#Toasting him on success of said patrol

[if-i-could-fly-h0me]

Arthur lifting Mordred up in his arms like a proud father isn't talked about enough

[rjhpandapaws]

Reed900, ~1920s AU based off of this cover of Death of a Bachelor. Nines sees Gavin poorly attempting to drink himself to death at a hotel bar, and falls in love at first sight.

// >:3 yes

Richard saw many unique people that came here to drown their secrets in privacy. He and his brothers ran this bar in secret, as most of them were run now a days. Even with prohibition in place, this was one of the more popular bars; it was a risky thrill and Richard loved it. Part of The Grande’s success was that he and his older brothers looked so much alike, only their regulars could tell them a part, and very few people dare risked becoming regulars. That was fine by him, he wasn’t one for people, he was only doing this to help his brothers. In a surprising twist of events they were hosting a bachelor party. These were some of his favorite events to watch, it was interesting to see who was there because they wanted to be and who was there because they had to be. Across the bar he notice one man with unique green eyes who seemed to be trying to drink himself out of his mind. It was worrying, Richard wondered if he was the bachelor, and under that he wondered he would ever see him again. He had never wished for a regular before, getting familiar was a risk, but he had so many questions for him. It seemed things were in his favor because his mystery guest finally noticed that his Old Fashioned was gone. He frowned and made his way to the bar once again. Richard’s shift had just started so he hadn’t interacted with his mystery guest yet, but he found himself looking forward to it. Which was also strange, he wasn’t the best at the customer service, but he was the best of the three at making drinks. 

“Same thing as before sir?” He asked finishing with the glass he was cleaning, “Or would you prefer something else? I could make something a little stronger to help get your mind off of things if you would like.” “Just another Old Fashioned is fine.” His voice was a low gruff thing that Richard found relaxing, “You got a name?” “Most people around here call me Nines.” He responded as he got started on the drink, “What brings you to The Grande?” The man across the bar gave a dry laugh, “My darling older brother has decided to marry a fucking socialite so we are celebrating our last night of political freedom.” “You hardly look like you ‘re celebrating anything.” Richard remarked as he slid the old fashioned across the bar, “What’s bothering you?” The man sighed and took a long drink from his glass, “That’s a little above your paygrade don’t you think?” He raised his glass in a mock toast, “Here’s to my last night of being able to do dumb shit.” Richard raised his hand in response and watched his stranger disappear into the crowd. He served drinks in relative silence, not speaking what was more than was needed, and he was constantly scanning the room for those green eyes. He didn’t ask the man’s name as was customary, that was how places like this stayed alive, but he was regretting it. Connor had whatever he had going on with their supplier, he was about seventy-five percent sure Silas was sleeping with at least one of the cops that patrolled by here. He could maybe risk something as well he supposed, especially if Gavin wasn’t planning to come back.

Despite falling a little more in love with him every time he came up to the bar, Richard never asked his name. Connor came to join him at the bar once again closer toward the end of the night. He could feel his older sibling’s eyes on him every time the man came up to the bar. “Go talk to him, I can close.” Connor said after Gavin and another man had finished settling their tab, “You obviously want to say something to him, and I can handle closing up on my own.” “What’s the point Con? It’s not he’ll be coming back.” Richard sighed. “Have you stopped to think that maybe that is a good thing?” Connor pushed, “One of us needs to have distance from this place if something happens. Aside from risk control, all you ever do is work, if its not here its the office. You need someone to pull you out of your head from time to time and Silas and I aren’t always enough. He could be good for you.” “Or he could get us into trouble.” Richard pushed back. Connor shoved him out from behind the bar, “Go talk to him or I will.” “If it will get you to shut up, then fine.” He snapped heading for the stairs. He hoped the man was still hanging around the bar.

He found the familiar hunched form leaning against the wall. He was smoking and seemed more tense than before. Richard found his mouth moving before his brain caught up to it. “Smoking too?” Richard found himself asking, “You’re really treating this like it’s your last night.” “You know when your brother said you’d come out here, he didn’t say anything about insults.” The man said with a dry laugh, “But yeah, I’m taking one last night to indulge in all my vices. Including you if you’ll have me.” Richard knew the implication of those words that this would be a one time thing, “How about a name first.” “Gavin Reed.” He hummed, “Now let’s celebrate my last night.”

@six-video-game-peaches

[saltlampsasuke]

Unfortunately, You Are Experiencing Symptoms of Falling in Love: Part 4

Having your long-term boyfriend cheat on you is pretty bad, but you're lucky enough to have a rich, pro-hero best friend who lets you move in with him until you get a new apartment. Except lockdown happens. And you can't look for a new apartment anymore, and you can't go anywhere anymore, and neither can your best friend, and you think you might be falling a little bit in love with him. Or maybe you've been in love with him all along.

The story of how it takes a nationwide lockdown for you and Bakugou Katsuki to finally get together, part 4!

warnings: Coronavirus mentions

wordcount: 2,208

taglist: @stargazerunlimited @luna-bloodrose​ @lov4kbg​

I’m not as happy with this chapter as I’d like to be and I know it took a bit longer than I said to get it out but I hope you all still enjoy it! We’re getting closer to the actual lockdown part of the story so I’m excited to start writing that! Also thank you all so much for giving me over 100 followers it really means a lot to see you all enjoying my work! Much love!

Bakugou woke up early, per his usual schedule, but a bit more sleepy than he normally was. Which was odd, seeing as he always took care to keep himself as healthy as possible so that he wouldn’t slack off on patrol or get tired in a fight. He padded over to his kitchen to make some coffee to wake up, and then maybe he would have time to hit the gym before work. But something was bothering him. What was he forgetting?

When he saw that the door to his guest room was closed, he remembered. How could he have forgotten? The events of last night came rushing back to him. Your call, the drive over, dinner, you sleeping in his room. He carefully walked over to “your” room, and pushed the door open gently, just a bit. There you lay, asleep, with a peaceful smile on your face. In his clothes. In his bed. Bakugou felt a weird pull in his chest at the sight of you. Seeing you in his clothes felt weird, not at all like how he had imagined. And he couldn’t lie, he had thought of you asleep in his house more times than he’d like to admit, but this was nowhere close to the scenario he had imagined previously. For starters, the reality was a lot more PG.

Not that he should be thinking about anything like that. If anything, you were even more off limits than you had been before when you were dating Takumi. It would be completely scummy of him to take advantage of you while you were so vulnerable. You had called him in a time of need, and he was going to be there for you, no matter how his heart pulled at his chest at the thought of YOU. In his HOUSE. He hated to admit it, but you made him feel things sometimes. But he wasn’t going to think about it, and he definitely wasn’t going to do anything about it. There were bigger things to worry about.

Bakugou checked the clock. The sunrise was just starting to blossom from a peek over the horizon to a full bloom of light, and he wanted to get the day started as soon as he could. Just the thought of your stuff sitting in that bastard’s apartment had him raging internally. If Bakugou had his way, you would be gone before Takumi even came back. Hopefully the bastard would never know what had happened, and he would leave you alone.

Bakugou tossed his normal morning smoothie ingredients into the blender, not pressing the button yet out of concern for disturbing your sleep. He could blend the smoothie later. You had to sleep, and while you slept, he would make breakfast. French toast, to be exact. With some strawberries and whipped cream, just the way you always ordered it from the diner you two would frequent when your various schedules permitted you to hang out. Maybe he would even be able to locate some powdered sugar in his Very Healthy cupboards to sprinkle on top. It was only after he had produced four perfectly golden-brown French toast slices, artfully decorated and arranged at the kitchen counter with a fresh glass of orange juice sat next to them that he pressed the button to blend his breakfast and wake you up.

The sound of whirring and grinding was successful in pulling you from your slumber. You stretched in bed, feeling more rested and comfortable than you had felt in a long time. Even the harsh sound of the blender wasn’t overtly disturbing, as you blinked slowly and stretched. You checked your watch. It was still early, but late enough that you were going to be late for your normal work start time. Not that it mattered all the much, you were more of a freelance worker than anything, and Katsuki was your main client, only trusting you with his gear. Your other work would wait for a few days while you figured out the new direction your life had taken. You walked out into the spacious apartment to see Bakugou leaning on the counter, drinking a smoothie.

“Eat,” he barked, pointing at the meal he had made for you on the counter. You looked up at him, still dressed in his clothes. He had to work to keep his expression steady

“Wait, you made this for me?”

“Well princess, I don’t see anyone else in here and it sure as fuck isn’t for me, so eat. I want to get out of here by 9.” You nodded, a big grin on your face, and dug in to the delicious meal that sat before you. Katsuki had always been a great cook, as you knew well from the few times he deigned to make something for you and the rest of the gang, but he had truly outdone himself this time. Everything was perfect, and you had to thank him.

“Katsuki, this is fantastic! I haven’t had something this good in months!” you exclaimed. He rolled his eyes in response.

“It’s not that big a deal, this kinda shit is easy. Now sit down and eat. No talking with your mouth full.” You laughed gently at his response

“I’m serious, this is so good, you have to try some.” You cut off a piece and pushed it towards the edge of the plate, urging him to take it. He shook his head.

“It’s not for me.”

“ You made it, Katsuki. Eat the damn bread. One bite isn’t going to dissolve your abs.” You could hear him choke back a laugh as he drained the rest of his smoothie.

“Fine. One bite.” He picked the small piece off your plate and popped it into his mouth. “You were right. It is good.” You smiled.

“Aren’t I always?”

“Just go fucking get ready. Your clothes from last night are outside your room. We need to get going.”

You got ready to head back to your apartment as quickly as you could, and Katsuki drove you over. The closer you got, the more nervous you felt. Your chest tightened up, making it difficult to breathe, and after Katsuki parked his car and stepped out, you tried and failed to do the same. He opened the door and looked down at you.

“What’s going on?” You refused to meet his eyes as you felt his gaze burn down on you.

“I’m nervous. I’m worried that if I go back inside he’ll be in there. I don’t want to see him again,” you confessed. You felt Katsuki’s gaze grow slightly less intense.

“He’s not gonna be there. You and I both know he’s too much of a coward to come back for a week, and you need to put him out of your mind. I don’t want to hear the shitty bastard’s name ever again after today. We’re gonna get your stuff, and then we’re never gonna come back. And if he is here, he won’t be for long, I can promise you that. Now get up. We have to go see Shitty Hair and Tape Face.”

The mention of your friends brightened your mood considerably. Katsuki was right. It was best if you just put “that bastard” out of your mind completely. Today would be a big step towards that. Your eye was drawn to bright red hair and frantically waving arms in front of the door to your building. Kirishima and Sero! The two men walked over to you.

“Fionnuala! It’s so good to see you!” exclaimed Kirishima.

“Yeah, even if it’s not under the best circumstances it’s really great to see you,” added Sero. You smiled sheepishly.

“It’s good to see you guys, too!” you said happily, nerves disappearing at the sight of your friends. Kirishima pulled you into one of his trademark hugs, and you let yourself sink into his embrace.

“I think I’m ready to go inside,” you mumbled into Kirishima’s chest, and he released you from his grip. The four of finally stepped inside the building, and you stayed close to Katsuki as you made your way to your former home.

The door unlocked with ease, and Katsuki stood with you as Sero and Kirishima checked the rooms for any sign of that bastard’s presence. As hoped, he wasn’t there. Now all that you had to do was grab your things and go. Kirishima and Sero had kindly brought over some boxes for you to put your stuff in, and since you weren’t planning on taking most of the furniture, Sero’s truck would likely be able to fit all of your stuff in one go. After a quick scan, you easily located the few pieces of furniture you had brought with you to the apartment, and Katsuki and Kirishima began taking them down to the truck. You made your way into the bedroom, where the majority of your belongings were, and started to pack them and label them with Sero.

Bakugou’s mind was still spinning as he carried your desk out of the building with Kirishima. Just being inside the apartment again was pissing him off. He would never tell you this, but part of him was disappointed that that bastard wasn’t there. Bakugou had a punch with his name written on it. It definitely wouldn’t look good in the press if they found out the number 2 hero had sucker-punched a defenseless guy, but he was sure it would be worth it. Kirishima’s voice brought him out of his violent thoughts.

“So, she’s moving in with you?” Bakugou opened his eyes, not realizing he had closed them, and exhaled.

“Yeah,” he said curtly. Kirishima stared at him.

“And you’ve been in love with her for how long?” Bakugou activated his quirk, slamming his arm down at Kirishima, who quickly hardened his skin out of reflexes developed from years of being friends with Bakugou. “You have to stop doing that, man! What if my quirk didn’t work?” Bakugou refused to meet his eyes.

“I’m not in love with her. She’s my friend, and she needs a place to stay. I’d let you stay at my place if you needed to too. So don’t give me that bullshit.”

“Ok, the second part might be true but the first part definitely isn’t. And you know it. You’re different with her.” Bakugou looked off in the distance thoughtfully.

“It’s none of your business, shitty hair. Shut up about it already,” barked Bakugou. Kirishima sighed. Bakugou had changed a lot since high school, but in many ways he was still the same emotionally constipated jerk he had always been. And Kirishima knew he was right, Bakugou was different with you, even if he didn’t want to admit it to himself. He just hoped that you rooming with Bakugou, even if it was as temporary as Bakugou had been insisting that it was, would finally get you two together. It was obvious to anyone with eyes that you two had always been it for each other, no matter how much the two of you refused to admit it, or even realize it. But Kirishima knew.

“Well you’re right, it’s your business man, but if you ever finally admit to yourself that you’re in love with her and want to talk about it, you can give me a call.” Bakugou frowned.

“Can’t admit something that’s not true, shitty hair. Now for real, shut up about it. We need to get the rest of the stuff down so we can say fuck off to this place forever.” Kirishima sighed and acquiesced, knowing that talking about feelings with Bakugou was a harder battle than defeating some of the strongest villains.

The packing went quickly, taking less than 6 hours, and as thought, everything fit in Sero’s truck. Once finished, the four of you stood looking in on the emptier apartment, taking it in for the last time. You were happy to leave this chapter of your life behind you, not wanting to leave any note or explanation behind for that bastard. He didn’t deserve to know what you were doing or where you had gone.

“Alright princess, let’s get out of here,” said Bakugou to you, throwing an arm over your shoulder and turning you towards the door. You slipped out from underneath him.

“Wait. Actually, there’s a few more things I think I should take,” you said with a giggle. “Wait right here.” You dashed off into the apartment, grabbing things that the boys couldn’t seem to identify.

“PRINCESS?” mouthed Kirishima, and he felt Bakugou’s red hot stare beam down on him.

“Wait, seriously dude?” chimed in Sero. The only thing that saved Kirishima and Sero from Bakugou’s wrath was your reappearance. The three men peered down at you, finally seeing what was in your hands.

“And if you guys want to hold this for me I can go grab all the toilet paper and utensils too,” you said happily, and they held out their arms to accept the remotes and lightbulbs you had stolen from throughout the house. They all smiled as they realized your devious plan. Bit by bit, it was starting to seem to you like everything was going to be ok.

Author note

TW: violence, murder

Also, as I'm sure many of you have heard, a black man named George Floyd was recently murdered by police in Minnesota. As of my writing this the four officers have been fired but they have yet to be charged. The phone number for district attorney Mike Freeman is 617-348-5550. Please call and demand an investigation. There are also many petitions going around that you can sign,

Also, share any and all info that you can and take whatever other actions you can. Direct action is necessary.

Lastly, if you can afford it, please donate to the NAACP, Black Lives Matter Movement, or the Minnesota Freedom Fund. I donated $10, if you can afford to give anything at all please do. Silence is violence. All this being said, please continue to support and uplift black voices and the communities around you! Thank you!

[poppy-battenberg]

one for the rebel

This war was never about just you. 

You traversed the nation, you met the people, you fought for the people.

You hear the explosion as you kiss your sister’s forehead. And you pause, then you tell her to go back to sleep.

You tell you brother to block the doors behind you. You grab the backpack you left by the door. Your father hands you a knife.

You once thought this war was not about you. But it is.

You are the people. 

When the Games ended, the Battenbergs left. This time it was not just Poppy heading out on a train across the country, it was all that was left of them. Each had a duffel bag. Hers had several knives tucked away, her brother’s was weighed down with books, her sister had family photos slipped out of their frames, and her father’s was filled to the brim with the clothes his children were too foolish to think to remember. In a separate car, tucked away from the District Twelve team, Tarta Battenberg brought his children home. 

There was an empty apartment above a now defunct butcher shop. It was covered in dust, but that gave the family something to do when they arrived. Ian dusted, Sara unpacked, and Tarta and Poppy met with her father’s old friend that secured them the place to stay. It was not a safe house, but it was far from the Capitol. Poppy didn’t yet know what was to come, but she knew nothing good would come staying near her aunt’s mansion now. And she hoped it might be nice for her father to see his home again.

It did not take long for the rebels to find her. A note was slipped under the door while the whole family was asleep. Tarta slept in an armchair, Poppy slept on a couch, and Ian and Sara each got one of the two bedrooms. Tarta woke first, and left the note on Poppy’s pillow. 

The first meeting was in the Seam. Never before had Poppy witnessed such a state of poverty. The smells were worse than any back alley she’d ever stumbled through. Even the stables and barns of Nine were better. At least there was something fresh, even about the manure. She gasped when she saw a makeshift gurney carried out of one shack, with a girl no older than her sister lying dead on it. Her face was pale and her stomach knotted when she arrived to the meeting. No one asked her what ghost she saw. She was a Capitol-raised woman in the Seam. She was prepared for blood and gore; she was not prepared for the much crueler death of starvation.

Once a week, for three weeks, she walked through the Seam. The stench always hit her hard, and she was convinced it grew more rotten by the day. Her sister and brother begged her for details when their father was not around, but she told them nothing. She did not like to think of it when she was not there. 

On September 12th, Poppy woke up before dawn. She’d only gotten a couple hours of sleep. Her father, blissfully unaware and ruining his back, was sound asleep in the armchair. She dressed, and washed her face in the cold water that never got warm. Her brother kept complaining about it. She packed another set of clothes, a toothbrush and toothpaste and towel, and a full bottle of water. There was a small first aid kit tucked in the front pocket of the bag, and four knives were carefully strapped to her thighs. 

When she opened the window to see a line of miners in the distance walking away from the mines, she heard her father stir. He moved slowly, but she stayed standing with the blinds open for him to see. Soon, a group of Peacekeepers were heading for the mines. Her father asked her what was happening. If he didn’t know, he couldn’t tell. Poppy told him to get the window boarding out of the closet. They would need it.

Poppy sat with her father as they ate a meal of toasted stale bread and jelly. She didn’t want to be hungry when she left. She did not know what lied on the other side of the door. 

Ian awoke before Sara. Poppy hugged him and told him to start reading slower or he’d run out of books by the end of the week. She went into Sara’s room and gently pushed some of the hair off her warm forehead. She leaned down to whisper good-bye and kiss her sister’s head, but a loud bang and a shake of the house woke the younger girl. 

“Go back to sleep,” Poppy said quietly, placing a hand on her sister’s cheek. “It was thunder.”

Sara’s head slowly fell back to the pillow, and Poppy closed the door softly behind her. Every movement that came next was quick, deliberate, sharp. She barely looked at her brother or her father as she retrieved her backpack. She did not want to see them watch another member of their family walk out the door and possibly never come back. 

There was a tap on her arm, and her father was carefully holding out a knife toward her. He did not look as if he actually knew how to use it, and she didn’t know who gave it to him, but she took it. She took it, and shut the door behind her. The staircase leading down to the first floor was dark, damp, and quiet. She had to slow her pace only so she wouldn’t tumble down. 

When she opened the door, the first thing she smelled was burning. She didn’t know what was burning, but it stung her nostrils and her eyes. She did not look back up at the apartment behind her, running out quickly instead across the merchants’ quarters to join familiar faces as they overtook a Peacekeeper vehicle. There was no room inside, and she instead clung to the grates on the roof with another rebel holding tight to her waist out an open door. Peacekeepers began to march across the square, raising their guns. She vividly remembered when she was tased. Titaniara left her there, to nearly choke on her own vomit, without a second thought. 

The Peacekeepers split up to make way for one of their vehicles. Through the windshield, she did not see the sharp, harsh helmets of the robots. They were human faces, with guns trained out the window. 

“OUT!” Poppy screamed, using the bottom of her knife handle to bang on the top of the truck. “OUT! OUT! OUT!”

She leapt off the truck and tucked up as tight as she could. She dropped the knife to avoid cutting herself as she rolled, and she was followed by two others from the truck. One strap on her backpack completely tore, and pulled off enough fabric to send her things spilling on the ground. She left the bag, grabbed the knife from the hard-packed dirt, and ran. She went for the Seam, sucking in the ash and stench and trying her best not to hack up a lung as she sought refuge. 

Another rebel grabbed her arm and pulled her down a path that led to the Hob. She’d only ever been told this was the way to the Hob, never actually been this way. There was no time to see what was around her. The ash was filling the sky, blocking the sun and leaving a shadow over everything. A long table was quickly moved, a shovel was used to scrape away some dirt, and a wooden door was revealed. Poppy didn’t question, just followed the rebel she now trusted with her life down into the hidden cellar. 

The door slammed shut, and a candle lit up. There were four of them there, and Poppy was the only one who didn’t have to crouch down to fit. The one who led her down, a woman she now recognized as Linta from the meetings, placed a finger to her lips. Poppy nodded, and had to clasp a hand over her mouth as she tried to stifle her coughs. When there was noise above, they all sat down. They stayed quiet amid banging, and shooting, and screaming above. It lasted for a long time. So long the tickle completely diminished from Poppy’s throat, and she was hungry again. Not a single one of them spoke, instead all looked up repeatedly at the door. One loud bang was too close for comfort, and made the wooden door shake and dirt slipped through the cracks. But it stayed closed.

Things went quiet. And still, they stayed. It was not until Linta finally cleared her throat that Poppy felt like she could breathe with her mouth open again. When they tried to open the door, it was weighed down. It took all four of them to push against it and get it open under the weight of a table that had fallen on it. Everything was dark around them. When Poppy tried to take a step, she felt her feet land in something soft. She didn’t know what it was. Linta reached out in the dark to take her hand and guide her. She knew Twelve like the back of her hand, and wordlessly guided the rebel group through the overturned tables and chairs until they were on a narrow path. When Poppy looked up, she could still see a dark haze covering the sky, blocking out the moon almost entirely. She wondered if her father had dared to venture outside.

Poppy was expecting to be hit with the smell of the Seam, but instead the air seemed to clear. Tall, dark masses were stretching up around them. The trees weren’t thick, but they were densely packed. She tripped over some of the thin roots a few times. They’d probably been planted after the bombing, to try to replenish the air and vegetation. Linta came to a stop, and lit another match. A camouflage tent was set up, covered almost entirely by leaves and branches. She let the rebels inside, blew out the candle, and offered them each a can of cold soup in the dark.

For two days, they stayed there. Two at a time would leave the tent if necessary. Linta had a walkie-talkie that was turned on only at certain times to receive news. The mine bomb was successful, but the smoke and ash was worse than expected. Several rebels had been captured. It wasn’t part of the original plan, but the district leaders wanted to free them. Poppy volunteered to help Linta with the task. 

When it was dark, they moved out. No candle, no light, only Linta’s knowledge to guide them back to the square. Poppy did not question, only followed the older woman with a knife at the ready. It would be useless against a Peacekeeper’s gun, but it was all she had. Linta only had a knife and a hammer, but the latter would probably be useful that night. 

The closer they got, the more careful they had to be. Human soldiers and robotic Peacekeepers alike were patrolling everywhere. A carpenter near the jail left his window open on purpose, and one by one rebels slipped in for a safe space to reconnect before their attack. Poppy was to wait until the rebels were free, then help get them back to the Hob. Another group was waiting there to bring them all to a hidden safe house. A contingent armed with explosives left first, taking aim at the Peacekeepers as bullets began to fly. From the second floor, the carpenter had a rifle that he used to try to target the soldiers defending the jail. Two rebels slipped through the entrance, and that was all that was needed.

When the prisoners began to spill out, Poppy did not hesitate. She was the first one out the door, with Linta right behind her. They caught the attention of the group and started to run. Linta led them, and Poppy followed the group. 

A bullet tore through her skin. It was a graze, nothing punctured, but she began to bleed profusely immediately. And it hurt. She let out a yelp, and turned with her knife raised, forgetting guns were not close-range weapons. Whoever shot her was not there, but there was a soldier in an unusual uniform. She ducked and lunged, tackling him with a pained grunt. She dropped her knife to grab a hold of his gun and try to twist it out of his hands. He pointed the barrel at her forehead, and pulled the trigger.

Click.

Empty.

She wished she had time to laugh. She grabbed the barrel with both hands and shoved down, slamming the soldier in the middle of the forehead with the end of his own gun. She did it again, and again, and again, until she could tear the gun away from his limp hands. More shots were firing off, and she could hear people screaming all around her. There was a loud bang as the windows were suddenly blown out of the carpentry building. She quickly patted down the man’s vest pockets, found the magazine, and started to reload as she stood. She felt significantly more comfortable with a knife than this weapon, but she would take what she could get. Point and shoot. It couldn’t be that hard. She would need to brace for the recoil more than usual with her right arm weakened and still badly bleeding. 

Her ears rang with the first shot she fired. The group of rebels was long gone now, having followed Linta to what she hoped was safety. All that mattered now was for Poppy to get to safety, too. There was more concentration on the larger groups of rebels gathering in the square, but another one of those soldiers had spotted her. She fired, missed. Fired, missed. A Peacekeeper joined the soldier, and both took aim. She fired, hit the soldier, and didn’t waste time watching him drop. She ducked behind a sign for the train station and felt the entire thing shake as the Peacekeeper’s bullets tore through the posts. She stayed crouched down low and moved quickly, rounding the building as the Peacekeeper unleashed another round of bullets.

The chaos in the square was suddenly cut through with the blaring sound of the train horn. She watched the lights on the side go bright. It was a cargo train. Almost every car was filled with coal. The Capitol couldn’t waste that resource. She knew some rebels were targeting trains. With fighting so close, and with explosives so close, it had to leave before something else went up in flames. 

And she had to leave, too. She didn’t know a place where she could safely hide, not in this district that was so unfamiliar to her. She would be caught, and she would be executed. It didn’t scare her, not now as she crawled on belly and forearms along the shadow of the train tracks, leaving a trail of blood behind her. But her father did not deserve to see that. 

There was a rumble, and the squeak of wheels that were getting ready to start rolling fast. She let go of the gun and stood up just enough to hoist herself up into the last car. It was empty, aside from a few bins of coal secured to the wall. Her right arm gave way, and she collapsed halfway up. With a loud groan that echoed through the almost empty train car, she dug her left elbow into the floor and dragged herself in farther. She came to rest against the carts of coal. She managed to take her shoes off and tear up one sock into a makeshift bandage for her arm. She told herself to stay awake, at least until she saw sunlight. But once the fighting was out of earshot, the border between darkness and consciousness slipped away.

When she awoke, she was hungry, stiff, and in pain. At first she didn’t know where the pain was coming from. The world was blurry and golden and moving fast. She blinked several times, and finally started to push herself up. Her arm. Her arm was what hurt the most, and the golden blur soon had a red splotch in it. Her head hurt from the hunger and more. Probably the blood loss, too. She hadn’t thought, when it happened, that the wound was that bad. But her sock bandage was soaked through, and sticking to her skin. She didn’t dare try to peel it away. With only one sock on, she tied her sneakers back on.

A loud horn sounded through the air. Her attention quickly snapped to the scenery whipping by, rattling the open door of the car. She was on a train. She was on a train with goods heading to the Capitol. She was a rebel on a train with no way to get off until she was stationary. There would be Peacekeepers at the train station. She’d heard rumors from the other rebels in Twelve of the plans for the Capitol, for the Tower. There was no way they did not have Peacekeepers everywhere. 

And it was daylight now, with only one way out.

Her stomach rumbled loudly as she crawled to sit with her back against the wall right near the open doorway. Looking out at the scenery racing by, she started to get dizzy and feel nauseous. She lied down, back pressed against the wall as the air cooled and covered her skin in goosebumps. Then it was dark, and the air grew thinner. Poppy slowly sat upright, trying to focus. The train would be in the Capitol soon. She had to think fast. Looking down, she found she only had two knives remaining on her holsters. Her right hand was unsteady from the pain still resonating from the graze, but she hoped she could still keep a good grip. 

Poppy pressed her palms into the wall of the car as she stood up, and kept them there to steady herself. The train slowed, and she nearly toppled over with the sudden jolt of it braking. Through the wide opening, she could see her city sprawling out before her. She could see it ruined, with shattered glass and broken doors and toppled streetlamps and broken LED displays. 

The day was dawning on her city, and every reflection looked like it was on fire.

this was her city, was it not? battenberg city, they should’ve renamed it. renamed it for the blood spilled to get it.

Clever thoughts of a stealthy departure slipped her mind. She was in the last car, several yards away from where the last Peacekeeper was standing on the platform. She saw it before it sensed her body heat in the distance. She jumped from the train and raced down the concrete steps at the end of the platform. She used her left arm to balance herself as she climbed over the locked gate that said “employees only” in big, yellow letters. There was the now familiar sound of a gunshots, and she could heard them whizzing by and hitting other trains, hitting the tracks, hitting anything but her. She didn’t stay in a straight line, shifting quickly and randomly to avoid being locked in as a target. All those obstacle courses her coach made her do for agility in high school were paying off.

The gravel of the train tracks gave way to pavement, with garages spanning the length. Ahead of her was another “employees only” sign plastered on a large gate that separated the garages from a parking lot. She kept running. Even as she heard ambulance and Peacekeeper sirens begin to sound, she kept going. Even as she heard the echo of a crash. She did not stop until she was through the parking lot, beyond another gate, and finally back. She was really there. Really back in her city. 

She was tired and hurt and hungry, and she had nowhere to go. The only place she could run to now was the fight.

The once buzzing city was comparatively quiet, but her heart was beating fast enough to match the excitement of her nights out. 

bottle in hand, she was solo ahead of her group as she stumbled headfirst through the streets of the capitol.

Knives in hand, she walked solo over the debris now covering the streets of the Capitol. She followed the traveling sounds of sirens, screams, and shots.

she paused to stare up at a brilliant image of the young, new victor.

Hanging in the display window of a cybercafe was a picture of Nvidia Anderson. It was untouched, despite the window being entirely broken out. She hoped this war left that poor girl untouched.

the lights flashed across her skin like that was all they were meant to do. there was neon glowing where her blood should be flowing.

The siren lights flashed across her as she turned onto a main street. 

Rebels were ducking behind several overturned cars, using them as barriers as they occasionally shot bullets and projectiles at a group of soldiers and Peacekeepers. The officials had actual concrete barriers to protect themselves, and bulletproof vests and another hoard of weapons in their trunk. She could see it, because she came up behind them. One of the soldiers was starting to reload his gun when he saw her.

She grabbed at his throat and dug in her nails. She drew blood as he fought back, hitting her hard in the face with the side of the gun. She stumbled around the back of the car, hearing the distinctive clicking sounds as he went back to work. Her vision was blurry and the world was off-balance, but she still found her knives at her side. It took all her focus to maintain a grip and bring them down, hard and fast, into the backs of two soldiers taking aim at the rebels. She never saw if they fell or not.

There was a sudden searing pain through her skull.

the city was dark.

[gerbiloftriumph]

The Silence Between Snowflakes

(also on ao3) ~ 4/8 - A Rose Among Thorns

(extra thanks to @captmickey​ for helping me work through three or so variations of the breakfast scene)

~*~*~

Snow fell, fires burned weakly with a fraction of their usual fuel, and people huddled together for warmth. Alexander’s face was constantly drawn with nervousness—since he couldn’t leave the castle easily due to all the snow, he’d taken to hiding himself in odd corners again like he had in his first few weeks here, apprehensive about...something. Graham worried for his son. Maybe he feared he was somehow to blame for this bizarre storm? It felt like something Manannan would do, if he was even around to do magic anymore after whatever Alexander had done to him.

But it was just weather. Wizard or not, who had magic like this?

A memory stirred. Hagatha?

“It’s winter,” Graham said to his own thoughts. “Just winter. It happens.”

“Yes, dear,” Valanice said automatically. She tilted her head back and drained her mug, holding a book over her face with her other hand so she could continue reading at the same time. They were hunting for stories and descriptions of similar weather incidents, and so far they’d come up with…nothing much. There were a handful of droughts, and at least one surprise butterfly migration, but nothing like an eternal, endless winter storm.

The family was picking at breakfast, sitting close around the table. Yet another storm had blown up this morning and was whistling past the windows, making eerie noises as it spun through the crenellations. Alexander was downcast, turning his toast to crumbs more than eating it. Rosella was trying to convince him, without success, to challenge her to another Battle of Wits board game. Graham’s spoon knocked hollowly against his nearly empty mug. The sugar was long dissolved into his tea, which was cold by now anyway. He continued to stir absently, thinking. Planning. With no ideas.

If only there was something to plea to, or something to challenge, but this was snow. He had sent messages to the neighboring kingdoms for assistance in food and fuel, but no one had replied yet (if they’d even gotten his messages in the first place). Daventry felt cut off, standing alone. He watched the snowflakes skim almost horizontally across the window.

A flurry of knocks made Graham sit up. “Yes?”

Royal Guards Numbers One and Three entered. Heavy snow tracked behind No3 in wet clumps, a damp line in the carpet showing where she’d walked, and she seemed out of breath and shivering. No1 stood close beside her, at attention but with a certain energy that suggested he was going to reach out and catch her if she wobbled.

“Permission to report, Sire?” he asked, his gaze never leaving his subordinate.

“Granted,” Graham said, surprised. He glanced at his family—they were all staring at the guards, startled by their sudden appearance.

“We apologize for interrupting breakfast, Sire. But we appear to have a new neighbor,” No1 said briskly.

“New…neighbor?” Graham put down his spoon and shifted his chair to give them his full attention.

“Number Three, you may proceed.”

“Permission to speak informally?” she gasped. She had definitely had been running through the snow, which was practically impossible with how thick the drifts were getting out there. It was a wonder she hadn’t twisted an ankle.

“Granted,” No1 and Graham said, almost in unison.

“Okay. I was on standard patrol. In the lavender fields, to the west.” Snow dripped off her shoulders. “I was climbing the hill, you know, the one that overlooks the river? As I climbed the hill, I started getting a prickle in my fingers, through my gloves, like the temperature was dropping fast. And…” she stopped, looking at No1.

“Proceed,” he prompted, but the usual dry edge in his voice softened.

“Sir. At the top of the hill, you can see into the valley. Only. Only, there isn’t a valley anymore.” She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, sir, who’s ever heard of a floating castle? It’s something out of a story.”

“It isn’t floating now,” No1 said. “It’s definitely landed.”

“Almost on my head,” No3 squeaked, and there was a note of hysteria in her words. No1’s hand rose ever so slightly behind her back to keep her steady.

“Wait. Are you telling me a castle just…appeared? In my field?” Graham went to the window like he could see it through the snow-crusted glass, even though that window only overlooked the kitchen herb gardens now slick with ice.

“Not entirely impossible, Graham,” Valanice murmured. “Remember?” True, though rare: Valanice had been trapped in one such moving castle twenty-some years ago, although that one had most definitely stopped moving.

Graham nodded. “But they might be here by accident. I believe that sort of transport magic is fickle and hard to control.” And twenty years ago, that had been simply a single spindly tower. It was relatively easier to enchant on a small scale, as far as he knew. But this sounded….

“It’s a full castle, perfectly enormous,” No3 continued, confirming Graham’s thoughts. “It made such a noise, like a great crashing monster, and I thought…. I had to start running back to the castle, but the storm this morning, I didn’t expect it to blow up like that, and I was. Caught out in it. I slipped on the hill trying to get back up, and I rolled, and with the snow like it was, blasting up from the ground, I…I got so turned around, I got lost, Sire, in Daventry fields, I got lost!

“And it was so loud, the castle, all groaning and creaking, and you could hear it echoing around the valley as it settled, and I…I was so sure something was going to grab me in that storm and take me away and I couldn’t even see my own glove in front of my face, and it was so cold. It just bit right into my bones even through all my layers and. I ran and I ran, and I could hear that castle the whole time, this awful sound, like you couldn’t hear if something was coming up behind you, and you couldn’t see in that storm anyway, and I don’t know how, but I found the tree line, and…”

“And she found me,” No1 said, subtly shifting so that he was between her and the royal family. “She found the trail back to the castle, found me, and I’ve dispatched scouts. Reports are clear, Sire. You have new neighbors, crushing your lavender.”

The room was still and silent for a moment, other than No3’s nervous hiccups for air.

“You didn’t hurt yourself falling, did you?” Graham asked.

“No, no, I’m. Fine. Just.”

“Shaken,” No1 interrupted.

“Didn’t want to wait before telling you, though,” she added.

“Here, let me get you some tea,” Valanice said, standing.

“No, no, I’m meant to serve you,” No3 said nervously.

“And you have done so wonderfully. Come on, sit here.”

“It could definitely be an accident,” Graham repeated, mulling it over while Valanice hunted through the mugs on the side table. “They might not have come here intentionally, especially if the storm blew them in.”

“Maybe they need directions,” Rosella chirped. “And ‘welcome to Daventry’ cookies.”

“Welcoming hot chocolate would be more appreciated,” No1 said blandly. “Reports indicate that the castle is made of ice.”

“…Ice?”

“Frozen water, yes.”

No3 was still trembling, tea threatening to spill over onto her gauntlets. She was surely thinking about getting lost in the snow, slipping and falling and hurting herself on one of Daventry’s rocky outcroppings. No1 was watching her carefully, and he radiated a bristly protective determination.

“Did you sense anyone?” Graham asked her, gently. “The castle was loud as it was landing, but…did you feel like there was anyone watching you?” For some reason he couldn’t shake the idea of ice people, which was perfectly ludicrous. But then, so was a floating castle.

“I couldn’t say, Sire,” she said. “I was too, uh. Distracted.”

“What about the scouts?”

No1 shook his head. “No one has heard so much as a word from it, but the storm is still quite bad. We can’t get close enough yet to confirm. I…” He cut himself off and resolutely refused to say whatever was still on his mind.

“Who’s out there?”

“Two and Four are on the road—I insisted on pairs, Sir, to prevent one getting lost alone. Kyle and Larry are on strict orders to report back the moment anything changes.”

(Larry’s arm had been badly broken during the attack that had taken Alexander eighteen years ago, and it had never quite healed right. But he hadn’t been much good at patrols anyway, so he and Kyle mostly ran messages together these days. Their footing was the most secure on any terrain. They’d had plenty of practice over the years, and a blizzard wouldn’t faze them.)

“I wonder. It sounds like something out of a fairy tale,” Graham said. The goblins thought fairy tales were true. He blinked, wondering where that idea had come from. “I want to see it for myself.”

No1 stiffened. “Sire,” was all he said, but so dry and sharp he could have cut someone.

“This doesn’t feel like a coincidence, a castle made of ice and this weather,” Graham said. “If I can see who’s in there, who owns the place, maybe that will help Daventry.” There was a buzzing excitement in his skin. The possibility of some action spurred him onward. Maybe they weren’t at the mercy of the skies. Maybe this castle held some answer for the storms that plagued his country—maybe finding a way to move it on would change Daventry’s predicament.

At the table, quiet and uncertain, Alexander said, “Could I come with you?”

Everyone turned, and Alexander shrank down in his chair. No1 instantly started voicing a thousand concerns, but Graham cut him off with a nod, delighted his son was taking initiative. “Absolutely.”

“Sire, please, allow me to speak freely,” No1 said.

“You may.”

“This is a terrible idea.”

“Has anyone threatened us? Does it feel harmful?” Graham asked, circumventing the concern.

“It feels cold, Sire.”

“That’s generally what ice does,” Rosella said, leaning heavily on the sarcasm to match No1, but she had a sparkle of mischief in her eyes that belayed her enjoyment.

No1 very carefully didn’t look at her. “It may be true that no one has said or done anything yet, but there is a blizzard on right now. It is highly likely whoever owns the castle is lying low until the storm passes. Simply because we have not seen any signs of actual threat yet does not mean your safety is guaranteed.”

“I think this might be a small risk,” Graham said dismissively. “If they meant us harm, they could have taken us unawares in the night. A floating castle landing on top of us would have been a threat. This probably is a mistake. They could need us.”

“I must have at least until this afternoon to confirm,” No1 said, and there was a taste of weary resignment in his words. “I will not risk more danger to your family if I can at all avoid it. You cannot travel in this blizzard in any case.”

Graham thought about it, then agreed. “Continue to watch. If anyone does respond, I want to know immediately. In the meantime, I think I’ll check the library for anything about moving castles.”

The walk to the lavender fields, several hours later, was peaceful enough. The blizzard had died back, although more clouds seemed to be gathering over the distant field, over the intruding castle’s turrets. Graham idly wondered if something inside had to rest and rejuvenate before storming again, and he laughed at the idea. They had no proof the castle had brought the snow, and it felt like a leap to imagine so. This was just an illusion brought on by his own expectation.

Nothing much had changed between the morning and now. Actually, nothing at all had changed. The castle was there, unmoving, and nothing had responded to any calls or flag waving or anything. No one really wanted to go up and knock, but the castle hadn’t opened up for anything else yet.

Number One marched a little way ahead of Graham and Alexander, watching the roads for any hint of danger, his hand on his sword hilt. Beside him was No3, guiding them along her original route to the castle so they would see it as she had. Her back was stiff, and she had fallen into the natural royal guards’ swinging gait. If she had any apprehension about returning to the place that had frightened her, she certainly didn’t show it, moving with all the trained confidence she could muster. Her fear would not be her defining memory. Graham couldn’t help but smile, proud of his team and the effort they gave.

Behind them, No2 walked a little more slowly, snuffling miserably with the start of a cold. He, too, had his hand close to his sword, just in case. Kyle and Larry were a little distance further behind, to act as part of a signal beacon, with Number Four watching them from Daventry Castle’s battlements. And that was as large a delegation as Graham wanted, at least initially. There were more guards available and ready to assist should things turn sour, but he didn’t want to tip things over into a fight unnecessarily. Too many numbers could look like a threat. They would stay outside, perhaps in the courtyard, and talk, he hoped, and determine what his new and preferably temporary neighbors wanted.

In the back of his head, Graham knew this was a foolish idea, but he was starving for action. Desperate to protect his people. This was the first thing he felt he could do. No threats had been sent from the castle. The Daventry guards had been left alone. If anything, Graham thought the floating castle residents might be hurt, struggling, unable to reply even if they wanted to.

Or at least, that’s what he told himself so that he wouldn’t think too hard about what a bad idea this might be.

It was quiet. Graham didn’t sense that anything was necessarily wrong. Winter was a quieter season. However, the air carried a strange, deadened silence to it that you tended to get only when it was actively snowing. Like the world was muffled and waiting. But it wasn’t currently snowing.

As they drew closer, the lonely silence grew. The snowpack started to give way to icy patches that made Graham’s boots, normally so grippy, skid and slide. He and Alexander had to catch themselves several times, and even the royal guards, boots currently equipped with crampons for patrols, were unsteady. The chill in the air nipped at them all the more as they drew closer. Graham’s ears ached, and he yanked his cap down further, smoothing his hair over the tips of his ears. He could feel the cold bite through his gloves.

The ice palace gleamed ahead of them, catching every scrap of light and reflecting it back. It was a thousand shimmering colors, almost impossible to comprehend. Its outer walls sparkled with white, cool grays, light blues, foamy greens, but further in, toward the heart of the castle, it took on crystalline blues, deep navy, black. The tallest tower, jutting at crazy angles out of the center of the castle, was purest white, and it was nearly translucent in places. It seemed possible to trace the hint of stairs leading up to its top.

But despite the clearness of the walls in certain places, there were no signs of humans, no colorful clothes of royalty or servants. Just endless grays and blues. Graham couldn’t be sure if some of the blue shapes were moving in the walls or if it was a trick of the light reflecting as he walked and changed his angle ever so slightly.

Finally, they approached the hollow itself where the castle sat. No1, shivering so badly that his knees knocked together, his armor clanging, bowed and gestured for Graham to lead.

It felt to Graham like he and his tiny entourage was the only life for miles. Not dangerous. Just achingly lonely.

The gates of the castle towered high above them. Icy, frostbitten, solid, and silent. Graham looked them up and down, marveling at how they had been carved. They had been given the clear marks of wood grain, of knots, of metal. It looked like a perfectly ordinary castle gate recast in ice and snow. As his gaze dropped to the base of the gates, he sighed. The castle had, indeed, simply plonked down in his fields—it was crushing the roses someone had so carefully planted in rows here. The poor bushes were twisted and curled and pressed beneath the foundation. The impact had knocked all the snow off them, and they were gnarled and broken and black looking.

Gently, Graham knocked on the gates, rapping with his gloved knuckle. The clattering echo that erupted from his knock sounded like gongs and bells striking each other, bouncing and resounding and reflecting on each other again and again. It seemed to shake the whole place. No one within would be able to ignore it, but as they waited, no one responded, either.

Graham knocked again, a little more forcefully, with the same result: a tremendous lot of noise, and no human or monster acknowledgement from within.

After a little wait, he went to knock a third time, and then he realized something odd. “You know,” he said to himself, “It doesn’t feel cold here.” He peeled off his glove and pressed his hand against the gate. It felt perfectly ordinary, like wood instead of ice, despite what his eyes insisted. It was warm, almost like it had been resting in the sun of a spring day. As he stood still, considering, he thought it felt a bit warmer, but his hand felt colder. Almost like it was leeching his warmth away, leaving a chill spreading up his arm.

Curious, he ran his bare hand down the wood, sensing the strange stealing warmth, wondering if this was magic or something more mundane—but then one of the crushed roses curled against the gate caught the side of his palm. It was much sharper and more piercing than an ordinary thorn bite should have been, and he hastily drew back his hand with a muffled yelp of surprise, half expecting to see blood pouring from a gaping wound but not seeing anything amiss. The flower itself, petals and all, was somehow still on the vine, shriveled and dead but nevertheless frozen into place on its stem.

“Are you okay, si—Dad?” Alexander asked, his voice shivering with cold or fear, Graham wasn’t sure which.

“It’s the roses,” Graham said, and rubbed his hand. “Just got nicked, wasn’t expecting it.” He leaned back and tried to see over the top of the gate. If anyone was coming to respond to his knock, it had to be soon. “I do think the guards were right. This place is empty, don’t you think? I’ve never seen a castle so still.” Still of life, anyway. The walls caught every reflection, every movement from outside, and shone it back like a broken mirror.

“It could be a really small staff,” Alexander offered, though he seemed distracted, concentrating on something Graham couldn’t detect.

“For a castle? Maybe,” Graham said doubtfully. “It takes a lot to keep one running, though. It’s not like a manor house. Still. Maybe they’ll reach out to us, since our attempts to talk to them don’t seem to be going anywhere. Hopefully we’ll learn something new by tomorrow.”

Above them, the storm clouds were starting to turn a bruised sort of gray, and No1 gestured for them to return home quickly. “Come along, Your Majesties. I shouldn’t think you want to be caught in that blizzard.”

“Shall we?” Graham said, and waved his son ahead of him. Before turning to go, Graham looked at the gate once more, and wondered what was just beyond it. What did the courtyard look like? If the gate felt like wood but was made of ice, were the carpets and tapestries the same? Torches casting off ice chips while still casting off heat in little half-melted alcoves? What about the people?

He sighed, shook his head, and followed his son up the path, rubbing his (gloved again) hand absently as he walked. His royal guards snapped back into their places, leading and following with swords at the ready, as apprehensive as ever. The wind sprang up behind them, hastening their steps like they were being chased away.

The hollow in front of the gate was quiet. No one came to the door to see who had been knocking. The rose bushes trembled in the wind. The rose that had caught Graham turned icy and cold. Frost bloomed along the shriveled petals, forcing the dead and withered rose into a second bloom, sharpening and hardening the petals, until the whole stem was solid and clear and blue and cold. It was almost part of the castle, almost frozen into silence in the gate, but the wind twirled through the hollow. The rose slammed against the door and broke into a thousand glittering shards. The sound of the impact was like another knock, ringing clear in the deepening gloom as early winter night stole over Daventry.

But this time, something deep within the castle shifted.

~*~*~*~

Valanice woke before Graham, but she didn’t want to get up. The air outside the blankets nipped her nose. The temperature had dropped again, and it didn’t feel like anyone had stoked the fireplace. Perhaps it was too early. She pressed herself against Graham—he was as cozy as a bear, a proper furnace of his own. Nice in the winter, not so nice in the summer, but right now she wanted him to hug her close and keep her warm. Sleepily, he obliged, moving his arms to hold her as she wanted.

She smiled contentedly and snuggled deeper with a sigh, but then his hand grazed her shoulder, and she flinched away, annoyed. “Graham, your hands are like ice,” she complained.

“Mmm?” He pulled her closer. “But you’re so warm.”

“No, seriously, Graham, you’re freezing. Stop that.” Valanice batted him away, sitting up in bed, properly awake now, blankets pulled up to contain the warmth.

He sat up with her, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He stopped. Blinked. She looked at him. She looked down. He looked down.

His hand was encased to the wrist in ice. Not encased. Replaced, transformed, by ice. Deep and clear and white, like a carving. It glittered and sparkled, catching what little light there was in the room. He twisted it, bent the fingers stiffly—they could hear the ice crackle, like ice cubes dropped into lemonade on a hot day.

They looked at each other.

They screamed.

~*~*~*~

Nothing helped.

Graham nursed blazing cups of tea that no one else could touch. He wrapped his hand in a hot blanket. He drank gut-warming whiskey and poured the rest of the glass over his hand. He plunged it into a hot bath. He held it distressingly close to the fireplace flames. During this last attempt, he tried to joke that it was like roasting marshmallows for s’mores—he was already a Graham Cracker, after all. It was a terrible joke that no one laughed at. Nothing changed. The ice remained resolutely icy.

In fact, by the end of the morning, the ice had spread. Not much, not enough that anyone other than Graham would notice. It was fractionally beyond his wrist, moving up his arm. Infinitesimally slow, but creeping along nevertheless. He pressed against it with his other hand like he could stop it, and that achieved about as much as his melting attempts. Nothing.

And, gradually, a chill started to spread, too. It didn’t matter that he was sitting clothes-singingly close to the fireplace, that he was practically chugging hot tea. There was a shiver in his fingertips, and a bone deep cold ache was spreading up his arm. By noon he could feel it in his shoulder, although the ice was barely beyond his wrist. His fingers seemed to be locking up, too, getting harder to bend.

“It’s that castle,” Valanice said. Her voice shook. Graham glanced up at her. “We have to get in there and demand they reverse...whatever this is.”

“They do have quite the defense system,” Graham agreed. He tugged the blanket higher over his shoulder with his good hand, careful not to drag it through the smoldering embers on the edge of the fire.

“Sire, you cannot go there again,” No1 said sharply. He snapped into full attention, as though formality would carry him forward. “I will not permit it. I have some sway over matters of your safety, and I shall invoke those abilities now. You shouldn’t have gone in the first place. I accept blame for that decision fully, and you may retire me at any point after these events are concluded. I shall send a delegation in your place, as I ought to have insisted upon doing the first time.”

“And have Matt or Kyle or Roberta freeze like me?” Graham said, an edge to his voice, ignoring their titles in his frustration. “I think not. This already got me. I’ve got to see it through rather than risk it happening to anyone else.”

“Sire.” No1 only stood up straighter. Someone could have used him as a level to hang paintings precisely. “If they caused this injury to you yesterday, they’ll only be delighted to have you stroll back up to them so they can finish the job.”

“No one was even around to do something malicious in the first place, you know that!” Graham insisted. “I pricked myself on that rose. It was inattentiveness, not intentionality. I tripped a trap that wasn’t meant for me. It was my rose bush, for stars’ sake, part of Daventry! It’s probably a curse on the castle that infected my country, and the people inside could be as desperate for help as me!”

“You can’t know that for certain, though. This might have been a trial foray, to see if they could catch you easily. Daventry has its enemies. Perhaps more so now than ever.” No1 glanced sideways at Alexander, who was sitting ramrod straight in a chair near the door, looking for all the world like a sculpture himself. “This is a delicate time, Graham,” he said, his voice and his protocol dropping so the king alone would hear him. “Don’t risk anything unnecessarily.”

Graham held his gaze for a moment, and then looked down at the hearth, at the snapping flames. “You might be right,” he said softly.

“I’m sure I am. I’ll pull together a team now. Volunteers only: they’ll be told the risks. But, Sire, I think I’ll have more volunteers than I’ll know what to do with. They love you. They want to help you. Please, let them.”

No1 bowed smartly and left with a click of his sharpened heels. After he was gone, the rest of the royal family filtered out as well, Alexander running to find an alcove to hide in, Rosella following him, Valanice going to order more tea. Graham sat alone by the fireplace, feeling the silent emptiness of the room bearing down on his shoulders. He felt hollow, and the room felt bitter. Like he was sitting in an icy cavern even now.

The same questions.

What did that courtyard look like? The carpets, the tapestries—could they bend like fabric while still being as cold as ice? Were the torches hot despite their icy veneer? What about the people?

He wanted to go back. He wanted to see inside. He wanted to know. He yearned to know. Was everything made of it, and did it still work? Were there others with ice instead of flesh? He needed to know.

He swapped the blanket for his cloak.

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

We’re the Bad Guys: Part 8

We’re the Bad Guys: Masterlist

Poe Dameron x Reader (eventually), First Order!Reader

Summary: From the day you were born, you were taught the rebels and their New Republic were the bad guys. But, after you crash land on a remote moon with only the Resistance’s poster boy for company, things begin the change.

Based off of this drabble and headcanon

A/N: Poe is back baby!  This is also the most action I’ve written with basically no dialogue breaks in a while, so please bare with me.  Prose were never my strong suit.  And please remember COMMENT AND REBLOG IF YOU LIKE THIS, I NEED VALIDATION TO SURVIVE!!!

Word Count: 3.0K

        Poe Dameron wasn’t worried about you.  He wasn’t.  Wherever you were in the galaxy, he was sure you were doing just fine.  You were too stubborn to do anything else.  

        All the same he found his mind wandering to you more often than he liked to admit. 

        You hadn’t fully left his mind since crash landing on that forest moon.  He had tried more than once to find you using a combination of stolen flight plans, Tie-patrols, and even old Imperial military records.  And for his efforts, all he could find were lists of meaningless identification numbers and dead ends. 

          It made sense.  After the Empire fell, many high ranking officers decided to cut their losses and flee rather than fight, erasing all personal data they could from the archives on their way out.  From what you had told him, he assumed your parents must have been fairly high up the chain of command given their clear devotion to the former Empire and the pressure they put on you to see their vision come to reality.  

        A sharp pain came to his stomach every time he thought about it.  You didn’t deserve that.  Nobody deserved that.  The only relief he could find was to remind himself of your message. 

        Maz Kanata had brought it to Leia herself, presenting the data card you had given her with confidence and a knowing smile. 

        “Commander Dameron can confirm it’s legitimacy,” Maz had assured.  “It’s from his Pilot after all.” 

        In the moment, Poe had been taken aback to have you referred to as “his Pilot”, but over time, he had grown to like it. Every mission he had gone on over the last three months had been a success because of you after all.

        With your intel and the collaboration of other spies in the field, he and the rest of Black Squadron had to come out on top with barely a single scratch between them.

        It should have been cause for celebration.  It was a cause for celebration. But every time a toast was made to the success of The Resistance, he had to wonder why you weren’t there with them. 

          Maz hadn’t given him much, just an assurance that you were doing what you thought was best, whatever that meant. 

        He was sure you weren’t still with The First Order.  That bridge was clearly burned.  But you still hadn’t come. 

        Poe wasn’t worried.  He really wasn’t.  He just knew he’d feel a lot better if he had some idea of where you were; or even where to look. 

        A small string of whistles and beeps interrupted his thoughts. 

        Poe blinked, turning his attention to the small translation screen of his X-Wing.

        “Yeah BB-8, I’m fine,” Poe said, still a little distracted. “Just thinking.”

        BB-8 gave a long beep. 

        “I am focused,” he assured.  “And don’t worry, Pilot hasn’t let us down yet.” 

        BB-8 whistled, unconvinced. 

        “You don’t have to know someone’s name to trust them,” Poe countered, though admittedly a little embarrassed. The fact he didn’t know your name did gnaw on him at times. On the other hand, he felt he knew you well enough through your actions. 

        He knew you could have killed him on that moon, but hadn’t. He knew you had risked everything to bring the Resistance the information they were now using against The First Order. He knew Maz wouldn’t have brought information to Leia if she wasn’t completely sure of your intentions. And he remembered the regret in your voice when you said you didn’t have a choice in who you were. It wasn’t much to go on, but it spoke of a person who wanted to change, and that was more than anyone could ask for. 

        “Look, I trust them,” Poe said.  “That’s just going to have to be good enough for now.” 

        BB-8 gave a low whistle and nothing else.  

        Another beep came, this time from the control panel, prompting Poe to ease the ship out of hyperspace. 

        The streaks of starlines cleared to reveal a solitary ocean planet covered from north to south with varying shades of grey storm clouds. 

        Poe didn’t know the name of the planet and likely never would. The Unknown Region was named that for a reason after all, but it didn’t matter.  What mattered was the tiny First Order base located on one of the many small patches of land scattered across the surface. 

        The plan was simple enough.  While your information had proven invaluable to The Resistance, the clearance codes you provided were reaching their expiration date.  Luckily, you had also provided them with the location of a lightly guarded out post with all the codes they would need for the next few months at least.  

        It would be a simple snatch and grab, just him and BB-8.  So long as the ship wasn’t spotted on the approach, everything would work out just fine. 

        Poe put both hands on the controls and guided the ship down into the swirling storm.  

        It didn’t take him long to realize exactly why the base was so lightly guarded.  While the storm provided easy cover, it also proved to be a better obstacle than a squadron of trigger happy Tie-Fighter pilots.  

       “Better hang on to something,” Poe warned.

        The ship shook violently in the wind as bolts of lightning flashed through the cockpit window.  

        Poe could feel the electricity in the air, and evidently so did his controls.  Dials and lights flashed across the board.  Another jolt rocked the ship. Warning beeps and sirens echoed in his ears, but he ignored all of them.  

        He lowered the ship even closer to the grey waves until they all but broke against the underside of the ship. 

        BB-8 let out a long beep of panic. 

        “We need to keep low,” Poe said.  “We go any higher, they’ll read us on their sensors.” 

        A great rumble roared in his ears, whether it was from the sea, the sky, or just the heavy rainfall pelting the cockpit window, he couldn’t be sure.  

        Another warning beep came from the controls. 

        Poe looked down and felt a grin spread across his face. “Land, dead ahead.  We’re nearly there buddy.” 

        He pushed the engines harder, sending a spray of sea foam in his wake. 

        In the distance, he could start to make out the reflective black of smoothed stone shooting out of the water in deadly sharp angles.  

        “BB-8 scan for a place to land, any sort of cavern should do the trick.” 

        The droid whistled in reply. 

        Poe kept his eyes on the sky.  There hadn’t been any ships leaving or entering the atmosphere as far as he could see, but there was no telling what those dark clouds could be hiding. 

        Soon enough BB-8 gave another whistle and the coordinantes to a small cave just big enough to fit an X-Wing appeared on his computer. 

        As they came closer, Poe began to spot the lights of the military base, just where you had described it.  It wasn’t a great fortress.  No doubt The First Order assumed the planet’s natural defenses would be enough.  But he could make out the outline of blaster cannons along the outer walls.  

        He pushed the engines just a little harder and drifted just a little lower, relying on the dark background of the ocean and blinding rain to cover his approach. 

        The lights were becoming brighter.  The white of Stormtrooper armor could now be seen clearly amongst the slabs of onyx stone. 

        “Hold on!”

         At the last minute, he turned the X-Wing into a sharp one-eighty, sending a spray of water up and over the engines. 

          From the parapets above, it appeared as if a large wave had just struck against the rocks. 

          He sped into the cavern, barely having enough time to slam the breaks before hitting the back wall.  For a moment the X-Wing hovered as he and BB-8 took a moment to breath. 

        “Not bad, right?” Poe quipped. 

        BB-8 let out a dizzying whirl in response. 

        Poe chuckled as the ship floated to the ground. 

        “Alright, keep the engines running,” he said, as he climbed his way out of the ship. “I’ll be back in no time.”

        BB-8 let out a string of concerned beeps. 

        “Hey, have some faith buddy.  It’s me.” 

        The droid gave a doubtful low whistle, causing Poe to frown. 

        “Look, I’ll call you if I need a pick up.  Just be ready.”

        BB-8 beeped an affirmative, watching as Poe slipped a poncho over his head and walked out of the cave. 

        The rain hit harder and colder than anything Poe had experience in a long while.  After barely ten seconds he was drenched from head to foot.  Even with the added protection of the poncho, he could feel the water streaming down his spine and seeping into his shirt. 

        Making his way up the cliff face, he was silently grateful he thought to use a spike rather than BB-8 to retrieve the data.  He couldn’t imagine how he would have been able to carry the droid without constantly slipping on the smooth stone or even getting a basic grip.  He could barely do it on his own.  

        He was about to pull himself up over another break in the cliff face, when the all too familiar sound of Tie-Fighter engines cut through the rumble of the storm.  Poe pressed himself hard against the wall. There was nothing else he could do.  If the patrol spotted him, he was dead.  Holding his breath, he tooked skyward. 

        Three Tie-Fighters flew past, each hugging close to the waves just as he had done on the approach.  It was then he realized just how lucky he was.  If he had landed even a few minutes later, they would have spotted him.  

        He then frowned.  You hadn’t mentioned a Tie patrol in your report.  Was there someone else on the base and this was their escort?  Or did you leave it out on purpose. 

        Poe shook the thought away.  No.  You hadn’t misled them yet.  You wouldn't mislead them now.

        The patrol passed by without pause and Poe continued his way up the cliff. 

        Eventually, he made it to the top finding cover just outside the perimeter of the base. 

        He let out a breath of relief.  There were hardly any guards posted outside the base, just like you said.  

        Carefully he crept along, making sure to keep low until he reached the door. With one quick spike and a little luck he was inside before the guards passed by again. 

        The corridor in front of him was brightly lit, cold and the same shade of black as the stone outside. 

        He started to make his way down, only to stop at the sound of his own squishing boots.  Turning around, he could see the wet trail of rain following behind him.  There were similar trails around the entrance, but most if not all were heading toward the corridor on the left.

        He had a decision to make.  Either continue the way he was going and hope he worked fast enough for his water trail not to be spotted, or follow the water trail toward what was most likely the barricades, grab some dry clothes and then complete the mission.  

        He stood a moment, only for his decision to be made for him.  Coming from the side corridor were a pair of newly dried Stormtroopers.  Turning on his heel, he all but ran down the corridor, deciding he’d have better luck with the possibility of Stormtroopers than the ones right in front of him. 

        He mumbled the directions to himself as he navigated through the maze of identical sterile hallways. 

        “Right, two down then a left, right again, straight ahead, one more left and then third door on right.” 

        He stopped in the middle of the hall, directly between two doors. 

        “Or was it the left,” he mumbled.  He closed his eyes, picturing the map of the base in his mind.  If he was facing south, but wait, which way was south? 

        The clamor of armor interrupted his thoughts.  Time to make another decision. 

        He turned to the door on the right.  Another spike, and he was in. 

        Upon entering, he saw he had chosen right.  One empty room with an unattended computer module.  His luck really was paying off. 

        In two strides he was behind the computer and already placing the spike in the unit.  This one took a little longer to crack, but the spike did its work.  Another ten seconds, and he was in.  Pulling an empty data card from his pocket, he placed it in the proper slot.  Another twenty seconds and he could get out of here. 

        A knock came at the door. 

        “Who’s in there?” a modulated voice called. 

        Poe snapped his mouth shut, not daring to breath.  Maybe if he just pretended no one was there…

        “Identify yourself,” the voice snapped.  “We know you’re in there.”

        He breathed out a curse.  Of course, they followed the water trail. 

        “Just changing,” he said, wincing at his own unconvincing lie.  “Be out in a minute.” 

        The troopers didn’t respond, but the sudden burst of blaster fire at the door’s controls was enough to answer enough. 

        Poe pulled his blaster from his belt and spun his head to the data card.  Just a few more seconds…

        The door of the room hissed open revealing two Stormtroopers with their blasters at the ready. 

        Poe didn’t give them time to fire. Four shots and the two troopers were down. 

        The computer gave a small ping and Poe yanked the data card out of it’s slot. 

        Rushing to the door, Poe peaked out to see if his luck was about to run out.  

        It was a solid split down the middle.  There were no troopers in sight, but the distinct sound of armor in a hurry could be heard coming down the corridor.  

        Poe made a break for it, going back the way he came.  

        Breath hard, he stopped at the first intersection.  He had made a left here so that meant, he had to make a right...right?  He turned his head desperately from side to side only to stop when he spotted a stream of water running along the floor.  He almost laughed.  Follow the puddles. 

        Making a quick right, he ran along the empty halls following his own trail of wet floor back to the exit.  He was almost there.  Just one more turn. 

        He slid, almost falling over as he made a last hard bank toward the exit.  Just a few most feet and he was gone. 

        It was right then and there his luck ran out.  

        Four freshly dried Stormtroopers emerged from the barricades, all of their blasters trained on him. 

        “Freeze!” one of them shouted.

        Poe did, but only for a moment.  Quickly spinning his heel he made to go back the way he came only to come face to face with four more Stormtroopers. 

        “Hold it right there,” another one of the troopers said.  “Drop your weapon.”

        He didn’t fight them.  Silently, he lay his blaster on the ground and  placed his hands behind his head. 

        The one who shouted the order approached him, holding his head high with the confidence of a bully surrounded by his cronies. 

        Without a word, he slammed his blaster into Poe’s gut, making him double over in pain. 

        It was official then. He was fresh out of luck.

        A pair of troopers dragged him along and unceremoniously slung him into one of the holding cells.

        This really wasn’t going according to plan.  They had taken his blaster, his comm, and more importantly the data card.  It wouldn’t take them long to realize what was on it.  Protocol would demand they change the codes again and all information he gathered would be rendered useless. 

        Poe battered the thought away.  He couldn’t focus on that.  He needed to find a way out of the cell and find a way to contact BB-8. 

        The click and hiss of the cell door opening interrupted his thoughts.  To his surprise, he wasn’t met with the sour face of the base commander, but rather the masked black face of a Tie-Fighter pilot.  

        “Room service?” he quipped.  “I gotta say, it’s about time you got here.  I could really use a towel.”

        “This is the one who you found sneaking around the base?” the Tie-Pilot asked.

        “Yes, Commander,” one of the Stormtrooper guards said. “We’re running ID now.”

        “There’s no need,” they dismissed. “I know exactly who he is. This is Poe Dameron, ex-captain of the Republic Navy and current commander of The Resistance’s Black Squadron.”

        Poe gritted his teeth.  This really wasn’t his day. 

        “Leave us,” they continued.  “And make sure to turn off the security cameras.”

        “Sir?”

        “This pilot has vital information pertaining to the Resistance, including where their base is.  I’d like some time alone to help loosen his tongue.” 

         They then took a step forward, examining him closely through the black of the mask.  “And besides, pilot to pilot, I’d like to know where and how he landed his damn ship.”

        The troopers nodded in understanding. With a few presses of a button, Poe saw the red lights of the cameras turn off as the door slid shut.

        “At last, we’re alone,” he said, sardonically. “Should I dim the lights?”

        “That won’t be necessary, Commander.”

        “Lights on then, kinky.”

        The commander stiffened slightly.

        Poe braced himself.  If they swung with their right, he could block it, take them by surprise and make a grab for their blaster. It might take a few tries, but all he needed was an opening.  The problem was, the commander wasn’t hitting him.

        Instead, they made a motion that could only be described as an eye roll without the eyes. 

        “Are you always this much of an idiot, or am I just lucky?”

        Poe frowned.  “Excuse me?”

        “What, you don’t recognize me?” they said, in an almost teasing tone. “I’m hurt.”

        Poe’s frown deepened.  That voice, he had heard it somewhere before. 

        The Commander gave a small sigh and without another word, removed their helmet. 

        Poe felt his jaw drop. 

        “Pilot?”

[westgateoh]

A scene from a long fic I’m working on. Felt like sharing because Bruce and Jason. Encouragement is helpful if you like it. Thanks for reading (sorry about the spacing)

“What happened?” Batman growled, and the wind of the rooftop swirled his cape around him, like it was whipping him. He ignored it. “You’re favoring your right arm.”

Jason would deny it, but he was using the only arm that worked at the moment to hold a goon by his windpipe against the wall while Bruce zip tied the guy’s hands behind his back. From the whimper Jason heard, Bruce wasn’t taking any chances. “Dislocated shoulder in the fight. I’ll be fine.” He stepped back so that Bruce could shove the guy to his knees and tie his ankles. Jason would be fine, too. He turned to the wall, shoved his gun in its holster, and lined up his shoulder. He’d put his own shoulder back plenty of times. It hurt like a sonofabitch, but he’d done it. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and felt Bruce pull him back from the wall.

“Stop.”

Jason turned to look at him.

“It’s harder to do it yourself. Let me.”

Something in Bruce’s voice was softer than usual, more like a request than his usual demands.

It would be easier to have Bruce do it, so he nodded, and Bruce pulled him a little so that Jason’s back wasn’t against the wall.

He put one hand on Jason’s shoulder and then gripped his elbow. “Deep breath and hold it.”

Jason complied.

Bruce wrenched and Jason clenched his eyes through the pain and then it was done. Bruce still held Jason’s arm. “Better?” he asked.

Jason stared at the gloved hand on his arm, but he didn’t pull away. He just nodded.

“Good. Will you come back to the Cave and let Agent A do a scan to make sure everything’s stable in there?” Bruce was still holding his arm, and Jason couldn’t stop staring at his hand. “Hood?” Bruce says, his voice soft, so the guy on the ground couldn’t hear him. “Are you all right?”

Jason was years away, his vision filled with the memory of the first time he broke his arm on patrol with Bruce, when he was laying on the rooftop in the chill of October as Bruce stood over him, brushing his gloved hand through Jason’s hair and saying, “You’re going to be all right, Robin. It hurts now, but we’ll get you back to the Cave and fix your arm right up so it doesn’t hurt as badly. You’ll be all right.” And Jason believed him immediately, and let Bruce pick him up and carry him down the rickety fire escape to the Batmobile, where he laid him gently in the backseat and then put the car on autopilot so that he could hold Jason’s good hand the whole way home.

Dragged back to the present by the smell of asphalt and garbage from the alley below, he looks up at Bruce. “I’m fine,” he says, and pulls his arm away. “I have to go home.”

Bruce frowned. “Does your current home have a decent med kit?”

Jason brushed off his concern. “Yeah. Tim restocked it for me last week. It probably even has root beer lollipops,” and he didn’t say it to hurt, but Bruce flinched, clearly remembering the jar of root beer lollipops Alfred let Bruce keep in the med bay when they’d found out they were Jason’s favorite. Bruce would sneak them to Jason sometimes when he was sick, like they were carrying out international espionage or something by getting them past Alfred.

Jason blinked at Bruce’s reaction and shook his head. “You need anything else from me here?” he asked.

Bruce let go of Jason’s arm and stepped back. “No. Go home and rest.” He paused. “Oh, and add tonight to your casefile on the Marineli group. I’m certain it’s connected.”

They stood awkwardly for a moment before Bruce seemed to shake himself out of thought, and he took a step toward Jason, who couldn’t help his reaction of stepping back so now he was against the wall. He tried to lean and make it look intentional and casual, but Bruce took a step back quickly, like he knew he’d accidentally boxed Jason in.

“Come to dinner tomorrow?” he asked, and Jason closed his eyes, thankful that the lenses kept the action from Bruce. “Dick’s going to be there.”

“No, thanks,” he replied, and Bruce stiffened. “I’ll check in before patrol if you want, since so many things seem to be overlapping right now.” He paused and looked at Batman standing in front of him – they only had a few minutes before the police arrived at the scene and Bruce really still didn’t want the GCPD to know how closely he was working with the Red Hood, Jason understood that. He looked, though, and saw Bruce reaching out, trying to get Jason home, trying to help him.

It had been long enough since their last big fight, long enough for Jason to see how Bruce was trying to be there for him, trying to get Jason to come into the sphere of the Bats enough for him to want to stay, for them to be a family again. Jason saw that. He even wanted it sometimes, but thinking about things like family made Jason’s skin itch, made his chest tight, and made his nerves sing. Looking at Bruce practically vibrating out of the Bat suit, though, was enough to make Jason stop and think. “You want to get some pancakes?” he asked, rolling his bad shoulder slowly, keeping it loose.

“What?”

“Pancakes. There’s a new diner just outside the Narrows. I’ve been wanting to try it. I could use your ear for the Singali case, too, if you want to talk for a bit.” He could hardly believe his own words, but he found himself holding his breath waiting for Bruce to answer.

Bruce finally nodded. “Give me an hour. I’ll meet you there,” he said, and his voice dropped the Batman growl entirely, and he turned and disappeared over the edge of the roof.

Jason stood still for a minute and finally shook his head. “What the fuck did I just do?” he muttered to himself, and then he made himself move. He needed to change clothes.

Jason ordered a cup of coffee and an order of French toast before Bruce finally got there, sliding into the booth and pulling his faded black Gotham Knights baseball hat a little lower over his eyes. He was wearing a grey hoodie, dark jeans jacket, and torn jeans with green Converse and Jason had to admire his ability to move entirely unlike Bruce Wayne or Batman.

“I ordered already, sorry. I was really hungry,” Jason said, shoving a bite of French toast into his mouth. Their waitress, a tall redhead, came to the table and poured a refill for Jason and a cup for Bruce, who ordered some scrambled eggs and hash browns and a glass of orange juice. Jason asked her to bring him some eggs and bacon, and Bruce hid a smile behind his coffee cup.

Jason raised an eyebrow after she left. “Diner orange juice, B? Pretty big risk.”

Bruce shrugged. “Feeling a little run down. Could use all the vitamin C I can get.”

Jason blinked and swallowed a weird feeling of panic that surged at the thought of Bruce getting sick. The first time Bruce had caught the flu when Jason was a kid he’d been convinced Bruce was going to die and leave him the way his mom had, and he pestered Alfred to take Bruce to the hospital for three days straight and had fought nightmares for a month after it happened.

Bruce was fixing Jason with such an odd look right now that Jason wondered if he remembered that, too. “I’m okay,” he said.

Jason just nodded.

The waitress brought the rest of the food and they ate in comfortable silence for a bit.

“Damian made some hummous at my place last week that was better than any restaurant I’ve had here in the states,” Jason finally said. “Has he been cooking with Alfred?”

Bruce nodded and swallowed his food. “Yes. They’re on a mission to recreate every food Damian can remember from Egypt. The list on the fridge is pretty long.” He paused and added, “Some are more successful than others. Tim added some dishes from Russia that he apparently tried on a trip with his parents as a boy and now it’s a significant mission. Dick wanted to add some Romani dishes, but Damian says they have to master his own list first.”

Jason grinned. “Throw on Pork-n-Beans from Park Row for me when you get a chance. That’s some fancy cooking.”

Bruce snorted and Jason’s own smile widened. They chatted about food for a few minutes, and that led them to Damian’s tastes, which led them to Damian’s pets. Jason’s been wanting to ask about this for a while.

“A cow, B? Really?”

Bruce just chuckled. “God help me, I didn’t mean to let him end up with a menagerie, but it’s a better outlet for him than anger, which usually ends with he and Tim breaking something in an honest-to-goodness brawl.”

“They still fight?”

“Not as much as they used to, but Tim is nothing if not expert at button pushing, intentional or no.” He finished his toast and added, “I think the last time they fought the old Tiffany lamp in the den was the victim.”

Jason’s eyes widened. “And Al let them both live?”

“Their chore list increased a great deal for next month.”

It took Jason a minute to catch up, but when he did, “Tim doesn’t even live there full-time anymore. He still has chores?”

“He does after they broke that lamp,” Bruce said with a shrug.

Jason laughed, and Bruce’s chin snapped up at the sound, like he didn’t see that coming. He grinned, too, after a moment.

When the waitress brought them their bill and they finally wandered out of the diner, Jason realized that they never did talk about their case.

[ilovereadingandilovebreathing]

I wish you would write a fic where peter has some trouble sleeping and he goes to tony for help (irondad is best and I love how you write them)

A/N: I added a Read More break in this; I’m so sorry if it isn’t working on your Dash or in mobile. 

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((WOW as per usual this took forever; I’m so sorry, and thank you for your patience!!!))

I can do that. As many of my IronDad fics are these days, this is set in a Post-Endgame Universe that ends the way we deserved it to. (Also thank you?? So much????) As per usual, I don’t know if this is what you envisioned, but here it is anyway. I hope you like it!

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A Week in the Life of an Overly Anxious Insomniac (a.k.a. Post-Finals Week)

-

Friday

Peter Parker crawls in through his bedroom window after the fullest week of his whole life. He’s just finished his Junior year of high school, meaning that his end-of-year finals are the roughest and toughest, and he’s barely made it through them unscathed. Peter’s an above average student for above average students, much less the general population, so he keeps up with his studies well, especially after Tony and May teamed up to implement some Big Brother-level safe guards to make sure he was held accountable for his allotted homework and Spider-Man hours. 

The teenager pulls himself upright and runs a hand through his hair, a deep sigh emanating from his chest as he pulls off his Spider-Man suit. He glances at the clock; 1:30AM shines back silently at him, the one-time extended patrol hours Tony and May had allowed him in light of the end of the school year and successful exams.

Once he’s free of his enhanced spandex, Peter pulls on a t-shirt and sweatpants and collapses onto his bed, his nose buried in his covers, but his eyes remain open. He stares languidly at a spot on his wall, likely food from his and Ned’s last sleepover. 

The seconds tick past, soon turning into minutes, and then an hour has gone by, and somehow he’s still wide awake. He’s tried to drop off multiple times, but a prickling sensation across his back, like’s he’s being watched, keeps him from relaxing into sleep.

Peter sighs in frustration and takes out his phone, scrolling through countless ridiculous news articles until his body shuts itself off around 5AM.

Saturday

Peter awakes at 9:30AM and groans. At least it’s Saturday, so he can sleep more. He rolls over just in time for his phone to go wild where he’d discarded it beneath his bed earlier that morning. He gropes blindly for the device and clicks it on, sleepily scrolling through the barrage of messages in his group chat with Ned and MJ. 

Ned: Expo day!

MJ: Expo day.

Ned: Peter!! EXPO DAY!

Ned: P

Ned: E

Ned: T

Ned: E

Ned: R

Ned: WAKE UP

Peter rolls his eyes but can’t suppress a grin as he types out his response.

Peter: I’m awake geez

It’s not even until 4PM

Ned: Yeah, but still. We have to make sure we have our itinerary down and the layout of the place just in case something ya know crazy happens.

Peter: Right yeah sure

MJ: I’m not wearing the matching t-shirts

Ned: Pleeeeeaaassse MJ!!!!!!!!

MJ: …..without something else over it

Ned: *peace fingers emoji*

MJ: why didn’t you just send the actual emoji

Ned: You have an IPhone. The emojis always show up differently.

MJ: Not that one, idiot

Ned: Oh whatEVER

Peter nearly drops his phone on his face, so he rolls to his side and types out a final message.

Peter: I’m hitting snooze. See you guys this afternoon.

Peter switches his phone to silent mode and lays an arm over his face. After a week of multiple all-nighters on top of a full patrol and 4 ½ hours of sleep last night (this morning, he corrects himself with a grunt), he just wants to sleep until he absolutely has to be up. He sends a quick wake-up call request to May before pulling his covers back over his head.  

-

Peter, Ned, and MJ crash at Ned’s apartment around 12:30AM. The Expo (an invitation courtesy of Tony Stark, of course) had been incredible, showcasing the latest and greatest technology on the market and coming to the market, from Stark Industries to OsCorp and everything in between. 

The trio reclines on the Leeds’ comfy sectional, Ned passing out as soon as his body hits the cushions. MJ is curled in a half doze in the crook of the couch, and Peter spreads along the unoccupied middle section, propped sidelong against the back. He stares at his crossed ankles as the TV plays quietly in the background. His vision swims in and out of focus, trying to let him fall into sleep, but something keeps pulling him back just as he’s on the brink, like fingers trailing across his back. 

Peter knows no one else is in the room with him. He hears Ned and MJ’s separate, steady breathing on either side of him, but something about their presences, how strongly he can sense them, keeps him from falling out of consciousness. Their presence should be a comforting tether, but he finds it more restrictive now. He shakes his head minutely at the thought.

After about fifteen minutes, Peter sighs in defeat and positions himself to watch Nickelodeon’s late night programming, finally dropping off around 4AM.

-

Sunday

Sadly for Peter, Ned and MJ are both early risers; they stir around 7:30 but lay poking at their phones until 8. Peter tries to fall back to sleep, but MJ’s accusatory “faker” has him popping his eyes open to defend himself. 

“I think I deserve it.” Peter grumbles while rubbing an eye. “My longest night of sleep all week was like 5 ½ hours. Maybe.”

“That’s unhealthy.”

“That’s finals week.”

“I wish you’d told us, Peter.” Ned chimes in with a yawn. “We could have come home way earlier last night.” 

“It’s fine.” Peter sighs and pushes himself up. “It was totally worth it. I’ll probably pass out tonight, so it’s fine.”

-

As if the universe loves proving him wrong, that evening once again finds Peter restless. He can’t seem to get comfortable in any position.

Left side.

Right side.

Back.

Stomach.

He even swaps his head to the foot of the bed and tries a diagonal position.

No dice.

He tenses up every muscle in his body and releases.

He keeps his eyes open for as long as he can without blinking.

He tries to force his breathing to become heavy and even.

Nothing.

His mind and body are exhausted, he can feel it, but they just refuse to shut off.

Peter pulls his pillow over his face and groans loudly.

-

Monday

Peter gets about 3 hours of sleep before May pokes her head in to ask for his help; she’s been on a minimalist kick lately and wants Peter to help her carry her donations to her car.

He smiles bitterly when he sees the black Sharpie scribbles on the outsides of the boxes:

Ben’s Clothes

Peter’s Toys

Wedding Pictures

Kitchen

Labels marked over and re-named Donations. 

Peter’s eyes are suddenly watery, and he quickly deposits the boxes in May’s car before running a hand over his face. 

May shoots him an inquisitive look but drops the issue, giving him a quick squeeze of a hug before thanking him and getting in her car. Peter waves as she leaves and sighs.

He could text Ned or MJ to go get coffee, but the walking distance just seems to far today.

He goes back upstairs and spends the day watching lame TV on the couch.

He doesn’t sleep at all that night.

-

Tuesday

Peter spends the whole day keeping busy. He organizes and cleans the apartment. He volunteers to walk his neighbors’ dogs. He goes for lunch with MJ and Ned and even sets out early as Spider-Man. 

The evening hours come around, and he settles in with May on the couch watching Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy. They keep score, Peter easily beating all of the contestants, and he begs May to stay with him and play with his hair as he puts on the most boring documentary he can find.

May acquiesces after studying him briefly, but she nods off after about half an hour, her hand resting in his hair. 

Peter puts his hands over his face and swallows a sob, painfully, fully awake.

-

Wednesday

It’s starting to get to him, the lack of sleep.

He ignores May that morning when she calls to him to join her for french toast and fruit.

He tells Ned and MJ he can’t swing lunch that day though he has nothing planned.

He nearly cries when his phone lights up with his reminder that Tony Stark is back from his business trip, and again when said man sends him a message.

Tony: Hey, squirt. I’m back stateside. You free to come to the Lakehouse for a few days? Mo misses you.

Peter actually takes a few moments to consider before he catches himself. Not a good sign.

Peter: Yeah, I’m free. I’ll come tomorrow.

-

Thursday

Peter kisses May goodbye that morning with a promise of letting her know when he gets to the Cabin. 

Happy comes for him around 10:30, and it’s after noon by the time they pull up to Tony Stark’s home away from home. 

Morgan is on the porch the moment their car doors slam and is tackling Peter nearly to the ground before he can reach the trunk to get his bag. She squeezes the air from his lungs as she babbles excitedly about how they’re going to spend the next few days, her first days of summer vacation, together. 

“Let him breathe, Monkey.” 

Peter looks up to find Tony on the porch, metal arm on a post and flesh arm waving lightly. Peter ushers up a smile and a small wave in return before hoisting Morgan up into his arms. The teenager crosses to the porch stops before his mentor. 

“Made it through another finals week, huh?”

“Barely.” Peter’s tone is more biting than he wants, and he hopes Tony didn’t notice. He’s definitely giving Peter a once-over now.

“Hap? Take Morgan inside, please?”

“Sure. Come here, Princess.”

“Uncle Happy, can I have cookies?”

“Don’t let her fool you, Hap; she’s already had her post-lunch snack.”

Morgan folds her arms and pouts as Happy chuckles and takes her inside. 

“He didn’t say anything about juice pops-” 

“Traitor.” Tony mumbles as Happy shuts the door behind them.

It’s quiet for a moment, the lake lapping at the shoreline barely audible as they look out and then at each other. Tony’s gaze stays on Peter, and the boy can’t help but look away.

“What’s up, kid?”

“What do you mean?”

“Your eyes are bloodshot. And last time I checked, Pep didn’t pop out a ten ton toddler, so Morgan shouldn’t be able to knock you over like that.”

“I was just playing with her.”

“Uh huh. Well,” Tony is clearly a bit peeved with Peter, but he drops the issue. “I assume you haven’t had lunch yet, so maybe some food in you will make you more talkative.”

“Thanks.”

“Turkey?”

“Perfect.”

-

Peter passes the afternoon between Tony and Morgan, the former occupying him with projects in his small workshop and the latter demanding to be occupied by him all over the property.

For all intents and purposes, he should be exhausted. 

And yet 2:30AM finds him wide awake and near to breaking.

He’s laying on his side facing his clock, the red letters displaying “2:31AM.” He stares and stares and stares until he feels like the letters are bored into his brain. He closes his eyes, and they pop back open again like they’re on a spring.  

Peter rolls into his back and stares at the dark patches on his ceiling, remnants of the knotholes that used to be, tensing and relaxing his gaze, squinting and releasing, rolling his eyes around in vain hopes of exhausting his eyes to closing with no luck.

He flips onto his left side with a huff and curls into the fetal position, hoping somehow he can trick his anxiety-ridden brain into believing he is safe and can sleep soundly. He’s in the middle of the woods of New York in what is likely the safest cabin in the entire world, and yet his body refuses to relax and let him sleep. 

Peter slaps his comforter in frustration and bolts upright, his heartbeat drumming painfully in his chest and blood pumping in his ears. He swings his feet over the side of the bed, grabs his Midtown hoodie, and slides open the window; he sits on the edge for a moment or two before dropping silently to the ground. Slipping his hands into his hoodie pocket, Peter quietly follows the moonlit path to the dock; he stands there for a little while, tracing every shape and shadow the reflected glow will let him see, listening to every scuttle and shuffle in the trees and on the ground. 

He wouldn’t pick out the light footsteps in any other circumstance, but their contrast to those he’s more familiar with sets him at ease.

“I’m sorry if I woke you up.” Peter chokes out as Pepper comes to stand beside him.

The woman is hugging her bathrobe to herself despite the warmth of the season, but she doesn’t seem agitated from what Peter can tell. 

“You didn’t.” There’s an undercurrent of a scoff in her tone. “Overseas conference call. We had to meet on their terms.”

“That’s not fair.”

“We trade off.” 

“Oh.”

They stand in silence for a few beats before Pepper sighs.

“He struggles with insomnia, too, you know.”

“Really?”

“Of course. Afghanistan. His heart. New York. That crazy Russian. Hammer. Ultron. Thanos. St-….Everything. I’d be amazed if he went through everything he has while maintaining a decent sleep schedule.” Pepper’s tone is a little hard, but Peter knows she doesn’t mean ill will toward him. She’s been with Tony through far longer than he has. She’s quiet for a few seconds before quietly adding, her tone lighter, “He called an Iron Man suit on me once.”

Peter sucks in a breath. 

“I don’t think he meant to, but he had so much going on that he wasn’t dealing with already, and…we were going through a rough patch…The anxiety was eating him alive. Don’t tell him I told you all of that.” Her tone is more conspiratorial than regretful. “He’s never forgiven himself for it, but you should know. He deals with it, too. The anxiety. Feeling unsettled all the time.”

“There’s just…always something. I feel like can’t really rest.”

Pepper nods. “I don’t know the full scope of your abilities, but May’s told me about your…Peter Tingle?”

Peter cringes. “Spider Sense is what I prefer, but yeah. Maybe that’s related to all of this.”

“Probably.” Pepper is quiet for a moment. “You know…he would do whatever he needs to help. All you have to do is ask.”

“Okay.” Peter turns just a bit and gives her a tired smile. “Thanks, Pepper.”

“Of course, sweetheart.” Pepper holds out an arm for him, and he gladly steps in to it. 

Peter will always be secretly, selfishly thankful for how Morgan softened the Starks while he was gone, allowing him to fall in their never-ending streams of comfort that didn’t exist before he disappeared. 

Peter feels a pull where Pepper’s hand rests on his shoulder, and he allows her to guide them back inside. He falls asleep an hour later.

-

Tony has multiple business calls the next day, so it’s mid-afternoon when Peter finally gets some alone time with his mentor-turned-father-figure. They’re sitting on a small pier Tony built over the lake, swinging on a bench swing Morgan insisted they needed after Pepper had one installed on the front porch months earlier. They’re seated on opposite ends of the swing, Peter’s feet propped between them as they gaze out over the water, each lost in their respective thoughts. 

Peter taps Tony’s arm with his toes after a while, and the man scrunches up his nose in false disgust. 

“The last thing I want on my arm, even lower on the totem pole than Morgan’s boogers, is stinky teenager feet.”

“I will have you know that I clean my feet quite well and quite regularly, my good sir.” Peter falls into a vaguely British accent, accentuating each of the last three words with its own individual toe tap to Tony’s arm. 

“Disgusting. I’m tainted.” Tony rests his arm over the back of the swing. “So, I hear you and Pepper had a little late night stroll to the dock.”

“She told you?”

“FRIDAY did. She’s a bit of a tattletale.”

“She really is.”

“Woke me up and everything, and I was finally getting a good night’s sleep.”

Peter feels heat rise to his cheeks. “Sorry. Uh, and sorry you haven’t been sleeping well.”

Tony shrugs. “It happens. Especially when I go from being in the city, as we were in Bangladesh, to being back out here in the quiet. Hard to adjust sometimes. To relax fully.”

“Yeah.” Peter stares resolutely out at the lake.

“So, what were you and my wife chatting about at such an hour?”

“Just…business?”

“So you got up and took Pepper out to the dock to ask her about her business call?”

“Not exactly. I mean, it came up, but…I was out there first.”

“Oh, really? So she came out as a recon. mission, then?”

“I guess so.”

“Why were you out there in the middle of the night, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“….I couldn’t sleep.”

“Yeah? Why not?”

Peter inhales through his nose. “Not sure. But it’s not a big deal.”

“If you say so.” 

Peter looks through the corners of his eyes and finds Tony studying him before the man decides to stand, stretching and popping his back as he does so. 

“Care for a walk around the lake?”

-

Peter collapses onto the couch when they return, staring through the windows to the side porch and watching Tony and Pepper prepare dinner together on the outside grill. 

Morgan is hunched over at his feet, scribbling furiously in her current favorite coloring book. 

“Whatchya doodling, Moomoo?”

“A cat.” Morgan holds up a good-sized image of what is now an orange tabby.

“Looks good.”

“Thanks.” The little one goes back to her coloring, more quietly this time, and Peter settles back against the arm of the couch. He stares at the ceiling, willing himself to relax if it means he can even get a nap in before dinner, but his body just won’t have it. He can hear his heartbeat. Morgan’s heartbeat. Every mechanical and electrical noise in the house goes in and out of focus as he just lays there, trying not to show his frustration and upset Morgan.

“Hey, Pete.” Tony pokes his head in and nearly makes the teen jump. “Can you grab the meat out of the fridge?”

“Yeah.” Peter sits up slowly and stands, feeling Tony’s eyes on him as he crosses to the kitchen. “Sh-oot.” Peter catches himself just in time after his toe has a gnarly collision with a dining table leg. “Missed that somehow…” He grumbles as he pulls the food out of the freezer and brings it back to Tony. Peter just catches the man’s critical gaze before it snaps into easy speculation.

“Thanks, bud.” Tony claps a hand on Peter’s shoulder, and they go out together, Peter’s hopes of relief forgotten as the afternoon melts into evening.

-

It’s the same old story, and one he is so tired of re-living.

Peter full on glares at the ceiling as his heart pounds in his chest, refusing to slow down no matter how he tries to force out slow, even breaths. He clenches his eyes shut but the frustrated tears have already bloomed there and spilled over his cheeks, drawing twin lines down over his temples and pooling on his pillow. He swipes a hand over his face and sniffs hard, rolling onto his side to glare at the clock now. 

3:33am.  

The witching hour. Or at least that’s what MJ calls it. It definitely feels like he’s being hexed right now as his eyes seem to remain open of their own accord, in spite of all of his efforts to get them to comply with the exhaustion in his limbs, his bones. 

“Why the hell can’t I sleep?” He mouths silently at the glowing numbers, the frustration spilling over again, but he doesn’t bother to wipe them away this time. He doesn’t cry all that often, really, not when he’s mad, at least, but night after night of not sleeping enough, especially after exerting himself so much, has worn him thin, and crying is all he can do to keep from screaming, stomping, hurling and throwing things. He’s past the point of being upset with his insomnia and reached the point of searing anger, at himself for not being able to overcome this obstacle and whatever power has placed this plague on him. He grits his teeth until his jaw aches, and he nearly cracks a tooth when an owl sees fit to chime in on his thoughts from outside his window.

Peter pushes himself up and gazes toward his window, the scene from last night playing through his mind in a strange 3rd person point-of-view, as if he is FRIDAY watching him from the house instead of himself experiencing it. Something Pepper said pokes at his consciousness, and he frowns.

You know…he would do whatever he needs to help. All you have to do is ask.

All you have to do is ask. 

Peter stares intently at the window for a moment, contemplating before he finally sighs deeply and throws his covers off. As much as he hates to put anything else on the man’s plate, Peter knows that Tony will understand his plight; plus, he’s been eyeing Peter ever since he arrived, so the teen figures it’s more merciful to put the man out of his miserable curiosity.

Peter stops outside of Tony and Pepper’s door, listening for a moment and frowning when he only hears one person breathing and snoring softly. Definitely not Tony. He quietly pads to Morgan’s door and listens, only hearing the even lighter breathing of the little girl, and his brows crease. 

Peter heads toward the stairs and picks up the faint light shining from downstairs; he quietly mounts them and steps down to the ground floor, absorbing Tony sitting on the couch with a book in one hand, a cup of tea in the other. It’s so domestic that it brings the tears back to Peter’s eyes, the idea of Tony finally being this relaxed and at home somewhere pulling at something deep in Peter’s core. 

“I was wondering when you’d show up.”

Tony’s voice startles Peter, the silence Peter hadn’t realized he’d settled in to shattered, and now the air holds an expectation of being filled with vibrating waves that Peter isn’t sure he’s ready to relinquish. The idea of finally confiding in Tony had seemed palpable when he was upstairs, alone and breaking anyway, but now that he’s here and sees Tony, thinks back to everything he’s been through, Peter suddenly feels selfish and silly.

“Quit overthinking. Come sit with me.” 

Peter’s gaze snaps from the window to which it’s wandered and back to his mentor. Tony has put down the book and tea by now and is watching him intently but not oppressively; there’s no scrutiny in his eyes or demand in his body language, just an open invitation.

Peter crosses the room stiffly and sits beside Tony, staring ahead and body refusing to relax right away. 

“Geez, you’re wound up tight. Come here.” Tony beckons Peter toward him, and the teen stares. 

“What?”

“I’m gonna rub your shoulders, kid. Don’t make it weird.” Tony rolls his eyes. “Unless you’re genuinely uncomfortable with it, then I won’t.”

“No, it’s okay….I’m just….getting used to it.”

“To what?”

“To you being all…”

“Domestic?”

“Exactly.”

Tony snorts.

“That’s like, the one benefit of disappearing for five years.”

Tony clenches his jaw, and Peter sighs through his nose. It’s always too soon for Tony.

“Sorry…I just mean…You had a kid while I was gone. You got all paternal and stuff, and now I get to reap the benefits of that, I guess.”

“Yeah, we’re definitely more touchy feely than before, huh?”

“I just figured that was because you missed me.” Peter smiles a bit, mischief tugging at the corners of his lips. 

“I did, kid. So much.”

Peter’s smile falls to neutrality. “I know. I….I guess I missed you, too. I don’t remember much.”

“Hopefully we’ll keep it that way.” Tony mumbles. “So, shoulder rub?”

Peter considers for a moment. “Sure, why not.” He scoots closer to Tony, and the man’s warm hand on his tense neck and shoulder muscles immediately help him relax just a fraction.

“Geez, kid; you been working out these muscle groups or have you been that tense over finals?” 

Peter blinks. “You know, now that you mention it, I guess I have been pretty tense over the last couple of weeks.”

“Yeah? You think that’s causing your sleeping problems?”

“How did you know about that?”

“This is the second night in a row that you’re awake with a Stark parent in the dead of night in one of the safest places in the world. Call it a hunch.” 

Peter lets out an involuntary snort. “Yeah…It’s been a solid two weeks since I got a good night of sleep.”

“Two Fridays ago?”

“Yeah.”

“Why? Did you procrastinate? Too many Spidey hours?”

“No, no, I was ready just…nervous I guess. Not sure why. I guess because I had a lot of tough academic classes this semester. There’s just kind of an air of tension, you know? Even if I feel okay, if everyone else is stressed out, I just kind of pick up on that. I guess it’s my senses.”

“That makes sense.”

“And sometimes I tend to just….hang on to that tension even after the school year is over, you know? After I took my first AP Exam, I had three separate dreams that I was taking the exam over again. It’s like a high that I can’t come down from or something.”

“Mmm.” Tony hums his attention while giving special care to a particularly tough knot near the base of Peter’s neck. “Geez, kid, we really have to work on your posture. No more studying in bed.”

“Oh, yeah, May told me not to do that.”

“Wait, did you actually study in bed?”

“…..Yeah.”

“Pete. Kid. You’re too smart for this. Seriously, you should only sleep in your bed. Anything else encourages you to be awake in that space.”

“When did you become an expert on this stuff?”

“When I became a workaholic and was doing work in the comfort of my bed that I couldn’t ever sleep in because my mind was always buzzing with work to be done.”

“Oh….ah!” Peter flinches as Tony pushes his metal thumb against the aforementioned knot. 

“Sorry, bud. This one’s a booger.”

Peter squirms uncomfortably as Tony presses on the tough spot in his back, sucking in a harsh breath when the man ups the pressure but sagging in relief when he eases off. 

“Anything else bothering you?” Tony prompts quietly as he places his flesh hand over the base of Peter’s neck to massage the top of his spine. 

Peter nearly groans as Tony works at the new spot of tension he’s found. “….No, not really.”

“You hesitated.”

“So?” There’s more discomfort than bite in Peter’s tone.

“You’re not exactly one to choose your words carefully, Pete.” Tony’s lowers his voice and evens out his tone as much as he can. “You speed through every conversation like that ugly blue hedgehog thing.”

“Sonic.”

“Sure,” Tony shrugs. “But we were talking about you hesitating.”

“You were, really.” 

“Sure, I was, but it really is one of your tells for when you’re not being totally honest with me.”

“Since when do you pay so much attention to me?” Peter’s nostrils flare just a bit after the fact.

“Ooo so that’s it, then? Feeling neglected by your mentor-slash-idol?” Tony has laced jest into his tone to compensate for the pinched brows Peter cannot see. He knows Peter looks up to him as a father figure, especially considering all they’ve been through together, and icy guilt stabs through him as he thinks of Peter missing him and longing for his re-assurance in these last days of the semester. “You know I’m always a video call away, buddy.”

“I know….” Peter winces, and Tony apologizes quietly. “…but you’re busy.”

“I’m retired, kid. Not a superhero anymore, remember? And Pepper and her people run Stark Industries.”

“You were just in Wakanda for two weeks.”

“That was…a friendly visit, we’ll call it.” Tony pats Peter’s back lightly and reclines against the couch cushions. “That’s all I can do for now, kiddo. Hand’s too tired.”

“Thanks.” Peter rolls his shoulders and settles back, too, distanced from Tony at the other end of the couch. 

“Seriously, though.” Tony levels Peter with a gaze, and the teen can’t look away. “Anything you need, any time, Peter. I’m here for you. I didn’t invent time travel to get you back and pawn you off on May again.” 

Peter nods, his face unreadable as he continues to stare at Tony like an animal deciding if he’s trustworthy or not.

“C’mere, squirt.” Tony holds out an arm and blinks when Peter hesitates before crawling into his partial embrace. The man sighs and leans his head back, tracing the barely visible grooves in the wood paneled ceiling. “Do you remember the last time we sat like this?”

“Yesterday?”

“Yes, smartass, but I was thinking more about the hour. The last time we were both up at 3am.”

Peter considers for a moment, following Tony’s gaze before realization seems to strike him; his eyes widen a fraction before falling to the coffee table. 

“Oh, yeah.” 

Tony squeezes Peter’s shoulder.

“We didn’t do a lot this year. We were both too busy on the day of to go to his grave.”

“Does that bother you?”

“A little…but it’s not like he knows. And…I don’t know if we really wanted to this year, you know? With everything that’s happened, death is just such a weird thing to think about right now.”

“That makes sense.”

Peter’s breath catches just a bit. “She gave some of his stuff away the other day. She asked me to help her carry it out to her car, and she didn’t even…acknowledge it or whatever.”

Tony is quiet for a moment. “I’m sorry, buddy.”

Peter is lost in thought for a few moments. “Well, I think so, anyway. She had donation boxes, and they were taped up, but the side was marked, ‘Ben’s Clothes’ and ‘Wedding Pictures.’ I never saw inside, so I don’t know for sure. And like I said, she didn’t say anything, which is weird for her, honestly, so maybe she was just using the boxes.”

“You could ask her.”

“I don’t think so. That would probably upset her…Besides, I doubt she actually did get rid of them, but something about loading all of that stuff into her car just…it felt like the day I first came to them, or when we moved after the blip. So much transition, and the thought of transitioning past Ben on top of how much I haven’t been sleeping was just…”

“The straw that broke the camel’s back.”

“Exactly.” Peter’s voice is thin and quiet, wispy like a passing breeze, strained like a taut muscle, and weighted with meaning like a fierce whisper. 

Tony is rubbing his hand over Peter’s shoulder and pretends not to notice when Peter rubs his hand over his eyes. He does notice the second time, though, and laughs a bit when Peter lets out a loud yawn. “You sleepy now?”

“Yeah. I could sleep for days.”

“Do that. I’ll keep Momo occupied tomorrow-” Tony snorts. “Today. Sleep as long as you need to.” 

“Thanks, Tony.” Peter smiles tiredly and leans his head against Tony’s shoulder; he stares blankly at the fireplace until his eyelids begin to droop. 

“Oh, no. I can’t sleep here tonight; my back is too bad for that.” Tony roughly rubs Peter’s shoulder before shifting to get up. 

Peter grunts and pouts, slouching into the couch. 

“You can’t, either. Morgan won’t let you sleep if you’re down here.”

“True…” Peter rises with him.

“Hey, if this sleepless stuff persists, I’ll get some of the stuff we gave Steve when he was fighting insomnia after-….some stuff happened.”

“Yeah, okay. Thank you.”

“No problem at all, bud.”

They climb the stairs in silence, pad down the hall and turn to face each other when they reach their respective doors.

“Night, Pete.” Tony whispers, hand on his doorknob.

“Night, Tony.” Peter lingers for just a moment as Tony goes into his room. 

The man turns to close his door but stops when he catches Peter still waiting. His brows crease, and he moves to come back out, but Peter shakes his head and looks at the floor shyly, before waving for Tony to go. Tony considers Peter for a moment, squinting at the kid before he sighs silently and nods, closing the door all the way. 

Peter sighs and goes into his own room, closing the door silently behind him before he crawls into bed and falls into a dead sleep until that afternoon.  

(Tony only slightly regrets promising to entertain Morgan on 4 hours of sleep.) 

[jovialyouthmusic]

Silver Service

A Royal Romance AU fanfic sequel to Protect and Serve

Damien and Bastien make some progress as they work together

Word Count 3427

A/N Things get very complicated. No warnings - a little fluff and a lot of intrigue

7 Progress

‘Livvy, you didn’t come last night’ Liam murmured to Olivia as they stood in the dining room picking out items for breakfast.

‘My time of the month’ she whispered back ‘No luck this cycle, it’ll be at least ten days before we can try again’ Liam picked out a sausage and some bacon, and Olivia went for grilled tomato and scrambled egg.

‘Will you come tonight?’ he asked, scanning the room to make sure nobody was watching their clandestine conversation

‘There’s not really much point’ Olivia said

‘Indulge a lonely monarch’ he replied, and Olivia laughed aloud

‘Oh Liam that’s so funny’ she said loudly to cover her indiscretion. Madeleine turned to look at her, rolled her eyes and turned back to her toast as Olivia raised an elegant eyebrow at her in challenge.

‘If not for your King, then for your friend’ he said quietly ‘Please, just for company’

‘I can’t promise’ she said quietly ‘The passages aren’t as good as at the Palace’

‘Bastien can help you get in without being seen’ Liam’s plate was full and he gave her one last pleading look before he went to sit at the head of the table, greeting Kiara and Penelope.

------

Damien scratched just under his nose, staring at the computer screen. There was something odd about Justin, and he couldn’t put his finger on it. He seemed to have just appeared out of thin air at about the same time as Leo’s abdication. The King’s Guard hadn’t caught on simply because Lucretia Nevrakis had vouched for him personally and provided documents that to his eye were totally bogus, so he had been considered a low security risk. Bastien was angry at the lapse in the vetting procedure, and was currently giving the whole of his staff a dressing down, arranging for even more stringent measures and rechecking the entire staff at the Palace and at the Manor.

Lisa had also been vouched for by Lucretia, but she at least could be traced properly as the daughter of one of the Duchess’s loyal staff. Thankfully there were no other members of staff from the Palace or Applewood with similar backgrounds, and Bastien ordered an investigation into employees at other houses that had or were about to host the Royal family during the social season and the upcoming charity tour. He issued a warning to the heads of all the other noble houses and strongly recommended that they recheck the credentials of all their house staff and incomers.

‘So why would Lisa go to such great lengths – why would such a young woman be prepared to die for the cause?’ Bastien asked Damien, sitting as the detective paced the room. They were brainstorming recent events with Lewis, trying to find the link between Lisa and the Sons of the Earth.

‘With a device like that, she could have been going to use it to take someone out, but she’d have had to be close to the target’ he replied ‘Or it could just have made a diversion while assassins or saboteurs gained access to the building’

‘That’s true’ Lewis replied ‘It was chaos when it went off – if anyone had tried to take over the Palace it would have been a good opportunity – though I think our arrangements were adequate at the time, it would  have given them the advantage of surprise.’

‘Lisa had access to Liam and Leo some weeks ago – just before I helped arrange Liam’s bachelor party in New York.’ Bastien mused ‘Leo came to visit and went on a drinking spree with Liam and Drake. Drake tells me she was intimate with himself and Leo, but not Liam. That would have been a good opportunity to kill or maim the princes.’

‘Perhaps her target was Liam and she couldn’t get close enough with her phone’ Lewis said. Damien scratched his head

‘Maybe – but why did she detonate it in the interrogation room? There was no prospect of hurting Liam’

‘She realised she’d been discovered and wasn’t useful any more. Perhaps she thought if she killed or injured you it would be advantageous to whoever she was faithful to. She was moments away from having her phone confiscated’

‘I can’t understand how it got past security checks. We’re still trying to analyse the explosives used – it was small and undetectable but very powerful. If they have access to that type of weaponry we’re in serious trouble’ Lewis suddenly groaned

‘I remember now, Lisa was always giving the patrol dogs treats – they always made a fuss of her, so if they’d jumped up at her or shown signs that they’d detected the explosives it would have been passed off. She may not even have been carrying it past security on the day she used it, she may have hidden it somewhere. All she had to do was hide it in an airtight container. Metal detectors would have found it so she probably hadn’t had it in place for long’

‘She was the daughter of one of Duchess Lucretia’s staff –her entire family worked for the Duchess, and were intensely loyal to the Nevrakis family, and that’s not going to help Liam’s plans for the succession – he’s planning for Lucretia’s niece Olivia to provide him with an heir’ Bastien replied, filling in facts for Damien.

‘I thought you said he wasn’t going to have a Queen?’ Damien asked

‘He isn’t - but under Cordonian law he can either have any unmarried noble lady bear him a child, or name someone of noble descent to be heir if he can’t sire a child.’ Damien looked thoughtful

‘What sort of relationship does Lucretia have with her niece?’

‘There’s no love lost between them. When Olivia’s parents died when she was very young, Lucretia was her only living relative. She left her at Nevrakis Castle with only staff to look after her, and young Liam talked his father into letting her stay at the Palace until Lucretia was persuaded to come back to Lythikos and look after her. Even then, Olivia spent around half her year at the Palace and half with her aunt.’

‘That’s cold’ Damien said grimly ‘I’d like to talk to Lucretia’

‘You can try, but she’s a determined woman. She won’t give anything away, I’ve already tried. She refuses to say anything. She was being held at the Palace but we’ve had to move her to a police cell. We don’t have time to go there today, so we’ll have to leave it until tomorrow’

‘She may well be more willing to talk to someone not involved in the whole thing’ Damien said ‘We should visit her’

-------

Riley reached out and smoothed Drake’s hair off his forehead. He started awake. It was late afternoon, and his belly told him lunch had been a while ago.

‘What? What’s happening? Riley – heck I fell asleep didn’t I?’ He sat up in bed, rubbing his eyes, the sheet falling away from his broad chest. Riley bit her lip and felt yet another tingle in her centre.

‘Mmm yes you did, lover boy. I love spending time with you, but I think maybe we should go down to dinner’

‘We should? We can get someone to send food up again’ he grinned and leaned over to kiss her lips, hand snaking from her shoulder down to her bare hip. She leaned into him, her hand caressing the scruff on his cheek. Reluctantly she dew back.

‘We really should show our faces or folk will begin to think we’re having non stop sex’

‘We are having non stop sex.’ He grinned ‘I can’t thank housekeeping enough for giving us a room without a party wall’

‘Seriously Drake, I’m not complaining – but I’m a little concerned that you don’t seem to want to leave the bedroom. Is anything bothering you?’ Riley gazed at him, a worried expression on her face. Drake sighed and leaned back against the headboard.

‘I just – after what Lisa did, and Bastien taking two bullets that were meant for Liam, life feels so fragile. I just want to feel alive’ Riley leaned her cheek on her hand, propped up on her elbow

‘Okay, but there must be things you want to do other than keep me hostage in your bedroom’ she teased

‘Our bedroom’ he smiled ‘We have to stay fairly close to Liam for now. We could go riding, or I could take you for a spin in one of Liam’s sports cars’

‘Liam has sports cars – plural?’ Riley said, perking up ‘That might make up for Bastien taking Sophia out on a motorbike’

‘Well yeah’ Drake said ‘Sadly they’re all at the Palace, but we could take a drive in one of the SUVs. There’s lots of Cordonia you haven’t seen yet.’

‘Well I’ll be seeing it on the charity tour’ Drake waved his hand dismissively

‘You need to see the places in between’ he said ‘Not the places where the swanky nobles get together and congratulate themselves on being rich and powerful. We don’t need to go far’

‘Sounds interesting’ Riley said. Drake slid to the edge of the bed and put his feet on the floor.

‘Okay, we’ll go tomorrow, take a couple of days off – we’ve earned them. But first, let’s go and eat – I’m starving’

------

Olivia tapped softly on Liam’s door that evening, casting a grateful glance down the corridor to where Bastien stood on watch for any stragglers on their way back to their rooms. The door opened swiftly and Liam ushered her in. She turned to him and to her surprise he embraced her warmly and planted a kiss on her cheek. He gazed into her eyes for a moment before pulling back, taking her hand and leading to the couch, a fire lit in the grate and casting its glow around the room. On the table beside the fire was a jug of Lythikos nog and a plate of spiced biscuits popular in her duchy.

‘Liam, this is – thankyou, it’s very kind’ Olivia gasped

‘I thought you might be feeling a little homesick after spending so much time away’ he said ‘Can I pour you a glass?’ She smiled at how attentive he was, hovering eagerly as she sat down.

‘Yes, a glass would be wonderful. How did Chef source the spices? It’s a closely guarded secret’

‘I sent someone over to Lythikos to get everything’ he replied ‘I wanted to get it right. They gave chef a jar of the spices so the recipe’s safe. The cookies are authentic too.’ He brought a glass over for her, and turned back to put one of the cookies on a plate for her. She sat sipping and nibbling. It really did make her feel better – she had been feeling bloated even though the cramps had gone, and she knew the nog would sooth her stomach. Liam took some too, and sat watching her.

‘How’s the nog? Did chef get it right?’ he asked anxiously, his foot tapping nervously.

‘It’s just right, tell her she’s done a good job.’ She put her glass down

‘Why did you do this Liam? Why are you being so – nice?’ He looked sheepish.

‘I realised I’d not really spent so much exclusive time with a lover before’ he said ‘you know what it’s like for me, I can’t have any scandal, so most of my – encounters have been fast and short lived. It’s been nice to have company – even if you’re back in your own room before morning’ Olivia was taken aback – and felt genuine pity for the King. She didn’t know quite what to say in reply. ‘Plus – you offered to solve a problem for me, and I’d like to be sure you’re happy with the arrangement. Are you happy with the arrangement?’ Liam was almost babbling, and she leaned over to put her hand on his arm.

‘Yes Liam, I am’ she said ‘It might be nice to wake up together, but it’s too risky. We still have to be discrete’ He nodded.

‘You’re right of course’ he said, and leaned back into the chair, putting his glass and plate back on the table. He ran his fingers through his hair and the firelight brought out the burnished gold in it. Olivia wasn’t one for displays of affection, but at that moment her heart ached and she wanted to heal his loneliness. Truth be told, she was lonely too, but she had been since she had lost her parents, so it was normal for her.

Liam was the sort of person who deserved love, deserved to have someone to fight his corner, look after him, make him feel like someone special beyond being near absolute monarch. He deserved a family, the warmth of someone devoted to him, the laughter of children. She so wanted to be the one who loved and was loved back. She wasn’t even sure how to give him the warmth he needed. They were broken, and perhaps – just perhaps through the bond of a child they could begin to find what they needed to heal.

------

Sophia woke in a cold sweat, sitting up suddenly in bed with a cry. Bastien took mere moments to realise what was happening, and sat up to draw her to him, stroking her hair and soothing her.

‘Shh shh my English rose, my goddess, it’s alright, you’re safe’ It had been days since she had nightmares about Justin, and this one had been particularly vivid. She buried her face into Bastien’s and felt the steady reassuring thump of his heartbeat. Something niggled at the back of her mind and she thought hard.

‘It was – I was back in Nevrakis castle in front of Lucretia and Justin’ she said ‘I remember now, she said something that struck me as odd, and I’ve only just remembered it’

‘Your memory may play tricks on you after the ordeal you went through, my love’ Bastien said softly

‘It’s important – and if I’m right, Riley will remember it too.’ she insisted

‘What did she say, theá mou?’ he asked, curiously

‘Is Olivia her only niece?’

‘Yes, Olivia’s father was her only other sibling’

‘She said her niece was betrothed to Anton Severus’ Bastien’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.

‘Did she really? That could make serious complications for Liam if he wants Olivia to provide an heir’

‘Then we need to check with Riley first thing, to see if she remembers it too’

------

Lucretia Nevrakis sat in the interrogation room, arms folded and lips pursed. Her lawyer sat next to her, looking nervous. Damien guessed the Duchess was a hard taskmaster.

‘I’m asking you again Lucretia’ Bastien said firmly ‘Did you or did you not tell Sophia and Riley that your niece Olivia is betrothed to Anton Severus?’ She laughed but otherwise remained silent. Bastien had caught up with Riley just before she and Drake took an SUV for a short trip, and she had confirmed what Sophia had told him. Damien leaned toward her, palms braced on the tabletop, elbows locked.

‘You do realise that Liam will be able to annul the betrothal, don’t you?’ he asked ‘He is King after all’ Again Lucretia barked with laughter and her lawyer winced.

‘That is where you’re wrong’ she said in an amused tone, breaking her silence at last. ‘My family holds a very important place in Cordonian law. The boy king is powerless to interfere in any matters concerning the marriage or inheritance of the Nevrakis family’ She smiled archly ‘I’m sure Mr Lykel will tell you that should the Rys family not produce an heir, the next in line to the throne is the head of the Nevrakis family – which at present is Olivia’ Her lawyer leaned toward her and opened her mouth, but she waved her hand at her impatiently like swatting away a fly.

‘I find it hard to believe that Olivia is betrothed to someone she doesn’t know – and who has never showed his face in public’ Bastien said ‘It won’t do much good to anyone if nobody knows his identity’

‘Oh I’m sure he’ll make himself known soon enough’ she said disdainfully. Bastien sighed and leaned back, letting Damien take over.

‘Your Grace, did you know Lisa Marcellus?’ he asked. She raised her eyebrows and her lawyer frowned but didn’t say anything.

‘The name is vaguely familiar’ she replied

‘We understand that her mother is a member of your staff – Irma Marcellus’ She shrugged in answer

‘What of it?’ Damien fixed her with his gaze.

‘Two days ago, whilst being questioned by the guard, she detonated an explosive device in her phone, and sadly lost her life.’ He paused to watch her reaction. Her expression flickered for a moment, then she regained her composure

‘I’m sorry to hear that’ she sniffed haughtily ‘Her mother will be very upset I’m sure’

‘Your Grace, have you any idea why Lisa was so willing to take her own life?’ he asked ‘She was young and had her whole life ahead of her’

‘I really don’t know. Do you expect me to know what’s in the mind of all the offspring of my staff?’ Damien sat down again.

‘Lucretia, I presume as you told Miss Turner and Miss Riley about the betrothal, you have met Anton Severus and can identify him’ Bastien asked. She tossed her head and pursed her lips.

‘I refuse to say anything else’ Bastien’s phone buzzed at that point. He excused himself and went out to answer Sophia’s call. He knew she would only call him in an emergency.

‘What is it, theá mou?’ he asked when he was somewhere private.

‘Bastien, I’ve been thinking over that dream, and what was said when I was at the Castle. I remembered something else – it may be nothing – but when we were taken to the cells at Lucretia’s castle the guards said ‘when our leader visits you’ before Justin came to us. I may be wrong – but do you think Justin could be Anton?’ Bastien went hot and cold all at once and his head swam. He had to brace himself against the wall as pieces fell into place, and he cursed himself for not seeing it sooner.

‘Bastien?’ Sophia’s voice startled him

‘Yes – I – thankyou my love, you may well be right.’ He steadied himself and made his way back to pull Damien out of the interrogation room to confer in a nearby office. He went over what Sophia had just told him, and Damien mulled it over for a while.

‘So’ he said  ‘From what you tell me and from the research I did, the Severus family were very important in the Cordonian nobility right up to Constantine’s father’s reign. At some point, when Constantine was a child, Duke Alfred Severus committed some act of treason and was stripped of his title and lands. He went off into exile with his wife and children, initially to Monaco, then seems to have disappeared. Justin – or Anton must then be the grandson of Alfred.’

‘That’s correct’ affirmed Bastien, steepling his fingers together and swivelling in his chair as Damien paced the room.

‘So’ continued Damien ‘Interpol is searching for the birth records of both Justin and Anton, without success, though so far they’ve just covered most countries in Europe. He may have another alias, or we may have to look further afield. I don’t know Cordonian law, but surely the Severus family can’t claim the throne because of the charge of treason’ Bastien frowned.

‘Perhaps Anton has proof that there was no treason, perhaps he will just contend the charge, or maybe he plans to take it back by force, with support from sympathisers or discontents. There must also have been some communication between Olivia’s parents and Anton’s at some point’

‘So how does that work?’ asked Damien ‘How can Lady Olivia be betrothed to a family that committed treason and isn’t even in the country?’ Bastien sighed, rubbing his forehead.

‘I’m going to have to reveal something that Constantine covered up, which until now I didn’t think was relevant to the succession. It was something I hoped to keep secret, but Olivia is more and more involved, and she has to know from me before it’s revealed by either Lucretia or Anton, as it seems increasingly likely if they discover she’s attempting to provide Liam with an heir.’

‘What is it?’ Damien asked curiously

‘I have to talk to Liam and Olivia first’ said Bastien. ‘We have to go back to Applewood’

Next Chapter 8a Deeper and Closer

[rogerblackwolf]

The Jungle Dragon

-Year 1967-

The alarm rung loudly as the clock reached the morning hour, it's ringing silenced when the one sleeping slammed his hand on it followed by a tired groan. The man laid on his back looking at the ceiling, his eyes adjusting to the low morning rays piercing through the crack between the curtains. The next thing he saw was the face of his wife who was asleep next to him, her face towards him as she laid on her side. Gently he brushed her hair from her face enjoying how beautiful she is, finally she stirred opening her eyes a bit and smiling at his touch.

"Morning." She said quietly.

"Morning hon." He responded before gently kissing her.

"We should get up. Can't waste the day after all." She said as she sat up in the bed, slipping out from under the covers to don her robe.

"You're right I guess." The man responded as he sat up and rubbed his eyes before getting up. The couple went about their morning routine as was normal; the wife began cooking their breakfast as her husband went outside to fetch the paper and take in the sight of their suburban neighborhood. He waved to a couple of his neighbors as they passed by before he returned inside to the smell of bacon and toast. He turned on the radio, tuning it to the station they enjoyed before getting a cup of coffee and sitting down at the table. He unrolled the paper and browsed through the many stories, there had been a few focused on riots in cities about the ongoing war in Vietnam, as well as other issues.

"Anything new in the paper, dear?" His wife asked as she fixed two plates of pancakes, bacon, and buttered toast along with her morning tea.

"Not in particular." He said sitting the paper to the side to dig in. As he did he couldn't help but look at his wife from across the table. She was Korean with shoulder length dark brown hair, her eyes were a dull grey, and her body was slender with some defining curves. Her name was Su Yoon, they had met at an Army hospital in Seoul where he had been treated for shrapnel to his left leg and minor frostbite in his fingers. Seeing her face was the one thing that made the stay bearable and her agreeing to marry him was the single greatest day of his life, one of very few.

"Daniel, is something wrong?" Su asks noticing his stare.

"Hmm? Oh no I'm fine." Daniel responded before returning to eating. She continued to watch him for a moment before he spoke again.

"I was thinking we could go to the park, maybe have a picnic."

"I would like that. The garden's flowers will be in full bloom." She said.

"I remembered you do enjoy the sight." He added as he cracked a smile.

They soon wrapped up breakfast and finished getting dressed when a knock at the door caught Daniel's attention. He went towards it, noticing a black four door sedan park in front, once opening the door he was met with two men dressed in black suits. The two also wore black aviator style sunglasses with reflective black lens.

"Daniel Braxton?" One asked

"Can I help you gentlemen?" Daniel responded

"Yes, sir you can. We need to bring you in. Your expertise is needed." The second man said

It was then the two men showed their badges, to the untrained eye they looked like official CIA Agent IDs. But he knew that they weren't from the CIA.

"Give me a minute." Daniel said before closing the door and checking on his wife. Without saying a word she knew what he was about to do as he got his coat and gave her a kiss goodbye before leaving.

A couple hours afterwards they arrived at a private airfield, where he was then escorted to a waiting SH-3 helicopter, also known as a Sea King. Once he was seated and strapped in he definitely was out of his element, the occasional shaking made him nervous but he put it out of his mind as they neared their destination. Daniel looked out of the window next to his seat and immediately noticed the shape of the building, the Pentagon. Daniel was escorted off the helicopter and into another motorcade, where he met a familiar face. He was an older man around the age of 60 and dressed in a black suit.

"Director Webber, pleasure to meet you again." Daniel said as they shook hands.

"Pleasure's all mine Agent Braxton." He replied.

The motorcade then drove into a secure parking structure, from there the Director escorted him into the Pentagon through several checkpoints before finally arriving in a secure room with the director and another person who was watching several closed circuit televisions. When the man turned around, Daniel immediately stood at attention, for he was in the presence of the President of the United States Lyndon B. Johnson.

"At ease son, there is little time for that now." He said taking a seat at the head of the table.

"It's an honor Mr. President." Daniel said as he took his seat.

"So you're probably wondering why you're here. The answer is we need someone of your particular expertise. Show him." President Johnson said to the general closest to him.

"This radio transmission was isolated from last night by our technicians in Saigon. At 0400 hours a patrol of 15 men from Whiskey Company engaged with what they believed to be NVA soldiers at this position here 20 miles northwest of their Firebase." Webber said revealing a recording device and a tactical map of South Vietnam along with troop movements from various units. He then played the recording, the first sound Daniel could identify readily was the sound of gunfire followed by orders to pull back. What he didn't expect was the sound of trees being crushed and something large letting out a hissing roar before it cuts out to static.

"Two patrols went out at approximately 0600 hours to investigate the site only to find that no bodies were left. Just the weapons and the equipment like the radio and backpacks were recovered." Webber adds

"And why was I selected?" Daniel asked

"The attack happened close to another Firebase that is controlled by our allies, the Republic of Korea's Tiger Division. They have expressed some concern of this thing because not a week earlier their firebase suffered a loss of 7 men from whatever it is. We know you speak Korean, and Tiger Division wants to volunteer six of it's best to your hunt." Director Webber says

"When do I begin?" Daniel asks

"Immediately. The Bureau said you were the best they had. Mr. Braxton...Get it done." President Johnson said.

Braxton nodded before the meeting adjourned and Director Webber escorted Braxton to the bowels of the Pentagon where he met another man, roughly in his late 20s or early 30s and wearing a blue shirt with light colored dress pants.

"Braxton this is one of our researchers, he's going with you to help on your hunt." Webber said.

"Colin Wyman, pleasure sir." Colin said extending his hand.

"Likewise. Can you use a gun?" Daniel asked him.

"Yes I've been trained." Colin said.

"Then stay close." Daniel responded.

Director Webber led the two men to an armory where some rifles were being loaded into weapon crates. He'd noticed the rifles a few times when he was on base in Virginia, it was called the M16 but it seemed different from the ones he'd seen before.

"Mr. Mason, ensure these two men are geared up and ready. They ship out at 0300. Good luck Agents, may your hunt be a success." Director Webber said before leaving. Mason shows them to the armory and told them to get what they needed.

Daniel browsed over the new M16 rifles before holding one in his hand, it was lighter than the M1 Garand he was issued in the Marines.

"That's the new XM16E1, or M16 if you prefer, don't let its lightweight design fool ya this puppy is due to replace the M14 pretty soon. It's got a forward assist and a twenty round magazine, it's also chambered in the new 5.56 round. More control and accuracy due to less recoil." Mason explained.

"Impressive. I'll take the M14, the 1911A1, and this knife." Daniel said taking a kabar knife whilst putting the M16 back on it's rack. Colin settled for a 12 gauge shotgun, an Ithaca Model 37, and grabbed his satchel of scientific gear. Finally the two men were suited up for the jungles of Vietnam. After several grueling flights the duo arrive at their destination the next morning, meeting their contact who takes them to the Firebase. Here they met with the Korean volunteers, six men who had been trained by hardened vets of the Korean War. Daniel briefs the men with help from Colin whilst also ensuring they get to know their new M16 rifles. Once everyone was brought up to speed, the team boarded a Huey and took to the sky. Once they were high enough Colin took out a device resembling a geiger counter. He waved it side to side as they flew, when the device started beeping everyone looked at Colin as the pilot flew towards the signal's origin. The signal held steady as Daniel spotted a open field for them to land. Once the landing zone had been secured the team ventured into the jungle whilst keeping an eye out for any NVA Forces, who had been active in the region for some time. Daniel had two men take point whilst he protected Colin, the remaining four kept their eyes and ears open to any sign, anything that shouldn't be there. One of the pointmen crouched down slowly finding a speck of blood Daniel noticed as well as he scanned the area, the group carefully steps into the foliage finding scattered AK-47s, a few mutilated corpses, and even a pair of legs under a toppled tree with no torso, Colin resisted gagging.

"These are NVA." Daniel says

"A patrol?" Colin asks

"No, too many weapons, more like a whole platoon." Daniel said seeing the blood is still fresh so their quarry was nearby. As they investigate the site Colin photographs a set of tracks whilst also trying his device, Daniel tapped his shoulder making him see a clear trail of crushed foliage and several toppled trees. Daniel had him stay close as the group followed the trail, reaching a low river splitting the jungle, Daniel crouched next to one of several big boulders. Colin heard his device as the beeping intensified to a long tone, Daniel and the others already saw the source.

Easily 45 ft long from nose to tail covered in a spiky leathery skin, a pair of horns extended from the back of it's head and it's orange eyes stared at the group as it stood in the sunlight. One flick of its tongue made it reveal it's row of meat hook like teeth, it looked like a dragon with its front legs propped on a log, the claws digging into the bark. Daniel noticed the twinges of fear in the young men, looks he had seen many times before.

Without warning the beast charged with lightning speed, everyone only managed to get a burst of fire from their rifles as it slammed right in the middle of them. Somehow it missed the group and Colin rolled out from under it whilst firing his shotgun into it's belly. The beast let out a screech of pain as it swiped and bit wildly as it was set upon by the soldiers. One of the team even managed to stab the beast with his knife, the small blade stabbing deep into the underside of the leg. The beast let out another screech as it retaliated with a swipe of it's clawed feet sending blood and body flying into a tree.

Daniel fired his M14 taking out an eye, which made him it's new focus. The beast turned and charged Daniel with it's mouth open, at the last second Daniel dodged making the beast slam its head against a boulder with such a crack he was surprised it was only stunned. He quickly drew his kabar knife throwing his body into the neck of the beast, his knife stabbing and slicing a gaping wound that poured blood all over the surrounding area. The injury sent the beast thrashing in pain before it finally collapsed in a heap, Colin was in awe that it was still breathing albeit with great effort. Braxton pulled his 1911A1 from his holster, emptying his magazine into the beast's head.

The team then tended to their wounded man, whose injuries were shallow and a bad concussion to top it off, Daniel knew he'd survive which gave him some relief. Once Daniel made sure his team was all good and Colin had the photos along with some samples, they followed protocol by destroying the beast with thermate grenades. Colin noticed a few of the men talking among themselves and a couple in particular were animated in their gestures.

"What're they saying?" He asked Daniel.

"They can't believe what just happened." He replied.

Colin had similar thoughts but he knew that for other Agents this was just another day, if they came back.

Daniel radioed an extraction which arrived once they made it back to the field. The trip back to the Firebase felt shorter somehow but he didn't mind, once they arrived Daniel and Colin had received thanks from the Base commander for avenging their fallen. The duo were then taken back to the airport where they took several more flights back to D.C. and delivered their report personally to Director Webber and President Johnson.

Colin and Daniel then got back into civilian clothes before they finally parted ways

"If you're ever in Virginia, my door is open, me and my wife will receive you gladly." Daniel said to Colin.

"I just might do that. See you around Braxton." Colin said before leaving him to be escorted to his transport home.

When Daniel finally arrived home it was late at night, but his house's light was still on. He took a breath before entering, and is surprised by his wife waiting for him.

"Welcome home dear." She said with a smile.

Daniel couldn't help but return the smile before embracing her. The couple then went straight to bed as both were glad that Daniel was finally home again.

[sergeanttucker]

Work it out

Characters - John Seed x Deputy

Summary: It’s quiet, too quiet to be exact. Normally, John annoyed the junior deputy at least once or twice a week and talked about wanting to save her and the only thing she needed to do was confess her sins and atone, then she would be welcome in the new Eden.

Warning: None i can think of

Word count: 1816

AN - Tell me if you like it and send me a request

______________________________________________________

It’s quiet, too quiet to be exact. Normally, John annoyed the junior deputy at least once or twice a week and talked about wanting to save her and the only thing she needed to do was confess her sins and atone, then she would be welcome in the new Eden. For a few weeks, however, it's quiet, even the attacks in Holland Valley have become less and that's unusual. It's also a week since John was last seen, which was also very unusual. 

So, what does a dedicated young deputy do? Right, she finds out what’s going on.

The valley ride had never been so quiet since arriving here, only a few Peggies were patrolling the patrols, but they quickly disappeared when they realized who was at the wheel. She frowned at this and watched them in the rearview mirror to see what they would do, which was surprisingly nothing at all.

“What the hell?” She murmured and continued in high alert towards John’s Ranch. Could it be possible she went straight into a trap? Just to be on the safe side, she grabbed her radio to inform Mary May of her plan. “Uh ... Mary? just wanted to let you know that I’m on my way to the Seed Ranch. Something is not right; it’s too quiet and I want to find out what’s going on.” For a few seconds it was quiet before her radio made a noise and Mary answered. 

“Do you think that’s a good idea? Maybe you should take someone with you. Sharky and Hurk are here, I can ask them to meet you there.” She scrunched her face at that. She loved these guys with their whole being, but they were hardly the right people for such a mission.

“Thanks, Mary, but I better do it alone. Besides, I have to sneak and that’s something these two are terrible at. If I need rocket launcher and flamethrower, I will contact you again.”  “Fine, just try to not do anything stupid, ok?” Rook grinned and rolled her eyes.

Since she arrived, the bar owner was like a mother to her. She always had some advice and was the first to give a lecture to Rook for stupid activities. The worst part was when she had that typical Mum voice and told her how foolish and dangerous her last mission was.

A thought occurred to her. Maybe she should try to contact John? After all, there was the possibility that he would answer, he had already done so before, so why not today? Rook picked up the radio she’d previously put in the passenger seat, switched on another channel and held it to her mouth. “Hey John, are you there?” She waited a while before she tried again. “Jooohhhnnn?” she tried it with a sing-song voice, without success. “Come on, Johnny. I haven’t heard from you for so long. I’m starting to worry.”

 Again, no answer. That was weird, especially considering how much John likes to talk. She did not like admitting it but she actually started to worry. She had become so accustomed to his voice; it was strange to not hear from him for a while. Rook threw the radio back on the seat and increased the speed with which she drove, something was definitely wrong.

She parked her old truck away from the ranch, grabbed her radio and gun, and got out to walk the last few meters. Some Peggies guarded the gate, but Rook easily beat them unconscious and sneaked to the front door of the house. She could neither see nor hear anyone and took the stairs to the upper floor. At the top, a Peggie came out of one of the rooms with a mug in his hand, and Rook knocked him out with the handle of her weapon before he could alert or attack anyone. 

She put her ear to the door from which he came out and tried to hear if anyone was inside. She heard someone coughing followed by a soft curse. Rook frowned and waited a moment before grabbing the door handle and slowly opening the door, her pistol still in her hand. When it was open, Rook hardly believed what she saw and stood motionless in the door frame. Surrounded by crumpled tissues lay a sniffling John with a red nose and black rings under his eyes. “You’re kidding me.” Rook said, lowering her gun.

“I thought you planned something diabolical and in truth you’re just sick? Really?” To be honest, she felt stupid. She had honestly expected a master plan, not a sick man in bed waiting for someone to serve him a cup of tea. The Deputy’s sudden presence didn’t disturb John, and he only looked annoyed at her.

He looked like a five-year-old boy who’s forbidden to eat sweets, with arms folded over his chest and a pouting expression on his face. “Henry was just getting me tea before you knocked him out.”

Rook frowned and looked at him disbelievingly. Was he serious? The only thing that bothered him was that he doesn’t get tea? “Come on, John. I just broke into your house and knocked your guards out and you complain about your tea?”

“Yeah, doesn't matter if you kill me now. It won’t take long until I’m dead anyway.” Rook raised an eyebrow at him and cocked her head to the side.

“You have only caught a cold. Keep calm.”

Walking toward John's bed, she glanced around the room and into the open Wardrobe. Everything inside of it looked ridiculous expensive, probably Gucci or Louis Vuitton or something like this. She stroked one of the fabrics with her fingers before turning around to face John again. Even his sheets were silk, for fuck's sake!

“I´m not sick. I´m dying.” As if to proof his point, John started coughing and sniffling, reaching on his bedside table for another tissue. He dropped his head back onto his pillow with his arm over his eyes and sighed dramatically. Rook only rolled her eyes at him before taking a seat at the edge of his bed, poking him with her gun to get his attention. “You are way too dramatic, Seed. You will be fine in a few days.” John peeked at her from under his hand as a small smile tugged at his lips.

“Are you going to take care of me, Deputy? It's your duty to take care of people, isn´t it?” For a moment, she blankly stared at him. Why did he have to do this all the time? He always turned her words against her and it annoyed Rook to no end.

“You wish.”

A full-grown smirk took place on his face, which angered her even more. “I do.” He winked at her and was about to make a stupid remark as another coughing fit hit him. Rook scrunched her face in disgust and leaned back to create more space between them. The last thing she needed right now was for John to infect her too.

 “Well, now that you are already here would you be so kind and bring me a glass of water?” Innocence was written all over his face when he asked this and if she didn´t know better Rook would believe that he was just an ordinary sick man. But he was John.

Squinting her eyes at him, she sighed heavy and took the empty glass to fill it in the bathroom, returning it to him when she came back. “Don´t get used to it. I’m not your maid.”

He only smiled over the rim of his glass as she, once again, sat on the edge of his bed. “Now tell me what´s going. It's too quiet. I don´t like it.” Now it was his time to raise his eyebrow at her.

“You don´t like the peace? That’s new.”

“Oh, it's not the peace that bothers me. it's the possibility you and your family plan something big.” John licked his dry lips and adjusted his position in bed into a more sitting one. “Well, maybe I´m just tired of war?” He had a serious expression on his face and watched confused how Rook snorted disbelieving.

 Of course, she didn’t believe him. “I know you don´t believe me, but I use my bed rest not only as a break for me but also as a break for the war we have. And I know you won’t believe me when I say that I don´t do all this because I enjoy it. It’s about being prepared for whatever happens, so we’re welcome in the new Eden.”

Astonished, she just looked at him. She didn’t expect him to say something like this. He didn´t enjoy what he did? It sure as hell looked like it when he carved her flesh and almost drowned her!

“If you don´t enjoy it and want these things to end then why don´t you do something about it? There are ways besides killing and destroying. They are your brothers; they will listen to you!” A million thoughts run through her head; John could be the solution for this mess! Now that he admitted these things Rook needed to convince him to do the right thing and help her end all this.

 “I don’t know if they will listen to me, and even if they do; I don´t think they will just lay down their weapons and pretend nothing ever happened. And your friends won’t either.” He got a point. After all that happened, it is very unlikely that the people of the resistance just go back to their everyday lives.

 “Maybe we can work out a deal. A peace contract or something like this.” Could this work? Can´t hurt to try; If everyone agrees it could be a new beginning without this endless fight. John pondered for a moment. His brothers were reasonable people and at least Joseph would probably listen to what he had to say.

“We should try. I will talk to them in the next few days and you should do the same with your people. We can meet here again in about a week.” A hopeful smile broke onto Rook’s face and made her eyes glint as she nodded approving at him. “Sounds good, I´m in.”

 John returned her smile and reached for a bottle on his bedside table. He took the glass from which he had previously drunk water and poured something from the mysterious bottle into it before he gave it to Rook. Skeptically, Rook took the bottle and started to laugh as she read what was written on it.

“Cough Syrup?” He grinned boyishly at her and shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t have any alcohol but we have to toast, don´t we?” Rook giggled and raised the bottle, as he did with his glass, before she took a sip and sealed the deal.

______________________________________________________

Congratulations, you made it to the end !! I´m new to the writing thing and Feedback is highly appreciated! Oh, and if your eyes are bleeding from the bad grammar, then let me know! I’m from Germany and my English is a little rusty, so please point out the mistakes I made. Oh, and should you have a request, send me an ask!

[lamptracker]

‘I think i wanna marry you’ - Headcanon extravaganza

FIC: ‘I think i wanna marry you’

Summary: Five boys (Tom Holland, Harrison Osterfield, Harry Holland, Sam Holland, and Jacob Batalon) and the moment they knew they wanted to marry you.

It’s like five headcanons in one, y’all!

Tom

So Tom knew he wanted to marry you about two months after you moved in together

He’d just come home from a meeting with his agent

It was mid-afternoon but he was a little tired, for some reason

(Meetings are dull, so he always needs a nap after, the poor tired boy)

He heard music coming from the bedroom, not an unusual occurrence

The door was open and there you were, folding laundry, with your 90s playlist going

Now playing: “Ice Ice Baby” by Vanilla Ice

Super-cheesy 90s rap song

But you knew every word and were rapping along expertly

“Dance, go rush the speaker that booms, I’m killing your brain like a poisonous mushroom/Deadly when I play a dope melody, anything less than the best is a felony”

He just stood in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe, smiling like an idiot at his girl dancing around and rapping

He thought you looked so cute

“The girlies on standby, waving just to say - Oh, hey, Tom.”

(This was the part when Tom expected you to behave like a normal girl - turn beet red, quickly switch off the phone, and giggle shyly)

But not you

You flashed him the cheekiest grin you could muster

“You need to spit this next verse with me, Holland, don’t pretend you don’t know the words”

He just shrugged and said, “Alright”

“Girls were hot wearing less than bikinis, Rockman lovers driving Lamborghinis/Jealous ‘cause I’m out getting mine, Shay with a gauge and Vanilla with a nine”

But he did help you fold

The song faded out and into another cheesy 90s tune

“Truly Madly Deeply” by Savage Garden

You dropped the towel you were folding and grasped his hand

“Come on, baby, dance with me”

You wrapped your arms around his neck as his went around your waist

And that was when he knew

This girl was not afraid to not only rap along to goofy early-90s hip-hop, she encouraged him to join

And immediately stop what she was doing to enjoy a slow dance in the middle of the bedroom with him

He knew he had something special in you and he decided he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you

Harrison

Harrison knew the morning after he stayed at your place for the first time

You’d stayed at his too many times to count, but he’d not been to yours yet

(And yes, you had discussed moving in together, but you had three months left before you could get out of your lease without having to pay extra)

Anyway

He woke up to a too-empty bed

In his still-sleepy haze he briefly wondered if you’d left

No, Harrison, you div. This is her apartment, where would she go?

The smell of freshly-brewed coffee suddenly hit his nostrils

He smiled to himself as he wandered into your kitchen

You were at the stove, cooking French toast and humming softly to yourself

You had on a pair of pink sleep shorts and the hoodie he’d worn the night before

“Oh, hey, babe. I’m just making us a little breakfast. There’s coffee ready if you want it”

You smiled at him and his entire morning immediately got, just, ten times brighter

Harrison poured a cup of coffee and set it on the table to cool for a minute before drinking

He wrapped his arms around your waist and rested his head on your shoulder while you flipped the bread

“G’mornin’, love” he whispered in your ear

You kissed his forehead - “Hi, Harrison. I was going to make bacon too but I’m out, apparently”

“It’s okay, babe, don’t worry about it - do you have a cup of coffee yet?”

“No, but I could really use some. I was up half the night, wonder why”

And you winked at him as he burst into laughter

Harrison poured you a cup of coffee and set it on the table while you plated the French toast and got out syrup

The two of you ate breakfast together in comfortable silence

Harrison loved that you didn’t even have to say anything, he just relished being in the same room as you

Somewhere during his second piece of French toast he realized he could get used to this

And he wouldn’t mind doing it every day for the rest of his life

Harry

Now, everybody thinks this will involve taking pictures or filming or something

But nah

Harry was having a bad day

He couldn’t figure out why, but everything was just...off for some reason

He’d had a photo shoot that day but the pictures just weren’t turning out

And then somehow the memory card got wiped

He got cut off in line at the tea shop

He spilled his tea all over his shirt

And a series of texts from Sam (who was still in France) made him miss his twin even more

So, he sighed heavily as he entered your apartment

He kicked off his shoes, walked into the bedroom, changed out of his tea-stained shirt and into a clean one, and collapsed face-first onto the bed next to you

(You were catching up on some homework)

“Oh, hey, Harry”

He just kind of waved a little as he mumbled incoherently into the pillow

“What’s...oh, no. Did you have a rough day?”

“Yeah” came his muffled reply

You immediately closed your laptop and set it on your nightstand and started to softly rub his back

“Well, you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but I’ll listen if you do, okay?”

Harry sat up, wrapped his arms around you, and buried his head into the crook of your neck

He suddenly and inexplicably started to cry

(He might have been embarrassed but he was honestly too upset to care)

You didn’t laugh at him or anything

You just held him as he sobbed into your shoulder, fingers carding through his curly red hair soothingly

“It’s just… I was shooting some still life photos today, and they all turned out horribly. Then I wiped my card on accident. Someone cut me in line at the tea place, then I spilled my tea all over myself and then Sam was texting me...I just, I miss him so much and I didn’t even get to drink my tea and I…”

“Ssh, baby, it’s okay. I’m here, I’ve got you, alright?”

You kissed his forehead gently as he let out all of his frustrations

Once the sobbing had subsided he looked up at you

You were smiling at him

“Feel better?”

“A little, yeah,” he nodded

You leaned over and kissed the tears off of his cheeks, gently rubbing the spots afterwards with the pads of your thumbs

“Come on into the kitchen, Harry, I’ll make you some tea, okay?

“That sounds lovely. You know how I like it, right?”

“Of course. 1/16th tea, the rest milk”

Harry snorted as he followed you into the kitchen

“I don’t put that much milk in there, do I?”

“You don’t put that much tea in there, either” you retorted, giving him a quick peck on the star-shaped birthmark just above his upper lip

And he just laughed as you got the kettle ready, the stresses of the day already forgotten

He realized then and there that he didn’t want anyone else to snap him out of a bad mood ever again

Sam

If you think Sam’s involves a piano...well, you’d be right

BUT

He’s not the one playing it

(At least, not at first)

You were out doing some shopping with him and his mom

“Let’s stop in here,” Sam said to the two of you

“Here” is a piano store he likes to frequent

You and Nikki just smiled and shrugged as the three of you walked inside

As Sam browsed the new sheet music, you and Nikki found a grand piano

“Oh, do you play?” Nikki asked you

“I took lessons when I was a kid,” you replied, “but I haven’t played in awhile, though”

Sam overheard and laughed quietly to himself

You sat down at the piano - “Let me see if I can remember anything”

Soon you were plunking out a tune

He recognized it right away - “Truce” by Twenty One Pilots

And he was absolutely mesmerized by your playing

“Haven’t played in awhile, my left arse cheek,” he mumbled to himself. “She’s brilliant”

Sure enough, you played the whole song flawlessly

After you were finished, Sam started to clap

“Beautifully done, darling. Fancy a duet?”

You just laughed and said, “if you say ‘Heart and Soul’ I will stab you in the jaw, Holland”

It was Sam’s turn to laugh then

“No, I’d never put you through that. Do you know ‘All I Ask of You’ from Phantom of the Opera?”

“Uh, that’s only my favorite song to play”

So the two of you played the song together

Sam occasionally looked up from the keys to look at your face, brow furrowed in concentration and lower lip between your teeth

You looked so beautiful

When the song was finished, Nikki was nearly in tears

“You two make such a lovely pair,” she said

“Yeah, we do,” you replied, smiling at him warmly

Sam knew he’d found the perfect duet partner

(And not just for piano, either)

Jacob

Okay, so Jacob’s personal benchmark for a successful relationship is this:

How does she treat my nieces?

He dated a few girls who generally ignored their presence

(nope)

One girl he dated viewed them as annoyances

(NOPE)

One girl, Leslie, claimed to love them (good) and treated them nicely (better) but then he overheard her telling a friend how irritating they were (NOPE NOPE NOPE RED FLAG ABORT MISSION)

But then you came along

He brought you home to Hawaii to meet them

You fell in love with them instantly

You kept them entertained while Jacob caught up with his sister and mom

(honestly, no other girl had volunteered to do that before)

You took them to the park and out for ice cream

When you got back to the house, you all had a Paw Patrol marathon and at one point found yourself in a discussion with his oldest niece about who was better, Chase or Marshall

(You said Marshall, but she was firmly in the Chase camp and not budging)

Jacob came into the living room to find you and his nieces curled up together on the couch, sleeping

His heart started to melt a little bit, but he was still wary

(After the whole Leslie incident)

On the way back to the hotel, completely out of the blue, you said: “Oh, Jacob, I just love your nieces. We had the best time today, they’re super-cool kids”

“Really? You really mean that?”

“Of course. Why would I lie about something like that?”

“Well, it’s just-”

“Yeah, Leslie, I know. But she’s a jerk. And I like to think that I am not a jerk who does, in fact, really dig your nieces”

“That’s a good thing, because I really dig you”

“Oh, Jacob, you’re such a big softy”

“Afraid so”

As he watched you with his nieces that week, he couldn’t help but wonder what you’d be like with his own children, your children

And he wanted nothing more than to find out

[authorellenmint]

A First

My entry for a short story about Warden Alistair for @alistairappreciationweek

Alistair wandered into the campsite swinging around a stick he found while patrolling the perimeter. It was a good stick, a solid stick with a proud lineage, a strong profile, salt of the earth stick. He particularly liked a branch at the gripping end to protect his hand should any darkspawn appear out of the ground when he has to use the little boy bushes. He glanced over at the campfire, expecting to find Leliana or Zevran standing beside it. Maybe Oghren chortling that if he pissed all over the stones they'd catch fire.

Only shadows danced beside the flames. Odd.

"Hello?" Alistair called, twisting his head. Where was Wynne? He dashed over to the tents, trying to politely knock on her door with the stick, but no one inside called for him to go away. There was no hulking Sten lurking in the shadows.

Or... Alistair pursed his lips and whistled, "Come here boy. I have a lovely stick for you to chase!"

The dog was never far from her, and never away from camp. What was going on? The hairs began to rise up his neck, Alistair twisting in a circle armed with only his stick. There wasn't even any sign of Morrigan. Normally, he'd consider that a blessing from the Maker, but this time it only added to his panic.

Where was she? Where were any of them?

Did darkspawn take them? Was there an attack and they didn't think to call for him? Surely Tessa would have shouted for his help. At least found him sort of useful, if anything as a meatshield.

Why was he alone?

A burst of smoke erupted from the darkened copse of trees. As Alistair turned towards it, a dozen voices rang out, "Surprise!"

Tessa emerged first, her hands wrapped around a plate holding a lopsided cake. Behind her came every other missing face from the camp. The assassin waved off the last of his vanishing smoke, his hands slotting into his armpits as he managed to look even smugger than usual.

"Surprise?" Alistair gasped, frozen in place.

"I had nothing to do with this," Morrigan snorted while emerging from their odd game of hide and seek. Her cold snake eyes cut over him before she turned and stalked back to her tent on the edge of the camp.

"With what?" he was still lost.

Tessa called out to her, "But you're going to miss... Ah, never mind."

"You were all playing a fun game of surprise Alistair? Which involves hiding, then shouting, then cake?" he guessed, his eyes skipping over to the companions remaining.

"No, silly," Tessa tried to jab an elbow towards him even while she held tight to the cake, "It's your birthday. Surprise birthday, you know."

Alistair's jaw dropped open.

She hefted up the baked good towards him, "The dog got you a cake. But it was half eaten, so we got you another one. I hope you like it -- strawberries and cream."

"You..." he was stuck in place, glancing from the smiling assassin to the humming bard, before landing upon the hulking qunari.

"I am only here for the cake. I see no use in celebrating one's own birth. You had little to do with its success," Sten said.

"Ah, ignore him," Tessa waved at the grumpy qunari who scowled, but true to his statement remained close. "Well," her soulful eyes burned into Alistair's, "go on..."

"Go on what?" he gasped, both hands clinging tighter to his stick.

"You know..."

"No," something small inside of him went ping, "No I don't, because I've...ya know, the dogs don't see fit to throw parties. Probably because they don't keep their own calendars. Plus, it's really hard to bake when you're stuck with only paws."

Their pet mabari woofed at that.

"True, there is always stealing one off a windowsill, but mine were devout Andrastians. Stealing is a sin." He wasn't smiling, but gritting his teeth in a false grin. Most people didn't spot the difference.

"Ali...?"

Tessa wasn't most people.

She stepped so close her voice was barely a breath, her warm hand clinging to his arm, "Have you never had a birthday party before?"

"Oh, sure I have in a, it's...ah..." No. Bastards didn't receive gifts, didn't have all their family and friends gather together to share in lavish cakes. Templars weren't going to hang crepe paper and sing silly songs. His day of birth was the same as any other on the calendar.

Her hand soothed up and down his arm, "The birthday boy gets first cut of the cake." Tessa's dulcet tones and soothing eyes lifted his old heartache and gave it a good shake. "But you better give the second to Sten. It was like moving a mountain to get him to agree to hide."

Alistair snickered, "Got it." With Zevran's offered dagger, he cut himself a generous slice, red filling oozing from the center. "Thanks everyone," he called, raising his slice up as if toasting, before jamming it all into his mouth.

It was hard for him to say if the cake tasted good. In truth, it could have been flavored with ash and mud but all he tasted was pure sugar. The joy in his heart sent his tastebuds and the rest of him singing, and he knew who he really had to thank for it.

She was busy helping the others get their cut, no one about to turn down free cake. But, as if sensing his eyes, she turned her head and smiled warmly. "Happy Birthday, Alistair," Tessa said. Leaving the plate in Sten's capable hands, she wrapped her arms around him and plucked a kiss to his cheek, "May it be the first of many more to come."

[unfolded73]

What Comes Next (5/8)

Summary: They lived happily ever after. And then what happened? (A Post-S6 story.)  Starts about a week after the final battle, and explores the highs and lows of newly married life between Emma and Killian as they deal with work, friends, and family as life in Storybrooke settles down somewhat.

Captain Swan, Explicit (this update particularly so), ~4600 words this chapter

Thanks to @j-philly-b for the beta.

CHAPTER 1 | CHAPTER 2 | CHAPTER 3 | CHAPTER 4

Emma stirred sugar into her coffee mug as she stared out the kitchen window. For the first time possibly ever (not counting those early days of their relationship when she’d set her alarm extra early to try to sneak out of Killian’s room at Granny’s without half the town seeing her), Emma had woken up before her husband. She could hear the shower running upstairs, while here she was already dressed and ready for work. Up was down, black was white, and Emma Swan was ready for work early. Something had woken her up at five in the morning and she’d just lain there, awake, until finally giving in and getting out of bed.

Sighing, she turned around to see yesterday’s mail neatly stacked on the kitchen table where Killian left it for her the day before. Walking over, she idly flipped through the pile. There was a water bill, a notice that she was pre-approved for a credit card, a postcard coupon for 20% off at the Three Bears Day Spa, a Hammacher Schlemmer catalog (and she wondered what kind of dark magic they’d used to track her to Storybrooke), and a letter from the Dr. Naito’s office. She pulled that one out, setting down her coffee to open the envelope. Her eyes scanned the brief letter, and she mentally added ‘call the doctor’ to her increasingly long list of things to do.

By the time Killian came downstairs, she was on her second cup of coffee and had managed to make some toast.

“I hardly knew what to do this morning, you waking before me,” he said with a kiss on her cheek. “Everything all right?”

“Yeah, I just woke up at five and my body decided it was done sleeping.”

Killian poured coffee into his favorite mug. “You should have woken me,” he said with a waggle of his eyebrows.

“I wasn’t really in the mood for that, or I would have.”

He sat down beside her at the table. The letter from her doctor was lying in front of him, and his eyes skimmed over the text. “What’s a pelvic exam?” he asked her.

Emma snorted. “Surely you can guess.” He just looked at her expectantly. “Dr. Naito’s my gynecologist, which means she’s a doctor for my lady parts.”

“I’m glad to hear Dr. Whale doesn’t take care of that,” he said.

“Yeah, tell me about it. She delivered Ashley’s daughter, so I met her not long after I moved here. Anyway, a pelvic exam is an annual checkup that women get.”

“What sort of checkup?”

Emma rolled her eyes. “I promise it’s not sexy to describe.”

“I wasn’t implying that it was, love, I’m just curious.” He got up and went over to the refrigerator, pulling out a carton of eggs and setting it down next to the stovetop.

“Okay, well, you get undressed and have to wear a stupid paper gown. Then you put your feet up in these metal stirrups so that the doctor can get a good look at your vagina.”

“I don’t have one of those,” Killian commented, smirking, as he cracked eggs into a bowl.

“And that’s why you don’t need a gynecologist, babe,” Emma mumbled around a mouthful of toast. “So there’s a few things she’ll do, but the main thing is a Pap smear.”

“What’s that?”

Emma made a face. “I suck at trying to explain stuff like this. It’s where they take a sample of cells from your cervix and test them for, like, cancer.”

“Cancer?”

“Yeah, cancer is—”

“I know what cancer is, Swan, I’m just worried at the idea that you might have it.” He abandoned the eggs he’d been whisking and approached her at the table.

“There’s no reason to think I have it, Killian, it’s just a test they do on all women. It’s routine. She’ll also check my IUD, although I should have at least another year on it—”

“Do you want me to accompany you to this appointment?” he asked, his eyes still filled with concern. Perhaps it was his life in the Enchanted Forest that was coloring his reaction. Probably in his experience, by the time a doctor was summoned, things were already terribly wrong.

“Killian, I need you to chill out.” She put her hand over his. “There is really nothing for you to worry about. I’ve had plenty of these tests before, and they always come back negative. Which is good, negative is good. It means there’s nothing wrong.”

He seemed to visibly relax a bit. “If you say so. I’d still happily go with you, if you want moral support.”

“I really don’t.” She wrinkled her nose. “It’s not that big a deal for me, I promise. You being there would be weird.”

“It’s not like I haven’t seen it all before, love.” He returned to his scrambled egg preparation.

“Yeah, but there’s sexy contexts for my vagina and unsexy ones, and I really don’t want to mix the two.”

He looked at her for a long moment. “All right, if you’re certain.”

In spite of his acceptance of this aspect of modern life for a woman of reproductive age, as they went about their usual work that day, Killian seemed clingy. It was as if, after all the threats to her life that he had witnessed, it was just now occurring to him that he could lose her to something much more pedestrian. Throughout the day, every time they were in the same room was an opportunity for him to press his hand supportively against her back or squeeze her hand or shoot her one of his lovestruck expressions.

To be honest, it was a little bit annoying.

She loved Killian’s affectionate personality, she really did. After she spent her childhood starved for human touch, she usually revelled in how frequently he touched her, and how obvious it was that he loved her. Today though, although she would never tell him so, she was feeling smothered by it. She encouraged Killian to take off early so that at least one of them could be home when Henry got home, her ulterior motive being that she really needed some time alone.

In the quiet station, Emma took a box of push-pins out of her desk and stood at the map of Storybrooke, putting a pin into each of the locations where the recent rash of break-ins had occurred. Granny’s, Moe’s flower shop, and Jefferson’s shop were all relatively near the middle of downtown, while Ashley’s daycare was further away. She supposed that the increased vigilance of the store owners in town, coupled with Killian’s patrols, might have driven the thieves to search further afield for a target. There probably wasn’t anything to the pattern, as it was mostly driven by opportunity.

She pulled up the reports for each of the robberies, looking at the dates. They were spaced roughly seven to ten days apart, which meant they were due for another break-in soon. She really wanted to catch these people, whoever they were.

Emma had been checking around with the other Storybrooke businesses to see if anyone had made any unusual purchases with a large chunk of cash, but so far, nothing. And while it was now possible for anyone to leave Storybrooke any time they wanted, for the most part, people didn’t. The former residents of the Enchanted Forest were uncomfortable out in the land without magic, or they were still afraid that crossing the town line would have some horrible effect on them, and almost everyone behaved as if that barrier still existed. So while it was possible that the thief or thieves were spending their spoils out of town, she somehow doubted it. More likely, they were stashing the cash in a sock drawer or under a mattress, waiting for something. If she could just get a suspect, a search might be their downfall.

The main phone line for the sheriff’s station rang, making her jump. Emma picked up the receiver, and was immediately treated to the sound of a sneeze right in her ear.

“Sheriff Swan,” she said.

“Hi, Emma, it’s Sneezy.”

“I figured. What can I do for you?”

“Listen, maybe it’s nothing, but Grumpy said I should call you. When I looked out the window of the pharmacy a little while ago, I thought I saw someone looking over here from behind a tree across the street.” He paused to sneeze again. “I didn’t get a good look; I mean it was just for a second, and—” Another sneeze interrupted his tale.

“Are they still over there?” she asked, looking around for her car keys.

“No, not anymore. Like I said, maybe it was nothing, but given all the robberies…”

“Yeah. You were right to call me. What did the person look like?” Emma sat down on the edge of her desk, looking at the map again and picturing a pin in the spot where the pharmacy was.

“I didn’t get a good look.”

“Man? Woman? Short? Tall? Young? Old?”

“Man, I think. Average height. Other than that, I don’t know. I really didn’t see his face.”

She sighed. “Okay. What time do you close?”

“Six o’clock.” Emma rolled her eyes; she didn’t miss much about Boston, but she did miss stores that managed to stay open past dark.

“Okay, lock up tight and don’t leave any cash unsecured anywhere,” she told him. “Killian or I will try to keep an eye on the place tonight, in case they come back and try to break in.”

He sneezed three times in rapid succession. “Will do, Sheriff.”

Emma started to call Killian, and then stopped and looked at the time on her phone. It was almost six now, although she assumed nothing would happen before dark. She was suddenly transported back to her bail bondsperson days, when she used to sit on a stakeout in her car with nothing but a tattered sudoku book and a box of those protein bars that were really just glorified candy bars. It was often cold and always boring, but she was perversely nostalgic for it all of a sudden: a time when she could sit in her car all night and eat junk food and no one would care. No one would wonder where she was, because there was no one in her life to wonder.

She loved having people who worried about her and missed her and wanted to be at her side. It was all she had ever dreamed of as a kid. But in that moment, she felt a strange pang of longing for a time when the only person she had to answer to was herself.

Emma started to plan. If she was going to stake out the drug store, she needed a less conspicuous car than the department’s one squad car or her yellow Bug, which everyone in town knew on sight. She thought about cars she could borrow. Regina’s Mercedes and her dad’s truck were as well-known in town as her own car. Zelena’s green monstrosity would stick out like a sore thumb. She needed a boring car, the kind of car that your eyes just slid over without even seeing.

Mom’s station wagon, she thought. Perfect.

She dashed off a text to Killian: I’ve maybe got a lead on the robberies. Don’t wait up.

Not three seconds passed before he was calling her.

“I’ll join you,” Killian said by way of a greeting. “What’s the lead?”

She felt immediately churlish. “You’ve been working a lot of long hours lately; I’ve got this.”

“Don’t be silly, Swan, I’m perfectly well rested. If you think there’s a way to catch the thieves tonight, I’d like to be there to help.”

He had a point, and she knew it. There could be more than one of them, and it would help to have Killian to take them down. And yet, she couldn’t seem to stop herself from arguing. “I don’t want to pull rank on you, but I will if I have to. We can’t expect to run the sheriff’s station effectively if we’re both pulling all-nighters at the same time.”

There was a long pause. “Sounds like you’ve made up your mind.”

“I have.”

“Fine. At least promise to call me if you need help,” he said, anger evident in his voice.

“I will.”

He disconnected the call without saying goodbye. Whether that was an indication of his level of frustration or his lack of phone etiquette, she wasn’t sure.

I love you, she texted to him.

He didn’t respond, but Killian wasn’t really a texter, so that wasn’t unusual. Gathering up her belongings, Emma locked up the station, phoning her mother to warn her that she was on her way to borrow her car as she mentally made a list of the terrible junk food she wanted to buy in preparation for her stake out.

~*~

By 10:30 p.m., Emma had finished off the coffee she’d picked up from Granny’s to stay awake.

By midnight, she’d eaten two protein bars and an entire package of Sour Patch Kids, and felt a little sick to her stomach.

At 1:15 a.m., after too many games of Words with Friends with Zelena, her phone battery died. She reached for her charger, groaning when she belatedly realized she’d left it in her Bug when she switched cars with her mother. Frustrated, she threw the phone onto the passenger seat. What she wouldn’t give for a sudoku book right about now, she thought.

At 2:00 a.m., after whisper-singing to herself every pop song she could think of, she started to nod off for the first time.

At about 2:45 a.m., she started to really miss her husband.

The first indication that dawn was on its way reached her eyes sometime after 4:00. Either she’d been wrong that someone was casing the pharmacy, or she’d been wrong that they planned to hit it tonight, or they’d spotted her and gotten scared off. Regardless, her sleepless night had been a huge waste of time. Cranking the engine of Snow’s sensible station wagon, Emma headed for home, figuring she could get a couple of hours of sleep before work.

The house was dim and silent when she let herself in, and she kicked off her shoes, already thinking about how nice and warm Killian would feel when she curled up against him under the covers.

Tiptoeing into the bedroom and closing the door softly, Emma was headed for the bathroom to brush her teeth when Killian turned on his lamp. She jumped.

“I thought you were asleep,” she said, her hand over her chest.

He sat up in bed. “I was, but after I awoke a couple of hours ago and tried phoning you and you didn’t respond, I was too worried to sleep.” The muscle in his jaw spasmed, and Emma knew that he was angry.

“My phone died and I forgot my charger. I’m so sorry; I didn’t mean to make you worry.”

“That was when I realized that you hadn’t even bothered to tell me where you would be. So I’ve been lying here, wondering if I should try walking all over town to try to find you, or if I should call your father and ask him to drive me around looking for you. Or maybe I could go up to the top of the clock tower and spot you that way. And I tried to weigh your frustration with me for doing any of those things against the odds that you were lying injured somewhere. Or dead.” His voice got louder and louder as he spoke, until he was almost shouting at her by the end, his tirade slightly undercut by his mussed bedhead.  

Emma swallowed around a lump in her throat. “You’re right. I was thoughtless.”

“Yes, you were.”

She sat down at his side, wondering if she should take his hand. “Can you forgive me?”

He huffed. “Emma, I love you more than anything in my life, of course I can forgive you, but I need to know why you shut me out today.”

She winced. “I just… I still sometimes get itchy, depending on people. And having people depend on me. Maybe I’ll never be completely comfortable with it, I don’t know.” Now she did reach for his hand, and was relieved when he squeezed her fingers gently.

“I watched you die, Emma,” he said, his voice raspy. She looked up from their joined hands into his eyes. “I stood in the street and watched you, my wife who I’d barely managed to have five minutes with after we exchanged vows, throw your sword aside and get impaled.”

“Hey, at least you didn’t have to do the impaling yourself like I did,” she said, trying to make a joke out of the worst moment of her life. Killian didn’t smile.

“You’ve been a beacon of light in my life, leading me out of the darkness. Two hundred years of selfishness and revenge and murder, and loving you pulled me out of that. And I can’t help but think…” He took a shaky breath and looked down at their joined hands again, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. “I had a lot of time to ponder this, while that prophecy was hanging over your head. And it’s not just that losing you would be the worst thing that’s ever happened to me. It’s that I don’t think I can keep myself from becoming that man again if I lose you.”

Emma’s heart broke for him. “I think you’re wrong. I think you can. For Henry. For Mom and Dad and for everyone in this town who counts on you and looks to you as a hero. Maybe it was me who started you on the right path at first, but I don’t think it’s me that keeps you on it.” She laughed. “For one thing, I’m not that saintly a person myself.” She  scooted a little bit closer to him on the bed. “You still think of yourself as a bad man who changed. But I feel like I know you pretty well by now, and let me tell you, you’re not that. You’re a good man who spent a long time lost, and now you’ve rediscovered who you really are.”

He pursed his lips with a hint of a smile. “Perhaps.”

“We’ve both faced losing the other, and we didn’t deal with it very well.” She blew out a breath. “Me especially. But unless we get super lucky, and live to be a hundred — or in your case, four hundred or whatever,” she said with a laugh, “and die together in our sleep, someday one of us is gonna have to face life without the other.”

He shook his head. “I don’t know how. And I’m sorry; I annoyed you today because I was struggling with letting you do things on your own, and I know how independent you are—”

“I could’ve been a lot more sensitive to your fears,” she admitted, leaning over and pulling him into a hug. There was a pause, and then she felt his hand pressing hard against her back, the solid strength of his arms holding her tight.

“I thought I was over it,” he said against her shoulder. “You lived, and everything turned out fine, and almost before I could take a breath we were celebrating our slightly delayed wedding night, and I thought I was over it. But this morning, imagining you falling ill, and then when I couldn’t reach you on your phone…”

“I’m sorry.” She brushed a kiss against his cheek. “I’m really sorry.” Letting out a little hiccupping sigh, an almost-sob, Emma continued to kiss his face. “I’m not over it either,” she whispered.

He kissed her lips then, hard and forceful, a little bit sloppy in his haste. Emma crawled into his lap, their mouths meeting over and over with increasing desperation. “I love you so much,” he gasped as she writhed against him, quite suddenly so aroused that she felt like she was going to jump out of her skin if he didn’t touch her.

“I love you, too.” She spoke the words into his bare shoulder, her teeth scraping his skin. She felt the need to apologize again for making him worry, but she’d apologized enough and he’d accepted, and there was nothing else she could say now. All she could do was let their bodies take over and hope that the pleasure they could make between them would give them both a measure of comfort.

Killian moved his hand around to start unbuttoning her blouse but he was trembling, struggling to work the tiny buttons. Emma stood up from the bed, pulling her clothes off and tossing them aside quickly as Killian did the same with his pajamas. She was back on top of him in an instant, pressing as much of her skin against his as she could, bracketing his hips with her knees, her breasts crushed against his chest and his arms circling her. It felt so good to feel his body against her, warm skin and coarse hair, his calloused fingertips running down her back.

“Tell me what to do,” she said softly, combing her fingers through his hair. “What can I do to make you feel good?”

Usually he was the one asking those kinds of questions, catering to her every desire as if everything he did to her in bed wasn’t fantastic. But tonight it felt hugely important to her that she do for him.

Killian pressed his forehead against hers. “I just need you, Emma.”

Emma reached down between them, closing her fingers around his erection and stroking slowly, making him whimper. “You’re always so good to me. Let me be good to you.”

“You are, gods, so good.” His hips rose underneath her, chasing the movement of her hand.

Suddenly there was nothing she wanted more than to see him come apart like this while they held each other. Emma leaned to one side and made a grab for her bedside table drawer. Killian braced her thigh with the stump of his left wrist so that she wouldn’t fall off of the bed, and she pulled a bottle of lube out of the drawer. He watched her with hooded eyes as she squeezed a small amount of the lubricant into her palm.

When she returned to stroking him, making everything slick as she worked her hand up and down, Killian groaned, his hips matching the rhythm of her strokes. She wrapped her other arm around his back, squeezed him with her thighs, holding him close with every part of her that she could. She felt her inner muscles clenching at the sight of her husband coming undone, wanted to take him inside her and fuck him so badly, but she resisted the temptation. She needed to focus solely on his pleasure for now.

“I wanna see you come, Killian,” she said, increasing the pace of her fist, twisting it over the head of his cock with every upstroke. His eyes clamped shut, a grimace of pleasure-pain on his face. His hand went into her hair, fingers closing in the strands and pulling just enough to make her scalp tingle with the edge of pain.

“You’re mine, my love, my husband, a good man, you’re a good man.” she mumbled, hardly aware if anything she was saying was making sense, because he felt like he was close, he was so very hard in her hand and she was increasingly desperate for it, to feel that hardness slide into her body would feel so fucking amazing, but she kept stroking and he was fucking her fist, his moans increasingly out of his control.

His voice was a hoarse shout when he came, and she watched as the pearly white fluid hit her stomach, dripping down as she coaxed him through it, only letting go when she felt the spasms under her hand stop and his muscles start to relax.

Killian glanced at her from under his eyelashes, his heavy panting breath hot against her skin. He smiled shyly, before looking down at her abdomen again.

“I’ve made a mess of you,” he said, the gravel in his voice turning her on even more.

Emma rolled off of him, collapsing on her back, not cleaning herself up right away so he could look his fill. “Do you like it?” She ran a finger down between her breasts and into the wet evidence of his climax on her stomach. “Seeing me like this?”

Killian slid down and turned on his side, not taking his eyes off of her. “Aye.”

She grinned. “Keep watching.” Her hand continued its path down her body, plunging between her folds and further, two fingers slipping inside and fuck, watching him get off had made her so wet and sensitive. She pressed her palm against her clit and started a rhythm with her hand and her hips. The wet sound of her fingers pumping in and out of her reached her ears.

“You’re a vision like this, marked with my seed and desperate for more,” he said, propping himself up on his elbow. He reached out with his hand, gripping her upper thigh and pulling her legs further apart but otherwise not interfering with what she was doing.

Emma gasped out a strangled noise, shameless in the way she was moving and fucking herself and reaching for her orgasm, which she was barreling toward faster than she would’ve believed, given how incredibly intimate all of this was. Killian watching her touch herself should have been inhibiting, but it wasn’t. She wanted him to see how much she loved him and wanted him, and how just watching him had made her feel so good even when no one was touching her.

She cried out wordlessly, felt her muscles convulse in deep pulses against her fingers as she rode out her climax, her thighs drawing closer together and squeezing her hand in between. At some point she’d closed her eyes, and she felt Killian lift her hand and draw it up to his mouth, his tongue licking the wetness from her fingers. Then he pulled her limp body into his arms, hugging her close.

“Now we’re both a mess,” she said, almost giggling as their abdomens pressed together.

“I don’t give a fuck,” Killian said. He nuzzled against her cheek. “That was the sexiest thing I’ve ever witnessed.”

Emma snorted, thinking to herself that she doubted it, given the few racy stories she’d managed to wrangle out of him about Milah, and about some of the debauchery he’d witnessed in brothels over his years as a pirate.

“I can prove it to you, love.” He kissed her chin, rutting his hips against her, and she could tell that he was already half-hard again. “Let’s go rinse off in the shower, and then I’ll fuck you until you can’t move.”

“It’s a deal,” she said, grinning. Killian started to get up, but she stopped him with a hand on his bicep. “Hey. I love you. And I love being with you, even if I sometimes don’t show it.”

He brushed his lips over hers in a soft caress. “Anytime you need to be alone for a little bit, just say the word. I’ll understand.”

“And then afterwards—”

“We come back together like this.” He hauled her leg up over his hip, grinding against her center.

Emma gasped. “Yeah, that works for me.”

CHAPTER 6

[kansascityhappenings]

Richard Cole, last WWII Doolittle Raider, dies in Texas

DALLAS — Retired Lt. Col. Richard “Dick” Cole, the last of the 80 Doolittle Tokyo Raiders who carried out the daring U.S. attack on Japan during World War II, died Tuesday at a military hospital in Texas. He was 103.

Robert Whetstone, a spokesman for Brooke Army Medical Center in San Antonio, confirmed Cole’s death. Cole’s daughter, Cindy Chal, said he was having some heart issues but had walked into the emergency room.

In 2015, FOX4 caught up with Cole as he attended a Kansas City Royals game. He was sitting in the Royals Heroes Seats.

Cole, who lived in Comfort, Texas, had stayed active even in recent years, attending air shows and participating in commemorative events including April 18, 2017, ceremonies for the raid’s 75th anniversary at the National Museum of the U.S. Air Force near Dayton, Ohio.

Chal said her father “enjoyed every minute” of his long, distinguished life.

Cole was mission commander Jimmy Doolittle’s co-pilot in the attack less than five months after the December 1941 Japanese bombing of Pearl Harbor.

Doolittle died in 1993. The Gen. James “Jimmy” H. Doolittle Archives are at the University of Texas at Dallas. Cole’s papers are also part of the school’s History of Aviation Collection.

Cole was a Dayton-area native who recounted riding his bicycle as a child to watch planes at McCook Field, a military testing air base there. He dreamed of being a pilot and after attending Ohio University, enlisted in the Army Air Corps in 1940. Stationed in South Carolina, he signed up as a volunteer for a secret mission he knew would be dangerous, but not much else about. They trained at Eglin Air Force to fly B-25 bombers on short takeoffs, in preparation for flying off an aircraft carrier.

The Raiders launched their assault April 18, 1942, in B-25 bombers from the USS Hornet. Suspecting they had been detected by Japanese patrols, they left farther away from Japan than planned.

The crews of the 16 planes were “very quiet” as they neared Japan, Cole recalled, saying his role next to Doolittle was to “be seen, not heard. … You didn’t speak until spoken to.” But the country song “Wabash Cannonball” started running through his head and he unconsciously began tapping his toe, which caught Doolittle’s attention. He shot Cole a look, he recalled with a laugh.

Doolittle soon ordered bomb bay doors opened, and the attack was on against what turned out to be limited anti-aircraft fire in the surprise attack.

They then headed to China, running out of fuel. Cole said Doolittle gave the command to prepare to bail out as they neared the coast, adding: “I wish you all good luck.”

Cole said it was scary to parachute into a dark “unknown” in rough weather. His parachute caught in a tree, leaving him dangling but safe. Chinese partisans helped lead him and other Raiders to safety.

Three Raiders died trying to reach China, and eight were captured by Japanese soldiers. Three were executed, and a fourth died in captivity.

Cole recalled that Doolittle was distraught at first, upset that he had lost all of his planes and some of his men. Doolittle would later receive the Medal of Honor.

The raid inflicted scattered damage while providing a psychological lift back home. The stunned Japanese military diverted resources after a string of Pacific successes.

“Seven decades later, we are still awed by the sheer audacity of the Doolittle raid and the incredible men whose grit and bravery made it possible,” Democratic House leader Nancy Pelosi of California said when the Congressional Gold Medal was awarded to the Raiders in a 2015 ceremony. “Though time has thinned their ranks, it will never dim the daring of their deeds.”

Cole continued to fly missions in the China-Burma-India theater until 1944, and had peacetime service assignments in several states.

In an AP interview in April, 2017, Cole described as “a somber affair” the toast he planned to carry out to end a long Raider tradition. Using goblets engraved with their names, they each year lifted them and sipped cognac in tribute to those who had gone before. Retired Staff Sgt. David Thatcher died in 2016 at age 94 in Missoula, Montana.

Doolittle organized reunions that became annual affairs, and Cole was a regular. He also took part in other special events, including leading a special public “final toast” ceremony at the museum in 2013, when four Raiders were still alive. He said then: “May they rest in peace.”

He said in April 2017 he hadn’t expected to be the last survivor, since he was older than most on the mission

Cole attributed his longevity to being an optimist and living a life of “moderation.” He said he believed he spoke for all Raiders when he said they didn’t want any more recognition than all the others who put their lives on the line in the war effort.

“We don’t want to be remembered any more than the rest of the people who took part in beating the Japanese,” Cole said. “They started it, and we finished it.”

Chal said a memorial service is planned for April 18 at Randolph Air Force Base in San Antonio. She said her father will be buried later at Arlington National Cemetery.

from FOX 4 Kansas City WDAF-TV | News, Weather, Sports https://fox4kc.com/2019/04/09/richard-cole-last-wwii-doolittle-raider-dies-in-texas/

from Kansas City Happenings https://kansascityhappenings.wordpress.com/2019/04/09/richard-cole-last-wwii-doolittle-raider-dies-in-texas/

[investmart007]

WINDSOR, England  | The big day is here: Prince Harry, Meghan Markle to wed

New Post has been published on https://is.gd/Ty1FNo

WINDSOR, England  | The big day is here: Prince Harry, Meghan Markle to wed

WINDSOR, England  — It all started with a blind date that went really, really well.

It was in July 2016, not even two years ago. Prince Harry and Meghan Markle were set up by a mutual friend, a woman who thought they might click. Those dates usually fail 99 out of 100 times — but this time something magical happened.

Less than two years later, they will marry: two people who found each other after years of searching. But Harry’s status as a senior British royal and Markle’s entertainment industry presence as a star on the TV series “Suits” has turned Saturday’s wedding into a global event.

From St. George’s Chapel on the grounds of Windsor Castle, the royal wedding ceremony — complete with Anglican prayers and tradition, classical music and a gospel choir — will be beamed to tens of millions of TV viewers throughout the world.

“Windsor is absolutely bursting with excitement,” said royal historian Hugo Vickers. “There are cardboard cutouts of Meghan and Harry in every shop window, virtually. There’s bunting all over the place. I’ve never seen so many people in the streets of Windsor.”

He says there’s substance and meaning to the event that goes beyond its glitzy surface.

“It’s very glamorous,” he said. “But it is also the meeting, isn’t it, between a once-wayward prince and an actress who has also addressed the United Nations — she’s the first royal bride to have addressed the United Nations. She’s a human rights activist and a feminist and a global ambassador for charities.

“She’s led her own life … she’s not coming onto the scene without credentials. She’s a highly proficient, very articulate young lady,” he said.

The weather is expected to be balmy and clear, bathing the ancient stones of Windsor Castle in a beautiful spring light. Stars are flying in from Hollywood. Royal fans have been camping outside the castle for days. British police have stepped up security, with sniffer dogs, barricades and patrols all over town.

Everyone is waiting to see what Markle wears, which designer she has chosen for her wedding gown. Prince Charles, the groom’s father, will walk her down the aisle after Markle’s own father became too ill to come. No one knows if Prince William will give a loving toast as Harry’s best man, or use the occasion to poke fun at his boisterous younger brother.

The wedding marks a new chapter in the storied British monarchy: The introduction of an American woman with a biracial background to its upper ranks. And there is every indication Markle has charmed the British public, making new fans each time she and Harry make a “walkabout” in a different part of the country.

When they exchange vows at St. George’s Chapel, it will mark a new phase for Harry — who has buried his bad boy past and embraced a royal role while supporting a number of charities — and a transformation for Markle, who is walking away from a successful acting career to embark on a life of royal duties and social activism.

Both hope to start a family, following in the footsteps of William, who with his wife Kate has three young children: Prince George, Princess Charlotte and Prince Louis, who just arrived last month.

It is a time of transition for the British monarchy, one that seems filled with hope as William and Harry — the two sons of the late Princess Diana and Prince Charles — step ever more confidently into the limelight. The brothers even found the time amid the wedding hoopla to stroll outside the castle Friday evening to thank fans for coming.

A smiling Harry gave a thumb’s up and answered “Great, thank you!” when asked how he was feeling on the eve of his wedding.

And it seems to be a time of reflection and joy for 92-year-old Queen Elizabeth II and her 96-year-old husband, Prince Philip, who plans to attend the ceremony despite his recent hip replacement surgery. She is seeing her grandson marry a woman who clearly has brought him the happiness he’s often said was missing from his life.

The family tableau will play out on the broadest possible stage. Dozens of broadcasters have set up on the castle grounds for a visual feast. The chapel itself is a masterpiece of the late Gothic style, and Windsor Castle has been home to British sovereigns for nearly 1,000 years.

After the ceremony, the newlyweds will ride a horse-drawn carriage through the streets of Windsor, flanked by a splendid British military procession with many officers on horseback.

Then it will be off to the first of two gala receptions. The first will be hosted in the afternoon by the queen — with finger foods, wine and champagne. The second, smaller reception is being thrown by Charles.

A three-hour break in between will allow for a rest and a change of outfits for the lucky 200 invited to the evening soiree.

The chapel service will reflect Markle’s American roots. The Most Rev. Michael Bruce Curry, an African-American leader of the Episcopal Church, will deliver a sermon, and the musical selections will include versions of “Stand By Me” and Etta James’ “Amen/This Little Light of Mine.”

Markle will be accompanied by her mother, Doria Ragland, when she is driven to the chapel on Saturday, and many of her closest friends and some co-stars from “Suits” will be in the audience. She opted not to have a maid of honor but there will be 10 young bridesmaids and page boys, including 4-year-old Prince George and 3-year-old Princess Charlotte, the elder children of William and his wife Kate.

Harry will be joined by some of his buddies from his 10 years of military service — an experience that included tours of duty in Afghanistan — and from many of the charities he supports, which have focused on helping wounded veterans or encouraging a more open discussion of mental health issues.

The couple has made an effort to honor the memory of Harry’s mother, the late Princess Diana, whose older sister Jane Fellowes will give a reading during the wedding service.

After seeing the couple up close, Curry said Friday that he saw “two real people who are obviously in love.”

“When I see them, something in my heart leaps,” he said. “That’s why 2 billion people are watching them.”

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By GREGORY KATZ,By Associated Press – published on STL.News by St. Louis Media, LLC (A.S)

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