.” She says chuckling and wrapping her arms around my neck.

“Yes, I did,” I say pulling her up into my arms, her legs going around my waist.

“Why?” She asks, kissing my neck. I groan and pull her face back, locking eyes with her.

“Because I love you. He isn’t gonna fuck with you. No one is. You’re mine, doll.” I say smiling and kissing her. Her lips connected with mine and I heard her let out a tiny moan. I smile against her lips before deepening the kiss.

“You know, you haven’t seen what this uniform looks like on the floor.” She says, her breath hot on my ear.

“You read my mind,” I say carrying her to my bike.

[lisatelramor]

Not Left To Stand Alone Ch21

Takumi was sitting at the kitchen table with both Kudo daughters when Saguru went looking for him. Ran was elsewhere in the house and he had passed Kudo in the study on his way. Takumi looked up from watching the girls draw at the sound of Saguru’s borrowed cane. Saguru hadn’t stopped to think much about how the last twenty four hours were affecting Takumi before, but now that he was sure Kuroba wasn’t going to die at any moment, he could see signs of strain. Takumi looked like he had slept worse than Saguru, dark circles under his eyes, and there was a listlessness to how he had been watching the girls. It shifted to focus and worry as Saguru entered the room.

“Is Kid…?” Takumi asked vaguely.

“Better,” Saguru said. “He won’t be moving for a while, but for the moment he is stable and aware enough.”

“Good.” Takumi slumped. Midori elbowed him as he covered part of her paper and Takumi shifted away without complaint. “Before we go, can I see him? Just… The only time I saw him up close, he was bleeding out…”

“Of course.” Seeing Kid alive if not well might help ease Takumi’s mind.

“Kid’s the thief Tou-san’s always chasing right?” Midori asked. “The one in white?”

“Yes, Kid is a thief in white,” Saguru said.

“Oh. I like him. He left Kaa-san flowers once,” Midori said drawing a flower then, probably meant to be one of Kuroba’s roses if the red color was anything to go by. “It’s sad he got hurt.”

“He’ll get better,” Hanae said. She smacked down the green crayon she had been using to grab a brown one. Stripey brown lines branched out from the mass of green swirls. “He always gets away. Tou-san says.” Her sister nodded like this had to be the only conclusion since Kudo’s word was truth.

“I’m sure he will,” Saguru said hoping it would be the truth. He squished the part of his brain reciting facts about recovery times and infection rates, about how his own infected bullet wound had ruined his knee worse than it would have otherwise been. He was allowed to hope against the odds. Saguru looked to Takumi. “Did you want to see Kid now? I know we can’t stay here much longer. Aoko-san is worried and I still have to turn in my report on last night.”

Takumi nodded. He followed Saguru from the kitchen. “Hakuba-sensei,” Takumi murmured as they neared Kid’s room. “What are you going to put on the reports?”

“Kid escaped. He was shot down, but the site was clear when we arrived.” Saguru glanced sidelong at Takumi’s troubled expression. “That Kid is most likely injured but got away with the gem. Neither of us saw anything.”

The frown deepened. “…even to Kaa-san?”

“No, I’ll tell her the full truth.”

“…It feels wrong,” Takumi said so quietly Saguru almost didn’t hear him. “Kaa-san always told me it was important to tell the truth to the police.”

Saguru sighed. “Sometimes it’s more complicated than truth or lies. Sometimes truths can kill and lies save, and sometimes they make things worse. It’s something you’ll have to judge on your own. In this case it’s better not to say everything for both Kid and our sakes. We did help a criminal after all.”

“To save his life,” Takumi said. “And Kudo-san helped too.”

“Exactly.”

Takumi frowned at him, but he set the topic aside as they reached Kid’s room. Kuroba was asleep again, not peacefully though. A grimace of discomfort showed on the small part of his face not hidden by the mask. Takumi took one step into the room and stared like he was trying to decode something from Kuroba’s mass of bandages.

“I…somehow I didn’t think it was possible for Kid to get hurt badly,” Takumi admitted. “He’s practically a legend at this point.”

“It’s easy to forget there’s someone mortal behind the mask,” Saguru said, because he had almost forgotten as well over the years, more intent on Kid than remembering Kuroba existed behind him.

There was scuffling behind them and Midori and Hanae poked their heads into the room. They craned their necks at Kid in the bed.

“He’s not very big,” Hanae said, sounding disappointed.

“Are you supposed to be here?” Saguru asked.

“Kaa-san didn’t say we couldn’t,” Midori said. She tugged on Takumi’s arm and lifted her hands so she could be held up. Takumi did, though he looked at Saguru like he was trying to figure out if this was okay or not. Midori made a soft unhappy sound when she was high enough to see Kid clearly. “He looks sad.”

“He’s a thief. He should be sad because he’s in a detective’s house,” Hanae said. “Once he’s healthy he’ll probably get arrested.”

“I’m gonna draw him a picture.” Midori wiggled in Takumi’s arms until he set her down again and she pointed at Kid. “What does he like?”

“Er. Gems?” Takumi said.

“Birds,” Saguru suggested. “He keeps doves.”

Midori nodded and tugged her sister away. Hanae went complaining the whole way that, “He’s a bad guy, Midori, why are we cheering him up?”

Takumi looked after them, his face scrunched somewhere between bewildered and reluctantly amused. “I’m kind of glad I don’t have siblings after all,” he said.

Kuroba shifted in the bed, discomfort growing on his face. It made Saguru want to smooth it away but it was far far better than the blankness of unconsciousness. “Have you seen enough?” Saguru asked.

Takumi looked back at Kid. It was surprising that he didn’t cross the room and try to peek under Kid’s mask. At his age, Saguru wouldn’t have hesitated to satisfy his curiosity. “Yeah,” Takumi said. “I’ve seen enough.”

***

It was a quiet trip to Aoko’s. They both had thoughts on their mind, and the closer they got to Aoko in Ekoda, the more nervous Takumi became. Saguru didn’t blame him; he was also nervous to see Aoko face to face. An angry Aoko was more than a little intimidating. He shouldn’t have to worry about dodging mops these days at least.

Aoko was on them within seconds of Takumi opening the front door. Saguru didn’t think she’d slept at all last night from the looks of it, her eyes red rimmed and hands just a bit shaky the way limbs got after too much caffeine and adrenaline mixing badly together. Her hair was a mess of wild tangles that made her look larger and Saguru found himself taking a step back at her desperate expression. She crushed Takumi into an embrace the moment she was within arm’s reach.

“You absolute idiot,” she growled. “I raised you to be smarter than that. You could have died.”

Takumi tentatively hugged her back with the arm not trapped between their bodies. “I’m sorry, Kaa-san.”

“You’d better be you brat,” Aoko choked. There were tears in her eyes. Saguru looked away. There wasn’t anywhere to go to give them privacy. “You’re grounded. Indefinitely.”

Takumi nodded into her shoulder, clinging closer.

“You’re okay? You’re not hurt?”

And this time Takumi choked on tears. “I’m fine. I’m…I was so scared…” He shifted so he could hold her with both arms just as tight as she was holding him. “The building exploded and I didn’t know where you were. People were screaming and you were still in there. And then Kid got shot and there was so much blood.” He was crying in earnest now and Aoko held him close as he let go of all the fear and worry from the last twelve hours.

Aoko rocked back and forth on her heels as Takumi cried. There were tears in her eyes but she was glaring fiercely past his shoulder at nothing even as her voice was gentle. “It’s over now. I’m okay. You’re okay. It’s all over.” Saguru wasn’t sure how long they held each other as Saguru tried to blend into the wall. Eventually, Takumi’s tears slowed and Aoko’s rocking stopped and they pulled apart. Aoko wiped tears from Takumi’s face with her handkerchief. “Go to the kitchen and get yourself a cup of tea,” she said to her son. “It will help.”

Takumi nodded and slid his shoes off before walking toward the kitchen, still wiping at his face.

Aoko looked after him like she wanted to snatch him back into a hug again. As soon as he was out of sight though, she rounded on Saguru. Worry morphed back into rage. “You should have said the moment you realized he was on site.”

Saguru winced. “Aoko-san, it was only a few minutes before the heist began. I only glimpsed him on the security cameras; I had to go see that it really was him.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it.”

It was, but what would Aoko have done? Stopped coordinating the entire heist? She was the central driving force, everyone else pivoted around her and Saguru wasn’t really needed anywhere. “I found him and I tried to get him out before the heist,” Saguru said. “It was inevitable that we got caught up in the fallout.”

Aoko shook her head. It had been inevitable though, if not caught in the heist itself, then the crowds of panicking people instead. “Then you should have called as soon as you were out of danger. Or as soon as Kid was out of danger, dammit. You’re such a fucking hypocrite. Or did someone else make me promise I’d call if I knew anything about Kid so we could keep each other up to date?” She snorted at Saguru’s flinch. “I thought so. God I’m just so…Rrgh. Fuck Kid.” She ran her hands though her hair, tangling it further.

“I should have called,” Saguru said. “I forgot. I am sorry.”

“Fat lot of good sorry does anyone,” Aoko said tiredly. “How bad?”

“Expect months of recovery.”

“Damn it. I hate him. I hate him so much.”

You do but you don’t, Saguru thought as she wrapped her arms around herself.

“You’re not going to tell me where he is, are you?”

“It is probably best for everyone involved if you don’t know where he’s at for the moment.” It wasn’t that he thought Aoko would arrest Kuroba or actually try to kill him, but having Aoko show up right now would be the last thing Kuroba needed for his health.

“Fine.” Aoko closed her eyes. “Fine. Can you leave? Please.”

“I’ll leave immediately.” He did just that, backing away toward the door only to be stopped by Aoko’s voice when he touched the doorknob.

“Hakuba. I need your report on the heist within the next twenty four hours. Write an official one and one for my eyes only please.”

“Of course. …May I ask the casualty rate from last night?”

“No one died. I have two officers that are in critical condition and half a dozen others hospitalized. Five people in the crowds ended up in the hospital from the panic. Dozens more have minor injuries.”

“Thank you.” Kuroba would hate to hear this. “Goodbye, Aoko-san.”

She didn’t say anything else, so Saguru left. He wondered if there would only be animosity between them after this. Aoko was not a friend, but he hoped he had not forever lost the possibility of her becoming one.

***

Saguru stopped at his apartment before heading back to Kudo’s. He stood in his entryway for a good five minutes feeling the emptiness of the room pressing in on him. It struck him again that he’d almost lost Kuroba last night. There would have been no more evening conversations over tea or random gifts of food left on his kitchen counter or that specific double tap on his door that when Kuroba was using his manners instead of barging in. Just four short months and Kuroba had become a center point in his life.

There was something wrong with him because the thought of losing Kuroba felt almost on par with losing Mel had been, with only a fraction of the history to account for that feeling.

Saguru stood in the shadows of the entryway where the light from the afternoon sun didn’t reach and considered it rationally; love was love regardless of the time experiencing it. And he was in love with Kuroba. There wasn’t a point in deluding himself to that reality anymore. The emotions wouldn’t go anywhere. Saguru didn’t expect them to and friendship was enough between them, but he couldn’t deny the existence of his emotions anymore either.

The soft golden light of afternoon peeking through the window didn’t really fit the weight of this revelation. But then so rarely did nature choose to align with emotional turmoil outside of popular media.

Saguru loved Kuroba and had almost lost him; if it was in his power, he would not lose someone he loved like that again.

***

Saguru broke into Kuroba’s apartment to gather changes of clothes and other things Kuroba might need. Kuroba’s things joined Saguru’s own in a large cloth grocery bag repurposed into a makeshift suitcase. He wasn’t sure all what to bring; clothing and toiletries were obvious, but anything else was anyone’s guess what Kuroba would want. Saguru added the mp3 player he found on Kuroba’s bedside table. With a concussion he wouldn’t be able to do anything mentally taxing for a while, but music could straddle the line between entertaining and relaxing.

He took the time to update both his mother and Kuroba’s on the heist fallout, and then he was off again, headed back to Kudo’s home.

Kudo raised an eyebrow at Saguru’s bag but didn’t comment on it. It was rather rude for Saguru to invite himself to stay longer, but rudeness be damned, he’d sleep better within shouting distance of Kuroba.

After settling his things into a guest room offered by Ran and getting Kuroba’s things to him, Saguru sat down with Kudo and his wife in their study, children thankfully elsewhere for the moment.

“Takumi-kun got back to his mother in one piece?” Kudo asked lightly.

“More or less. I am afraid I’m in bad graces with her at the moment as well. I imagine this will make parent teacher interactions even more awkward in the future.” Saguru sighed. “Takumi-kun is my student,” he added when Kudo raised an eyebrow.

“An interesting bit of luck ending up the teacher to Kaitou Kid’s son.”

“You have no idea.” What sort of expression would Kudo make if Saguru revealed they were neighbors? That would be giving too much away though, and they were at least pretending that they couldn’t easily pick apart Kid’s identity like freeing a boiled egg from a fault-littered shell.

“…You know Kid pretty well, right?” Kudo asked.

“Well enough.” Not well enough; Kuroba kept himself a step away even as he had opened up around Saguru. There would always be depths to him that Saguru wouldn’t be allowed to see.

“How would you say his life is?”

Kudo didn’t look like he was prying to find clues. He looked contemplative, a crease between his brows and a quirk to his lips that spoke more of concern than a desire to tear away the last veils of Kid’s identity. How odd. But then, if Kuroba could become interested in Kudo’s wellbeing after years of interaction it wasn’t really that odd for it to go both ways. Saguru had felt that way even at the height of their rivalry. “It’s very busy,” Saguru said honestly. “He works, has a son, and is Kid. I sometimes wonder at how he functions with as little sleep as he seems to get. He’s a good father even if a bit misguided at times. He’s lonely. He seems to have many acquaintances and few close friends. I’m not sure he knows how to stop wearing masks anymore, or if he’s afraid of what he’d find if he put the roles away.” Kudo’s expression softened into something like sadness or perhaps compassion. If Saguru remembered right, Kudo was someone who caught his criminals, but didn’t let them throw their lives away. It was something that had tipped Saguru’s opinion a bit more toward favor. Even if he had once pointed a gun on Kid. “Why?”

“We’ve talked a few times. He’s come close to breaking before…I was wondering if it was still true or if life got better since we last talked.”

Ah. Between Aoko’s divorce and Jii’s death, he could see it straining Kuroba to near shattering. It was a miracle he hadn’t broken unlike Saguru’s own breakdown. “I’ve seen him smile and laugh and mean it. There are bad days, but good ones too.”

“I’m glad.” Kudo shared a smile with Ran then and Saguru again got the feeling that he was missing something vital in Kuroba’s history with the Kudo family. There were possibilities he could speculate on, but without proof he wouldn’t put weight into any of them.

But there was Kuroba now to think about. The past would keep its mysteries. “He’s going to be recovering for a long time,” Saguru said. “Can you keep him here until he can move on his own?”

A wealth of meaning shifted between Kudo and Ran before Ran shrugged slightly. “It isn’t a problem,” Kudo said. “He’s welcome here.”

“And so are you,” Ran added.

“Thank you.” It was more than generous for them to do this. “Kudo-san, about last night…the crash site; it’s been cleaned up?”

“I called in a few favors,” Kudo said. “There might still be traces of blood, but nothing usable to track back to him.”

Good. Saguru nodded. “That should buy some time then… The ones who set everything up are likely wondering if he lived or not.”

“No body means they’re going to play it toward him living,” Shinichi observed. “The gem?”

“Kid hid it.”

Kudo nodded. “I was surprised he went with the roof, but I guess he wasn’t given much choice in his escape route. The bombs pretty much ensured he could only flee up, and where the bomb damage wasn’t there were officers cutting off his route. The weather was too perfect for the glider too. It felt like an obvious setup.”

“He was flying a bit off the best direction of the wind. That might have been what saved him.” Saguru tried to recreate the trajectories of Kuroba’s entrance wounds. Gliding the direction he had been, with the angle of the wounds… “Kudo-san, do you happen to have a map? I’m curious what buildings the sniper might have been at. I know Ao—Nakamori-keibu had a watch at certain perimeter trying to keep the chance of a sniper down.” Saguru stumbled over Aoko’s name and pretended he hadn’t.

Kudo pulled out his phone, fiddling with it to bring up a map of the area. He set it on the coffee table between them. “This is the museum,” Kudo said. “And Kid left in this direction…” His finger scrolled the map forward.

“You found us about here, correct?” Saguru asked, pointing to what appeared to be the correct alley.

“Yes. Depending on Kid’s speed, he’d have to have been hit within this radius to crash there…” Kudo traced a circle above the phone.

“Meaning his shooter had to be within a certain radius to hit him.”

“Exactly.”

“Fifteen hundred meter radius?”

“Extend it a bit further to be on the safe side…” They bent forward over the phone, studying it intently. “The damage is worse on the right side.”

“Half from the crash, but I concede to your point; the bullet wounds come from that angle. It was a taller building. The entry wounds were almost even with his height.”

“Mm. Maybe a bit from below…too straight for his leg wound otherwise….” Kudo shifted the map around before they both agreed on a potential area. “I know this area. The tallest building around there is an office building.”

“It’s outside of Nakamori-keibu’s radius too.” Saguru felt the tingle of satisfaction that piecing pieces together always gave him. It was paired with the gut feeling that the sniper’s location had been important. He zoomed closer. Ambrosia Industries? It was foreign, and it also sounded vaguely familiar for some reason… He’d had a case that involved them at one point, he was pretty sure, but it had to have been a very long time ago.

“Something wrong?” Kudo asked. Saguru looked up into sharp-focused eyes. He also looked like he was on the edge of some sort of connection.

“I’ve heard of the company before.” When though? Not in Japan, in London, back, far back.

Kudo took the phone and looked the company up. “Ambrosia Industries…Not much on them.”

“They make cosmetics don’t they?” Ran asked, leaning in. Saguru had almost forgotten she was there. “Sonoko has a few things from their brand. She said they had the best anti-aging creams.”

A cosmetics company? That sparked something. Saguru took the phone from Shinichi. Yes, under the international subsidiaries was a different name. Elysium. “I had a case almost fifteen years ago looking into an employee from Elysium. My client thought that the employee had stolen her research data, but there hadn’t been any clear trail to link that they were using it in their formulas.” He frowned. “That was the case I got my knee shot out.” A bit further down on the list was another name he remembered. He gripped the phone tight. “And I was investigating a theft from Progenetics almost a year ago when…when my partner was killed.”

“That’s…” Kudo’s brow furrowed.

“It is entirely possible for that to be circumstantial and unrelated.” Saguru handed the phone back. The rest of the names didn’t spark any memories, though there was always the possibility that there were other connections. “It makes me wonder, though, as all three instances involved gunmen.”

“I have come across a few of these places,” Kudo said slowly. “Murder cases.”

Of course murders. Kudo worked almost exclusively with murders. “Thefts for me.”

“They were mostly crimes of passion though; the setting didn’t seem important to them. There was one that was one employee killing the other though. They never explained why, just turned themselves in.” Kudo tapped his chin.

“It would be a bit odd to use the roof of a place you were associated with to attempt a murder,” Saguru said.

“Or it could be the perfect cover because it would be unexpected.” Kudo shrugged. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

Right. Kudo had taken out an international crime organization before he was twenty. He was probably something of an expert on shadowy dealings and large scale crime rings. “Kudo-san, how much do you know about what Kid is searching for?”

“Only that it is a large gemstone and that there is another interested party.”

“There was more than one Kid,” Ran added softly.

Kudo’s eyes flicked to her and he nodded. “The first Kid was active about seven years internationally before he vanished. The second Kid appeared eight years later and was much younger than the first. A protégé perhaps, since his methodology and skills are very similar to the first. With the sort of people that follow Kid, I can guess that the first Kid either died or was crippled.”

“He died,” Saguru said bluntly. “In what appeared to be an accident. A very public accident. His identity was found out by the organization chasing him and they ensured he wouldn’t be able to defy them again. How Kid has avoided something similar happening, I have no idea. Perhaps because he has made no effort to stand out in his civilian life.” It was too easy to picture ‘accidents’ happening to Aoko or Kuroba or Takumi, leaving nothing but blank eyed corpses behind. With Aoko it would not even be hard to arrange. Perhaps they had already tried, but with all the danger already present in Aoko’s day to day life, it had fallen into one more close call among many.

“The second Kid was a teenager when he first appeared,” Ran said. “Both Shinichi and I got close often enough to figure that much out.”

“He was sixteen when he first took Kid’s mantle.” All three of them winced at the implications. It was funny in a way; at the time it wouldn’t have felt odd. They had all been teenagers that ran into danger on a regular basis. The violent side of humanity and its dark possibilities were very real presences and dangers in their lives. And yet at sixteen they had felt adults already. At over thirty, looking back they had all been barely more than children dealing with things that they would have tried to protect their younger selves from now. “He’s spent the last decade and a half trying to take down a crime organization on his own.”

Kudo and Ran exchanged a look, Kudo’s questioning, Ran’s accepting. “I owe Kid,” Kudo said after a moment. “Not many people know this, but he helped several times in taking down the Black Organization. Not always willingly.” Kudo rubbed a hand through his hair. It stood up at the back, for a moment making him look much more like Kuroba. “I said I wouldn’t get involved in anything at that scale again if I could help it.” Kudo looked Saguru in the eyes, clearly struggling.

Oh. “He’s bad at accepting help,” Saguru said drily, “but at this point I don’t think he has much of a choice. Kudo-san, I don’t want to see Kid die. I’ve permanently lost the person I care for most in the last year, and then alienated the majority of my friends through my own actions; I don’t intend to lose anyone else. If that means coming out of retirement and going against a crime organization of an unknown size and reach, I will do it. I have far less to lose these days than I did before.” As he said the words, the resolution that had been building in him since he knew Kuroba had survived solidified. He had failed to save Mel or get him justice. His detective pursuits may very well have gotten Mel killed. But if there was any chance that his skills could help Kuroba, he would use them. Even with such a large chance of failing. “Would you be willing to help me in this?”

“I…” Kudo trailed off. He looked at the phone in his hands. “You’d be surprised how many detectives care about Kid. More than we should considering we try to catch him time after time. He causes chaos and dangerous people follow him, but Kid doesn’t use guns, does his best to not hurt anyone be it bystander or officer doing their job…” It was hard to be indifferent or remain angry at someone you interacted with for over a decade even if said interactions were anything but friendly. “I care. I’ll hide Kid here until he recovers completely if that’s what he needs. But…”

“I’m not asking for you to take an active role rooting out the shadows,” Saguru said. “I need your mind and your connections; those will be more than enough. I intend to do as much legwork as I can myself.” He was aware of the irony, a man with a cane doing the legwork, but for Kuroba he’d do it.

Ran touched Kudo’s elbow. Kudo swallowed thickly. “I can provide connections and help talk over whatever you find. I’d offer more, but I can’t be open about working on this, not with a family.”

“I understand.”

“I can make sure Kid is taken care of in the meantime,” Ran said.

Saguru nodded, grateful his mind spun plans, poked at connections as he closed his eyes. Fragmentary details stood out at him—snipers and connected companies and the multitude of wounds Kuroba has had since Saguru returned to Japan. Aoko’s angry face, Kuroba’s locked bedroom door and equally locked closet, accidents that were not accidents, Jii’s death, Kuroba Chikage’s absence from this heist, Kudo’s half smile when he talked about Kid and the years spent chasing him. Nothing clicked yet, but it was a start. “We will have to talk to Kid. Undoubtedly he has evidence we can work with.” He had almost two decades to throw himself at the problem; he had to have gotten somewhere with it. But Kuroba wasn’t a detective, and he didn’t have the connections he needed to take down a large scale organization. He was smart enough that he likely put most of the pieces together by now, but that didn’t mean he could do anything with it on his own.

“He’s probably asleep again,” Ran said. “Ai-san has him resting as much as possible so it might be a while before you can talk.”

“I understand. He has a lot of recovering to do.” And there were other things Saguru could do. Namely talk to his father; he wanted his perspective as well as Kudo’s on taking down a large scale criminal enterprise. And there was one other thing to take care of while he was at the manor. “I think,” he said slowly, “I have one more errand to do today after all.”

“Okay,” Kudo said. “Do what you need to do. I have a write up to do for the Kid task force, so I’ll be in my office if you need anything.”

“Ah.” Ran pulled out a slip of paper. “And our cell phone numbers if you need to get in touch.”

“Thank you.” He quickly entered the numbers into his phone and sent along his own contact info in a text. “Let me know if anything changes while I am gone?”

“Of course.” Ran smiled. Kudo was already lost looking up something on his phone again, the sharp thinking face firmly in place.

[whomstdvewrotethis]

So I had this idea the other day: what if all the humans were actually still alive and in the studio? Then I thought, hey, why not write a fic about it?

Idk if I’ll end up turning this into a proper fic, but I’ve got a few scenes written and figured I may as well share, seeing as I may or may not expand on this later. So far, it’s got Sammy, Wally, and Joey (and Henry, obviously).

Couple warnings, though. Warning one, this starts out not too long after the sacrifice scene from CH2, so Sammy’s pretty badly hurt after being almost killed by Bendy. I tried to avoid getting too graphic, but it’s worth the heads-up.

Warning two, this is a rough draft. The writing’s pretty bad in places, and the pacing and flow are just... not great. It’s nowhere near a finished product and is in need of some serious revisions in addition to more content in order to be considered anywhere near done. If you’re looking for polished, good-quality writing, prepare to be sorely disappointed. It doesn’t even have an ending yet.

That said, all feedback is hugely appreciated. :)

Those leaking pipes could certainly be one hell of a problem. Henry had gotten trapped in the music department again, ink flooding the stairway. In order to get out, he’d have to activate the pump switch in Sammy’s office - and, in order to get in there, he’d have to shut off the valve from his sanctuary first. These faulty pipes sure were a hassle to deal with.

Henry switched on the projector in the balcony overlooking the recording studio, then ran down there to play the right combination of instruments in time. How on earth doing this got Sammy’s sanctuary to open, he had no clue, but nothing made sense in this studio anymore. All that mattered was that it worked.

The sanctuary opened, and Henry entered to find none other than Sammy Lawrence himself, slouched over in the far corner, his mask lying on the floor nearby. This was quite a surprise; he was sure Bendy had killed Sammy after the attempted sacrifice a couple days prior. Henry approached him cautiously, unsure how dangerous he was.

“Sammy?” No response. When Henry got close enough, he could see Sammy was clearly unconscious. “Sammy, are you alright?” He put his hand on Sammy’s shoulder and shook him gently in an attempt to wake him. Sammy shot awake and instantly recoiled in pain, holding his injured shoulder.

“You again... who are-” He suddenly began coughing violently, even coughing up a little blood.

Wait, blood? Human blood? Not ink?

That was both relieving and concerning. It meant he was still human - well, probably human - but he was also in need of serious medical attention.

Henry gently placed his hand on Sammy’s uninjured shoulder reassuringly.

“Sammy, you’ll be alright. You’ll be okay. I’ll get us out of here. I’ll get you help. Everything’s gonna be fine, okay?” In truth, he was trying to reassure himself as much as he was trying to reassure Sammy. He still had no idea if he’d ever find a way out of the studio; even if he did, he wasn’t sure if Sammy would last long enough.

“Who are you?” Sammy asked again after his coughing fit had subsided.

“It’s me, Henry. I used to work here with you, remember?”

“Henry...” Sammy just stared at him, wide-eyed. Henry couldn’t tell from his expression if Sammy actually remembered him or not.

“Do you remember me?” No response, just a vacant stare. “Sammy?” Henry waved a hand in front of his face to recapture his attention, somewhat concerned by his unresponsiveness.

“Yeah, I remember...” he eventually answered.

“What happened to you, anyway?” Henry asked. Sammy immediately tensed up at that question and began to tremble in fear. He looked absolutely terrified.

“Bendy... Bendy happened. I tried to appease him, but-” He suddenly began coughing again. “But he- he didn’t-” His attempts to keep speaking only made his coughing fit worse.

“Take it easy,” Henry told him. “Don’t push yourself. I understand what’s going on.” For now, it was enough to know it was Bendy’s attack on him that left him in this state. He could ask more later if he needed, but, right now, he didn’t want to force Sammy to keep speaking when it was clearly causing him pain. Once Sammy had recovered himself again, Henry offered to bring him to the safe house.

“Come with me,” he said. “I’ll get you somewhere safe.”

“No, it’s- it’s too dangerous out there.”

“You’ll be okay. I’ll keep you safe.” He helped Sammy up to his feet. Sammy barely had the strength to stand, even with Henry’s assistance, so he had to bear most of Sammy’s weight, Sammy’s good arm slung over his shoulders. He could only hope they didn’t run into any danger on the way to the safe house. Defending both himself and Sammy while supporting like this would not be an easy task.

Unfortunately, avoiding danger in this studio was practically impossible. The pair made it about halfway to the safe house without incident. Henry hadn’t noticed that he’d been bearing more and more of Sammy’s weight until he felt Sammy begin to slip. Great. Sammy had fallen unconscious. He adjusted his hold on him to better support him - and that was when the ink appeared. On the walls, the ceiling, the floor - the telltale sign that Bendy was near.

There couldn’t have been a worse time for this.

In the middle of a hallway with neither a hiding place nor Bendy in sight, Henry didn’t know which way to run - or if he even could run fast enough while carrying the unconscious musician. Standing in one spot wouldn’t do any good, though; Bendy would surely find them.

So he picked a direction and ran. It was a fifty-fifty shot he’d be running away from Bendy - certainly better than keeping still in plain sight.

Unfortunately, Henry picked the wrong direction and quickly found himself face-to-face with the ink demon. Almost instantaneously, he was being held up against the wall, a few feet off the ground, entirely helpless. He gripped his axe tightly, despite knowing it’d do him no good at this point.

This was it. It was all over. And he was utterly terrified.

“Please, Bendy... I-I created you, I drew you.” Trying to reason with the demon was almost certainly impossible, but pleading to be spared was his only remaining option and his last desperate attempt at survival. “Don’t hurt me, don’t hurt me, please, I-” Bendy cut him off with a harsh growl.

Okay, talking to him was not going to work.

“Hey! What do ya think you’re doin’, ya filthy demon!”

Suddenly, Wally Franks ran in, chasing off the demon with a wet mop. Bendy dropped Henry and fled.

“You alright there?” Wally asked, offering a hand to help Henry up.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” Henry replied as he got up, still a bit stunned, moreso from what he had just witnessed than from his fall.

“Franks...? The fuck are you doin’ here?” came the voice of the barely-conscious Sammy, who was still lying on the floor where he’d been dropped.

“You again?!” Wally readied his mop to strike. “I swear, if you’re even THINKIN’ of sacrificin’-” Henry had to grab his arm to stop him from hitting Sammy.

“He’s harmless. Leave him alone.”

“Fine, fine, whatever ya say...” Wally grumbled.

~

Henry safely returned with Sammy to the safe house, with Wally in tow. Henry laid Sammy down on the bed when they arrived, got him cleaned up as best he could - with nothing but a dry towel to wipe away the ink, he was still quite covered in it, but he was at least clean enough to be recognizable as human now - and brought him some soup to eat.

Now that he wasn’t covered in nearly as much ink as before, it was clear just how beaten and bruised he was. It was no wonder he was in such bad shape, given the extent of his injuries.

He had to find a way out of here, and soon. Sammy needed medical help, yet the studio didn’t have so much as a basic first aid kit.

Maybe Wally could offer some clues to getting out. He seemed to be surviving well here.

Henry told Sammy he was leaving the room to speak with Wally for a bit and asked Boris to look after him in the meantime.

“Hey, Wally... first of all, thanks for saving us. I really appreciate it. I honestly thought I was done for back there.”

“It’s nothin’,” Wally answered. “Just doin’ what I gotta do.”

“Anyway, I wanted to ask - do you know if there’s any way out of here?”

“If there was, don’t ya think I woulda left a long time ago?” Wally had a point there. Henry wondered why he’d even thought to ask when the answer was so obvious. “Believe me, Henry, there’s no way outta here. I’d be long gone from this dump if there was.”

“Figures...”

“Hey, no need to look so down about it! This place ain’t so bad once you get used to it!”

Henry forced a smile, though he certainly couldn’t agree with Wally’s statement. Getting used to life in such a dangerous place just didn’t seem possible.

“Kid, I admire your spirit, but-”

“Kid?” Wally echoed. “Look, I dunno how many years it’s been, but I do know I’m way too old for ya to keep callin’ me a kid.”

“Sorry,” Henry apologized. “Force of habit. Anyway, as I was saying, we need to find a way out of here. We can’t stay here forever.”

“I still don’t see the big deal.” Wally shrugged. “The rest of us have been livin’ here for years. You’ll get used to it sooner or later.”

“I can’t live here. It isn’t safe.”

“Sure it’s safe! So there’s some ink monsters here, big deal! All ya need is some water to wash ‘em away!”

That actually made sense. No wonder Bendy had run off when Wally had chased him with the mop. Unfortunately, there was still a more urgent issue.

“Sammy’s been hurt. Badly. We have to get him to a hospital.”

“So what? He’s tried to kill us all at some point or another; who cares if he’s hurt?”

“I care,” Henry said firmly. Perhaps Sammy was a dangerous person, but Henry wasn’t going to leave him to die. Not while he was hurt and defenseless.

~

A few days passed. Henry was still determined to find a way out. Wally had urged him to take some downtime for the sake of his own health - so far, Henry had hardly had a second to relax since he’d arrived - and Henry somewhat complied, if only to stay back and help take care of Sammy.

Sammy had become much more alert and had recovered his strength enough to be up and about at times within the safe house. He was clearly still in a lot of pain and in need of proper treatment, but, thankfully, he seemed to be nowhere near as close to death as he had been when Henry had found him.

“Either of you know what’s happened to Joey?” Henry asked that day.

“No one’s seen him in years,” Wally answered. “If you’re lookin’ for him, you’re outta luck.”

“He sent me a letter a couple weeks ago,” Henry informed him. “He’s still here. I’m sure of it. I’m heading out to look for him.” He took his axe and left the safe house to look for Joey in what seemed to be the most likely place: his office.

Joey’s office was locked when Henry arrived, but Henry wasn’t going to turn back without going inside. Either he’d find Joey there, or he’d at least find some answers as to what had happened here. Good thing he’d brought his axe. He broke down the door and the boards blocking it from the inside.

“Joey?” He called out, stepping inside. His messy office certainly looked like someone had been living out of it, littered with empty soup cans, ink-stained clothes, and various personal items. “Joey, are you here?”

“Henry...?” Joey cautiously crawled out from hiding under his desk and looked toward Henry. “Henry, thank goodness it’s you! You really scared me there. Just knock next time, will you?” He grabbed onto his chair to help pull himself to a standing position and leaned on the back of it for support. He was visibly shaking, possibly from fear, possibly just from the difficulty he had getting to his feet. His bad leg had given him trouble enough in his younger days, and his age certainly wasn’t making it any easier on him.

“Sorry about that,” Henry said. He’d gotten maybe a bit too used to having to force his way into places that were blocked off. “Joey, I need to ask you something. What happened here, and how do we get out?”

“Take a seat,” he replied, sitting down in his chair. “It’s a long story.” Henry pulled up another chair and sat down.

“This started about thirty years ago,” Joey began. “After you left. I... may have made some mistakes.” He looked down, clearly ashamed. “Things I’m not proud of.” A sudden noise from outside the room caught his attention, and he immediately looked nervously toward the doorway.

Perhaps breaking down the door hadn’t been the best idea.

Joey remained fixated on the doorway for a good couple minutes. When he appeared to relax a little, Henry spoke up again.

“Joey, what did you do? You can tell me. We’re friends.”

“Nothing that I expected to get out of hand. I didn’t see any of this coming.”

Henry waited for him to get to the point. He didn’t.

“I need you to be honest with me. I won’t judge.”

After a moment of silence, Joey finally admitted what it was he’d been meaning to say.

“Listen, Henry, after you left... it felt like something was missing from my life. It truly did. I made some bad decisions to cope with losing you, and I regret it,” he explained. “I had a couple books on dark magic lying around - now, before you jump to conclusions, I didn’t intend to do anything with them when I bought them. I only got them out of curiosity. Anyway, I had those books lying around, so I thought why the hell not? What’s the worst that could happen? Worst-case scenario, it turns out to be complete nonsense and nothing happens, right?”

“So, are you saying you brought these...”

“Yes.” Joey sighed. “I thought I’d found a way to bring cartoon characters to life, but something went wrong. Very wrong.”

Henry sighed. Leave it to Joey to make stupid impulsive decisions like that.

“Is there any way to fix all this?”

“I wish I knew...” Joey replied. “I don’t dare mess with that magic again. But there is a way out.” He took a key from one of his desk drawers and handed it to Henry. “Here’s the key for the exit. This is why I had you come here. If anyone’s still alive in here, I need you to get them out.”

Henry was, admittedly, bothered by the fact that Joey had the key all along yet kept everyone trapped in here for so long with no escape.

“Why couldn’t you have unlocked the door sooner? You all could’ve gotten out long ago!”

“Henry... I can’t leave my office,” Joey admitted. Henry saw the fear in his eyes. “I don’t stand a chance out there.”

“Nonsense. You’re coming with me.”

“Henry-”

“I said you’re coming with me. I’m not leaving you behind.”

A/N: I’d also like to throw in some various ideas I’ve got for this that haven’t been included yet. First, the obvious - if I continue this, I’m definitely going to add more characters. It has to have a happy ending; everyone’s gotta make it out alive. I just don’t have any real ideas on what to do with the others next.

Now, they’d be added in before Joey’s scene. He comes in just before the end. After that is when everyone finally makes it out. Then they probably burn down the studio or something. I mean... you can’t exactly leave that place standing. It’s far too dangerous to take the risk of letting some unsuspecting person wander in there someday.

Then there’s Sammy. SAMMY. He was a bit hard to work with in this, but, boy, do I have some ideas for him that are DEFINITELY going in once I find some way to work them into this. Sure, he’s in no shape to be directly useful to the plot in any significant way (and, NO, I am not killing him off), but you know what he is useful for? Exposition. Oh yes, he’s got some interesting stuff to tell. That whole worshipping Bendy thing he had going on? That was just an act in the hopes of getting Bendy to not kill him. And his attempts to sacrifice people? They weren’t sacrifices. They were bait.

Okay, that’s kind of a dick move. But, hey, he’s just trying to survive. Even if that means leaving others to be killed instead. (No, Sammy, that does not justify it.)

Anyway uhhh I may finish this, may not. Who knows.

[obstructedantiquity]

>RICCIN: Discuss Orivar with Kindra.

-- obstructedAntiquity [OA] began pestering eclipsingDiviner [ED] at 13:56 --

[01:56] OA: hEY, BROTHER O' MINE. LIME TO MY PINK. THE FAITHLESS suns TO BLEACH THE MIRTH INTO MY GODDAMN bones.

[01:57] OA: yOU BUSY? UP MOONING AFTER YOUR FISH AGAIN? WRITING EVERY FLAVOUR OF GODDAMN LOVE POEM, A LITANY DEDICATED TO THE DEPTH OF THE sin THEY INSPIRE IN YOu?

[01:57] ED: ☽ Wow. Okay first off, fᵿck yoᵿ. ☾

[01:58] OA: ha.

[01:58] ED: ☽ Second off, fᵿck yoᵿ again, bᵿt it's emotionless and they're jᵿst going throᵿgh the motions and when yoᵿ get oᵿt of the shower they've already left. ☾

[01:58] OA: jUST SLICE MY CHEST AND EAT MY HEART, WHY DON'T YOu?

[01:58] OA: sHIT, IF THEY STAY UNTIL I'M IN THE SHOWER, THAT SAYS SOMETHING IN ITSELf.

[01:59] OA: wHO NEEDS EMOTION WHEN PHYSICALITY'S JUST AS GOOd? ;o)

[02:00] ED: ☽ ᵿgh. There's so many things wrong with that line of thinking and I don't think I have the sweeps in me to explain them all. ☾

[02:00] ED: ☽ Bᵿt what's ᵿp Cᵿz? Becaᵿse there is no 'sin inspiration' going on here. ☾

[02:00] OA: dON'T WORRY, BROTHER, YOU'LL GET THERE EVENTUALLY. NOW, IF YOU'LL GET YOUR HEAD OUT OF YOUR ASS FOR TWO GODDAMN SECONDs -

[02:00] ED: ☽ And not a lot of anything, to be honest. ☾

[02:01] OA: aW. WHAt.

[02:01] OA: hAS THAT MOTHERFUCKER NOT CALLED YOU BACK YEt?

[02:01] ED: ☽ Sorry, my rack is not ass-shoving friendly. if only they were more petite, like yoᵿrs. ☾

[02:01] ED: ☽ Then I coᵿld join yoᵿ in the chᵿte spelᵿnking. ☾

[02:02] ED: ☽ ...I don't need to get /called back/. ☾

[02:02] OA: eAT A SANDWICH SOMETIMES. MAYBE IF YOUR ASS DIDN'T LOOK LIKE THE MOST BARREN FUCKING STEPPES, AS FLAT AND UNAPPEALING AS AFTER THE FLAMES HAVE RIPPED THE FUCK THROUGH, MAYBE THEY COULD FIt.

[02:02] OA: :o?

[02:02] OA: tHE FUCk.

[02:02] OA: dID YOU GIVE THEM YOUR HANDLE, BROTHEr?

[02:02] ED: ☽ I mean, they're bᵿsy. I'm sᵿre. ☾

[02:03] ED: ☽ They have my handle. ☾

[02:03] OA: nO MOTHERFUCKER CAN TAKE THE LEAD IF YOU AIN'T GIVEN THEM SHIt.

[02:03] OA: hm.

[02:04] OA: yOU MESSAGED them?

[02:06] ED: ☽ What? ☾

[02:06] ED: ☽ No. ☾

[02:06] ED: ☽ Like I said, they're probably bᵿsy. ☾

[02:06] ED: ☽ I don't want to bother them. ☾

[02:10] OA: hUh.

[02:11] OA: wELL, sHIT, I'LL JUST HAVE TO SEE WHAT THE FUCK IS KEEPING THEM SO BUSY THAT THEY CAN'T PAY ATTENTION TO A FINE PIECE OF RACK ON THE SIDe.

[02:11] OA: aND BEFORE YOU GO GETTING YOUR LEGGINGS IN A BUNCH, I WON'T MENTION YOUR FUCKING NAMe.

[02:11] OA: wE'LL JUST TAKE A GANDER AND SEE WHAT'S happening. ;o)

[02:12] ED: ☽ ...I mean, I gᵿess. ☾

[02:12] ED: ☽ As long as my name is kept oᵿt of it! ☾

[02:12] ED: ☽ I don't want them to think I'm impatient, or pᵿshy, or... Anything. ☾

[02:14] OA: wOULD I EVER DO ANYTHING TO PAINT OYU AS CLINGY, BROTHER? AS DESPERATE? AS MORE INTERESTED THAN YOU OUGHT TO BE? NAH. BECAUSE HERE'S THE TRUTH OF THE MATTER. HERE ARE THE FUCKING facts. FISHBAIT IS NOTHING BUT SOME GANGLY ASS MOTHERFUCKER, EMPTY OF FLESH, EMPTY OF WIT, AND IF ANYONE OUGHT TO BE GROVELLING - IF ANYONE OUGHT TO BE VYING FOR SOMEONE'S GODDAMN ATTENTION - THEN IT SHOULD BE THEM WITH T

[02:14] OA: HEIR FACE TO A PILLOW, WITTERING OVER IF YOU'RE GOING TO deign TO GRANT THEM EVEN THE BAREST scrap OF YOUR ATTENTION, IF YOU WILL BLESS THEM WITH THAT opportunity FOR YOUR FUCKING GRACe.

[02:15] OA: yOU ARE THE SECOND FINEST THING IN THE EMPRESS'S RED THIS SIDE OF THE FUCKING COAST. MAYBE YOU AIN'T GONNA LIVE UP TO ME, BUT WHO THE FUCK CAn?

[02:15] OA: yOU'RE STILL HOTTER THAN HALF THE WRETCHES WHO HIT OUR SHORELINe.

[02:15] OA: aND BETTER THAN ANY FUCKING FISH THAT WANTS TO FLOP WET ON THE GROUND IN YOUR BLESSED presence.

[02:16] ED: ☽ Hah. Please, I blew yoᵿr gangly ass oᵿt of the water three sweeps ago and never looked back since. ☾

[02:16] OA: mAYBE YOU OUGHT TO CLAIM THAT WHEN YOUR EYES FUCKING match.

[02:16] ED: ☽ I'm more exotic when they don't. ☾

[02:16] OA: eXOTIC LIKE A WEED CRACKING THROUGH THE SIDEWALk.

[02:16] OA: wE DON'T KNOW WHAT THE FUCK THAT IS, AND LIKE AS NOT, IT'S GIVING YOU A RASH WHEN YOU STEP ON It.

[02:16] OA: bUT MY, ISN'T IT JUST unique?

[02:18] ED: ☽ Yoᵿ're one of those rose bᵿshes that the bligebloods bᵿy ᵿp when it's jᵿst a sproᵿt, thinking it'll win them awards at the next arborippers contest. ☾

[02:18] ED: ☽ They give it all the right fertilier, the best sᵿn and water, and then when it finally blooms, well. ☾

[02:18] ED: ☽ It's got more thorns than petals. ☾

[02:19] ED: ☽ Bᵿt damn, can't jᵿst salt and bᵿrn it now, it's taken over half the damn garden. ☾

[02:19] ED: ☽ Strangled all the other flowers oᵿt, poor things. ☾

[02:20] OA: sEE, YOU'RE WAAXING ON LIKE THAT AIN'T FLATTERING, BUT I'D LIKE TO PUT IT OUT HERE, BROTHEr:

[02:20] ED: ☽ Not to mention its crossbred with everything. ☾

[02:20] ED: ☽ Look at all those thorny little hybrids. ☾

[02:20] OA: wHAT'S LIFE WITHOUT A LITTLE BLOOD? WORK WITHOUT A LITTLE sting? SOME FOLKS SAY THE THORNS ARE BETTER THAN THE GODDAMN flowers. ;o)

[02:20] OA: wHICH, SPEAKING OF FUCKING WHICh.

[02:20] OA: sTOW THE SHIT, I GOTTA ASK YOU A QUESTIOn.

[02:22] ED: ☽ Shoot, Cᵿz. Yoᵿ know I'm all ears for yoᵿr woes. ☾

[02:23] ED: ☽ If only to tell yoᵿ yoᵿ're wailing and rending yoᵿr garb over nothing. ☾

[02:25] OA: ha.

[02:26] OA: yEAH, WELL, I FIGURED I'D SHOOT THIS SHIT AT YOU AFORE I WENT STOMPING OFF TO VIDE. BECAUSE MAYBE THIS AIN'T SOME RELATIONSHIP SHIt.

[02:26] OA: mAYBE IT'S ME SHIT, YOU DIG, AND HOW THE FUCK IS SHE SUPPOSED TO HELP ME OUT WITH THAT? LITTLE MOUSE IS THE BEST GODDAMN ASH THIS SIDE OF THE CONTINENT. AIN'T NO MOTHERFUCKERS OUT THERE CAN COMPARE TO HER wiles.

[02:27] OA: bUT AIN'T LIKE SHE KNOWS me.

[02:27] ED: ☽ Well stop dancing aroᵿnd it Cᵿz, yoᵿ jᵿst don't have the right beat for this bᵿsh. Lay it on me and I'll let yoᵿ know if yoᵿ need to wrap it all ᵿp and send yoᵿ down ᵿndergroᵿnd to visit yoᵿr jade aboᵿt t. ☾

[02:28] OA: sHOVE IT, I'VE GOT THE RIGHT BEAT FOR EVERY FUCKING BUSh.

[02:28] OA: hOW THE FUCK DO YOU TELL IF YOU'RE PALE FOR SOMEONe?

[02:29] OA: 'cAUSE WE BOTH KNOW I AIN'T MADE FOR THAT SORT OF SHIT, BUT I'VE BEEN SITTING HERE AND FUCKING wondering.

[02:29] ED: ☽ ...Well. Can I ask who this is. ☾

[02:29] ED: ☽ In regards to? ☾

[02:29] OA: yOU'RE GOING TO FUCKING JUDGe.

[02:29] OA: :o/

[02:30] ED: ☽ I'm going to jᵿdge yoᵿ more if yoᵿ leave it ᵿp to my imagination. ☾

[02:31] OA: ha.

[02:31] OA: wELL, SHIT, IT CAN'T BE AS BAD AS WHATEVER THE FUCK YOU'RE THINKINg. :o0

[02:31] ED: ☽ Yoᵿ thinking aboᵿt getting a good feel for how seadweller-esqᵿe Liable's cheek really is? ☾

[02:31] OA: oH, FUCK THAt.

[02:31] OA: mOTHERFUCKER GLUBS. CAN YOU IMAGINe?

[02:31] ED: ☽ Getting soft and fᵿzzy thinking aboᵿt those sad excᵿses for fins? ☾

[02:32] OA: hAUL HIM OFF INTO THE PILE, LAY YOUR PALM ON HIS CHEEK, AND THEN HE STARTS GLUBBING OUT ALL OF HIS FUCKING FEELINGs.

[02:32] OA: hARD PASS, BROTHER, JUST SKIP THE JAM AND PULL OUT THE CLUb.

[02:32] OA: nAH, IT'S Lu.

[02:36] ED: ☽ ...Lᵿ. ☾

[02:37] ED: ☽ As in. Troll yoᵿ've been waxing on aboᵿt if yoᵿ're flᵿsh for Lᵿ. Troll yoᵿ've been pailing and doing who knows what sort of deviancies with Lᵿ. ☾

[02:38] OA: uh.

[02:38] OA: :o/

[02:38] OA: iT'S JUST THAT SHE'S A GODDAMN FUCKING MESS, THAT'S ALl.

[02:38] OA: SHE'S A RUIN. SHE'S A WRECK. EVERY TIME I TURN AROUND, GIRL'S GOT HERSELF INTO A NEW CIRCUMSTANCE, A NEW FUCKING problem.

[02:38] OA: aND SHIT'S CONCERNING AS FUCk.

[02:39] OA: lIKE, IS SHE HOT AS THE SURFACE OF THE SUN ITSELF? NO SHIT. AIN'T GONNA FIND ANYONE ON HER FUCKING LEVEL, EVEN IF I WENT AND tried, LESS I WANT TO GO GETTING INTIMATE WITH A MIRROR. AND LET ME JUST SAY NOW, BROTHEr:

[02:39] OA: nAh.

[02:39] OA: tHE AESTHETIC JUST ISN'T WORTH THE GLASs. ;o)

[02:40] OA: bUT IT AIN'T LIKE FLUSH IS JUST attraction. IT OUGHT TO BE MORE THEN THAT. AND IF YOU WANT 'EM TO CHANGE THEIR WAYS, IF YOU WANT 'EM TO STOP BEING SUCH A GODDAMN DISASTEr -

[02:40] OA: wELL, AIN'T THAT WHAT PALE Is?

[02:40] OA: sHIT'S WHY I AIN'T EVER NEEDED ONE. THERE'S NAUGHT HERE TO fix.

[02:41] ED: ☽ Well at least yoᵿr intentions are. Somewhat in the right place. I think. ☾

[02:42] ED: ☽ Bᵿt sorry Cᵿz, yoᵿ're not pale for her. ☾

[02:42] ED: ☽ Everyone can see a fire oᵿt of control and think wow, that needs to be pᵿt oᵿt. ☾

[02:42] ED: ☽ Bᵿt not everyone is going to get the wet blankets and start smothering. ☾

[02:43] ED: ☽ Especially not when oyᵿ were sticking yoᵿr bᵿlge in the fire. ☾

[02:44] OA: hm.

[02:45] OA: aND FUCK OFF. WHO SAYS MY BULGE IS GOING ANYWHERE? LOOK AT ALL OF THIS RAMPANT FUCKING SPECULATION, KINDRA, LIKE YOU THINK YOU KNOW JACK AND SHIT ABOUT THE deviancies YOU'VE BEEN LOUNGING ABOUT, speculating THAT WE'RE UP To. ;o)

[02:45] OA: bUT AIN'T IT SOMEBODY'S JOB TO GO SMOTHERING THAT SHIt?

[02:46] OA: 'cAUSE AIN'T LIKE I HAVEN'T BEEN SPENDING THE PAST FEW PERIGEES CLEANING UP ALL OF HER FUCKING BURNS AFTERWARDs.

[02:46] OA: sHIT, SEEMS LIKE HALF THE TIME, THAT'S ALL I'M FUCKING DOINg.

[02:46] ED: ☽ Yoᵿr bᵿlge has seen more action than a grizzled war vet violet, their fins worn down to tattered nᵿbs and their hide more scar than skin. ☾

[02:46] OA: wELL, FUCK. I WAS GOING TO PROTEST, BUT WHO AM I TO TURN DOWN THAT SORT OF HONORABLE FUCKING DESCRIPTIOn?

[02:46] OA: dOES IT GET MEDALs?

[02:47] OA: sHIT, I BET I HAVE A WHOLE CASE FULl.

[02:47] ED: ☽ I'm aboᵿt to install a revolving door on yoᵿr hivestem jᵿst to spare them having to tᵿrn the knob. ☾

[02:47] OA: lETTERS OF RECCOMENDATIONS AND EVERYTHINg.

[02:47] OA: lIKE THE PURPLE HEART OF FUCKING, WHERE I JUST SAVE ONE LIFE AT A TIME, ONE NIGHT AT A TIMe.

[02:47] OA: .. nAh.

[02:47] ED: ☽ And the awkward dance of who holds the door open for who, the incoming or the oᵿtgoing. ☾

[02:47] OA: nOT ONE LIFe. ;o)

[02:49] ED: ☽ Fᵿck, it might have even gotten a nod of approval from oᵿr Dread Empress herself, may her reign be everlasting and brᵿtal. ☾

[02:49] ED: ☽ Bᵿt yoᵿ're not pale for Lᵿ. ☾

[02:49] ED: ☽ Even if yoᵿ mop ᵿp her messes, well. It's either that or leave her to die, isn't it? ☾

[02:50] ED: ☽ Becaᵿse she's the sort of antisocial rᵿst that woᵿldn't know any sense if it ate her lᵿsᵿs. ☾

[02:51] ED: ☽ Look at it this way: Do yoᵿ plan on not pailing her ever again? ☾

[02:54] OA: yEAH, ALRIGHt.

[02:54] OA: bUT WHAT ABOUT THE FACT I WANT HER TO TALK TO ME ABOUT HER FEELINGS, BROTHEr? :o/

[02:55] OA: nOT ALL OF 'EM. BUT, LIKE, SOME OF 'Em.

[02:55] OA: aIN'T THAT A PART OF It?

[02:55] OA: aND NAH. BUT WHAT'S THAT GOT TO DO WITH ANYTHINg?

[02:55] ED: ☽ Okay, the fact that yoᵿ only want to hear some of them means yoᵿ're not pale. ☾

[02:55] ED: ☽ Does she talk to yoᵿ aboᵿt anything... Like. Aboᵿt herself? Yoᵿ two do more than jᵿst lose clothes and hit the platform, right? ☾

[02:56] OA: 'cOURSE SHE DOES. SHE TELLS ME ALL ABOUT SOME OF HER SHIT. WHERE SHE'S GOING. WHERE SHE LIVES. THE STUFF SHE GETS UP To.

[02:56] OA: gIRL'S BEEN OBSESSING OVER PUFFINS. IT'S CUTE AS FUCKING ANYTHING, MOTHERFUCKER'S KINDER TO THOSE LITTLE SHITS THAN ANY TROLL SHE'S EVER LAID BULB On.

[02:56] OA: sHE JUST DOESN'T LIKE IT IF YOU GO PRYINg.

[02:57] OA: aND SHE GOT STRANGE WHEN I TRIED TELLING HER ABOUT, I DON'T FUCKING KNOW, YOu. :o/

[02:57] OA: aND GLIESE, AND VIDE, AND ALL THE OTHER MOTHERFUCKERS I HANG ABOUT WITh.

[02:57] ED: ☽ ...ᵿh. ☾

[02:57] OA: oh?

[02:58] ED: ☽ Okay, Riccin. Cᵿz. The tails to my heads, the comedy to my tragedy. ☾

[02:58] ED: ☽ I know yoᵿ've never heard this before, so sit down, bᵿt. ☾

[02:58] ED: ☽ I think yoᵿ're more interested in her than she is in yoᵿ. ☾

[03:00] OA: :o/

[03:00] OA: wELL, SHIT, THAT SOUNDS fake.

[03:01] OA: aND AIN'T YOU JUST PLAYING UP THE SWEETNESS? THE FUCK, BROTHER, YOU'LL GIVE A MOTHERFUCKER A HEART ATTACK, CHANGING SHIT UP LIKE THAt.

[03:01] ED: ☽ Only ever tells yoᵿ sᵿperficial shit aboᵿt her and her life, gets antsy if yoᵿ try and make a deeper connection... ☾

[03:02] OA: yEAH, BUt.

[03:02] ED: ☽ Fᵿck off, I'm trying to be nice to yoᵿr flop-eared ass. ☾

[03:02] OA:

[03:02] OA: ha.

[03:02] ED: ☽ Can yoᵿ tell me any personal details on her? Like. What's her favorite color. ☾

[03:06] OA: well, shit.

[03:06] OA: mAROON AIN'T AN ANSWER, IS It?

[03:06] OA: .. sHE LET ME MEET HER LUSUS. AND I KNOW WHERE SHE GREW UP, AND THE FOLKS SHE KNOWs.

[03:07] OA: aND GIRL DOESN'T SHARE ANY OF THAT WITH MOST MOTHERFUCKERS. NOR ANYONE ELSE ON THE CHAT, I RECKOn.

[03:07] OA: :o/

[03:07] ED: ☽ Maroon is definitely not an answer. ☾

[03:07] ED: ☽ I don't know, Cᵿz. Maybe she's jᵿst allergic to qᵿads becaᵿse she's one of those trolls who gets flinchy aboᵿt commitment. ☾

[03:07] ED: ☽ Bᵿt yoᵿ're definitely not pale for her. ☾

[03:09] OA: gIRL IS ALLERGIC TO FUCKING EVERYTHING. DON'T EVEN THINK I KNOW HER FULL GODDAMN name.

[03:09] OA: aND YOU KEEP saying THAt.

[03:09] ED: ☽ I feel the need to drive it in. ☾

[03:09] OA: hOW THE FUCK DO YOU EVEN KNOW WHAT PALE Is?

[03:10] ED: ☽ Yoᵿ... Yoᵿ jᵿst do. ☾

[03:10] OA: yOU AIN'T EVER LOOKED AT ANYONE QUADWAYS YOUR ENTIRE GODDAMN LIFe.

[03:10] ED: ☽ I mean. I think. ☾

[03:10] OA: eXCEPT FOR THAT FISH OF YOURs. ;o)

[03:10] OA: ...

[03:10] ED: ☽ Shᵿt ᵿp. ☾

[03:10] OA: hOLY SHIT, WAIt.

[03:10] OA: wAIT, WHAT THE FUCK, BROTHER, HERE I WENT MAKING SOME WRETCHED GODDAMN assumptions, WITH NARY A THOUGHT TOWARDS you.

[03:11] OA: wHAT COLOUR ARE YOU EVEN swinging WITH THAT FUCKEr?

[03:11] ED: ☽ ...ᵿh. ☾

[03:11] ED: ☽ I don't know. ☾

[03:11] OA: ...

[03:11] OA: you don't know.

[03:11] ED: ☽ Look, I've neither paped them *or* sent them a nᵿde! ☾

[03:12] ED: ☽ Papped. Yoᵿ know what I meant. ☾

[03:12] OA: bROTHEr.

[03:12] OA: bROTHER, BROTHER, brother.

[03:12] OA: i AM JUST SITTING HERE, HAND OVER MY FUCKING MOUTH, MY HEART DOING EVERY SINGLE FUCKING FLIP OF HORROR TO BE FOUND IN MY CHESt.

[03:12] OA: iT IS A GODDAMN GYMNASIUM IN HERe.

[03:13] ED: ☽ Oh fᵿck off, yoᵿ're sitting her crying aboᵿt if yoᵿ're pale for a troll yoᵿ've been pailing for how many perigees? ☾

[03:13] ED: ☽ Yoᵿ don't get to jᵿdge. ☾

[03:13] ED: ☽ Fᵿck off. ☾

[03:13] OA: wE'VE GOT FORTY FLAVOURS OF ACROTERRORISTS AND ALL OF THEM ARE FUCKING CAVORTING, ONE ARTERY AT A TIME, SYNCHRONISING TO SNAP EVERYTHING RIGHT THE FUCK OFf.

[03:13] OA: yEAH, BUT SEE, THAT'S 'CAUSE MY SHIT'S COMPLICATEd.

[03:13] OA: dO YOU WANT TO FUCK THEM OR NOt?

[03:14] ED: ☽ How is yoᵿr shit complicated!? ☾

[03:14] ED: ☽ Yoᵿ know yoᵿ want to fᵿck her. ☾

[03:14] ED: ☽ Therefore, yoᵿ aren't pale! ☾

[03:14] OA: yEAH, BUT THAT'S JUST physical. EVERYONE WHO LOOKS AT HER STARTS GETTING untoward. :o/

[03:14] OA: gIRL IS THE HOTTEST THING ON THE FUCKING PLANET, SHORT OF, I DON'T KNOw.

[03:14] OA: me.

[03:14] ED: ☽ Please. ☾

[03:14] OA: iT AIN'T GOT NOTHING TO DO WITH quadrants.

[03:14] OA: tHAT'S HOW I KNOW WE AIN'T FUCKING flush.

[03:15] ED: ☽ Yoᵿ don't want to fᵿck a moirail. ☾

[03:15] OA: hERE, LET ME BREAK IT DOWN. PULL UP A CHAIR AND ZIP THAT UGLY SLASH YOU CALL A MOUTH, BEFORE SOMETHING FLIES ON In.

[03:16] OA: wITH MATESPRITS, YOU WANT TO KEEP 'EM LIKE THEY ARE. EVERY FLAW, EVERY ERROR, THAT'S JUST ANOTHER REASON TO FUCKING ADORE THEM. EACH IMPERFECTION IS A GIFT FROM THE MESSIAH'S, A SCRIPT ON ALL THE WAYS YOU OUGHT TO FEEL SYMPATHY STIRRING IN YOUR HEART. EVERY TIME THEY SLIP, YOU WANT TO CATCH THEM, BUT YOU DON'T WANT TO MAKE SURE THEY WON'T fall.

[03:16] OA: aND, YEAH, YOU WANT TO FUCK 'EM, NO SHIT, IT'S THE ENTIRE POINT OF THE QUADRANt.

[03:19] ED: ☽ That's stᵿpid. ☾

[03:19] OA: bUT IT ISN'T THE core OF IT.

[03:19] OA: eXCUSE Me?

[03:20] ED: ☽ Encoᵿraging yoᵿr flᵿsh to never improve themself in any way by jᵿst seeing their shitty behavior as gifts is stᵿpid. ☾

[03:20] OA: iF YOU'RE TRYING TO GET THEM TO FIX THEMSELVES, HOW THE FUCK ISN'T THAT PALe?

[03:20] ED: ☽ Yeah, it's cᵿte they leave their shoes in a heap by the door at yoᵿr hive for the first few perigees. ☾

[03:21] ED: ☽ Then yoᵿ find yoᵿrself tripping on them and fᵿck that, that's not a gift. ☾

[03:21] ED: ☽ Learn to pᵿt yoᵿr fᵿcking shoes away. ☾

[03:22] ED: ☽ There's more to pale than looking at a troll and seeing a... Improvement project. ☾

[03:22] OA: oH, FUCK OFF, THAT'S NOT A FLAW, THAT'S JUST LAZINESs.

[03:22] OA: tHEN WHAT THE FUCK IS THERE TO PALe?

[03:22] ED: ☽ And there's more to flᵿsh than thinking everything aboᵿt them is perfect. ☾

[03:22] OA: iT'S A QUADRANT FOR improvement.

[03:23] ED: ☽ It's a qᵿadrant for mᵿtᵿal groᵿndedness. ☾

[03:25] ED: ☽ Yoᵿ're sᵿpposed to balance each other. ☾

[03:25] OA: iNTO BEING better.

[03:25] OA: tHAT'S THE POINT OF IT ALL, BROTHER. ASH AND FLUSH ARE FOR KEEPING YOU STABLE. PALE AND PITCH ARE FOR MAKING YOU better.

[03:26] ED: ☽ Yoᵿ don't think pale helps keep yoᵿ stable? ☾

[03:26] ED: ☽ Fᵿck, gᵿess papping is jᵿst for jollies. ☾

[03:26] OA: pALE KEEPS YOU FROM FUCKING Up. :o/

[03:26] ED: ☽ Yoᵿ don't think Vide makes yoᵿ better? ☾

[03:27] OA: yOU'RE SUPPOSED TO GROW OUT OF NEEDING THAT SHIT. JUST LIKE YOU GROW OUT OF NEEDING A PALE, IF YOU'RE DOING IT RIGHt.

[03:27] OA: vIDE'S JOB IS TO MAKE SURE I DON'T GO FUCKING MYSELF UP, BROTHER, NOTHING MORE, NOTHING LESS. AIN'T LIKE SHE WENT OUT AND HAULED ME IN GLIESE, YEAh?

[03:27] OA: aIN'T LIKE I'M HOOKING HER A FUCKING KISMESIs.

[03:29] ED: ☽ Yoᵿ don't grow oᵿt of needing a pale. That's stᵿpid too. ☾

[03:30] OA: :o/

[03:30] OA: yOU'RE STUPId.

[03:31] ED: ☽ No, I'm wise. ☾

[03:32] ED: ☽ Moirails look oᵿt for each other's well-being. It's more than jᵿst trying to keep each other in check and pᵿshing one of yoᵿ to improve. ☾

[03:34] OA: aND IF THAT'S THE CASE, WHY THE FUCK DO WE HAVE PACIFIERS AND PROTECTORS, BROTHEr?

[03:34] OA: eXPLAIN THAt. ;o/

[03:35] ED: ☽ Not every pair is going to fall ᵿnder that stereotype. ☾

[03:35] OA: eVERY PALE IN MYTH DOES IT, BROTHEr.

[03:36] ED: ☽ Plenty do, and that's great for them. Bᵿt it doesn't always have to be that way. ☾

[03:36] OA: eVERY SONG, EVERY FILM, EVERY PIECE OF NARRATIVE TO TELL US THE GODDAMN WAy.

[03:36] ED: ☽ That's becaᵿse almost every myth and film is aboᵿt oᵿr betters. And the lowbloods are there only to assist them. ☾

[03:37] OA: sO, WHAT, IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT, BROTHEr?

[03:37] OA: tO GO PAPPING SOME highblood's TEARS OFF THEIR FACE, HAVE THEM balance YOu?

[03:38] OA: bECAUSE SHIT SEEMS AWFULLY UNAPPEALING TO ME. WHO THE FUCK ARE WE TO NEED BALANCING? WE'RE ALREADY FUCKING PERFECt.

[03:38] ED: ☽ It isn't aboᵿt what I want, bᵿlgemᵿnch, stop getting toothy at me becaᵿse I'm not giving yoᵿ exactly what yoᵿ want to hear. ☾

[03:39] ED: ☽ And are we really perfect? ☾

[03:39] ED: ☽ I'd say we're both good at being complete messes in oᵿr own ways. ☾

[03:41] OA: .. wELL. I THINK YOU'RE PRETTY GREAt. :o/

[03:43] ED: ☽ Yoᵿ're great too, Cᵿz. ☾

[03:43] ED: ☽ Obvioᵿsly. ☾

[03:43] ED: ☽ Bᵿt we can be great and still be messes sometimes. ☾

[03:43] OA: hOW THE FUCK ARE you A MESs/

[03:44] ED: ☽ Riccin the only trolls I toᵿch are corpses. ☾

[03:46] ED: ☽ I mean. It doesn't matter how I feel aboᵿt Fishbait really, becaᵿse it's not like we coᵿld actᵿally be a proper qᵿad ever. ☾

[03:47] ED: ☽ ...It is what it is. Whatever. ☾

-- obstructedAntiquity [OA] is now an idle chum! --

[04:05] OA: .. nAH, YOU CAN TOUCH FOLKS IN SOPOR, BROTHEr.

[04:05] OA: dON'T GET ALL weepy ON ME, WE USED TO CUDDLE UP LIKE FUCKING BUGs. :o/

[04:05] OA: aND NONSENSE. AIN'T NO REASON YOU CAN'T BE A PROPER QUAD, STILl.

[04:06] OA: nO REASON YOU DON'T DESERVE A PROPER QUAD. MORE THAN PROPER: ONE WHO'S FUCKING grateful FOR YOUR PRESENCE, MORE THAN ANY HAND ON THEIR FACE, OR ANYWHERE FUCKING ELSe.

[04:06] OA: yOU STILL MANAGE THAT SHIT, OR THE SOPOR AIN'T ENOUGH NOw?

[04:16] ED: ☽ No. The sopor still works. ☾

[04:17] ED: ☽ Last I tried it. ☾

[04:17] ED: ☽ And I'm not getting wepy. ☾

[04:17] ED: ☽ Weepy. ☾

[04:17] ED: ☽ Yoᵿ're the only one who jᵿst keeps getting stronger with age. ☾

[04:18] OA: wELL, SHIT, THEN THERE YOU Go.

[04:22] OA: wHEN'S THE LAST YOU TRIED It?

[04:22] ED: ☽ I don't know. Few perigees ago? ☾

[04:26] OA: hUh.

[04:26] OA: wELl.

[04:26] OA: wELL, WELL, WELL. YOU CAN STILL TOUCH FOLKS. WHAT'S THE PROBLEM, HERE? SURE, YOU GOTTA BE NECK-DEEP IN SOPOR, BUT SHIt.

[04:26] OA: sOME TROLLS ARE INTO THAt.

[04:27] OA: sTICK WITH THE WADERS, MAYBe.

[04:27] OA: aFTER ALL, WHAT'S THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN WATER AND SLIME? SHIT'S BOTH liquid.

[04:27] ED: ☽ Pretty sᵿre there's a difference there, bᵿt I don't have the gills to experience it. ☾

[04:28] ED: ☽ So fᵿck, maybe. ☾

[04:28] OA: iF THERE'S A DIFFERENCE THERE AND THEY'VE GOT THE ATTENTION TO NOTICE IT, BROTHER, YOU AIN'T DOING YOUR JOB RIGHt. ;o)

[04:28] OA: yOU THAT TOUCH STARVED? DIDN'T FIGURE YOU WERE THAT BOTHERED BY YOUR PSI, ON AVERAGE. JUST LONGING FOR SOME FRIENDLY GODDAMN HANDs.

[04:30] ED: ☽ Fᵿck off, I'm not crying myself to sleep every day over it. ☾

[04:30] ED: ☽ Bᵿt. Look at yoᵿ. Yoᵿ'd probably die if yoᵿ had to go a week withoᵿt cᵿddling ᵿp on a troll. ☾

[04:30] ED: ☽ Even I think it'd be nice to actᵿally toᵿch someone withoᵿt a barrier. ☾

[04:33] OA: sTOW YOUR COMMENTARY, BROTHER, I AM FUCKING helping. :o)

[04:33] OA: aND YEAH, SHIT, PROBABLY. I LIKE FOLKS, IT AIN'T A GODDAMN SHOCKEr.

[04:33] OA: tELL YOU WHAT. THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING TOMORROW? THEY GOT YOU OUT HAULINg?

[04:34] OA: 'cAUSE I'LL SWING ON BY. YOU CAN SIT IN THE COON, AND I'LL SORT OUT THAT RAT'S NEST YOU TRY TO PASS OFF AS locks.

[04:34] ED: ☽ They don't have me doing shit. Everyone's worked in to a lather over this cyborg, I've jᵿst been cooling my heels waiting for them to realize that crimes are still happen- ☾

[04:34] ED: ☽ ☾

[04:34] ED: ☽ Really? ☾

[04:34] OA: nAH, I'M OFFERING TO FUCK WITH YOU, BROTHEr.

[04:34] ED: ☽ Fᵿck off. ☾

[04:35] ED: ☽ Sᵿre. Bᵿt if yoᵿ come at it with the straightener, I'll bite yoᵿ. ☾

[04:35] OA: i'D BE DOING YOU A FUCKING FAVOUR IF I JUST POURED CHEMICALS ON THAT SHIt.

[04:35] OA: gOT IT AS SMOOTH AS THE RULER UP A PROCTOR'S ASs. :o)

[04:35] ED: ☽ My hair has a mind of its own and yoᵿ jᵿst need to respect that. ☾

[04:36] ED: ☽ Not try and change it. ☾

[04:36] OA: nAh.

[04:36] OA: iF YOU'RE IN THE SOPOR, ANYWAY, MIGHT AS WELL MAKE A FUCKING DAY OF IT. GET SOME FOOD WORTH EATING IN YOu.

[04:37] OA: ...

[04:37] OA: dO YOU THINK I'M A FUCKING MESs? :o/

[04:37] ED: ☽ ...Yoᵿ're not a fᵿcking mess. ☾

[04:37] ED: ☽ Bᵿt yoᵿ have some mess-like qᵿalities. ☾

[04:37] OA: tOOK IT THAT WAS YOUR USUAL GODDAMN MUD SLINGING, FOR YOU AIN'T GOT A SINGLE BONE OF KINDNESS HIDING IN THAT SKELETON YOU CALL A BOD, BUt -

[04:37] OA: :o/

[04:37] ED: ☽ Compared to most of the program thoᵿgh? ☾

[04:38] ED: ☽ Well, yoᵿ got yoᵿr head screwed mostly on. They've all got it ᵿnscrewed and are playing kickball with theirs. ☾

[04:39] OA: cOMPARED TO MOST FUCKING TROLLS, I'D SAy.

[04:41] OA: sHIT, YOU'RE RIGHT, THOUGh.

[04:43] OA: bEEN SITTING HERE, STEWING AND THINKING, AND - MAYBE IT AIN'T IF I'M PALE FOR LU OR NOT, YEAH? WHAT THE FUCK DOES THAT MATTER?

[04:44] OA: sHE AIN'T INTO ME THE WAY I WANT HER TO BE. AND I AIN'T EXACTLY built FOR THAT SORT OF QUADRANT, REGARDLESs.

[04:44] OA: tHE MOTHERGRUB DIDN'T GIVE ME THESE HANDS TO BE LAYING THEM ON faces. ;o)

[04:44] OA: sO BEST JUST TO FUCKING NOt.

[04:48] ED: ☽ Well I still think that sort of talk is dᵿmb. ☾

[04:48] ED: ☽ And yoᵿ *shoᵿld* talk with Vide aboᵿt stᵿff. ☾

[04:48] OA: eh.

[04:48] OA: yEAH, I GUESs.

[04:49] OA: bUT I AIN'T MESSAGING HER 'TIL SHE MESSAGES Me. :o/

[04:49] ED: ☽ Why? ☾

[04:49] OA: gIRL NEVER SHARES SHIT, ITS JUST ME HAULING MY BULL TO HER DOORSTEP AND TELLING HER TO TAKE A GANDEr.

[04:49] ED: ☽ Oh. /:C ☾

[04:49] OA: iT'S NOT equal.

[04:51] ED: ☽ Yoᵿ ever consider telling her that? ☾

[04:52] OA: aLREADY GOT MYSELF CHASING AFTER ONE SHORTSTACK WHO AIN'T INTO ME, BROTHEr.

[04:52] OA: wHY THE FUCK AM I GONNA SPEND MY TIME HAULING ASS AFTER THE SECONd? :o/

[04:52] ED: ☽ She's yoᵿr ash. If yoᵿ like her enoᵿgh to wear her ring, yoᵿ shoᵿld like her enoᵿgh to sit her down and let her know yoᵿ think things aren't eqᵿal between the two of yoᵿ. ☾

[04:56] OA: :o/

[04:56] OA: yEAH, MAYBE I'LL GO AHEAD AND TRY It.

[04:56] OA: iF SHE DOESN'T GAFF ME THE FUCK OFf.

[04:57] OA: bUT I'LL DO THAT WHEN SHE MESSAGES ME, BROTHEr.

[04:57] ED: ☽ Why woᵿld she ever? ☾

[04:57] OA: sHIT, I DON'T KNOW. WHY DON'T FOLKS JUST SPIT THEIR SHIT OUT? DON'T THINK I KNOW A SINGLE MOTHERFUCKER WHO ISN'T HIDING THINGS FROM ME, ONE REASON OR ANOTHEr.

[04:57] OA: wELL, EXCEPT YOu.

[04:59] ED: ☽ ...Well, why the fᵿck woᵿld I have reason to go hiding shit? ☾

[04:59] ED: ☽ We're two grᵿbs in the same eggsac. Only reason I coᵿld ever see me hiding shit is. I don't know. For stᵿpid shit. ☾

[05:00] OA: ha.

[05:00] ED: ☽ Not even the pink to my lime needs to see all the shitty skeletons in my closet, sorry. ☾

[05:00] OA: aW, BROTHEr.

[05:02] OA: tHERE IS NOT SHIT THAT YOU CANNOT TELL ME. THERE IS NOTHING YOU CANNOT SHOW ME. DRAG OUT YOUR DARKEST SECRETS AND I WILL FUCKING TURN OUT THE LIGHT TO KEEP THEM. YOU'RE THE LIME TO MY PINK, THE SHADOW TO MY GODDAMN STEPS. WHEN THE MESSIAH'S ROLLED UP OUR GENES AND THREW THEM IN AN EGG, SHIT, I WOULDN'T BE SURPRISED IF THEY PEELED US FROM THE SAME STAR, FILLED US WITH THE SAME GODDAMN DUST. WHO THE

[05:02] OA: FUCK AM I TO JUDGE YOU? MIGHT AS WELL GO AND JUDGE myself.

[05:12] ED: ☽ Ha. Yeah Cᵿz, yoᵿ and me. Cᵿt from the same starcloth. ☾

[05:12] ED: ☽ I jᵿst got more of the attractive accessories, bᵿt hey. ☾

[05:13] ED: ☽ Second hottest is still hotter than everyone else. ☾

[05:16] OA: :o)

[05:16] OA: pLEASe.

[05:17] OA: mORE ATTRACTIVE TO SCARECROW FETISHISTS, MAYBe.

[05:17] ED: ☽ First yoᵿ try to throw me to the slime lovers, now the scarecrows? ☾

[05:18] ED: ☽ Fᵿck Cᵿz, maybe I shoᵿld be looking for someone who has a thing for oversized ears. Even shit ᵿp in here. ☾

[05:19] OA: ha.

[05:20] OA: yOU WON'T HAVE TO LOOK HARd.

[05:20] OA: eVERYONE'S GOT A THING FOR OVERSIZED EARS AFTER THEY'VE MET Me. :o)

[05:20] OA: tHINK ABOUT WHAT THE FUCK YOU WANT TO EAT. I'M HEADING OUT, BROTHEr.

[05:20] OA: tHANKS FOR LISTENING, AND ALL THAT SHIt.

[05:20] ED: ☽ Spare me, if that was trᵿe there's a rᵿst we know who'd have a bᵿnch more admirers. ☾

[05:21] ED: ☽ I'll text yoᵿ when I figᵿre it oᵿt. ☾

[05:21] ED: ☽ And anytime cᵿz. What are friends for? ☾

[yourfangirlfriend]

You Don’t Know Me : Chapter Five

read on ff.net

read on Ao3

Once the door was open, Sansa scooped up her letters from the table and brought them up to her room, ignoring Bran's questioning look. When she finally got to her chambers and pushed the door closed, she dropped the parchment and ink bottle and slid her back down her wall. She let out a breath that she could have sworn she had been holding since he showed his face.

There had been a noticeable pause after as Gendry took her in, his face only flinching slightly as he realized he knew the woman standing in front of him. Sansa straightened her back out.

"You've done fine work ser," she said, trying to force a small smile. "We are very lucky to have you."

"It's an honor to be of service to Your Grace," he said. The venom in his voice was lost on Ser Carrick.

Sansa's throat tightened.

"The honor is ours," she replied. He broke their eye contact and looked down at the piece he held.

"Yours, Ser." he held up to Carrick. Before he could reply, a shout rang out from behind them. Their heads whipped around.

"You fucking bastard!" one of the trainees yelled, holding his jaw. His sparring partner dropped his sword.

"I didn't mean to-"

Before he could finish, his victim lunged at him, and punched him across the face. The other boys dropped their swords and crowded around in a circle to watch.

"Oh bloody hell," Ser Carrick huffed. "If you'll excuse me." He strode over and began pushing through the throng of his charges.

Sansa turned her attention back to Gendry.

"Gendry-" she started softly.

"If you'll excuse me, Your Grace." Gendry nodded and began to turn.

"Stop," Sansa commanded. He paused and looked back at her. She tried to hold on to her queenly composure. "Follow me," she said and turned to walk.

She refused to turn her head back and see if he was following, but after a few paces, she heard his footsteps begin to fall in with hers. She smiled to herself and held her shoulders back. Sansa led him down through the crypts, stopping after she was satisfied that no one would hear them. She finally turned around and looked at him. His eyes were trained on the floor, his jaw set in quiet anger.

"I was going to tell you," she said.

"When?"

She looked down at her gloves.

"I-"

"When were you going to tell me that I was rutting my fingers into the Queen - the fucking Queen - like an animal in a dirty shack?"

His face twisted into a sneer.

"Gendry,"

"This is what your lot does." he spat. He began to pace around. "Get your fun and then leave whatever low born you had to pick up the pieces."

"That's not true!" Sansa snapped.

"Yeah then what is? Not exactly a paragon of honesty, are you?"

She sighed and let her head fall down. A beat passed.

"Right. Well if you ever need any jewelry fixed, I hear there's a good shop in the Vale." He made to turn and walk back to the exit before Sansa spoke up.

"I spent a year with the Tyrells." she closed her eyes. "An entire year they treated me like a bitch in a kennel. All because of my family's name." She opened her eyes and saw him still standing in front of her, looking her over. She bit her lip to keep it from trembling. When she spoke, her voice cracked.

"I don't want to be Sansa Stark anymore. All the pain and pity it carries..." she shook her head and ran the back of her gloved hand against her eyes. She collected herself and held her head up high.

"I didn't lie to you to hurt you. I lied because I wanted to ride into town by myself. And then... I wanted to kiss a handsome man who didn't see me as this...thing to conquer or protect. Don't you understand?"

He exhaled and looked down at his feet.

"I know it wasn't fair to you," She said. He looked up at her. "and I'm sorry. But I meant what I said. I felt safe with you. Feel safe with you." She stepped a bit closer.

"Gendry,"

He looked up.

"Please," she whispered.

He sighed.

"I'm not a plaything," he said. "Lowborn and highborn don't mix. I won't sneak around to see you."

"Then don't."

Gendry's eye brows shot up. "Oh?"

She bit her lip. Oh fuck. I didn't plan this far.

"Don't sneak around."

"And how do you propose that work?" he asked. "Just ride up every night with flowers at the gate and ask to please be let into the Queen's bed chamber?"

"The ride's a bit long," Sansa smiled. "It'd be a much quicker trip if you lived in Winterfell."

Gendry was visibly taken aback.

"I'm sorry?"

"I need a smith. This castle is the base of the North's armies, treasury, and government. I need a smith who I can trust to make good equipment so my people are protected. You've already proven yourself today."

Gendry stared at her in shock.

"I'm not going to be your kept boy," he sneered.

"The offer stands no matter our relationship," she said.

"Then why offer this? Now?" he said, holding his arms out.

"Because it saves me the parchment," she shot back.

He looked around the crypts, and brought his hand up to his chin, running over the stubble.

"Unbelievable," he sighed.

"I've thought about this a long time," she lied.

He didn't respond.

"I've been in your home, remember?" she said. She focused on the torch flickering on the wall behind him, too embarrassed to look at him directly. He stiffened. "The boards are old, Gendry. The first snowfall will come and the roof will cave in within a week. The forge here has a fireplace and a real roof. If you stay where you are, you won't survive the winter." She felt her throat tighten as she finished.

He still didn't look at her.

"And what happens when you get sick of looking at me?"

"I guarantee you employment until you wish to find work somewhere else."

He finally met her gaze.

"What happens when you get married? What if your husband decides to bring his own men?"

"I'm not." she said.

He rolled his eyes.

"Sure,"

Sansa's face tightened. She closed the space between them and angled her chin up at him.

"I'm not," she sneered, daring him to break eye contact.

"You'll change your mind, want some heirs to fill the halls-"

"Then I'll have bastards!" she spat. "And the north will be run by the whore queen and her bastard heirs! And then when the whore queen dies, bastards will rule the north!" She took in a shallow breath and tried to contain her emotions from cracking her voice. "I will die before I ever let a man tell me who I am again."

She stepped back away from him.

"Names and titles aren't real," she sighed. "and they certainly don't indicate honor. I will fulfill my duty as Queen and see that my people are fed and protected. Anything beyond that is no one's concern."

She waited for him to reply. The crypt's fires crackled in the silence.

Finally, he spoke.

"I'll take the job," he said. "But, Sansa...I'm not...I'm not fit for," he looked up, trying to find his words. "I'm too bloody low-born." he looked at her, his eyes were glassy. "I just...I can't. Not to you."

Sansa felt her breath hitch in her chest.

"Very well. I'll inform Ser Carrick of your decision." she strode past him, determined not to let him see her cry.

"Sansa-"

"And another thing," she turned back to him. "You never did anything to me." with that, she walked without looking back, her boot steps echoing against the stones.

...

He had moved into the forge a week later.

Sansa had watched from the window in the library as he unloaded his few possessions into the small room off of the forge. When he had finished, he immediately began working on Ser Carrick's next request. Osha found her watching him, hunched behind the sil and stealing looks at his shirtless body like a curious school girl. When she cleared her throat, Sansa swiveled her head and turned a bright pink.

"I-"

"Yeah," Osha smiled. She nodded to the window. "Pretty one, innit he? No wonder you wanted to stay all night. Those arms..."

Sansa stood immediately and hurried away.

"If you'll excuse me, I have some business to attend to." she sputtered.

You're embarrassing yourself for nothing. Stupid. Idiot. He doesn't want to see you anymore, stop mooning over him like a child.

Sansa went out of her way to avoid running into the smith. She took the long way to the dining hall rather than walk past the forge, and would always dismiss herself when he entered a room. On the rare occasion that she had to speak with him, he kept his answers short.

"Yes, Your Grace,"

"Thank you, Your Grace."

"It will be done, Your Grace."

Sansa wanted to pull her hair out. However, even as she promised herself she would rid him from her mind, she found herself going back to her perch by the library window. Sometimes he would just be working and she would watch, hypnotized, as his hammer came down on whatever poor sword or shield balanced on the anvil. Other times, he would be talking with the guards, the new recruits, or the servants, laughing with them and playing with their children. Some days, he wasn't in the forge at all, and Sansa would sit by the window, half-heartedly answering letters of listening to Bran's updates, waiting until she saw his mop of black hair emerge the sides of her vision. Sansa could sit there for hours just watching him work. She had been good about ducking behind the wall quickly whenever he looked up, but now that months had passed and her hair was finally past her chin, she worried some would have stuck out and given her away like a giant red flag. But his eyes never caught hers, and Sansa continued to sneak off in between meetings and meals to perch at her window and watch the day go by.

It may have gone on like this had Sansa not brought up Arya.

It was months later, and Sansa woke up with Arya on her mind. Her name day. Throughout the day, Sansa's mind wandered in and out of conversations, caught up in the memories of the last time she had seen her sister. How long ago had it been? Before making her way to the stairs for supper, she paused at the room they used to share. She reached out and ran her fingers down the wood, remembering how many times she had locked Arya out to gossip in peace with Jeyne. Her little hands had banged on the door until Sansa finally opened it an hour later and found her sister curled up in a ball fast asleep. Arya. Arya. I'm sorry. I want you back. She let her fingers fall from the door, and took a deep breath. Reluctantly, she turned towards the stairs.

Moments later when she entered the dining hall for supper, she saw Rickon and Bran eating in silence. She knew then that she had not been mourning alone.

"We should have had hot cakes," Sansa said cheerily, reaching for a small roll of bread. "Arya's favorites."

Bran smiled. "With a big slab of butter on each one."

Sansa smiled back at her brother and settled in her seat. They had their supper in silence, and it was only when their plates had been cleared away that Sansa asked.

"Do you suppose she made it out of King's Landing?" Sansa asked. "I don't remember seeing her after Father..." she trailed off. "I know the Lannister's didn't get her. I take comfort in that."

Bran and Rickon exchanged a glance.

"...What?" she asked.

"We didn't want to upset you" Bran answered quickly. "It was a while ago."

Sansa's fist tightened.

Oh gods. They found her dead.

"Gendry saw Arya on the road," Rickon said. "They separated after he joined the Brotherhood Without Banners."

"Rickon!" Bran snapped.

"It's true. They separated after he joined the Brotherhood Without Banners. He said."

Sansa sat dumbfounded for a moment.

Suddenly, with a loud screech, she pushed her chair back and made for the door.

"Where are you going?" Bran cried out. Sansa ignored him and let the door swing shut with a satisfying CRACK behind her. Ignoring the cold, she bounded onto the path to the forge.

He saw her coming before she could say anything. He had been inspecting one of the swords he had just finished and began to wrap it in oilcloth.

"Your Grace," he said, cinching the tie around the bundle.

"We need to speak," Sansa seethed. Gendry didn't move. Sansa pushed past him and into the small room off the forge and beckoned for him to follow. After a beat, he left the sword on the table, and followed her in, closing the door behind him.

The room was larger than Sansa had remembered, but it was sparsely furnished. A table and chair sat in one corner, while is mattress was pushed up against the far left corner. A few books were scattered here and there by the fire place, which was casting a warm orange light around the room. Sansa's hair seemed to glow.

When she heard the door latch, Sansa turned around.

"Why didn't you tell me about her?"

He shrugged.

"Can't tell you if I never see you," he sighed.

"You see me enough!" she snapped. She felt tears well up in her eyes. "You are the one who didn't want to continue on."

"It's the decent thing to do," he huffed.

"No the decent thing to do would be telling me my sister was alive the minute you knew who I really was!" She jabbed a finger in his face.

"Decent like peeking out of windows and watching a man work?" he snapped back.

Sansa's mouth fell open and she felt the color drain from her face.

"I-"

"I see you, you're not as slick as you think." he snapped. "What? Do you not trust me?"

Sansa balked.

"Of course I trust you!"

"Then why do you watch me? Sitting up there like a hawk?" he yelled back.

Sansa opened her mouth to speak but stopped herself. What could she say that wouldn't strip away the queenly air she had built up as a defense? No, he had already rejected her. She would not be rejected again.

"If you have any more information about my sister, please tell me. I'll stay out of your way otherwise," she made for the door handle, expecting him to push off and let her through. He didn't.

"Why do you watch me, Sansa?" he sighed.

"Please," she felt tears well up in her eyes. I don't want to cry in front of you. "Just let me through." She yanked on the door handle and felt a droplet fall from her eyes.

"Sansa," his voice was soft. "Answer me."

Sansa pulled on the door again and again. Finally, she put her palms to her eyes and pushed against them hard. When she had regained composure, she met his gaze.

"Did you think I was lying when I said you made me feel safe?"

He didn't say anything. She pulled at the door handle again, and when he refused to move, offered further explanation.

"If I can't be with you," she sighed. "Then at least know you're here. My head gets too crowded sometimes, with all the...things." she waved her hand around. She opened her eyes and looked into his. "You make them stop."

A beat passed between them. Sansa waited for him to say something, to fall to his knees and forgive her or open the door and push her out. Anything besides just standing there, looking at her like he was. She scanned his face for any sign of emotion. When he didn't move, she reached for the door handle again.

He caught her hand.

She felt him put his hands on her shoulders, and slowly switch their positions. She the metal bolts of the door pressed into her back.

He reached down and wiped one of her tears away with his thumb, leaving a trail of soot against her skin. She brought her hand up to his and held it against her face. He dropped his face to hers and kissed her.

He had intended it to be a chaste kiss, but somehow her mouth was open and his hands were holding her waist against the door. She was breathing in sharp little intakes, raking her nails through his hair and down along his stubble. Breaking the kiss, he trailed kisses down her neck and listened as she took in a sweet little breath.

"Do you know how hard it is to see you in that window every day?" he breathed against her collar bone. She shook her head.

She shook her head.

"No," she whispered.

"Every time I see you watching me work," he lifted her against the door, grinding his hips into hers. She squeaked. "all I can think about is putting you over my work bench." She reached down and brought his face up, kissing him. He reached up and cradled the back of her head, pulling her in closer and giving her hair a small tug. She smiled against his lips. She smelled like lavender and cold wind. Gendry broke the kiss and looked down into her eyes. Half lidded, they seemed to smile up at , she brought her fingers under his chin and brought him in for a small, soft kiss.

Queen Sansa Stark of the North and he was pressing her up against his door like a common whore. She should have slapped him for being so forward and brutish. What had he done to her?

Gendry pulled away and buried his head in her chest.

"You shouldn't be here," he growled. Sansa gently ran her fingers along his jaw and brought his face up to her's. His eyes were dark.

"I am here," she said.

Safe. She feels safe with him.

He smiled.

"So you are," he whispered. He closed his eyes and pressed against her, nuzzling his face against where her neck met shoulder. Sansa inhaled deeply and jostled out of his hold. Gendry's eyes followed her and she went to stand in front of the fire and turned to him.

"Will you get my dress?"

He walked behind her and began to tug at the buttons of the dress. Sansa closed her eyes as he picked and pulled at the fabric against her, moving down her spine with each small snap. Once it was loose enough she stepped out of it, and she stood in front of him in her shift. Slowly, she reached down and brought it over her head and dropped it to the floor. Carefully, she pulled her small clothes down as well. She kicked them over by his bed and stood in front of him.

"Will you take me to bed?" she asked shyly.

His eyes raked down her body.

"You're a maiden," he said, turning away, ashamed as if he had just invaded her privacy.

"I heard some men preferred that," she quipped.

Gendry bit his lip.

"Gendry," she said. "I'm here."

He took a small step forward. Their eyes locked.

"Is this truly what you want?" he asked. "To get fucked by a low born bastard on a dirty straw mattress?"

She took a step closer to him and reached out to begin pulling his trouser's laces with one hand.

"Yes," she said. And she brought his mouth down to her's.

They wouldn't make it to the straw mattress.