#a scattering of cuts from working with glass and now a weird jam in my right middle finger that comes and goes but locks up my entire hand-

[dragonji]

apparently I cant go 2 days without a moderate-to-severe injury now huh :|

[frangipanidownunder]

So you simply can't post a list of kiss prompts and expect me NOT to ask you for one. Do you not even KNOW me? Please consider a ficlet (or more!) for #11-Reunion kiss. But maybe pre-breakup. A reunion after being apart for some other reason? This could easily be combined with another kind of kiss - first, shy, etc. (And I am holding my breath for your maid/master AU!) Fic is Medicine Anon

A Lifetime Ago: Fic

Fat blossoms, serrated petals, marshmallow pink, weighted the branches on the tree in the courtyard of her block. Sun heated the top of her head, lifting the hair from her scalp, and the interior of the car smelled of warm leather and dust. Motes danced as she laid her jacket on the passenger seat. 

When Mulder got in, he moved the jacket. Of course. She’d become so used to driving alone. More dust sparkled in the shaft of sunlight that shot through the glass. A glitter welcome party. 

“Sorry,” she mumbled, lost in the weird sense of the strange and familiar, the old and the new. He looked at her oddly. 

It made her blush, the intensity of his scrutiny. But the house looked pretty in the rearview mirror. Climbing vines over the fence, vivid green leaves bushy on the trees and shrubs. She could see a row of stakes just by the shed.

“Tomatoes?” she asked, nodding over her shoulder.

“Dirty Girl, Super Snow White and Ruby Gold.”

She drove over the gravel towards the road. “Sounds like one of those movies you used to watch.”

His chuckle was chesty, and she caught his full smile out the corner of her eye. He looked well. He looked good. He’d been looking better each time she’d seen him over the past few months, as though he’d turned some corner in his mind and life was no longer the bitter drag it had been. If tomato plants with exotic names were the key to this change, she’d take that over Prozac and desperate, begging midnight phone calls.

Years before she had loved those quiet, murmured conversations. When they meant connection, trust. But the FBI was a lifetime, a lost child and a break-up ago. Now, phone calls were made in office hours, more recently, she realised, when she was already on her way to see him.

“Where are we going again?” he asked, winding the window down and resting an elbow on the sill. “I admit I was surprised when you called. It kind of felt like you were asking me on a date.” He looked across at her and the fresh blast of air saved her from blushing again. “Is this a date?”

Chuffing, she fixed her eyes on the road. “When was the last time you went out, Mulder?”

“I go out,” he said, indignant. 

She snorted. “Running at three in the morning does not constitute going out.” 

“I’ve become friendly with the guy at the nursery.”

“Friendly?”

“Don’t give me that look. I can be friendly, Scully.” She remembered his friendly as either empathetic, nerdy or flirty.  “He orders heirloom produce for me, teaches me about companion plants and has a fascination for UFOs. Funny how life works out, huh?”

“Huh,” she said. Nerdy.

A colleague at the hospital had married at the winery last fall and Scully had been struck by the setting, the ambience. Now she looked around and saw its precise beauty, high vaulted ceiling, wide landscapes on the silvery walls, starched white linen, gold embossed menus, cut crystalware. It was over the top. God, she’d misjudged this. Why didn’t she just go for Clint’s Diner where the talking point was the font used to spell the name, so that the L and the I were joined to form what looked like a U. Asking for the cunt’s special was Mulder’s favourite joke.  Even the Italian bistro with the red and white checked plastic tablecloths and fake tealights in jam jars would have been a better choice.

“So it is a date,” he said, but behind his broad grin there was a look of trepidation. He went to hook his thumbs in his belt loops but he wasn’t wearing shitty jeans. Instead, his fist curled into his pants pocket and he stood, uncharacteristically insignificant, in the magnificent room.

Guilt flared in her chest. Mulder had been a recluse for years, pummelling his chest with his self-hatred and lacing all their interactions with accusations and blame, and now, because he was growing fucking tomatoes, she’d decided he could cope with a three-course degustation lunch and two glasses of Pinot Gris?“This is not what I…” But she was cut off by the Maitre D who swept over and checked the booking. “Dr Scully, yes, that’s right.” Why had she chosen that salutation when she called. It made it sound like a business lunch.

Their table was on the terrace under heavy-scented purple wisteria. The waiter unflapped serviettes like he was cracking a whip. He placed glasses, crockery and cutlery with the precision required for surgery. Mulder remained quiet the entire time, but regarded her, not the waiter. His expression softened when the waiter left and dappled light filtered over his skin.

“This is not what I expected, Scully. But it’s a step up from chilli dogs and Shiner Bock.”

Ugh. Now she was craving an evening on the couch watching him watching the game. “I’m sorry, Mulder. This feels all wrong.”

“Hey,” he said, leaning forward, sliding his hand over the table top, but careful to leave his fingers just an inch from hers. “It’s fine. I kind of love being wined and dined. It makes me feel special.” His fingers crept closer, close enough for her to see the white fleck on his left index nail, the light abrasion on his ring finger knuckle, close enough to remember what those elegant digits used to do to her.“As long as you don’t expect me to put out, Scully.” He grinned suddenly. “You should know up front that I’m not that easy.”

No, she thought, you’re not. We were never easy, you and me. She laughed at his joke anyway, his smile urged her to indulge him. The waiter brought the wine and Mulder sniffed, swirled and sipped it before giving it his approval. They chose entrees and mains and he chatted amiably, telling stories about the nursery dude and his collection of blurry photos of cigar-shaped crafts.

“I hadn’t the heart to tell him it was all BS, Scully. Why burst his bubble? He gets a lot of joy out of it.” Ah, empathy.

“And you get free seeds. Sounds like a fair exchange.”

He sat back, arms behind his head, before realising where he was and sitting upright, hands on his lap, much more respectable. “I’ve missed you,” he said, out of nowhere. “But this was nice. Unexpectedly so. A nice date, if I may be so bold as to describe it so, Doc.”

Flirty. She chuffed, cheeks aflame. The wine, she thought. It was always the wine. “It’s good to see you so relaxed, Mulder. It’s been a while.”

“Was I ever relaxed, Scully?” he asked, genuinely. “I look back now and see how tightly coiled I was. Have been.” His head bobbed down, but his eyes lifted to hers. “Am.”

The first time she visited him after she left, he was cowering under the kitchen table, shards of glass and ceramic scattered across the floor. He didn’t speak for an hour. She sat at a chair six feet away from him, listening to his tight sobs, watching his shoulders bunch, while she embraced her old friend, guilt.

“You’ve been through a lot, Mulder. We both have. It’s been a difficult…”

“Life?” he supplied.

“I was going to say time, but yeah. That too.” She laughed and so did he. His fingers edged forward again, touching hers this time. Heat sparked. He felt it too, he almost recoiled in shock, but pressed on, covering her hand with his. He clasped it gently, lifted it, nuzzled her knuckles, eyes closed so she could admire the length of his lashes and the furrow between his brows. A lifetime of pain in two creases. She had an urge to kiss them, run her tongue along the downy lines of them, taste his familiar skin.

“We should go,” she said, after a time. 

He held the door open for her and stooped inside the car, dazzling her with his smile. “Just remember, I don’t go all the way on first dates.”

“What about first base?” she said, after he’d already shut the door.

They drove back, listening to an 80s radio station that Mulder found with ease. He belted out Living on a Prayer and other big ballads, air guitar and all. She smiled all the way to the house. When she parked, Sinead O’Connor’s singular voice introduced Nothing Compares 2 U. She went to turn the radio off but he held her wrist.

“I love this song,” he said. “Prince’s masterful lyrics. And that video clip.”

“It was a powerful statement,” she replied and let his fingers curl around hers. 

“I really did enjoy this, Scully. Going out, you know, where people are…out there. It’s hard sometimes. I…don’t…I haven’t done it often because it feels like I’m a trespasser, that I don’t belong.”

“You never did. We never did, Mulder. We were always on the outer.”

“But with you,” he said, snugging her single hand in both of his. “I always felt braver in company.”

Heat spread in her chest, her heart pinged. She didn’t know what to say. Literally no words formed, despite her mouth falling open. Tears burnt at her eyes but she wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t. 

“What about that first base, Scully?” His smile was a little hopeful, a lot wobbly.

She nodded. He captured her open lips and closed them between his. It was strange and familiar, old and new again. Sparkles glittered behind her eyes, just like those dust motes. When was that? Just a few hours ago? Surely not. That glitter welcome party was a lifetime ago.

[yandere-wishes]

Uncanny  // Yandere! Joker x Reader//

This is a Christmas gift for @writerbyaccident​ I hope you enjoy it darling! This also markes my frist ever DC fic, I’ll definitely be writting more of these in the future but for now, enjoy this one!

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Joker had always harbored passionate hate for the wealthy first-class citizens of Gotham. Those who wasted the days mingling at extravagant parties, engaging in brainless conversations about the rise and fall of stocks and the new designer stores that had just opened. It made him feel sick to his core. These halfwits were the elites of Gotham? Those who held the entire dark city in the palms of their hands? These cowards who’d run and hide in their lavish mouse holes with their tails tucked between their legs at the first sight of danger. They ruled this city and walked all over the common folk. They truly did disgust him.

It came as a shock to Joker how he’d managed to keep the bile from raising from his stomachs. He’d been lurking in the shadows of Wayne’s penthouse in search of the notorious Harvey Dent.

His hickory brown eyes scanned the crowd once more. Where was he? One of these overconfident fools must be the so-called ‘white knight’.

For a split second his eyes landed on something. In the far back of the crowd, slightly curling into themselves was a (petite/tall) girl in a dress whose colors were unclear bordering somewhere between Crayola and iris. A tiny unaudible laugh escaped the jokers cut lips. What a bold choice of clothing! My it could start a world dilemma! Was it blue or purple, who could tell? The world might just dividers into two forces starting riots and wars over the simple piece of clothing! The blues would start (cause everyone knows purples are too lazy) with throwing polttopullos at the purples fortresses. The poor purples would scatter screaming as the sound of their flesh sizzling polluted the air. Soon a huge war would break out setting the world ablaze consuming the filthy souls of its participants.

“….boss?”

The hushed murmur of a lackey jolted the clown back to head-splitting reality. He jumped slightly letting out a fit of small giggles. Turning his head he noticed the boy stretching his head out to the side. Finally, it was showtime!

"Good evening ladies and gentlemen we are tonight’s entertainment!"

Joker sauntered out of the darknesses, gun in hand and smirk plastered on his scarred lips. The crowd stopped, freezing in place. Champaign cups fell to the ground, women reached out grabbing the closest person’s hand, releasing their shock and terror through physical touch other than audible noise. A truly magnificent sight! 

To further the people's discomfort and alleviate his amusement he plucked a flower from a nearby vase and bite it's head off, chewing and continuing his announcement. 

 "I only have one question where is, Harvey Dent?"

The question lingered in the air, infested with dead silence. They really where spinless weren't they? He marched around the semi-circle of the crowds head. Pointing his gun and the odd person and swinging it around threateningly. He ripped the wine class form a young girl in a black nightgown. Spilling the contents on the ground and gulping up the empty air. 

"Do you know where Harvey is?" he said while poking a random waitress. "Do you know who he is?" never once did he wait for a reply. This wasn't working! He forcefully gripped the face of a short bold man patting his greasy head. The stream of questions slipped from his mouth like a mantra. Come on! Someone say something! This was getting boring! 

"You know I'll settle for his loved ones!" This was vexing. Crashing a party this big was meant to be fun! Yet no one seemed at all interested in playing his game.

"We're not intimidated by thugs!" So someone did have the guts to speak up! Let the games began than! 

Joker slowly turned eyes locking with an elderly man in a charcoal black three-piece suit. Something about him looked familiar... too familiar. Joker bit his tongue trying to anchor his wondering mind as the man's face slowly morphed and twisted into someone younger with a rugged face. Someone who reeked of cheap alcohol and open wounds. 

"You remind me of my father..."

He grabbed the man by the collar dragging him closer. "Slit his throat!" "gut him!" "Goudge his eyes out!" "let him bleed on the floor!" The voices wouldn't shut up they screamed and shrieked. 

"I HATED my father!"

The voices started screaming again. His hand moved on it’s own clutching the knife with too much force, inching it closer and closer to the man's wrinkled flesh. The sharp tip poked his cheek ready to began cutting downwards until...

"Okay, that's enough!"

A tall woman walked forward head help high and shoulders back. She was tense it was practically spilling off of her. Behind her, another figure held her hand clasping it until it turned red. It was that girl, Joker noticed. The one with the dilemma dress. She didn't try to hide her nervousness, she was being honest and yet here she was facing a mad killer in front of a crowd. The girl had guts he'd give her that. 

Ignoring Harvey's little lover Joker faced you crazed orbs bearing into your soul. He walked closer licking the inside of his permanent smile. He messily combed his hair back with the pocket knife. He turned behind Rachel reaching out directly for your neck "My, my what a beautiful thing you are". You clawed at his gloved hand trying desperately to free yourself. "Let her go!" Rachel yelled, "It's me you want, she has nothing to do with this!" Joker raised an eyebrow tugging you closer for a moment before he pushed you to the ground. 

You coughed, lunges sucking in as much oxygen as possible. Your fingers faintly traced where his hand had been mere moments ago. Your eyes looked up staring at the mad clown who was gripping onto Rachel and dragging her through the crowd. Glass shattered and another loud noise filled the air. Someone else was pushing past the guests headed straight for the Joker and his captive.

Batman!

He'd arrived! He was going to save everyone! He was going to save your dearest friend-- 

He was pushed back, inches away from you. A group of thugs jumped him, climbing on his back and leaving gashes with dull knives. No, no, no! How was he going to save her in time?

Looking back at the bat’s hopless struggle, you jumped up runing forward, who knew what that monster would do to her if someone didn't interfere. Batman was busy, everyone else was frozen and starring to scared to move. You where all that was left, you had to do something!

Joker pressed the blade to the girl's mouth laughing as she tried to struggle away. "You know-"

something jammed at him form the side. He flew back catching himself on the metal frame of the broken window. There she was again the bizarre girl! So she wanted to play hero um... he'd show her what happens to heroes. Using a momentum he flung himself forward, in rabid steps he grabbed Rachel's arm throwing her out the window. When the bat came rushing by following the falling girl, he dodged forward throwing himself onto the girl in the odd dress. Her head bounced on the ground and rolled to the side. Out cold, how perfect the Joker thought.  

It had been a few weeks since that party since the clown prince of crime stole you away. He'd locked you in a room with no windows and only beaten down furniture as companions. The sole wooden door was locked, even when he paid you a visit he'd turn the lock behind him. "Simple precaution" he'd always say. 

The visits had started off rocky. When you'd first came to, you'd tried to punch and kick him away, screaming for help until he'd slapped you across the face and left an angry scar on your right arm. The next day he'd offered you food, which -despite your pride- you'd gulped down as he made some joke about orphans and restaurants. Things went quiet after that, he'd visite once a day and do nothing more than stare at you. It freaked you out to the point of crying. That's when he'd come closer and wrap his arms around you. Whispering shhs and "I've got yous". They never made you feel better and soon he'd just leave you and slam the door. But slowly he started staying longer and cracking the occasional joke when you began to cry. You started crying less, leaning more into his touch, clinging onto his words. By no means was it ideal, yet it was all both of you had. 

About two days ago he'd entered your room with a black eye and far too many bleeding cuts to count. He plumped onto the couch, his blood staining the old fabric. 

"Need help?" you'd asked. He'd turn to his side and eyed you up and down. "This some sort of joke?" you simply shook your head. Coughing up a smug language he murmured "you'd help your kidnapper? You’re one weird gal you know that (Y/N)?" You said nothing for an endless minute, waiting as time slipped you both by. 

"Guess you could say I'm a few screws lose.."

He laughed, it was an odd nose nothing like his usual one. It was loud and throaty and one could say it came directly from his heart. 

Joker may have found the upper-class citizens of Gotham to be spinless fools, he may have hated the normal residents for thier lack of ambtion and blood lust. But you, you were something else. You where uncanny and dame did he love that.You where the one who couldn't pick a dress shade or fit into a crowd, the one who faced him and tried to save a worthless girl. Yeah, you where something uncanny, different, magnificent, pure and most importantly...

 ALL HIS

[massieh]

Transfigure ( rewrite ; first draft ), Chapter 1. word count: 3,270.

The full moon illuminated the river, casting the world around us in black and white. The river, a sheet of obsidian glass beneath the glow, wrapped around my feet and begged that I join in with the current. 

Just let it all go; be free.

Something hit my hand, hard and cold. At first, the feeling sent a chill down my spine, and reflex demanded that I throw it. Though useful in the field, that instinct was well out-of-place here. Carefully, calmly, I raised the object into the candlelight.

It was one of the bottles that Kane repurposed for a candle holder, an idea he had when we first found the place months before. The wax stick jammed into the top had already burned down so far into the neck that it stained the glass around it black. Even the wax seal could not hold back the smell. Whatever was inside, its stale scent gave the impression that it could only be useful for cleaning wounds.

I tried to push it back. How did he roll a square bottle? 

“Nah,” he demanded, kicking it back over the short distance I had managed. “We had a deal.”

“Yeah, and I’ll hold up my end with or without yours.” In truth, I was sick of feeling stupid. It sounded fun to face the impossible, but that was before I found out that even trivial things could hold that title.

“Both ends are my end. Now go.”

“Fine,” I mumbled under my breath and raised the bottle again. I tried to ignore all the other details. The shape, the scent, the weight—anything that would be important under any real circumstances was useless now. 

Words. I had to figure out the words.

With the old world gone and the city ripped apart, readers weren’t all that common. This place was built by a group of strangers, after all. Each was stripped from their home and dropped here to make a new life alongside the others. Some kept their families in tow; most came alone. This lack of community, alongside the shared goal of survival, led to an illiteracy rate that I didn’t notice until Kane moved in.

As a neighbor once told me, if the old world’s skills were so useful, we wouldn’t be where we are today. It didn’t make that much sense, but everyone else thought so. Who was I to argue?

Kane was one of the lucky ones. He came here knowing how to read. Though we were left wanting for books, he still managed to keep that talent sharp.

Both of my parents could read. My mother all but spoke in code, and it was holy texts that made up my father’s foundation. Both tried to show me their worlds; both kind of succeeded. Reading, however, was never included.

There were a few words scattered throughout the city that had been burned into my mind through recognizance. “Voodoo” and “girls” made the top of that list. Try to make sense of the Bible on that alone.

Three days after Kane figured it out, he came up with his greatest plan yet: he would be the one to teach me the sacred art of literature. His words, not mine. Boredom replaced his brilliant curiosity with a rabid need for purpose a long time ago. So, as any idiot would, I eagerly agreed. He dedicated our first week to the alphabet. I was to say it forward and back fifteen times every few hours to make sure it stuck. 

Simple enough. 

Then, we moved on to the next logical step: “Sound it out.”

Despite the roll of my eyes, I did as I was told. “J-aysk”

“No, no. Where are you getting the’s’?”

“What do you mean?” And after he hissed the sound back at me, “Right there.”

“That’ s—no, that one makes the same sound as the ‘k’.”

I changed my mind. This sucked. “That makes no sense.”

“The ‘a’ makes the sound like ‘at’, too.’”

“Jac-k?”

“Don’t pronounce them both.”

“Both what? It’s four—”

“Just, ‘Jack’.” He chopped at the air with one hand, but the motion’s meaning was lost on me.

My response was the forced sigh of, “Okay. Jack,” followed by another, meeker attempt. “D… e… nials?” 

Kane snorted behind me. 

As I shifted back to lean on my elbows, the bottle turned over in my hand, allowing me one last whiff of the foul liquid inside. “So, what. This Jack guy was so ashamed of this stuff, he had to say it on the label?” The bottle sang out an eerie scrape as I returned it to the slab of concrete at Kane’s feet, and its ring somehow made more sense than the next word from his mouth.

“Daniels.”

“What?”

He sputtered again. This time, it sounded like a laugh. “It’s Jack Daniels. It was whiskey. Alcohol, but not the kind you use on cuts.” And because I clearly didn’t get it, he added, “A drink for, uh… entertainment.” 

It was exhausting how much he knew about the old world. Some would say too much. Though it was easy to agree, it was almost impossible not to be fascinated by it. At the compound, there were rooms dedicated to artifacts and treasures worth more than any ten men together could afford. It would not surprise me to know all of that, in addition to what was left of the natural wonders, paled in comparison to Kane’s collections. 

“You’re stupid good at a lot of things,” I told him after an agonizing moment of self-debate. The added spice of his own slang would hopefully soften the blow. “But you might be the worst teacher I’ve ever had.”

This time, his laugh was flimsy. “Well, I’m not a Minister or a Control Chief, so that’s a weird corner to throw me in.” 

Oh, good. No harm done.

Kane was always this easy. I could be a little bit mean, and he’d just be happy to hear himself talk in-between. The banter served as a low-effort veil between us and the void of boredom, sure. When things got deep, though, it was the true void that stared back. His teaching needed work, but Kane filled the silence with more knowledge and life in a single minute than any amount of time with my parents ever did—official, familial, or otherwise.

A second bottle clinked against the stone at my left, this one with some of the original contents still inside. I waited for the same set of instructions. Instead, what he gave back read something like, try it. One sip, and I spit it out instantly. “Oh, that’s disgusting.”

“It is what it is. You’re doing fine.” His shift in tone was so swift that I nearly forgot about the acidic film on my tongue. “It’s just been a couple of weeks. It took me like a month, I bet.”

“You’d also be six.”

“And you’re seventeen—“

“Eighteen.”

“The arguments make themselves.” I looked back, and his smile was as smug as his tone. “Like I said. You’re doing just fine.”

If the right response existed, it was lost beneath an awkward laugh and the gentle sound of the flowing river.

Even without many character references to place around him, Kane was odd in a way that even his sacred art of literature would have trouble capturing. Though he only stood a few inches taller than me, no room could contain his personality. His body was more weapon than temple. From appearance to mind to words—everything but his eyes, he kept sharp.

One of the bottles floated out from the cove and into the river without either of us noticing. The water tugged it one way and another. It was the flickering of the light that caught my attention. The flame rose and fell in the hot air, twisting as the bottle bobbed from side to side, and finally went out altogether when it tipped over and washed out.

The light was now too low to read, but both ends were Kane’s, right?

“Let’s go,” I mostly grunted just before scooting from the pavement’s edge and into the river. Wading beyond reach of the shore to where the cool stream rose high enough to combat the humidity, I turned back to face him.

Kane maintained both still and silence surprisingly well.

“I promise it’ll be less fun if we do this by force.”

Only the still broke. He slid from the jutting knees of a cypress onto the slab below to remove his boots, socks, and the sidearm he kept strapped to his thigh. After sliding those over to join my things, he moved on to rolling his tattered jeans until they threatened his circulation. Stalling was routine, same as the distance in his eyes and the occasional sighing.

In a lazy attempt to match his performance, my hand moved in slow, dramatic circles in a gesture to hurry up. By the time he touched the water, my arm was a quick snap away from falling off my shoulder and drifting out to sea. 

It was by no small feat that he was able to reach me. Though the water gathered only at his hips, if even that far, he could only do so with his eyes clenched shut. It was impressive.

“Alright, I’m ready,” he told me once his hands were safely in mine. His stance was so tight that his grip almost hurt. Determined, he may have been, but Kane looked anything but ready.

“I won’t make you do anything yet,” I said. “Just stand there. Get used to the flow. Try to open your eyes, maybe?” They tightened at that. “Hey. If anything happens, I’m right here.”

The sentiment did little to calm him. At the very least, it did encourage the hint of a grin, fleeting though it was. When it was apparent that he couldn’t control his own breathing, mine became slowed and pronounced for him to mirror. After what felt like an hour of coaching, but must have only been a few minutes, his breathing began to fall smoothly in time with the steady sound of waves crashing in the distance. 

Sometimes, when the fog cleared enough to see the endless expanse of the southern sea, and the river rose just a little higher than usual, he would mention his home sector. Not much more was given than what he wanted to remember. I knew it must have been somewhere west because he always mentioned how the morning sun blinded him on the move over. The way he marveled at our trees for the first three years said it must have been pretty dry. 

When Kane spoke about it, he did so in hushed tones, as though home could be all that scary. Maybe it was. In some ways, I was less surprised by his aquaphobia than his decision to tell me about it.

Kane dropped my hands and took another deep breath through his nose, rereleasing it from his mouth in a tight stream of air. Not that his first thought would be the position of his face in relation to mine. A warning just would have been nice. 

“Alright,” he repeated. With just enough bravery sucked in with a second, more generous inhale, he coaxed his eyes open. 

Had I not been watching, I would have missed the literal instant regret set in. “What a face. Think you’ll live?”

His mouth pressed into a firm line.

“Dude. You have to breathe.” Maybe he wasn’t feeling talkative, but at least he was present enough to listen. “You’re doing way better than last time.”

Last time was a wrestling match just to get this far. It ended with Kane falling in and scrambling his way back before we could make any more progress. Victoria thanked me that day for forcing her son to bathe. This time, though fear was still evident in the way his eyes darted between the water below and the sky above, Kane was able to restrain himself.

It was a noble effort—one lost the moment he looked to the branches of the looming trees. “They’re gathering late tonight,” he noted, referring to the growing amassment of crows.

“You think it’s dogs?”

“Probably.” The commotion of subsong and wings replaced our voices for a moment before Kane turned his eyes on me again. He tried to grab my hands again and added a desperate, “I’ll walk with you.” 

My hands were held up for him to see while I backed away. “Hold on, hold on. We have time.” Already, the soil of the riverbed pulled me down, seeping between my toes with each step. I’d seen panic drown too many in this river to join them. So I allowed the distance between us to expand instead.

We were only a couple of meters from the waters’ edge. Still, when I finally reached the wall of trees and turned to face him, he felt oceans away. 

The collection of candles had melted over the bottles’ necks, their labels now impossible to decipher beneath the wax coating. It was as good a time as any to turn in. I raised the last, still burning, high for him to see.

“When it goes out.”

“You know, one pack took out an entire team last week.” His voice was soft, nearly inaudible over the water.

“So I heard.”

“I should really get you home.”

“They got a whole team. Having one extra body won’t keep me any safer. You worry about you.”

A distracted laugh, both forced and cautious, slipped past Kane’s worry just to free-fall into silence. No longer were the cicadas singing, the birds paused in quiet wonder, and for a moment, even the water fell into an uncomfortable still. 

The sector grew quieter by the day, it seemed. Together, we survived war, famine, disease. I’m sure you can piece together what happened to the rest. My uncle always liked to say that book of Revelation didn’t prepare us for an after. Nine years old may have been too young for that lesson, but I understood all the same. 

Over the past week, more stories from the Cage made it to the dinner table. My mother told us that one of the things inside had a wingspan twice as long as its own body. She said it tried to take to the skies, but its wings were too heavy. Instead of lifting itself from the ground, it destroyed three buildings and killed two people before being captured. Suits spoke in hushed tones throughout the Complex about how the webbed pinions left an ashen residue on their uniforms.

The rest was a matter of who told the story.

Kane tugged me from the thought by prompting from his position in the water, “Hey, Andy. Can we tuck in yet? No rush, but I’m starting to freak out.”

To get back to the road meant scaling the city’s deteriorated retaining wall and the roots that had nearly devoured it. Kane beat me to the top and triumphantly threw both fists in the air as if the effort were for glory rather than escape. It was the pair of boots, hanging together from one clenched hand as I remained at the water’s edge to lace my own, that gave him away.

The trees served as a veil between the southern wilderness and what was deemed before my conception as “civilization”. Once we passed through, our usual banter had to be capped. We stepped lightly, even slowing our breathing to a shallow and cautionary flow. The smallest sound could bounce through the empty streets and lead something much worse than the river’s wrath to us.

From the gaping mouth of an old storefront, the sun-bleached cast of a massive, toothy lizard smiled at us. Could you believe it was a real thing? Not the smiling part, but the creature itself. Kane told me all about it when his family first joined the sector.

They were big, sometimes twice as long as he was tall and three times his weight, he said. I asked if he knew all that because he had to kill one. Kane only gave me a strange look and said everyone knew what an alligator was. But that wasn’t true. I didn’t. For all I knew, they were no more real than his Mothman. 

A time did exist where the buildings along our hike were beautiful. Time and the elements faded their colors, shattered their windows, and darkened their doors. Here and there, shop signs still clung to their rusted mounts. Due only to their current state, which was battered too far beyond recognition for even Kane to read, was I brave enough to look at them for more than a glance.

The path was so familiar that I could have walked it backwards with my eyes covered. Every step was as much a part of me as my own two hands. The shape of the street names, I had memorized before Kane joined the sector.

St. Peter.

Bourbon.

Bienville.

And at the end of Bienville was home. Well, it was my home. Kane’s family relocated so often that I stopped keeping track. At first, the frequent moves were quirky. Then, they were frustrating. While the other kids moved on to new friends, I knew there was a different solution. I just had to get good at finding him.

Home was a single cross-section of road, separated from the ruin and wilderness by tireless grooming. Even as we crossed over the threshold between broken asphalt and the intact pavement that bound the structures together, Maintenance took stock of tomorrow’s workload. 

As always, they paid us no mind. 

The Complex stood three stories high and only an echo of its former glory. Like the rest of the city, it battled weathering of its own. The Northwest corner and an entire block of the cemetery were swallowed by the earth four days after my twelfth birthday. Before was the contagion. And after? That was the Summer of Lights, which burned down more than half the city. 

Yeah, it wasn’t that fun.

Kane led me to one of the clone doors and shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. “Tomorrow’s a big one,” he told me.

“You ready for it?”

“Never am. Don’t sleep in.”

And I responded, “Get good sleep.”

He disappeared beyond the dim glow of our stoop light, leaving me to drown at the hands of anxiety. The Course—like I could forget. If I failed, then what? There was always the Ministry, but if I couldn’t read and failed a glorified physical exam, even they would have no use for me. 

As my mind swarmed with thoughts of tomorrow, the still dark of the entry felt like a gift. It meant that my feet could make the weary climb to the second floor without the help of a conscious mind. Mine was too busy repeating the phrase, “Do you accept?” To the question, it shouted the oath.

Outside my window, the moon still shone over the city, either oblivious to its state of distress or indifferent. It lit the single-block cemetery there, and I could swear there was more life in those mausoleums than remained throughout the whole sector. I could see Kane perched on one of the roofs, thumbing through the pages he stashed inside an oven crypt. 

Past him, past the concrete structures, past the contorted knot of crumbling highway, I could see the six points of the Cage reaching into the night sky. 

This was home.

[someonestole15]

Spectral being

Last of November.

Even amidst all these spotlights, I remain in the shadows, the skies above hard to see with all the buildings. No signals now, the area is quiet but we can’t stay here. A missing node from any map will cause suspicion and there is no way they will just ignore this. Radar still empty, not a lot of time to spare.

The vehicle outside was useless, most of the internals had failed after being left out here against the elements, the liquids inside leaking out as I turned the key. Getting out on foot seemed like a good plan, but where to go?

The Crimson would follow, and here, there was no risk of civilian casualties. Amidst my thinking, I noticed my radar getting jammed, but could not pick up on any signals around the area. No radios, nothing. Valkyrie had set herself up on the roof of the outpost, but her radar seemed fine as I asked her about it. A weird disconnect, I kept my weapons ready and eyes wary as I kept watch into the night. The streetlights flashed to black, the entire street plunged to darkness as I prepared. Pistol in hand, I took place next to a window overlooking the street.

Something buzzing behind me, I turned around to see a swarm of Nanites flying at me. Too late to run away, the window before me was too well armored for me get out of and the door was behind the Nanites. Raising my weapon, I emptied the magazine with little hope of getting rid of the swarm; a bullet would only pass through harmlessly as they moved around it, covering my frame as the pistol from my hand fell to the floor. I felt my mind darken as warnings flashed on my HUD.

>Connection denied! >Connection denied!

Vision gone, I could only see my code. I was trapped inside my own mind again, my body having lost connection after the Nanites covered me, likely designed for this exact purpose. My comlink disabled, I could still see Valkyrie attempting to connect to it but her cries for me to respond would remain unanswered. Struggling against the protocol keeping me in, I managed to get a sight of my radar. A whole platoon worth of soldiers was advancing towards the outpost, Valkyries signal weakening as I lost access.

Such a simple trap, yet I had missed it.

My mind kept blacking out as the troops advanced, the Nanites holding my body hostage, I needed a way out of it. Memories of me jumping into this body, could I do it again, perhaps to an enemy?

Another blackout, I woke up staring at a wall, outside of my mind. Hands appearing spectral, they would pass through each other with no resistance.

What…is this?

Strange lettering appearing on my HUD as I struggled to get up. Still in the room from before, my body missing. Looking closer into my module list, I could see the hundreds of nanomachines scouring around my body. The same Nanites that had trapped me, had kept my AI secure within, but the security had not been enough to keep me from taking over.

I am a ghost, a specter, the walls still hold me, but no bullet can stop me. Weaponry missing from my belt and sling, I would have to find a way to get my chassis back.

Valkyrie stepped through the door and sat down next to it, rifle in her hands; she dropped the magazine and drew her pistol. She glanced at me and shook her head.

“You aren’t real, stop haunting me. I TRIED TO SAVE YOU.” She screamed, tears forming in her eyes.

I placed one finger before my mouth and shushed her with a slight smile on my face, stepping forwards and out of the door. If these machines can keep a form, surely they can shape into what I wish of them.

>Sending commands… >Complete. Nanites fully under user control.

Endless possibilities, but several that would prove useful here. My lack of combat capability in this form meant I would have to make use of mobility and provide a distraction while Valkyrie would keep the path behind me clear. Words proving hard to form without an actual mouth, I turned back to see her looking out of the doorway with her rifle braced against it. Lack of words, I recreated a simple reload gesture, magazine out and new one in. She nodded and loaded her rifle, walking forwards towards the exit of the outpost. She moved slowly as she took a knee near the door.

“There are too many out there, there is no way we can fight our way through them.”

I placed my hand on her shoulder; I could suddenly see my comlink open up.

“Can you hear me?” My voice metallic and compressed, her eyes lit up.

“Yes, yes I can. What the hell is even going on?”

“Good, I will distract, you locate cover.”

“What? No, I am not leaving you.”

“Find a flanking position, locate my chassis, and send the information over.”

“Understood.” She cleared the tear from her eye and checked her rifle. A clack from the bolt, she was good to go. She took position next to door and placed her hand on the panel to open it.

Three fingers up, count them down, she opened the door.

Let loose the shadow of a man scorned, allow him to regain his spirit and never look back. Pushing myself out of the slightest slid on the door, the soldiers standing guard opened fire as I moved towards them, cutting out the lights around me, siphoning the electricity from them. Glowing bright amidst the darkness, their aim was focused on me as Valkyrie started her assault, the first two soldiers down with accurate shots to the head, the third dropped with a shot to the knee and one to the neck.

“Ye, I can work with this. Keep moving.” She said, grabbing the magazines from one of the soldiers, dropping the empty ones out of her vest.

Hood formed of Nanites; I ran out to the streets and saw a glimpse of my body being loaded into a dropship around 300 meters away.

Body formed of Nanites; I changed my shape as the soldiers outside spotted me. Lowered stance, as obstacles became a problem; I shifted my way past them, closing in on the dropship. 200 meters… 100 meters, the ship started taking off as I leaped towards it and ran myself across the fuselage, forcing myself in between the slightest gap I could.

Past the armor plating, the insulation and protective parts, I made my way inside. The ship started speeding up as I scattered myself to get around easier, finally forming inside the cargo bay where they had my chassis. Placed on the floor like a corpse, I silently injected myself back inside through the nano holster still attached to my hip, leaving the nanites to fill it up.

>Reforming system… 2%...9%...25%... >Basic functions enabled.

Eyes open, I waited for my other systems to reactivate as the two guards in the bay were looking directly at me, wondering if they should do something. One grabbed onto his radio and started talking.

>55%...67%...79%...100% >System ready, encaging.

Pulling myself up as fast as I could, I grabbed the grip back into my hand and took down the first guard, the weapon disintegrating in my hands as the second one stood up and got his hand around my neck. A sharp jolt of electricity on my waist, I planted my elbow against his stomach and pushed him off, one hand on his vest, I pulled him past me, his head hitting the wall behind me, shattering his visor.

A knife from his vest, struck directly into his forehead past the shattered glass, silence. No weapons left on my sling nor my holster, the nano holster had taken the brunt of the impact against the shocker they had tried using against, and the container within swarming with fully activated nanites.

A smart person would have likely gotten out without making more noise, but I think just leaving would leave them with more than enough to come back after me, there is a whole bunch of soldiers still down there. A door to the cockpit, cracking it open wasn’t too hard with the key codes I pulled from one of the soldiers. Pulling it open, I found the pilot, gaining altitude as he flicked a few switches above him.

“This is Harrier 2, mission complete, returning to base.” He said, tightening his grip around the stick. Blade out from my hand, I stabbed it through the back of his seat, directly into the back of his head. No helmet would be enough from this close, blue liquid starting running back along my blade as the ship tilted back.

Hand on the stick, I pulled the ship out of a dive and removed the now dead pilot from his seat, taking his place. Seatbelt attached, I turned the ship around and looked over the weaponry.

I have grown my wings, watch me soar.

Hello, it’s me again.

You know, the voice who randomly comes up at the bottom of these texts, the writer himself. I would say I am late, but I am thinking of going with this new plan of writing every 3 days instead of every 2, giving some extra breathing room as my spark seems to be slightly dying from forcing myself to keep them coming with such a hectic timing. Who knows, I might even start doing it weekly with writings as long as this one.

Anyways, hope you all had a good Thanksgiving if you celebrated that. Good night Fifteenth_

[bellatrixobsessed1]

I’ll Meet You At The Bottom (Last Part)

So everyone was in support of the alternate ending. Between that and how much love this fic has received, I decided that I’ll post the alternate ending soon, as a big thank you to everyone who has supported the fic so far.

A loud pop and a bang echoed over the volcano, a tester, it was too light for it to be anything else. Emiru wriggled about in Azula’s arms as she made her way down a rather rickety path. His soft golden eyes and the shape of his facial features were so completely Fire Nation, so completely her. But he had the hair and the complexion of a Waterbender. He was only like his twin in terms of appearance. In personality they were as opposite as their parents. Emiru was much more timid but he had her cunning and that natural spark, the one that told her he was going to be a fearful force. That is if he chose to embrace his innate firebending skill.  Shizuka was incredibly outgoing and rather hyper. She could bend fire but showed very little interest in it, something that resonated well with Sokka as she seemed to like his boomerang. She had his awful sense of humor too. Azula couldn’t tell who was less amused by it, she or Emiru who was often the first to hear her puns.  Shizuka was content to dash off on her own, ever since the girl could walk, she hated being held. She shared that with her mother. But Emiru, at the age of five, still begged to be carried.

 So she did. She carried the boy past houses in varying states of repair. Some were very nearly complete and others were just beginning. They were modest buildings but they had a rather welcoming air about them. One such house was missing a window or two, but in the mean time had a set of fluttering curtains to fill in the space. The air reeked of sulfur, but the pleasant aroma of fresh bread took the edge off. Still Emiru wrinkled his nose and jammed his fingers up it. That action she would place entirely on Sokka’s genetics. Shizuka who seemed entirely unfazed by the stench wandered a few feet in front of Sokka, peering down various alleyways with an innocent sort of curiosity. On one occasion she emerged with a broken bottle. “Shiny.” She held it out to Azula.

 “Yes, very. Now put it down.”

 “It’s pretty.” She frowned.

 “It’s also dirty.” Azula countered, knowing very well that she was in for a bought of whining when the girl’s lower lip quivered.

 “We can take it home and wash it off.” Sokka suggested.

 “Sokka,” Azula hissed in his ear, “we don’t need a broken glass bottle.”

 “I don’t know I think Shizu has a point, it’s pretty shiny.”  

 Azula sighed fixing him with a sturdy glare. “You’re not helping.”

 Sokka took the bottle from their daughter as they made their way away from a stack of rubbish. A sizable heap of debris that ranged from battered shingles and broken glass to planks of wood and discarded flower pots. The pile was tilted rather dangerously and Azula made a point of quickening her pace, just in case.  By this point her arms were growing tired under the strain of Emiru’s weight. The boy was growing quickly, a very early bloomer. Her tightened his arms around her neck with a babyish coo. The boy had a tendency to make random sounds upon growing bored. “When’re the fire works gonna start, mama?” He asked.

 “When it gets dark.” She answered, petting his head.

 “Why when it’s dark?”

 “So you can see them better.”

 “Why can you see them better.” Shizuka joined the interrogation.

 “Because…” Azula trailed off. “That’s just how it works.”

 “Good answer.” Sokka quipped.

 “Do you have a better one?”

 Azula had to admire the village’s yards. The past five years had treated them very well. They were flourishing in full and dotted with vibrant flowers. Some still retained a sprinkle of litter, but mostly they were well maintained. Again Azula found herself resonating with the place, the past five years had been rather kind to her as well. Save for an occasional lapse—one that usually involved an unexpected throwback to the trips she’d had so very long ago—she found herself in better condition than perhaps ever. On most days she was put together well her nails polished and filed to a point. Her makeup fixed to her content. And her hair…

She decided to cut it once more, partly to get Sokka to stop complaining that it was getting in his face, partly to get Shizuka to stop putting it in her mouth, and partly because she wanted a small change. It fell in such a way that it was longer in the front—reaching almost her shoulders—and hung shorter towards the back.

In the same way the Ash Pit still bore signs of abuse; pot-holes, graffiti, and spots of mildew. Azula still wore scars across her arms, legs, and belly. And in the same way the pot-holes were filled in and the graffiti was morphed into true art, Azula found her scars glorified by a sense of confidence in them and a generous web of tattoos; a blue dragon with black claws. The artist who’d done the tattoo had masterfully positioned its claws so that it gave the illusion that it had scratched the scars into her arms. And in a sense the blue dragon had.

 She found herself walked by a particularly fragrant yard. One that teemed with flora of many genus. Firelilies burst open in a brilliant splay reminiscent of a sunset. Surrounding the firelilies was an army of ruby-red poppies. And near the back of the garden sun-daisies grew twelve feet tall showing off pristine white petals and centers the color of sunshine.  There were many other flowers scattered about but the Fire Lord couldn’t even begin to name them. Vines licked the edges of the garden and crept up the side of the house the garden complimented. If she were being honest, she didn’t think that even the palace grasses were that green and lush.

 Before Azula could stop her, Shizuka dashed into the garden and plucked herself a poppy. No sooner, and not unexpectedly the door to the house crashed open. “Who picks muh flowers!?”

 Azula rolled her eyes, “here we go.” She sighed aloud.

 “Mama Mozi ain’t say that nobody ken pick her flowers.”

 “Sorry,” Sokka laughed nervously. “She’s only five.”

 Mozi set her hands on her hips. “I ain’t know why you has such a thing fer muh garden.” She looked at Azula, “if it ain’t you steps on Mama Mozi grass, it yer kid steppin’ there. You lucky that Mama Mozi like kids.”

 “Her name is Shizuka.” Azula introduced.

 “And that’s Emiru.” Sokka motioned to the boy.

 “Ken Mama Mozi hol’ ‘er?”

 “She doesn’t like to be held. But Emiru does.” Azula replied. She was reluctant to hand her child over to anyone in the Ash Pit. But Mozi, she decided, had done her well. So she let her take Emiru in her arms.

 “He remind me ov muh own boy. He remind me of Nao.” She snuggled Emiru against her a cheek, that Azula was surprised to see was decently washed. For a moment, Azula wondered where she had come up with the money to do so. She hadn’t seen the woman attend the trade fair that she and Zuko held for the Ash Pit residents. Such was one of the earliest projects they had established for renovating the place. “Mama Mozi has flowers fer sell. If ya wants ya ken take one.”

 Shizuka’s eyes lit up and she wandered over to the stall, Mozi pointed to.  She teetered over to it as Mozi placed Emiru back in Azula’s arms. The older woman smiled, apparently her wiggling tooth had finally fallen out. “He a good boy.

 “Most of the time.” Azula agreed. Emiru nuzzled his cheek into the cook of her neck.

 For a span of time Mama Mozi just stared at she and her family, mostly her eyes rested on Azula, only leaving her to watch Shizuka take Sokka’s hand. Mozi grinned again, that familiar broken-toothed smile. “Fer ‘while Mama Mozi thought she’d see ya dead. Mos’ folk who take the Tears don’t part wid ‘em. Mama Mozi glad you okay.” She patted Azula’s hand, leaving a spot of dirt behind.

 Azula had forgotten that the last time she’d seen Mozi, it was in parting and she had still been very well into her addiction. “You need to wash your hands after you garden.” Azula noted, not particularly wanting to bring the tears up in front of Emiru and Shizuka.

 “Mama Mozi ain’t got time fer that. Mama Mozi ain’t from the uppa ring.”

 “If things keep going my way there won’t be much of a difference between here and the Capital.” Azula shrugged.

 “Mama Mozi ain’t gun wash ‘er hans even if this place becomes like the Capital.” She vowed. “Whats ya doin’ back here anyway?”

 Azula shrugged. “Just wanted to check in I suppose.” The truth is, she didn’t really know herself. Save for Mozi, she didn’t know anyone who still lived in the Ash Pit.

 .oOo.

 “What a weird lady.” Shizuka remarked as they walked away. “Who picks muh flowers!?” The girl mimicked.

 The sun was relatively lower in the sky, Sokka had an abundance of mixed feelings and complaints about being in the Ash Pit after sundown, especially with their children by their side. Despite an wild slur of protests, Sokka had Shizuka in his arms. The girl was kicking and screaming until he handed her over to Azula and took Emiru. Shizuka knew better than to get fussy with Azula, lest she be confined to her room for a few days.

 “Can we go home yet?” He asked.

 “Stop worrying, Sokka. If I can survive this place at its worst, I can handle my own now. And I can protect the three of you.” She shrugged. As annoying as it was, he was glad she felt so secure. So unafraid. “Besides, Zu-Zu will be here soon.”

 “Uncle Zu-Zu!” Shizuka cried happily. “He has funny stories.”

 Sokka saw Azula roll her eyes, no doubt because most of Zuko’s funny stories involved rather embarrassing situations he and his sister had gotten into. He also had a habit of retelling some of the things Azula said while painfully intoxicated. On one occasion, Shizuka got Emiru to help her reenact such a story in front of the man Sokka had come to call, ‘boring lecture guy’. He remained an important councilmen and was even less amused by shenanigans happening during meetings than he was when they discussed the Yu Dao in times past. Sokka didn’t think he’d ever seen Azula look so flustered in front of so many people. Shizuka clearly had a talent. Sokka snickered to himself, he hadn’t expected her to be anything less than awkward about being a mother. It was one thing he seemed to be far more comfortable with that she. Fatherhood came rather naturally to him, he just imitated the qualities he admired the most in his own dad. He taught Emiru how to hunt, but Shizuka seemed to enjoy it more. He then taught Emiru to paint, this is where Shizuka stuck out her tongue and cooed, “bo-o-ring.” They loved his jokes and his stories about traveling the world with Aang. They loved tackling him on the floor and wrestling with him, mostly two against one.

At times Azula looked almost hurt. As though she were an outsider in her own family. At first it was true, that their children had gravitated more towards him. She meant well, but the Fire Lord was rather cold and stern with them in the beginning. Eventually Sokka ended up giving the a small push, he snatched Zuko (who grabbed Mai) and paid a visit to the Jasmine Dragon. With them an ocean away, the children only had their mother. According to Azula, they had nearly driven her insane again and their grandmother had to give her a hand.  

It was only after Azula told Shizuka that she was allowed to firebend in the palace—after Sokka very specifically told her not to—that she declared that her mother was her favorite. She kicked Sokka in the shin and ran over to her mother, making a point of propelling herself there with a burst of fire. Wholly unhelpful, Azula supported this act of rebellion. Leaving Sokka open mouthed and Emiru to say, “it’s okay daddy, I still like you.”

 All in all, he thought that his family was perfect. Particularly on the nights he would come home to find Azula asleep—after what was probably a very dull or stressful council meeting—with Shizuka curled up next to her and Emiru piled on top of her. He would tuck the three in and take to bed himself.

 Even so he continued to have his low moments. There were times when he couldn’t help but wonder what it would have been like it the woman he tucked in was Suki and their unborn baby. He wondered what kind of mother she would have been and what it would have been like to live on Kyoshi Island rather than visiting Ember Island. He wondered what it would have been to show Suki the Water Tribe’s glowing sky curtains instead of letting Azula, Emi, and Shizu marvel at them. Often times Azula would sense it on him and just sit quietly with him. About three years in, Azula came to realize that there was nothing she could say to ease that kind of pain…that kind of loss and that the best thing to do would be just to sit next to him, with an arm over his shoulder or a hand trailing up and down his chest. She wasn’t Suki, but after a while he finally concluded that he didn’t need or want her to be. No, he was glad that he had Azula. Azula and her strange moods and her refined but somehow untamed personality. Azula and her odd way of expressing care. Azula and her seemingly complete understanding of his own quirks and sometimes violent tendencies. It was his biggest fear, his temper getting the best of him, and during times of stress it sometimes still did. So he was glad he had Azula, who refused to take any of his shit but was also empathized.

 It took him longer than it should have to realize that he was indeed very happy with his place in life, satisfied with the way his path ended up unfolding. Even though he wandered blindly down the better portion of it, constantly taking turns that probably shouldn’t have been there at all.

 That path had lead him back into the Ash Pit with a wife and two children where he was spreading a small picnic blanket and an assortment of pastries and fruits.

 .oOo.

 Azula let Shizuka steal the first fruit-tart. Evidently, Emiru wanted the same one. “If you guys keep fighting over it, I’ll give it to Sokka.” She threatened, not a fan of that particular flavor, herself. Just like that she had two perfect little angels who were content to split the tart in half. She was thankful that she retained her ability to make things that she wanted sound appealing to everyone else.

 Sokka pouted. “I wanted that fruit tart.”

 Azula rolled her eyes, “you’re such a child Sokka.”  She watched another firework launch over the rim of the volcano, raining down a shower of gold and pink. In the light of the flash she could see a hoard of silhouettes descending the stairs to join them. Zuko, Mai, and TyLee in the front. Behind them she cold make out Aang’s bald head and Katara locked in his arm. Toph trailed behind with Chan, Ruon-Jian, and Boryuk. And behind them Yoona and Khoza walked arm and arm next to Yoko and Bo-Rem. Azula wondered when they switched love interests. Wire and a still very bashful Taeyul lingered towards the back of the group.

 “You didn’t invite mother and uncle?” Azula noted.

 “Iroh is serving tea to festival goers, and he recruited mother.” Zuko explained. “Here.” He handed her a rather large box.

 Azula unwrapped it, to find what at first looked like an overlarge stone. “Gee, thanks, I’ve always wanted a large rock.”

 “Me too!” Toph grinned.

 In the burst of another firework she could see the object much clearer. It shimmered like a cluster of rubies entrapped in pure amber. “Where did you get this?” Azula asked.

 “Aang and I took a trip back to a certain lost city that I’m not going to tell you anything else about.” Zuko replied. “I got one for myself too.”

 Azula smirked to herself, picturing family vacations taking on the back of a dragon instead of a boat. Better yet, she imagined dropping them off at school on the dragon—a much better ride than a simple palanquin trip. She spread herself out on the picnic blanket and looked skyward. Another firework and then a second to follow climbed the sky, leaving a glittering trail. Shizuka crawled clumsily over the blanket, at times brining her hand down hard and accidently on Azula’s thigh or hip. Emiru covered his ears, complaining of the noise until Sokka scooped him up and explained the mechanics of fireworks.

 Flashes of golds and oranges and blues and greens blended together after a few minutes and Azula found herself growing rather sleepy, listening to the endless chatter of her friends. Emiru, was already asleep in Sokka’s arms, it was far past his bed time. Shizuka, she could tell, was forcing herself to stay awake, trying to soak in every last minute of that rare occasion when she got to stay up far past the norm. Azula heaved herself upright and took hold of Shizuka, rocking the girl as she pointed out her favorite types of fireworks. In due time, Azula her sleeping like her brother.

 “They’re so precious.” Sokka squealed. “Look at them.”

 “I can’t.” Toph replied for Azula.

 “Thanks for answering, Azula.” Sokka grumbled.

 “Anytime, Sokka, my one true love.” Toph chuckled.

 “You’re completely obnoxious.” Azula grumbled.

 “Among other things.” Toph agreed.

 “I’m surprised Shizuka stayed up so late!” TyLee remarked. “Last year she fell asleep before the first firework.”

 “Share a drink with me?” Chan cut in with the offer.

 Azula shrugged. It had been so long since her last one. She decided that she could and probably should trust herself. She couldn’t see herself going overboard with twins to carry home. She took the bottle and poured herself a glass. She clicked it with Chan’s, “to my engagement to Ruon-Jian.”

 “We’re engaged?” He asked.

 “Did I forget to tell you?” Chan questioned back.

 Azula rolled her eyes, she had no clue how she’d gotten herself mixed up with that man. Apparently ‘idiot’ was her type. She set the glass down, bunched up a portion of the picnic blanket, and set Shizuka’s head upon it and left room for Sokka to do the same with Emiru. In what seemed like another lifetime entirely, Azula had peered up at the same skyline—seeing the majestic outline of the palace between bursts of fireworks—feeling like she belonged to neither place. The Capital towered over the rim of the volcanoes with just as much golden glory as ever and with just as much warm radiance. It casted not shadows, but light into the Ash Pit. By comparison to her home, the Ash Pit was still rather run-down, but a speckle of the Capital’s glamor was finally working its way down the volcano side. Like a hand reaching out, the Capital licked the sky with the fiery tongue of another firecracker. This one shimmered over the palace roof, as though they were trying to coax her back home. She liked to think that they were purposely aiming the fireworks high enough for her to see them still. That night she belonged to both the Ash Pit and the Capital and it was then a matter of picking where she wanted to spend her time. Somehow it felt right to spend it in the Pit where so much of her life had changed, where so much of herself had changed. In the place that made her realize that she need to help herself or no one else would…

 No one but Sokka, who took to running his fingers through her hair and kissing her neck, sending a pleasant tingle throughout her body. The night had grown quiet, in the Ash Pit at least—she could still hear festival music from afar—save for an occasional, unprofessional firework from the village. She could hear Emiru snoring softly and Sokka’s hushed breathing as he held her close.

 “Happy birthday.” He murmured when he grew tired of the silence. “I still love you.”

 “I guess I still love you too.” She muttered, “I’m trying anyways.” She leaned back into him with a devious little smirk.

 “I think that it’s working.”

 “It might be.” She answered, trying to find a comfy position in his grasp. She finally found one, laying on her side with her ear against his chest.

 She had been so scared to change. So afraid to become someone new and from where she sat, with a generous breeze and the sounds of distant celebration. And with the company she sat with, she had no idea where the fear had come from. Iroh and Zuko, she hated to admit, were right; a metamorphosis had been in dire need. She had certainly strayed very far from her old self, from that lost and hurt fourteen-year-old girl. And she was content to keep her distance. Content to be this newer version of her with slumbering twins and a Sokka that was likely just as new.

 .oOo.

 On the wall of the palace hung a series of portraits, old and new alike. One with a girl and a boy who looked so blank and so tormented with the hands of distant parents on their shoulders. The one next to it displayed a proud but scarred man with a stance of upmost dignity. And next to that hung an image of a very tousled woman, perched on a balcony with her hair cut short. Her face bore the pain of having been the girl in that first painting. Next to that was a warmer image, one that took place in the palace garden during the sunset hours, he could still see the pain in her eyes. And next to that was a beach scene, this picture was different from the others in that the woman was happy. And the last and newest portrait, that one was his favorite. It detailed the boy and girl from the first painting but they looped their arms over each other’s shoulders. The mother from the first portrait was a grandmother in this one, a boy and a girl played at their mother’s feet, giving viewers the sense that the painting hadn’t been posed at all. And on the other side of the girl was a Tribesman, grinning big—happy to be part of the portrait for once.

 He couldn’t say he had helped her much. He couldn’t say that he had helped her at all. But he was proud of her. Iroh didn’t have much time left before he passed into the Spirit World, but he would hold out a little longer to let her know that he had nothing but respect and love for the woman she’d become and the person she helped Sokka become.

 They were a family, controversial at the time, but a family. A genuine family with deep history that had taken so much time and effort. And so many tears to create. But that family, his family—newer members and older—was finally as it should have been. As it could have been if not so touched by the war. For the time all was right…

A finished piece.

[sockablock]

Happy Thursday y’all! To celebrate, here’s Chapter 7! Stuff this time: Emotional jam sessions with Nott/Fjord; the gals talk; Caleb's Big Secret; this website; Blue Man Group; the sewer exploits begin

Chapter 7: Memories of Fire

“The Gentleman says he’s alright with us taking on a contract for the King’s Hall at the same time,” said Fjord.

The party was in Beau, Jester, and Yasha’s room that afternoon, planning for tomorrow. Most of them sat in a semicircle on the floor, with Jester and Nott perched on the chest at the foot of the bed. Three maps were spread out on the wood before them. Frumpkin scratched his claws along a chair leg in the background.

“Excellent,” grinned Molly. “A two-for-one deal.”

“We just have to report back to the Gentleman first,” said Beau. “He wants to get the details before anyone else, and he’ll probably decide what we can and can’t tell the Herald.”

“That makes sense,” Caleb sighed, “since we will be moving through his territory.”

“Kara suggests we should check out these areas of the sewers,” Beau said, using her staff to point to a series of ink circles. “She says shit’s happened there. Also, I’m not entirely sure how happy they are that we were able to find these maps.”

“Luckily for them,” Fjord said, “they aren’t completely accurate or up-to-date, so they don’t have to worry about all of their secret passages and important shortcuts being discovered. Unluckily for us.”

“Why do they not just give us our own maps, then?” Yasha asked.

“They don’t trust us not to copy them down,” Fjord said, then gave a sideways glance to Caleb. “Not that we would need to.”

“They still don’t know about the Frumpkin arrangement,” Nott grinned proudly. Said cat continued to decimate the chair behind them.

“Anybody have any preferences for where to go?” Beau asked.

“We can take the northern passageways,” said Molly, looking at the scroll.

“We will go west!” Jester declared, and Yasha nodded.

“South for us it is, then,” said Beau.

“Remember, everyone, don’t engage with anything if you can avoid it,” said Fjord. “After an hour, we’ll meet back at the entrance and compare notes. Then we move further as a group.”

Jester leaned against the footboard. “I’m not going to lie, I’m getting a little nervous about this fight.”

“I don’t like not knowing what we are up against,” said Yasha.

“It’s…it’s no big deal,” Beau said. “We killed crazy wraith guy in an abandoned laboratory, we fought off a devil toad, we even took out a huge fucking manticore! And a bunch of gnolls and a weird dark priest all at the same time! We got this.”

“We’ll be fine as long as we work together,” Fjord said, and the rest agreed. But not without hesitating first.

------------------------------

“I asked you this a while ago,” Caleb said slowly, “but if you wouldn’t mind, could I ask it again?”

Nott looked up. She was prepping spells for tomorrow, methodically pulling small components out of her pouch and examining them. There was already a strange assortment of items spread out on the floor in front of her: little bits of cotton, chicken feathers, strips of copper wire. Caleb, sitting on the bed, was doing the same. He had a clay cat’s paw in his hands and various small objects scattered on the sheets around him.

“Ask away,” she said.

He took a deep breath. “What do you think of Mollymauk?”

She fiddled with a bit of string. “What do I think of Mollymauk?”

“Ja.”

“Well…I think he’s a bit of a bastard, who lets his own feelings get in the way of understanding why other people do things. He speaks in circles about trusting and not trusting and doesn’t accept it when you argue with him, or at least if you don’t pretend to agree. I think he’s weird and a fool for not wanting to know more about his past, especially when it’s obviously coming back to bite him. He thinks he’s smarter than he is. He puts on a display of flashiness and charm to hide how scared he is, and how much he really doesn’t know about the world.”

Caleb stared at the cat’s paw, thinking. Then, just as he opened his mouth to respond, Nott held up a finger.

“He’s also a brave fighter,” she said slowly, as if admitting a secret. “He’s quick to defend, and he’s good at thinking on his feet. With the group, he’s way more loyal and caring than I thought he’d ever be. He might not like all of us, but everything he does is to keep us together and make sure everybody gets their fair share. He’s kind to people who don’t deserve it, and he cares about people who don’t care for themselves,” she added, and gave Caleb a pointed look.

“He’s a good person. Maybe he’s a weird idiot, but he’s a good person. Especially for you.”  

Caleb was silent for a while. Then, “Thank you for that, Nott.”

“What do you think of Mollymauk?”

“I…I was not so sure at first. But I believe I think quite highly of him, now.”

She gave him a wide grin. “Are you going to tell him that?” she asked.

He fidgeted with the paw. “I don’t know,” he said. “I want to, but I don’t know.”

“I don’t think you need to worry about rushing to do it,” Nott said helpfully. “It seems like he’d be willing to wait a while for you.” 

Caleb did not answer, but he did give a small smile.

“Hey, have you got some copper wire I can borrow?” Nott asked. “I’ve only got a bit left.”

“Of course, spatz. Here you go.”

------------------------------

“Don’t you think we should get you some real swords?” Fjord asked.

Molly, from his perch on the bed, shrugged. “These have been with me a while, now.” 

“But aren’t they prop swords? Made of ‘cheap carnival glass’ or something?”

“Yes, but remember, the magic has been within me all along,” Molly said, and grinned. “I’m pretty sure I could give myself a splinter on a club and it would be just as deadly as a sword. I could use this—” and he held up the needle and thread he was using mend a tear in his coat, “—and I could probably do a fair bit of radiant or ice damage along with it.”

“Right, right, but if you had a proper weapon, you wouldn’t have to cut yourself to fight.”

Molly opened his mouth, and then closed it again. Fjord, who was cleaning his leathers for the coming fight, watched the tiefling’s expression changing with interest.

“I…I guess so,” Molly said eventually. “But I’ve never not fought they way I do. I’m not sure I know any other ways.”

Fjord gave Molly a small smile. “If you ever want to spar, I’m here.”

“Thank you, Fjord Tough.”

Fjord sighed. “Don’t make me rescind that offer.”

“Do you prefer Oskar?” Molly teased, and Fjord blushed.

“I think I’ll go with Fjord Tough.”

“How was your walk with Jester last night?” Molly asked as casually as possible.  

“Oh, er…good? It was nice to be able to walk around the markets, just the two of us.”

Molly leaned in, and a grin was starting to break through his mask of nonchalance. “Really? What did you two do, just stroll and talk, or…?”

Fjord missed the open-ended nature of the question. “Actually, if you remember, we ended up fighting a…what did Yasha call ‘em? A Carrion Crawler. In the middle of the street, along with three Crownsguard. Those things are tough. And not to criticize the lovely men and women that protect us, but this city’s law enforcement is useless.”

Molly laughed. “Better to call in the rest of the Nein when you need something.”

Fjord nodded. “But other than that, yeah, it was rather pleasant.”

“I’m glad.”

“It’s…it’s no secret that Jester likes to flirt with me,” Fjord sighed. “More so than with Caleb and all the others, and definitely not just to make me embarrassed, don’t think I haven’t noticed that.”

“I never doubted your romantic observation skills.”

“And she’s a lovely person,” he continued, ignoring Molly’s cheek, “don’t get me wrong. I just feel I need more time before I go off making any decisions.”

“More moonlit strolls.”

“Sure, yeah.”

Molly nodded and went back to sewing up his sleeve.

“How are you and Caleb?” Fjord asked.

Molly didn’t look up, but he could feel the weight of Fjord’s curious glance.  He sighed. “There’s no point in pretending there’s nothing going on, right?”

“Jester told us about it all like…a week ago.”

“Yeah, that makes sense. What do you think?”

Fjord thought for a moment. “It’s definitely not a match I saw coming,” he said. “After all, you’re very outgoing and he’s the least outgoing person I’ve ever met. He sucks at talking to people. You’re a lot of color and…pizazz, but I think if Caleb laid down on the ground he would blend in so well we wouldn’t be able to see him anymore. He’s very analytical, and you have a lot of heart.”

Fjord looked down at the faint arcane sigils spiraling across his armor. They glowed a soft blue.

“But then…it also makes a ridiculous amount of sense,” he said. “I don’t really know that much about him, yet, but you’re both on your second start. You both focus on the good of the group, trying to heal up and protect everyone. You bring out good things in one another. Caleb makes you calmer, a little less impulsive, while you being around makes him braver in combat and more likely to speak up to strangers. You keep him honest, and he’s always supported your decision to forget the past. You’ve got a sense of humor, and he does too, though it’s a bit more hidden. You’re both kind. And you both care about one another quite a bit.”

Molly finished closing the hole in his coat. He looked up at Fjord.

“That’s what I think, anyways,” said the half-orc. “Does it help?”

Molly gave him a slow grin. “I think it does,” he said.

“Is that how you feel about him?”

“I…yes. Not quite that well-said, though. Mostly my brain has just been a jumble of feelings. So, er, thank you for that.”

“No problem.”

“And if you ever want us to purposefully get you and Jester alone, like you lot have been doing for me despite my not asking for it, just say the word.”

Fjord chuckled. “I might take you up on that one day. Though I think Jester is good enough at…at being Jester to create those scenarios by herself.”

“Now that’s the truth.”

There was a brief silence.

“Are you going to tell Caleb about how you feel?”

Molly sighed. “I…I’m not sure,” he said. “I want to. I really want to. I just…there’s still a part of me that doesn’t know whether or not he feels the same, no matter how much everybody tells me he does. I think I just need more time, or maybe I just need to hear it from him. I don’t…I’m not exactly the most experienced in this department.”

“You are two years old.”

“That is not the same thing.”

Fjord grinned. “Come on, you’re not the only one allowed to tease.”

“Fair enough. But, well, as I was saying…I’d just like to be absolutely ready before I say anything.”

“I understand.”

“I’m glad you do. It’s been a weird week. I’ll…I’ll tell him soon. I will.”

“I don’t think there’s any rush,” said Fjord. “This is important, and important things take time.”

------------------------------

“Those dumb shits need to kiss now,” said Jester, flopping down on the bed.

Beau yanked her staff out of the way just before the tiefling’s head could bump into it. She sighed, changed the angle of the weapon, and continued to polish it.

“Why is it so important that they must kiss now?” Yasha asked. She was cleaning her bracers by the table, her new whetstone duck placed next to the rest of her armor as if in a place of honor.

“Because I am putting so much of my focus into those two, I am neglecting everything else,” Jester said. “I am drawing much less, now, and I haven’t thought of any good pranks in days.”

“Isn’t that your problem?” Beau asked.

Jester looked up with a raised eyebrow. “That sounded much worse than it was, so I forgive you.”

“What do you mean—”

“I just am so busy hoping that they will finally get together, that my brain power is being used up. It’s just how that goes,” Jester said.

Beau gave up. “Sure,” she agreed.

“Jester, do you have everything you need for tomorrow night?” Yasha asked.

“Yes!” she said. “I even worked a bit on the map and cleaned my symbol to the Traveler.”

“What do you mean?” Beau asked.

“You’re doing it right now to your staff,” Jester said with a raised eyebrow. “You take a cloth and you spit on it and—”

“No, no, I mean what do you mean worked on the map?”

Jester reached for the haversack and produced Team Yasha’s map. “Look, I drew the monsters we fought in the sewers. This is the slime thing, these are the rats, and that’s the giant centipede Fjord and I killed.”

“…why?”

“So we know what to look out for!”

“That is a good idea,” said Yasha. “Nice work.”

Jester beamed, and Beau sighed.

“Sure,” Beau agreed, “thanks for the help.”

------------------------------

“Hey,” Molly said, knocking against the doorframe to Caleb’s room. “Ready to come down?”

“Ja, give me a moment. Come in, also.”

Molly walked into the room and crossed his arms. Caleb had a boot on the mattress and was doing up his laces. “Is Nott there now?” he asked.

“Yeah, she sent me up here to come get you. We’re going to head over to the King’s Hall to get our writ, then over to the Nip for the real job details.”

“Before we go down,” Caleb said slowly, “I have something I would like to say.” 

Molly raised an eyebrow. “Should I sit down for this?”

Caleb gestured vaguely over to the chest at the foot of the bed. Molly walked over and sat down. Caleb finished tying his shoes and took a seat on the bed.

“You asked me yesterday how I learned to speak Sylvan.”

Molly nodded.

“And do you remember that time in the baths, when I told you I had found a way to attend the academy?”

“Before we had to go kill a blob of slime.”

“Right, that ate a woman and tried to eat Jester.”

“Yes,” Molly said, cracking a smile. “Hard to forget that.”

“Indeed. But, well, on the subject of that way I discovered. It was…it was by joining the military.”

Molly blinked. “Oh. I see.”

“It was not a bad deal, at the time. I would serve ten years—”

“Ten years?”

“Ja, I know, but there were not many other options. Besides, they gave me an education, they fed and clothed me, they taught me new magics and tactics. They gave me brothers and sisters in arms, and promised all the money I would need for Soltryce, for living in Rexxentrum. They would write me the letters of recommendation, provide the official paperwork, everything. If I had rank, if I had standing as an accomplished warmage, it would be easy to get in. All I had to do…all I had to do in return was burn down whatever villages they wanted, incinerate whoever they wanted.”

“…did you?”

“…yes. For some time, I did. And then one day I was too close to it all. I…it is stupid that it took me that long, but I realized finally what I was doing. And I ran.”

Caleb turned towards Molly and gave him a sad smile. “That was my secret, the other night,” he said. “You know, the one that I did not tell you on purpose.”

Molly’s eyes widened. “Look, Caleb, I’m—”

Caleb reached over and put a hand on Molly’s shoulder. “I admit I was not pleased when I remembered what had happened, and that you lied to me. But I also remember you trying to stop me, and agreeing to let me speak when I told you I wanted to tell you anyways. And, you know, I am telling it to you now, again, and this time it is on purpose.”

“I am sorry, Caleb.”

“I know. Thank you.”

“And…and I appreciate you telling me. I really do. But…but why?”

Caleb took a deep breath. He stared at the bedsheets and picked at his sleeves. “I…I do not want you to think I am just a simple coward stumbling his way through the world. That part is true, but it has not always been all that I was. I…I have done many despicable things. You know I do not enjoy using fire, and that is because I have hurt people. Deeply. My past is rather bloody, or…or would have been if charred corpses and piles of ash could bleed. And…and perhaps I was just doing what I was told to do, but I still did it. I am still responsible for every life I took and every life I left behind broken and burned. I…I wanted you to know that, and to understand that when you are making your final judgement of me. I have not been a good person, Mollymauk Tealeaf.”

Molly reached over, and put a gentle hand under Caleb’s chin. He carefully guided the wizard’s face towards his, and two pupil-less, ruby eyes met a pair of clear blue ones, widened with surprise.

“It doesn’t matter what you’ve done,” Molly said softly. “What matters is who you are now. You are not a coward. You are not stumbling. You are a brilliant fighter with and without fire, and as far as I am concerned, all you have done so far is protect yourself, and protect your friends. From what I’ve seen, you’ve only hurt people that hurt you first. I have made my judgement of you already, Caleb Widogast, and I…”

His heart pounded. Caleb’s face had turned bright red, and Molly could feel the other man’s pulse racing.

“I…I…”

…he couldn’t do it.

Slowly, Molly pulled away and dropped his hand onto the sheets. “I care a great deal about you,” he said instead. “I admire your skills, I value your friendship, and I believe in your second start.”

He stood up and dusted off his coat. “After all, you believed in mine.”

Caleb blinked in surprise, then nodded slowly. “Of course.”

“Let’s go down for some breakfast now, alright?” Molly suggested, chest aching. “Hopefully Nott saved us some sausages.”

------------------------------

“There are no more,” said Nott. “Jester ate all of them.”

“That is not true.”

Fjord sighed and tried to draw the group’s focus back. “So, we’re agreed, then? Only cantrips if you can help it. We’ve got a ton of healing potions now too, so that should be able to save Jester for more offensive spells.”

“Yeah, yeah, but I’m still on standby to heal in case something super bad happens,” she said, waving her hand.

“Alright, then,” he nodded. “We should head over soon to the King’s Hall. Does everybody want to come?”

“I might be better staying here and preparing spells,” Caleb said.

Jester, Nott, and Beau all looked pointedly at Molly.

He sighed. His brain was still a mess, but he managed to pull through. “I’ll hang around here too,” he said. “I can…I can…I’ll keep Caleb company.”

“I want to go to a blacksmith,” said Nott. “To get more crossbow bolts.”

“I’ll come with you,” said Beau. “There’s always more ball bearings to be bought.”

“Alright, so it’s me, Jester, and Yasha then,” said Fjord.

“Berry,” said Yasha.

They all looked at her.

“Excuse me?”

“Last time we took a job from there, I gave my name as Berry,” she explained coolly. “Our faces are not common ones, so I should give the same name in case they remember.”

“Damn,” said Fjord. “I forgot about that.”

“I think I just said my name was Beau,” said Beau.

“I think I might also have given my name as Bo,” said Fjord.

“I was Shirley,” said Jester.

“I was Temple,” added Nott.

They looked at Caleb and Molly.

“…Esma?” tried Molly. “I remember something about that.”

“I was not present for this,” said Caleb. “You could just give any name.”

“Reginald,” said Jester, and he shrugged.

“That works.”

“Okay,” said Fjord, “Now that that’s settled, is everybody ready to go?”

“Wait,” said Nott, and pulled a sausage out of her pouch. She handed it to Caleb. “Here you go, Reginald, I forgot I saved you one.”

And then the respective groups moved out, leaving Molly doubled over in laughter at the table and pounding his fist against the wood. Caleb sighed, holding a single, lint-covered sausage in his hands.

“Frumpkin,” he called, “come eat this.”

------------------------------

“Here you are,” said Herald Voloshin. “Present it to the guard stationed at the sewer entrance, and they will let you in. Same as before.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Fjord. “We’ll be back soon with results.”

“Good,” said the dwarf, spinning around and walking back to his office. “You are dismissed.”

“I do not like him,” said Yasha, after he had left.

“Me neither,” said Jester.

“But do you think it was wise of you to stick a ‘kick me’ sign onto his back?” Fjord asked.

“Nobody noticed,” Jester said defensively, “and even if they did, nobody cared.”

“Maybe we should get going now,” he sighed, “just in case.” 

------------------------------

Nott poked her head into the small satchel. “I’ve never had this much ammo before,” she said in an almost dreamy voice.

“Good,” said Beau, “we’re going to need it tonight.”

“Is that why you bought four thousand ball bearings?”

“Yep.”

“Isn’t that heavy?”

“Actually, not really. These things are pretty light.”

------------------------------

“You know, I really do appreciate you telling me your big secret,” said Molly as he watched Caleb double-check his spell components.

“I am glad for that,” said Caleb. He carefully slid soot and salt into a small pouch in his hands.

“I’m still sorry I haven’t told you mine,” said Molly.

Caleb looked up. He had a soft expression on his face. “There’s no need for apologizing,” he said. “It is yours to tell and yours to give away. There is nothing wrong with waiting.”

“I just…I just really want to tell you. But I can’t. I promise, I want nothing more than to tell you.”

“Would it be easier for you to just say it again in Infernal?” Caleb asked.

“It would be easiest if I could just say it in Common,” Molly sighed. “But maybe I’ll take you up on that offer at some point.”

“It is nice to hear,” said Caleb. “As I said before, it reminds me of Zemnian. Which nobody speaks around here.”

“Well, you just have to ask for it, and I’ll tell you everything you want to hear,” Molly winked, and Caleb smiled, though did not understand.

------------------------------

“—and, unfortunately, a few of my men did disappear during the last two full moons, carrying important cargo. So, if you encounter them in your…expedition, please do recover their possessions for me.”

“Should…should we bring their bodies back too?” Nott asked.

“If you so choose,” said the Gentleman, “though they are not of high priority, by any means.”

There was a brief silence following that remark.

“Well,” and now he leaned in and laced his fingers together, “if there are no more questions, sundown will be in about an hour. Kara and Dweez are ready to escort you down whenever you are ready.”

“Thank you,” said Fjord, “I believe we are?” and he looked around at the rest of the group.

“Let’s get it on,” said Beau, and stood up.

“Excellent,” said the Gentleman. “Enjoy your time down there, and good luck, Mighty Nein.”

He gave them a slight wave as they were guided through a back door and down a flight of wooden stairs.

“Blindfolds,” said Kara, and passed them out. “You all know the drill.”

Slinking in the shadows behind them, Frumpkin’s eyes turned milky-white and gave off the faintest glow.

They walked slowly, the two members of the Gentleman’s troupe taking care not to let any of the Nein wander off.

“Do you know anything else about what’s down there?” Beau asked.

“Nothing that the Gentleman hasn’t already told you,” Kara sighed. “Just strange lights, weird sounds, the occasional awful smell once. Everybody we sent there to investigate didn’t come back.”

“Great,” said Beau.

“Don’t worry,” said Kara. “You lot are much better equipped to deal with this sort of thing than smugglers. You should be fine.”

“Should be fine,” Nott mumbled, and reached for her flask. Dweez snickered.

After about half an hour of weaving through carved-out tunnels and passing by strange, glowing fungal growths, and skittering underground creatures that only Caleb/Frumpkin saw, they reached their destination.

“You can take them off now,” said Kara. “We’re here.”

They removed their blindfolds and stared up at a large break in the cavern wall. It was blocked off by a sturdy iron fence that Dweez scuttled over to and unlocked. Past the metal bars, the wind whistled and a slow stream or liquid trickled over the rocky ground.

“This part leads into the western sewage systems of Zadash,” said Kara. “We’ll both be here if—when you come back, tomorrow morning. We’ll return to the Nip at noon, so make sure you get back before then. Good luck,” she said, and gestured for them to walk on.

“Thank you,” said Fjord. “We’ll be back.”

Then they all stepped through the gate. Dweez swung it shut behind them with a maddened giggle, and he and Kara turned back to their waiting positions, leaving the Nein standing in the darkened face of a seemingly endless, cold subterranean labyrinth.  

[livingmybestfictionallife]

Proximity (02)-Just My Neighbor

Prompt: Sebastian meets his newest neighbor and immediately finds her to be an interesting and genuine person. Before he knows it, he’s developing feelings for his much younger friend that he tries not to act on because of their age difference, only the proximity of their lives has other things in store for the couple.

Tags: @sebstanwassup, @starkxpotts, @kyleannsmut, @joshuad-n, @bucky-bear-barnes, @camely09, @metal-arm-red-star, @kitty11223, @one-of-the-boys, @dammnnbucky, @crystallimythium

Warnings: some language, a little angst, some fluff

Sebastian decided to stay at the coffee shop for a few more minutes after (Y/N)’s phone call, but a few minutes turned into a few hours of intensive research and pouring over the script while occasionally smiling for fans selfies as they recognized him slumped over in the corner, angrily chewing on a pen cap. Just as he was about to lose all track of time, an older, retired woman who worked as a barista full-time made her way toward the table he sat at.

“I overheard your conversation, honey,” she said while placing a gentle, maternal hand on his shoulder. “It’s five-fifteen. You don’t want to keep your wife waiting.” Sebastian’s throat constricted as he looked at the array of empty cups scattered on the table in front of him. Frantically, he checked his phone, realizing that the woman was right.

“Thank you very much for telling me,” he began while folding his notebook closed, shoved his script inside, and jammed his pen into his back pocket, “but I wasn’t talking to my wife; I’m not married,” he awkwardly explained while showing her his ringless left hand.

“Oh, well then your girlfriend,” she tried again.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Sebastian uneasily laughed. “She lives in my building below me; she’s just my neighbor” he tried to explain.

“Well people don’t talk to one another so domestically with someone who’s ‘just their neighbor,’” the woman smirked before helping him toss the cluttered cups in the trash. Once he finished, Sebastian hurried toward his building, only a couple blocks from the coffee shop, and made his way up to his floor.

Seb Stan: Just got back

He hurried to open the door to his apartment and left it unlocked as he kicked off his shoes and took his belongings into his bedroom. He tossed his notebook on the desk beside his bed and dropped his shoes in the closet before quickly tidying up the few misplaced objects in his living room and kitchen: a few newspapers he picked up, a couple of books left lying about, and the dirty cereal bowls that he intended to wash that morning.

         Cute Neighbor: Mind if I show up early?

Sebastian had just finished drying his hands from washing the dishes in the sink and a tiny smile formed in the corner of his mouth without him realizing. 

Seb Stan: Fine by me :)

         Cute Neighbor: Good, because I’m here

Just after he heard his phone go off, there was a knock at the door. He pulled it open and couldn’t help the soft smirk that rose to his lips as he shook his head at her. “You’re a dork,” he laughed.

“I’m the dork?” she laughed while entering his apartment for what had to be the hundredth time. “You’re asking me what one of the most self-explanatory sports on earth is,” she laughed. “Drive fast, turn left, don’t crash.”

“Thanks for the info, I guess you can leave now,” he teased while pressing himself against (Y/N), pretending to force her out of his apartment.

“Nooo,” she called out. “I walked all the way up the stairs for this, don’t make me leave.”

“Oh my, you took the stairs for me?” Sebastian huffed mockingly.

“The elevator was already on the first floor again,” she grumbled as Sebastian stepped aside and closed the door with both of them inside the apartment.

“Well,” he sighed as he walked into the kitchen, “I guess you can stay.” (Y/N) smirked as Sebastian leaned back against the kitchen counter beside his stove.

“Thanks for making that sacrifice,” she laughed while wandering toward his pantry and scouring for something to cook. “Why do you have a shit-ton of beans?”

“What do you mean ‘a shit-ton of beans?’” he asked while walking toward her. (Y/N) pulled out two massive cans of pinto chili beans and held them up to him, displaying her case. “That is not a shit-ton of beans,” he huffed. “Do you even know what a shit-ton looks like?”

“Well if you eat this many freaking beans, you’re sure to shit a ton,” she explained while setting the cans on the counter and started to rummage through his spices.

“Why do I hang out with you?” he laughed as he started to manually open the chili beans as (Y/N) gathered a huge variety of spices, some of which Sebastian hadn’t even opened yet.

“Who else would tease you about your bean collection?” she laughed while pulling ground turkey meat out of his freezer and beginning to defrost it in the microwave.

“Fucking weirdo,” he laughed while taking a step back and watching her.

“You’re the one with a bean collection, ya fucking weirdo,” she laughed, mimicking Morgan O’Mally’s voice from Good Will Hunting. “Okay, that probably made me weird,” she laughed at her attempt to draw reference to the movie.

“Just a bit,” he laughed in response. “Did you finish all of your homework?” he asked.

“Yes, Mom,” she grumbled at him, rolling her eyes the whole time. She hurried to cut up an onion and threw it and some garlic into the cauldron she had heating up o the stove. 

“Sorry I care about your education,” he muttered while smirking at her from across the kitchen.

“You’re forgiven,” (Y/N) laughed and looked over her shoulder toward Sebastian. Again, the smile of admiration and gentle nod of disbelief flooded her sight. Quickly, she turned her face back to the pot of chili, hoping she could play off the blush on her face as the heat coming from the stove.

“Can I help?” Sebastian asked as he made his way closer toward her. Gently his hand traced along her back as he passed her.

“You can brown the meat,” she offered, trying to hide her now red face from him. Glad to help her, he completed his task and then added the meat to the mixture of beans, onions, garlic, tomatoes, green chillies, and spinach. (Y/N) then added the spices as Sebastian handed them to her.

“Cumin? Tumeric? Chili Powder? Cholula? Do you really use all of this?”

“Is it sitting on the counter?” she asked back sassily.

“Did I ask for sass?” he teased, a smirk on his face as he handed her the glass bottle of cumin. (Y/N) finished adding the last bit of spices and grabbed a bag of corn chips from a cupboard as Sebastian starts to dish out their dinners. “I figured we could watch a thematic movie,” he said while settling onto the couch and grabbed the remote that (Y/N) found less than a week after them meeting.

Slowly, she lowered herself beside Sebastian on the couch, feeling his hip against hers as they leaned against one another’s shoulders. Instantly, her head dropped as she saw his choice of movie. “Really, Seb,” she grumbled. “Of all the racing movies in existence you chose this one?”

“What’s wrong with Talledega Nights?” Sebastian asked with a laugh.

“You could have picked one of the eight Fast and the Furious movies, Days of Thunder, I would have even taken freaking Cars over this,” she grumbled.

“I didn’t know you were so picky, (Y/N),” Sebastian smirked while nudging her with his shoulder. (Y/N) laughed as Sebastian put his arm around her shoulder and rested his dinner between his knees.

“I’m not picky,” she groaned while scooping chili with a chip and popping it in her mouth.

“My movie just isn’t good enough for you is it?” he asked while teasing her and scraping the chili from his bowl. “This is really good, (Y/N). Thank you very much,” he added.

“You’re just trying to flatter me so I’ll give in to your stupid movie,” she grumbled. “You can look at me with those big blue eyes all you want, Sebastian, but I’m not going to say this movie isn’t shitty.”

“I wasn’t trying to do anything with my eyes,” he said with a smirk, “but since you’re looking,” he said with a sultrily teasing tone. Suddenly, (Y/N)’s heart pounded in her chest as she realized their proximity to one another. His arm rested across her shoulders, his tight muscles and tender skin grazing the back of her neck as she folded neatly into the side of his body, like two pieces of clay moulding together. Her side was pressed against his and she could feel his obliques tighten with each laugh, and she was certain Sebastian could feel the wire of her bra poking into his ribs. Part of his thigh covered hers as she slumped into the curve of the couch cushions and their legs were twisted together and propped on the coffee table in front of them. Quickly, she pulled herself up onto the cushion and sat on her feet, trying to keep herself from touching him and invading all parts of his personal space. “Is everything okay?” Sebastian quickly asked as (y/N) readjusted her position on the couch.

“Uh, yeah,” she said softly. “I thought I was going to spill,” she tried to laugh through the tension she caused and chastised herself for not being more careful. This had started out as being friends and she had intended for it to not go any further. It didn’t make sense for them to be anything besides neighbors. After all, she was hardly twenty-one and he was almost thirty-five. It wasn’t as though she had an issue with age gaps when it came to love, but she figured it would be easier for her to just be friends with Sebastian. He was more than she could handle in more than one way. She didn’t want to hold him back from anything he hasn’t accomplished and she still had a few years left in her before settling down would become a serious thought and not a ‘maybe someday’ ideology. Quietly, she continued eating until her dinner was almost gone.

“Oh, um okay,” he tried to chuckle. “We, uh...we don’t have to watch this movie if you want to,” Sebastian tried to change the conversation as he wondered what had caused (Y/N) to start acting strangely. The night had been going well and he was excited to get to be spending time with her. He was fascinated with her dry humor and sassy personality and the continual banter kept him on his toes. He liked to listen to her talk even if it was to tease him, and wasn’t quite ready for her to leave him.

“No, it’s fine,” she said as she hurriedly scraped the remainder of food left in the bowl. “I actually forgot I have a group paper due Wednesday and I have to work on my half.”

“Wait, are you leaving?” Sebastian asked, his voice faltering as (Y/N) rose to clean her dish. “(Y/N), what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, Seb,” she said softly. “I just forgot I have some work left.”

“(Y/N),” he said in a soft, almost begging tone.

“I promise,” (Y/N) told him, turning back around and flashing him the largest smile she could muster. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” Hesitant to believe her, Sebastian agreed halfheartedly.

“Okay,” he managed to say loud enough for her to hear him. Upon leaving Sebastian’s apartment, (Y/N) hurried downstairs and locked herself in her bathroom. After filling the tub with steaming water, she lowered herself in, allowing the water to float along her skin and travel up to her collarbones. Slowly, small tears of frustration trailed down her cheeks, mixing with the beads of sweat formed from the steam. Falling for Sebastian was all too easy and she knew that immense pain would come from forcing herself to deny her heart that happiness, but she would take the pain of denial over the humiliation of rejection any day, and if she continued to pursue Sebastian Stan romantically, she was sure rejection would be all she received.

Continued Installments 

[thegangismyfamily]

Love Me Senseless | One-Shot for Alli

Haiii 1. I was wondering if you got my Ship? I didn’t see it =P  Andddd 2. I was wondering if you can make a imagine with me x Ponyboy or Johnny about a fight and makeup please. ♥️♥️ I love your work  I have long brown hair with Hazel eyes that change from blue to green and when I’m sad or mad a light or dark grey, I’m 5'2" I wear glasses (sometimes) and I can be bubbly but once you get on my nerves I can be sarcastic or cold, And I don’t intentionally mean too 🌸

{Requested by the sweet cinnamon bun @iam-allikat }

A/N: Awww thank you, you’re honestly such an adorable sweetheart I die. and I apologize for how long it took me too write this, it’s actually shameful. I hope you like this and I apologize in advance if this isn’t what you had in mind. <3 also I know I shipped you with Johnny when you sent your ship request, but I hope you don’t mind me switching to Ponyboy. I’m curious to see how you two would turn out, and also I just don’t see Johnny arguing with you. but I’ll be posting a fight and make up preference soon. also this story really brought me out of my funk so yeah thanks :)) and I’m sorry this is so long, idek what happened.

Warning(s): A little angsty, reallllly long, like longer than I even meant for it to be, floaty fluff at the end, and that’s about it tbh :)

You bound up the stairs to your boyfriend’s house before knocking on the door. You know you didn’t have to, after all the Curtis household never locks their door, but you just never felt comfortable roaming around their house without being let in first.

Pony hated when you knocked. “You’re family. You’re my girlfriend so you’re family, you don’t have to knock. Just come in, eat our food, sleep on the couch, we don’t care.” That’s what he had said when you expressed your nervousness about invading their home. Back then he’d actually cared enough to bother having a conversation with you.

You grin as Soda opens the screen door and rolls his eyes playfully at you. Soda was sweet. From the moment you had met him, he was sweet. You had been around during the nasty break up with Sandy, and it honestly brought you two closer. You had dealt with your close girl friends going through rough break ups and you gave Soda the same treatment. You and Soda had spent countless nights together, just staying up and letting him vent while eating the last of the ice cream on top of the kitchen counters. You let him cry and helped him pick up the pieces of himself to get him back on his feet. It was a dark time for him, but if it had not been for it, you two wouldn’t be basically the best of friends as you are now. 

“Alli,” Two-Bit shouts from across the room. You wave at him before noticing the childish Mickey Mouse ears on top of his head. You greet the other boys who were sprawled throughout the living room.

“Hey kiddo,” Darry greets you as he rushes past you and into the kitchen. He usually came home during his lunch breaks when he could manage, but it seemed like today he was running particularly late today. You frown as you look around the living room and fail to find your boyfriend’s pale skin and mocha eyes.

“Move, creep,” Dallas jokes as he brushes past your shoulder as he exits the kitchen. He plops himself on the couch next to Johnny and cracks open his coke. You roll your eyes and smile at him and he nods his acknowledgement at you. You hold his eye until he points in the direction of Ponyboy’s bedroom. You loved your unspoken conversations with Dallas, Pony thought it was weird. But when you’ve known someone as long as you’ve known Dallas, a lot of things stop being weird to you two.

You turn and make your way down the hall. When you reached his door, you took a deep breath before turning the door knob. It didn’t budge. You twisted it a couple more times, thinking the door was jammed, but it was clear that the door was just locked. You sighed out of your nose heavily before knocking on the door. It wasn’t like he didn’t know you were coming, hell he told you yesterday to come over! You waited a few moments for Pony to unlock the door, when you found yourself still standing at the locked door you knocked again, harder. The hear shuffling behind the door before the sound of the door unlocking sounds through the narrow hallway.

Pony swings open the door to find you standing there impatiently with your arms crossed. He rolled his eyes at your expectant glare before turning around and launching himself back onto his bed. You walk into his uncharacteristically dirty room and close the door behind you. He rolls onto his back and throws an arms cross his face. You clear your throat to get his attention. He doesn’t look at you.

“Um Pony,” you say tentatively breaking the silence. He lets his arm drop down to his chest and he rolls his head in your direction to look at you. He has dark bags under his eyes that were never there before. He looks at you with the same warm brown eyes that captivated you the first time you met him. You lose your train of thought for a second. His hair is messy though, and he looks tired, like he’s aged 10 years since the last time you saw him.

“If you’re just here to stare at me-,” he starts. He trails off and doesn’t finish his sentence by the embarrassment of being called out for your prolonged staring caused your cheeks to flare pink. You shake your head and pull yourself together.

“Oh, no, um I’m here for our date,” you say sheepishly. Pony stares at you confused and your heart drops. Typical. “And you don’t remember, okay, great. Well jerk, you told me we were going out to the park yesterday,” you cross your arms and stare blankly at him. Realization strikes his face, and you are not amused.

“Right, right, right. No, um yeah can we reschedule,” he asks, throwing his arm over his eyes again.

“No,” you state simply. He throws his arm down beside him and stares at the ceiling, clearly annoyed.

“What do you mean, ‘no’,” he asks incredulously.

“That’s a stupid question. No means no. No means get your ass up, because we’re going out. I thought that was fairly clear,” you say sarcastically.

“I don’t want to go out with you,” he says, “right now.” His cheeks redden and you both feel the air tighten with tension as he tries to save himself.  

“Do you mean in general, or you just right now, right now,” you ask. The air is cold and thick and you hate it. It never used to be like that with him.

“It’s not me who acts like they want to break up,” he mutters. You stare at him. Is he serious? Is he being genuinely serious right now?

“I’m the one acting like I want us to break up,” you ask. You’re shocked, like authentically shocked. He scoffs at you, and you’ve just about had it.

“Oh my gosh, you’re delusional. You’ve lost it. Clearly you have, because it wasn’t me, whose been ignoring you for the past 2 weeks, Pony,” you spat. You were mad, you were absolutely livid.

“Yes because why would I talk to the girl who doesn’t even care for me,” he counters. You’re eyes widden in disbelief

“You stopped caring about me Ponyboy! I talk to you? Nothing. I try to give you a kiss? Nothing. I plan a whole god damn date night, and you don’t even show up!” You were yelling now, but this was a yelling matter. He sits up in his bed and swings his legs over the side.

“I meant to call,” he mumbles. You throw your hands up in the air.

“That’s not the point! I sat there for hours, waiting for you. Through all of this I’ve just been waiting for you to come out of this funk, to help me out in the two person relationship. But you just don’t care,” you argue. At this point, tears have started pricking your eyes and your cheeks burn with anger.

“I wasn’t the one who gave up! You did! You used to have so much fire in you, you’d snap at me for little things and I loved it. I loved that you had so much fierceness in you. Now you don’t even make the effort to scold me. I wouldn’t be surprised if you casually walked out of here if you found me with another girl.” You glare at him.

“Do you want to be with another girl?”

“I never said tha-. You’re missing the point.” He’s standing now, and his face is angry, but his eyes are sad.

“Then why even go through the trouble of bringing a ‘hypothetical’ girl into thi-”

“Look, all I’m just saying, if you don’t want to be with me, if that fire and passion is gone, then end it now. I love you, god I love you, but I don’t want you to feel forced to love me or be with me.” His face and eyes both match now, they both hold desperation, but you draw it out a little more, after all this is the most he’s spoken to you in weeks.

“Then why not talk to me? Why would you just cut me out like that? If there’s a problem, you tell me, and we work it out. Not you ignore me weeks and assume I know what you’re mad about,” you say.

“What about you? You let this go on for weeks. You obviously knew something was wrong, why not confront me earlier,” he attempts to counter. It’s a weak argument, and he knows it.

“Oh, okay,” you sarcastically mock him. You roll your eyes and you can see the anger flare up in Pony’s eyes. You lazily pick at your nails and ignore him as he rants at you.

“Alli,” he exclaims. You look up at him bored and you have to bite back a laugh as he grinds his teeth. Yes! This is what you were looking for! Passion, emotion, anything besides his god damn silence.

You pull out the rolling chair from his desk, and sit in it. His face is red as he rants and you feel the tension release from your shoulders. The problem isn’t resolved, but to know that this isn’t the end of you two, that he still loves you, is relieving. You sigh contently and lean your head back, letting your eyes slip shut. He stops mid sentence, seeing your position and stares at you curiously. You let out a laugh at the sudden silence and a breeze flows through the air and the papers scattered around Pony’s room rustle and floats the papers around. Ponyboy shudders at the sound of you laugh, god he missed the sound of it, he missed you. He sits on his bed and stares at you.

“I missed you,” he says. You smile and tears prick your eyes. You raise your head and look at him.

“I missed you too.”

“I never stopped loving you, I want you to know that,” he mumbles. His eyes are still on you. You look like a dream, like if he blinks you’ll float away. 

“I didn’t stop arguing because I didn’t care. I stopped arguing because we’ve been together so long, that nagging can become tiring. Me not arguing with you doesn’t mean I don’t love you, it means I love you enough to overlook the annoying, stupid things you do that drive me up the walls and not mention every chance I get,” you explain. He stands up from the bed and walks towards you before plopping himself on the floor. He takes your hands in his and rubs his thumb across your knuckles. You shiver at his touch. God how you’ve missed him.

“I love you,” he mutters as he pulls your laced hands to his lips and kisses them.

“I like you too,” you retaliate. He laughs, and you smile, and your heart feels light again.

“I like you too,” he repeats.

[rememberstilinski]

technically single || stuart twombly (smut)

word count: 6278

warnings: oral (both receiving), smut, strip club, unestablished relationship

author’s note: so i was listening to the way i are by timbaland and i just felt the need to use it as some sinsipration! enjoy xo

pairing: stuart twombly / reader

To a typical twenty-two year old girl, interning at Google doesn't seem like the funnest way to spend your summer. But for her, it's been one of the best summers of her life. It even beats the the summer she spent in Bora Bora with her family. Thanks to the wonderful team she was coincidentally grouped with, Y/N’s summer just seemed to keep getting better and better. It started out looking to be the worst, but the moment he walked into the room. Something about the way he looked, the way his voice was smoother than caramel, even the way he talked made her want him. She needed him. Fortunately, they were put on the same team. Graham had originally pulled her over, but luckily, she managed to get away from that disaster.

Stuart felt the same way. He swooned just looking at her, but she didn't need to know that. Everything about her was sexy. Her witty comebacks, the way she popped her bubblegum and then ran her tongue over her lipstick covered lips with a smirk because she knew it got to him. She was much more than just a pretty face, she was unbelievably smart and that was one of the biggest turn on’s. The whole summer was a back and forth game of cat and mouse. Y/N being the tease and Stuart wanting to slam her against his desk and have his way with her. There may have been a couple times when they'd sneak off to a supply closet or go to one of their rooms during lunch to relieve some tension. Okay, maybe more than a couple.

However, whatever they had wasn't official. The sexual tension was thick enough to be cut with a knife and everyone noticed it, but neither of them had the courage to make the first move or say something, even with their outstanding self confidence. Of course, Neha had encouraged Y/N many times to just say something and make their relationship the real deal, but she never did. And the guys, particularly Billy and Nick would tell Stuart they've been around for a while, and that when you find a girl like her, you don't let her get away that easy, but he just told the guys to shut their yaps.

The team was faced with yet again, another difficult task. This time, they were supposed to make an app and the team was blank with zero ideas. Except for Billy that is, he had an idea called Exchangeagram, that was pretty much the same thing as Instagram. He's been rambling on for about ten minutes about how this would be a million dollar idea. At this point, everyone in the group was completely and utterly done with the situation. The fact that Billy kept saying on the line instead of online was not helping. When Billy had Stuart go up in front of anyone and model the app, Y/N laughed at how fed up he looked and she received glares from said boy for it.

Graham’s team just sent a message to their team, alerting them how good their finished app had already done. Y/N scoffed at the unattractive cockiness that was Graham Autry. “Great, we're going to lose yet again, another challenge, we’re not going to get this job and our lives are basically ruined.” She groaned, placing her face in her hands.

“Hold on a sec,” Billy sat down. “Your guys’ lives aren't ruined. You're twenty-one years old, you have your life in front of ya.”

“Do you even know what it's like to be twenty-one right now?” Stuart asked, now sitting in his red spinny chair. “A quarter of the kids coming out of college can't even get jobs.”

“That's a correct statistic.” Yo-yo added, standing next to the whiteboards. “Mother says you can work hard and go to the right school, but nothing is guaranteed anymore, that's life, sorry.” He shrugged.

“They're right. The whole American Dream thing you guys grew up on, that's all it is nowadays, a dream.” Neha said.

“You're too young to be this cynical. You really see the world this way?” Nick asked in complete disbelief.

Y/N looked up, popping her gum in a defeated way. “That's not how we see it, that's just the way things are now.”

“Alright, that's it. Everybody up.” Billy announced. “Here we go. Let's do it, breath of fresh air time.”

Yo-yo tilted his head. “Why? We have work to do.”

“Nope. Time to get our heads in a reset mode. We're taking you to the street because we need to come together as a team.” Nick took his place next to his tall friend.

Lyle panicked. “What about the app?”

“This is bigger than the app.” He answered.

“And by the way, we do have something pretty terrific in our back pocket with that Exchangeagram.” Billy added before turning to leave.

The young group of adults stood up and followed their leaders out the door. Mumbles scattered from each and everyone of them about Exchangeagram. Stuart waited behind so Y/N could catch up.

“Can we talk about this on the line on line thing, please?” Lyle called out from ahead, making Y/N chuckle. Stuart started walking with Y/N as soon as she was by his side. And then they were out the door, not knowing what the night would hold for either of them.

Billy and Nick had taken the group to a Chinese restaurant downtown. Billy had just told a joke in Chinese that made each and every person in the restaurant laugh, aside from everyone in the Google group. Y/N sipped on a beer, watching Stuart as he did the same. Her eyes discreetly wandered over him, his fingers that were gripping the glass bottle, and his lips because his tongue just ran over the skin. Neha elbowed Y/N in the side, noticing that she was basically eye fucking Stuart. Once she realized she was caught, Y/N blushed and pulled her eyes away from the man sitting next to her. Their waiter started talking to Billy and walked away when she turned her attention back to the whole group.

“He just said that there's a dance club down the street that's supposed to be great.” Billy told Nick.

“You're shitting me.” Nick laughed. Billy shook his head with a smirk. “Well, then let's go!” Everyone once again, followed the older men out the door after finishing their meals. Stuart grabbed Y/N’s hand, intertwining their fingers as they walked down the street together.

“Dance club, huh?” He smirked deviously.

“I guess so.” She laughed, Stuart rubbing his thumb over her cold knuckles.

He leaned in, lips ghosting over the shell of her ear. “You'll have to save me a dance.” Y/N shivered at his raspy voice, goosebumps rising on her skin.

She decided to play their typical game of teasing right back. She pulled her lip in between her teeth and smiled seductively. “You're going to have to find me first, baby.”

Before Stuart could say anything, they were already in the building. His phone dinged and he pulled his hand away from Y/N’s. This gave her an opportunity to look around the building. It was a club, but not the kind any of them thought it was. One would've thought it was a dance club, and yes it was a dance club; if you consider stripping dancing. Y/N’s jaw dropped the moment she realized where they were. There were naked girls everywhere, grinding on each other or grinding into men. She looked back to Stuart and was beyond relieved he hadn't looked up from his phone. All the rest of guys looked as if they were in pure heaven.

“Are you sure he said dance club?” Y/N called to Billy.

“I was rocking Mandarin and he was rocking Catanese, something clearly got confused in the middle.” He told the group, making weird hand gestures as he did so. “But I say boom goes the dynamite, happy accident, right?” Y/N rolled her eyes in annoyance. She'd done many things, but she'd never been to a strip club and she never planned on going to one.

A topless woman came up to the group, who was still at the door and offered a table, running her finger over their chests before she stopped right in front of Stuart. Her exposed breasts were right in his face, but he still hadn't looked up from his cell phone.

“Great big world out there, my friend.” Nick called over the loud music. He brought his fingers under Stuart's chin and lifted so that he would see the sight in front of him. “Just three inches up, I beg you.” Stuart's whiskey eyes immediately widened and his mouth formed into a satisfied smile. Y/N dropped her jaw, not believing what was happening right in front of her. Less than two minutes ago, he was making sure she'd save him a dance and now it's like she's not even there.

“Are you fucking kidding?” She mumbled, jealousy suddenly rolling off of her in waves. As if her words jinxed everything, the stripped grabbed Stuart's finger and put it in her mouth, deep throating it as he groaned at the action.

“Holy shit, that's deep.” He said in amazement. She pulled his finger out of her mouth and guided him somewhere further into the club. Lyle and Yo-Yo followed right after them, leaving Neha and Y/N standing there with Billy and Nick. At this point, the Y/H/C girl was fuming with anger. Technically, he wasn't her boyfriend, but there was something there and seeing him completely ignore her like that was enough to make her jealous beyond belief.

“This is great. Great, totally cool.” Neha walked over to Y/N as she spoke, not seeing the apparent anger on her face.

“You okay there, firecracker?” Nick asked Neha as he noticed how uncomfortable she was.

“What? Yeah, totally. Yeah, this-this is my jam. I mean, this? This here is my shit.” Neha exclaimed, but no one bought it.

Nick looked to Y/N to see her looking around, trying to find Stuart. “What about you? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, this is my shit, too.” She turned to him, crossing her arms over her chest.

Billy turned to the girls. “Look, I get this is your shit, but if I have to go grab those guys by their little boners then we can all go back on the bus.” He pointed his thumb towards the exit.

Neha then went into this big explanation about how she hasn't experienced anything and was nervous. Billy and Nick convinced her to try it out, that it might actually be fun to give it a shot and so she did. She went off with a stripper looking very nervous, but excited nonetheless.

Billy smiled as he watched Neha walk down into the crowd. “And now you. Are you sure you're okay?” He turned towards Y/N.

“I'm fine. Just peachy.” She smiled sarcastically.

“Is it Stuart?” He asked. She didn't answer, but looked down at her heels. They had straps that laced up her bare legs and the white color enhanced the recent tan she'd gotten. The shorts and heels she was wearing made her legs look longer than they actually were. “Like I said, if I have to, I will drag him out here by his boner and leave you two alone.”

Even though he said it seriously, Y/N laughed slightly at his comment. “I'll be fine. I'm just going to have a good time with my friends and forget all about Stuart Twombly.” She replied.

Billy and Nick sighed, but nodded anyways. “Well before you do, let's have some shots!” Billy yelled, causing nearby people to cheer. They all found a table and sat around as the waitress brought up a tray of shots. Y/N completely avoided any contact with Stuart. She had a plan and this just happened to be part of it. First, she’ll ignore him, then she'll tease, and finally she'll get what she wants.

“It's about time this group had a night out.” Billy told everyone as the tray was set on their table. “Come on, everyone! Get in on this!”

“Bottoms up, Yo-Yo.” Nick offered a shot glass to the Asian boy.

“I can't. I-I can't.”

“What? You're twenty-one, right?” Nick asked.

“Yeah, but,” Yo-Yo sighed. “my mom says alcohol numbs the brain.”

“Look, I'm not saying a shot of tequila is the first step on a journey to self respect, but maybe it's a step in the right direction.” Nick told him. Everyone held up a shot glass with a smile, encouraging him to take it.

It didn't take long at all for him to give in. “One shot.” He held up a single finger. Y/N cheered as he took the shot, taking Stuart’s attention, but she chose to ignore him for the sake of her plan. Yo-Yo brought the glass to his mouth and threw the liquid back, letting it run down his throat. The rest of the group cheered with their shot glasses and threw them back as well.

For another ten minutes, everyone continued taking shots, slowly becoming tipsy. Stuart was sitting on the couch, glasses messed up on his face as he got a lap dance from some stripper. Billy was up in Stuart's face with his cell phone camera and he took a picture, the flash lighting up for just a moment before yelling, “Exchangeagram, bitches!”

Y/N watched as Stuart got his lap dance and took everything she had to not pull her right off of him, but she had to keep her cool. She could feel her blood boiling. Neha had come up next to her watching Y/N throw back another shot of vodka. “Why don't you go and do something?” She yelled over the music.

“Trust me, I'm going to do something. But I need your help!” Y/N yelled back. Neha quirked an eyebrow, waiting to hear the request. “Okay, I've been ignoring him all night and clearly it's done nothing, so I need your help getting me in there.” She pointed towards the water room. It was a room with a few poles and constant water falling. A couple strippers were inside dancing and they were actually ones that Y/N was talking to for a little bit earlier. Not all of them were so bad.

“Great! I know the perfect song for you to dance to, I'll be right back.” Neha ran off to the DJ and put in a request, she used her charm to get it to be queued next and the plan was working out perfectly so far. Neha came back to Y/N and they went to the entrance of the water room and knocked. One of the strippers opened the door and smiled when they saw the two girls.

“Hey, girls. What's up?” The blonde, Cobe, greeted.

Y/N smiled at her mischievously. “Can I get in here for a little bit? It's kind of important.”

Cobe looked towards Stuart. “Does it have something to do with that guy over there?” She pointed her finger at him. He stood up and walked to the nearby bar, most likely asking for another drink.

“It does.” Y/N nodded. Cobe looked back at the girls, mirroring their smirks.

“It's all yours.” She told them before calling her friend out. The strippers left the water room, leaving it to Y/N just as the current song was about to end. She walked into the room and stood on one of the catwalks they had, immediately becoming drenched as she walked to the pole in the center of the stage.

Y/N still didn't know what song was to be played, but the current song had ended just as pulled off her shirt, leaving her in just a lacy, blue bra. The Way I Are by Timbaland, started playing through the waterproof speakers. Y/N looked at Neha who was standing outside the room, the raven haired girl shooting her friend a thumbs up. She took a deep breath and started swaying her hips to the beat, letting the music immediately take over her body.

Stuart looked at the water room just as he took a sip of his beer, the cold liquid getting stuck in his throat and he started coughing. He couldn't believe that she was in there, dancing the way she was. In all honesty, it was making him hard. Even with the lap dances he'd received, he didn't once get hard with any of those girls. His eyes ran up and down her body from head to toe as she danced. The droplets of water trailed down her tan body and before he knew it, Stuart was making his way towards the water room. He wanted her. No, he needed her.

“I can't even buy you flowers, but together we'll be the perfect soulmates.” The lyrics rang through the speakers. Y/N grabbing the slippery pole and rolled her hips towards it just as Stuart got to the door and Neha stepped in front of the handle before he could walk inside, arms crossed over her chest.

“Where do you think you're going?” She asked with a smirk.

Stuart looked pass Neha and to Y/N before saying anything to the girl in front of him. He sighed and pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. “To dance?”

“If you're going to be with her, don't be an ass.” She told him and stepped aside, letting him into the room. Stuart didn't say anything, but nodded and walked into the room. The water instantly soaking his whole body, small droplets on the lenses of his black-rimmed glasses. He watched her dance before going up onto the stage. Y/N leaned against the pole and used her hands to reach up and grab the pole. Then she swayed her hips from side to side as she slowly slid down.

“Baby, if you strip, you could get a tip cause I like you just the way you are.” Stuart stepped onto the stage and grabbed her hand spinning her around to face him, she placed her palm on his chest so she wouldn't crash into him. Their noses bumped against each other, barely touching as their lips brushed over each other. Sparks ignited the both of them at the intimacy. The alcohol rolled off his breath and hit her face, sending a shiver down her spine.

Stuart put his hand on the curve of her back and pushed her closer into his body. He took control and started moving their hips from side to side slowly. Y/N moved her face away from his and ran her lips over the skin next to his ear. She poked her tongue out, running it over the shell of his ear. Stuart groaned at the contact and pushed her closer into him if that was even possible.

She began grinding her hips into his, the bulge in his pants harder than before. Her hands went to the nape of his neck and started tangling her fingers in the soft, wet locks in that spot. They both kept eye contact the whole time. Y/N could remember Stuart saying he liked keeping eye contact when they were doing anything intimate, so that's what she did. His hands began to slide further down her ass, but she pulled out of his grip and away from him. She turned back to the pole and gripped it, sliding down as she used her free hand to run it over her exposed skin. Apparently the teasing was going on for a while because the song was practically over. With the last lyric, Y/N looked him in the eyes and smirked after seeing the very prominent tent in his pants.

Now that the song was over and he was officially teased and obviously in need of her, she grabbed her shirt off the floor and walked out the door, swaying her hips a bit more than usual. “Um, no!” Stuart said from behind her. She smiled and kept walking until she was out the door. Neha was still standing there but this time time, she had a huge smile on her face.

“That was awesome!” She cheered and went to hug Y/N, but stopped because she was wet. “Yeah, I'll just hug you when you're not soaking.”

Y/N giggled. “Do you think it worked?”

“Of course. Now what?” Neha tilted her head in question.

Turning around, Y/N looked at Stuart to see him fixing himself in his pants. “Now, I get what I want. Him.” She smirked, handing her shirt to Neha. Stuart looked up and saw her staring back at him, her eyes roaming over his body. The button up he was wearing clung to his toned torso, hugging perfectly around his biceps. His wet hair was all messy and she just wanted to tug at it as his head was buried between her legs. There was a hall not too far from where Stuart was standing, so she started walking towards it, making it seem as if she was walking towards him, but she walked right past him.

Once again, he grabbed her hand before she could walk any further and pulled her towards him. Her back was pressed against his chest, his lips going to her ear to whisper something. She could feel his strained bulge against her ass. “You better be going to a back room. I kinda need your help fixing a problem.” He rasped into her ear.

“Does that problem happen to be in your pants?” She mumbled, lacing their fingers together.

“Yeah, but it's your fault.”

Y/N bit her bottom lip even though he couldn't see the action. She spun around to face him and she cupped his cheek, rubbing her thumb over his lips. “I actually have someone to dance with, sorry, baby.”

Stuart automatically tensed up and Y/N knew she had him just where she wanted him. “And who would that be?”

She fixed a button on his shirt by buttoning it back up and she patted his chest once she was done. “Just some guy.” She smirked. Y/N went to pull her hand away, but Stuart grabbed her wrist

“That's not funny.” He growled.

“It's not like you're my boyfriend or anything.” Y/N tilted her head as if she was challenging him.

“But you're mine.” Stuart pulled her closer and ran his nose over the shell of her ear. “You know that.”

A scoff fell from her lips at his words causing him to pull away and look at her. “If I'm yours then that means you're mine, which means no lap dances from slutty strippers or letting complete strangers deep throat your finger and nearly give you an orgasm from it.”

Stuart raised an eyebrow and smiled in amusement. “That's what this is about?” He crossed his arms over his chest.

“It's not funny. This isn't fair. I don't know what we are and you don't even care. I'm completely confused. In technical terms, I’m single, but I'm emotionally unavailable because I love you, Stuart. And I want you to be mine like I'm completely yours.”

“Y-you love me?”

Y/N smiled softly, looking down to his lips and back up to his amber eyes. “Of course I do.”

Stuart grinned brightly and licked his lips. He leaned in and planted his lips on hers aggressively, but Y/N had no problem returning the passion. Her arms snaked around his neck and he pulled her waist closer into his, hands splaying on her back. After a few seconds, he broke the kiss, leaning his forehead against hers. “So about that back room…”

A giggle left her mouth and she laced their fingers again and pulled him towards the hall she was originally going towards. A backroom was available and they used the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on the nearby counter and hung it up on the door knob. Once the door was closed and locked, Stuart pushed Y/N up against it, smashing his lips to hers feverishly. His hands caressed every inch of skin he managed to get them on. She was still shirtless and he started to trail the kisses down from her mouth, over her chin, down the column of her neck, and to her collarbone where he would eventually meet the curve of her breasts. He was finally in the valley of her breasts and licked up the small space he had before latching his lips onto a spot above her collarbone and he started sucking immediately.

“I'm gonna show you that you're mine, baby. Show you just how much I love you.” He said after licking over the fresh love bite on her skin. Stuart's hands slowly slid down her thighs and Y/N took that as a sign to jump, so she did and she wrapped her legs around his waist. His lips went back to hers and he took her over to a couch in the corner and laid her down gently. He crawled on top of her, the rough pads of his fingertips touching the skin on the inside of her thigh. His slender fingers hooked in the waistband of her jean shorts and pulled them down her legs torturously slow, all while maintaining eye contact.

They were finally pulled off completely and Stuart kissed up the inside of her thighs, then placed kisses along the waistband of her panties. “Stuart, don't tease, baby.” She whimpered. He obliged and pulled down her panties off as well, throwing them across the room. As soon as they were gone, Stuart dove in and pulled her clit into his mouth and she let out a gasp at the sudden pleasure. Her hands went down to the back of his head, tangling in his brown hair. He started tracing clockwise circles with his tongue before flattening his tongue over her center.

Y/N’s eyes rolled to the back of her head and Stuart wrapped his arms around her thighs, pulling her pussy closer to his mouth. Just when she thought things couldn't get better, they did. He pulled his tongue away from her clit and circled it around her entrance, his nose rubbing over her sensitive bundle of nerves and she let out an erotic moan. Her legs hooked over his shoulders, toes curling as she could feel her high building up in her stomach. Stuart removed his mouth, but plunged one of his godly fingers into her heat. He watched her fall apart underneath him and he smirked to himself, loving the reaction he got from her.

Eventually, the coil in her stomach snapped and she released over his fingers. Her hands tugged at his hair and it released a groan from his mouth, which vibrated over her body and made everything much more pleasurable. Stuart gently pulled his fingers away from her sensitive core and slipped them into his mouth, cleaning her release off with his tongue. Y/N opened her eyes and Stuart was taking off his shirt as she did. She sat up slowly, legs still shaking from her orgasm, and ran her hand up his chest, fingers running through the patch of dark hair on his chest.

She looked up at him and into his eyes. His glasses were fogged up from the heat of her core. The usual amber color was gone and replaced with a dark, lustful color. She pulled her bottom lip in between her teeth as she stared at the attractive man in front of her. His abs weren't as toned as they could've been, but they had excellent definition nonetheless. There was another dark patch of hair right above the waistband of his khakis and Y/N longed to see where it led to again.

Leaning forward, Y/N placed her lips on his, tongue licking over his lips, asking for entrance which he granted. She explored every inch of his mouth, his eyelashes fluttering shut against his high cheekbones. She pushed his shoulder back, him falling back so he laid on the other end of the couch, his head placed on the arm rest. She swept her hair to the side so it was out of her way. Y/N kept her lips on his as she did the action, but she pulled away to speak into his ear. She kissed his cheek and then the skin underneath his ear.

Y/N set her palm on his clothed cock, teasing him. “What do you want, baby?”

Stuart closed his eyes at the touch and told her exactly what he wanted. “I want your pretty lips around my cock so I can fuck your mouth before I fuck you senseless.” He mumbled.

Smiling, Y/N trailed kisses down his body just as he had done to her earlier that night. He kept his eyes on her as she went further down with each peck. Her lips placed sweet kisses over his shoulder, his chest, his abs, and finally stopped right above the waistband on his pants. She stopped and looked at the clothed erection and placed a teasing kiss over his pants. His hips bucked at the action and Y/N giggled before unbuttoning his khakis and pulling them down his legs along with his grey boxer briefs.

She grabbed his cock in her hand, thumb running over the tip where pre-cum had been collected. She leaned in and ran her tongue up the underside of his dick and a groan came from Stuart up above her. Y/N circled her tongue around his swollen tip and Stuart's eyes fluttered closed. He gripped the couch cushion when she took him fully in her mouth and started bobbing, the skin around his knuckles turning white from the tight grip he had. When she slightly grazed her teeth over his cock, he let out a loud moan that bounced off the walls. Y/N moaned at the fact that Stuart was getting such pleasure from what she was doing and that only made Stuart groan.

He let her keep bobbing her head up and down on his member. His free hand moved to the back of her head and guided her along at the pace he wanted. It wasn't too fast, but it wasn't too slow; it was perfect. She took him in all the way, his dick hitting the back of her throat. Her hands rested on his thighs, looking up at him and seeing his mouth in a perfect ‘o’ shape. “I'm not going to last long, baby.” He groaned, hips bucking once again as she ran her tongue up the vein on the underside of him. Stuart pushed her off of him gently, her lips coming off of him with a slight pop.

“I need to come inside your warm pussy.” He mumbled, Y/N shivering at his words. “Lay back, baby.” She obliged and laid down on the couch, Stuart crawled up her body, fingers fumbling with the clasp of her bra and unhooking the lacy material.

Stuart ran his eyes up her naked body, amazed that this woman was all his. “You're so fucking beautiful, Y/N.” Softly, he placed his lips on the skin underneath her breast. He opened his mouth slightly and started sucking, leaving purple patches on her body.

“Stuart, I need you.” Y/N whimpered. Stuart pulled away and positioned himself right above her body. He grabbed his cock, lining up with her entrance. Y/N placed her hands on his back, underneath his arms, fingernails digging into the pale skin as he pushed himself into her. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head, head falling back, hair scattered across the cushions. Stuart started thrusting almost immediately. He slid in and out slowly, as if he was trying to be a tease. His arms moved so he was resting on his forearms as his planted his lips on hers, kissing with all his love.

It almost felt as if her entire body was on fire. The feeling of pleasure causing her to wrap her legs around his waist, he was now reaching a whole new spot. Stuart was the only guy who'd ever been able to find her sweet spot. “Stuart…” She moaned against his lips.

“You feel so good, baby girl. I-I, oh, god.” He groaned, a shiver coursing through his body. Stuart leaned his forehead against hers, lips rubbing against each other's as he thrusted.

“Don't stop.” She opened her eyes, looking into his lustful gaze.

“If that's what you want.”

Y/N let out a sigh of pleasure. “That's all I want, Stu.” Stuart growled and started thrusting faster, his hip bone knocking against hers. The faster he went, the louder Y/N moaned. Her moans eventually turning to screams. Her fingernails scratched down his back and to the small of his back.

Stuart placed his hand underneath her back, lifting her up so their bare chests were pressed together. He started grinding himself into her, the friction building up both of their highs. She started to clench around his member and he knew she was close. Before they finished their intimate moment together, he had to say one last thing. “Y/N?” He groaned. A hum came from her mouth as her high was building up by the second.

“I love you.”

The three words threw her over the edge, Stuart falling quickly behind and coming along with her. He continued thrusting sloppily so they could ride out their highs together. His forehead fell onto her shoulder. He flipped their bodies, her head laying in the crook of his neck, palm resting over his heartbeat, she could feel it slowly steadying. His arm wrapped around her shoulders, his fingers running up and down her smooth skin.

Y/N smiled as she thought of their night. She turned her head to look up at him and saw his eyes were closed. Leaning up, she placed a quick peck on his lips. He hummed in content at the feel of her lips on his and returned the gesture. Her hand cupped his cheek as she smiled into the kiss, prolonging it by just a few seconds. “What was that for?” His eyes opened once she pulled away.

“I just,” She sighed, eyes flickering over his face. “I love you, Stuart.”

Stuart smiled and ran his fingers through her messy hair. “I love you, too, Y/N.”

Later that night, after Stuart and Y/N had gotten dressed and headed back to the rest of the group where everyone ended up getting in a fight with another group of guys. Something about Lyle’s lady friend. But after they were kicked out, Billy and Nick took them to the Golden Gate Bridge. They had all been out all night because the sun was on its way to rising. The sky a light blue, it was maybe four am. Stuart stood next to Nick and they looked at the view in front of them.

“Look at that view!” Nick said to Stuart. “Come on, you're not going to see that in your little four inch screen. You got to look up!”

Stuart scoffed, but continued looking out into the distance. “Buddy, you were an animal out there tonight.”

“You were. Did you have a good time?” Nick asked, tilting his head.

“Yeah, it was all right.” Stuart told him.

“‘It was all right’, why do you do that?”

“What do you mean? Do what?” Stuart furrowed his eyebrows.

Nick shook his head. “Lowball me like that! I'm not going to take away your cool guy card if you admit you give a shit about something, or, god forbid, you have a great time.”

Stuart let out a breathy laugh and cleared his throat. “Um… all right. It was fun.”

“Stewie…” Nick sighed. Stuart shrugged. “Come on!”

“All right, what? What do you want me to say? That it was the best night of my life?”

Nick nodded. “Only if it's true.”

Stuart sighed defeatedly and looked at his shoes, then back up to his blonde companion. “Alright, it was the best night of my life.” He smiled.

“Does it have anything to do with her?” Nick nodded towards Y/N who was talking to Neha and Billy. A smile graced her face followed by a contagious laugh.

“It has everything to do with her.” Stuart mumbled. Y/N caught his gaze, her smile growing and she excused herself from her two friends. She walked up to Stuart and wrapped her arms around his torso, standing on her tiptoes to place a kiss on his cheek. His tummy fluttering at the action.

Nick smiled and stood up from the table he was sitting on. “I'll leave you guys to it.”

“You ready to go home?” She asked, laying her head in his chest.

“Let's stay a little longer.” He wrapped his arms around her and placed a kiss on the top of her head.

The girl snuggled into his arms, holding onto him tighter. “I love you, Twombly.”

Stuart felt a smile tug at his lips. He whispered the saying into her ear, happy he could finally say those words to her. “I love you, too, Y/L/N.”

[winters-blue-children]

Like Home - AO3

Five times Dennis and Mac fall asleep together, and one time they don't.

1.

There’s really no good way to explain why Dennis enjoys hanging out with the local drug dealer, Ronnie the Rat, as he’s known around the neighborhood. The guy is not cool at all. He’s got a father in prison and his mother is a chain smoking welfare dependent who couldn’t give two shits about her kid. But for some reason, Dennis likes Ronnie. They hang out under the bleachers and get high behind the dumpsters. They always have a good time together.

And if Dennis has to put up with the laughing stock of the school, Ronnie’s so called best friend, Dirt Grub... well, it’s worth it.

The best excuse he has is that Ronnie provides good weed. Though really it’s the only weed available in their neighborhood, ever since Ronnie sold out the previous drug dealers, earning his nickname.

Dennis laughs when Ronnie tells him the story of how he did it. He doesn’t mock him like the rest of the cool crowd at their school. Because the truth is, Ronnie’s stories make him laugh.

And when they get stoned together in the basement of Ronnie’s house, giggling and laughing, falling into each other on the old couch as they stuff their faces with junk food and Mountain Dew, and Ronnie lets slip that he really wishes his father would come home from prison, Dennis doesn’t make fun of him. He tells him that some fathers really aren’t cut out to be dads. And maybe having no father is better than having a shitty one.

It’s a rare, serious moment that they share. But then Ronnie pulls out a few cans of warm Miller Lite he swiped from his mother, and they move on.

On more than one occasion, they pass out on the raggedy couch in Ronnie’s stuffy basement. And when Dennis wakes up the next morning, he lifts his head from Ronnie’s shoulder, and looks around the dim basement with bleary eyes.

“Aw, what the fuck, we slept here again?” Dennis gives Ronnie a smack on the arm. “Wake up, dude.”

“What’s going on?” Ronnie mumbles, looking around confused.

“My neck is killing me,” Dennis stands to his feet, wincing as the room tilts and spins. “I gotta get out of here, man.”

“You’re leaving already?”

Dennis snorts and pulls a face. “Yeah, I’m goin’ home. To my full size bed, with sheets and pillows. I gotta sleep off this hangover, man.”

“Oh. Okay.” Ronnie stands awkwardly, looking like he wants to walk Dennis to the door. “You want to come over later? We can hit the arcade? Or maybe we can convince Charlie to steal some booze from his mom?”

“Yeah, sure.” Dennis forces a smile and heads for the stairs, rolling his neck in an attempt to relieve the soreness. “Whatever. Later, dude.”

~~~

2.

As great of a friend as Mac is--he’s real handy in a jam, the guy can be pretty dense sometimes. And Dennis is never shy about pointing it out.

“Why do you get the bigger bedroom?” Mac looks at him perplexed.

“Well, let’s see.” Dennis starts obnoxiously ticking off points on his fingers. “I did the work and found the apartment. I paid the security deposit because you have no money. I pay more rent than you, because again, you have no money. And lastly, I get the bigger room because I have more stuff than you.” Dennis raises his arms, gesturing to the new furniture he’s had delivered, and the various moving boxes and suitcases that are scattered about the room.

Mac, on the other hand, showed up with a backpack and a trash bag full of clothes. He blinks and sighs, looking around Dennis’ room a bit defeated. “Yeah, okay,” he finally says. “So can I sleep in here tonight?”

Dennis snaps his head up in shock. “What? Why?”

Mac shrugs, eyeing Dennis’ new bed in envy. “Well, we still need to pick up my mattress... And it’s getting pretty late. I figured we’re not gonna get to it until tomorrow, so…”

“Then you can sleep on the couch tonight!” Dennis refers to the brand new couch he bought for them sitting out in the living room.

“Come on, man. It’s just one night!” Mac insists.

“No offense, Mac. But you are not my first choice of bed partner for breaking in my new mattress.”

Mac rolls his eyes. “It’s just sleeping. What’s the big deal? What are you planning on going out and picking up a chick tonight?”

“Well, no.” Dennis reluctantly concedes. He’s completely exhausted after the hours it took to move all his stuff into the new place. And he’s only halfway unpacked. He honestly wouldn’t mind passing out and calling it a night. “Alright,” Dennis sighs. “You can sleep here tonight. But don’t expect to make a habit out of it. We’re picking up your bed first thing tomorrow.”

Mac’s face lights up and Dennis has to force himself not to think about why his chest gets tight and it’s suddenly a little harder to breathe.

So they spend their first night as roommates sleeping in Dennis’ new bed together. And when Dennis wakes up the night morning, with Mac’s bony limbs wrapped around him, and his knee digging into the back of his thigh, he tells himself it’s the first time and the only time.

It’s definitely the last time.

~~~

3.

But it wasn’t the last time.

Over the years that slowly spread into decades, Dennis and Mac end up sharing a bed again and again. It starts out innocuous at first. They drink too much and end up passing out together, very reminiscent of their high school days. Or they fall asleep after watching Predator for the hundredth time.

Dennis stops complaining about it after a while, no longer feeling like putting in the effort to act like it bothers him. Mac doesn’t make a big deal of it either.

And it’s not like it happens every night.

Just every once in awhile. Sometimes it’s after Dennis kicks out his latest sexual conquest. Sometimes it’s because Mac won’t stop complaining that the heat in his room doesn’t work because the rusty old vents are blocked. Sometimes it’s for a completely ridiculous reason like Charlie pissing in Dennis’ bed after drinking an entire case of beer.

But either way, Dennis always sleeps better with Mac laying next to him.

“I’m not sleeping on the goddamn couch.”

“I didn’t expect you to, bro.” Mac says as he heads into his room, Dennis following closely behind him. “You don’t get to complain about my bed though.” Mac points a finger in Dennis’ face.

Dennis rolls his eyes, already dreading Mac’s lumpy, old mattress. “I can’t believe Charlie fucking pissed in my bed,” he grumbles. “He’s buying me a new goddamn mattress.”

“I told him it was gonna happen. The kid doesn’t listen.” Mac pulls back the covers--which are really just some old sheets--and climbs underneath. Dennis crawls in next to him from the other side.

“These sheets are so fucking thin, Mac!” Dennis hisses as he rubs the threadbare covers between his fingers. Even with an extra blanket layered on top it doesn’t come close to the down comforter he usually sleeps with.

“What did I say about you complaining?!”

Dennis scoffs and rolls over trying to get comfortable. “I don’t know how you fucking sleep on this thing,” he mumbles before flipping over onto his other side. It’s no less unpleasant.

A moment passes with nothing but the sounds of their soft breaths before Mac speaks again. “You cold, dude?” He whispers in the dark.

“I’m not not cold,” Dennis eventually mumbles.

Neither of them say a word as Mac inches over in the bed. He turns onto his side so he’s facing Dennis and slowly wraps an arm around his waist. Dennis remains quiet. But after a hesitant moment he scoots closer into Mac’s warm embrace.  

Dennis closes his eyes and slowly drifts off, falling asleep to the familiar scent of Mac’s cheap shampoo.

~~~

4.

Something that doesn’t change over the years is the strange, calming effect Dennis and Mac seem to have over each other. A gentle touch on Mac’s shoulder or a soft caress to the face is enough to end most fits of rage in the other man.

And somehow even in situations where Dennis should be pissed or freaking out in a wild panic, he’ll look over and see Mac by his side, and suddenly the situation just doesn’t seem all that bad.

“This wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t kicked me out of the fucking apartment,” Mac’s slurring from the massive amounts of alcohol as he spreads out the sleeping bag on his hands and knees, clumsily making his poor excuse for a bed on the floor of the office. “And now she’s taken over my room?! Your wife--” Mac spits the word like it comes with a dirty taste in his mouth. “Filled my room with a bunch of... weird cat stuff.”

“Oh, come on, it’s not that bad!” Dennis takes a long, patient breath as he continues to sip on his whiskey. “I’ll get a divorce. Maureen will be gone and we’ll be back at our place in no time!”

Mac looks up with an exasperated expression on his face. “Are you kidding me, dude? I feel like you don’t grasp the gravity of the situation. You don’t even have a goddamn lawyer! You are screwed!”

“It’s okay, Mac.” Dennis slurs as he drops to his knees on top of their ‘bed’ for the night. “It’s all gonna be fine! Don’t worry about it. Drink the whiskey,” Dennis waves his glass in the other man’s face. “I’m… I’m gonna pass out now,” he mumbles as Mac takes the glass from him.

Mac blinks heavily and finishes the drink as Dennis climbs underneath the thin blanket they’re using as covers. The room spins as Mac blearily watches Dennis snore on top of the one pillow they’re sharing for the night.

He’s got to get Dennis out of this sham of a marriage.  

Tomorrow morning, he’s definitely going to regret the drunk dial and the barely coherent voicemail he leaves The Lawyer.

But Mac’s doing it for Dennis.

And when Mac finally climbs under the covers, he pulls Dennis closer to him, receiving nothing more than a drunken mumble out of the other man. They both reek of whiskey. Mac doesn’t think about how close their faces are. He doesn’t think about the way their legs are entangled under the thin blanket covering them. And he definitely doesn’t think about how pissed he is that Dennis kicked him out of their apartment.

Mac wakes up the next morning with Dennis snoring gently on his chest, apparently preferring it to the single pillow they have. A spot of drool soaks his shirt.

He’s completely forgotten about the voicemail he left the previous night.

~~~

5.

After Dennis and Mac lose their apartment, home becomes more of a feeling than a place. Home isn’t Dee’s apartment anymore than it is the small corner of Dee’s living room separated off by a curtain hung from the ceiling. Home isn’t the pathetic air mattress Mac sleeps on, usually with a hefty pile of dirty laundry on top of it. Nor is it the flimsy, precarious hammock that Dennis hangs up, despite the fact that he would fall out of it most nights, landing painfully on top of the sleeping man beneath him.

Home becomes each other.

And after a while, Dennis gives in and spends most nights with Mac curled around him, sharing the air mattress. It’s tight, cramped, and uncomfortable, and yet somehow, sleeping tangled in each other’s limbs, Mac’s arm locked tight around Dennis’ waist and his face buried in Dennis’ unruly hair, is so agreeable that neither of them make an effort to find a place of their own for well over a year.

Even with Dee’s constant objections and never ending complaints, her recurrent demands that they get the hell out of her apartment fall on deaf ears.

Dennis would simply berate his sister in return, insisting that they have an extensive list of demands that must be met. Never mind the fact that being stuffed in the small corner of Dee’s living room isn’t generating enough of an inconvenience to demand immediate change.  

Somewhere down the line, things start to change. There was always an invisible boundary--an unspoken line they would never cross. And slowly, over time that line gets blurred. Their touches linger a bit longer. Mac’s gazes seem to hold something else behind those warm eyes. And after awhile, Dennis thinks maybe he’s fallen hard for his best friend.

Dennis and Mac have lived together for two decades, but they’ve never been together.

And then it gets either too hard or too real. Or both.

Maybe that’s why their stint in the suburbs turns out to be such a miserable failure. They sleep in separate beds for the first time in a long time. Yet still, Dennis tries to make a housewife out of Mac, just to prove how miserable their lives would be together. It’s a self fulfilling prophecy to the very end.

“Can you believe how awful this month was?” Mac chuckles as he drops his bag onto Dee’s floor. “It’s good to be back in the city.”

Dennis doesn’t quite meet his eyes. “Yeah,” he says, with a forced smile on his face. “It was pretty bad, dude.”

Mac’s grin drops a bit. “At least… at least things can go back to normal now?”

Dennis nods, but he thinks maybe Mac knows him well enough to see right through him. He could never let things go back to normal.

In the end, Dennis makes Dee sleep between them in the bed.

~~~

+1.

A month after Dennis moves out to North Dakota to raise his son, his life has become a hectic, ever changing, non-stop distraction. It’s tough adjusting to a new place that’s not Philly. He misses the familiarity of the city he’s lived in his whole life. He misses the noise, the action, even the smell. And he misses the people too.

But Dennis tries not to think about the gang. He still keeps in touch with Dee every once in awhile. Afterall, he is raising her nephew.

But he’s definitely not thinking about Mac.

How could he? He simply doesn’t have the time. He soon discovers that raising a toddler is a twenty four-seven job. One that’s harder than any psych class he ever took at UPenn, requires more effort than any work at Paddy’s, and is more complicated than any scheme the gang tried to pull off over the years.

That doesn’t stop him from being thankful for the opportunity to be in his child’s life. He’s spent his whole life chasing a sense of fulfillment that he’s never quite achieved. And at the end of each hard day, when Dennis cherishes the moments he’s spent with his son, he thinks maybe he’s one step closer to being what he wants to be. Someone who’s needed. Someone with a sense of purpose.

It’s almost enough.

Except that when he lays in bed at night, staring at the cracked ceiling, unable to sleep despite the exhaustion seeping deep into his bones... he’s mocked by the empty space next to him. There are moments when he thinks he’s losing his mind again, before he’s grounded by thoughts of Brian Jr sleeping safe and sound in the next room.

But this isn’t like the last time he tried to make it work in the suburbs. Mandy isn’t Mac, and Dennis isn’t trying to make her into a housewife. He’s not even pursuing a relationship with her--it’s just not what either of them wants.

It’s not like the last time. Yet this house doesn’t feel anymore like a home. And the insomnia is back to stay.

And it doesn’t seem to matter the thickness of his comforter, the quality of his mattress, or the cost of his luxury sheet sets. There’s an empty space beside him that keeps him awake even on the best of nights.

Dennis doesn’t think about who should be there, filling the empty space in his bed. He ignores the pang in his chest that surely represents a metaphorical emptiness in his life. And he pushes the unanswered texts and missed calls out of his mind.

He doesn’t want to linger on the past, on what he left behind, or what could have been.  

But this house doesn’t feel like a home. The insomnia keeps him awake for hours upon hours, every single night. Yet still, he tells himself that he’s definitely not thinking about Mac.

[owfemslashexchange]

Thaw

For @prplxdpgnwn

Prompt was Zarya/Mei first kiss.

From @vrunkas to @prplxdpngwn 

Thaw

The thing that always dims itself in Mei’s memories is the cold.

Stupid, considering the snow and wind and brutal climate are all what make it Antarctica in the first place, but it’s easy to forget looking over pictures, or reading reports from the warm safety of her office. She remembers being cold, of course, but there is something about the freezing bite and how quickly it happens that cheapens with distance.

She flips the papers in her lap, paper clipped together so they don’t scatter with the movement of the helicopter. She hunkers down in her seat. Her breath plumes in front of her.

She should have remembered, of course. But now it is far too late.

Across from her, Zarya mimics the motion. Hands tucked into her sleeves, slipping further down into her seat. The fur on the hat she is wearing ruffles in the frigid breeze. As soon as they are out, it will be frozen stiff with collected crystals. Mei remembers that much clearly.

Zarya’s lips move. She is saying something. Mei moves to grab the headset hanging on the back of her seat but Zarya waves her off. Leans forward to touch her arm. The restraints keeping them in place stretched to their limit, only her fingertips, ghosting across Mei’s sleeve.

She isn’t wearing gloves.

Mei doesn’t really know how that’s possible.

“Unnecessary.” Zarya says, yelling now to be heard. “It was not important.”

Mei smiles. She can’t help it. There something so earnest about Zarya. Open and honest and innocent. It clashes with the image she presents. The muscled arms, the thick thighs, the scar.

A tough woman. An exposed nail, something to rip and tear and catch. But she is sweet, honestly, in her own honest way and Mei is truly glad for the company.

She’s surprised really, that Overwatch has even agreed to let her come back up here. Winston hadn’t seemed thrilled at the idea, but maybe that’s exactly why they let her go.

Winston and Lena and Angela, bless their hearts, are not Jack and Gabe and Ana. They try their best, it’s true. But the experience isn’t there. The background isn’t there. And without it…well, it just doesn’t really feel like Overwatch.

The helicopter dips, once, dramatically.

Zarya’s fingers slip from Mei’s sleeve, press once clumsily against her breasts.

“I’m sorry–” she starts to say over the rev of the blades above them as the helicopter evens back out. “I did not mean–”

And then they dip again. Stomach plummeting drop. Only to even out. The helicopter has begun its jerky descent.

They are almost there.

The Bastion unit in the corner lets out a series of beeps and Zarya glares at them. She sits back, pulls the headset down from behind her and pulls it awkwardly over her hat. Mei mirrors the motion. The Bastion has been strapped in, but there is no headset near the chair. For a moment Mei feels bad, but then the Bastion’s quiet beeping is drowned out by the oppressive silence of the headphones.

“Tell me again,” Zarya says, “why it is we brought that thing?”

“Bastion is going to be my research assistant,” Mei says. She glances over to the Omnic. The little head light flashes to match their rate of descent. “They’re amazingly resilient, you know. I’ve been running tests and the Bastion Unit was specifically designed for all sorts of harsh…environments.” Mei can feel the lecture in her. The readiness to teach, to explain. But Zarya’s gaze has glassed over just the slightest bit.

“Sorry,” Mei says with a grin. “I didn’t mean to rant.”

Zarya blinks. Frowns again, her chin tucking into the fluffy fur collar on her coat. “No,” she says. “You did not do anything wrong. I asked. You answered. But I do not like it and I do not trust it.”

Her voice, over the headset is tinny, a small filter of static. A disconnect. A separation. The Omnic Crisis hit more than just Russia. Mei remembers London. Mei remembers the articles and video feeds and the screaming.

The helicopter settles, weight settles back into Mei’s stomach, her feet. Grounded again.

Bastion beeps and trills a little victory chorus and Mei smiles.

The Omnic Crisis is far behind them.

“The real question,” Mei says, “is why are you here?”

But Zarya has already slipped off her headphones, is already unsnapping her restraints and is pulling her body up. And over the idling roar, Mei’s question is lost.

The snow, fresh fallen as it is, still crunches under Mei’s boots as she climbs out of the helicopter. Loaded down with bags and cases of equipment, she sinks a little into the crust of ice. She tugs her legs forward, breaking through further with her shin. Two of the duffles she is holding, scrape along the surface.

“You are silly,” Zarya’s voice says, yelling. Before Mei can turn there is pressure on the back of her jacket and then a little touch of weightlessness, until her feet once more touch the frozen, solid snow top. Zarya’s hand takes the duffles from her, hefts them over her own shoulder.

The skin of her fingers is already raw looking. Red. They’ll need to do something about that before Zarya comes back out. Modern medical miracles can do a lot for small frostbite cases, but Mei would sooner not risk it.

Antarctica is already a place of tragedy and loss for her.

They don’t need to tempt fate.

Bastion has converted form. They roll across the snow on tank-like treads with two bags balanced on the flat top.

In the distance, the arctic facility looms. Hulking and blurry in the falling snow. Grey shadow shapes. Ghosts and ghosts.

Mei pauses. Her heels sink into the snow crust as she looks on at the place that she had known as home. The wind nips at her. The fur on both her suit and Zarya’s has frozen as she knew it would. Little crystals of ice clinging to the fur.

Zarya must have realized Mei has stopped. She turns. Under the goggles and scarf little of her expression is visible. She says something but it is lost in the wind, in the hug of the scarf. Just a whisper of it.

Mei waves her hand, brushes it off. Behind them the helicopter lifts off.

They are truly alone.

Why did she chose to do this again?

—

“You’ve settled in then? Equipment is working okay?” Winston’s voice is clearer than his image on the little screen. Distorted movement of his fur in the feed. A constant flow, like seaweed.

Mei crosses her legs, perched awkwardly in the office chair. Her knees bump the desk and both her coffee and the holo pad shake.

“No problems so far,” she says. “Everything I’ve unpacked survived the trip. And my…assistants have seemed to…”

It’s been two days but she cannot say they are getting along. Bastion has been perfectly content, trundling around in the old labs, appearing every so often with a bit of detritus or chunk of wiring for inspection. Zarya has seemed…less happy. But there is a small gym in the dormitory halls and Mei’s coworkers had left behind everything they’d had. Some permafrost damage, but the weights Zarya had found seem to be doing an okay job of keeping her occupied.

“I think Bastion misses their bird,” Mei says, “but everything so far is…is fine. I’m sorry it took me longer than anticipated to get the feed up and running I have not been. Uhh. Been down to the labs yet.”

Winston’s paw moves in front of the video, clips out of the frame, tracks back. Waving her off at 240p.

“Take your time, take your time,” Winston says. “No one expects you to rush. Uhh. That is. Uhh.”

She was sent here on a mission. He is trying to walk the delicate line between duty and discretion. Decency.

“It’s okay, Winston,” Mei says. “I understand.”

“You do? I mean. Yeah, of course you do. You volunteered. May I just…just say that we’re all–”

Mei does not want to hear it. Cannot right now. She makes a face. Leans toward the screen.

“I’m sorry,” she says, “I’m losing you up here. Might be…” she moves her lips. Feigns the breakup. “Wind,” she says. “I’ll contact you in two days.” She moves her lips again, smiling slightly, for good measure, before cutting the feed.

She sits back in the chair, slumps back. Closes her eyes.

“Oddest audio phenomena I have ever seen,” Zarya’s voice says from the door way.

Mei jumps. Her skin crawls. She turns, grinning just a little sheepishly.

“You heard that?”

“Hard not to. It was a good show though. Very convincing.”

Mei chuckles, pushes the heel of her hand through her bangs. Her glasses go askew for a moment, throw Zarya into weird proportions.

“I am sure you think me terrible for lying to him.”

Zarya grins, shakes her head. Under the hoodie she is wearing her shoulders shift, roll. Her hands jammed in the pocket. Hiding the ace bandages wrapped around her fingers.

“He wants what is best for you. He wants to know you are doing what is best.” Zarya pauses. Her gaze seems to tremble, she glances away from Mei and down at the ground. “We all want what is best for you.”

She is blushing.

It is pink and healthy across her cheeks.

Mei knows, of course. Mei has known for months. But the matter needs to be handled with more gentle care than she has time for at the moment. Here at the ends of the earth there is no room for any sort of romance.

She sighs.

“If you didn’t approve,” Mei says, matter of fact, “you didn’t have to come. Bastion and I could have made do.”

Zarya has the decency to look chastened. Her shoulders fall. Her hands twist together in the pocket of the hoodie, a storm beneath the material, a writhing subconscious thing.

“I did not mean it like that. I simply meant that…that he is worried for you. And that I am. You have…not been downstairs yet. Wasn’t the whole point of returning here to–”

Zarya cuts herself off. Frowning. Glaring down at the floor between her feet.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I shouldn’t…push.”

“I’m not mad. I’m just…we’re gonna be here for a while, you know, I’ll get to it. Eventually.” Mei swallows. Her throat clicks, a dry little catch in the motion. “How are your fingers?”

Zarya seems to brighten at that. Her hands emerge from her pockets. The bandages Mei had applied for good measure are still in place mostly. An edge flapping here or there. A little tattered from use.

“They feel much better. The cold normally does not bother at least home in Russia but…”

Mei nods, smiles when Zarya trails off. “But it’s colder here. I always manage to forget too.”

“Thank you again for helping me to wrap them. And for the lending of your gloves.”

“It was nothing. It is nothing. I brought extras so it’s…it’s really not a problem,” Mei says. She can feel her own blush, the spread of it across the skin of her cheeks. Warm and uncomfortable.

She doesn’t have the time to indulge this. Coming up here wasn’t about this. Them. The budding blossoming whatever it is.

Snow kills flowers.

Ice massacres new growth.

And that is what she is here for. Ice and snow and chilling wind.

Zarya lingers, awkward. The silence turns over between the two of them. Restless.

“I should let you get to work,” Zarya says, finally. Nodding slightly. “I’ve uhhh. Cleaned out a majority of the crew quarters if you…wanted to come back there.”

Mei glances behind her at the cot she tossed up the first day here. Tucked into her workspace. Away from all those things she remembers.

But Zarya looks so eager again, a hopeful little up-tilt to her chin.

And Mei cannot bear to be the one who breaks that optimism.

“Yeah,” she says. “Of course. I’ll…I’ll move my stuff over after dinner.”

Time enough to wrap her head around it.

She hopes.

–

“Which bunk was yours,” Zarya asks. She sounds genuinely curious and Mei knows she isn’t asking to hurt.

But the hurt is there regardless.

A coiling knot of anxiety at the hollow of her throat.

The rooms have hardly changed. Two bunks to a room, two space heaters, a terminal and two bookshelves. The blankets in the dorm Zarya and she are currently standing in are green.

This was not Mei’s room. It was Faulkner’s and Henson’s; the joker and the quiet one.

If Mei closes her eyes she can recall their faces. Like it was yesterday. A few months ago.

Faulkner’s eyes had been frozen over there at the end; a layer of permafrost turning them hard and glassy like marbles.

“Not here,” she says when Zarya looks at her. When she tips her head in question.

Mei holds out a finger, points down the hall

“Two more that way,” she says. “Gina and I had purple blankets.”

“Do you want to move your stuff down there?”

God, no, Mei wants to say. Jesus, anything but that.

Instead she shakes her head, forces a smile. “Here is fine,” she says. “There’s…less to…”

Zarya nods when Mei trails off. “Of course,” she says. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m always making it worse aren’t I?”

“Not on purpose. It’s sweet, really.”

“You think I’m sweet?”

Mei closes her eyes, smiles. It’s so cliche, talking about this here, now. The bunks are made, the space heaters are running again. It could almost be cozy and romantic. He blows her breath out through her teeth.

“Of course I do,” Mei says. She opens her eyes. Zarya is leaning against the wall. Not looking at her. Feigning nonchalance. The tips of her ears match her hair. “You’re probably one of the sweetest people I know, you know, Zarya.”

“Oh.”

“You don’t have to sound so disappointed about it.”

“I did not mean…”

“It’s okay.” Mei mirrors Zarya’s stance. She leans back against the wall, crosses her arms. Their elbows touch. Mei can tell from the instant stiffening of Zarya’s shoulders how aware of it the Russian woman is. Sensitive to every brush, every accidental contact.

“I never really thanked you properly, for…for coming up here with me. For dropping everything to…”

“There was very little to drop.”

“Still though. You left it all for a bunch of…of ice and snow and…” Mei does not say death, not matter how desperately her tongue aches to. The letters, already forming across it.

“And you,” Zarya provides. Effectively stalling Mei’s rather dark thoughts. “I mostly came here for you. Would be boring, no, with only the Omnic for company?”

It’s a joke.

Maybe a little too close to home, considering Zarya’s stance on Omnics. But Mei recognizes the shapes and forms and warmth of Zarya’s joking tone.

“Right,” Mei says. Her arm drops. Zarya’s copies the motion. For a brief second their fingers touch. A mistake. God, oh God this is such a mistake.

There is no room for this.

There is no time.

Mei turns away. Her fingers trip up Zarya’s arm to her elbow, to the swell of her bicep, strong and lean within the sleeve of the hoodie.

A thank you.

Mei can frame it as a thank you; selfish as that is. Cruel as it may be.

A proper thank you.

And then they can be over it.

Mei’s feet shift, bringing her closer, just a little closer. Zarya’s eyes are huge, her mouth an open little questioning o.

“I just–” Mei begins to say.

Except she never finishes.

Bastion, beeping and whooping and trilling busts into the room. Their joints flex and creak and clank.

And the moment is broken.

Mei looks away, steps back.

Her stuff is in the hall, she turns to retrieve it. A sleeping bag. Her personal computer. Snowball. She places her little robot down on the desk, begins hooking him to the terminal there. Bastion, unaware of the complexity of the moment, joins her. Doots and beeps and whistles at Snowball.

And Zarya watches.

Says nothing.

Her fingers are touching her own chin. Her pointer brushes her lips.

They’re going to have to talk about this eventually. Neither of them can keep it up like this. Neither of them should have to.

–

But of course, wanting to talk about it and actually talking about it, those are two very different things. And Zarya for her part, seems intent on never broaching the topic again.

Skittish when she and Mei are in the same room. Shy and awkward and bumbling when they talk. She manages to mangle an automated temperature gauge that she and Mei are putting up the first time Mei hints at the topic–two days later. She only just manages not to drop and smash a computer she is carrying the second time.

Mei finds it both endearingly cute and frustratingly unhelpful.

Bastion continues on as always. Steady.

The ghosts of things Mei remembers also clings. Lingering. Calling to her every time she happens past the hanger where the cryo-pods are stored.

Morgan’s skin gone blue. Henson’s lips white and gleaming with frostbite.

She pauses in her walk across the frozen campus.

Her fingers are sweating in her gloves. Zarya is off cooking. Bastion is…wherever it is that Bastion goes to when not assisting with the various tests Mei performs.

Mei stares up at the building. The open, garage-like front of it.

This is where they found her. Kneeling here in the snow when she came to. No trace of it now, it’s been too long, too many snowstorms have erased the surface where she sank to the ground and looked on at the crew extracting her friends.

Black fingers. Clothes like cardboard, stiff with crystals.

Mei sighs.

She enters the building.

It is far past time to.

Far, far past.

–

She’s half in the air duct down in the labs when Zarya finds her. Concern written all over her face. Fear in the turn of her lips, apprehension in the tightness around her eyes.

“What are you doing down here?” Zarya asks. “The Omnic and I have been…”

“Did I worry you?” Mei asks. She pushes herself to standing, grabs the duct cover from where she had leaned it up against the wall. Before she can go to secure it however, Zarya is there, taking it from her, helping. “You don’t have to do that, you know?”

“Is the least I can do. You and the Omnic handle the science. The manual stuff, I can handle that.”

“That’s selling yourself awfully short.”

Zarya goes pink again. It’s too easy to work her up. To rattle the cage of her sensibilities.

Mei grins. “So you and Bastion were both worried.”

Zarya palms the back of her head. She is still wearing the gloves Mei had given her. There is a layer of snow dusting that hasn’t melted from her hair yet. Dotted across her shoulders.

“You were outside?” Mei asks. She reaches forward, brushes the snow with her fingertips. Her bare fingers. The liquid is shockingly cool. Mei always manages to forget.

Zarya stiffens only a little at the touch. She bites her lips. “You have been gone for hours.”

Mei makes a face. She’s been working. Setting up the feeds and recording stations that should have been put up when they got here almost a week ago. Fixing the different cables that have gone rotten with frost.

“It was an hour maybe,” she says.

“More like four? You missed dinner. I have put half away in the commissary for you.”

“That’s not–” possible, Mei wants to say. But before the word has left her mouth, her stomach lets out a grumble. Her data-pad is where she left it, sitting atop her coat and gloves. Near the door. Well away from the pods.

Mei picks it up with her back to them. She tries to make the gesture seem unimportant, but Zarya’s eyes tighten.

And of course, Zarya is right.

Five and a half hours. And she’d been so absorbed in what she was doing she hadn’t even really realized it at all.

“Mei,” Zarya begins. Her voice trails off. Her mouth closes. “You have to take care of yourself,” she says.

“I am. I do.” Mei’s fingers curl around her data-pad. Her nails scratch against the plastic protective cover.

“Not eating is–”

“It was this one time. I just…lost track.”

“Did you come here to die?” Zarya asks. She isn’t looking at the floor, her gaze bores into Mei’s. Utterly unbreakable.

Mei doesn’t scoff; it’s a close thing, but she doesn’t. “No,” she says. “I came here to finish my work. To…”

To apologize.

Because she is the one who lived.

And she no idea how to reconcile that.

What to do to honor the men and women who didn’t die for her, but just died because they picked the wrong pods. There had been no drawing of straws. There had been no arguments or squabbles. Everyone had picked a pod.

And everyones’ but Mei’s had failed.

Mei looks over her shoulder.

The unit that had saved her life, the ones that had been a casket for the others, loom behind her.

Zarya has stepped closer. The first contact she has initiated since that moment in the dorms. Her gloved fingers brush down Mei’s bare arm.

“It was not your fault,” Zarya says.

“I know.”

“You did nothing wrong.”

“I know that,” Mei says. “I know. I know.”

“You’re a good person. You are brave and everyone in Overwatch is so proud of you.”

Mei shrugs. She lets herself sort of lean into Zarya’s form.

“I’m just lucky,” Mei says. “It could have been anyone. I’m not brave. I just…” Mei swallows. Zarya’s hand has slid to her shoulder. Her fingers brushing the strap of Mei’s tank.

“I miss them,” Mei says. The first time she has admitted it. It feels weird, saying it out loud. Like stripping something bare, skin to frozen metal, tearing away the top layer. “I really, really miss them. And I just. I can’t help thinking that if it had been…Henson or Faulkner or Muniez who had survived. Would they be–that is they wouldn’t be wasting so much–”

Zarya’s hands move to cup her chin, Zarya’s gloved fingers against her pulse point.

Zarya’s lips against her own.

Cold at the edges. From being out in the snow. Searching for Mei, thinking her dead.

Mei’s fingers twitch at her sides.

Melted snow trickles down her neck.

Every sensation. She is hyper aware of all of it. Zarya’s lips, the firm pressure of them; warming up from leeching Mei’s body heat.

And Mei unresponsive. Unresponsive.

It takes a second.

And then Zarya shrinks back. Not even pink now, her cheeks are fully red. Her eyes go wide.

“I’m sorry,” she says, hastily, before Mei has even opened her mouth. “I’m sorry. I just. I thought that. Survivor’s guilt. I know how lonely that can be and I–I am not sorry that you lived. That they didn’t is a tragedy but…it is not your tragedy. You lived and I’m sorry but I’m so, so happy that you did.”

Harsh, her words come off harsh. Mei closes her eyes. She sees the good place Zarya is coming from. The road paved with pure and sentimental intentions.

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” Mei says. “They were my friends.”

Zarya looks away. “During the war,” she says. “That is I…I have lost friends too, Mei. And I know how it feels to be the one to keep going. And maybe you don’t see it, and maybe it seems cruel, but I’m glad it was you. I’m glad you lived and that I lived to…to meet each other.”

Desperate sentimentality.

Mei doesn’t know what to do in the face of such honesty.

“You lost people too?” She asks. A stupid question. Zarya was a soldier and that is what soldiers do.

Zarya nods.

“Why didn’t I know that before? About your friends?” Mei asks.

“I do not talk about it much. And I…it would not have been fair, placing that much more of a burden on you.”

“It wouldn’t have been a burden. I like knowing about your past. I like that you’d trust me with it.”

Mei sighs. She steps closer, holds her hand out. Almost reluctantly, Zarya takes it. Palm to palm. Mei interlocks their fingers.

Zarya looks down and back up. She bites her lip. But she doesn’t move her hand away. She does the opposite in fact, squeezes gently. Fitting them together slightly more snug.

“I would trust you with my life,” Zarya says. Without hesitation. Escaped from her. Her expression shifts again, embarrassment flooding across her face. She covers her eyes with the hand not holding Mei’s.

Mei chuckles. She uses her grip on Zarya to tug her in again.

The height difference makes it difficult. But Mei stands up on her toes and she makes do. Her lips touch Zarya’s chin before landing on her bottom lip.

The kiss lasts a second only, shorter than the first. Mei drops back down, lets her weight settle. She grins.

“Are you sure about this?” Zarya asks. She sounds meek, bashful. Words not easily associated with her.

“You said it yourself. Survivor’s guilt. I never thought about it like that,” Mei shrugs. She looks over at the pods, she makes herself. “They wouldn’t want me to keep hesitating. To keep. Dwelling on this. I need to…to finish the set ups for the remote interfacing. And then I’m going back.”

“Back to China?”

Mei shakes her head. “Overwatch. They still will need me. I can study climate anywhere pretty much with Snowball. And I…that is if you…”

Zarya looks at her. There is an upturn at the corner of her mouth, a twitching threat of a smile. But Mei needs to ask it. She has to.

Pushing her heel through that first thick, unyielding layer of ice.

“If you would come with me, I would be glad for the company.”

Zarya does smile. She slides her free hand across the back of her neck. “And the Omnic,” she says, “as your research assistant.”

“You would want Bastion with us?”

“The machine is not as bad as I thought it would be. I have…grown somewhat accustomed to having it around.”

“If you’re sure about it, then yes. Of course,” Mei says. “The three of us.”

Her hand squeezes around Zarya’s. Interlaced. There is heat, low in her stomach. A turning over like happiness in her throat.

A thawing.

She hadn’t even realized she’d needed it.

Zarya leans down and kisses her again. Soft and simple. Mei’s eyes flutter shut. Her hand cups Zarya’s cheek.

Oh, oh, how she had needed it.

[jackblankhsh]

A Blood Red Reindeer Knows part 9:  The City Sleeps Below

At the heart of the North Pole there's a skyscraper.  City ordinance makes it illegal to build anything higher, so it towers over the metropolis.  That's why the North Pole is such a sprawl.  The city can only grow out not up.  

 I remember being a kid, looking up at that mile high spire thinking, "Someday I'll fly off that roof.  Then they'll respect me."

 When that dream died it went hard, and took the kid inside with it.  Yet even now lights at the top are blinking red and green, promising anyone looking up he's in there.  A part of me wishes to be that kid again, though I know it's better not to be.  What's coming isn't for children.  

 The pieces are falling into place.  I don't like the picture, but that doesn't change the view.  In a way, I almost knew from the start.  Still, I keep hoping I'm not smart enough to see what's really happening.  I want to be wrong.

 Speeding through streets on my bike the snow whips my face.  I take a route through the industrial part of town.  There's less chance of being seen.  However, I forgot the time of year.

 The factories are in full swing.  Black smoke chugs into the sky hiding the moon.  Low level elves loiter by doors.  Chugging on cinnamon sticks they hope to burn out the part of their brain that knows the future is a dead end.  

 Down an alley snowmen chase a group of frightened toys.  Looks like panicked deliveries that've probably heard not everyone gets into the arms of children.  Busted out of their packaging, they're making a run for it, though they've yet to realize there's nowhere to go.  

 I catch a few glances. However, no one's concern is me. Making holiday quotas is the real focus here.  Those who don't disappear.  

 It isn't long before I'm on the main stretch cruising my way into Claus Concourse.  The front of the building is lined by Tin Soldiers, and there's a hundred more inside.  Granted, there's no one stupid enough to go after Big Red, but there's plenty crazy enough to try.  

 One of the first things we're taught as kids is Santa can't ever die.  If he does, everything his magic created goes with him; the North Pole dies.  Some folks think it's just propaganda to prevent an assassination attempt, though it's only the crazies who're willing to risk finding out.  Me, I've got a sick suspicion it's true.  One more way for Big Red to lord it over us -- we owe him our very existence.

 I stop a good distance from the entrance.  Tin Soldiers are already taking aim.  I get off the bike.  Hands in the air I approach slowly.  The Tins radio in, reporting my arrival.  

 Soon enough a Tin Captain comes marching out of the building.  Decked out in dark red and green, the uniform marks her as Big Red's private guard.  A simple gesture, and the other Tins surround me.

 "We're going to frisk you," she says.  

 I shrug, "Figured as much."

 Another gesture. Two Tins approach me.  One points a rifle, the other goes to work patting me down.  I make no moves, sarcastic or otherwise.  There's a good chance these Tins are just looking for an excuse to fire.  

 When it's announced I'm clean she says, "I'm Captain Andersen."  

 "Got a feeling you already know me."

 She says, "We've actually been expecting you."

 Her hand signals get me cuffed, and hustled inside.  We board an elevator, jammed in shoulder to shoulder.  Captain Andersen uses a key, and the elevator starts heading to the top.

 She glances over her shoulder, "I don't normally doubt him, but when he said you were coming here..."

 I chuckle, "Ya know there is a limit to that trick."

 "How's that?" she asks.

 "He knows what we're doing, but never what we're thinking."

 She replies, "Whatever you're thinking keep this in mind."  She turns, "You do anything I don't like, I will kill you."

 I smile, "Fair enough."

 Driving here I figured on one of two outcomes.  Since the Tins didn't shoot me on sight that leaves the second of my guesses still in play. Call it a reckless gamble, but when the only cards in hand are good for a bluff, everything is a risk.  If I ever want some semblance of peace with Cari Bou in the Outskirts I have to go all in.  

 The elevator pings. The Tins march off, and I go as they prod, no resistance.  A black marble hallway stretches on towards towering art deco doors.  Few ever get to see this place.  So few in fact, that as the doors part the bulk of the Tins stay behind.  Only the four in colors matching Captain Andersen may enter.

 Captain Andersen pulls out a pistol.  Keeping a smart distance -- close enough to eye any subtle movements, but not close enough for me to grab her gun -- she gestures for me to go in.  I take a step.

 She says, "Remember what I said."

 "I already feel the bullet."

 Darkness fills the grand office.  Along one wall is a fireplace large enough to throw a full grown body.  On the mantle above it is the horned skull of a giant goat. Enormous leather chairs stand in front of the fire, their backs to the room.  Bookshelves ring most of the interior from floor to ceiling.  The secrets in those books are priceless.  A glass trophy case fills one corner.  Its contents seem to dance in the fire light: the relics of past victories; pieces of defeated foes; mystical awards from other legends.  One wall, though, is just a great glass doorway leading out onto a snow covered balcony.  

 In front of it is a mammoth desk.  A lamp casts a low light across papers of all sorts.  There are modern pages scattered among ancient scrolls.  In a crystal ashtray overflowing with cigar butts smolders another coal.  It rises, floating in the dark, and as my eyes adjust I see him sitting behind the desk.  Puffing fires that burning cherry, briefly illuminating Big Red's face.  Smoke and his beard mingle, ringing his head in a white wreath.  

 He speaks softly, yet his voice carries across the room, "How're you doing Rudy?  It's been a long time."

 "Not long enough."

 Big Red chews the cigar, a strange sort of grin on his face.  

 Getting up he comes around the desk saying, "You always were a smart ass.  I kind of liked that about you."

 "Glad to know someone appreciated it," I say.  

 There's a scent in the air.  I can't quite place it, the aroma of Big Red's cigar is masking it.

 Chugging away he saunters towards the fireplace.  I see the familiar crimson suit, shiny boots, and fur trimming.  

 Staring into the fire he says, "I'm curious what brings you here."

 The whole ride over I wondered the same thing.  Figuring out the code words, King Crimson, made things a little too certain.  A part of me tried to ignore how some of the pieces fit.  Hell, it's possible I could've spared myself a lot of trouble if I listened to my gut, but some facts a fellow doesn't want to see.  Knowing I don't have all the time in the world, I decide to lay it out plain and simple.

 I say, "Look, here's the deal.  Someone is planning to make a move on you, and they're going to hit soon.  I don't know who all's involved, but it's some heavy hitters.  They're using the Krampus name to get people onboard."

 Big Red looks up at the goat skull.  For the first time I notice a bullet hole in it.  

 Pointing at the skull Big Red says, "He would be happy to know, all these years later, people still fear him."

 Hints of perfume, baked apple and cinnamon -- I take a step forward.  The click of a hammer tells me to stop.  I freeze.

 Big Red says, "You haven't told me anything I don't already know."

 Snorting I say, "Because you always know everything."

 "Almost." He winks at me.  

 Then he glances at one of the leather chairs.  A figure rises, wrapped in a red dress.  For a moment I don't recognize the face, then I realize it's Vixen.

 She says, "Hello Rudy."

 Big Red chuckles, his belly jiggling.  He says, "Don't look so surprised Rudy.  What'd you think was going on?"

 I'm still thinking it, though I'm glad to have my doubts.  

 I say, "Vixen, what the fuck is going on?"

 She says, "I'm sorry.  I couldn't tell you everything.  Santa thought it was better that way."

 That doesn't sound like Vixen, but I keep listening.  She tells me she found out about the Krampus cult, and told Big Red.  The two hatched a plot for her to join the group.

 I cut in, "So he risks your ass to find out who's against him."

 "And you wonder why you were never a flier?" Big Red says.

 I reply, "No one should die for you."

 Vixen comes near me. She puts a hand on my arm. Knowing she's fine calms me down, however, there's a look in her eye I can't decipher.  The closer she gets to me the more I notice a figure lurking in the shadows.  It doesn't take a genius to guess it's her bodyguard, Roy Glitterspark.  He's inching closer in case I do something he doesn't like.    

 Vixen says, "It was my choice.  They wanted to kill him because of the Shortage.  There's a lot of people who think it could've been avoided."

 I ask sarcastically, "How does a place made of magic run out of food?"

 Big Red glares at me. Flicking ash in the fire he thumps back to his desk.  No response is response enough.  

 Vixen goes on, "I joined the Krampus cause, but they never really trusted me.  That's why I sent you my letter."

 "Against my instructions," Big Red says.

 Vixen grabs my hands. There's something weird about the way she fondles my wrists.  My cuffs feel loose.

 She says, "But you're here now Rudy.  That's all that matters."

 She smiles, and I smile back.  

 "Lot of good sending for you did," Big Red says.  

 Vixen steps away from me, heading over to Big Red's desk.  

 Getting a cigarette from an ivory case she remarks, "The snow looks so beautiful tonight."

 I glance out the window. She's not lying.  Even knowing what the city is like, from up here it looks beautiful.  I turn to get a better look, and my cuffs fall away.

 Glitterspark shouts, "He's loose!"

 A soft thwip sounds followed by the thunk of tin getting struck.  The sound repeats.  Half recognizing it -- a silenced pistol -- I get low.  Sure enough, I barely duck a bullet from Captain Andersen.  Next thing I know shots are going off all around the room. Tins are dropping, and out the corner of my eye I see Glitterspark firing at them.  

 My immediate instinct is to run to Vixen.  Hurrying toward her I see Vixen reach up her dress.  She pulls a small caliber automatic out of a holster strapped to her thigh.  She shoots Big Red in the knee then the belly.  He collapses in a quivering pile, blood spurting out his stomach.  Then Vixen starts firing on the Tins.  They're mostly focused on Glitterspark, who's already taken out the majority with those first surprise head shots.  It doesn't take long for the rest to fall.  

 "The door!" Vixen calls out, but Glitterspark is already on the move.  He drops the empty pistol.  From under his trench coat he produces a submachine gun.  The door opens letting in a stream of Tins coming to check on the noise.  Without mercy the nutcracker mows them down.  

 My brain is spinning, trying to get away from the facts, but they're a black hole sucking me in. Knowing what probably comes next, I spin around.  Charging at Glitterspark I scoop up a dead Tin's rifle on the run.  My eyes still aren't top notch after Kung Fu Karl's beating, so instead of aiming I spray and pray at Glitterspark.  I can't tell if I hit him, but it doesn't stop me from charging forward.

 The rifle clicks -- empty.  Glitterspark turns, raising his machine gun.  I knock it out of his hands using the empty rifle as a club.  In one smooth move Glitterspark disarms me, almost snapping wrist in the process.  

 Next thing I know he's battering me with precise blows.  Each strike is a surgical sledge tearing me down.  I've been in a few one sided fights over the years.  I get some solid punches in, but it's painfully obvious I'm on the losing end side.  Even if I were a hundred percent, whatever I've got going for me as a brawler is no match for Glitterspark.  He's a trained killer, blood drunk and thirsty for more.  

 Then luck shines on me. I notice him favoring one side. Whether me, or a Tin, someone managed to plug a bullet in Glitterspark's flank.  Fainting a series of jabs I get him to expose the wound, and deliver a set of vicious hooks to the body.  

 The fight took us all over Big Red's office, and where we're at gives me a chance.  With Glitterspark off balance, clutching at his wound, I grab him by the shoulders.  We spin, and it dawns on him too late what I'm planning.  Stopping short I plant a foot, tripping the nutcracker as we twirl, and he tumbles into the roaring fireplace.  

 He rolls out in flames. He looks like a Yule log scrambling to escape the fireplace -- screaming.  Then Vixen floats by me.  She points her gun, and puts one right in Glitterspark's head.  Seeing her there, standing in the firelight, I don't recognize her.

 She sighs, "I assume you have questions."

 Panting I reply, "Sadly, I don't."

 She smirks, "You were always smarter than people gave you credit."

 Big Red moans. Vixen struts back to him.  She glares down at the fat bastard.  Coughing up blood, Big Red grits his teeth.  He starts chuckling, though it clearly hurts. She puts her cigarette out on his desk.

 Clenching his jaw Big Red says, "You stupid bitch.  You can't do anything to me."

 Vixen nods, "You keep thinking you know what's going on."

 She fires another round into his belly.

 She says, "Don't worry.  Remember that practice run, when you fell out of the sleigh drunk."  Shaking her head she says to me, "He lands on concrete two hundred feet below, and was fine in twenty minutes."

 My head is swimming. Glitterspark tore me apart, refreshed all the wreckage from earlier.  I'm bleeding from old wounds and new.  However, what's got me spinning is the truth.  

 I need some air. What's coming -- what I think is coming -- I head out onto the balcony.  Everything is happening so fast I can feel it slipping out of hand.    

 Outside, the city sleeps below.  Yet, there are flashing sirens filling the streets.  The glittering gumballs atop squad cars pulse as they hurry towards Big Red's tower.  Snow is falling, but it won't be enough to cover what's going on here.  

 The pieces started falling into place almost from the get-go.  The odds of someone assaulting Vixen made little sense.  Besides her bodyguard, the seemingly unstoppable Glitterspark, the whole scene at her place felt off.  Those posters backing Papa Nash for re-election stuck out sorely.  

 Then that whole Krampus cult raised more red flags.  Big Red can keep an eye on anyone in the city, hell, the world.  He just needs to think about them.  However, he didn't seem to have any idea who ran the cult. Besides Black Jack, only fliers are blessed with Big Red's blindness.  It's one of the perks; they're among the privileged few with privacy.

 A lot of other bits kept hinting in ways I just didn't want to notice.  Seeing Vixen in Big Red's office, I hoped... that's the mistake I made.  Detective Elfberg said a lot of things changed because of the Shortage, that a lot of people changed as well.  It sounds like a warning now.  Hope died during the Shortage, and that left people desperate enough to do anything.  So now I can't help feeling like I've been a pawn, not making my own choices.    

 The soft crunch of snow under dainty hooves.

 I sigh.

 Vixen says, "I'm not going to kill him."

 "Not because you don't want to."

 "You know what happens if he dies.  Everything he creates disappears.  The toys stop being alive, the city vanishes..."

 "We turn into ordinary reindeer."

 I turn.  She nods.  

 Vixen says, "But I can keep him in a coma, pumped full of drugs.  He'll be alive, and we'll be able to live without being under his thumb."

 Her dress billows a bit in the wind.  It wraps around her like a river of red paint.  She looks amazing, beautiful beyond compare, but I don't recognize her.

 Our eyes meet.

 She turns away saying, "He did it on purpose, the Shortage.  He said it was population control, but it was more than that." She shakes her head, "We're his playthings.  I mean, he's got all the power, but not anymore.  Things are about to change for the better."

 I don't who she's trying to convince.  The truth is I think she's right for the most part.  Things in this city definitely need to change.  How that's happening is what's got me worried.  

 I say, "I've been thinking Big Red tipped off the cops to me being in town, but lately, I've been thinking it was you."

 A tear in her eye Vixen says, "It was."

 "Part of the plan?" I ask, though I think I know.

 She wipes the tear away. I notice the gun is still in her hand.

 She says, "It depends what you think the plan is."

 "I think someone's got to go down for all this.  You can't take credit for axing Big Red.  Some folks, call 'em foolish, they won't appreciate it.  But me."  I start toward her, "Or that Krampus cult, that takes the eyes off you."

 She backs away. Raising the gun her hand shakes. I keep walking toward her.  

 "Don't worry," I say, "I know ol' Roy was supposed to do me in."

 I don't hear the gunshot. I just feel the hot punch in my gut. Staggering backwards, I lock eyes with a stranger, but I can't look at her for long.  

 Blue and red police lights ring the building below.  Even if I walk out there's no getting away.  This ends badly for me.  That's for sure.  Though if I've got to be the fall guy I'm going out on my terms.  

 Turning I stumble towards the end of the balcony.  No railing at all, it tappers out to a narrow point.  

 I say, "I came back to help because I love you, and you used that love to do something twisted. Someone like that... how're you gonna make this a better place?"

 At the edge of the balcony I look back.  

 Vixen says, "Don't..." -- but I'm already falling backwards.  

 When the only cards in a hand are terrible it takes a serious bluff to win.  About half way down the spire I start thinking she called mine.  Then I see a flowing stream of red sail off the balcony.  It hovers in the air a moment before plunging towards me.  Her hooves glow gold, a shower of sparks spitting out her hands.  

 She slams into me. It's like getting hit by a baseball bat. It's certainly better than hitting pavement.  

 We twist up through the air, rocketing across the city.  I don't know what's going to happen when we land, but I'm hoping for something good.  Right now, I just want to enjoy flying.