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puckinghell · 4 years

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Not A Typical Christmas Story | Elias Pettersson

Summary: You’ve never loved Christmas, and there’s nothing that can change that; especially not your best friend’s grumpy Swedish friend who you don’t even like. However, when you’ve gotta be forced into the Christmas spirit to write a Christmas story for class, there’s only one person who is willing to try and help you. Words: 14k (I’m SO sorry) Note: Here it is, a Christmas story in November. Honestly I’m nervous to post this, I’ve never put so much of myself into a story, but here we go. I loved loved loved writing this and I hope you guys like reading it. Also, the cliche scenarios were stolen from a random blog post.

“You’re such a fucking Grinch.” Brock takes a sip from his hot chocolate. There’s murmur in the bar around you, and he’s muttering, but you still hear him clear enough.

“Hey,” you protest, lightly hitting him on the arm. “I’m not a Grinch. Just because you put up your Christmas decorations in October and have been singing All I Want For Christmas Is You since July, doesn’t make me the Grinch for not doing that.”

Brock raises an eyebrow. “You literally just said you hate Christmas.”

“I did not.” You stubbornly cross your arms. “I said I hate Christmas stories.”

“That’s basically all there is to Christmas,” Brock brings in, and that’s probably fair enough.

Apart from the food, presents, family time, decorations…

Fine. Maybe you don’t like any of those either. But not liking Christmas is not the same as being a Grinch: you’re completely fine with letting everyone enjoy their festive December, as long as they leave you out of it.

Which is exactly why you’ve been complaining to Brock. And as your best friend, it’s literally his duty to listen to you; unfortunately it also means he’s gonna make fun of you. Just a little bit.

“I just don’t get why I have to write a Christmas story,” you mope, a little pathetically. “There’s so many Christmas stories in the world already, Boes. And they’re all the same! The foreign sports car breaks down in a blizzard and the city slicker gets stuck in a bar with a bucktoothed chicken strangler with an IQ of 7 whom he decides, through love or delirium, he cannot live without. Or the sadistic Christmas-hating miser of the pathetic backwoods town, who makes his money grinding the faces of the poor, is inspired to a change of heart by a teary-eyed child who bears a striking resemblance to his dead daughter, and donates all his money so that the ghost town can continue its wretched, grimy, poverty wracked existence.”

At that, there’s a muffled snicker from the side of the table. You’d almost forgotten that Elias was there, to be honest.

You raise your eyebrow at him. “What? You’ve got a better Christmas story?”

Elias raises an eyebrow back, but doesn’t answer. He usually doesn’t. Brock says he’s talkative enough when you’re not around, although you for the life of you do not know what you’ve done to earn his judgment.

“Don’t bite Petey’s head off,” Brock chides. He’s always trying to keep the peace between you two, and sometimes you feel bad that he has to police his two best friends.

Today is not one of those days.

“He’s laughing at me!”

“Because you’re being ridiculous.” Brock sighs. “It’s just a Christmas story, Y/N. You’ll write it, you get a grade for it, it’s done. How hard can it be?”

It’s clear that Brock has no idea how hard it can be to write a decent story. Sometimes, you wonder if he can even really write or read: maybe he’s just memorized a bunch of words and called it a day.

You let out a grumble and drop your head on the dingy, sticky table in the rundown bar that Brock and Elias are so keen to go to, probably because they never get recognized there. Not surprising, considering the fact that the age of the average customer is above 85.

Normally, you like your creative writing course. People told you to get electives you thought were actually fun, as your normal college courses are taxing enough, and you’ve always been a writer.

Or, well, been a writer… You write. You wouldn’t call yourself a writer: you’ve never published anything and you can’t be a writer before you make money from it. But you like writing. There’s at least a hundred half finished Word documents sitting on your laptop at any given moment.

But this project isn’t fun at all. All the students in your course were excited to get to write a Christmas story. It is December, after all, and most people have gotten properly into the Christmas spirit by now. However, you’ve never liked Christmas – for reasons that you will not think about with Elias’ judgy eyes on you – and you usually write scary stories, so this is not up your alley.

“Hey,” Brock’s voice sounds, and it’s gentle now. He’s probably noticed you’re actually having a mental breakdown over this. “It’s just one stupid story, and it doesn’t even have to be good. Just write about like, animals that can talk.”

Elias snorts again, and this time you can’t even blame him.

You lift your head only to shoot Brock a glare. Brock raises his hands in helpless manner, rolling his eyes as he goes.

“I’m trying to help.”

“I’m going to get beers,” Elias says suddenly. It’s the first thing he’s said all hour, you think, and the sound of his voice almost startles you. “I think you’re more helpful when you’ve got a beer, Boes.”

He’s not wrong, but you won’t tell him that. Instead, you stare at his retreating back, disappearing towards the bar.

“Why do you hate him?” Brock says, and he sounds a little accusing.

“I don’t hate Elias, just as much as I don’t hate Christmas,” you tell him, before you realize that that technically doesn’t speak of your innocence, so you try a different tactic. “He doesn’t like me either! He never talks when I’m around.”

“Cause you make him nervous!” Brock exclaims. He pushes his now empty mug towards the side. “You’re always making snappy remarks at him.” He stares at you with big blue puppy eyes, his bottom lip pouting out. “I wish you would just get along. I love you both and it’s very annoying to have to always be in the middle of you.”

In reality, it’s not like Brock really has to be in the middle of anything. If it was up to you, you would simply not ever see Elias, and you’re pretty sure that’s the only thing you and Elias would ever agree on. But Brock somehow always brings you together: like how today he’d forgotten to mention his teammate’s presence when he asked you to come out for a drink.

But you don’t blame Brock, not really. You think there’s another universe in which Elias and you could be friends. You’re very similar, in a way: you’re both not from Vancouver, both don’t have your family around, and you share a similar sharp sarcastic humor and a love for teasing Brock.

The first time you met Elias, you were hopeful. Brock was, at that point, your only friend in Vancouver, and the two of you had become best friends like you’d grown up in each other’s pockets. If Brock liked this guy so much, you figured you’d like him too.

But Elias hadn’t seemed to feel the same way. You met at one of Jake’s parties and Brock had introduced you with the statement that you were going to be beerpong buddies, because he’d already promised Troy.

Elias’ eyes had been a little too intense, as they traveled across your face. You could feel them burn into your skin like lasers, and when his eyes finally met yours it had felt like being hit by the entire universe at once.

“Oh,” he’d said, and it had been filled with… not even disdain. You could’ve handled disdain, because you could’ve called him out on that. But this had been indifference, that you’d heard in his voice, and that was something you didn’t know what to do with.

He’d not said anything else all evening.

Ever since then, you’d put stone after stone into the wall you build between you and the quiet Swede, every single time he so much looked in your general direction. Nothing big ever happened between you: you hadn’t had any huge fights or massive blow outs.

It was just indifference, that ate at you until it became reluctance and then annoyance, and it’s that same thing you can read on Elias’ face now when he quietly sits in a corner, listening in on your conversations with Brock.

Yes, it would be easier for Brock if you and Elias could become friends, or at least friendly enough.

“Sorry, Boes,” you tell him with a sigh. “I just don’t think it’s ever gonna happen.”

“Is there a reason you’re not wearing a shirt?”

You raise your eyebrow at Jake, who opened the door wearing black jeans, a Santa hat, and literally nothing else.

"I lost a bet,” he says solemnly, opening his front door further. You stomp the snow off your boots on his porch, then move past him into the house.

It’s freezing cold outside and Jake’s house is lovely and warm, which makes you happy to be there if only to enjoy the heating. It’s not like you don’t have heating at your flat, but the electricity bill is high enough every month without you turning the thermostat up as high as it goes, so usually you try to keep warm with sweaters and blankets.

Brock told you to dress pretty though, so you wore a dress to Jake’s party. Which means it’s a good thing he’s got the heating going.

“You look lovely,” Jake smiles, taking your coat from your hands. Having him act like such a perfect gentleman in the outfit he’s wearing makes you laugh, and he shoos you inside when he notices.

You like Jake. In fact, you like all of Brock’s friends – except the one, of course – and that’s the only reason you said yes to coming to this party. It’s not like you’re against parties, but it’s a Christmas party: and despite the fact that it’s the first week of December, you’ve already heard enough Christmas music to last a life time.

“There she is!” Brock hoots, when he spots you. He opens his arms and you give him a quick hug, saying hi to Bo and Holly, who he’s standing with. “I have a brilliant idea,” Brock says however, before you can even ask the Horvats how they’re doing. “And you can’t say no right away.”

That definitely means you’re gonna wanna say no right away.

“I’m not promising that,” you hum. Just at that moment, Jake appears with a glass of prosecco that he hands you, and you send him a grateful smile. He disappears just as quickly, which is probably the better option considering what Brock’s about to say.

“I think you should make an actual, real effort to get into the Christmas spirit this year.”

“I don’t think so,” you immediately answer, but Brock waves away your protests with a wave of his hand.

“That’s not the part you’re gonna wanna say no to.”

“Oh dear,” Holly laughs, and you glare at Brock.

“What, then?”

“I think you and Petey should get in the Christmas spirit together.”

The sentence is bizar enough that you burst out laughing. Surely he’s kidding.

“Are you drunk?” you ask, then, turning to Bo: “Is he drunk?”

Bo shrugs. “Not yet, I don’t think. Tipsy at most.”

“Think about it,” Brock says. There’s a glint of excitement in his eyes, which promises nothing good for you. “You’re staying in Vancouver this Christmas, right?”

You don’t say anything: the answer is yes, and Brock knows that, because he’s been trying to convince you to come back to Minnesota with him for a month. However, as you’ve told him every time, there’s no way his girlfriend would appreciate that, and you don’t like being a third wheel. Or - but you haven’t told him that - a charity case.

“And so is Petey!” Brock proclaims. He motions somewhere to the left, where the Swede is probably hiding between all his teammates, trying to stay as far away from you as possible. “So both of you have to stay here in Vancouver, alone, during Christmas. And he loves Christmas, and you don’t, but you have to write that Christmas story and it would be so much easier to do that if you actually celebrated Christmas, so he can teach you how.”

Your best friend isn’t making a lot of sense, and there’s too much information to process so quickly. First of all, you didn’t know Elias would be alone for Christmas, although you suppose it makes sense that he can’t go back to Sweden just for 2 days of Christmas. Secondly, you don’t need someone to teach you how to celebrate Christmas: it’s not like you don’t know, and much more that you choose not to.

And third: fuck. You’d basically forgotten about that Christmas story.

“It’s a brilliant idea,” Brock says proudly and a little smug. “And I haven’t told Petey yet but I know he’ll be down.”

This time, you respond: you start laughing hard enough that Brock’s smile slips off his face.

“I really don’t think he will,” you giggle. You reach out, patting Brock’s arm with a smile. “Boes, you’re a sweetheart, but stop worrying about me. My life isn’t bad because I don’t like Christmas.”

It’s bad for some other reasons, like financial debt and family misfortunes, but not because of a lack of reindeer ornaments and bad mulled wine.

Brock pouts. “But…”

“No,” you cut him off. “I can write that Christmas story just fine on my own, thank you. And if you’re worried about Elias, you can ask him to Minnesota.” You take a step back, glancing at your empty prosecco glass. “I’m gonna get another one of these.”

As you’re making your way to the kitchen, you can still hear Brock’s sputtering.

Although Jake’s house is filled with people, the kitchen still seems quiet. It’s not until you’ve let the door fall closed behind you though, that you notice movement in the corner.

“Oh,” you say, a little annoyed to be caught off guard. “It’s you.”

Elias barely glances in your direction. “Just getting some water.”

Elias’ style is always a little funky, and if you didn’t dislike him so much you would’ve appreciated how daring it is. This time, though, you literally can not help but laugh at him.

“Nice sweater,” you say, and it doesn’t even come out as sarcastic.

Elias looks down at his sweater like he didn’t even notice he was wearing it. It has a reindeer stitched on, except the reindeer looks… Well. Baked.

“Quinn got it for me,” Elias says, and he sounds a little sheepish, which is not a tone you hear from him often. “He’s got the same one.”

“A little co-dependent,” you tease, and it comes out too light and easy for it to be directed at Elias. He looks a little surprised, too, at how jovial it sounds.

“You look nice,” he says, then. He’s looking at you now, and you can feel the weight of his eyes press against your skin.

There’s something about Elias’ gaze that makes it feel like your lungs are constricting, and you don’t know what it is. You could blame it on the fact that his eyes are the kind of piercing blue that authors would compare to the ocean or maybe the summer sky, but Brock has blue eyes too, and you never feel like that when he looks at you.

“Uhm, thanks,” you bring out. The awkwardness settles over the kitchen like a heavy cloud of fog, but for some reason your first instinct isn’t to just run out of the kitchen, like you usually would.

This is definitely Brock’s fault, for making you feel bad about Elias being alone in his sauve but empty apartment in Vancouver on Christmas, when he apparently loves the holiday so much.

“Brock thinks you could teach me how to love Christmas,” you blurt out, and Elias looks nothing short of utterly baffled by your statement. You sigh, and explain. “We’re both in Vancouver around Christmas and apparently you love Christmas and I don’t, so he thinks you should teach me how to love it. He thinks it would help me write my story.”

Elias seems to ponder that for a second. When he speaks, his voice is tentative. “Do you think it would help?”

Your first instinct is to, once again, call out no and laugh it off, but for some reason you don’t. Elias sips his water like he’s prepared to wait for your answer, and you give yourself some time to think.

Realistically, getting into the Christmas spirit, or at least getting an idea of what other people feel when they’re in the Christmas spirit, could really help you pull off this story. You’re good at putting yourself in other people’s shoes, which is how you manage to write characters you don’t necessarily see yourself in.

When you wrote a story about a doctor, you talked to your friend who’s in med school about it for a week. Now, you wanna write a Christmas story. It wouldn’t be an awful idea to be around someone who loves Christmas.

“Maybe,” you admit. “But you don’t have to do it, I know you’re probably busy…”

Elias shakes his head before you’ve finished your sentence.

“When hockey goes on break, and all my teammates go home for the holidays, I won’t have anything to do.” He shrugs: it looks careless but in the most forced manner, like he’s trying to hide just how much it does matter. “We could do something, I guess.”

I guess. It’s not really the most enthusiastic response you’ve ever had, but then, this is not normal for you and Elias.

“You know what the ultimate Christmas plot is?” Elias says then, a little hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “A Christmas party is in fear of flopping thanks to a lack of Christmas spirit, but is rescued by some energetic soccer mom with no life.” He grins. “I could be the soccer mom.”

To your own surprise, you burst out laughing at his description. You didn’t think he was really paying attention when you were describing cliché Christmas plots in the bar with Brock, but maybe Elias pays attention to more than he admits.

“Fine,” you hear yourself say, and you honest to God have no idea where that came from but you know Brock is gonna shit himself with excitement when he hears. “When hockey goes on break, you can be the energetic soccer mom and try to bring me into the Christmas spirit.” You smile. “It won’t be an easy task, Pettersson.”

Elias raises an eyebrow but there’s nothing judgmental about it, this time.

If anything, it’s a challenge.

He sticks something out to you: it’s your glass, now filled again with prosecco, which he somehow managed to fill up without you even noticing.

“It’s on,” he says simply, and when he raises his water glass in the air, you don’t even hesitate to clink it.

“Shopping is not a Christmas outing,” you say, stubbornly crossing your arms. “And I really don’t think this is gonna get me into the Christmas spirit.”

“What do you mean?” Elias deadpans, as he yanks a shopping cart free from all the others. “Middle aged housewives fighting over discounted wreaths? There’s nothing more Christmassy than that.”

You snort. “Right. It’s just gonna be spoiled crying kids who want toys that they already have and parents pretending it’s Santa who spoils them so they don’t have to take responsibility for their kids being rude drama queens.”

Elias laughs. He pushes the cart into the department store, and you reluctantly follow him.

“That’s another storyline,” he says.

“The unexplained dilemma of parents who do not believe in Santa, and yet we, the wise audience who knows better, are left to wonder where they think these toys came from? ‘Psst, honey, Santa’s not real, so from whence came these marvels?’”

“I don’t know half of what you’re saying.” Elias holds up a string of Christmas lights. “But we’re getting these, honey.”

It comes out sweet like caramel and too serious to be anything but sarcastic, so you push the cart into his heels. Elias simply laughs and continues on his way.

The department store is busy, which is exactly why you usually try to avoid going there in December. You’d think Elias, being Elias Pettersson, would also try to avoid crowds, but it’s like people don’t see anything but Rudolph; nobody recognizes him as he skillfully pushes his way through the crowds, putting stuff into the cart that you barely know what to do with.

You’re thankful for it. It would be awkward if people did recognize him, and it’s strange to notice that that would be the thing to do it; there’s no awkwardness now, with him making snarky remarks at the quality of the ornaments or the fact that Canadians apparently love what he calls the ‘tacky’ side of Christmas.

In fact, you almost find that you’re enjoying yourself. It might as well be a Christmas miracle after all.

“When was the last time you had a tree?” Elias asks.

Your brain short circuits for a full five seconds, and then when you answer Elias stares at you as if you’ve grown a second head.

“Uh, probably when I still lived with my parents and they got it?”

“We’re changing that right now.” He spins on his heels and speed walks in the direction of the trees, too fast for you to protest.

You think of the last time you got a Christmas tree and an involuntary shiver makes its way down your spine. There’s a good reason you don’t like Christmas, and the tree plays a crucial part in it.

But Elias doesn’t know that. So you can’t even blame him for looking excited when he somehow manages to find you the perfect size tree for your apartment – even without ever having been in your apartment.

“This one,” he says smugly, but when he notices your expression, his face falls. “What’s wrong?”

You swallow. You could tell him, now, tell him about the last time your dad went to get a tree and never came back.

But that’s a long time ago and there’s no reason for Elias to know that. He’s not your friend, and he’d probably not even care. If anything, he’d feel sorry for you, and that would be even worse.

“That one is fine,” you tell him, and you promise yourself you just won’t put it up.

The tree gets your mood down but Elias doesn’t seem to notice. He collects some more stuff, like a throw blanket with Christmas pattern that you actually don’t mind, because you’re always cold and a person can never have too many throw blankets.

He also puts in an ornament with the Canucks logo, which you want to use to slap the smirk off his face, and a Rudolph pluche toy with a red light up nose.

“Like you, when it’s cold,” he teases, flicking your nose, and you wonder if you could use the Christmas lights to strangle him.

Finally, when you approach the end of your trip, you realize a teeny tiny problem.

“Uhm, Elias?” you ask, “I think we may have gotten too much.”

Elias rolls his eyes. “Brock said you don’t have any decorations, so this is the perfect amount.”

And it would be – if you wanted Christmas decorations – except…

“I can’t afford this,” you snap, and you can feel your cheeks heat up, and maybe the tips of your ears as well. God, this is embarrassing.

Elias’ face softens, and that kinda just makes it worse.

“You’re not paying for it,” he says, not unkindly. “This wasn’t your idea.”

“It wasn’t yours either,” you remind him. Granted, a bill like this would hardly break the bank for Elias, but you’re not about to let him pay for you just because he feels bad. You let Brock buy you dinner sometimes but that’s it, and only because he actually likes your company and because he always wants to eat at stupid fancy restaurants.

This is Elias. He doesn’t value your company, and he’s not your friend, and you won’t let him pay for you.

Elias doesn’t say anything, eyes searching your face for something. You’re not quite sure what he finds, but finally, he speaks.

“Consider it my Christmas gift to you,” he says. “You can pay me back by making me lunch, cause I’m hungry.”

And strangely enough, the thought of spending another two hours with Elias doesn’t make you wanna hurl, or throw yourself in front of oncoming traffic. In fact, you’re surprised to note that you actually had fun on this trip, and it was mostly thanks to Elias’ dry commentary on the other shoppers, of which not one sentence failed to make you laugh.

You don’t believe in Christmas stories, like the one where some weird technical glitch in the matrix gets fixed just in time for the Christmas tree in the center of town to light up, just as the guy and girl figure out their complicated emotional differences.

But maybe you can allow yourself to not actively dislike Elias’ company, at least while you’re stuck with it.

There’s exhaustion settled deep inside your bones, like your feet are made of concrete as you somehow manage to drag yourself up the stairs. You don’t usually mind living in a bit of a shit hole building, considering the fact that it’s very cheap – but on nights like these you wish there was an elevator you could take.

Working out in the morning before taking a double shift at the coffee shop you work at was a bad idea.

It takes you a few seconds to find your keys in your bag. It’s late enough at night that you can’t really see much; there’s lights in the hallways but most of them don’t really work, the flickering glow of them barely enough to illuminate the ceilings.

When you open the door, you instantly notice there’s something wrong.

Or, wrong… That might not be the right word. The word that comes to mind, actually, is fuck.

You’d forgotten all about Elias.

After buying all the Christmas decorations, he kept bothering you about putting them up. You hadn’t really been planning to, and unfortunately Elias knew you well enough to somehow know that.

Nobody reads you as well as he does, like his blue eyes pierce right through your skin and stare straight into your heart. It’s one of the things you find most unsettling about him. Keeping things close to your heart has always been your way to cope, but it felt impossible to do that with Elias around.

He’d kept asking you if you were gonna put up the decorations and you kept waving him away, until he finally decided he had enough.

“I’m coming over tomorrow,” he’d said – or, threatened. “Brock gave me your spare key, so you don’t have a say in this. I’m putting up the tree.”

“Don’t you dare,” you’d answered, making a mental note to deal with Brock’s traitorous ass later. “I can put up my own tree.”

You could, you just weren’t planning to do it.

“You could, but you won’t,” Elias had said, unimpressed. “So be there or don’t be there, I’m doing it.”

You had totally meant to be there. You weren’t as much of an asshole that you would let him do all the work after he also paid for it, and he was technically doing you a favor. But then your colleague asked you to cover her shift, and, well…

You forgot. And clearly, Elias hadn’t.

In the corner of your tiny little living room is a pine tree. There’s no ornaments in it except for the Canucks one that Elias bought you, but there’s what seems to be about a thousand lights in it, and it must’ve taken him hours to put those in.

It’s not even just that. The Rudolph toy is sitting on your bookcase, there’s candles on your dining table and on the couch is the Christmas throw blanket.

Under the blanket is Elias.

His head is resting on the arm of the couch, blond hair a little messy. His eyes are closed, eyelashes fluttered against his cheekbones, and he looks strangely peaceful.

You feel something settle in your stomach.

You imagine him sitting on your couch, waiting for you to come home because he wanted to see your reaction. You can imagine his little smug grin as he took in his work, way too proud with a simple string of lights in a Christmas tree. And maybe, maybe, he even thought about you celebrating Christmas here with the place looking exactly like this, and maybe that made him smile.

And then you didn’t show up.

You wonder if you should wake him, to kick him out of your apartment, tease him for waiting for you, or even to say thank you. But his chest is rising slowly with every steady breath, and you’ve never seen Elias look so tranquil, so at peace.

For some reason, waking him feels like a crime.

So you step closer and tug the blanket a little more over his shoulders. You tell yourself it’s because the place gets so stupidly cold at night, and you can’t have him get sick and have a miserable Christmas because Brock would kill you, but you know it’s not about that at all.

It’s about the fact that coming home to a cozy, decorated apartment after the exhausting day you’ve had was actually pretty nice. And it’s about the fact that for some reason, Elias’ sleeping figure on your couch makes the place feel more like home than it has ever before.

And maybe it’s because the night is dark, and Elias can’t hear or see you, but when you whisper: “Goodnight” into the quiet living room, it sounds a lot like thank you.

When you wake up, there’s the smell of pancakes in the air. It’s a smell you would recognize anywhere, and it startles you awake too quickly for it being so early in the morning. You nearly jump out of bed and follow your nose towards the kitchen.

If anyone would’ve asked, you would’ve bet money on it that Elias would’ve woken up on your couch annoyed as hell, and booked it out of there as soon as his legs could carry him. But somehow, like a mirage, he’s standing at your stove, making pancakes.

Are you dreaming?

“Am I dreaming?” you ask out loud, and Elias swirls around on his heels.

“Don’t scare me,” he snaps, annoyed, but the annoyance flows away within seconds. “I was hungry.”

“So you made pancakes?”

Elias laughs softly. “I can’t make much else with what’s in your kitchen. You need to go grocery shopping.”

You really do, but you can’t think about that right now. Not when Elias is standing in your kitchen like he owns the place, like it’s normal for him to be there.

It very much is not. So why doesn’t it feel wrong?

“Uhm.” If he’s here, you figure you should at least be polite. “Do you want coffee?”

He waves towards your coffee machine. “I already put it on.”

You stay quiet as you make the coffee, a little too aware of the way Elias moves pancake after pancake from the pan to the stack, movements relaxed and almost lazy. It’s Sunday morning and it’s not that late, but it feels like it could be one of those mornings that stretches out endlessly, dark grey clouds outside your apartment as Vancouver slowly wakes up.

Neither of you speak until you’ve sat down at the table, pancakes and coffee in front of you. It’s awfully domestic and you don’t know what to do with it: it’s become easy to snap or snark at Elias when Brock’s there as a middle man and Elias looks like he’d rather cut off both his legs than spend another minute in your presence, but it’s not like that now.

Now, Elias seems quietly content to sit in your kitchen eating pancakes that he made on your stove while you were asleep. Now, Elias seems completely comfortable scrolling through his phone while you stare at him. And this Elias, you have no idea what to do with.

“We’re gonna do something Christmassy today,” Elias says, between two bites of pancake. “I’m just trying to figure out what.”

You raise an eyebrow. It’s been only a week since Brock had the awful idea to make Elias teach you how to be in the Christmas spirit before booking it to Minnesota, and so far Elias has seemingly put way too much time and effort into it, while you haven’t even put one word in your empty word document, that you ironically titled ‘Not a typical Christmas story’.

Then you remember the night at Jake’s party, and how Elias said he wouldn’t have much to do once all the guys went home to their families.

Suddenly, you feel for him. You know what it’s like to be lonely.

“The Christmas market isn’t on today,” Elias continues, oblivious to your mental dialogue. “But we’re going there soon. And we need to watch a bunch of Christmas movies.”

You hesitate. Are you really going to do this?

“I might have an idea for today.”

Apparently you are.

Elias’ eyes finally focus on you, expression curious. He doesn’t say anything but he’s clearly waiting for you to continue, so you take a deep breath and go for it.

“I’ve never gone skating.”

An hour later you’re at the local outdoor ice rink, and it’s not until you see the crowd that you realize this might’ve not been your smartest idea. It’s Sunday, it’s December, it’s not awfully cold: you think at least 1/3rd of Vancouver is at this rink.

“Uhm, I might not have thought this through,” you state a little bashfully. You can already see a few Canucks jerseys on the ice, and although you can’t see the back that well you wouldn’t be surprised if a bunch of them carried the number 40.

Elias shrugs. He seems unbothered, but then he mostly does. You can never really read him, and it’s one of the things you find most unnerving about him.

“It’ll be fine,” he says. “I’m wearing my glasses.”

He is wearing his glasses, which he rarely does. You’re not even sure he needs them or if they’re just a fashion statement. He’s also wearing a hat, so maybe he’s thought this through more than you.

But surely just glasses and a snapback won’t stop Vancouver from recognizing the Canucks biggest star?

Apparently, it does.

Elias goes to rent the skates, because he couldn’t be bothered to go back to his apartment to get his own. He’s put them on within 20 seconds, while you’re still struggling to wiggle your foot into the first one.

He laughs and you shoot him a deathly glare.

“Don’t laugh at me! We can’t all be professional hockey players.”

“I don’t think you need to be a professional anything to lace up a skate,” Elias answers dryly. He turns to face you, then pats his leg. “Give me your foot.”

It’s embarrassing to make Elias tie your skates, but it would be more embarrassing to ignore him and then spend 20 minutes struggling with them. So you swing your foot into his lap.

Long fingers work swiftly around your laces, and suddenly your skate is tied, fitted closely around your ankle. Elias pats your shin, then holds out his hand for the other foot.

You swing your second leg into his lap.

“I don’t know how you do this so fast,” you mutter. You can feel the flush on your cheeks and you hope Elias assumes it’s because of the cold.

“I’ve got many talents,” Elias deadpans, and you can’t stop yourself from laughing.

“Juggling, unicycle riding, and lacing skates?”

Elias nods. There’s a smile tugging at his lips. “All very important skills.”

Finally, you put your skates back on the floor and waggle towards the door to. the rink. Elias has jumped onto the ice before you can even think about moving.

You stop. Is this really a good idea? You could break both your legs here.

“Don’t be scared,” Elias says, correcting guessing the root of your hesitation. He’s gliding on his skates with ease, shuffling back and forth the way hockey players always do during the anthems.

Because he’s waiting. For you. Because you’re going skating together.

This is the weirdest fucking thing that’s ever happened to you, kinda like a fever dream; and that’s enough motivation to step onto the ice.

You stumble a bit, and Elias reaches out to grab your elbow to steady you.

“Careful, it’s slippery.”

“Unsurprisingly,” you mumble beneath your breath, and Elias’ grin goes a little wicked before he promptly lets go off your elbow and slides back.

Bastard. But the ice is slippery and you’re not steady on your skates, so you scramble forward only just enough to reach Elias again, wrapping your hands tightly around his arm.

“Do not let go,” you hiss.

“Do not be a smartass,” he shoots back, but thankfully he doesn’t move away again. Instead, he carefully takes both your hands away from his arm and takes them into his own, turning so he’s skating backwards and pulling you along.

If you don’t have to move your own feet, moving is a lot more fun, and you feel yourself loosening up. Every now and then you stumble, but Elias’ grip on you is firm and he never wavers, even when you yank on his hands to pull yourself upright again.

You’ve always noticed how graceful Elias is on the ice. There’s something about him when he skates that has always caught your attention, even if you would never admit that to him. But without the hockey gear, it’s even more clear how elegant he moves.

You, not so much.

“You better not be laughing at me,” you grumble, a little annoyed that you have to cling onto Elias as a lifeline in order not to break your neck.

Elias raises an eyebrow. “I never do that.”

It should sound sarcastic but it really doesn’t, and you wonder if he’s momentarily forgotten every single interaction you’ve had with him over the past year.

Your expression must speak volumes because he rolls his eyes. He swiftly moves, so he’s skating next to you instead of in front.

He’s still holding your hand.

“I never laugh at you,” he clarifies. “I laugh because you’re funny. It’s different.”

And, oh. That does something to your stomach, something that you probably shouldn’t be thinking about right now.

Elias doesn’t seem to want to dwell on it either, because suddenly he pulls his hand away, skating a bit to the front to where you can’t reach him.

“You can do it on your own,” he calls over his shoulder, a cheeky smile playing around his lips.

And it turns out you can: you don’t fall, you keep moving – albeit a lot slower than Elias – and it’s actually kinda fun.

You can do it on your own, but. It was more fun with Elias next to you, anyway.

When Elias texts you to tell you you’re going to the Christmas market that night, you haven’t seen him in three days.

But you’ve been texting. He’s been sending you stupid Christmas songs that you mostly don’t listen to, and Christmas movies you’d prefer to never see. You send him ideas for cliché Christmas stories that you can almost hear his disapproving snort for.

Santa becomes a prima donna and holds Christmas hostage until his ego is stroked in the form of songs written in his honor by reindeer who are willing to give their very lives for the cause.

Elias’ answer comes swift.

No. That has definitely been done before and also, someone could call animal services.

When Brock asks you how you’re liking your time with Elias, when you FaceTime him during dinner, you fall into silence.

What are you gonna tell him? That you smile every time you see his name pop up on your phone? That you have no idea anymore why you didn’t like him all that time? That you now understand what he meant when he used to say “Petey just needs a little time”?

“It’s going,” you hum noncommittally, chopping another carrot.

Brock laughs. “You’re so full of bullshit. I can literally see you trying to hide a smile. You realized I’m right, didn’t you?”

“You need to shut up,” you tell him without any heat. “We’re civil. He’s bored, I’m in the middle of writer’s block crisis. We’re not getting married, Boes, it’s just better than doing nothing the whole week you’ve deserted me.”

“Sure,” Brock drawls, and it doesn’t sound like he believes you at all.

“How’s the pups?” you ask, and Brock laughs because that wasn’t even slightly subtle for a topic change. He clearly decides to let you, however, starts talking about Milo’s new habit of burying people’s gloves in the yard.

The thing is, you don’t really wanna talk about Elias with Brock when you don’t even know yourself what you think of him yet. Fine, you don’t hate him, that’s clear. You’ve realized his air of indifference is just a shield, a wall that crumples as soon as he laughs. His teasing remarks are familiar now, feel friendly the way they feel when they come from Brock, and you’ve realized he’s one of the funniest, smartest, and kindest people you know.

But Brock would just push it into something it’s not. When he comes back, you’ll probably go back to being ‘Brock’s friend’ instead Elias’, and you wouldn’t be surprised if everything goes back to the way things were. Maybe with less animosity, but when Elias has a bunch of different people to choose from, why would he choose to hang out with you?

But for now, he doesn’t have any other people to hang out with and he does choose to hang out with you, and you’re hit once again with how weird that is when you step into his car the next evening.

“Dude, it’s way too cold to be going outside,” you grumble, shutting the door of his car behind you. Inside the car it’s warm and cozy, and Elias has an amused expression on his face when he turns to you.

“Good evening,” he deadpans, “I’m good, thank you, how are you?”

“Right.” You can feel your cheeks flush and hope he thinks it’s because of the heat in the car. “Sorry.”

Elias laughs. “It’s not that cold,” he chides, pulling the car into the road. “You just didn’t dress properly.”

You look down at yourself. You thought you’d dressed quite warm, but there’s an icy chill in the air that promises a chance of snow, so maybe it’s not warm enough. You didn’t even take gloves, you realize now, or a hat.

Well.

Elias is grinning while he stares ahead at the road, and you kinda wanna smack him except for how it also makes you smile. He’s dressed a lot warmer than you, and with the scarf almost up to his chin and a beanie on his head there’s not much risk of him being recognized anywhere.

“I brought extra gloves,” Elias says, then. “You’re not gonna be able to enjoy it if your hands are cold.”

You can’t help but laugh. “Elias, not to be a downer, but we’re going to a busy market that revolves entirely around Christmas, and I don’t like Christmas or crowds. I don’t think I’m gonna enjoy myself either way.”

“We’ll see,” Elias says simply, and it sounds like a promise.

It’s easy to keep up the conversation on the way there, light teasing from you and genuine interest from him. It’s comfortable, both the warmth in the car and Elias’ laugh next to you, and when he parks the car you almost don’t wanna get out.

At least he does have gloves for you, and he gives you a scarf, so you’re not that cold when you step out into the night air.

The Christmas market is busy, hoards of happy people looking for some Christmas cheer. You stick close to Elias’ side: if you lose him in this crowd, you’ll never find him back.

At least it’s pretty. The sky is already dark but the Christmas market has been lit up with seemingly millions of lights in every color imaginable.

“I don’t think purple is very Christmassy,” you say, flicking a purple light hanging off the stall that Elias is browsing.

“I prefer the white ones,” he answers, eyes kept firmly on the handmade ornaments in the stall. “They look like stars.” He turns, holding out an ornament. It’s a glass star, and it reflects the lights like a kaleidoscope.

It’s, objectively, beautiful. You don’t have to like Christmas to love it, but when you reach out for it, Elias laughs and pulls it out of your reach.

“I thought we decided you’re not to be trusted with glass.”

He’s referencing a time long ago, when you were hanging out with Brock and he happened to be there, and you dropped a glass and Brock had made a whole spectacle of it.

To be fair, you hadn’t really put Elias in the memory you keep of that day, because he was simply there: as Brock’s friend, as someone who happens to linger in the background. He’s lingering in the background of many memories, you realize now, but you’re starting to realize you prefer the ones where he’s front and center.

You walk past more stalls, filled with either tacky Christmas stuff – you buy Brock some socks with Santa on them because you can’t not – or handmade things, which you actually like looking at. Elias buys some things for his parents – “I’ll send them to Sweden,” he says, and he looks a little too sad so you start chatting about how Rouss kinda resembles a reindeer, somehow.

You’re walking past the food stalls when Elias asks: “How’s the writing going?”

You freeze. That’s not a question you were ready for, and it leads to the inevitable urge to blurt out the truth. “I haven’t started. I just don’t think I can.”

Elias’ eyes on you are thoughtful, like he’s searching for something in your soul. If he tries hard enough, you think he’ll look right through you: nobody has ever made you feel so open, so visible, as he does.

“Brock didn’t tell you why I don’t like Christmas, did he?”

“No,” Elias admits, “but I figured it was a better reason than red is not your color.”

“Hey!” you protest, stepping to the side so you can bump your shoulder against his. “Red is totally my color!”

It’s not, but Elias doesn’t push it. Instead, he smiles warmly, and suddenly you want to tell him.

“When I was young, my parents used to fight a lot. One day, two weeks before Christmas, they got into a massive fight. I listened to them from my bedroom and then my dad came upstairs and told me he was going to find me the perfect Christmas tree. He got in his car and went to get the tree, or so I thought. I never saw him again.”

You sigh. “It’s not, like… I’m over it, mostly. I just can’t help but feel that same feeling every year around Christmas. It’s like hoping for something you know will never happen. Like you’re reading a book and the happy ending never comes. ”

“That’s why it’s hard to write the story,” Elias hazards a guess. He looks curious, but he doesn’t look like he feels bad for you, which is what you would’ve disliked the most.

He points to one of the stalls, then. “They make the best hot chocolate in town. Want one?”

You nod, following him towards the stall as you continue talking. “It is. But I do also find Christmas stories boring to write. It’s always the same concept, just in a million different ways.”

Elias smiles. “That’s the fun of it, no? You know the happy ending always comes. It makes you feel good.”

“It’s boring,” you repeat, stubbornly. “The girl from the big city with a job paying upwards of 8 figures goes back to her hometown for Christmas and somehow falls for some high school fling who still lives in a basement, but makes a mean cup of hot chocolate and says thing like ‘What can I say? I was stupid.’” You cross your arms. “You can’t tell me if we took the Christmas element away you would voluntarily read that story.”

Elias laughs. “Some people would. Isn’t that basically the story from The Notebook?”

“Have you ever watched The Notebook, Elias?” you frown, and he shrugs.

“No, but Brock said it made him cry.”

Which isn’t surprising, because a lot of movies have made Brock cry. You wonder what Elias would do if you put on The Notebook on your upcoming Christmas movie night.

Elias turns around, then, two steaming cups of hot chocolate in his hands. He smirks when he hands it to you.

“What can I say? I was stupid,” he quotes, and you can’t help but giggle as you take the cup from him.

“You didn’t make this, you just paid for it. It doesn’t count that way.”

“After this we should probably go,” he says then, glancing at his watch.

The words sink into your stomach like a heavy stone of dread; you don’t really want to go home, and the realization hits you like a ton of bricks. You’re happy, right now, and if ‘feeling Christmassy’ basically translates to feeling happy, well…

It’s not Christmas, though, that’s got you feeling this way. You could care less about the pine trees and the tacky music and the reindeer and the big man with the white beard and red hat.

You care more about the blonde man beside you, staring into the distance with the brightest blue eyes, and the way he somehow always makes you laugh.

Damn it. How much you hate it when Brock is right.

With Brock telling you how much Elias likes Christmas movies, and Elias having pushed you for this Christmas movie marathon for days on end, you were expecting a bit more excitement from him when it finally happens.

You can tell something is wrong from the moment you open the door. He’s standing with his hands in his pockets, and when he smiles at you it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Hey,” he says softly, moving past you into your apartment.

“I hope you’re ready to rewatch the same exact movie with only minor differences all night,” you joke, but Elias doesn’t even look up as he methodically pulls off his coat, kicks off his shoes and pitter patters into your living room.

He scoffs when he sees your tree, still empty except for the Canucks ornament that he got you.

“Really?” he asks, and for the first time in a while you can’t tell if he’s joking or actually upset with you.

This is the Elias that you knew before, the one that you didn’t like because you could never reach him, guarding his heart like a fort. But this time, you know what it’s like to have the other Elias, and you already miss having that Elias in your life.

“Sorry to disappoint,” you bring out, and it comes out a bit shaky. Elias turns around and his face softens slightly.

“I didn’t mean that.” He sighs. “I nearly canceled this.”

Your heart sinks.

“I get grumpy when I’m not feeling good and I don’t want to take it out on you.” He sinks down onto your couch, kicks his feet up on the coffee table like he’s been there a million times before. “But I didn’t wanna cancel, so. I didn’t.” He sounds almost helpless, like he’s not sure if he should be saying what he’s saying.

But your traitorous heart lifts immediately. If he didn’t want to cancel, it means he wants to be here, and that’s really all you need to know.

“Well, I’m gonna make popcorn, then,” you say, keeping your voice light. “You pick the movie. I don’t care. They’re all the same anyway.”

Elias rolls his eyes, but it’s good natured. “They’re not the same!” he calls after you as you disappear into the kitchen.

“Every Christmas movie ever was written by someone who didn’t know what to write,” you tell him, knowing he can still hear you from the kitchen – the benefits of living in a tiny apartment. “Writer’s block? No problem. The solution: a little bit of Christmas magic. ‘We can’t pay the rent’, ‘I’m sick’, ‘My boss is making me work on Christmas’. Poof, with a jingle of bells, problems solved in the form of a generous benefactor, aspirin, or a hit man.”

“If that’s the case, why can’t you write a Christmas story?” Elias calls back teasing, and you give him the finger through the wall.

He might not see it, but you’re certain he can feel it.

You take the popcorn and walk back to the couch, letting yourself drop onto it next to Elias. You misjudge the distance a bit, causing you to sit a little too close to Elias for it to be strictly friendly; but Elias doesn’t budge, so you don’t move either.

You’re pressed against Elias shoulder to thigh, and you can feel his body shake when he laughs.

“I like this cliché,” he says, nodding towards the television. “Let’s see if you can guess it.”

You watch the movie in relative silence, eating popcorn and enjoying the warmth of Elias body against yours. You have to admit you lose focus every now and then: the movie isn’t that bad, but it’s hard to focus on anything with Elias so close. Every now and then, when something funny happens, he exhales a sharp breath of laughter, and sometimes he hums as if he’s agreeing with what’s happening on screen.

He smells nice, too, and finally you get tired enough that you get a little brave: you let your head drop against his shoulder, tugging your feet under yourself.

“Figured it out, yet?” Elias asks softly.

“Yep,” you answer. The movie is nearing the end but you figured it out within the first ten minutes. “Basic physics, not to mention common sense, are thrown to the wind as Christmas repeats every day, disappears from the calendar, or is hurled into the past or future.”

Elias doesn’t respond, and suddenly you wanna know.

“Are you okay?” It’s probably a weird question, and very out of the blue, so you hurry trying to explain. “Cause you came in very sad, and like, if you don’t wanna talk about it with me that’s fine but I think it’s good to talk about things sometimes so if you wanna…”

“I’m fine,” Elias says, cutting you off, but it doesn’t sound dismissive. It sounds a little amused, and when you turn to look at him, you find him smiling. “Worried about me?”

And it’s the strangest thing, but you are. “A little.”

Elias’ face softens. “I promise I’m okay,” he says. He reaches out, then, places his hand on yours and squeezes. “I just talked to my parents before I came here, on Skype, and they were talking about Christmas and it sucks that I can’t see them for the holidays. But it is what it is.” He shrugs. “I sulk for a bit and then I move on.”

You never really go home for the holidays, but you understand how awful it must be to be stuck alone in Canada with your whole family in Sweden.

You blame the quiet, late night energy for what comes out of your mouth next.

“I think I could be convinced to make you a Christmas dinner if you ask nicely.”

Elias laughs, and his hand is warm when you turn your palm up and he laces his fingers through yours.

“If I ask nicely, will you watch another movie with me right now?”

You pull the Christmas themed throw blanket over your legs before letting your head drop against Elias’ shoulder once again.

“You don’t even have to ask.”

“I have an idea,” Elias says through the phone, and you don’t quite recognize the tone in his voice at first. “Well, it was Brock’s idea, but I think it’s a good one.”

Anything that was Brock’s idea immediately fills you with doubt, and you frown. “What?”

That’s when you realize: Elias sounds excited.

“Brock knows someone with a cottage, about two hours from here. It’s in the forest and it’s supposedly very Christmassy. We should go for a night.”

He sounds quietly pleased, and you don’t have the heart to tell him no.

“Okay.”

Objectively, though, it’s an awful idea. A Christmassy cottage in the forest also sounds like it would be very romantic, and you’ve finally come to terms with the fact that what you feel for Elias is definitely not just friendly comradery at this point. Feeding this feeling would not be smart, considering the fact that it’s almost Christmas and after that you’ll most likely never spend time with Elias like this again.

Sure, he might be at parties with the other Canucks or Brock might invite him for drinks with you, but it won’t be like this. You’re not stupid enough to think this will last: that would be a real Christmas miracle, and Christmas miracles don’t exist.

“Sometimes I wish I could read your mind.” Elias’ voice startles you despite the fact that his words come out softly. It’s been quiet in the car, apart from the low murmur of the radio in the background, for a good fifteen minutes.

You’re on your way to the cottage and your thoughts are going a million miles per hour.

You look over at Elias. He’s staring ahead at the road, one hand on the wheel and the other in his lap. He looks relaxed. Comfortable.

“It’s usually nothing interesting,” you say, and you thank the universe that he can’t know what’s going on in your mind.

“Are you thinking about your story?” he asks, and you weren’t, but it’s as good an excuse as any.

“I’ve gotta email it to my professor in four days,” you admit. “And I haven’t put a single word on paper yet.”

You’ve tried, that’s for sure. You’ve spent hours on your laptop, staring at a Word document. You’ve typed sentences and deleted them, tried to outline the story or just wing it while typing. Nothing works, nothing feels right when it stares back at you from the screen.

Elias hums noncommittally. “I think you think about it too much,” he says. “Just don’t worry about it. And write what you know.”

You scoff. “I don’t think anyone wants to read a Christmas story about a father who bails on his family, Elias. Nobody likes sad Christmas stories.”

He smiles. “Any sad Christmas cliches on your list?”

“Each and every event, whether holiday related or not, is tainted through the loss of a dead relative. Example: “Can I have a glass of water?” “Your, uh, *swallow*, your grandmother used to drink water.””

Elias laughs before reaching for the radio and turning up the music. You never listen to Christmas music, as a rule, but somehow you don’t hate it now that it’s blasting through his stupid sports car, the world flying past you through the window.

The drive is filled with Elias humming along to Christmas music and you laughing whenever he pulls a face at one of the lyrics. You spend at least 30 minutes debating if ‘Baby It’s Cold Outside’ should still be allowed on the radio – no – and whether or not Michael Buble is the king of Christmas – in Europe, apparently yes.

By the time you reach the cottage, you feel a lot more positive.

Until you see it.

“Uhm,” you bring out, staring at the place in front of you. Elias barks out a laugh, but it sounds mostly disbelieving.

“When Brock said ‘cottage in the forest’, I pictured something different,” he says sheepishly.

“I guess this shows the power of speech?” you offer. “Like, ‘cottage in the forest’ and you think of this beautiful rustic romantic getaway. But this is more ‘cabin in the woods’: I think we’re about to get murdered.”

Elias raises an eyebrow. “Romantic?” he repeats, an amused tilt to his voice, and you nearly get back in the car.

Way to put your foot in your mouth.

Luckily for you Elias doesn’t dwell on it. Instead he wanders inside, where at the very least it looks a little better.

It’s cold, and there’s no working electricity, but there’s a fireplace and a billion candles, and it’s decorated quite cosy. Maybe even Christmassy, if you really squint: although you’re happy to notice there’s no tree.

It’s easier than you thought it would be, to spend an evening in some dodgy cabin with Elias. It’s easy to chat about everything and nothing, to cook dinner with him. How domestic it feels to tease him about how slowly he chops the mushrooms, while he somehow makes sure your wine glass is always full.

Silence doesn’t fall until long after dinner. The fireplace is on, fickle candle light giving the room an orange glow. You’ve somehow ended up with your feet in Elias’ lap, although you can’t remember how they got there: you’re painfully aware of the heavy grip of his hand around your ankle.

The wine has given your brain a nice fuzzy feeling, has softened up the edges around your thoughts. And all you can think, now, is how nice this is: to have Elias right there next to you, blue eyes fixed on the ember flames burning in front of you.

“I’m glad that Brock kept forcing us to hang out,” you say, without thinking. Elias glances over at you.

“Forcing us?” he repeats, as if he’s not sure what you mean.

You shrug. “Come on, Elias, we didn’t like each other before this. You probably didn’t want to hang out with me as much as I didn’t want to hang out with you.”

The words hang heavy in the air for a second. If you didn’t know any better, you’d swear you saw Elias flinch.

“Actually,” he says tightly, and your heart does a traitorous swoop. “Brock never forced me to come. I always asked. If I knew he was gonna see you, I asked to come along.”

The words hit you like a freight train. You can feel your heart beating in your chest. But surely there’s no way you’ve been wrong all this time?

Brock did say Elias didn’t hate you.

“But… I thought you didn’t like me.” Your voice sounds small in the quiet room. It feels different here, so far away from the city: when the night is so silent all your thoughts sound so loud.

Elias shrugs. He doesn’t look upset, per se, but his face is carefully closed off and you know now that’s not a good sign.

“I know you thought that,” he says, voice flat. “I know that first night I came off as rude.” His smile is wry. “I was nervous, I didn’t really speak English, and you’re very pretty. I guess it was a recipe for disaster, on my end, so it doesn’t surprise me you didn’t like me.”

You can feel the blood rush to your cheeks, your heart pounding in your throat. You’re hearing his words but they sound almost foreign, and you can’t quite believe he’s really saying them.

“I’ve always liked you, though,” Elias adds, almost as an afterthought, carelessly like it doesn’t matter. Like he doesn’t know what that does to you, your mind going into overdrive.

You’re not an easy person to like. That’s not you being hard on yourself, you just know you judge too harshly, react too quickly. You go into downwards spirals of negative thoughts, you put opinions into people’s mouths, and most of all, you don’t believe in happily ever after.

People, in your experience, don’t stick around for people who won’t promise them happily ever after.

But Elias is here, having brought you to this cabin, having pushed and pushed to be around you: and you didn’t even notice. You thought he was just doing Brock a favor, you thought he was just bored. He’s not been very outgoing about his affections, but you can tell that they’re there; from the way he’s put up your Christmas tree to how he always listens to every word that falls from your lips. No, he’s not been very outgoing about with his affections but he’s been plentiful with them, and you just didn’t notice.

“Elias,” you start, but the sentence dies on your lips when he turns to face you, suddenly a lot closer than he was before.

“What about now?” he asks. You must look as confused as you feel, because he clarifies right away. “What do you think about me now?”

There’s nothing unsure about the question, and you think the answer is been pretty clear. You wouldn’t be here if the answer wasn’t clear. But despite that, despite that he seems to already know what you’re gonna say, you wanna say it anyway. You think you have to say it anyway.

“Now I like you,” you tell him, sitting up straighter. “I really like you, Elias.”

The last thing you register is the pleased smile tugging at the edges of Elias’ mouth, and then his lips are against yours.

The kiss is soft but not hesitant. Maybe he’s giving you time to think about it, this way, if this is what you want: but in that moment there’s nothing you want more, nothing but a fierce desire to trace your hands down his body.

As soon as your fingers touch his arm, Elias deepens the kiss. He kisses exactly how you would expect him to; giving you everything, no trace of doubt or hesitation.

There’s nothing frantic about it, nothing scary. With every second that ticks by you fall a little further into it, your mind a lovely shade of blank – with the exception of the boy in front of you, like all your nerves screaming his name.

“Hey.” Elias’ voice is soft as he pulls away. He doesn’t take his hands away from where they’re laying against the bare skin of your back. “We don’t have to go further.”

He’s giving you an out, you realize, a second to gather your thoughts. You could pull away now, you could put some space between the two of you.

You scoot forward, moving even more into his lap, and carefully curl your hand around his jaw. He leans into it slightly, and your heart screams with how much you want him.

You don’t answer. Even as a writer, you realize that words are sometimes overrated. Instead, you press your lips against his, placing your heart in his hands as you kiss him once more.

It takes about two hours after you get back to your apartment for the reality of it all to comes crashing down at you.

The night at the cabin was wonderful; magical, even. If you would write the perfect Christmas story, it would be a lot like that.

Except you’re not writing a Christmas story – you should, of course, but you haven’t started and that’s because Christmas stories are unrealistic.

You and Elias, your story - no matter how wonderful – is unrealistic. What were you thinking? That Elias, being who he is, would simply… What? Become your boyfriend?

He’s Vancouver’s biggest star, everyone’s favorite person. You’re just another lonely writer who lives mostly in their own brain. You’re just someone else who is hard to love; like your parents, like your sister, like all the friends you’ve seen get their hearts broken.

You call Brock.

“Wow, calm down,” are the first words that come out of his mouth when he finally speaks. You’ve told him most of the story by then, sentences coming out in shallow breaths and tears already burning in the back of your throat. “What the hell do you mean ‘hard to love’? That’s bullshit.”

“It’s not.” You swallow. “Brock, it’s not real. What I’m feeling. People fall in love all the time and they all believe that’s it, their perfect story, but how often does that story end up a tragedy?”

“Y/N…” He sounds mostly sad. “You can’t live like that.”

But your mind was made up long ago, so long ago when you were just a child. When you saw the tragedy that was your parents love story, and then later it was only settled deeper, when you saw your friends get hurt, when your sister got cheated on.

“I can’t make myself the protagonist of my own tragedy.”

“Petey isn’t going to break your heart.” Brock’s voice is sharp, and you realize this is not a fair position to put him into: how can he be honest to you when that means breaking Elias’ trust?

“He won’t mean to,” you whisper. “But it’ll happen. It might not even be his fault. I’ll probably break my own heart somewhere along the line. But happiness doesn’t just come along this suddenly, Boes.”

“What is it does?” Brock asks, and you don’t have an answer.

What if it does is less scary what if it doesn’t, and the next few days when Elias calls, you don’t pick up the phone.

You shouldn’t have opened the door.

“You’re avoiding me.” Elias sounds... hurt. You don’t think you’ve ever heard him sound like that. You’ve learned that when he’s upset, he mostly sounds indifferent; locks his emotions behind a wall for nobody to see.

And maybe it’s a testament to how well you know him, now, that you can pick up on the change in his voice. Or maybe it means he’s decided to let you in.

God, you hope it’s not that last one. Hope he didn’t make that mistake.

You sigh. “I’m sorry, but…”

“Don’t.” Elias cuts you off by pushing past you into the apartment. He stands glaring at you in the middle of the living room, arm crossed. “You’re not doing this.”

You have to.

“It’s just not gonna work,” you try. There goes the crack in your heart, bursting open like someone squeezes it with an iron fist.

You’re doing this to yourself. But that’s better than the alternative: better than having Elias do it way further into the story, when there’s something to destroy.

There’s nothing to destroy, now. There’s only the prologue to the story, and now the epilogue. A story with no middle won’t be remembered.

“That’s not true.” Elias isn’t backing down. “You can’t tell me nothing this past month has meant anything to you.” He frowns. “Does this have anything to do with your Christmas thing? Would it be different if this had happened in January?”

You laugh, but there’s no humor there. If only it was that simple.

“This has nothing to do with Christmas, Elias. This just isn’t real. There’s no happy ending to my storyline, and I’m not dragging you down with me.”

You let your eyes fix on him, on the way he stands there stubbornly, still fighting for something. For you. If only it made a difference.

Elias doesn’t say anything, for a while. Finally, voice timid, he says: “You’re gonna throw this away because you’re scared.”

You are scared. But that’s not why you’re doing this.

“Damn it, Y/N.” Frustration rings clear in Elias’ voice, now. “I know you feel what I feel! You can’t just ruin that because you’re not brave enough to say what you want!”

“It doesn’t make a difference, Elias!” You’re hurting too, and you can hear your own voice getting too loud.

“I wanna live in a world where people don’t get hurt, and everyone’s got enough money and nobody ever has to skip a meal!” You swallow, hot tears pricking behind your eyes. “I wanna live in a world where people don’t get in the car to get a Christmas tree and never come back, and I wanna live in a world where Santa’s real, Elias, but that’s just not reality. That’s not how life works.”

Elias’ eyes are dark, his jaw tense. You know you’re not gonna like what he’s got to say before he’s even opened his mouth.

“Maybe not,” he says tightly, “but you live in a world where people can choose to love each other. It doesn’t have anything to do with Santa, or magic. None of those things are real, but love is real, and you can choose to believe in that.”

He grabs his jacket, is walking towards the door before you can even comprehend what he’s saying. At the door, he turns around. His eyes shine with sadness.

“I want to love you, but you have to choose to believe that, too. And if you can’t, then I guess it won’t ever be real.”

When the door closes, the last piece of your heart breaks in two.

“Merry Christmas!”

Brock’s voice is bright and cheery. He’s clearly only just woken up, his blond hair a mess and Milo passed out in his lap.

“It’s not even Christmas yet,” you tease. You curl your legs closer to yourself, your coffee in one hand and your phone in the other. It’s nice to see Brock, even if it’s just over FaceTime.

Getting your heart broken is even worse when you can’t really talk about it to your best friend, because you also broke your best friend’s other best friend’s heart.

It’s a complicated issue, is the thing.

“It’s Christmas Eve tonight,” Brock says, rolling his eyes. “That’s basically Christmas. Are you still moping?”

“Hey,” you protest. “I’m not moping. I’m sad. It’s different.”

You have been moping, a bit. The first two days after your final talk with Elias, you didn’t even really come out of bed. You just sat there and you wrote.

That’s the only good thing to come out of this, you think. You somehow not only wrote your story, it’s maybe the best story you’ve ever written.

“I know. I’m sorry.” Brock’s voice is gentle. “You can talk to me, you know? I won’t use anything you say against you or tell Petey or whatever. He’s been talking to me too.”

Your heart does a somersault. If Elias has been talking to Brock, Brock probably already knows everything; in a way, you can’t believe he’s still talking to you if that’s the case.

More than that, though, it brings an opportunity. To find out what you’ve been wondering since Elias stepped out of your apartment.

“Is he alright?”

“Are you?” Brock counters, like that matters.

You stare at the coffee in your cup. It’s too hot to drink still, little puffs of steam climbing through the air.

You’re not doing so well, admittedly, but that’s probably fair. You were the one to broke off the story, in the end. And you hate to admit it to yourself – and you definitely won’t admit it to Brock – but you’ve been wondering if you made the right choice.

“I wrote my Christmas story,” you say, instead of answering his question. “Handed it in yesterday.”

Brock lets you change the subject. “Cool. What did it ended up being about?”

You sigh. “It was about me.”

Brock raises his eyebrows, interest clear in his eyes. He doesn’t push you, and you’re glad for it. You need a moment to find the words.

“I wrote about a girl who hates Christmas because it reminds her of things that she’s lost. And I wrote about how scared she is of gaining something because that means she can lose it again.”

Brock’s voice is soft when he speaks. “But someone teaches her? In the story?”

He knows you too well. You laugh quietly. “Yes, someone takes her through all these Christmas cliches to make her realize why they’re cliches. It’s not because of the act itself. It’s because you spend time doing it with someone you love.”

“She loves this person, the one that teaches her,” Brock hazards a guess.

There’s no longer any doubt that he knows exactly how you feel about Elias.

“She loves him but that scares her even more. Because if she loves him, she could lose him. And Christmas has always been the time to remind her of loss and heartbreak. So she assumes it’ll just end in hurt this time too.”

“It doesn’t have to,” Brock says.

And you know. Somehow, writing the story, you realized that. Because as you wrote about this girl, that was exactly like you, you found yourself not wanting to give the story a realistic ending. You wanted to make it right, wanted her to end up with the person who taught her how to love Christmas and how to love him.

So you did. You gave your story a happy ending. And in doing that, it’s like you gave yourself permission to want a happy ending for yourself, too.

But there’s just no way. Life isn’t a fairytale, and the Christmas cliché where the girl who throws it all away gets back her perfect boy by stealing Santa’s microphone in the mall and making a grand speech about how pushing him away was the biggest mistake of her life, simply isn’t real life material.

“It’s not too late, you know.” Brock’s sitting up straighter, almost as if he wants to come through the camera and tell you in person. “If you wanted to change the ending. You could. He’d let you.”

Your heart starts beating faster and it has nothing to do with the caffeine you’re drinking.

All this time, you’ve been wondering. Wondering if it’s too late.

“How would I do that?” you ask. “Hypothetically.”

Brock’s grin is so bright you nearly have to close your eyes. “Send him the story,” he says, without thinking about it; the jerk probably has been thinking about this since you started telling him what it’s about. “You should send him the story. Kinda like a message in a bottle.”

When you say goodbye to Brock, his eyes are fond when you tell him “Thank you” and mean it. Without him, you don’t think you would’ve had the courage, but now it feels like the only possible ending comes with you taking your Word document and putting it in an email.

To: [email protected]

Attachment: Not a typical Christmas story.pdf

Message:

Elias,

I’ve tried to write this letter a million times, to tell you what I should’ve said that night. I can’t say I’m not scared what you’ll think, but who am I to know what the future holds? If my heart was paper I’d fold it, throw it to the wind and hope it’d end up in your arms. So here it is, my paper heart, in the form of the most cliché Christmas story of them all. The one where everyone ends up with their perfect happily ever after.

Signed with love from me to you,

Y/N.

There’s three rapid knocks on the door, and then silence.

Your heartbeat speeds up like you heard gunshots instead. Within seconds you’re on your feet, almost running to the door.

There’s only one person that could be at your door on Christmas morning at 9am, right?

When you open it, something heavy dissolves in your stomach, a sense of comfort falling over you like crawling into bed after an exhausting day.

“Elias,” you breathe.

For a second, you just stare at him: he looks like he’s barely slept at all, dark circles surrounding his eyes, which somehow seem more blue than they ever have before.

“Merry Christmas,” Elias says then, thrusting something forward. You grab it in reflex.

It’s the glass star, the ornament from the Christmas market. The one that you had told Elias you found beautiful, the one that reflected all the lights like a million little stars. The one that reminded you, even, of Elias’ eyes.

It’s still beautiful. And suddenly there’s tears running down your cheeks, warm against your skin.

Elias frowns. He looks a little worried, unsure; as if he shouldn’t be here. But God, he is here, on your doorstep, and he brought you this ornament, and you know that it has to mean what you think it does.

“I’m sorry,” you bring out. “For everything, I…”

You can’t finish your sentence, because Elias steps forward, his arms outstretched, and you launch yourself at him like a missile. He catches you easily, presses you against his chest and buries his face in your shoulder.

“I read the story,” he mumbles. You can barely make out the words, but they hit you like a ton of bricks anyway. “You believe in Christmas miracles now?”

You can hear the smile in his voice as he asks, because he already knows the answer.

“I don’t know,” you admit. You pull away a little, but keep your arms firmly locked around Elias’ waist, and his hands remain on your back. “But you’re here, so. I think I might have to start.”

Elias laughs, moving closer again to press a kiss against your head. You can feel his lips move against your hair when he speaks. “What about us? You believe in us, now?”

You don’t answer him, but you think he can tell from the way you kiss him, anyway.

You tug the blanket tighter around your shoulders, smiling down at the opposite end of the couch. Elias is talking in Swedish and you don’t understand a word he’s saying, but you can tell that he’s happy, smile bright and eyes fixed on the laptop screen in front of him.

He’s been talking to his family for the past hour, and watching him has been a great source of entertainment for you. He blushed when his brother mentioned your name, and finally he did introduce you to them.

“This is Y/N, I’m forcing her to watch Christmas movies with me all day and then bake cookies,” he’d laughed, and you didn’t tell him that there’s nothing you’d rather do.

“Jag älskar dig, hejdå,” Elias says, and then he finally closes the laptop. “Hey,” he hums, poking your thigh with his toe, “my mom said she can’t wait to meet you, so. Be warned.”

You laugh. “I would love to go to Sweden. I read something about cakes.”

It feels natural, to crawl over to the other side of the couch and lay down between Elias’ legs, head resting on his chest. You can hear his heartbeat under your ear and it’s enough for your eyes to close on their own accord.

It’s not like you’ve had much sleep the past few nights. But now, you think you could finally sleep peacefully, knowing that Elias is here and he’s not leaving.

His hand moves down your side, sneaking under your sweater, fingertips soft against your skin.

“It’s snowing,” he says, suddenly, and you open your eyes to look out the window.

Indeed, there’s little flurries of white powder fluttering through the grey Vancouver sky.

“That’s too much,” you roll your eyes. “The great grandmother of Christmas cliches.” Elias raises a questioning eyebrow, so you explain. “As the final crisis is resolved, everyone runs out in the street on Christmas Eve to discover that it’s snowing! In Nigeria! During a drought!”

“We’re in Vancouver,” Elias deadpans, and it’s only because you know him so well that you see the mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “And it’s not Christmas Eve, it’s Christmas Day.”

“Minor details,” you shrug, placing your head back on his chest and closing your eyes again.

“We’ve gotta decorate this sad excuse of a tree.” You can hear the smile in Elias’ voice as he talks. “Two ornaments does not make a Christmas tree.”

“Later,” you hum, curling your fingers into his sweater. “We’ve got all day.”

Elias laughs. “The tree is supposed to be decorated before Christmas, typically.”

You can’t help but smile at that. “We’re not a typical Christmas story, though.”

“Maybe not typical, but still pretty good.” His arms tighten around you and you can feel him press a kiss into your hair.

“Pretty fucking good,” you agree. “If you get me off this couch today it’ll be a Christmas miracle though.”

You shouldn’t have said that: no sooner than the final word leaves your lips you’re being lifted into the air, legs dangling helplessly as Elias throws you over this shoulder. Your giggles come out a little hysterically.

“I told you miracles are real,” he grins, unceremoniously carrying you towards the bedroom.

You’ve just come from there, but you’re really not against the idea of going back.

“What about the tree?” you squeal, lightly slapping his shoulder.

“Tree can wait,” Elias decides, as he dumps you onto the bed and lets himself fall over you, leaning on his forearms so he doesn’t crush you.

“Tree can wait,” you echo in agreement, and you let your body relax into the mattress as Elias kisses you. When he tries to deepen it, you turn away just slightly, keeping your nose pressed against his cheekbone. “Hey, Lias?”

“What?” Elias mutters, sounding a little annoyed to be denied another kiss.

You smile. “Merry Christmas.”

His laughter sounds bright.

“Merry Christmas, babe.”

#eeek im nervous about this one #elias pettersson #elias pettersson fic #elias pettersson one shot #nhl fic

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marjansmarwani · 3 years

Text

in the hope of open hands

8.5k || ao3

Vignettes of Nancy and Marjan through season two as their friendship grows stronger and turns into something more.

Here it is, the Nancy/Marjan fic I have been threatening for ages, just in time for @bellakitse‘s birthday. Happy birthday Stef! I hope you had a wonderful one, that you enjoy this bit of Nancy/Marjan softness, and that you know how much I appreciate you 💕

This is my first time writing these two and I sincerely hope I did them justice. I love them both though, so I hope that counts for something.

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

Michelle leaving wasn’t as shocking as it probably should have been.

But after everything that had happened - starting with a solar storm and wrapping around a worldwide pandemic - the paramedic captain putting in her two week notice was barely a blip in the grand scheme of things. Yes it would mean a change in the firehouse dynamics, yes it would mean that Nancy and Tim would have to adjust to someone new. But Marjan respected Michelle for making the decision she had - it wasn’t an easy thing to do to walk away from everything you knew and take a risk.

Which is why when Tim started on his latest round of complaining (it was so familiar she could almost trace the argument at this point) she responded in kind. She meant what she said - she admired her for making the choice, more than she could say. For all her bravado and daring in the field, she hadn’t taken too many gambles in her personal life. Yes, moving to Austin had been a risk, but it had been a calculated one. In everything else; friendship, romance, she couldn’t say the same. Marjan loved the adrenaline rush of a thrill, she hated the uncertainty of a new choice.

Nancy, at least, agreed with her.

“What a monster,” she concluded sarcastically after she listed off all the personal sacrifices Michelle had made, throwing a grin in Marjan’s direction as she finished. Marjan returned it without hesitation, their eyes meeting as Tim threw up his hands in frustration. It was becoming a familiar rhythm between them. Maybe it was the pandemic forcing them to find companionship within their everyday circles, maybe it was simply them realizing that as much as they loved their teammates, the women of the 126 needed to stick together.

Whatever it was, Marjan was glad for it. They had just started getting to know each other and before she knew it, Nancy Gillian was her friend. She could very easily become a close one too, Marjan thought, given time. Time she knew that she was willing to give.

----------

Marjan was swiping through the pictures she had just taken when she felt a familiar presence at her shoulder.

“Those are great,” Nancy said with a grin Marjan could hear even with her back to the other woman, “you’ll have to send those to me.”

“As long as you give me credit Gillian, a lot of time and effort went into these you know!”

She knew her friend was rolling her eyes even before she had fully turned around but when she got a look at her face she was not disappointed. She grinned cheekily at the paramedic before their attention was drawn to the kitchen by a loud and bright laugh from Grace. They turned to see her leaning back in her seat, one hand on Captain Vega’s shoulder and the other covering her mouth. Marjan smiled at the sight before tilting her head in their direction, “How are things going with Captain Vega? She seems like a badass.”

“She is,” Nancy confirmed, “it’s kind of awesome.”

There was admiration in her tone, but something else too.

“But?” Marjan prompted, turning her back on Captain Vega and Grace to give Nancy her full attention.

Nancy sighed, “I don’t know. It’s just been weird. Michelle was never warm and fuzzy, but we knew her. Captain Vega is...different.”

“You’ll get to know her too,” Marjan reminded her, “in time.”

“Yeah,” Nancy agreed with another glance towards her Captain, “I guess.”

“Well I know,” Marjan told her firmly. “You just need to give it time.”

Nancy smiled at her gratefully and Marjan felt a warmth of affection rush through her. “Hey,” she said after a minute, “the only downside of flaunting my superior photography skills is that I’m not in any of the pictures. Take a selfie with me?”

“Who can say no to Firefox?” Nancy quipped, but leaned down so that she was next to Marjan as she raised her camera. They both beamed at the camera as Marjan tapped the shutter button. When they were done she pulled the phone closer to look at the result. Their smiles shone just as brightly on her phone and Marjan grinned at it. She added a heart emoji for her story, but not before she downloaded a copy.

This, she decided, was a moment she wanted to remember. The beginning of better times to come, she was sure.

--------

“Why did we leave him? We wouldn’t have done that if it were anyone else!”

If it were one of you is left unsaid, but filled the spaces between them all the same.

Captain Strand reminded them it was all strictly protocol and Marjan knows he’s right but she can’t help but wonder too. She can’t help but look down at where her hand is resting on TK’s shoulder. It wasn’t all that long ago that they had almost lost him on a call. If the worst had happened, would they have left? Or would they have stayed; giving protocol the finger because that’s what you did for family.

Logically she knows the two situations were worlds away from each other. TK’s had been a freak accident in an otherwise controllable environment. The scene at the pool hadn’t been safe. There had been lava and fire everywhere; they had been ordered to abandon their recovery efforts for civilians too when the worst of it had happened. They had grabbed any survivors and they had left before the body count rose anymore. She knew it was for the best, she knew it was protocol.

That didn’t make looking at Nancy’s broken expression any less painful.

But she didn’t know what to say. What could she say to make the loss of her partner hurt less? Marjan had a team and she knew that if she lost any one of them she would lose a piece of her heart with them. Nancy and Tim had only had each other. They had had each other for so long and through so much and Marjan knew there was no way she could possibly fathom the loss that Nancy had just experienced. So instead of going to her as a friend probably should when Paul offered to spar with her she accepted eagerly. She used the punching bag as a target for her anger, for her fear. She was angry that Tim’s life had been cut short when all he had ever done was help people. She was angry Nancy had to face this. She was afraid of how this might affect her friend; she was afraid of finding herself in a similar spot someday.

But eventually the workout was over and she and Paul parted ways. She felt lighter as she stepped into the women's locker room, but not better. There was still a heaviness within her and she had a feeling it would be with her for a while. She crossed to her locker and dropped her bag onto the ground before sinking onto the bench with a weary sigh. She was just debating whether it was worth it to change at all or to simply go home in her workout clothes when she heard the sound of sniffling from beyond the row of lockers. She frowned as she stood up, stepping quietly around them until she came to a halt at the sight of the scene before her.

Nancy was on the wide bench by the showers, her feet up on the bench before her and her knees pulled up to her chin. She was sobbing; quietly but unmistakably. Marjan felt her heart break all over again as she quietly approached.

“Nance?” she asked softly as she drew closer, not wanting to startle her friend. Nancy’s face shot up and her eyes went wide at the sight of the other woman. She reached up a hand to wipe away the tears that were still rolling down her face, but Marjan shook her head.

“You don’t have to stop,” she told her as she carefully settled onto the bench beside her. “It’s okay to feel this, and let it out. And I’m not going anywhere, Nance,” she added after a moment, certainty filling her voice. “You’re not facing this alone.”

And with that, she leaned forward and wrapped her arms around the other woman - tentatively at first but she tightened her hold as Nancy leaned into her. They stayed there, on the bench in the locker room as Nancy cried in Marjan’s arms, attempting to let all the fear and pain and grief inside out before it ate her alive.

And as they sat there Marjan made up her mind. She would be there for Nancy for whatever she needed for as long as she needed it. She was not about to let someone she cared about so much face this on their own.

--------

Marjan found a quiet corner and settled onto the edge of a picnic table before pulling out her phone. She took a deep breath before she dialed, tapping Nancy’s name in her phone as she did. Her mind wandered as it rang and she half hoped the other woman didn’t pick up.

“Hello?” Nancy’s voice sounded in her ear and Marjan’s heart ached at how thick it sounded.

“Hey Nance,” she said softly, “I just wanted to call and check-in, see how you’re holding up.”

There was a pause in which Marjan was certain she heard a sniffle, “I’m fine,” Nancy said but Marjan knew her well enough to know that she was lying.

She also knew that if she pushed it she would clam up, so she changed tactics instead, “We’re all thinking about you. I wish we could have been there for you.”

The truth of I wish I could have been there for you floated between them unsaid.

“It’s not like you guys have any control over the wildfires,” Nancy said eventually, her voice a little stronger. “I don’t think I can hold that against you. Besides,” she added, her voice shifting again, “you shouldn’t be worrying about me. You should be focusing on staying safe. We don’t need any more funerals.”

Marjan knew what Nancy was doing because humor was a shield that she lived behind as well. But there was a waver in her voice and Marjan was suddenly forcibly reminded that this was not Nancy’s first time at a co-worker’s memorial service. The old 126 may not have been her partner, but they had been her friends and now with Michelle following her heart and Tim in the ground, every connection Nancy had to the time before the tragedy was gone, save for Judd.

“Well you don’t need to worry about us either,” she assured her. “We’re keeping it all by the book, strictly playing by the rules.”

“Yeah well, we’ll see how long that lasts,” Nancy retorted with a snort and Marjan swore she could practically hear her roll her eyes even over the less than stellar cell connection. “This is the 126 we’re talking about, after all. It’s only a matter of time before someone pulls some crazy stunt. Personally, my money is on you or Strand.”

“I resent that!” Marjan exclaimed indignantly, but the relief of hearing Nancy’s laughter on the other end firmly proved that to be false. She let the sound wrap around her, savoring every second of it before she spoke again.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Nance?”

“I am,” Nancy replied, “this sucks, a lot. But everyday it hurts a little less. And Captain Vega has been great, we’ve gotten a lot closer.”

“I’m glad,” Marjan replied, “I think you two will make a formidable team.”

“We can’t have a team of two though,” Nancy reminded her, “we’re going to need to replace...to hire a third eventually.”

“Eventually,” Marjan agreed, “but not yet. You have some time, don’t worry about it yet.”

There was silence after that. They sat on the line together, each lost in their own thoughts, anchored to the present only by the sound of the other’s breaths. Eventually it was Nancy that broke the silence.

“Thanks Marj, for checking in. It means a lot.”

“Of course,” Marjan replies without hesitation, “I wish I could do more.”

“It’s enough,” Nancy assured her, “it’s more than enough.”

The silence returned again but it was a comfortable silence. It was comfort amongst the chaos they were both separately facing, a safe harbor to return to. But it was shattered all too soon as Commander DeLeon called for the troops to gather.

“Nancy, I’ve gotta go.”

“Yeah,” the paramedic said, “of course. Stay safe Marj.”

And with that she ended the call and Marjan was left with a smile as she joined her team for the latest briefing.

----------

“I hear you have a visitor.”

Nancy’s words pulled Marjan from her stupor and wrenched her attention from where she had been studiously stirring her tea.

“The guys told you?”

“About four minutes after I got here today. Those boys can’t keep a secret for shit.”

Marjan rolled her eyes at that, “It’s not a secret it just...never came up.”

“What, you mean there was never a time to say, ‘Hey guys, guess what? I’m engaged’?”

“And how do you think that would have gone over?”

“Probably better than meeting him by surprise outside the roller derby rink did.”

Marjan had to concede that point, at least.

“I wasn’t trying to keep him a secret,” she explained. “I guess I never really thought about it. It’s just been a part of my life for so long that I barely even think about it most of the time. And that is so separate in my head from my life here and I just...never thought of sharing it.”

Nancy didn’t say anything right away and when Marjan looked up at her it was clear that she was on the verge of saying something, but not sure if she wanted to. She waited for a few more moments before Nancy noticed her watching and gave her a smile that was tighter than her usual.

“That makes sense, I guess. It must be nice to see him after so long.”

“Yeah”, Marjan agreed, “it is.”

The smile Nancy gave her this time was more genuine, much more like herself. “I hope you enjoy his visit then,” she said before she jabbed her thumb in the direction of the ambulance bay. “I have to go take care of inventory, but we’ll take more later, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Marjan agreed, watching in confusion as Nancy walked away.

----------

All her life, Marjan had had a plan.

Now, in just one day and two conversations, that plan had been dismantled and for the first time, Marjan was facing an uncertain future. It terrified her.

She wasn’t sure how she was supposed to handle this. She knew she had made the right choice. She cared for Salim — she always had — and the fact that at some point, unbeknownst to her, she had to come to love him didn’t change anything. She was well aware that she had been the one to make this mess; but that didn’t change the end result. Salim had fallen for someone else. He had made his choice and Marjan refused to be the reason someone else got hurt. She refused to spend the rest of her life with someone she couldn’t trust; with someone who didn’t honor their commitments. That mattered to her — enough to upend her entire future, apparently.

The worst part was that she wasn’t even sure she could blame Salim. Or even their parents, for that matter. She didn’t think it was the fault of any one person; it was just something that had happened with time. They had been so young when this had all been decided, years before they had realized who they were. It had never bothered her, the idea of it. It had been comforting knowing that no matter what, she knew what the future was going to bring. She had been free to make her choices and follow her passions knowing that no matter what she had a future with Salim. She had never considered another possibility.

But now she was faced with a whole world of other possibilities and she didn’t know what to do with it. She had never really thought of the concept of romance before; she had never taken the time to consider who she found attractive. She had never seen the point, given everything. Maybe she should find it thrilling (and a small, distant part of her did) but mostly, she found it terrifying. She didn’t know what to do next.

Her pondering was interrupted by the sound of a knock at her door. She frowned, rising from the couch and approached it with trepidation. The list of people who came to visit her at home was very short, but she supposed it could be any member of her team. It could just as well be Salim, but she couldn’t fathom what he could possibly want.

She peered into the peephole, not sure what to expect, but pulled away with a smile and opened the door to reveal Nancy Gillian on her threshold, holding a bag.

“I’m not sure what kind of breakup category this falls under exactly,” she stated without prompting, “but I brought tea if it’s a ranting type and ice cream in case it’s the wallowing type. Either way, we’re ordering chinese.”

And despite it all, Marjan smiled. The first real genuine smile she had since that night at the hotel. “I think it’s a bit of both,” she replied as she stepped aside to allow the other woman entrance.

“Then we better get started,” Nancy quipped as she took the silent invitation. “We have a lot of ground to cover.”

---------

With Nancy out on medical due to her broken foot Marjan had taken it upon herself to make sure the other woman was fed and kept up on the happenings at the station. So it was a Monday evening that Marjan found herself in Nancy’s kitchen, stocking the fridge with the groceries she had brought and giving her a play by play of the minefield incident. She had already gotten the basics from Captain Vega, but while her captain’s version had been professional and to the point, Marjan’s was a lot more colorful and action packed. When she had described Reese refusing to enter the minefield Nancy had thumped a hand against the counter.

“See,” she had exclaimed, “I knew he was too good to be true!”

Marjan chuckled, but trailed off as another thought entered her head, “Would you have gone if you had been there?”

“Yeah,” Nancy replied with a shrug, “it’s not on my top ten list of things to do and frankly I’d rather not, but those boys needed help. And that’s what we do.”

And Marjan was surprised by the feeling of relief that washed over her at those words. Not relief that Nancy would have done the right things — of that Marjan had no doubt — but relief that she hadn’t been there, that she hadn’t had the chance.

Relief that she was safe, that she hadn’t taken that risk.

It was stupid and Marjan knew it. Taking risks was their business, it couldn’t be avoided and it was what they had all signed up for. But the idea of Nancy taking that risk, of Nancy putting herself in such tangible danger left her with a feeling of dread she couldn’t shake.

She didn’t know what to say next but she was saved the trouble by the sound of Nancy’s phone ringing and her excusing herself to answer it. Marjan was left to continue to ponder these thoughts as she waited for the phone call to end.

“That was Captain Vega,” Nancy announced as she hobbled back into the kitchen, setting her phone back down on the counter. “She just called to tell me that she offered TK the position, and he accepted.”

“That’s good, right?” Marjan asked as Nancy slid back into her previous seat at the counter. “Having someone you already know filling the spot? It has to take away a lot of the uncertainty.”

“It does,” Nancy admitted, “but it’ll still be an adjustment.”

She trailed off and Marjan paused in putting away the groceries she had brought over. She crossed over to the counter and leaned on it, facing the other women and giving her a beseeching look. “And?” she prompted.

Nancy looked down at her hands on the counter as she replied, voice soft, “And filling the position with someone who will stick feels like it’s official. That Tim is really gone and we’re really moving on now.”

And Marjan didn’t know what to say to that. She had never lost someone like that. She had never experienced losing one of the people closest to you, having them ripped away without warning and being expected to carry on as normal because that was the job. She didn’t know what to say to make that better.

“You are moving on,” she finally settled on, “because that’s what you need to do. That doesn’t mean you’ve forgotten Tim. Getting a new partner does not replace the memories you have of the old one.”

“I know that,” Nancy replied, not meeting her eyes, “it just feels like he’s being forgotten. He doesn’t deserve that.”

Marjan reached across the counter to tap Nancy’s arm, “Hey,” she said, “he’s not forgotten because you will always remember him. And so will I,” she promised. “He’s not going to be forgotten.”

She allowed her words to settle around them, lending weight to her oath. The smile Nancy gave her in response was frail, but it warmed Marjan’s heart to see it. She patted her arm one more time before she stepped away from the counter, returning to the groceries at hand. She knew that she couldn’t possibly imagine what Nancy was going through, but she knew that she would be there for her every step of the way.

That’s what you did for a friend, after all.

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

“And then he told me to ‘live in it’ for a bit. Like, dude, what the fuck does that even mean?”

Marjan did her best not to audibly chuckle as she turned back to the living room with two mugs in her hand. Nancy was sprawled across her couch and fifteen minutes into a tirade about TK with no signs of stopping anytime soon. She accepted the tea from Marjan with a nod but continued on without missing a beat.

She was going on about the dangers of improperly arranged needles as Marjan settled into the chair across from her, tucking her feet underneath her and hiding her smile with her mug as she took a sip. Her attempts to hide her amusement are unsuccessful and Nancy finally stopped long enough to give her a glare.

“I am so glad me getting replaced on my own team is amusing to you, Marwani.”

Marjan rolled her eyes before setting down her mug. “Nance,” she said evenly, “you are not being replaced.”

“How can you say that?” Nancy questioned incredulously. “You saw them today. They are a perfectly well-oiled team. All I’m doing is getting in the way.”

“Nancy,” Marjan repeated, more firmly this time, “you are not getting in the way. You are an excellent paramedic, and they both know that. But your team has a new member now, and things are going to be different. It’s going to take some time to adjust, but you will.”

Nancy held her gaze for another moment before she looked away with a deep sigh. “I don’t know how to adjust to this,” she said softly. “Tim was my partner for so long. I’m not saying TK is a bad paramedic or that he’s a bad person he’s just…”

“He’s not Tim,” Marjan finished, her heart aching for the other woman as she nodded and blinked against the tears that had gathered in her eyes at the reminder. Marjan leaned forward in her seat, closing the distance between them as much as she dared. “Nancy, TK will never replace Tim. He can’t because he is someone different. You’re going to form a relationship with him too and it’s going to be different. That’s okay. It’s all part of moving forward.”

Nancy was quiet for several moments before she sighed and flopped back onto the couch dramatically, “Moving forward sucks.”

Marjan couldn’t hide the laugh that burst from her at that. “Yeah, it can,” she agreed. “If it’s any consolation though, I can almost guarantee that TK is feeling just as weird about this as you are. And if I know him, he’s going to try to find a way to fix it. And if he doesn’t, I can also guarantee that I will kick his ass, for you.”

That at least pulled a smile out from the other woman and Marjan returned it, savoring the warmth that rushed through her chest at the sight of it.

“Thanks Marj,” Nancy said eventually. “For being here, for listening. I know this is probably weird, I mean he’s your friend and here I am trash talking him…”

“Hey,” Marjan interjected, “none of that now. Yes, TK is my friend, but he’s not the only one. You are my friend too Nancy, and I will be here as long as you need to rant about this or whatever else you need to do. You’ve been there for me, let me be there for you.”

---------

TK had come through just as Marjan had known he would and, even though she had to admit she hadn’t seen it coming, turning the ambulance into a memorial seemed a perfectly fitting tribute. A way to make sure that Tim was truly never forgotten, that he was always with them.

When Nancy arrived Marjan met her eyes. She greeted her with the others but held her gaze a moment longer, silently communicating with the other woman. She didn’t want to steal TK’s thunder but she wanted her to know that everything was okay, that things were looking up. And when TK said his piece and revealed the painted memorial and tears gathered in Nancy’s eyes, Marjan could feel matching ones in her own eyes as well.

They go back to Nancy’s place after that, just the two of them. There were offers for a whole group hang but Marjan could tell that Nancy wasn’t feeling up to that just yet. So when she politely declined she found Marjan waiting by her car, an eyebrow raised.

“What,” she asked, “you didn’t think you were getting rid of me that easily, did you?”

And so here they were now - mugs of tea on the coffee table before them while a cheesy sci-fi flick played out on the screen before them. They sat in comfortable silence, both content to simply exist in the other's presence for a while, until Nancy broke the silence.

“Thank you,” she said eventually, pulling Marjan’s attention away from the movie.

“For what?” she asked with a frown.

“For being here. For having been here this entire time. I...I wasn’t sure if I would ever have someone be there for me like this again. Not after Tim.”

“Nancy, you don’t need to…”

“No, I do Marj. Just, hear me out?”

Marjan nodded and twisted her body so she was facing the other woman, watching as she took a deep breath.

“These past few months,” Nancy started, “have been awful. This process of grieving and recovering has been a long one and as much as it has sucked for me, I can’t imagine it was all that fun to be around either. But you have been there for me the entire time, in every single way. You’ve become someone I rely on and I just, needed you to know that.”

WIth that she stopped speaking and they were left once again in silence. Marjan was floored by the statement. It wasn’t that she hadn’t known that she and Nancy were close, but hearing it laid out like that, knowing how much it had mattered to her put it all in a new light. But something Nancy had said bothered her. She leaned forward to place a hand on her knee, holding her gaze as she spoke.

“You are never a burden, Nance. Whatever you’re feeling, whatever the situation, I will always be there for you. It was never a hardship and it never will be. You’re very important to me too, you know.”

The smile Nancy gave her in return was soft and bright and when she shifted closer closing the distance between them as she turned back to the movie, Marjan let it happen. And if when she readjusted her seat she sank even closer to Nancy, the warmth of her body pulling her closer, that was fine too.

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

Marjan is no stranger to fear, but she’s never quite felt a fear like this one before.

When Judd called her to let her know that the 126 paramedic team and ambulance was missing, her first thought wasn't for TK. She loves him like a brother and she wanted nothing more than for him to be okay, but he wasn’t not her first thought.

Her first thought was Nancy.

It’s her name that drives the fear, the thought of never hearing her laugh again that steals her breath. It’s her smile and her warm, brown eyes that she is holding desperately in her memories, hoping she will have a chance to see them again.

And when they get the call that they were found and that TK is hurt but the other two are fine, Marjan can finally breathe again.

She was in her car heading to the hospital before she could even think, pulling in and entering the building with barely a thought and absolutely no plan. She was hovering in the emergency room entrance, trying to figure out her next step when she spotted a familiar figure across the room.

“Carlos!” she called and strode towards him. He looked up, startled, but his expression evened when he spotted her.

“Marj, hey,” he said, and he looked like a wreck. She stepped closer, peering at him with concern and allowing another fear to enter her mind for the first time.

“How’s TK? I heard he was hurt…”

“Yeah,” Carlos agreed grimly, “he has a pretty nasty head injury. He’s getting some scans and tests done now so we’ll know soon, I just stepped out to call my mom back. Captain Strand is in the waiting room upstairs though if you want to go up.”

“Oh,” she said, surprised and not sure how to respond, “actually I…”

She trailed off but Carlos gave her a calculating look before he smiled and spoke again, “Nancy is upstairs too. She’s okay, not a scratch on her.”

Marjan couldn’t even be bothered to try and hide the relief she felt at that. She could feel some of the tension leave her body as Carlos chuckled softly, shaking his head, “I was wondering when you’d figure it out.”

She opened her mouth to make a retort but found that she couldn’t even find the words. There is too much else in her head right now. But Carlos was still grinning that knowing grin at her and she couldn’t let him off easy, “TK has been a bad influence on you, Reyes.”

She’s known Carlos long enough to know that this is where he would usually fire back some clever retort. He doesn’t, but his expression softens at the mention of his boyfriend and he glances back towards the elevator that separates them. “I should go make this phone call,” he said instead. “I don’t want to be gone too long. Nancy is in one of the waiting rooms, second door on your left once you get off the elevator, 4th floor.”

Marjan nodded her thanks and reached out to give his arm a comforting squeeze before he walked away. “They’re safe Carlos,” she tells him, “it’s going to be okay.”

He smiled at her again before he turned and walked away and as she waits for the elevator she is left to wonder who those words were really for. She’s left to ponder that on the ride up, which seems to last so much longer than the four floors. Her heart was racing in her chest as she stepped out onto the correct floor, her feet following Carlos’s directions without much input from her mind. She was hardly breathing as she reached the correct door, but when she stepped across the threshold she could feel it all fall away at the sight of Nancy - unhurt and very much alive.

She is sitting in a chair off to the corner, staring out the dark window so intently she didn’t even hear Marjan enter. She didn't notice until Marjan paused a few steps from her and softly said her name. It’s only then that she turns from the window to see Marjan standing before her, and her breath catches.

“Marj, what are you doing here?”

Marjan stares at her for a moment before she splutters out a response. “What am I doing here?” she repeats indignantly. “Nancy, you were kidnapped and held hostage. Where else would I be?”

They stare at each other in silence for a few more moments before Nancy reaches for her and Marjan meets her in a heartbeat, sinking into the chair next to her and pulling her into her arms.

“I’m so sorry this happened,” she said into Nancy’s shoulder as she clutched her tightly. “Are you okay?”

“I wasn’t the one hurt,” Nancy replied softly, and Marjan hugged her even tighter.

“Just because you’re not hurt doesn’t mean you’re okay,” she reminded her softly. “Whatever you’re feeling now, it’s okay.”

There was silence for a few more moments before Nancy spoke again, voice so soft Marjan barely heard it, even being as close as they were.

“I was so scared,” she admitted. “I thought we were all going to die. For a while I thought I had lost another partner and now...I don’t know where to go from here.”

Marjan’s heart broke at the sound of the pain and fear still in her voice. She didn’t know what to say, so she settled for rubbing a soothing circle on her back.

“You’re all safe,” she said eventually, “and that’s what matters. Everything else we’ll figure out in time.”

The only response she got to that was a soft sniffle and Marjan couldn’t help the way her arms tightened around the other woman at the sound. She knew this would be hard, she knew there was not magic switch to throw to make it all better. She knew it would take time.

But she also knew that Tommy was unharmed and home with her family, that TK would be okay, and that Nancy was here and whole and in her arms. From this point, they could face anything. And none of them would do it alone. Tommy had Charles and her girls, TK had Carlos and Nancy, well...

“I’m not going anywhere,” Marjan reminded her softly, speaking the words into her hair and allowing them to fill this bubble they had formed. Maybe there were things to handle and people to call, but for now they had each other and that was more than enough.

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

The next few weeks are mostly spent together. There are shifts and calls and the Ryder’s accident but almost every moment in between, Marjan realizes, she has spent with Nancy.

She is a shoulder to lean on as Nancy copes with the kidnapping but Marjan would be lying if she said she didn’t find their time spent together just as soothing. The fear that came with the idea of Nancy in danger is never far from her mind in those first few weeks. Then they lean on each other when faced with the fear and possibility of losing Judd and Grace. They celebrate the joy of their survival and their news together too, just as they do most everything these days.

Soon enough that is behind them though and even without a trauma to cope with Marjan still finds herself in the other woman’s company more often than not. She also finds that she doesn’t mind it, and that often she is the one seeking it out. Somehow Nancy Gillian became her closest friend when she wasn’t looking but Marjan can’t say she is too upset by that. There are far worse things to have stumbled into, she thinks.

After all nothing involving Nancy Gillian can be anything even remotely short of good, in her opinion.

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

Marjan let herself into her apartment, Nancy on her heels.

“Marj,” she tries again, “it doesn’t matter what they think.”

“No, it doesn’t,” she agrees, “but it does matter what McKenna thinks. She thinks her husband dying was my fault, Nancy. What if she’s right? What if I had been able to save him if I had been just that much quicker? All I needed to save him was another thirty seconds. How long do you think that exchange on the overpass took?”

“Marjan,” Nancy said again, firmly this time, “don’t do that. You know as well as I do that asking those kinds of questions doesn’t do any good. If you start dwelling on that kind of stuff it’ll mess with your head and you can’t have that. What happened was awful and I am so sorry, but you need to move forward. It’s the only thing you can do.”

Marjan stepped away from her, wrapping her arms around her body. “I know that,” she admitted, voice thick, “but that doesn’t make it any better. He died, Nance. He died right in front of me because I wasn’t quick enough to save him. No amount of logic in the world is going to change how I feel about that.”

She could feel the tears starting to form and she went to turn away from her friend. But in the next moment arms wrapped around her, preventing her from straying any further.

“It’s okay to feel it,” Nancy told her gently. “You can cry, I’m not going anywhere.”

Marjan wanted to tell her that she was fine, that she could handle this on her own. But when she looked up to say as much and her eyes met Nancy’s, her resolve crumbled. Before she knew it she had dissolved into sobs, soaking the material of Nancy’s shirt as she held her gently, murmuring soothing words into her hair.

She knew this wasn’t a permanent solution, she knew there was still more she would have to do to move on from this. But in this moment and the safety of Nancy’s arms, she let it all come out.

---------

“I can’t believe it,” Nancy said as she and Marjan stepped into her apartment, flicking on the kitchen lights to chase away the early dawn darkness. “Can you even imagine, your entire life, gone just like that.”

“Not their lives,” Marjan reminded her as she set down her purse and leaned wearily against the counter, “alhamdulillah.”

“I know,” Nancy continued, “and I know in the grand scheme of things they were so lucky and I am beyond grateful that they’re okay but...this is going to be so much to move on from. I can’t even begin to fathom that.”

“Me neither,” Marjan admitted. “But they’ll be okay. They have each other, and they have us.”

“Us, huh?”

Marjan looked up sharply to see Nancy looking at her, a small smile on her face.

“Yeah, you know — the 126. We’ll all be there for them.”

“Yeah, of course,” Nancy agreed hurriedly, looking away from her. It took Marjan all of three more seconds to realize what Nancy had meant and she cursed herself. This past day had been something, and her brain was fried. But she needed to address this, Nancy needed to know.

“I suppose that’s not the only ‘us’ though,” she hedged as she stepped closer. “I like them all an awful lot, but I can’t say I feel the same way about them as I do about you.”

“Oh?” Nancy asked and though her voice was purposefully casual, Marjan could see the hope in her eyes.

“I’ve come to care about you an awful lot,” she admits. “And, I don’t have a lot of experience with feelings like this, but I don’t think they are strictly friendly ones.”

Nancy was quiet for a second before she spoke again, “So either you're asking to be my arch nemesis or…”

Marjan rolled her eyes. “You are such a dork, I can’t believe I like you.”

“You like me?” Nancy replied quickly. “As in, you like me, like me?”

Marjan stepped closer, leaving barely an inch between them now. She could see every fleck of color in Nancy’s eyes, and it affected her in a way she had never quite experienced before.

“I like you, like you, Nancy Gillian,” she said clearly, not wanting to beat around the bush. There was a time for being quippy and fun, and then there was this. She wasn’t willing to leave this to chance. She reached her hand across the small distance between them and found Nancy’s, tangling her fingers with her own. When she felt a squeeze in response, she smiled, leaning forward and resting her head against Nancy’s shoulder.

They stayed like that, wrapped in each other in Marjan’s kitchen for a time she couldn’t quantify, but she savored every second that passed. Eventually Nancy broke the silence as she glanced out the window above the sink.

“It’s late, or early, I guess. I should go.”

Marjan stepped back, just enough to see Nancy’s eyes again, still clutching her hand with her own.

“Stay?” she asked. Nancy hesitated for a moment and Marjan pressed on, “It doesn’t have to be like that just...stay?”

The early morning silence drifted through the kitchen as Marjan studied Nancy. Then Nancy smiled at her and Marjan swore she felt her heart swell three sizes. She used their linked hands to pull them out of the kitchen and towards something new.

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

The next morning Marjan woke up to find that she was not alone.

She smiled at the sight of Nancy beside her, still sleeping soundly. She shifted to try and get a better view of the marvel beside but her motions caused the other woman to stir and soon she was greeted with the equally wonderful sight of Nancy’s tired eyes blinking at her.

“Good morning,” she said softly, not wanting to startle her.

“Morning,” Nancy murmured less gracefully, a yawn jutting its way through her words, “what time is it?”

Marjan shrugged, “Not sure. Doesn’t matter though - it’s not like we have a fire station to go to work in.”

Nancy huffed a dry laugh as she shifted so she was on her side, facing Marjan. “You know until you said something I thought that maybe all that was a dream. Actually, until you said something, I thought this was a dream. It still might be, come to think of it.”

Marjan rolled her eyes and leaned over to press a soft kiss to Nancy’s forehead. “Does that feel like a dream?” she asked.

“Actually, yes, if I’m being honest.” Nancy replied and Marjan scoffed, reaching over to pinch the other woman’s arm. She yelped in surprise but Marjan only raised an eyebrow.

“Still think you’re dreaming?” she asked.

“No,” Nancy replied, “but I am starting to wonder if this mean side of you is a normal morning thing.”

“I don’t know,” Marjan said with a shrug, scotting closer to Nancy as she lay back down, “I guess you’ll have to stick around to find out.”

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

“I don’t know how much more of this I can take!”

“Nance,” Marjan admonished, “stop being so dramatic. It’s fine!”

Nancy shifted so she was facing her. “It is not fine, Marj! I hate this. Not getting to see you at work is one thing, but not knowing where you’ll be working or if you’ll have a good team to watch your back? Your team is a collective pain in my ass at times, but I trust them. But now I’m just supposed to be okay with you doing what you do not knowing who is there to back you up? I’m not.”

Marjan rolled her eyes but she had to admit that the clear concern the paramedic had for her softened the gesture considerably. “Think about it this way,” she said instead, moving closer and running a hand up her arm as she spoke, “we’ve already survived numerous natural disasters and cataclysmic events. What more could there be?”

“I think that’s called tempting fate.”

“I think it’s called logic,” Marjan countered. “Hey,” she added when Nancy’s expression didn’t lighten, reaching out to twine their fingers together, “nothing is going to change. We’re still us, no matter what stations we’re working from.”

“You can’t say that,” Nancy argued softly, “because everything already has. And after everything...I couldn’t handle losing you too.”

While the concern still touched her, the fear in Nancy’s voice bore into her chest like a dull knife. “I can’t promise anything,” she said eventually, “you know that. Neither of us can make that promise because neither of us can guarantee that we’ll be able to keep it. But I can promise that I will do my best to come back to you every single day, no matter what.”

“I know that,” Nancy assured her softly, “I just can’t help but worry.”

Marjan leaned over and pressed a kiss to her cheek, moved by the weight of her affection for her. “I know that because I feel the same way. But I’ll be fine, Nance. We’ll both be, you’ll see.”

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

“What was that you were saying last night?” Nancy said to her as she opened her apartment door to let her in. “I believe it was something along the lines of ‘what more could there be?’ How does it feel to have tempted the gods, Marwani.”

Marjan scoffed and shut the door behind them as she followed Nancy into the kitchen. “It’s not like I caused the dust storm,” she parried back. “I didn’t actively put myself in that position. I wonder if the same could be said for everyone in this room or if maybe someone stole an ambulance and went out into a natural disaster of their own free will?”

Nancy froze before slowly turning to face Marjan, who was waiting with a single unimpressed eyebrow raised. “Okay,” she admitted, “that’s fair. And I’m sorry. It’s not like I’m mad at you for anything - you were just doing your job. I’m just…”

“Worried?” Marjan provided, “Because I was too. As soon as you guys had to pack up to head to another call I could feel it. I guess that’s something we’re going to have to get used to now.”

“Hmm,” Nancy agreed as she stepped into Marjan’s space, “that sucks.”

“It does,” Marjan agreed, reaching out her hands to rest on Nancy’s shoulders, “but you’re worth it.”

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

Marjan was woken up the next morning by the smell of breakfast coming from her kitchen. She frowned as she tried to remember what she had left out, but the sight of a rumpled and empty pillow beside her soon brought her clarity. She smiled as she pulled back the covers and climbed out of her bed, heading for the kitchen.

After the 126 hang at Captain Strand/Mateo/TK and Carlos’s house last night they had ended up back here, again. Marjan couldn’t say that she minded the new routine. It hadn’t been long but sleeping with the other woman beside her had become more and more of a habit as time went on and it wasn’t one she was looking to quit. Her smile only widened as she stepped into her kitchen to see Nancy at the stove sliding eggs onto two plates.

“Good morning,” she said softly as she drew closer, coming up behind Nancy and wrapping her arms around her waist.

“Good morning to you too,” Nancy quipped. “I was hoping the smell of turkey bacon would entice you out of bed.”

“It woke me up,” Marjan admitted, “but you not being there got me up. Turns out my bed is lonely without you.”

Nancy switched off the burner before turning, bending down to place a light kiss on her forehead. “I think I like the sound of that.”

“You better,” Marjan countered with a grin, “because it’s the truth.”

Nancy flushed brilliantly and Marjan’s grin grew, but any retort she could have made was interrupted by the sound of Marjan’s phone ringing.

“Hold that thought,” she murmured before stepping out of Nancy’s embrace and circling to the counter to grab her phone. She frowned at the screen as she picked it up, turning it so Nancy could see Captain Strand’s name on the screen.

“Cap?” She said in question as she answered. “Is everything alright?”

“Everything’s fine,” he assured her and she couldn’t hide the deep sigh of release she let out at that, “better than fine actually. I have a plan, but I am going to need your help, if you’re willing. Well, you and the rest of the team.”

“Sure,” she said, shifting the phone from her ear before putting it on speaker and placing it on the counter between them. “Name it, I’m sure we’ll be happy to help.”

“How do you feel about doing the 126 renovations ourselves? The red tape is going to take ages and I don’t know about you, but I’m eager to get the team back together as quickly as possible.”

She looked across the counter to see Nancy already grinning. ��I think that sounds like a great idea Cap, just let me know what you need.”

“Just as many hands as we can get, though I hear you’re pretty good with mechanical stuff too so maybe a bit of that as well. Could you meet us at the station in two hours?”

“Sure thing Cap,” she replied, “I’ll be there and ready to get our team back.”

“That’s the plan,” Captain Stand agreed. “Oh, and one more thing. I hate to ask, but do you think you could pass it on to Nancy? I have TK out gathering supplies and I don’t want to put anything else on Captain Vega right now, and I’m embarrassed to say I don’t have her number.”

Marjan grinned across the counter to where Nancy was still standing, watching her with a warm smile.

“Not a problem Cap, she already knows. We’re together.”

Marjan doesn’t know if her Captain picks up on the double meaning of her words and she doesn’t care. All she does care is that she can say them; that they’re true. She cares that they are together. She might care more about that than she has really ever cared about anything.

She thinks that finally, she might know what love feels like, and she knows that whatever the future brings she’s ready to face it with her partner by her side.

#911 lone star #911 lone star fic #Nancy/Marjan #marjan marwani #nancy gillian #my writing #userkimmy #userjilly #userac #usermaximus #userbones #tuserpaige #tuserjamie #reyesstrand #reyeslonestartag #I always feel like I am forgetting people #but it is what it is

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neesieiumz · 4 years

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PAIN - Chapter 1 {Shouta Aizawa x Reader}

Story summary: You’ve been away for so long, for over thirteen years. As soon as you graduated, without saying by to the man you like and your best friend, you left. Not even leaving a note, Aizawa and Yamada had to hear from your female best friend, Nemuri that you were going to join the I.H.A.C, the International Hero Agency Commission. You became the best hero there, saving so many people with tactical precision, but you’re always overworked yourself, to the point where you’ve dropped and fainted while walking to your office. Concerned for you, your boss called your old principal, who’s been looking for a new teacher to teach about stealth and rescue operations. Deciding to send you, even though you’ve adamantly refused, you’re finally coming home... a place you abandoned a long time ago.

Chapter summary: You were with your teammates, discussing how to write up a report, this were the worst part of your job. That’s when you’re called to your Unit Chief’s office, the man who represents your team with the Higher Ups. What does he need, and who do you see again?

A/n: MERRY CHRISTMAS!! This is the second gift I have for everyone! Keep in mind that I have not started the second chapter but I’ll see if I can get it out before the end of the year... but I can’t promise that...In the prologue/ sneak peek, I had your female best friend be Mirko, but I changed it to Midnight, because she was the only one who went to school with Aizawa and Mic. I wrote this in three days and took one to edit. So enjoy this first chapter and hopefully there will be more to come!

Word Count: 4.2k

Chapter 1 - A Decision of a Lifetime

You were sitting at a table, in the conference room with your teammates, discussing how the report should be split up. Who should take cultural impact, how the people reacted, the steps we took to bring stability and what not. You were currently arguing with one of your male teammates, someone who you’ve but heads with before. This was nothing new.

“I’m telling you, I should take this part, I was there during the Rancin incident. I saw everything that happened!” Your teammate, Chad Barrymore, argued, slamming the papers on the desk.

You rolled your eyes, “but who’s the one who actually solved it? Oh right, it was me!”

The rest of your team was sitting around, some looking at their phones, some already starting on their assigned part of the report. One of your teammates even took this opportunity to catch up on some sleep.

“Chad, who was assigned leader of this team?” You questioned, already knowing the answer.

He groaned and rolled his eyes, “you were,” he mumbled under his breath.

You smiled and assorted the papers in front of you back into the file you had.

“That’s right, me, Y/n L/n, not Chad Barrymore. Alright? You’re the best at the budget report and justifying why we used over 200,000 american dollars over our budget,” You smile sheepishly at him making him glare at you before snatching up the papers and putting them in his own file.

“Fine, but that doesn’t mean I’m gonna like it,” he grumbled, making you shake your head and roll your eyes.

“Who actually enjoys doing the reports?” You questioned, mostly to yourself.

“I do!” Your teammate, Mariposa, popped her head from ehr laptop where she had already started her part of the report.

You shook your head and laughed with the rest of your teammates, “Mariposa, you are one in a kind.”

“Y/n L/n, You’re needed in Agent Prowess’ office, Agent Y/n L/n, you are needed in Agent Prowess’s office at this instant…” The announcement went off, making you groan and plant your head face down on the table where you and your teammates were sitting.

“Uh-oh, someone’s in trouble,” One of your teammates, Michelle LaRue, teased, poking you in your back.

You swatted her hand away from your body and slowly lifted your head up and looked around,

“Why me,” you groaned, slowly getting up for your seat.

“Maybe you’re finally getting that promotion, you’re literally the youngest here but you’ve been here for over thirteen years, the longest out of anyone here. it’s time for you to finally get paid your dues!” Another teammate of yours, Ian Adewanju, exclaimed.

His words made you burn red with embarrassment, reminding you of the fact you are 31, you are the youngest one on the team yet you’re the one who's been here the longest. You shook your thoughts out of your head before turning around and heading out the door to go to your Unit Chief’s offices. You had just gotten back from a sting operation in Aprain, helping their forces uncover a huge child position ring. There were villains with very strong quirks, and that country's heroes were outnumbered by the ring’s villains so they had called us. My team especially to help narrow down who was the leader and how they should go about freeing all the children they trafficked. We were given temporary hero licenses and stayed there for about a year, being those countries’ heroes until they were able to get a stable enforcement system in place. After that, we come back to base, on an independent island, where we stay for 4-6 months until our next mission.

And there’s always another mission.

You reached Agent Prowess’s office and knocked on the door a couple of times. You waited for a response before you could enter.

“Come in, Agent L/n,” You heard his muffled voice call out.

You opened the door and immediately closed behind and stood guard, standing up straight and placing your hands behind your back.

“Agent Prowess.” You greeted, looking at the wall behind him.

You didn’t see the person who was sitting on one of the couches, wasn’t your concern yet. Probably someone who just wanted to meet you in person.

You heard a couple of paper shuffling around, “at ease Agent, I want to introduce or rather, reintroduce an old face from your past.”

Your face twisted a bit in confusion, you stopped looking ahead at the wall and looked at your unit chief. You then noticed a white blur sitting on the couch in front of your boss’s desk. You got a closer look. And then you froze.

It couldn’t be…

But it was, it was your old principal from U.A. What the heck was he doing here? What would the Principal of one the best hero schools in Japan, top two and some say they aint number two. You tried not to show your surprise in your face but you knew Principal Nezu knew you better than that, but he said nothing as he continued to sip the complimentary tea that Prowess always offers to his guests.

“You remember Principal Nezu, don’t you Agent L/n?”

You took a deep breath and nodded, not saying a word. You could hear the clanking of fine china hitting the table before hearing a throat being cleared.

“It’s good to see you again, Ms. L/n, it’s been over a decade since I last saw you. At your graduation, I believe.”

Before you could stop yourself, you mumbled “It was the last time anyone saw me.”

Prowess’s throat cleared and you closed your mouth quickly and lowered your head. You could hear a hum come from Nezu. You tried to ignore it as you waited for Prowess’ instructions.

“L/n, I’m gonna be honest with you. I’m worried,” Prowess started, making your head shoot up in confusion.

Worried? What is he talking about? You were confused, did you do something? Was something in your reports wrong, did someone complain about your behavior recently that you weren’t checking in within yourself? You doubt Prowess would have let you walk around with so many complaints about your behavior without telling you about it or having consequences laid out. Your mind raced through all the possibilities that could have happened.

“Agent L/n, we can hear your mind racing 5 miles a minute. Calm down, nothing happened concerning your work ethic. You’re a good agent here and a good hero as well,” he started to explain.

He gestured for you to take a seat on the couch in front of the one Principal Nezu was sitting on, you glanced at him and your boss before slowly walking over to the couch and slowly sitting down on it.

“As you know, you were recruited from a hero course school, which is very rare as you were recommended to us by one of my peers. You came here straight from graduation and have never let up. You’ve been here since you were 18, barely even an adult in the world. You were one of the top students in U.A, who had the potential to be something great, but you came here, a place where you’d never get fully recognized for your accomplishments.”

You sighed and leaned back into the couch, wondering where this conversation was going. This was information you already knew, things that you lived. You remember when you got the recommendation, the talk with Principal Nezu and your homeroom teacher. When they were talking about your options with your older cousins.

“Prowess, I’m not understanding, why are you telling me this?” You couldn’t help but ask him.

You still weren’t understanding why you were here with your old principal in front of your new boss. You looked in front of you to find a poured cup of tea right front of you. You glanced up at Nezu who simply looked at you with a smile. You scoffed before grabbing the teacup and taking a sip.

Chamomile, with honey, nice…

“You were one of the youngest recruits here, and out of your training class, you’re one of the only ones who’s still here. This job weighs on people and a lot can’t take it after a while.”

“But you’re still here,” you interrupted his spill.

“I came here after being a hero in America for over 10 years, the high rise lifestyle wasn’t for me. Most of the recruits we got were sidekicks that needed a place to go, heroes who still wanted to make a difference even if they couldn’t work anymore. You were different.” He noted, opening a file, your file you assumed.

“You immediately came from the hero course in U.A, you had some of the best offers one could have ever have been given, even a sidekick offer from the current #2 Hero in Japan, am I correct?”

You sighed and nodded, turning your head to look at him as you finished the tea. Prowess gave of a soft chuckle before continuing to flip through your file.

“You decide to come here, out of all places. An isolated island, away from everyone with limited english skills as well… I questioned it, my superiors questioned it, but you were one of the best, if not the best we’ve ever seen. We couldn’t give up a gem like you, because you decided to come here… but we should have let you go sooner.”

You froze, mid-way of putting your cup down on the table, and slowly turned your head to look at him. He was staring at you with concern, a look you hated seeing with him but was a regular occurrence with you.

“Last week, before you came back to base. You were admitted into the hospital for extreme exhaustion, for the 16th time. Your teammates were concerned about you. I’m concerned about you, and I should have put my foot down about your own well-being.” He said, leaning back in his chair.

“I didn’t because we were getting an amazing track record, your team was being asked for specifically. You have been overworking yourself, not recently but for the last 13 years,” You rolled your eyes he said that but he caught it, “don’t roll your eyes, you know it’s true. You’ve been overcompensating for over 13 years.”

“I don’t know what you were running from but it was obviously too much for you to stay in Japan but now I want you to do something for me. Principal Nezu is in need of a teacher, a teacher that can teach aspiring heroes about stealth and rescue operations. And I know that you were the perfect person for the job, you are the perfect person for the job…”

Your anger roared through before you could stop it, the cup in your hand was crushed by a cloud that you summoned on accident.

“Deep breaths, Ms. L/n. Take deep breaths, we’ve had issues with your anger before…” You heard Principal Nezu say in Japanese, hearing the language you once spoke all the time.

You felt your hands shake as you took deep breaths and leaned back into the couch. You placed your head in your hands to stop the shaking but that just triggered your legs to start moving up and down in its stead. Your face felt wet, you licked the side of your face and tasted the familiar salty liquid. Tears.

“So what,” you garbled out, “you’re forcing me into retirement to go and teach some snot-faced brats?”

“I’m making an executive decision to let you go before you destroy yourself, Y/n… I’ve always seen you as someone I need to look out for, even if you were the most capable at your job… you were never the best at taking care of yourself.”

“I didn’t have an excuse of how to get you out but until Principal Nezu here asked for someone here to be a teacher at U.A… I knew it had to be you,” He finalized, closing your file before handing it to Nezu.

You said nothing as the exchange of papers went on. You were sinking back into your thoughts.

So that’s it huh? After 13 years of giving your life to help people, helping people off the grid. And now I’m being sent back to the place I ran away from. Run away from everything that’s haunted me for most of your life huh…?

“L/n,” he called out.

You slowly turned your head to look at Prowess, who was handing you some papers. Your retirement papers were in his hands. You sighed before reaching over to grab them from his hands.

“I know you’re mad at me, but trust me on this… It’s time to let you go off this job and find something else, something else that makes you happy and not want to overwork yourself to death. It may not be teaching, but it’s definitely not here.”

You looked at him with low eyes before getting up and walking towards the door, not waiting for his permission to leave his office.

“Ms. L/n, I know this isn’t ideal, but know that you are the best person for this job… just trust me on this…”

You sighed at Principal Nezu’s words, and turned your head slightly to look at him.

“We’ll see about that, Principal Nezu…”

---

You didn’t return to your teammates after that, heading straight to your room. You laid on your bed, papers discarded somewhere on your desk. You held your pillow in your arms, staring into the nothingness that is your ceiling. You didn’t have much belongings, mostly souvenirs from the countries you were assigned to. Your walls are white and blank, the only thing you brought from Japan was a picture frame, a picture of before everything went wrong for you.

A knock came at your door. You lifted your head and turned it towards the door but didn't get up to answer it. You wanted to be alone, you weren't ready to face anyone, especially your team.

“Hey Y/n, we… we heard about what happened. Where Prowess is sending you…” You heard the voice of Blake, one of four females on the team, called out.

“Y/n, I’m gonna be honest with you, I had a hand in your transfer… I just didn’t realize he was turning it into a chance to force you to retire… that you weren’t coming back at all… that we were losing our leader for good…”

You laid back down on the bed as you registered her words. She had a hand in this? She’s the reason I have to leave?

“I know that isn’t what you want to hear but I’ve been here right beside you, I came here after 7 years you were here and I saw so much pain behind those eyes… you reminded me of myself when I was a hero in France… constantly throwing yourself into work,” she started to explain, making you sit up on the bed.

“Although with me, it made me lose everyone that I love. All for fame and glory, while you threw yourself in work for different reasons. You threw yourself to forget who you once were, and everything you knew about your past. Babes, I’m scared for you and I know it’s time for you to get away from this place, you’ve been in these walls for 13 years… don’t you think that’s enough?”

Once again, you could feel your anger rushing right through you. They don’t… they don’t understand what you’ve been through… they don’t understand what’s waiting for you back in Japan… you had to get away and you had to stay away from Japan, it doesn’t matter… it doesn’t matter, he can’t… he couldn’t find you here… he couldn’t find you here, he couldn’t track you down here…

“But I also know you, and so does Prowess, you’re running… that's why you never took the opportunities to go home and see your family… and that’s okay, you don't have to see them.. You don’t have to see them, but you need to get away from this desolate place.”

You threw your pillow on your bed before flopping back and laying on it. You looked over at your night table and saw two picture frames sitting on it. The one you had brought when you first arrived here, and a recent one, from a couple of years ago when you were on an island country, helping them out until they also had a stable hero system. You were with the locals and they were throwing you a goodbye party. You were smiling, holding a child of a family you had gotten close to… the first time in a while you were happy with yourself.

You took a deep breath before turning around on your other side. You just wanted to go to sleep and pretend that you weren’t actually leaving, that you weren’t being forced to go to Japan. You could hear Blake walking away.

---

[This conversation is in Japanese]

The air was cold, and tasted like salt water from the surrounding ocean. After Blake came to your door, you couldn't fall asleep, your head spinning after all the information that came at you at once. You grabbed a blanket, a random bottle of alcohol you had lying around and a glass before coming to the one place where you could feel like you could breath. You were on the rooftops, watching the sun go down and sipping on a glass of some kind of spicy alcohol, you honestly didn’t look at the bottle.

“I thought you would be here, Ms. L/n.” A voice called out behind you.

You didn’t bother to look back at who it was, there were only so many people who spoke Japanese here and none of them were on your team or weren’t even close to you.

“Should have known that you would find out where I am,” you mumbled under your breath, downing the rest of your drink.

You could hear him walk towards you before stopping right beside you and looking out into the horizon with you. Together the two of you watched the sun lower together. You pulled the blanket closer as you felt more chills throughout your body.

“So then you should also know I have an idea of why you're running. You can’t hide much from me, Ms. L/n,” he added.

You sighed, using your hand that held the glass as support for your head. You could feel a headache coming, making you groan out loud. Using your free hand, you moved your head around until you could feel and hear your neck crack. You felt a pressure at your shoulder, and you looked over to find a water bottle and a couple of pills being handed to you. You glanced at Nezu who was still looking at the horizon before looking back down at the bottle. Sighing, you took the pills and water bottle. You threw the pills in your mouth and ripped open the cap and downed the entire bottle in ten seconds.

“You’ll be safe at UA, I hope you know that, we’ve introduced a dorm system including one for teachers. I promise you.”

“Not as safe as I am here,” you scoffed.

You looked away from the sunset, placing your arm down and using it to support you from behind.

“How do you know that?” Nezu questioned.

You said nothing, which answered Nezu’s question. You could feel him turn around and start to walk away.

“Your plane will be here in two weeks, use that time to say your goodbyes and figure out your lesson plans and learn about your students. I would pay particular attention to the incoming class of 2A.”

You scoffed, 2A huh?

---

“AND IN FIRST PLACE, IS Y/N L/N!! One of the most strongest quirks I’ve ever seen in a first year, there’s nobody to match her in battle formations and strategies, even when faced with a difficult quirk, she found a way out and was easily able to snag that FIRST PLACE TITLE!!” The announcer yelled out as the crowd cheered on.

In the center of the stadium was the stage, where the winners were being honored in front of everyone and in the center was you, Y/n L/n, with the biggest smirk on her face. Hair in a large afro puff, with a purple bandana. You were tired but you were happy, you had fought and trained hard for a long time for this. This first step to creating the path to becoming one of the best female pro-heroes Japan and this world has ever seen. You looked at the rest of your peers as they cheered you on and gongradualted you on winning the U.A Sports Festival. You looked to your left and saw a close friend of yours, Oboro giving you a thumbs up. You winked and gave him one back, mouthing “good job” to him.

“Y/N!!! OBORO!!!” A loud, familiar voice called out to you.

You looked at where the voice came from and saw Yamada, your closest friend Nemuri Kayama, and him, Shota waving at you, although he wasn't waving but he was staring at you. You gave him a soft smile while you felt your cheeks burn before turning to Principal Nezu who was offering you the gold medal. You bent down, low enough for him to put the medal on you. Once you stood up, you lifted the medal slightly to get a good look at it.

First place felt so good…

The ceremony ended and soon enough, you were getting ready to go home to show your family what you got, what you had won, even though you knew they were all watching you. You were tired and just wanted to get on the first train to your home when you heard Yamada call out to you again. You flinched at the loud noise, his quirk was called “Voice” after all. You turned around to find him, Kayama, Shirakumo, and Aizawa all walking towards you. You smiled tiredly and flipped your bookbag on your back.

“Hey guys…” you greeted sofly, “what’s up?”

They all stopped in front of you, all ready to go home as well.

“For someone who won first place as a first year, you look like pure shit,” Aizawa said bluntly.

You rolled your eyes, “I’m just tired, over using your quirk will do that. I know my parents will have a whole party waiting for me when I get home.”

“Well, let’s walk to the train together, I’m sure we’ll be able to get you out of your tired mood by the time we get to your stop!” Shirakumo said, turning towards the door.

You glanced over at Kayama who was looking at Shirakumo with heart eyes, you walked up to her and nudged her with your elbow. This made her snap out of her heart eyes and look at you, you look abc at her with a knowing smirk.

“Shut up,” she mumbled, making you laugh out loud.

The both of you followed the three boys out of the room and out of the school. All five of you walked to the train station, Yamada having to take a different train because he lives in the opposite direction of the four of you. You waved goodbye to him as he waited for his train and the four of you got on the one waiting for you. You all got on and immediately found seats, well for you and Nemuri, Shouta and Oboro had to stand at the poles in front of you. As you were riding on the train, Kayama got a call on her cell, possibly from her mom. She groaned and answered it, but the call wasn’t long. You could hear her voice start to rise and even could hear her mom’s start to rise. They argued for a while and then she quickly ended the call and turned to look at you.

She gave you the same puppy eyes she always gives you before she asks you the same question she always asked you before. You exhaled and looked away smiling. Shouta looked at the both of you before rolling his eyes, making you reach over and pinched him in the stomach. He grunted and wacked your hand away from him, making you smile at him before poking him and leaning back into the bench.

“Yes, you can spend the night, you know my mom doesn’t care,” you laughed , pushing her softly.

“Thank you L/n, I can’t deal with her tonight! You know she got a new boyfriend and he honestly creeps me out,” she groaned as she remembered interactions with her mom’s new boyfriend.

“You’re welcome,” you giggled, giving her a one armed hug.

“Aww, group hug!” Oboro shouted, pulling down Shouta with one arm and pulling Nemuri and you into a big group hug.

“Oboro, fuck- warn somebody please!” Shouta complained, but was ignored by said man who just pulled him closer to all of us.

We all laughed at his pain, who just made a grunt-like noise but made no movement to wiggle out of the group hug.

“Yamada would be jealous,” Nemuri said, as we all separated from the hug.

You looked out the window and smiled softly… you were so happy...

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last-necromancer · 3 years

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((Soon this blog will be switching to my new AU where their stories will change but since there are still many asks about their past I want to put their backstory out. Here is a complete 'speedrun' of their past until the 'present'. Hope this will answer all your questions~ ))

James and Ari backstory:

- Jameson was born on another Hyperion station but his family moved to Helios when J was very young to remember that, Ember was born when J was 4 years old

- J spend 4 years in the special program due to his behavior problems. So he joined the first-grade class 4 years old than others.

- Ari was born on Eden-6, father Sebastian - hunter, mother Maria - cook in their family restaurant. They moved to Helios with their restaurant when they got the chance and few other hunter families working in the restaurant moved with them. Mr. Serino was visiting Eden-6 to hunt regularly selling food to rich and to provide to their restaurant

- Ari had to take care of herself a lot, her parents insisted on her to be strong and independent from a young age. Creating a big feel of loneliness in her from an early age

- Both Ari and J entered the same class, teachers knew about J’s troubles so they sit him with the calmest kid in class. That’s how J ended up sitting next to Ari and how they met

- J annoyed Ari and they fought a lot daily. They eventually bond over the fighting and became best friends. Ari was helping J passing school a lot and often came over to Blacks to help J with homework and learning. Due to their close bond of them, J and Ari form a very sibling-like relationship and started calling each other sis/bro

- When Ember got older she showed huge intelligence and talent for explosives and complex machinery. Unlike J she kept on studying aiming to make weapons for Hyperion

- Ari and J’s high school years were again spent in the same class. J had a crush on one of the most popular girl in school which lead him to his doom. He got invited by her on a sleepover with her friends. The entire thing was staged to get him there and made fun of him. Their fun took a very dark turn. J managed to escape but he never told anyone what happened there that night

- Since the incident, J became very hostile towards women and started seeking attention from males. His behavior was worse than ever and he barely finished high school without getting kicked out. J got in a major fight with his parents to the point they kicked him out. J and Ari moved in together

- Ari worked at game shop building computers and J started selling drugs to provide enough money so they can live on their own. Ari started going on hunts with her father to learn how to hunt and to earn some money on top of her job.

- J started taking the drugs instead of selling them, the dealers told him to pay or they will get the money other ways. Again J told no one about this and didn’t pay since he had no money to do so. The dealers ended up killing his parents and taking all their money. They left J a message that they are even now

- Everyone thought it was a basic robbery, no one knew about the money J owned them and J never told anyone his parents were killed because of him. Poor Ember tried to understand why would anyone pick her parents while J could not look her in the eyes

- Unable to come with the fact his parents died because of him J overdose himself in an attempt to kill himself. In his high state J wandered into Helios labs. The docs there knew he will die so they decided to try their experiment on him to not let this free test subject just go unused. No one survived the experiment, they took him as a joke knowing twig like him will never make it. But the drugs that infected his body over a long time of using them made the acid experiment successful

- Ari went to find J right after finding he is missing. Asking people if they saw him, they told her the labs took him in. Knowing no one leaves those labs alive Ari went for Ember to form a plan how to get him out fast. Ember went to steal a ship, Ari recorded a message for her parents that they will flee to Eden-6 where they will all met. Ari took her father‘s gun shooting guards and lab workers to get to J fast. Despite J’s horrible state of acid pouring out of him, they managed to get away from the labs

- They all get into the stolen ship and fly away. None of them knew how to drive it so they crashed on Pandora. They left all their belonging and Echos on Helios so no way to call help. They started wondering on Pandora trying to survive by raiding and stealing from small bandit camps

- Mr. Serino went to Eden-6 hoping to find them there but they never came. Stayed there since then still waiting and searching for his daughter and her friends. Never losing hope despite his wife not believing Ari is still alive

- Ari and J blend ‘well‘ and were good at surviving but Ember was too scared and innocent for it. Eventually she tried to help only to step on mine trap and lose both her legs. Hyperion declared all three of them as criminals, if they ever get close to Hyperion again they will be arrested. Seriously wounded Ember and exhausted Ari made J decide they need to join a bigger group. COV was the only one accepting almost anyone as long as you swear to be loyal so they went there

- J used his showman skills and charisma to get into the liking of many higher COV parts, making his way to Troy. He got Troy’s attention with his skills so Troy take him as his right hand and both girls to live and work for COV. Ember was meant to be working in workshops and Ari at the kitchen.

- Ember’s health was slowly getting worse every day, J plead Troy to take her to safety, promising his life and infinite loyalty in exchange. Troy sent an echo to Maliwan that an important Hyperion engineer is on Pandora willing to work for them. Maliwan came for Ember and took her with them, offering Ari to come too but she stayed on Pandora with J

- J did as he promised and did everything to show his loyalty. Troy refused to trust him for so long despite J being so protective and caring for him. Whenever anyone tried to call Troy sick again got it bad from him. J tried to befriend him many times but Troy was so deaf to it. Troy started trusting J after many times J risked his life for him, after J proved to listen to orders no matter what, slowly over time they started becoming friends. Both boys bond over their manipulative and smart tactics slowly becoming even closer

- Helios crashed and with it Ari’s hopes are gone. Her mother was dead since she never left the station, it was sure she died there. She doesn’t know her dad is still waiting for her so she believes she lost everything. She stopped coming out of the cathedral and never hunt again out of depression whenever she sees the ruins of Helios or remembers that hunting is the trade of her family that she lost.

- The whole time Ari wasn’t so happy as a cook but she wasn’t one to really complain since working outside of the cathedral was way WAY worse. J pressured Troy to make her an editor since she would fit the position. Troy listened to his advisor and give Ari a place in his editing team. This made her a very high rank in the cult and give her even better living conditions.

- Very often Ari was coming to work late just to sleep longer and then working to late hours. Troy caught her there once and they finally had their first proper chat. They meet up there sometimes and they always chat a lil bit making Troy feel she can be his friend…

#borderlands 3 #Jameson Black #Ariana Serino #Necrotizing parasite AU #original character #borderlands

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deborahdeshoftim5779 · 3 years

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BBC Merlin 4x05: His Father’s Son

Here's a round-up of my main observations from BBC Merlin's "His Father's Son" (4x05).

1- MERLIN AS A KNIGHT

I have to admit that Merlin as a sorcerer and trusted adviser appeals to me the most, but I did write a lengthy post analysing how Arthur had turned Merlin into an excellent fighter. This refutes claims that Merlin gave more to Arthur than he received in return.

At the beginning of 4x05, we see Merlin selected to play a new role: that of knight. How did this come about? Arthur Pendragon is best known for his skills as a warrior, but he deserves more credit for his military tactics. These destroy the popular yet false idea that he is unintelligent. More on the latter in a forthcoming post.

One of Arthur’s favourite tactics is using decoys. Previous examples of him using decoys include: The Castle of Fyrien (3x07), when Arthur used Merlin as a decoy to entrap Cenred’s soldiers; Aithusa (4x04), when Arthur used himself as a decoy to get Sir Percival to safety; Arthur’s Bane Part 2 (5x02), when Arthur uses Merlin as a decoy to enrage the slave traders before they escape-- by far my favourite example.

All things considered, I don’t think it takes long for Arthur to choose Merlin. Furthermore, this decision may have taken place before they reached their selected location, as Agravaine later mentions a previous attack by Caerleon on the border. This choice demonstrates that Arthur has higher confidence in Merlin's abilities than he does of in his knights-- else he would have chosen them. We must conclude that Merlin is Arthur's best fighter, though at first glance, we wonder why an unarmed man follows trained knights into battle.

Merlin is sharp, fast, has high stamina, and is incredibly resourceful. Most of all, however, he is incredibly brave. In fact, when rewatching 1x02, I was surprised to see Arthur acknowledge that Merlin was "braver than you look." This despite Arthur’s frustration that Merlin did not try hard enough during practice ("Come on, Merlin: I've got a tournament to win!").

What’s more, in that same episode, Merlin complains about his first day, but later on, we see his fascination wth the ongoing tournament. Then he admitted to Gaius that working for Arthur (in the context of said tournament) "isn't totally horrible all the time." It took one day for him to change his opinion!

Sure, Merlin would continue to treat the fighting as pointless violence, and Arthur as having nothing more in his head than a desire to knock "the seven bells" out of other people (3x04). However, even in 1x02, when he applauds Arthur's fighting, his actions tell a different story. We associate this habit of liking something whilst pretending otherwise to Arthur, yet Merlin has it as well.

As I have said before, Merlin and Arthur have profound differences, yet are profoundly alike.

2- MERLIN AS A SERVANT

It comes as no surprise that Merlin would return to serving after the beginning of 4x05. However, what that change represents sets the tone for this entire episode: Arthur dismissing Merlin's counsel repeatedly in favour of listening to his uncle.

When Arthur says, "so please, stick to what you do know," you have to wonder whether Merlin remembered being entrusted with the role of knight. Now, Arthur puts him back in his place.

Here's another example: "My conscience is clean, which is more than I can say for my room, so just... do your job, will you?" Yet just yesterday, that job involved Merlin risking his life against enemy forces by dressing as a knight.

By the way, you can tell that Arthur doesn’t believe his own excuses, because he keeps using the passive voice to justify killing Caerleon: “...a show of strength was necessary… an example had to be made… My conscience is clean…”

Merlin’s face after Arthur claims he doesn’t need anyone is self-explanatory.

3- NEW THOUGHTS ON ANNIS

Is Queen Annis a good person? Actually, no.

First of all, she knows and approves of her husband invading foreign kingdoms to plunder their wealth. Such invasions naturally cost not only the lives of Arthur's men, but her own, too.

Furthermore, despite accepting Arthur's offer of a fight by single combat, she is prepared to cheat by enlisting Morgana's power. Perhaps if Arthur had died, too, she would have felt some remorse. Yet she still takes a monumental risk with Arthur's life in blatant violation of the knight's code. One has to wonder about her reaction had Camelot plotted against her armies in the same way.

Then we have Annis calmly ordering Merlin’s execution without giving him a chance to explain himself. The lack of emotion in her voice suggests she has done this before.

Speaking of cruelty, Annis’ champion seems to enjoy inflicting pain on his enemies, yet the Queen claims that he “served my husband well.” I dread to think what she means by “served”.

I will also note that Queen Annis disdains magic, referring to Morgana as “witch”. As I have said before, Uther did not begin prejudice against magic; sorcerers were disliked and feared elsewhere, too, including by those who disliked Uther. Many sorcerers caused this prejudice by engaging in manipulative, violent, and wicked deeds.

Examples include High Priestesses using Fomorrohs to enslave people’s minds (4x06); Cornelius Sigan using his power to change day into night and acquire vast wealth (2x01); sorcerers using special blades to murder people (3x04), and so on.

None of this takes away from Annis’ complexity, nor does it undermine her immense humility when she accepts defeat and withdraws from Camelot. After all, much of Annis' rage and desire for vengeance stems from intense grief over Caerleon's death, so we can assume her marriage was a happy one.

Forgiving the man who destroyed her domestic happiness (as well as leaving her people without a king) shows tremendous nobility on Annis’ part. I think Arthur sees that, for he is always humble and respectful before her.

4- LONG LIVE THE KING

Few people respect Arthur more than Merlin. So when he doesn’t join in with cries of “Long live the king!”, you know something is wrong.

5- CONTROL YOUR FEAR

Episode 4x03 has a hilarious scene where a drunk Arthur claims he isn’t even a little bit scared, because, “I’m a warrior. You learn to control your fear.” Then Arthur walks smack bang into a pillar. Never fails to make me laugh. Minus the drunkenness, Arthur was telling the truth about controlling his fear.

You can see this at least twice in this episode: first, when he sees how many men Annis has brought against Camelot, and secondly, when he sees the size of Annis’ giant. In both cases, Arthur harnesses his fear into determination, which is another sign of a great warrior.

Next up, we have a fascinating scene where Arthur watches his men joking by the fire. It's a great way of showing Arthur’s care for these men, as well as his guilt that impending war will end their lives. In a sense, Arthur has to control his fear yet again.

6- TRUST IN MERLIN

After the above scene, Gwaine asks Merlin if Arthur is all right, and the fact that Merlin can describe Arthur's feelings without even questioning the King once again shows the unique nature of their friendship. Merlin sees Arthur's expression, and he just knows. And Gwaine knows that, hence why he does not question the King himself.

Listen to the silence after Merlin's response. Nobody questions Merlin's judgement: they just reflect. Given the way Arthur has repeatedly dismissed Merlin's advance in favour of his uncle, I think he could have learned something from his own knights.

I wonder whether the knights would ask Merlin something about Arthur in this way, whenever the king was absent. In ancient kingdoms, kings had advisers, and in order to earn the monarch's favour, you spoke to the latter first. Did Merlin ever play that role for the knights?

7- MERLIN’S IDIOCY

Now, I have a problem with Merlin telling Arthur that 1)- he would have taken any other option but to face war with Annis, and 2)- his decision to kill Caerleon “was made in the best interests of Camelot.”

Sorry, but it wasn’t. Merlin knows that. I understand that he has to rally Arthur’s spirits so that they can win against Annis, but I am glad that Arthur knows full well he has done wrong. Both Merlin and many fans do not give Arthur enough credit for recognising his own errors.

However, even these foolishly optimistic statements pale in comparison to Merlin's reckless and self-righteous interference when Arthur negotiates with Queen Annis. I burst out laughing when he trips and falls headlong into the tent, a metaphor for his impetuousness.

Merlin eavesdrops outside Annis’ tent, gets caught (so he didn't conceal himself), and then has the audacity to say, “Sorry about this!” to Arthur! Not only that, he got angry over being called a “simple-minded fool”, when he couldn’t even walk in a straight line to follow the king, got himself caught and almost killed by enemy soldiers, and made Arthur look as though he were double-crossing Annis!

I completely agree with Arthur’s anger: “Oh, I was being kind, believe me: you almost got me killed in there!” Correct. Merlin simply could not trust that Arthur knew what he was doing, and decided to interfere. Instead of apologising for getting Arthur into trouble, Merlin remains on the defensive, claiming without evidence that Arthur was “doing a pretty good job of that yourself!”

This is untrue. Arthur surrendered himself to Annis’ men. The most injury he received was a slap. He asked a favour. That isn’t risking your life. In fact, Arthur was trying to save lives, and if Merlin had been listening properly (or just stayed in bed), he would have seen that. Only after Merlin’s sudden entrance did Arthur face serious danger from Annis.

Now, Merlin’s explanation for this is, “I’m your friend! I was looking out for you.” I don’t doubt it. But once again, Arthur is right: “I appreciate that in your very confused way, you’re only trying to help, but please: don’t do it again.”

Condescending? Of course. But this time it was Merlin who provoked him into this anger.

8- MORGANA

Despite all her power, Morgana still has to defer to non-magical kings and queens. After all, she requires their military assistance to take over Camelot.

You can also see how Queen Annis detects Morgana’s hatred, greed, self-righteousness, hypocrisy, and bloodlust. In one glance, Queen Annis begins questioning the wisdom of working with a sorceress she does not trust, not least on account of Morgana being a sorceress.

In fact, Arthur’s prowess as a warrior impresses her more: “You have as much to lose as I if Arthur wins…” Fascinating scene.

9- THANK YOU, OLD FRIEND

It’s ironic that arguably the best scene in 4x05 begins by showcasing Arthur’s cynicism. No guesses why Arthur did not tell Merlin about breaking off his relationship with Gwen earlier. That speaks volumes. If he had told Merlin, I think they would have had an argument similar to that of 4x11.

Only when Arthur realises that he may die does he ask Merlin to pass his ring onto Gwen with an apology. You can see the guilt etched onto his face as he refuses to make eye contact. Interestingly, Merlin does not ask any further questions.

Arthur’s entrusting Merlin to look after Gwen in the event of his death says a lot. For example, that ring is technically royal property, yet Arthur gives it to a servant for safe-keeping, rather than his next-of-kin, Agravaine. Despite claiming to need his uncle’s advice, Arthur will not trust Agravaine with such duties. Has Arthur made a medieval will or testament? Obviously, I have no idea, however, this episode already shows Arthur’s reliance on Merlin to deal with family matters.

Another interesting aspect to this scene is Merlin’s silence after Arthur makes an indisputable point. This dispels any idea that Merlin’s advice was always correct. On several occasions, Merlin had to defer to Arthur’s judgement, because he saw the truth and wisdom behind it. “I don’t know what will happen. But for the first time since I became king, I know in my heart I’ve made the right decision.”

Got to love Arthur’s half-amused, “You’re not about to start crying on me, are you?” He expects Merlin to be either in good spirits or confident, because that is how he, too, remains confident. Arthur is an optimist, yet Merlin becomes a pessimist, so the king must pull Merlin together with light and yet serious teasing.

Needless to say, Arthur calling Merlin “old friend” implies that they have been friends for a long time. So why do some fans still think that Arthur had trouble admitting that Merlin was his friend? Also, the word “old” in this context can imply reliability, constancy. Arthur chose that word to describe Merlin’s value, as well as the length of their friendship.

The great thing about Arthur is that while he makes some serious errors, when he does repent, he does so well. Not only does Arthur graciously thank Merlin for his concern, but he makes it clear to Agravaine that he relies on Merlin’s judgement prior to entering battle. This supports my earlier statement that Merlin is Arthur’s best fighter, as well as right-hand man; Arthur does not leave for the fight until Merlin has confirmed his readiness.

On top of this, Arthur later admits that he might be a cabbage head. “I should have listened to you, Merlin. Just this once, I think you were right-- even if you are the worst servant in the five kingdoms!”

By implication, Agravaine is wrong. Arthur won’t say that, of course, but we saw Merlin’s sound advice competing with Agravaine’s lies for this entire episode. We can only conclude that regardless of what he says, Arthur trusts Merlin more than members of his own family.

And this is a theme which will continue and grow for the remainder of Season 4.

FURTHER POINTS:

Merlin’s fighting skills

Paradoxes of Arthur and Merlin’s friendship

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canyouhearthelight · 4 years

Text

The Miys, Ch. 123

It feels really good to be back writing and posting, I’m going to be super honest. Thank you again, to everyone who reads and leaves notes on these chapters. You keep me going and encourage me more than you will ever know.

This was originally going to be one chapter, but it went really really long and I didn’t have the heart to leave parts out. Even splitting it in half, each half is longer than most of the chapters so far. But I couldn’t help showing how far the Ark has come from simply “figuring out how to exist”! In my defense, @baelpenrose egged me on, too. Blame him. :P

Shout out to @zommbiebro, @charlylimph-blog, @books-and-cartoons, all the other contributors for characters in this chapter. INCLUDING @werewolf2578 for Michael Smith, who finally makes his debut here. Finally.

As Maverick and I entered the gymnasium - now larger and more finished than it had been when Arthur and Jokul’s showdown happened several years back - the atmosphere was filled with excitement. Three Terran years previous, collapsible bleachers had been constructed shortly after sporting and skill exhibitions had regained popularity on-par with Pre-End times, and today was one such occasion. Every seat was packed, and Miys was working overtime in multiple bodies, strategically positioned to keep the air filtered. Else-chicks swarmed on the floor, eagerly consuming anything that had been spilled or dropped.

Today, Jokul and Arthur were once again on the floor, in full view of the crowd. Instead of a bloody one-on-one, no holds barred fight, however, they were two of twenty participants in a weapons exhibition. Between them, Charly bounced on the balls of her feet, scanning the audience - a smile here and there when a container of neon popcorn caught her eye, but a huge grin along with extra bouncing and an enthusiastic wave when she saw our small group. She elbowed Arthur, who was deep in conversation with Tyche and Coffey on his other side. All three turned to wave.

“Where’s Conor?” Maverick asked, searching the floor carefully.

I shrugged. “He may be on his way, or in another room, stretching. You know he isn’t a huge fan of crowds this large.”

With a huff, he blew a lock of hair out of his face. “I know it’s his first one of these things, but he’ll be fine. He’s gotten really good. Even Charly and Tyche said so.”

Evania Josue took the floor and gestured for silence, indicating that the exhibition was starting. “Thank you, everyone who could be here in person, and everyone watching from other areas of the Ark, and welcome to our second Von-annual ranged weapons exhibition. As with last time, combustion weapons will not be used in any of our events, for safety reasons. We will continue with our order from the previous event, and begin with axe-throwing.”

Cheers erupted, and Tyche, Coffey, and Arthur took their seats on the sidelines. Charly, Jokul, and three other less-familiar faces waved to us as they were introduced, before drawing lots for the order they would go in. One of the people I didn’t recognize went first, and made a pretty good showing - all six axes hit their targets, regularly striking midway to the bullseye from a distance I could barely hit the floor from. Charly was second, and Maverick clenched my arm tight enough to make me wince - she was the smallest competitor in this event, but the entire crowd went deathly silent as she lined up the first target.

Thunk. Bullseye, and buried deep.

Thunk. Just left of center.

Thunk. Another bullseye.

Three more axes led to one more bullseye and two just to the right of center. The crowd exploded into cheers, only going quiet as the next person stepped forward. It was another solid execution, but not quite in the same level of skill that Charly had demonstrated.

Jokul was last, and as soon as he stepped forward, you could hear a pin drop. No one even dared breathe, lest they missed out on what they hoped they were about to witness. Sure enough, Jokul stood three feet to the left of the first table holding an axe, and started walking at a calm pace. Without breaking stride, he would grab an axe and suddenly it would appear in the center of the target. No windup, no careful lining up of his throws, just ten paces, six axes, and six bullseyes.

Screaming erupted from the entire gymnasium, to the point that Miys was covering their sensory organs. Charly was red in her face from cheering, and I honestly could not blame her - it was one of the most impressive things I had seen, and never ceased to amaze me. Even Arthur was nodding in approval and applauding.

The cheering died down to a murmur of discussion as the athletes took their bows and the equipment was removed. Charly and Jokul both took seats on the sidelines, while the other three left the floor entirely, indicating they had no other events. The next event was slung projectiles, which neither Maverick nor I was remotely interested in.

He leaned closely so he wouldn’t distract anyone. “So, I’ve been wondering this for a while now… Those axes are pretty heavy, right?”

I nodded. I had tried throwing them, but they were close to two pounds in Terran gravity - worse in Von-standard, and obviously front-heavy.

“So, to throw them that fast, Jokul has to have a lot of arm strength, right?”

Another nod.

“How did Charly get up after he punched her?”

I sighed. I’d wondered where he was going with this. “First, he pulled the punch. Second, it was an awkward hit because he was aiming for me. Third, with two cracked ribs and a whole lot of ‘Charly’ involved.”

“So necromancy,” Maverick nodded seriously.

“I can neither confirm nor deny, except that she popped up like he hit her with a pillow.” I shook his knee as something caught my eye. “There! There he is!”

Conor was finally visible, crouched and in discussion with Tyche. From the way he was running his hand through his hair, he was clearly nervous. She just shook her finger at him with a serious expression, and whatever she said made him laugh and shake his head. Probably a death threat, I figured.

He was just in time, as the next exhibition was knife-throwing. I don’t know if Evan was rigging the lots, but once again the most anticipated participant - this time Tyche - was last. Instead, someone I recognized as Michael Smith was first. Standing from beside Grandma Kim, he gave an emphatic command to the chocolate labradoodle at his feet and took center stage.

The knife throwing event was ten knives, one target, and timed as well as scored by where the knives landed. I knew from previous events that Michael preferred throwing knives with a hilt, which made the balance off center. Nonetheless, all his hits were dead-center and solid, even if he telegraphed his throws a bit much for my liking.

Next was Arthur, who made a show of his one-upmanship by finishing faster and with less obvious movement. He patted Conor on the shoulder and said something to reassure him as Conor stood for his turn.

The crowd started murmuring as Conor turned toward his target, back on full display. Rather than pulling his knives from his hip, or picking them up from a table, Conor had found it easier for him to actually keep them slung across his shoulders and drew them like arrows. I had never seen anything like it, but Coffey had suggested it soon after Conor decided to follow mine and Tyche’s footsteps. And while his display wasn’t the fastest, or the most accurate, he drew some fascinated chatter from the crowd when switched hands after the fifth knife, with no change in speed or precision.

When he finished, there was enthusiastic applause but none louder than our family. Coffey’s voice boomed out, even louder than mine, to congratulate him before they traded places. Once again, there was hushed chatter as Coffey drew over his shoulder, this time trading off hands with every single knife, and breathless applause when he finished with a tighter cluster than Conor had. He smiled, but his eyes were all for Charly, who was next.

The crowd hardly had time to focus before she started letting blades loose. As fast as she could grab one, it was flying behind the last one, covering the bullseye by the time she was done. With a flourish, she took a bow that left us all laughing and cheering. She danced over to the sidelines, sweeping one more bow for Tyche to take the floor.

As soon as Tyche stood, the air crackled with excitement. In the same way that everyone watched the axe-throwing to see Jokul, all eyes were on my sister for this event. As though she was utterly oblivious to this fact, she strode to her marker. She was still mid-stride when she brushed her hair out of her face and let the first knife fly from the same hand.

Bullseye.

Brushing off her legs saw two more knives, one after the other, hitting their marks. Then a dagger from her left hip, a tactical knife from one boot, and on and on. Each blade came from a different spot, no two the same size or shape. All hit their marks, and all without a single indication of exertion. The only indication that she finished was when she dropped her hands and tilted her head, studying the tight pattern on the target. My datapad indicated that she had matched Arthur’s time and close strikes.

When she turned to sit back down, everyone’s brains caught up and the expected cheers deafened us again. As soon as she reached her seat, Arthur and Charly stood by some unspoken agreement and made ridiculous sweeping bows to her, only encouraging the audience to cheer harder.

Evania stepped forward again, to let everyone know that there would be a twenty minute intercession. The next events needed more intensive preparation, which allowed friends and family to take some time to talk with the participants. Sure enough, the second I was in earshot, I could hear Tyche complaining.

“I got much tighter patterns than that in practice,” she moaned.

Conor, head resting on both hands, shook his head in disbelief. “If you think you were bad, I feel I’m hopeless.”

That had the exact reaction everyone saw coming, as she whirled around in righteous fury. “Conor MacMaoilir-Reid-Okima, I have been throwing any knife I could get my grubby paws on since I was four. You started three years ago. I taught you, Sophia taught you, Coffey taught you. Your throwing has an exceptional pedigree and if I hear you talk about giving up, I’ll… I’ll…”

“Let me use you for target practice,” Arthur intoned, half-joking.

“No!” she insisted. “I’ll let Simon use you for target practice!”

“I’d be safe as houses, if he was aiming for me. Poor guy couldn’t hit the floor with a knife if he dropped it.”

“She never said with knives,” I added wickedly, causing his head to snap up and his face to pale.

“Sophie. Please, that’s cruel.”

I waved him off. “Oh, as if he would ever actually aim for you. If Simon had to hunt for his food, he’d be a vegetarian, I swear.”

Rolling his eyes, Maverick stepped into the fray. “Conor, you did really well. You wouldn’t be here if you couldn’t. And it’s not like this is a competition, you were literally invited to just show off what you can do.”

“I still don’t know why… Coff over there clearly did better.”

A dazzling smile flashed as Coffey turned from his conversation with Charly. “Ah, but we are the only two who use that technique! Showing it off here means others may be interested in learning later.”

Hair flew as Charly nodded. “And besides, I could never get the hang of pulling a knife like that. My brain says ‘arrow’, and it’s just confusing.”

I was nodding in agreement and gesturing for Maverick to take Arthur’s seat, when something wet nudged my ankle.

“Sparkles. Heel.”

I turned to see Michael Smith and Grandma Kim had joined us. Unable to resist, I knelt to pet the dogs that accompanied them. “GK, Lyric II is looking more and more like her mom every day.” A muzzle streaked with white fur poked my hand. “Hey there, girl,” I whispered, blinking hard. Lyric was already ten when we were all brought to the Ark, and Hujylsogox medicine could only do so much for dogs. Permission had been given for her to have one pup, to be trained as both a service and a protection animal, in preparation.

Michael’s animal looked to him for permission before joining in the ear scratches I was dishing out. He was one of the very few certified service animal trainers on the Ark, so when Lyric II was born, so was Sparkles, with the intention that they grow up and train as a working team. Michael’s past was extremely blank and sketchy, but something about him reminded me of both Arthur and Xiomara. The fact that both of them respected him made me both at ease and suspicious at the same time.

I pushed that out of my mind and focused on the pile of fur before me, begging for belly rubs. “What events are left?”

“The security animal events have been added to this one, to allow time for the other participants to rest more, and then archery, spear/javelin, and thrown projectiles.”

I shook my head at ‘thrown projectiles’, but Charly was the one to speak. “I can’t believe we made a sport out of rock throwing.” When mouths started to open to correct her, she held up both hands and glared. “I mean ‘we’ like ‘people’, not ‘we’ like ‘the Ark’. I am well aware that humans have been killing things by throwing rocks forever. Don’t shoot me.”

“That’s a different exhibition,” Maverick pointed out, eliciting a groan from several people. “What!? It is!”

“I think she would beg to differ.” Tyche pointed to Charly, who looked like she was about to explode.

“Oh, right. Archery - “

“You are IN that event, how could you forget!?” she finally erupted, more out of confusion than anything resembling anger.

“I learned firearms first?” he begged.

Charly grunted and scrunched her face. “Fine. I can accept that as a semi-reasonable excuse.”

I shook my head at their antics. Despite years of watching the two goof around, it was always adorable to watch men twice her size cower from the feisty ball of energy.

She was still teasing him. “I still think you owe me an apology.”

“Charly, I’m sorry,” he sighed with no real sincerity behind it.

“Mmmm, not good enough.” She tapped her chin with her finger and took out an eye-scorchingly yellow candy bar - which, by now I knew was just chocolate and caramel, but was still cringeworthy to watch. “I think…. You should make me dumplings.”

“Those take forever,” he whined, kneeling and clasping his hands. “You always want them from scratch.”

“They taste better from scratch,” she pointed out around a bite of her snack.

Tyche nodded. “They really do.”

And there it was. He was defeated, as our entire family stared at him in anticipation. With a heavy air, he hung his head. “Fine,” came the mumbled reply. “What kind?”

Quiet cheers sounded, along with fist bumps and in one case money exchanging hands. “Chicken and veg, pork and veg, and seafood,” Charly cackled.

I was pretty sure I was the only one who could hear Maverick mutter “I just got so played…”

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#the miys #humans are weird #humans will try anything #humans are space orcs #weapons #skill #service animals #found family #aliens #apocalypse #post-apocalypse #science fiction #sci fi #scifi #original science fiction #original sci fi #hfy

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ververa · 4 years

Text

“Nothing’s Gonna Hurt Me With My Eyes Shut”

A/N: This is just a random idea. Also it’s bad. I definitely could do better, but it’s 2am, so you have to forgive me. Now that you’ve been warned I hope you’ll enjoy it anyway! <3

Wilhemina Venable x fem!reader

Words count: ~2 000

Wilhemina hated hospitals ever since she could have remembered. She hated hospitals and despised doctors even more. It was all due to her scoliosis and that one asshole doctor from her childhood. It had been years. but the resentment never faded.

The thought of the hospital itself was making her sick. And being there, even if just for a moment, caused her more distress than anyone could ever tell. If she could, she would most likely stay away from both hospitals and doctors, but it wasn’t that easy. Every so often Wilhemina actually needed some follow-up appointments. She knew it and as much as she hated it, she never skipped any appointment.

Wilhemina had one doctor. She always consulted him and no one else. He, even though a man, was the only doctor she tolerated. Or she thought so, because she felt like she had no choice. The man was the only person who could examine her and there was no way she would let someone else do it. That’s why she raged, when she found out he wasn’t at the hospital like he had been expected to. What was she supposed to do? There was no way she would go there again. Definitely not that week. Not even that month. She needed a lot of time to recover from entering the horrendous place. It cost her way too much to just give up and go back home. Though going to another doctor didn’t sound any better.

“We have a new specialist” the nurse from the reception centre informed her “A great specialist” she added, seeing Wilhemina’s hesitation

“Alright” Venable agreed after a second of thought. She didn’t really have a choice. At that point all she wished for was her appointment to be over as soon as possible.

“There. Room 33. You shouldn’t have any problem with finding it”

Wilhemina thanked the woman and moved in the designated direction.

There were a lot of people - patients and doctors and nurses. It was nothing unusual. She had been there before. She had seen them before. But no matter how many times she had been there it always made her feel anxious. Her nervousness never ceased. Nothing and no one could make it stop. And the fact she actually had to face a different doctor made it even scarier.

Ridiculous. That’s ridiculous. She kept telling herself, as she was approaching the doctor’s office. She was a grown up woman for God’s sake. She should not have such a big problem with that. It was just an appointment. Just another follow-up visit. But it required her taking off her clothes and exposing the part of her she hated the most. The part she was ashamed of. And maybe that’s what she hated. Maybe it wasn’t about doctors or hospital, but the feeling of humiliation. Wilhemina didn’t have any more time to consider it, as she found herself standing at the door of the doctor’s office.

Room 33 it was. Wilhemina sighed, then took a deep breath. Composure. She had to keep her composure. She knocked.

“Yes?! Come on in!” she heard a muffled voice. Wilhemina slowly opened the door and soon her eyes set on a young woman. Her back was turned to Wilhemina. The woman looked as if she was trying to fix the examination couch. She looked strange. Hilarious even. But what surprised Wilhemina the most was the fact that the woman didn’t seem like a doctor at all. As a matter of fact, Venable was sure she was just some assistant.

“Please, sit down. I just need to fix it. Ugh, I’ve told them so many times that they should change them to electric adjustable ones” the woman complained

“I think I may have come to the wrong room… I’m looking for a doctor”

“I am a doctor” the woman stated, not looking at Wilhemina

“I mean a real doctor”

“Yes. A real doctor”

“Doctor Y/L/N”

At those words you turned to face her - a small smile on your face.

“It’s you? You are… her?”

“Yes” you nodded “I’m doctor Y/N Y/L/N. And I can assure you I am, indeed, a real doctor. I specialise in orthopedics and physiotherapy. If it makes you calmer, I can show you my certificates”

“No. It’s fine. You just look very…”

“Yes?”

“Different from other doctors”

“Oh, well, maybe it’s because I’m new here or because I’m actually different” you smiled “Or both” you shrugged “Anyways, how can I help you Ms-?

“Venable. I’m Wilhemina Venable” she stated proudly

You nodded in acknowledgement.

“I came for my usual follow-up appointment with doctor Rogers, but they told me he’s not here and sent me to see you apparently”

“Wonderful!” you said with excitement “I mean... I still don’t have many patients here, so I’m just very excited. Oh Gosh, that’s probably not the right thing to say, but I can’t help it”

Wilhemina couldn’t deny that your behaviour was kind of endearing, incredibly unprofessional, but endearing.

“Please, sit down, Ms Venable” you pointed to one of the chairs at your desk, before making your way to sit down yourself.

Wilhemina sat down and watched as you typed something on your laptop.

“I need to have a look at your hospital record and then I’ll examine you” you explained

The redhead watched you as you kept scrolling, reading all the information about her condition. The grip on her cane tightened, when you moved. You looked at her and smiled sympathetically. Wilhemina’s doctor never smiled.

“Let’s move on to the examination couch. Please, take off your jacket and shirt… Well, it’s not your first visit so you probably know what to do”

Wilhemina sighed, putting her cane to the side. She slowly unbuttoned her shirt, but hesitated to take it off. Her hands were shaking, just a little bit, but you noticed it, the same as you noticed a little frown on her face. You could say it was causing her a lot of stress. You understood it. You had always been an incredibly empathetic person. That’s why you decided to become a doctor. To help people. To cure them and make their life at least a tad easier.

“Listen, I know it’s probably not nice, but I’m here to help you”

Wilhemina nodded. Her lips formed a thin line. She knew it. She knew you were there to help, but she just wished she didn’t need your help. She didn’t like the fact that she had to rely on help, on you or doctors in general.

“I…” she hesitated “I just really don’t like doctors”

“Oh… Would you believe me if I say that I completely understand?”

“No”

“Well, let’s sit down” you said

Wilhemina did as you said and watched as you approached her. She couldn’t help, but suddenly notice all the features of a doctor in you. The most significant - a white overall you wore was making her head spin.

“So, when I was a child I was terrified when I had to go to see my doctor. I still am scared when I have to be examined”

“But you’re a doctor”

“Yes, but it’s different. On this side it feels different. I don’t think about doctors. I don’t think about me being a doctor when I examine my patients. All I think about is that I’m here to help them and that’s my priority. The same as your priority is to get better, to get checked and go back home knowing everything is alright”

Wilhemina nodded, not looking at you. She couldn’t force herself to do it.

“You don’t like this white overall, am I right?”

The redhead nodded sheepishly.

“It’s okay. I don’t like it either” you stated, standing up and taking it off “Look, underneath I have normal clothes. I’m just a human. An average person who just happens to have a doctorate in medicine” you winked at her

Wilhemina tried to smile, but failed. She was still overwhelmed.

“How about you trying to close your eyes? It always helps me. Close your eyes and pretend I’m not here. I promise I’ll just take a look. I won’t touch you”

“O-okay”

You smiled, before moving to stand behind her.

“I always told myself that nothing’s gonna hurt me with my eyes shut”

Wilhemina took a deep breath and closed her eyes, letting her shirt fall off of her arms, exposing her back. She kept repeating your words in her head. She knew you were looking at her back, but as promised you didn’t touch her. And that made her feel a bit better. You made her feel better. Whenever her doctor was examining her, she felt humiliated, but not with you. Her doctor had no sort of empathy or gentleness, while you were overflowing with it. And that was something she actually liked.

“You can put your shirt on” you said after a moment. It was barely a minute, but it felt like eternity for Wilhemina. The redhead sighed with relief, opening her eyes. She quickly put her clothes back on. Then she stood up and straightened her skirt, making sure she looked presentable, composed. Her usual self was back, there was no sight of her distress no more. She did her best to suck it up, hide all the feelings deep inside, so that no one could see. Evading all sorts of emotion - that was her tactic. Though it didn’t always work.

“It wasn’t that bad, was it?” you asked, as both of you sat at your desk

“No” she said

“Everything is fine, Ms Venable. Your hospital record says that you complained about the pain. I can prescribe you some medicine”

Wilhemina was about telling you that she already had a lot of different types of pills, but you continued.

“I know doctor Rogers gave you painkillers, but I think that they’re not the answer to the problem. Not completely at least. I’ll prescribe you some pills that can ease muscle tension and improve blood supply. I’ll also suggest some exercises? I can compile a set of exercises for you if you’d like me to” you smiled

Wilhemina was a bit surprised. She hadn’t expected that any doctor could be so nice and helpful actually.

“Oh, and one more thing”

“Yes?”

“Do you drink coffee, Ms Venable?”

“Are you going to ask me out?” she asked nonchalantly, dead sure she could see through you

“Actually, I was going to say that coffee might be the reason for your trouble with sleeping” you stated, pointing at your laptop

“Oh… I-” Wilhemina almost blushed, she almost let her perplexion display. Suddenly too shy to come up with some witty response, but she’d not have a chance to say anything anyway, as you continued

“As a matter of fact, I wanted to ask you out at the end of the appointment, but since you mentioned it. Would you like to go out with me?”

“I... “ Wilhemina hesitated “Are you even allowed to go out with your patients? Isn’t that unprofessional or forbidden?”

“Well, technically it is. It may be considered unprofessional too, but practically you’re not my patient, besides I’m not wearing my overall right now. So, what’s the final answer?” you asked, looking at her expectantly

“Alright” Wilhemina said calmly, her face unreadable, but you didn’t pay attention. You scribbled down on a piece of paper and then handed it to her.

“This is my number. You can call me whenever you want to”

Wilhemina looked into your eyes, but said nothing.

“Oh, and if you hate hospitals this much, you could opt for outcalls” you said, as the two of you stopped at the door

Wilhemina raised her eyebrow looking at you.

“Trying to barg in, I see. Well, I’ll consider it”

“Great! I look forward to the next meeting with you. Hopefully, it won’t be at the hospital. And now I need to go, I have an operation to perform. It was really nice to meet you, Ms Venable” and with that you were gone, leaving Wilhemina standing at the hall of the hospital.

A piece of paper still in her hand. The redhead looked at your number. This time she couldn’t help, but smile. A genuine, big smile appeared on her face as she thought of seeing you again, this time outside the hospital and without her eyes shut.

The smile would most likely remain on her face if she hadn’t spotted some man looking at her.

“What are you staring at?” she growled, causing him to turn his head immediately

That was another reason for her hating hospitals - people staring, watching her. But this time she was in a good mood. Too good to be bothered by some odious man. Not to mention that all she could think of was you - the new doctor.

Tag list: @midnight-lestrange, @natasha-danvers, @stopkillinglilyrabe, @welshdragonrawr, @saucy-sapphic, @yang12e, @xixxiixx (if I somehow missed someone, let me know)

#it's 2am but who cares #why not to write about our precious purple queen #wilhemina venable #wilhemina venable x reader #AHS #ahs apocalypse #sarah paulson #sarah paulson imagine #ahs fanfiction #ahs imagine

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aros001 · 3 years

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Read through light novel vol. 8. Random thoughts.

It's funny that what's made me the angriest thus far in this series is Priestess getting her clothes stolen. Closest was Wizard Boy's arrogant ignorance. With the goblins I feel horror and disgust and yeah there's anger there too, but for whatever reason I had just such a strong reaction of "That bitch!" when the girl stole the mail from Priestess and made her cry.

The news that the first princess had been kidnapped by goblins was enough to make the king stand up from his throne.

Okay, I was mad but not that mad!

“About, that...” Witch, who had produced her pipe from nowhere, gave Priestess a heavy-lidded look. Erk... Priestess felt her heart skip a beat; she put a hand to her chest. Would she be able to have this effect on people someday? It was going to be a long time coming...

That does make me wonder, has there ever been a design for Priestess as an adult, be it official or fan-art? She is only 16, so even if she doesn't get much bustier she should still reasonably grow a bit. It's interesting to imagine her and Goblin Slayer anywhere near a similar height.

Also, this is me probably looking too deep into things, but between Witch, Sword Maiden and even a lot of her interactions with Noble Fencer, does anyone else ever get the feeling Priestess might be bisexual? I hesitate to say that because usually I dislike how often I see people insist that a deep friendship/connection/admiration immediately equals love, but how the narration sometimes describes how Priestess is thinking about some other women makes it sound a lot more like attraction than just envy over body proportions. I say bi and not just gay because she does seem to have at least some romantic feelings for Goblin Slayer, even if it is just a desire for his attention and approval.

That aside, I do really like that she wants to be more like Witch, or at least how she perceives Witch. Cool, powerful, knowledgeable, elegant, stacked. I've always had a soft spot for characters who have another person they admire as their goal to be like and are so humble that they don't quite see the positive effect they already have on those around them. The person who admires someone for their positive qualities not yet seeing that they too are admired for similar qualities.

The skin her vestments revealed was perfectly white, almost translucent, as if untouched by the sun. It meant that the tinge of rose in her cheeks was probably not just from the light. She almost seemed like a harlot—and there were temples that kept sacred prostitutes.

What the f**k is a sacred prostitute?

Given that we know High Elf Archer sleeps in the nude, that's twice in this book Goblin Slayer just barges into a woman's room while she's not dressed, first with Cow Girl and then with her to wake her up.

“I know it’s hard,” Goblin Slayer said with utmost seriousness. “When I was a child, I would lay in bed trying to find out how long I had to keep my eyes closed before it would be morning.”

Again, one of the big draws of this series for me and why I think it works is that it takes trauma seriously. The raping goblins aren't just a gimmick to make the series seem edgy. It addresses that these creature would really mess a person up and that the lingering trauma is treated with understanding, never like it's cowardice or foolishness. How this series handles Sword Maiden especially is something I really respect. She comes in to save the day at the end but it's clear it's taking everything she has just to be there. How she froze up when she was called on in the court to deal with the goblins and the relief like a bright light when Goblin Slayer came in to take the job. The position she's in of being powerful enough to face the Demon King but unable to fight "mere" goblins and no one aside from those who've personally experienced the sheer horror of the goblins able to understand, adding to her feelings of isolation and helplessness. It's really good stuff.

I remember when I first started with Goblin Slayer and I saw some people complaining that the series was kind of dull because he never fights anything other than goblins. One, that's just flat-out not true, as he's fought many non-goblin creatures. He just has no interest in fighting anything that's not a goblin. But even when it's just the goblins, I think this series does a good job at making the goblins always feel like a threat and shaking things up often enough. Giving them new tactics, new leaders, new bases of operation, even new breeds like the Goblin Paladin. Every time they're doing something even slightly different from the norm for them it always sparks some dread about what's coming. The moment this volume mentioned a band of goblins with identical tattoos marking them it was just an instant "Oh, that can't be good" from me, which leads into the Goblin Priest, a big cause for alarm given how useful Priestess has proven herself to be, which led into the weird demon arm thing. It's like complaining that a character never fights anything other than humans or dragons or vampires. The power level doesn't matter if it's the same kind of human/dragon/vampire every time. Be it the things that use goblins as their minions/followers or the goblins themselves, I personally think there's enough variety involved to keep things interesting.

A nice moment with Priestess visiting Wizard's grave (so this is the leaked image that got the false rumor started) and, something I'm really hoping for, the possible return of Fighter, even if it's just Priestess eventually finding the courage to see her again at least once. Again, the reason the goblins work is because what they do isn't just a gimmick. Several volumes after her first party's wipe, Priestess is still thinking about them, lamenting their loss, thinking about what could have been, and how difficult it'll be for them to see each other again after what happened. They weren't just Priestess' origin story, they were real (albeit fictional) people, taken before their time and violated in the worst way possible and they shouldn't be just a footnote. Be it for Priestess and Wizard's brother, they should and do still matter.

She strengthened her barriers as an attack came from a strange angle; Sage was thinking fast. It seemed likely that this thing, this shade—if it could be called that—learned by absorbing other living things. They were simply lucky that the creature it was trying to parasitize at the moment was so incredibly stupid. But... Sage gave voice to the obvious question. “How did the corpse of a goblin drop onto a mountaintop...?”

Holy shit, that's hilarious. And the best part is, there was build up to it. Back in vol. 6 when Goblin Slayer used a scroll to flood a nest he did believe there were some goblins he wasn't able to get. Throughout the series it's been noted he doesn't like using the same tricks too many times in a row in case the goblins learn from him, thus the importance of making sure every goblin he encounters he kills. If some escaped, yeah, it makes total sense he'd change to a different type of location for the Gate scroll, just in case he ever meets up with goblins whom are expecting a flood to pop out.

Second only to this with how good the set-up was has to be Priestess turning the blood from the Goblin Priest's ritual into water, ruining its sacrifice to the dark gods. She discovered she could do that last volume but it seemed like she never would again because she's forbidden from using her miracles to deliberately harm another living being (even a goblin). This was a very clever way of bringing it back, having her learn from her experiences while still being devote to the Earth Mother.

Priestess noticed that her hand was still clinging to his and blushed. She made to disentangle her fingers—hesitated—brushed his hand softly and, finally, pulled hers away. She was humiliated, pathetic, pitiful...and yet. I want to be... ...a source of strength to him. That day, she stored up the smallest of prayers in her heart. One day, she swore, she would be.

All shipping and such aside, this is something I really hope to see someday. That point in the series where Priestess is no longer Goblin Slayer's sidekick but rather his partner. Someone he can have truly walk and fight beside him as an equal, easing the burden on his shoulders, until the day all goblins are gone.

What kind of world is it where I'm thinking "Thank goodness, the princess was only severely beaten and nearly sacrificed to a dark god"?

Original Reddit post: https://www.reddit.com/r/GoblinSlayer/comments/g4llnd/read_through_light_novel_vol_8_random_thoughts/

#goblin slayer #random thoughts #reddit repost

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anjuschiffer · 4 years

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Amira Wayne - Chapter 7

:3c

I exchanged @biodad-bruce-month‘s Day 7: Fashion Show with Fight!

Chapter 7: Fight

P.Tag: @theatreandcomicfreak @damianette-is-life @toodaloo-kangaroo @elijahcrevan

Tag: @vixen-uchiha @we-want-mini-mini @ramos123 @bluesimani @redscarlet95 @greatcatblaze @promiswords

MASTERLIST | FIRST | PREV | AO3

Amira looked at the white board inside her walk-in closet, reviewing the new information she got last night. During last night’s patrol, Amira took a break halfway through, using the time to ask Tikki more questions regarding the miraculous.

They were earrings, which thankfully, can shift in design but can’t change its original form: earrings.

So here was Amira, sporting all black studs. Simple and hidden in plain sight. Amira also found out that the appearance of the earrings can always be changed as Tikki doesn’t have to use too much energy to do so. Therefore, Amira has been planning on changing its appearance after every akuma attack, an easy tactic to see exactly how much Hawkmoth himself knows about the Ladybug miraculous.

Next up, her yo-yo. Turns out that it’s more than just that. While it works as a tracker and phone, it only works when Amira is transformed. No yo-yo, no way to communicate with Chat. Because of this, Amira decided to get him a burner phone to make sure the two can communicate outside the suit. Will also help in case they have to communicate during an energy break while there is an akuma.

Her costume. Thankfully, Tikki had told her that it morphs into whichever design the holder has in their head. With more concentration on the design, the more the costume will have what the holder would want. After patrol, Amira made it her mission to get the utility belt in her design and after plenty of trial and errors, Amira got it.

Now she had smoke pellets, a taser, a small utility knife and a first aid kit at her disposal. Of course, the belt came with a price - her dagger.

Brushing out her hair, Amira looked at her reflection. She always hated having long hair. While Dick always told her that he liked her hair when it was long (because he liked braiding it for her), Amira never took a shine to having long hair.

It was a hassle to brush out, to clean. During track (even though she was only on the team for two years), Amira hated seeing other girls have their lucky amulets in their hair. A special pin or hair tie from their fathers and sometimes from their-

“-to Marinette!” Tikki yelled, snapping Amira from her trip down memory hell.

“Tikki, I live across the school. I won’t be late.” Marinette stated, continuing to stare at her reflection.

“I know that, but your phone has been buzzing nonstop!” Tikki said, showing her the multiple texts she was receiving.

Marinette took it, smiling when she saw they were from Wally and Dick, telling her to have a better day at school than yesterday’s disaster. “Are they from your friends?”

“You can say that.” Marinette said, tucking her phone into her pocket, looking at her reflection once again. “Tikki. Can you grab my fabric scissors on the table near my monitors?”

“It suits you.” Alya randomly told Marinette after the end of their first class. “Your hair, I mean. Don’t think I didn’t notice it.” Marinette simply blinked, wondering why people always said a compliment before bringing up their actual motives. “Name’s Alya-”

“-Cesaire. I know. Now if you excuse me, I have a class to get to.” Marinette filled in, getting up to leave, only for Alya to grab her wrist. “Let go.”

“Sorry!” Alya apologized, letting go of Marinette. “I just...I just wanted to tell you that you were a bit too harsh on Mlle Bustier yesterday. You should apologize.” Alya didn’t expect a scoff from Marinette.

“I’m not going to apologize for standing up for what I know is right.”

“Mlle Bustier-”

“-should’ve done her job correctly instead of enabling, especially now that Hawkmoth is a threat. But even with Hawkmoth out of the picture, Ms.Bustier shouldn’t have just assumed it was Ivan who instigated the argument. There’s always two sides of a story and we should always make it our job to figure out who is right. Sometimes, we even figure out why things happened the way they did. Sometimes, we find out we are wrong and when that happens, we have to accept it. If not, how else will we grow?”

With those words, Marinette gave Alya a little bow before going to her next class. Hopefully Marinette can find M. D'Argencourt during her break to try and convince him to let her join the fencing club...again.

“Well, that went easier than I thought.” Marinette told herself, walking down the school steps. M. D'Argencour had happily accepted her into the team, proceeding to tell her the team’s schedule.

While it took a while to hunt the coach down, Marinette was about to find him towards the end of the day.

“Why exactly do you want to know fencing?” Tikki asked her from the pocket inside her sweater.

“I just found it...interesting.” Marinette lied, knowing she couldn’t tell Tikki that her father never let her take up the hobby. While Bruce had allowed Jason to learn how to use a sword, Jason quickly dropped it. Dick was also taught how to use a sword, but he complained how annoying it would be to carry it around, hence the reason why he carries escrima sticks.

While fencing wasn’t the same, fencing will help her gain more skills she can use during her fights. You never know after all.

After greeting Tom and Sabine and squishing Bridgette’s cheeks, Marinette made her way to her room, only to find him in there...again.

“If it’s about the Miraculous, I’m still not giving it to you.” Amira said, throwing her school bag to the floor. She whispered the renouncing spell before reaching into her jewelry box, where countless dupes rested. Oh how she wanted to cackle when she saw her father look at her with wide eyes.

“Amira, hand them over.” Bruce ordered, stretching out his hand in hopes of Amira doing the correct thing.

“Why won’t you trust me?” Amira gritted, balling her fists. “Why don’t you trust me to do the right thing?”

“I do trust you.” Bruce said, taking a step forward. “That’s why I expect you-”

“I can’t just hand earrings over! The people need me! They need Ladybird to-”

“You don’t need to be running around Paris playing hero, Amira. Let Diana-”

“Must I remind you that I was given the earrings? It’s me who they want! Me! And no! I’m not playing hero! Hell, I’m not even a hero! I’m a vigilante! I’m doing what’s right by being Ladybird, by protecting the people the only way I can.” Amira reasoned, looking at her father. “And trust? Doesn’t that go both ways?” Amira set out a sigh she didn’t know she was holding in. “After all, when were you going to tell me about Batgirl? About...the new Robin?”

How Amira wanted to scream when Bruce remained silent.

“How did you find out?” Amira scoffed.

“Find out? The whole internet was talking about it! My class was talking about just earlier today!”

It happened during break. Just as Marinette was leaving the class, she bumped into the second surprise of the day in the form of teen model Adrien Agreste.

Adrien apologized for the accident when Chloe pulled him into the class and began to ‘teach’ him what it meant to be part of a school. The only reason Marinette even remained in class at that point was because she heard Adrien talk about this being his first time in a school...meaning that up until now, he had been homeschooled all his life.

Kinda how like she was up until she was around seven to eight years old. But to be homeschooled until 13? How lonely he must have been. Especially when she heard he was the only child at home.

You’re really ungrateful.

Marinette stiffened, feeling her heart pick up in pace upon remembering Jason’s words. She already knew that...she knew, but was it wrong of her to want something else? To want to have something different than what she currently had?

As Marinette was fighting off the beginnings of a breakdown, Alya’s sudden burst almost triggered it.

“Since when did Robin come back to Gotham?!” Alya yelled, rising from her seat.

Marinette didn’t need to hear any more, running out of the classroom and locking herself into one of the girl’s bathroom stalls. While she hated having breakdowns, Amira was glad to have had one, as it helped her gained more insight on how Hawkmoth’s powers worked.

He can’t control you if you’re in the middle of an emotional breakdown and can’t register his words. In other words, he can’t control you if you’re already out of control.

Guess it’s good to know that if Joker were to ever come to Paris, Hawkmoth wouldn’t be able to take over him.

Amira looked at her father, awaiting for his response. “Under different circumstances, I would have forgiven you for replacing Jason with another guy. But it hasn’t been a year since he died and you’ve already replaced him.

You know how Jason felt, you know he lived with the fear of doing a single thing that would give you a reason to kick him out of the manor. And while you always assured him you would never do that, here you are, doing just that.” Amira watched as her vision went blurry, wiping them away as she collected herself again.

“I wasn’t replacing-“

“You were. You are. And not only have you replaced Jason, but it seems you’ve also replaced me.” Amira looked at herself. “Batgirl? Really? You know that was the name I wanted to use if you ever let me fight crime alongside you. Of course, that never happened.”

“Amira.”

“At this point, I don’t care what you do.” Amira gripped all the turmoil inside her. “Right now. I just want you to leave.”

“Amira.”

“Leave! I don’t want to see your face Bruce!” Amira yelled, shocking herself at her outburst.

Bruce? Why did it feel so wrong, yet so right? She tried it again. “I don’t want you anywhere near me Bruce, so leave! Just leave!”

And he did.

As she watched Bruce leave her room with a heavy heart, she slumped to the floor, standing back up when she felt something approach her. “Tikki!” Tikki appeared before her. “Spots on!” A second later, an akuma appeared before her, Amira quickly capturing it. Before letting it go, Amira quickly searched for a glass jar and a box in her desk.

She let the now purified butterfly go into the jar, surprised to see that it didn’t phase through the jar. So it was just a normal butterfly after all. When coated in magic, the magic allowed it to phase through whatever it wanted to to ensure that it made it to its target.

Calling off her transformation, Amira quickly got to work, carefully placing a tracker on the butterfly’s wing.

“Are you alright, Marinette?” Tikki asked, looking at her holder with worried eyes.

“I’m alright Tikki. I’m alright.”

No, she wasn’t alright.

The next day at school, Chloe tried to stick gum in her seat as a revenge plan for once again chewing out Mlle Bustier for allowing Chloe to interrupt the classroom with another one of her stupid excuses. Not to mention Chloe using her father’s position to get away with said excuse.

It didn’t help when Marinette was stuck with Alya trying to ask her about her past in Gotham and Alya claiming to be her friend.

They barely knew each other and this girl was already clinging to her like a newborn chick.

While Marinette tried to avoid her at all costs, Alya always found her, Marinette hating it. Didn’t she know about personal space?

Her week got worse when Chat accepted the burner phone but refused to be trained by her. Something about him not needing it.

Thankfully, she was able to vent to Dick and Wally, although more to Wally since Dick was busy with university.

Days went by and even then, Amira knew she was never going to adjust to life in Paris.

It’s only been four akumas and this city already thinks they saved the world.

While technically they saved Paris, Ladybird and Chat have yet to fight off a Victim that can become a potential threat to the world. Bubbler and Mr.Pigeon weren’t exactly the worst to deal with, but they weren’t the easiest to take down either. As for Stormy Weather and Lady Wifi, Ladybird realized that it was Victims like them who posed a threat to France. Victims with intangible powers were a force to be reckoned with after all.

But just because the duo saved Paris four times, it didn’t mean their work was done. They had yet to find out who Hawkmoth was.

Oh, did she mention the ridiculous statue they made in her and Chat’s honor because of the four Victims they took down so far? Long story short, she didn’t go to the ceremony and Chat must’ve told the artist something stupid because here they were. Fighting a Victim all thanks to Chat and his loud mouth.

“Chat! Stop trying to regain your honor and let me-” Ladybird yelled, only to get pushed back by his bo.

“No! This is my fight!” Chat hissed, attempting to land a hit on his copycat. Copycat grinned as he parried all of Chat’s hits, flinging Chat’s bo to the side when he saw an opening.

“He’s good.” Chat said, landing next to Ladybug as he retreated. Ladybird scoffed, gaining an arched brow from her partner.

“He’s good? Got some pretty low standards there Chat. Have you ever seen Nightwing in combat? This guy is nothing compared to him.” With that, Ladybird charged into the fight, picking up Chat’s bo and using it against Copycat.

The two fought, Ladybird noticing Copycat starting to hit her with less force, more sloppily. He was starting to become more aggressive, half of his hits missing.

“Chat! Switch!” Ladybird yelled, knocking Copycat’s staff from his hands and throwing Chat his own back to him.

With Chat distracting Copycat, Ladybird waited for the perfect- there!

Chat had launched Copycat into the air, Ladybird using this to wrap him with her yo-yo and slamming him down. Holding him down, Ladybird turned to Chat.

“Where’s his akuma?”

“Here!” Chat said, taking out a photo from Copycat’s pocket. Ripping it, it released the akuma, Ladybird unwrapping her yo-yo and capturing the akuma. Now purified and having the tracker implanted, Ladybird released the butterfly.

“Miraculous Ladybug!” Ladybird watched as everything was returned and fixed. Turning to Chat, she glared at him. “I’ll be done here in a few minutes. Meet you at the rendezvous in a few.”

#maribat #bio!dad bruce wayne month 2020 #bio!dadbrucewaynemonth2020 #b!dbwm2020

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silvanable · 4 years

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Sweetest Gift : Shingen Takeda

me before writing this : ah, yes, cute fluff time for my husbando. something i would do for his birthday? baking. i would absolutely bake something for that sexy sweet-tooth fiend.

me as i was writing this : wHEN DID WE INVENT BUTTER? WAIT I CAN USE APPLESAUCE— SHIT WHAT ABOUT CHOCOLATE? I CAN SAY WE GOT THAT FROM SPAIN. WHAT’S A 16TH CENTURY OVEN LOOK LIKE?? CREAM CHEESE IS TOO MODERN I CAN’T MAKE THAT!

not to mention i had one way that this was supposed to go and instead i took 3 devours, a u-turn, and then ended up at a different destination. bUT OH WELL.

and i finished it fairly quickly and then went to edit and what do i do? add 5 more pages of my shamelessly simping my heart out haha.

ANYWAYS ENJOY THIS SHAMELESS SELF INDULGENT MESS FOR OUR BELOVED TIGER OF KAI!

↪ GUIDELINES

✒ tags : shingen x oc, fluff, shameless self insert, we got off track and it got long

✒ warnings : n/a

✒ notif crew : @oikame

✒ word count : 4,429

Sometimes, just sometimes, she forgot how different her time and this time was. There were things that she desperately missed about the future, but could live without them. That is until it turned out she really needed them… Particularly butter, chocolate, and an electric oven. All the things the petite girl had grown up with and taken for granted until now.

At least she had planned for this early— having that meticulous but mostly anxious drive to prepare for things long before necessary. She was able to gather all her ingredients and learn the necessary skills for the surprise she wanted to bake.

It also helped to have friends in high places though.

If it was not for Masamune and Nobunaga mostly, and a lot of help from everyone else, it might have been impossible. Luckily she had the best time-traveling ninja on her side, as well as the support of all those at Kasuyagama. It was between her and Sasuke’s uncanny knowledge of ingredients and historical markers together, as well as Nobunaga’s influence over foreign trades, that everything fell into place.

Now it was a matter of keeping it all secret. Shingen, after all, was eerily on par with Mistuhide’s tactical and informational gathering abilities. Lying outright was a definite no but without extreme care, he would find out.

Dancing around the topic was not as hard as she expected, then again being evasive or vague on certain things was almost second nature. After all, when one had four other siblings of varying ages, you had to be quick, not-quite-truthful, and convincing when it came to getting or staying out of trouble.

Any time the subject would get too close to becoming an interrogation, she would always change the subject to what Shingen wanted for his birthday. Of course, each time she was answered with another smooth but cheesy line, how he only wanted to spend the day with her. It was a heartwarming thing but she wanted to do more for him, something more than her words or the little bits of artistry she would leave for him to show her affections.

There were a number of things within her arsenal of creativity that she could do but after their trip to the future, she had kept a particular idea close.

Shingen had taken an affinity to the vast array of sweets from the future. Whether he realized it or not, she had been carefully taking notes on what he enjoyed the most. Of course, with the limitation of certain ingredients not being invented or hard to come by in 16th Japan, improvisation was necessary.

Now it only came down to what she was going to make, which at this rate seemed to be every available confection that could come to mind.

At current, it was truffles, applesauce which was a necessary substitute, and a sinfully hopefully delicious applesauce cake from her Oma’s recipe she could barely remember. At this rate, she might continue her baking spiral and attempt the first edible glitter in the world.

When night came around, the petite girl had rushed off and excused herself to go ‘work’ to finish before tomorrow morning. That was true in part, except that work involved fighting with sugar in the kitchen.

It was probably not the best time to bake but the quiet stillness of the night was an ally. Many people by now would have retired to rest, so it made it easy to move around and do what she needed. Granted, the darkness that stretched over the land also extended into the room the girl needed. Nothing a few quaint candles could not fix nor a nice, warming, bright fire that illuminated all necessary things.

Besides the occasional hum, she was alone with herself and the night. It was far too cold now, being practically December, so there were no nightly sounds from any nocturnal companions. At most, the noises that could be heard were uncontained swears, the crunching of chocolate under a knife, and the occasional hollow ring when she stirred the mixture a little too aggressively.

“I will never call Nobunaga an insufferable asshat behind his back again,” She murmured to herself in the kitchen, “And I will forever worship Masamune’s kitchen skills, he makes it look so easy.” She paused on mixing her ingredients to brush fallen strands of her brown and pink hair from her face, the stubborn few that refused to stay up like she wanted.

She reached off to the side, her hand fumbled across the surface for the sugar. When her fingers reached the edge of the container, she rather haphazardly, pulled it over towards her. A mess she nearly caused when she underestimated the weight and almost sent sugar to dust the floors.

“Oh shit!” Luck would have it no one was around to hear such an unladylike swear to leave her. Equally lucky, she managed to balance the sugar into her arm before she dropped it.

By agreement, Kenshin and Yoshimoto were supposed to distract Shingen for the evening. Sasuke and Yukimura were busy setting things up for the celebration. And she, well she was baking in the growing darkness praying to whatever deity was listening that Shingen would not come looking for her. After all, she had told him she would be busy working and would be done very late because she wanted to spend his birthday with him.

That still did not stop her from stilling every time there was an ominous creak or peculiarly loud howl of the wind. She would pause with a tilt of her head towards the cracked door to listen for the approach of footsteps. Either able to dismiss them being nothing or that the speed and weight of the footfall were not Shingen’s and she would continue.

There were soft voices in the distance this time but too far for her to make out clearly. She shrugged and returned to her mixture. If anything, it would likely be one of the guards who found her in here when they came for a late night snack. She had run into plenty of them like that because they all seemed to have the same thought… which was just their stomach demanding food late in the night.

The bowl was put down with a thud and she turned. Her ingredients all assorted on the counter, just out of reach, with a few measuring tools lying around.

Most of which were left from the evening when she had attempted to make applesauce. It had been a mess, mostly because the help she employed was intent on making a mess rather than cooking. Who was she kidding, she threw the first fistful of sugar. Really she had asked Yukimura and Sasuke for help because it would have taken too long to peel and mash all the apples. That and the fact she hated the texture and taste of applesauce was another big thing, so she needed special guinea pigs to taste test for her before she accidentally poisoned a cake or two.

When the monstrous experiment of a cake was nestled into the oven to cook and the truffles were set aside, it was fairly late into the night.

With a sigh, the petite girl stepped out from the kitchen, and into the cool winter air outside. Brown eyes flitted across the glowing garden, covered in a light layer of powdery snow from the earlier flurry. Her fingers deftly tugged at the collar of her kimono, loosening it and revealing further skin to be greeted by the cold air.

It was a wonder to her how anyone survived before having air conditioning or heaters. Then again, she would not complain after spending so long in a room with a roaring fire. The cold was something she would greet openly but not too much, seeing as she could not get sick until after tomorrow. Still… The snow was tempting to just dive into to cool down.

She took a seat on the edge of the raised walkway, lifting her eyes up to the sky. Stars danced and twinkled, seemingly waving down at her, as clouds lazily breezed across the open sky. The half moon greeted her once again for the night, except this time further in the west, as it descended into the horizon.

That was a sign to how late it was, how low the celestial sphere dipped to signal that sunrise was not far behind its farewell.

The nice was pleasant though. The chill in the air was refreshing and shooed away any sleepiness that had threatened her in the kitchen, enveloped by the warmth of the fire she worked with.

Besides, she could sleep later. There were no rules against a nap in the morning or afternoon before the banquet Kenshin and the others had set up to celebrate Shingen’s birthday. Not sleeping was not entirely uncommon for her either. Staying up late into the night, or dare she say morning, was an old habit that was not entirely her fault. Besides, it was for an important reason she was up right now and she had to use all the time she had to finish her surprise for… well, the man who had stolen her heart completely.

Granted right now, having a break made her realize how much she would have loved to curl into his arms and snuggle against his warm chest. Steal the warmth he radiated to battle the cold she allowed to crawl over her skin.

Her head nodded down, eyes drifted close at the pleasing fantasy. Her body leaned forward and her bare feet caressed over the snow. She jumped up with a start at the sudden damp, frigidness against her skin.

A laugh erupted from her lips as she rubbed her eyes. “Okay, break time is over!” She stretched the wariness out of her bones, not daring to give in to the desire to just hibernate through the pleasant winter season, “Back to the finishing touches!” She turned on her heel, entering the kitchen once more to check on her confections.

Light began to peek over the horizon. Stars began to fade as the deep sapphire of the sky began to fade and instead bled into luxurious shades of red, orange, and pink.

The girl was quiet as she snuck through the halls, careful where she placed her feet as to not make a sound. Luckily she had memorized which boards would creak and groan under her weight after sneaking around at night so often. She made a point to avoid the creaky betrayers, especially as she began to near her and Shingen’s shared room.

A tray in one hand, she slid open the shoji door, almost painfully slow as to not abruptly wake the sleeping figure in the room with any sound.

Teeth sank into her pink bottom lip, quieting the giggle that threatened to escape her as she crept into the room. She knelt beside the futon, the dark material of her kimono pulled aside as she sat on her knees.

The tray, decorated with the special sweets, tea, and fruit was placed safely to the side.

Brown eyes fell to Shingen’s face, admiring the soft way his lips parted and how his chest rose and fell with each deep breath.

He looked so peaceful and calm, she almost did not want to wake him.

A soft smile found its way onto her lips. A tan hand delicately touched over his forehead and brushed the strands of auburn locks from his handsome features. Her loving gaze trailed over his features, following an invisible line over his lips to his jaw, down his neck, and to the exposed skin of his chest that peeked through his sleeping kimono.

The trace of a scar, even in the dimness of the room, could be seen in contrast over the skin of his chest. Unlike all the other scars his battle-worn body bore, this one was the one she was most grateful for, because it had scared her the most. Yet now it meant only one thing to her, that this beautiful and infuriatingly charming man was alive and breathing still, so she could love and adore him for many more years.

She was overwhelmed by happiness, a spark that ignited in her chest and spread from her heart to her fingers and toes. Surely she was dreaming, to have someone as wonderful as him, and to have such a chance to celebrate his life with him.

Slowly, she bowed her head. Soft lips pressed gently against the side of his temple. Warm eyes fluttered closed as her lips lingered. A small, loving smile graced her lips as she barely pulled away.

“Hey, it’s time to wake up, birthday boy,” She whispered against his skin.

Her grin stretched further over her lips as he let out a low, groggy groan. Then she was greeted by his delightfully smoky eyes. The wariness in them faded the moment those silver hues met her dark ones, brought to life with a light that she wished she could bask in forever.

“I will never tire of waking up to see my goddess’s shining smile,” His voice was rough and deep from sleep. How she adored the way in made her heart leap in her chest, eager to listen and hear more of anything he said, so long as it was towards her.

If possible, she smiled wider and stroked his hair gently. “Good morning to you too.”

The smile Shingen gave her caused a giddy feeling to take her over, a mixture of her eagerness and happiness. She should have been ashamed at how easily he made her feel like a little schoolgirl but she could hardly care with how loving that smile was.

She dipped her head again, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. A fleeting touch she almost rescinded to indulge in him deeper, but she had to behave herself.

“C’mon, sit up now, I want to give you something.” Her petite form shuffled back a bit.

“Oh, something for me?” It was unfair how sinful and tempting his voice was as he shifted up onto his arm to watch her.

The edge of the blanket slid down, further revealing a frame hidden only by a thin layer of cotton. Her eyes raked down the outline of his figure. The lazy, satisfied smirk he offered her shook her back to her senses, somewhat at least. She tore her gaze away.

It was a lot warmer suddenly. How strange.

He caught her cheek with his free hand, gently denying her escape, and forced her gaze back to him. The sultry look, focused solely on her, was enough for her to let out a breath— one she had not realized she was holding. The smoldering heat, she knew now, was what radiated off him and the sinful way his eyes glazed over her features.

He guided her back down, joining their lips once again. The kiss, unlike before, was far deeper. His lips moved against hers in sensual skillfulness, drawing her further into him. Her hands pressed against his jaw to cup his face. The cool digits trace slowly over his skin as she drowned into him, savouring him.

It was only the need to breathe that caused them to part. Her faced flushed as her chest rose and lungs greedily sucked in air. Their gazes remained fix on each other, Shingen seemingly satisfied with how out of breath he left her. A callous thumb brushed over her lips gently.

“I do hope it’s you.” His hand lowered from her face, following the curve of her shoulder and down her arm until her hand rested in his.

A giggle escaped her as she moved to her knees, reluctantly allowing her fingers to slip from his, as she crawled away to grab the tray she had brought in.

“Well now you’ve spoiled tonight’s present,” She teased, allowing her fingers to curl into his palm, taking in his warmth.

“And what sort of sweetness would you offer otherwise?”

Her heart jumped, his choice of words seemingly all too specific. But surely she was overthinking it, right?

“I wonder what it might be.” The teasing tone and look he cast her made her flush.

How unfair he was, being so astute and observation. Her midnight snacking sampling of the truffles might have been a bad idea but she had been hungry. There was no doubt she had traces of that confection on her lips.

“You’re awful, it was a surprise!” She playful stuck her tongue at him as she shuffled away, “And I was doing so good too!” She returned to his side, “But despite that—” She presented the tray lavished with a surplus of sweets, “—I made you these.”

The way Shingen’s face had lit up with surprise and awe stole her breath. He was truly unfair to be able to make her heart beat like it did and to make her chest swell with giddy excitement.

Grey eyes flickered up to meet her eyes. Suddenly she felt rather shy under the loving and admirable gaze. The attention and emotions fixed so intently on her made her squeamish. She fidgeted in place, tearing her dark eyes away as she sank into embarrassment, as her face flushed.

“I know it’s not huge but I know how much you loved the sweets, so I wanted to make you some that I grew up around or making. Plus you liked so many of the sweets from the future and I wanted to share that with you—” Was she talking faster, or was that her imagination? “— despite not having everything exactly at our disposal. But just to show you how much I really love you and am so grateful that you’re here so I can make them for you and tell you happy birthday.”

She could still feel his gaze on her while she frantically allowed the words to fall from her mouth. Heat rose up her neck and to her cheeks, dusting the tawny color of her face dusted over with red.

At this rate, the way he was looking at her was going to cause her to implode on herself. Perhaps a run and dive into the snow would do some good to cool her down but she was afraid it would melt if she went near it now.

As silly as it was, his loving attention was still something that flustered her and it did not help she was confessing her feelings through words— she was only good with those when they were written, not spoken.

His callous hands brushed over her own softer ones as he took the tray from her. Fingers delicately guided her chin up to meet his gaze, one that was so soothing but tempting her further.

“And surely you are a goddess— bestowing me with such a beautiful sight and lovely blessings when I should be giving offers to you.” His lips pressed feather-light kisses from her ear to the corner of her mouth.

“Shingen!”

She let out a girlish squeal she was not proud of as his lips stole her own.

“It’s your birthday and—mph!—I’m trying to pour my heart out here!” She tried to pull away from his lips, only finding herself distracted with each time she tried to speak. She could not escape though, not unless he wanted her to, and she could not resist the flurry of affections pressed against her lips again and again to silence her protests.

When she did manage to push away, laughter bubbled from her lips, and she was met with a charming smile. How effortlessly he could make her flustered and steal it away with a touch or a kiss. She both hated and loved him for it.

“And you’re doing a wonderful job.” Fingers brushed through her unusually colored hair and lingered to twirl the pink ends around them.

“I’ll just write it in a letter, that’ll be easier than and you would have to listen to me stumble so ungracefully through it.” She covered her face with a nervous laugh.

Shingen pulled her hands away, laying gentle kisses over her knuckles as he grinned. “No, continue, I quite enjoy how cutely flustered you’re getting.” Of course, he would find her stumbling endearing. What a lovable jerk.

She huffed, trying to hide a smile, and pointed to the tray. “Stop teasing and try them!” Her order was more of a childish demand, “I slaved literally all night and you don’t even know what it took to get half of these ingredients!” It might have started out as a scolding but before she had finished, her words were broken by laughter.

“Oh, so this is that ‘very important’ work you had?” Shingen mused, a twinkle in his eyes, “And that trip to Azuchi?”

She did not have to answer, he already knew, that look said he always knew.

“You’re so unfair! I tried so hard to keep it a secret and be subtle!” She whined, “How did you know?”

“Well,” Shingen said carefully as he picked up one of the truffles, “I do now, especially after such a sweet kiss from your lips,” He offered her a smirk, “And Yuki rushed me away from the kitchen last night saying you were busy when I went looking to pull you to bed.” His amused gaze flickered from her to the confection between his fingers.

So much for subtly. She was definitely going to throw her sandals at Yukimura later for that.

Shingen popped the sweet into his mouth, allowing the sweet chocolaty flavor to coat over his tongue as it practically melted in his mouth. A satisfied hum filled the air as he reached for another one of the delightful chocolate bites.

All while the girl wiggled eagerly in her seat, an unspoken question reflected on her face.

“Delicious,” He purred the praise praised.

She sighed in relief. There should not have been anything to worried about to begin with, seeing as it was not hard to please a man who would eat anything so long as it involved sugar. But there was always that underlying anxiousness to whatever she did for him and she had worked so hard, so she only wanted it to be perfect.

A truffled was pressed to her lips, the man responsible smiling sweetly at her.

“Open,” The order was obeyed almost immediately, allowing the tasty morsel to melt into sweetness her mouth.

“It was worth all the trouble,” She mumbled from behind her hand with a smile.

It was not long before the tea and confections had been finished off, leaving the tray empty. Something she took great pride in.

She moved to grab the tray but was stopped by a hand on her wrist. In the next moment, she was pulled into a warm, comforting embrace. There was no protest from her, she only nestled into his chest and wrapped her arms around him in return.

“This was a lovely way to wake up,” Shingen hummed, his voice rumbling through his chest. Her eyes closed to listen to his heart and the soft rumble of his voice, a smile on her lips.

“I’m glad. And there’s plenty left in the kitchen. Just don’t tell Yuki I let you have some already.” She giggled against him.

“Of course not,” Shingen replied, laughter in his voice.

Now with the petite girl trapped in his arms, he fell back into the futon, which had began to cool with the absence of their warm presences.

“Wait—!” She made to protest but he shushed her immediately, lips finding her own to steal whatever complaints or excuse might befall those lips next.

Clearly kissing her into submission was his only choice. So when she broke away from the kiss, his lips immediately sought hers again, pulling her further into his warmth and inviting her to melt into him.

“I’m afraid I’m still quite tired,” The playfulness in his tone suggested otherwise, “And my darling goddess has worked all throughout the night without rest.”

She rolled her eyes. “If this is a guilt trip it won’t work. Nothing you can say will get me to stay. I’ve got more to set up for today still.”

“Oh, but it’s my birthday is it not? I can request you stay here with me and rest a little while longer. You would not deny me of my wishes on my special day, would you?” Even his pout was sensual and charming.

Brown eyes met grey ones as she looked up at him. Her glare was far too cute to be threatening and it spoke volumes to him. Apparently, he was playing the right angle and they knew it would work against her. She would never be so cruel as to deny him.

“It will be your fault if I don’t wake up for the party then—” Her eyes widened and she gave him a wary glance, “—you knew about that already too, right?”

He laughed. The sound filled the room with warmth, despite the cold outside, and vibrated through his chest, enveloping her as she hugged him.

“I did,” He replied, “So will you stay, my darling goddess?”

How could she resist such a sweet request and that roguishly charming smile?

She hid her face in his chest, “You’re so mean.” He was anything but mean, but she had a right to whine against his charm.

Fingers laced in her hair, rubbing soothing circles through the curiously colored locks. “You need your rest, I can’t have you drifting to sleep during the banquet—” A pair of brown eyes peeked up at him, “—Or tonight when I’ll indulge in the rest of my gift.” And promptly those eyes disappeared again.

A low chuckle rumbled through his chest, he could feel the heat radiate from her skin. How cute she was.

She pinched his arm in response.

“Be quiet, I’m trying to sleep,” She scolded, the embarrassed tone only barely muffled by his kimono.

“Of course, you will need it…” He paused as she settled against him, “Because you won’t be resting tonight.” His provocative tone left nothing to her imagination, he knew.

“SHINGEN!” She slapped his arm gently, face flushed red as she glared at him. That glare was anything but meaningful, he knew, because those murky, night eyes betrayed how eager she was for night to fall.

Besides, he truly wanted was her.

She was the sweetest gift after all.

#i will apologize for nothing #and you all know it #ikemen sengoku #ikesen #ikesen fanfic #ikemen sengoku fanfiction #ikemen sengoku fanfic #ikemen sengoku shingen #ikemen sengoku shingen takeda #shingen takeda #ikesen shingen #fluff #fluff fanfic

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miss-choco-chips · 4 years

Text

From the ground up.

The road to recovery is a bumpy one, but Tim’s (reluctantly) ready for the drive. He just hopes they won’t crash and burn.

-.-.-

Tim recovers after an injury. Mending his bonds with the bats its a plus.

Or, Tim can’t exactly run away from a conversation, and they all take advantage of it.

( @animemangasoul asked for Tim actually needing his crutches. Of course my dumb ass brain needed to take that idea and make a whole, emotional thing of it. Threw in some family bonding cause why not.

Babe I did my best, and if it’s bad I’m blaming exams and life stress of me being unable to properly deliver what you hoped for)

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

It had been a stupid decision. Self sacrificing, reckless, idiotic. He doesn’t know Bruce’s disappointed eyes, Dick’s worried ones or Damian’s disdainful sneer to know it.

Still, it had been his choice, and he’s going to stand by it. Even if it means having Steph pose as Red Robin for some time. Even if he has to deal with M’gann’s guilty looks at failing to convince him to change places, to allow her to get shot while he took the criminal out, instead of what they actually did. Even if it means getting annoyed, nearly hysterical texts from basically everyone he knows, condemning him for his stupidity.

The only ones he had explained himself to were Tam -who honestly deserves it after all the shit he was going to put her through, dealing with her recent trauma (courtesy of assassins) and the press going haywire at Tim’s broken engagement and then almost fatal injury-, Steph (who was going to be changing between Batgirl and Red Robin for some time to keep the whole charade up and Vale off their track) and M’gann herself, who had needed some serious explanation before she conceded to Tim getting shot in front of her for appearances sake.

The rest of the world? They could rot in curiosity, for all he cared. Bruce had probably extrapolated enough from his succinct explanation about Vicky to understand the whole plan. Dick was probably dying to know, but with their relationship strained as it was wouldn't dare to ask. Damian… who know how the devil’s mind works. Alfred was already used to the Bat’s collective shit, and would probably just sigh and make chicken soup for him.

What he wasn’t cool about was being forced to have his recovery period in the Manor. He had a perfectly funcional place for himself, thank you very much, and could wobble around in his crutches from bedroom to kitchen to his small, personal cave, no problem. But Bruce had been unmoving in his decision, going as far to physically carry Tim in his arms, like a toddler, from the hospital steps to the car. It had been humiliating, but he couldn't exactly wiggle free in front of all the reporters, could he? How to explain a nerve strike to his dad, and his own ability to withstand the pain of falling back to his feet?

(Because he totally could stand the pain. He had done it in the dessert with a ruptured spleen, he could deal with a slightly damaged spine)

He was going to have his revenge though. As soon as he was able to move freely without clenching his teeth from the pain.

He’s being deposited on the bed, when he notices Damian lingering around the door. He was looking at Bruce, a little unsure, more than a bit of envy at the care which his father bestowed on Tim. Before, those jealous eyes would have made him weary of an attack. Now, with Bruce and Dick having forced a promise of civility from the kid, he was still on guard but not ready to flee at any given second. Perpetually tensing would only dampen his recovery, after all.

It was still something to think of. The lack of fire in his eyes. He… looked like a kid. Not as much a demon as he had been when Tim went away.

Well. Only time would tell if he had truly changed.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Bruce had ordered bed rest. No work, detective or CEO. Nothing more straining (for the mind or body) than watching a movie. Eating and sleeping were his only allowed activities. Even reading was to be moderated, because Tim was known to lose himself in any topic that caught his fancy and forget everything else.

Tim had listened to his reasoning, nodding along and adding his own helpful insight, smiling when his head was patted in response to his obedience. Waved cheerfully as Bruce left, made smalltalk with Dick when he visited hi room before heading out for patrol (theirs was a talk that he wasn’t really looking forward but knew he wouldn't be escaping for long), thanked Alfred for the food and ate half of it under his watchful eye. Even took the medicine with just mild complains.

The perfect picture of innocence and submission. Right until the butler went to the Cave to man the comms.

Then all bets were off.

Moving his bed out of the way to get the laptop hidden below the loose tile under it was impossible in his current condition, but thankfully he had been able to talk Bruce into letting him keep his phone, and his briefcase wasn’t too far to not be able to make the walk without crutches (painful as it was).

Before an hour had passed, he had the wall by his bed covered with post it notes, connected by red sting and pins here and there. A pretty evidence board, even with the lacking resources. Perrrfect for a little Tim-Time, a small bit of detective work.

Bruce would certainly bitch about him moving around so much, taping pieces of information or moving the string around, but, well. What Bruce didn’t knew…

-I thought Father ordered bed rest.

The voice, completely unexpected (he had either been in too deep thought, or the brat was getting better at stealth), made him jump so high and sudden he almost pulled his stitches. The medication, fading with each hour, had weaned enough he felt every bit of tissue, still torn from the shot, straining under the move.

It resulted in the longest, filthiest string of curses his sharp mind could come up with, partnered with gasps and a lot of hair pulling in a instinctual attempt to redirect the pain from his torso to somewhere less dire.

-No one taught you to knock and not to startle convalescent people, brat? -he spats between clenched teeth, squinting through barely-opened eyes to glare at him- And why aren’t you patrolling?

The kid was on pijamas. Tim can’t remember the last time he saw him unarmed. Though he probably still had at least a dagger on himself that he couldn't see.

Bruce and Dick’s promise echoed in his mind, but just in case, he let one of his arms go around his middle, acting as if trying to soothe his hurt (okay, maybe it wasn’t all an act) while he palmed the three Red Robin pallets he had secured between his bandages earlier.

Damian scoffed and approached him, careful to keep a healthy distance but enough so he could properly appreciate Tim’s wall.

-Apparently, Father knows better than to trust you to behave, and he came up with a schedule to keep an eye on you. For what reason, it escapes me. Your death could only serve as a stress relief for everyone, specially if it was caused by your own stupidity. And you didn’t answer my question.

A large part of him wanted to tell him to fuck off. An even larger reminded him he was barely armed, heavily incapacitated, and that Damian had actually answered him first, so, technically, it was fair to do the same.

He sighs and leans back into the pillows, shoulder on the wall crumpling the photo of his number three suspect.

-Whatever. Bruce clearly bought when I said I’d act the part, otherwise he would have cleaned my room of anything useful. You’re probably here because paranoia is too deeply ingrained in the man, or he thinks you could use a rest too. Or both.

Probably both, Tim thinks. He’s ready for Damian’s sneer and a declaration that he ‘didn’t need a rest’, most likely paired with an insult.

Instead, Damian surprises him by tilting his head and looking at him with something akin to curiosity.

-You lied to Father? And he… believed you?

Feeling his petty bitch inside stirring, he smirked- What, like it’s hard?

It actually was, it required a hell of a mental preparation and careful planning. But once you learned how to pull it off and took care to polish it, it was a often used weapon.

Damian wouldn't let any positive emotion towards Tim willingly show on his face, so the amaze was most likely honest. It was… a little humbling, truth be told.

-Tell you what -he decides, pulling his best negotiator voice, to cut the kid some slack-, you keep this little naughtiness -a nod towards the wall- between us and help me hide all proof before B comes back, and I give you some pointers in how to lie to Batman.

Damian seems truly torn. On one hand, Tim can guess, it's the mission his father entrusted him, and his deeply ingrained disdain to anything Tim proposed. On the other, the temptation of such a useful tactic, and the fact that he didn’t really care for Tim’s wellbeing enough to stop him from doing his thing.

-What are you working on?- he asked, likely gaining time while he mulled his options.

-Cold cases -a shrug-. It’s just a pastime of mine. I dig into Bruce’s old files, search for anything he couldn't solve, and work on it until I do. It’s really good for self esteem, and it helps a lot of people who never got closure for whatever it happened to them.

-Father will know you disobeyed if you solve it.

-I’ll wait until he gives me permission for some light work, and then dump all my worked out cases on him at the same time.

There’s something akin to wonder fighting to make itself known above Damian’s facade of indifference.

-Can you actually solve something Father himself couldn't?

-Done it before, will do it again. What will it be, Damian? Cause if you decide to snitch on me after all, then kindly leave me to this until then. I’m about to crack this, and if its going to be the last one I’m able to work on, I’d hate to leave it halfway.

A few seconds go by, before Damian takes the last step and carefully perches at the end of the bed, eyes solely on the wall.

-I’d prefer to aid in solving this. If it’s true this is something not even the Batman could do… it’d be highly rewarding to work on it. You can teach me the arts of lying another day.

Shocked it actually worked, Tim did his best to swiftly recover. Not one to look at a gift horse in the mouth, he kept his doubts in check to dwell on them later and went back to his wall.

Having Damian around was surprisingly useful. He could just lay there, in his pillows, and direct the brat through moving the string and adding post it notes here and there, until the whole thing mapped out in front of them, the answer staring at them as clear as the quickly approaching day.

Satisfaction strong enough to smile despite the ever growing pain in his side, he gave into the urge to give a small pat to Damian’s shoulder before telling him to help take it all down, least Bruce came from patrol and found them on the act. High on the success and more than a little stunned about it, the younger vigilante actually complied, even going as far as to put all their mess back in Tim’s briefcase and bringing him a glass of water to wash down his meds with.

When Batman came to check on his middle son after patro, Nightwing on his shadow, they were regaled with the shocking, unbelievable sight of Damian sleeping, sitting on the ground with the back of his head resting on Tim’s bed, while the bedridden boy himself snored, a hand on top of the smaller kid’s head.

The picture Dick took of them was gonna be his most treasured possession forever.

-.-.-.-.-

-And this will make me a better detective? -questioned Damian, frown scrunching his nose in a way that Tim couldn't help but think of as adorable. Or as adorable as it could be, in a hell spawn. Fuck, Dick was rubbing off on him.

-It helped me -he shrugs, eyes on his own screen as he makes the proper adjustments-. Long live the queen is a good place to start. You need to consider both the character’s mood when selecting the week’s classes, and the goal you aspire towards. All the while dodging assassinations attempts, commoners uprisings or noble plots depending on the choices you make, and… other stuff. And ruling a country. And getting engaged. It’s a lot of juggling, keeping in mind which skills you need for which event, and it forces you to consider how the character is doing emotionally, something you could seriously use to learn. Want me to give you a run through?

-No need -he scoffed, clicking in the start game option, dubiously reading the introduction-. It seems easy enough.

Tim just smiled, eerie, from his place behind him.

Damian was sitting in the floor by his bed, back resting against it. The position, if slightly uncomfortable (Drake wasn’t an enemy any longer, if Grayson was to be believed, and after the other night’s joint work he agreed to help train Damian in mind schemes, but he wasn’t a complete ally either… and having such a grey person with such a clear shot at his neck made the assassin in him nervous), was the best way for Drake to watch his progress in this… game, while keeping his wound unbothered. It also kept Damian from ‘sneaking a peek’ at his own screen and ‘cheating at the game’, as he had said. Not that he planned on it, but-- well, all resources, no matter how dirty, were still fair game in the arts of war, as far as he was concerned.

Not that Damian needed the help. This was a silly game. He would probably beat this first try, high score even. Really, the main screen image had a teenager dressed in a frilly, pink, magical girl outfit. How hard could this be?

---

-My cousin just got bitten by a snake. Will she die?

-Wouldn’t you like to know, demon child. You’ll figure it out later in the game. Just keep going.

---

-Why do I keep failing this skill-checks? What am I missing? Is it even relevant? I just passed one that was completely useless about world history, but somehow missed the one that would have helped me keep this stupid girl from getting betrothed.

-If it was relevant, you’ll know it when, not if, when it kills you.

-...I should save my game here.

-With these shitty skills you’ve built? Sure, if you want to, but at this point you’ll die no matter what.

---

-Is this woman trustworthy? Our father said it was her fault mother died, but she said…

-Hmm. I’m not giving you spoilers. Tell me when you figure it out, one way or the other.

-Well, at least we have our aunt, uncle and cousins. Surely they are on our side, as our family.

-...

-Drake, why are you laughing?

-...

-Stop it! You are not scaring me!

---

-Look, I said I was not going to help you… but you can’t keep pissing everyone off, baby bat. You’ll never survive until coronation if you do.

-Those people deserved to get executed.

-...some of them, maybe, but you failed a lot of skill checks there, so you don’t have all the facts. Also, if you are gonna fuck with people, at least choose if you are doing it with nobles or peasants. Both of them is taking it a bit too far.

-I am the Queen. Neither would dare oppose me. I will have their heads if they do!

-..okay then. Let the record say I tried.

---

-Is this birthday party important?

-Uhm… Kinda. Your friend just turned of age, which means she gets to inherit control of her lands. There’s also a whole new route if you do go to the party, if you have the necessary abilities for it.

Tim saw the back of Damian’s head bob as he nodded. He gave it a few minutes. Then-

-YOU DIDN’T TELL ME I WOULD DIE ON MY WAY THERE!

-I did say you needed specific skills. Both for the party itself, and to get there.

He was ready for the unholy sound that escaped from Damian’s mouth, finger quickly taping at his phone to record it. That treasure was going to be his new ringtone. It would help with the pain, too. Happiness therapy or something like that, to distract the mind from the hurt.

---

-Hey, Dami? I’m gonna go get ready for patrol. Are you com/?

-NO -he snapped, neck almost breaking from how quickly he raised his head to look at Dick at the door. Eyes red from staring at the screen for so long, hair a mess after messing it up in incalculable desperation- I’m about to win! This time, my strategy won’t fail!

Tim, game already finished and now watching a movie (at least until Bruce and Dick left and he could go back to coding a new security system that even Babs wouldn't be able to crack) tilted his head, examining his brother’s open game. Week 30, no medicine knowledge, no intrigue, little to no dog training, no composure and not enough divination...yeah, Damian was gonna die again. It was the first time he had lived long enough to reach the tournament, and subsequently, the poisoned chocolates.

Should he tell Damian? On one hand, the frustration, clear in his face, would tear him apart after yet another failure. But… this was the most fun he had in a long time, and the longest they had gone without either insulting the other.

-Okay then -mumbled Dick under his breath, smartly retreating out of the room.

Tim waited a few beats- Let me know if you need help.

-Leave me alone Drake! As if I’d lower myself to such tricks! The victory won’t be truly mine unless I win by my own merits!

Still at the door, feeling both a little ignored and elated at his brothers getting along so nicely, Dick decided to slowly exit the place, least Damian truly snapped and threw a dagger or something at his head.

---

The downside of the pain meds was how drowsy they made him. He didn’t know quite what to do with himself, now that the bags under his eyes were so close to disappearing. He had come so used to them… maybe he’d need to start investing in eyeliner and fake them.

Blinking himself awake, he moved a bit to look at the clock on his bedside table and immediately flinched. He kept forgetting the wound, and then moved and was painfully reminded.

A hand appeared out of nowhere, holding a familiar pill. He took it without prompting, accepting then the glass of water.

-Don’t think too much of this, Drake. I’m merely assisting Pennyworth. Since I’m already here working on my progress, I offered to make sure you don’t forgo your medicine. Again.

The disdainful voice, probably masking the smallest shadow of care, had come familiar enough in the last couple of days that he knew even without opening his eyes who it was. The question of what the hell was he still doing here, after spending the entire day at Tim’s side, remained.

-Damian? Are you still playing?

The kid seemed uncomfortable.

-The idiotic Queen wouldn't stop dying. It’s against my every principle to give up before achieving my goal, so I had to stay here until I passed this… training of yours.

Tim had to bit his check to keep from smiling. Damian was kinda decent at it, but the boy who lied to Batman wasn’t so easily fooled by a half assed attempt. The brat had actually stayed so he could make sure Tim didn’t forget his pain meds and woke the whole manor up with his groans later.

-Well, as your teacher for this particular test, I’m telling you to call it a day. Go to sleep and come back tomorrow with fresh mind and eyes.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Rehab… sucked. There was no way around it. Sure, he could go the nice, easy way, give himself enough time to heal before starting on the recovery path. But vigilantes didn’t have the luxury of nice, and he needed to be functional again asap. Steph was running herself ragged, working on keeping Tim’s identity on the streets alive and her own territory safe, and there was a limit on how much Tam could take over in WE before collapsing.

Bruce hadn’t been happy about his decision of starting physical therapy while his stitches were still there, but when was he, ever? And the doctors had said he could do it as long as he was careful about it, now that the swelling in his back had disappeared, so he couldn't use them as counterpoints. There was also the nice plus of being emancipated, which made his medical decisions his own, and not even Bruce could just breeze by and ignore them.

Sweet, sweet independence.

Too bad he forgot a tiny detail: how fucking painful it was.

He could move around now, using the crutches, and he had a series of exercises his doc gave him to help regain movement, which he followed like religious doctrine. Two reps before lunch, one before bed. Okay, the physical therapist had said only do one per day, but he couldn't take into account Tim’s vigilante resistance and strength, so he felt safe in his small expansion of the activities.

That was, until the sharp pain on his side made him lose balance during his last rep and trip over his crutches.

A strong arm around his upper chest stopped his fall to the ground, and took the air off his lungs. It didn’t touch his wound, though, which… nice.

-If you're falling jus’ from walking, maybe you're not as ‘recovered’ as I heard.

-Ja...son -he coughs, hand (with the crutch secured to him by nice straps, courtesy of WE’s medical division) raising up to hold Jason’s arm for support. The other man shifted, coming closer, shouldering his weight without a word, his other hand going around his waist, under the wound, to help him along- This… but a scratch.

-Quoting “Monty Python and the Holy Grail” at me won’t keep you out of trouble, little shit. C’mon, I’ll take you back to your room. Which way?

Pointing him in the right direction, Tim took advantage of their closeness to examine the other man.

They weren’t on ‘kill on sight’ terms any longer, but Tim wouldn’t exactly call the man when in a pinch. What was he even doing here? He was fairly sure he and Brucer were still at that ‘mindless anger/deeply rooted guilt’ stage of their relationship, and his book club meetings with Alfred were wednesday afternoons, not friday evenings…

-Stop thinking so much, you’ll strain som’ing.

-I’m not Dick -he fires back almost in instinct, earning a deep chuckle in turn. He shifts a little, looking for a position where his trembling arms wouldn't make the crutches shake quiet so much. If Jason saw his struggle, he respected him enough to say shit about it.

-Speaking of, how’s it going with him?

-I have no idea what you’re talking about. We are fine.

-Yeah, right. And he’s sitting out of helping you with rehab because he suddenly lost one of his hundred hearts and it’s just your luck it was the one he had for you?

-Fuck… -a misstep, and his arms automatically shift to compensate, keeping him standing but paying it in pain when the movement tugs at his side. Jason tightens his grip, an unvoiced promise to keep it from happening again- you.

-Really threatening, with all the gasping and whining.

-Shut up. Why would we be at odds?

There’s a minute of silence as one of Jason’s hands leave him long enough to open the door to his bedroom.

-I’m jus’ saying -he shrugs as he helps Tim inside and towards his bed-, I know a discarded Robin when I see one.

He’s not sure if the pained sound comes from the jostling as he’s carefully lowered into his pillows, or the strike to his most exposed nerve.

-It was… a tough situation. Dick didn’t have much choice. I -it hurts to say- I get it.

It had also been right, by Damian. Tim can see it, in the remarkably diminished killer intent he could feel from the kid, and his actual willingness at keeping Tim company and even helping him around when needed.

Even if it was the worst for him, at least one of the two fucked up kids under Dick’s watch had benefited from it. It was… it was good enough. It had to be. Tim was fine, after all.

Jason looks at him for a moment, waiting until the pain yields a bit and he can breath again. Then, taking a seat by his feet, he lets his eyes stray to the photographs mounted on the walls, avoiding Tim’s scrutinizing gaze.

-Even if it makes logical sense, it still hurts. I know how it is.

There’s… not really something he can counter. He moves a bit to find position easier on his side, hiding the nervous twitch with the action.

-I never blamed you for it -he feels compelled to add. Jason winces, as if struck. He’s still not looking at him.

-And the brat’ll probably be the same with you, someday. Means shit now, but… small comforts.

-I guess so… I mean, we’re kinda getting along, now that he can’t try to kill me since I’m convalescente and I’m bored enough to contribute to his training.

Jason seems pained again. Tim is annoyed by how confusing this entire situation is.

-Y’er a good predecessor. He’ll/

-What is this all about? -he cuts, unable to stop himself. This attempt at deep conversation is well and good, but it’s coming out of nowhere and Tim never pictured Jason as one to go around randomly offering wisdom- Why are you here, and with me of all people?

There was a shadow of something passing through his face, before it transformed into the physical intonation of the ‘Fair enough’ feeling.

-I heard what happened from blondie while she was takin’ care of soom goons on y’er part of town. And… well, I have some experience on getting back on your feet after a bad injury, just in the wake of loosing Robin. Figured you’d be over doing it and getting yourself hurt worse.

It… was a fair assessment of what he was doing, actually. And if there was anyone he could speak about this… it’d be Jason.

-There’s so much I have to do -he sighs, sagging into his bed, relaxing for the first time when in a room with his childhood idol-, and Steph can’t keep running all my cases for me. I keep solving them, but I need groundwork done and she has already so much on her plate by patrolling my side of town, I just… I can’t let people die because I couldn't spy on an arms deal and tore it apart before the guns made their way to the streets.

Jason looked at him again, his emotions in check, and he seemed to think about it for a minute, before humming.

-What about this? You take it slow and easy with the physical therapy, and I help with that stuff. My territory is somewhat in order, or as much as you can have it in this hellhole of a city, so I have plenty of free time, and… I could use the atonement. After, you know, trying to kill you so many times.

It…was unexpected. Jason, helping him? In exchange of Tim’s wellbeing? It seemed absurd beyond belief, but there was no mistaking the earnestness on his face.

And, well, fuck it. Tim was somehow on speaking terms with one of his formers almost-assassins, what was one more?

...it would also be so worth it, once Dick knew. Tim could already picture his jealousy, seeing the two brothers he was at odds or uncomfortable with, speaking at each other and working together.

And having Jason at his side would keep Bruce from checking on him so often. Two birds, one crowbar.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

This was shaping up to be the strangest week of his life. Had he entered the twilight zone?

He had gotten kinda used to Damian popping into his room before patrol, or during the nights B forced him to stay at home. He’d work Damian through one of the easiest cold cases, or aid him in his never ending game of Long Live the Queen (he was getting really close to a happy ending, though). In exchange, the kid would keep his work a secret, and help him move around if the pain was too strong, or if he wanted a glass of water and didn’t feel like getting his crutches out for the small trip to the bathroom.

Also, it was somewhat normal to have Jason swing by (morning or mid afternoon, while the vigilantes of the manor slept off their patrol), some case files in hand, informing him about a new development in whatever Tim had asked him to research. Alfred, highly approving of their newfound camaraderie, would insist Jason stayed for tea, and the three of them would dwell into a very satisfying bitch fest, with Bruce as their source material.

What he wasn’t ready for, was having both of them around at the same time.

-Drake, you need to stop lazing around and do your exercises! Father and the doctors said…!

-Chill out, Demon, he did ‘em already. Shouldn't be doin more reps than the doc said, y’know?

Acting like his nurses.

-And how do I know you’re not lying to me, Todd? Hurting Timothy could only benefit you!

-...In literally which way? He’s the ONE brother I like! And like you are any better, Mr slashed zip line.

-Who told you about/? No matter. That was before we became allies. You, on the other hand!

Had he stumbled into a different universe? It wouldn't be the first time. Just in case, he sent Bart, his time/multiverse travel expert, a quick text.

-Hey guys, what’s all this noise abou/ Damian! Drop the knife!

Oh yeah. Just what Tim needed; the awkwardness that seemed to appear whenever he and Dick were in a room together. Maybe it was time to book it back to his room.

-Grayson! Give it back, I need to/!

-Disembowel Jay? I don’t think so.

-Fuck off Dickiebird, I don’t need your protection.

Decision made, Tim slowly moved his crutches, walking backwards without taking his eyes from the three vigilantes. If he was really, really quiet...

-I know, just/ Wait. Is that a gun?

-Well, it’s not like I’m happy to see yar ugly face.

-Excuse you?!... Here, Dami. You can have it back.

-FUCK!

-DIE!

-TIM!

The last scream came from Dick, who looked in his direction just in time to catch the moment Tim’s crutch slipped in the carpet. As it was, he was the only one who could react fast enough to prevent a painful, possibly very bad for his injury fall.

It also meant Tim was being cradled like a baby. Which- no.

The other two fell silent for long minute, while their minds caught up to Tim’s almost accident. Then, apparently seeing him safe in Dick’s arms, they turned to fight again. Apparently, blaming the other for Tim’s misfortune. Which… okay maybe he’d been distracted watching them go at it when he tripped, but still!

-I’ll just… take him upstairs -informed them Dick, though it sounded almost like a question. Probably wondering their ability to keep the discussion verbal.

Used to the nagging, both of them raised their hands, showing them empty (which, truly, meant little in the face of two of the most weapon-inclined people he knew), without pausing their rapidly escalating exchange.

Halfway up the stairs, he stopped wallowing in self pity about his still recovering body to remember that, for the first time in a helluva long time, he’d be alone with Dick. Which translated in Talk Time. Fuck.

By the time they reached his door, he had ready no less than six deflections and twenty conversation topics which avoided mention of all their baggage and could potentially satisfy Dick’s need for socializing with a brother.

-Wipe that look off your face, Baby Bird. You won’t be orchestrating this chat -the older hero informed him, casually as one can be, kicking the door closed behind him and softly lowering Tim on his bed. He was having serious Deja Vu’s from his first encounter with Jason-. We are going to sit in your room. We are going to hear each other out. I’m going to apologize for hurting you and give you insight on the why I acted the way I did. You’ll decide whether or not you’re ready for forgiving me. We’ll bond. Maybe cry. There’ll definetly be hugs involved -that shouldn’t sound like a threat, why did it sound like a threat, Tim felt threatened-, that’s non negotiable, don’t even try to put the ‘tender wounds’ card on me ‘cause I won’t buy it. And…

Dick’s stern voice wavered, arms still around Tim shoulders even when it was clear he didn’t need his support to sit in the bed.

-And we’ll be brothers again.

The tiny, broken sound mid-sentence was what got Tim.

Hand a little shaky, scared for his own heart but unwilling to let the older boy (his hero and family for so long) keep hurting, he touched Dick’s cheek and smiled. Tentatively, because they were on unstable ground here, but hopeful, because god did he miss his brother.

-We never stopped being that, idiot.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

It was after dinner, when Bruce approached him in silence. Tim had been making his slow but steady way to the den, where Dick had roped them all into watching a movie together. He could hear the sounds of Jason and Damian roughosing (okay, Jason was; the brat probably believed the whole affair to be a fight to the death for honor or something like that) and Dick’s chirpy voice as he ranted about The Greatest Showman from the hall.

Bruce had been making the trip by his side, hand hovering close to Tim’s elbow, in case the crutches failed him or he tripped. Tim wanted to tell him it wouldn't happen, but… he’d missed his dad’s attention a little too much to complain about independency now.

-How’s the recovery going, son?

He stopped in the door leading to where his brothers waited, turning to face Bruce with an arched eyebrow.

-You know that better than me, Mr I’ve broken every bone in my body at some point. Also I’m dead sure you hacked my medical files and know every little detail my physical therapist wrote by heart. You can probably recite them to me verbatim.

-I didn’t mean the physical recovery. The shot in your side is not the only wound you’re carrying right now

Silence, the only noise coming from inside the room and Tim’s heavy breathing. Unable to refrain himself, he risks a glance at the tangle of limbs rolling around in the carpet (Dick’s tactic to stop the fight was to hug them into submission) and lets the tentative, frail smile tug at his lips.

-Honestly, B… That one is healing nicely. There’ll be scars but… That’ proof of what we overcame. Right?

Bruce’s smile looked kinda uncomfortable in that stony face of his, but warm all the same. His hand left Tim’s arm to tussle his hair a bit, careful to not unbalance him.

-When did you became the wisest of my children?

A crash came from inside the room, startling them both.

-TODD YOU…!

-DAMIAN NO! JASON PUT DOWN THE CHAIR! DON’T MAKE ME CALL ALFRED!

-C’ME AT ME, MIDGET!

-ALFIEEEE!!!

-Bruce…

-Yes?

-I’m the only wise child you have.

#My writing #tim drake #red robin #Batfamily Fanfic #batfamily #jason todd #red hood #damian wayne #robin #dick grayson #nightwing #bruce wayne #batman #recovery #tw: injury #family bonding #gift to babe

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