#and then i was shot. in the face. point blank. eviscerated

[desceros]

now i can finally leave surprises in your inbox HEHEHEHE

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 120

Time for some of the more technical stuff! These chapters take the longest to write, without fail, largely because I made the dumb (in retrospect) decision early on to choose and actual known-exoplanet (Kepler 442b) to base Von on *facepalm*. Which means an inordinate amount of fact checking and maths when I get to the chapters like this one.

Thanks for this chapter to go @baelpenrose and @charlylimph-blog for beta-reading, and @nasa for the phenomenal amount of information that is publicly available for me to use when writing chapters like this.

Xiomara leaned back in her seat and propped her feet on the table in my office, ignoring the scowl Alistair shot in her direction. With a sigh, she folded her hands behind her head. “The next gravity adjustment is soon, now that Miys has medically cleared everyone from the last one.”

I nodded. “Grey and Antoine’s recommendation of increasing cardio seems to have made a huge difference in the adjustment period for most people. I definitely recovered faster.”

“And after this one, the lighting changes will start phasing in?”

“Once we can come to an agreement on how far we plan to institute the adjustments,” I pointed out. “I don’t understand any need to replicate outdoor light cycles when humanity literally experienced a cultural revolution after we developed a safe method of artificial indoor lighting.”

“That same cultural revolution also led the way for the events that brought us here,” she rebutted without looking away from the ceiling. Raising one hand and twirling it lazily, she repeated the arguments we had listened to for nearly a year. “Adhering more closely to Von’s natural light cycles will minimize ecological impacts.”

“Except that we are using sustainable light sources.” I flicked my finger at one of the wall emitters nearby. “Grey’s team made some pretty strong improvements on the microalgae lamps that were used Before.” While we still used more conventional forms of light for things like our databands and the desk emitters, ambient light in the Terran areas of the Ark was largely provided by what were - essentially - terrariums of algae, fungi, and dinoflagellates. Thanks to Miys’ assistance and a lengthy explanation of why our sight developed to work better in certain wavelengths, the light was closer to a yellow than a blue or green that was more common to Terran bioluminescence. “We literally grow our light now, don’t we?”

Xiomara tilted her head and cracked one eye at me. “They have a point, you know.”

“Make it make sense to me,” I invited her.

“Bear in mind, I don’t remember all the fancy science terms -” I snorted, but allowed it. She continued. “But in basic terms, night on Von lasts pretty close to two Terran months. Yes, we would have roughly the same amount of time to charge solar batteries, but it would require a lot of them to make it two months, especially with how cold the nights are.  By extending the interior light cycle as far as we can, we use less of the power we’ve saved up.”

“And just making more batteries has environmental impacts,” I ventured slowly.

“The planet isn’t terribly metal rich,” she pointed out. “Any resources we have for making batteries should be reserved for replacing or repairing, not allocated to making as many as possible. We’re getting a boost from the planet already, since we’ll have ready access to geothermal heat.”

Frowning, I flicked my wrist and brought up my datapad. “Von is tectonically stable, isn’t it?”

She flashed a quick thumbs-up. “No shifting plates, but there is still a molten core and geothermal activity.  In this case, most of the bodies of water are hot springs, and there are no oceans.”

“That’s going to be weird,” I mused. “Rivers, lakes, and a sea or two, but no oceans…”

“I take it you haven’t had time to check out the topography scans,” she laughed. “There aren’t really any mountains, either. Not the kind we’re used to - no tectonic shifting, no huge mountains. Any geological features are from erosion instead.”

I tried to imagine it before shaking my head to bring myself back to the original topic. “Day cycles. We were talking about adjustments to the lighting cycles.”

“Yep,” she agreed. “We’ve already extended them out to thirty hours so far.”

“But Grey wants to go as far as mimicking the sixty Terran day cycles that Von naturally has,” I sighed. “There has to be a compromise.  Your explanation makes sense, but it still doesn’t quite justify pushing it out that far.”

“Compromise is your thing. Arguing is mine.”

I scowled at her again. “That’s unfair.”

“And yet you aren’t saying I’m wrong.” I could hear her smile even without seeing her face. “If you figure out the compromise, I’ll argue it for you.”

“Seriously?”

She waved her hand at me lazily. “Hey, just because I see the logic behind Grey’s idea, it doesn’t mean I agree with setting the day/night cycle for the whole Ark to match the one for the planet. Your argument about the Industrial Revolution has merit, too. Just… leave out the Industrial Revolution part.”

Fair point. Xio had eviscerated that argument right off the bat, so surely Grey would see the same point. “Then I need a new angle.” I tapped my chin thoughtfully. Thinking out loud, I started rambling. “Invention of the light bulb led to the Industrial Revolution because employees could work later into the night with safer light to see by inside factories. Inside…” Something about that was nagging me.

Leaning forward, I smacked my hands flat on the table, startling Xiomara into flailing to keep her balance. “Inside. You mentioned you don’t agree with the day/night cycle for the whole Ark. I’ve been looking at this all wrong.” I shook my head. “We don’t have to worry about all of the Ark.  I keep thinking about the Ark as all one building, but it isn’t. It’s like its own city… Which means we have an ‘indoors’ and an ‘outdoors’!”

Xiomara kicked her legs off the table and sat up. “What are you talking about? Technically, the whole ship is ‘indoors’, isn’t it?”

I made a vague gesture at her with my left hand. “Only in super literal terms. But if you look at it from this perspective…” I pulled up a ship schematic and flicked it to the emitter. Tapping BioLab 2, the corridors, and a few other areas of the ship, I highlighted them bright yellow. “These public areas could be considered ‘outdoors’. Streets and sidewalks, a park, et cetera, you see?”

Tilting her head thoughtfully, she started drumming her fingers. Tapping eating areas, the Council offices, and a few quarters, she made them light up pink. “And these would be ‘indoors’, right? Offices, restaurants, apartments, those kinds of things?”

“Exactly,” I confirmed. “We can start by agreeing to start extending the day/night cycles in areas considered ‘outdoors’ to match Von’s cycle. Nothing to really argue with there - we will have to adjust to it eventually, and doing it in increments over the next eight years will be easier on us than doing it suddenly when we get to the planet. Just like what we’re doing with the gravity.”

“That leaves us with deciding a cycle for the indoor areas.”

“And we can work on figuring that out.  We’ll have more weight in negotiating there, since we’re absolutely conceding with the outdoor areas,” I pointed out.

She nodded thoughtfully. “We almost have a blank check there, I would think. As long as you could defend the energy needed, they really wouldn’t be able to argue.”

“I may have to take that up with Grey, directly.  I don’t think it would be a good idea to go beyond thirty-six hours, and that would be with two rest periods, not just one like Before.”

Xiomara shook her head, locs flying. “Most cultures didn’t do that, you know that, right? Mid-day naps were the norm all over the world, even when we were toe-to-toe with FTL emigration.”

“Even better,” I smiled. “I mean, who is going to argue with a mid-day nap? Not this girl.”

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[kpopwrites]

Drowning in A Dream Chapter 5

A/N: This one is longer than the others and delves a little bit into the boys and their backstories. It gets a little graphic, so be warned now. If I’m lucky, I’ll have chapter 6 out by tonight or tomorrow night!

TW: Possible smut in upcoming chapters, angst, fluff, swearing, mentions of depression, suicidal thoughts, suicide attempt, slight gore

   Perhaps it was Hoseok’s unhappy grumbling that woke you up for the second time, or maybe it was the warmth of Yoongi’s arms around your body. Either way, you awoke with a start. It hadn’t been too long of a nap apparently, since the sun wasn’t all the way up yet. Long enough to make Yoongi very unhappy to be disturbed, however, as he scowled at Hoseok, ignoring the man's upset rambles in Korean. “Hobi, shut the hell up.” He growled, sitting up. He didn’t let you go however, only letting you escape his embrace when you awkwardly got up, fixing your pajamas. “Is breakfast still available?” You ask nervously, clearing your throat. Hoseok’s eyes lit up as he nodded. “Yup! It’s only been about ten minutes since it was done.” You brows furrowed forward. “Only ten minutes? I feel like I’ve been asleep for hours.” You muse softly, chuckling. Yoongi only smirks silently in response. “Thank you for the cuddles darling. I never imagined you would be so clingy while you slept. Not that I minded of course.” With that, the mint haired man walked out of your room, Hoseok following shortly behind, both ignoring your flaming cheeks.

   After getting dressed and ready to leave, you went to the kitchen where everyone was seated at their spots. “Morning.” You smiled, waving at the group in greeting as you sat down in between Taehyung and Jin, the latter having been guarding your plate from Tae. “Yahhhhh, you messed up their makeup Yoongi!” Jin whined, turning your face towards him before he started fussing over you like a mamma cat. Yoongi chuckled, rolling his eyes at his older brother before starting to eat. Taehyung had a whole mountain of food in front of him, making you question where the hell he put it all. The man was incredibly fit and healthy looking. How could he possibly eat so much? 

   “Are you taking your leave after breakfast?” Namjoon asked, causing Jin to reluctantly release your face. You nod. “Yes, I have to work today, and after missing yesterday, my boss might be worried.” Jimin grins at you, putting down his cup of wine. “Where do you work, precious?” He asked, watching as Taehyung threw him a warning glance. “The Ravenhill’s history center. We just got some new documents proving a super famous local legend of the group of boys who came out here and were killed.” The air suddenly got very tense as Namjoon stared at you, the other boys having blank faces. “Oh? I’ve never heard this… legend. Would you tell us the story?” He asked, voice dark. His tone frightened you a bit, but you nodded anyway. “You may lose your appetites, however.” You warn before delving into the tale.

   “According to some newspaper sources and local legend, a group of young men came here a long time ago and tried to settle in these woods, build a new life for themselves after immigrating. Of course, the locals weren’t very nice since racism was a lot more prominent back then.” You pause to take a sip of orange juice before continuing your story. The men still had blank faces and the tension was clearly high, but you pushed forward. “After about two weeks of rising tensions, people say the spirits of the woods finally managed to take control of the group, causing the youngest brother to snap and murder his brothers.” 

   You glanced around, trying to ignore how scary each man looked at that moment. “The oldest was found without a head, having been decapitated with an ax in his bed. The police found the bodies in the order of their age, like the youngest had set it up or something. The second oldest was found next, completely cut in half and eviscerated, his internals hang out and scattered all over the barn floor. Next was the third brother, found with his tongue cut out and nailed to a wall, like someone didn’t like how much he spoke. He bled out from that. The fourth oldest had the most brutal, beaten to death with a farming tool before being crucified.” You shiver in disgust for a moment. “Are you alright? You don’t have to tell the story. It’s very fascinating to hear what the locals think happened however.” Namjoon hummed. 

   “Yes, I’m okay, I just really don’t like thinking of blood.” You admit before clearing your throat and continuing. “Take your time.” Taehyung interrupted you. “It’s hard for everyone to hear.” He smiled softly, almost sadly before allowing you to continue. “The fifth oldest had his throat slit, almost like a mercy kill. The police were pretty baffled by his death. The sixth was found with his stomach and entrails shoved into his mouth, like the youngest was making him eat his own insides.” Jungkook looked up from his plate. “And the youngest? What do the police say happened to him?” He asked, an edge to his tone. “Well, the legend says a group of hunters had seen the last kill and shot him down with a parade of bullets.” You say, shaking your head. 

   “After that, the police showed up and documented everything before taking the bodies of the oldest six to be buried before  burning the youngest’s body.” Jungkook scoffed, shaking his head. “Bullshit. You nor anyone else have any fucking clue what happened. Just cause they found the bodies. The automatically assume the youngest got cabin fever?” His temper was rising, the air sizzling around him and the rest of the table. “Jungkook. Do we have to go downstairs to cool you off?” Namjoon asked, his voice calm and emotionless. Jungkook ignored his brother, continuing a small rant. “They never buried the bodies. The bodies were left to rot since they were foreign.” He spit the word out like it was poison in his mouth before shoving his chair away from the table and standing up, pointing at you angrily. “Don’t listen to everything your precious grandmother had to say.”

   You frowned deeply, feeling your own anger rise up. “Don’t speak about my grandmother.” You warned, making Jungkook smirk. “Oh yeah? And what are you gonna do? I could rip you apart in my sleep.” He snarled back. “My grandmother defended the youngest, said he didn’t want to do what he did, but instead, it was the demon of Wrath possessing the poor boy.” You snapped finally, slamming your hand on the table. Jungkook’s eyes widened and all of the sizzle left the air instantly. He sat down slowly, ashamed. “Sorry…” He whispered, causing the others to stare at you, not bothering to hide their shock. “Jungkook, what happened?” Jimin whispered in Korean to his brother, clearly surprised. “I’m not sure… All the anger just… left.” He whispered back, fiddling with his hands. “One minute I was to tear (Y/N) to shreds, the next I felt bad for making them upset.” Hearing your name, you looked up, trying to understand what the two men were saying. 

   “Sorry. I didn’t mean to burst. I have anger issues, and they come out pretty uncontrollably when someone speaks badly of my loved ones.” You mutter. “You have anger issues?” Taehyung asked, looking at you. “Yes. I just work really hard in anger management every week. And working at a history center surrounded by things I enjoy is pretty calming.” You admitted, shrugging. “Anger management?” It was the first time you had heard anything but calmness or a strict tone coming from Namjoon, instead a tone of surprise. “Yes. My grandmother had me signed up for those classes since I was very little.” Namjoon nodded, seemingly in deep thought. “(Y/N), how long has your family lived in this town?” He asked after a moment, making eye contact with Jin as they seemed to silently communicate. “As long as anyone can remember, why?” You ask, cocking your head to the side. “No reason. You may want to take your leave. It’s a long hike back to town, and you don’t want to be in the woods after dark. Bad things happen out there.” Namjoon bowed his head as a farewell before excusing himself from the table.

   You nod, standing up and getting ready to say goodbye. To your surprise, Jin, Jimin and Hoseok gave you a big hug, making you promise to come back for a visit before standing aside. Taehyung held out a small bag of snacks. “In case you get hungry on your way back. There’s also some water packed and a sweater in case you get too cold. You can return it next time you visit.” He smiled softly, patting your head shyly before walking away. Yoongi and Jungkook didn’t say anything, instead both waving goodbye as you walked out the front door.

Taglist for Drowning in a Dream @jennyjq​​​ @boy9wolf​​​   @slutkoo​​​ @flakeypancake​​​ @leftflowerprunedonut​​​ @vickylamore​​​ @elenaramos1​​​ @trinityautumn​​​ @blackgirlutopia​​

[redschillzone]

Hips Don’t Lie (Iden Versio x Reader)

(Gif found here!)

Pairing: Iden Versio x Reader

Word Count: 4.5k Words

Warnings: Smut, Title Kink, Kissing, All that Jazz

Summary: Having Iden as a Commander was hard enough, but having a crush on her as well? Well, that just makes things fun.

A/N: Two fics in one day is something else, but both crossing well over 2k words? I’m amazed with myself! Anyway, this is a very early b-day gift for @dversstark​ (A whole two days early). To any other Iden lovers who read it, enjoy as well!

“Agent!” A male voice called out, to which you quickly whipped your head over. You were in the middle of fixing your TIE fighter, as it was in a desperate need of a clean and fix up, but it seems the other agent of Inferno squad had other ideas for you.

“Yes sir?” You asked, straightening your back a bit before tilting your head as Hask came to a stop in front of you, his arms crossed as his eyes narrowed on your form. You two had a rivalry going, it was a thing that just about everyone in the Empire knew about. Well, they called it a rivalry, you called it an undying hate for the man in front of you. He was far too strict for your liking, devoting himself far too deep into the Empire’s rule. Sure he had a tragic backstory as you heard the bits and pieces from other officers and troopers here and there, but he still didn’t sit right with you.

“Why weren’t you at the briefing?” He barked out, a glare on his face as he watched your face turn into one of confusion. 

“Briefing? Whe-” And then it hit you, there was a briefing, you remember Iden and Del talking about it earlier within the week. It completely escaped your mind with everything going on within the week; Two recon missions, a supply run, and with your ship suddenly going out of commission it all just piled on. You involuntarily flinched as you let out a breath.

“I uh.. I forgot, Agent Hask..” You spoke, gulping quietly as you saw his eyes narrowing even further. You watched as his mouth opened, getting ready to tell you off before a feminine voice spoke up.

“Agent Hask, I’ll handle this.” And your body tensed up. You knew that voice, you had begun to fall in love with it and you couldn’t help but gulp once more as your eyes shifted in her direction. Helmet under her right arm, Iden Versio stood before you two, a serious look on her face as Hask huffed at her.

“Commander Versio…” He spoke, turning to face her with his hands behind his back, his posture suddenly straightening out. Iden glanced at you then Hask, eyebrow raised.

“Agent Hask, you’re free to leave. I’ll handle this.” She assured him, eyebrow still raised as Hask gave a huff and another glare to you before he mumbled a ‘You got lucky’ before he began to walk off, more than likely going to bitch to Admiral Versio about how someone like yourself wasn’t fit to be on the Inferno Squad. Relaxing only in the slightest, you turned to face Iden, your posture straightening as you saluted your commander.

“Commander Versio.” You started, retaining your form as you tried to come up with something to tell her. “I am so sorry for missing the debriefing, I was ju-” You started, but she raised her hand to silence you.

“Agent, relax..” She started, resting her helmet on the stack of crates just beside you two. 

“I know how busy you’ve been these past couple of days, it’s understandable you forgot.” She added on, putting her own hands behind her back as she watched your form relax. You put your arm down and sighed, nodding a bit. You were grateful that she understood the predicament you were in, she was always one of the few understanding commanders on board the Eviscerator.

“Thank you, Commander. I would have been there if I had remembered.” You spoke before you pointed back towards your TIE fighter. “But sadly this hunk of junk is having problems after the last recon mission.” You told her, watching as she raised an eyebrow and made her way over to your TIE fighter. You watched as she crossed in front of you and you couldn’t help as your eyes began to scan over her form. She was just perfect; Her hair was pulled up into a tight and neat bun, her skin flawless as usual, and her black and red pilot uniform showing off what curves it could and maker, did you wish you could run your hands over her body. She was a literal goddess to you and- Wait, were her hips swaying? Oh Maker, they were. You felt a blush crawl up onto your cheeks as your mind began to wander as she began to look over your ship, her back to you and giving you a perfect view of her ass. You couldn’t help but inhale quietly as you watched her move about under the TIE, her hands getting to work as she pulled open a panel and began to mess with a few wires.

“So, what’s going on with it? Anything specific?” She asked, shifting her gaze to look at you as you began to come back to your senses. You quickly shook your head and began to walk over to join her.

“I um- No, I haven’t heard anything that sounds off at the moment. It may be a sub-compressor.” You commented, biting your lip as Iden nodded, suddenly becoming interested with your TIE once more. You couldn’t help but watch as her fingers began to pull and twist wires, going and looking them over to make sure they were okay before putting them back in their place and continuing. Oh how many nights your fantasies have taken over and pictured those fingers deep inside you, bringing you on the brink of an orgasm only to remove themselves and having Iden’s voice fill your ears, telling you to beg for the orgasm, beg for her fingers or her tongue deep inside you. 

“Agent?” She called out again, moving her fingers to snap in front of your face. Quickly you snapped back, clearing your throat you raised an eyebrow.

“Sorry Commander- What were you saying?” You asked sheepishly, a blush forming on your face. Did you really just blank out in front of your Commander? And thinking those thoughts no less? “Well, for one I was telling you that you may want to get a mechanic to look at it. You were right, it seems a sub-compressor is shot. Second, I think you may need to go rest, you seem out of it.” She commented, stepping forward and, using her mouth, she bit the finger of her glove and began to remove it. Once the glove was off from her hand, she pressed the back of her hand to your forehead, humming lowly before she removed the glove from her mouth with her other hand.

“You’re warm.. Are you sick?” She questioned, removing her hand from your forehead to which you just stared at her. Did she just- Did she really just remove her glove with her mouth? You cleared your throat, shaking your head quickly.

“N-No. I’m alright- I think I’m just tired-” You lied. You needed to get out of this hangar ASAP, and this was your excuse.

“I think I’ll take your advice, Commander.” You told her, beginning to back away and pointing behind you. “I’ll see you around.” You spoke quickly before you just about speed walked out of the hangar and down the hall, heading to your room. You were going to need to rub this one out in the shower.

-------

“Agent, you there?” The comm buzzed to life, causing you to hum. 

“I’m here, Commander.” You spoke as you flew beside her TIE fighter. You and Iden were put on a recon mission to Tatooine. Reports were that there was a group of rebels hiding out on the sandy planet, so they wanted to make sure that their reports were correct and they wanted the group wiped out. So, Iden was placed on the mission and was told to take someone from Inferno Squad with, and that someone just so happened to be you.

“Good. Ready for this?” She asked, flicking a few controls in her TIE as the sandy planet began to come into view. You couldn’t help but shudder, of all the planets, why this one? Sure it was basically abandoned besides a few scattered port cities, but the people that came to this planet were spread wide and thin. They ranged from bounty hunters searching for their targets to people just stopping for a quick bite and fuel. So as to why the rebels picked here to hide out you had no idea, but you trusted your Commander.

“I am. Where are we landing?” You asked, shifting in your seat as you followed after Iden into the planet’s atmosphere.

“Mos Eisley, hangar 156.” Iden spoke, going ahead and flying to that specific hangar. You couldn’t help but let out a breath as you reached the port, going and carefully landing your TIE beside hers. You both exited your TIES, giving a nod to a few stormtroopers nearby before you made your way over to Iden.

“So, where are we going?” You asked, your helmet under your arm. It was hot, very hot. And the fact that your outfits were basically all black just attracted the sun to your forms as Iden began to think of the plan.

“Well, for now we’re going to leave our helmets here.” She spoke, tossing her helmet back into her TIE and looked to your form as you walked away to do the same.

“Secondly, we’ll go to Chalmun’s spaceport cantina. We’re bound to hear something there about these rebels.” She spoke as she began to walk, her gun in hand as she began to walk. You gave a small nod and followed after your commander, looking around at the various people that moved out of your way. It amazed you that such people could survive on this wasteland of a planet, basically scrounging for food and water. 

‘At least it’s better than Jakku.’ You thought, shuddering at the thought of that backwash of a planet. Eventually you two made it to the cantina and made your way inside. The music was the first thing to reach your ears and you let out a breath, glancing around the area. Several people turned their heads to look at you two, some eyes narrowing as if to size you up but others returning to their food and drinks, deciding not to fuck two two imperial pilots. Nudging your arm gently, Iden made her way over to the bar. She sat herself down on a seat and went ahead and ordered a drink, which caused you to blink and sit beside her.

“Drinking on the job?” You questioned, eyebrow raised to which she nodded, smirking your way.

“Gotta fit in.” She winked, taking the drink once it arrived and took a sip. You couldn’t help but blush, looking towards the bartender and ordering your drink as well before you relaxed in your seat. Conversation was all around you, most in many different languages which fit the cantina perfectly. The music still played at a steady rhythm and you couldn’t help but begin to relax even more. Iden on the other hand stayed alert, shifting her gaze around every so often as she took the occasional sip from her drink. You glanced around every so often yourself, but everything stayed the same. Those that came in looked nothing like the rebels that were described into the holo tablet you both looked at before you left. 

You two sat there for what felt like hours, talking with each other, switching booths and keeping your guards up as you waited. And waited. And waited. Eventually Iden gave a sigh, leaning back in the booth as she stretched her arms and legs, a few pops coming from her body before she relaxed.

“Alright.. I think we can call this a bust for the day..” She spoke, getting up from the booth as she looked at you, holding her gloved hand to you to help you from the booth. You gave a small nod, taking her hand in return and got up, a few pops coming from your own body as you stretched. You had sat there for hours, just getting to know your commander and falling more and more in love with her. You knew it was wrong, you shouldn’t be falling for your commander. But I mean, Del was doing the same, so what was the harm if you fell just as hard as he did?

Iden couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped her as she heard your various bones crack and pop.

“You’re not even that old yet, what’s with all the cracking?” She joked as she began to walk out, you blushing and following close behind her.

“I don’t know, maybe I’m just a glow stick and I’ll begin to glow soon..” You joked, grinning as she laughed a bit. You walked beside her, looking around a bit before you glanced at her once more.

“So.. Where are we going? I don’t think we can make the trip to the Eviscerator and back before morning for another search…” You added, watching as Iden gave a few nods to a few officers as they made their way past.

“I know. Which is why we’ll be spending the night in one of the barracks here.” Iden commented, heading in the direction of the barracks. It was just on the outskirts of the spaceport, so it wasn’t that far of a walk to begin with. Giving a small nod, you kept up with ease. Looking towards the setting suns, you couldn’t help but smile at how pretty it actually was. Maybe this planet did have it’s perks. 

-------

Sitting on the bed across from Iden, you let out a breath as you untied your boots and removed your armor, glancing at Iden every so often as she herself was removing her own armor and boots. You looked away as she straightened herself back out, going and sitting on the bed she was going to be sleeping in for the night. Shifting your gaze once more, you watched as she unzipped the top half of her black pilot suit, lowering it down to her hips to reveal the grey tank top she wore under it. You couldn’t help but bite your lip as you watched her, shaking your head as you leaned back on your own bed.

“Hey Commander?” You started, to which Iden looked at you and hummed.

“Come on, it’s just us two. Call me Iden.” She spoke, a small smile on her face as she leaned back against the wall, watching you as you gave a small nod.

“Right- Iden.. I uh.. I wanted to ask you something..” You started, beginning to mess with your fingers. This was going to be a mistake, you knew that. You knew this was going to go south but you needed to get it off your chest before Del had the chance to do it.

“What’s up?” She asked, an eyebrow raised as she moved her hands up to her bun and began to undo it, shaking her hair out as it fell to shoulder length. You bit your lip as you watched her hair fall from it’s bun and onto her shoulders and Maker, she looked even better than you thought imaginable. 

“I.. I just.. Fuck..” You started and got up, making your way over to her as she gave you a confused look.

“What are you…?” She started, her eyes looking at you curiously as you let out a breath.

‘Now or never…’ You told yourself before you leaned over and pressed your lips to hers, shutting your eyes tightly so you couldn’t see her shocked expression. Iden froze on the spot, her eyes wide as you kissed her gently, sweetly she would say. Slowly but surely you began to feel her kiss back, her lips moving slowly against your own to your surprise. Iden moved her left hand up, having it gently caress your left cheek as she licked at your bottom lip, asking for entrance to your mouth so she could deepen the kiss. You felt your heart beating at a thousand beats per second, and swore you were going to have a heart attack any moment now. Hesitantly, you opened your mouth, allowing your commander access to your mouth. And she gladly took that chance; Her tongue slid into your mouth and began to explore every spot she could reach. She was memorizing the layout of your mouth, and you couldn’t help the low groan that escaped but was quickly muffled by Iden. You were the first one to pull back, your lungs screaming for air. As you did, you both sucked in large breathes as you stared at each other breathlessly.

“I.. Wow that…” You started, to which Iden couldn’t help the smirk that appeared on her face.

“If I had known you liked me sooner, agent, I would have done that earlier.” She commented, which had your eyes widening. She liked you back? Holy shit she liked you back.

“You.. You like me?” You asked, to which Iden hummed and nodded, grabbing your arm and pulling you onto the bed before she pinned you below her in one swift movement. That smirk appeared on her face once more as she watched your face; Your (E/C) eyes wide, lust beginning to swirl within them, your lips swollen from the make-out session just moments ago. You looked a mess and she loved it.

“I do.” She commented, moving her right hand up to the zipper that secured your pilot outfit together. She gave you a glance, her fingers taking the zipper in her fingers but they didn’t dare move. She watched you, waiting for a nod of approval or a verbal response. You couldn’t help but but swallow hard; You didn’t plan on getting this far. Maker, you didn’t even plan on her liking you! Yet here you were, about to have sex with your crush since you joined the Empire. 

“G-Go ahead.” You spoke, your voice shaky as Iden began to drag the zipper down, exposing the tank top and shorts you wore under the uniform. Carefully you moved up, getting yourself out of the pilot suit and throwing it aside. Iden doing the same with her own. You couldn’t help but suck in your bottom lip, looking Iden over. She still had the grey tank top on, but she was wearing a pair of very short black shorts to go with it. Iden couldn’t help but smirk as you looked her over and moved her hands to the bottom of the tank top before she pulled it over the top of her head, going ahead and throwing it aside as she flipped her hair over her shoulder and winked at you. Her black bra was now visible to you and you couldn’t help but stare at her breasts; Maker, she really was becoming a goddess right in front of you. 

Slowly but surely Iden continued to strip herself of her clothing and undergarments until she was completely naked in front of you. Humming lowly, she leaned over, moving her right hand back up before it wrapped around the front of your tank top and pulled you up off the bed just the smallest bit, her left arm keeping her up before she leaned over and whispered low in your ear.

“Why don’t you get undressed for your commander, baby girl~?” She purred in a low, seductive tone that you swore sent heat straight to your core, your cunt tightening around nothing but her words and the heat that was sent there. Slowly, you gave a small nod as she released your shirt, watching as you dropped back onto the bed with a small creek. She moved off you, allowing you to get up and remove your own clothing. She watched with lust filled eyes as you removed the clothing that fit your body perfectly, removing your undergarments just as she had until you were standing naked before her. Humming in approval, Iden’s eyes scanned over your body, a predatorial look in her eyes now before her eyes landed on yours once more.

“Come here baby.” She ordered, to which you followed and moved back onto the bed. Once more, Iden carefully pinned you to the bed before she crashed her lips onto yours, this kiss was more heated and rough, to which you gladly accepted and returned. Iden’s hands began to roam your body, starting from your hips and moving up. Her hands were warm, you noted, but they still caused goosebumps to crawl across your skin. Her hands soon found their way to your breasts and she took them in her hands, beginning to massage them and take the hardened buds in between her fingers to roll and pinch them. Each pinch caused you to moan and groan out her name, but each moan and groan was muffled due to Iden’s kiss. Eventually she pulled away and moved her head into your neck, beginning to bite and suck on your neck. You couldn’t help but shut your eyes, your back arching as Iden’s hands began to move away from your breasts and down to your slit which was soaked at this point.

You sucked in a breath as you felt a finger run slowly through your folds, a moan escaping your lips as you moved your arms up to wrap around Iden, pulling her closer to you as you began to dig your nails into her back. Iden couldn’t help the growl that left her body as she continued to run her finger through your soaked cunt.

“Are you enjoying this, baby girl? Huh? You enjoy the feeling of my fingers slipping across your needy little cunt?” She rasped out, her lips close to your ear as you moaned her name out, quickly nodding.

“Yes- Fuck- Iden please-” You began, but let out a small yelp as a smack was deliver to your pussy, and you felt the shocks going to the coil that was beginning to tighten in your abdomen.

“Call me Commander, sweetheart. I think you can do that for me, can’t you?” She cooed to you, beginning to rub at your pussy to sooth the delicious burn that was left from the smack, and you nodded once more.

“Y-Yes Commander.” You spoke, moaning once you felt two of her fingers slip inside your dripping core. You pulled her as close as you could before you kissed her once more, moving your right hand up and digging into her hair while your left hand remained on her back. You opened your legs a bit more, allowing her fingers to dig deeper into your core, her fingers just barely grazing your g-spot. You couldn’t help the groans that escaped your lips and into the heated kiss that you two were sharing. The coil you were feeling was growing tighter with each passing second, and you were right on the edge. You just needed that extra push to get there, and when Iden began to move her thumb on your clit, the coil snapped. You pulled away from the kiss long enough to moan her name, your head thrown back as your eyes basically rolled to the back of your head. The aftershocks sent waves after waves of pleasure through your body as you came down from your high, and as you began to come too, you heard Iden’s small chuckles.

“That.. That was something else, baby girl..” She cooed as she pecked your swollen lips once more, moving her wet fingers up to her lips to lick them clean, you all but staring with dazed eyes as you slowly began to distinguish what was reality and what felt like a dream. Moving herself so she straddled your hips, Iden looked down at you as she chuckled lightly. 

“You okay for another round?” She commented, tilting her head as she watched you move your hands to her hips, giving a small hum of approval.

“Y-Yeah.. I’ll be okay for another-” You told her, watching as she leaned over to kiss at the hickies she left around your neck.

“Good, because your commander needs her satisfaction.” She commented before she carefully turned herself around, having it so that your ass was now facing her before she backed up, putting you both in a 69 position. 

“You ready?” She asked, looking back at you but gasped as you grabbed her hips and pulled her down, beginning to lick at her cunt as though you were starved. The moans that filled your ears were ones that you swore you never would have heard in your lifetime, the moans you only heard in your dreams. But now they were real, she was real. And you were eating her out as though your life depended on it. It wasn’t long before Iden put her mouth to work against your still pulsating core, your low moans vibrating against her in the most perfect way that she couldn’t help but move back on your face every so often. 

You continued moving your tongue against her, occasionally sucking on her clit and eventually slipping two fingers inside her, feeling her walls as they tightened around them every so often. You couldn’t help the rather loud moan that escaped you as you felt her slip the same two fingers back inside you as she sucked on your clit, planning on having you cum one more time before she called it a night. Whimpered as you felt the coil tightening back up, you picked up the speed of your fingers, brushing them against her g-spot every few thrusts as you continued to suck on her clit as though your life depended on it. 

“Fuck- I’m gonna cum-” Iden moaned against your dripping sex before her orgasm rushed through her, coating your fingers in her juices before you moaned out her name in return, cumming on her fingers once more. You both cleaned each other of each other's slickness before Iden removed herself from your form and flopped down beside you, breathing heavy before she turned to look at your tired form.

“You did amazing, babe…” She spoke, lifting her hand to gently rub at your cheek, chuckling lightly at the way you gave her a lazy smile in return.

“Thanks commander..” You teased her, leaning over to peck her lips once more.

“If you don’t mind though.. I’d like to sleep.” You spoke, going and rolling over to cuddle her, wrapping your arms around her waist and burying your head in her breasts. Iden couldn’t help but laugh as she wrapped her right arm around your waist but moved the left hand to your hair and began to run her fingers through it.

“Permission granted.” She spoke, going and gently kissing the top of your head as you gave a hum in response. 

“Hey Iden..?” You spoke tiredly, sleep pulling at your tired form. Looking down at you, Iden raised a brow.

“Yes?” She answered, watching as you snuggled into her.

“I love you..” You mumbled, feeling the thin blanket covering your naked body along with hers.

“I love you too. Now get some sleep, you’ll need it.” She spoke once more, getting comfortable with you as she continued to run her fingers through your hair, humming lowly as you finally fell asleep, listening to Iden’s humming and the sound of her heartbeat.

[siremasterlawrence]

The James Bond Program One Shot.

It is way to easy for me to set this all up in advance, The James Bond Program begins with my trap being set, I can here the sound of his car arriving at the location. He enters into the castle calmly looking around noticing the stairs in between the darkness. He pulls out his gun holding it close to his chest as he climbs the staircase, he finally reaches the top as he opens the doors, he finally finds me in the back room. He walks in locking the door holding the gun point blank.

“I see you finally have arrived at my castle Mr.Bond, but you are of course to late as all of my plans have come to fruition. You see all I need now is a few samples of your dna. Now will you give it to me easily or not?” He angrily scowls at my comment taking a few steps forward to me. Lunging at my I roll over the ground as he plunges into the wall, it was so quick even I was shocked, I pull out a needle from my suit injecting it. The serum drips deeper into his blood stream as he sluggish sets himself up straight.

“How did you get to me so fast? Why did you just inject me?” He ask before he falls to the ground in disgust his eyes the last to close for me. The walls pull up as the house falls apart before my eyes, I drag him into the void as I throw him across the room, I strip him of his clothes. The pod I specially made for this day opens I drop him into it closing it sending him into the process. I make my way to my one way shift lab mixing the blood in my personally made centrifuge.

I use the blood samples in the serum I am making.”Don’t worry Mr. Bond very soon I was use the synthesize formula I made, it will eviscerate all the power left in you, an I shall conquer you as well. Let’s begin.” I say to him as he wakes up from the sleep I had induce upon him, he looks on in horror at my hand movements as he tries to break out of the glass pod. The pod falls back toward the ground it’s back facing the floor. The conveyor belt rolls him into the wall.

It was behind him so my mind conveyor belt can actually begin its process, I can hear all of his screams as I turn to my screens turning a knob. I wait for two next few hours as his mind falls apart, taking my break I leave the room in great excitement, I left to send a package off to MI 5 an Mi 6. It arrives to the offices initiates a bomb like crazy the explosion causes both offices to stir panic. The entire parliament, protective services, and the Royal family watch a tape of James Bond fabricated by me telling them off.

James Bond’s mind has been hacked by my genius abilities, now the fun begins for both of us. In his mind he wakes up free in a open way oasis from which he can’t escape from its his own prison. He tries to run away only to end up on the same place again this time a screen projects his life. It’s a constant repetitive shot of his life, but altered versions to break him into nothing. His life was epic fails he never won he was not a good guy at all he was the villains he use to fight against.

“Who am i? What am I?” James yells I laugh it was a complete success as he drifts back to sleep. The machine began to finish’s it job on my command soon he wakes up a new man for me. He was an agent of Hypno his king an he lives to serve his new king.

More to come soon.

The end.

[strange-tales-from-pinesdale]

Came Across Some Old Writing.. (Note: Contains Graphic Material)

The sound of smashing glass rings out, reverberated by the narrow walls of the grimy alleyway; darkened crystalline shards spray from the creature's head in all directions as it recoils. Its limbs follow its heads lead and flail back. It’s still for a moment. A thin plume of smoke wisps from the barrel of the gun, dissipating into the air. Next to the cacophony of the tiny pieces of the shards still showering the ground and the occasional sound of a vehicle passing in the distance, it is silent. The kind of heavy silence with unease and anticipation so thick you could practically cut through it with a knife. The gangly and lanky crystal creature regains its balance and composure, its face concealed from sight as it looks the other way. It turns and looks back at Marcus and Monty instantly knows in his gut that this is very bad. Half of its smooth flat face violently broken away. Large crystals appear from the crevice and quickly grow, overlapping each other as they fill in the newly vacant space. As the gap in its head is quickly filled, the flat face suddenly breaks and shatters into the well-defined formation of a twistedly evil face. Its small, beady eyes form in the epicenter of shattered crystal. Its eyes focused solely on Marcus. He quickly looks at Monty for a moment before returning his gaze back to the horrifying transformation. His face tells of more fear, panic, and regret than words could ever begin to do justice. It’s tall, skinny body hunches over, with the jarring sound of breaking glass, a spiked crystalline exoskeleton explosively juts out of its body. The creature bodily winces and jerks slightly as its smooth body shatters changing rapidly. The crack reaches higher and around to the side on its head when it ruptures and separates, revealing rows and rows of protruding, teeth-like razor-sharp glass shards. A low growl emanates from the creature even though it makes no effort to make the sound vocally - that is, if it even has vocal cords. He had been in a lot of terrifying situations before and seen plenty of horrifying lifeforms in his life...but this one might well be the worst in his mind.

“Missed me.” It hisses. Monty’s gaze whips from Marcus to the monster, his eyes wide, his hand firmly on his holster. Marcus doesn’t look at him, his wide-eyed stare is locked firmly on the creature. Unsureness grips his mind, freezing him in place. The monsters hand and forearm morphs into a long jagged point and It plunges it into Marcus, impaling him through his shoulder in one fluid motion before he could shake fears paralyzing grip on him. Gently, It lifts Marcus up to its eye level like he weighs nothing. Marcus screams in agonizing pain as he hangs 3 feet off the ground. His screams seeming to snap fears grip on him, Monty grabs his gun and aims it at the monster. But it swings Marcus around, keeping his dangling body in the way of a clear shot. “Not so fast, Monty,” It says, the words slither out of its horrific mouth. Questions ram his brain faster than he can muster the strength to pick one and say it. Montys face asks the question for him.

“Yes, We know who you are,” it says, amused by their pitiful display of human emotion. It chuckles almost imperceptibly and turns to Marcus as beads of sweat pour down his pale, terrified face. Marcus is trying to stifle his quiet weeping, partially from fear and partially from pain. The creature makes a sound that imitates the act of clicking its tongue as if it had one.

It mockingly reassuringly shushes him,  “Don’t worry, my child. you are still useful to me. I want your friend over here, but I need your help. Are you going to help me?” the monster reassuringly petitions it’s prey. His lungs, too busy with trying to keep up with his furiously beating heart, refuses to allow him the luxury of a vocal response. Marcus’ face instead contorts through the tears and sharp labored breathing into an expression of confusion, indignation and then refusal and spits on the creature's face. Just as Monty is able to react, the Monsters' other arm morphs into a jagged spike in the blink of an eye and eviscerates him. Marcus’ expression and bodily disposition suddenly drop. His legs, now no longer thrashing, hang limp and his face turns blank and grey. Lazily, he looks down at the contents of his stomach being poured out, the corners of his mouth twitching ever so slightly in shock. 

They all watch the first of his rubbery organs fall through the air and splat on the cold, wet ground followed by the trail of blood. A weighted silence looms, heavy with disbelief and held breaths hangs in the air, broken only by the splats of falling organs, and the spattering of blood hitting the ground from his suspended body. 

“Maybe you just need a little push,” the Monster says as it slides its spike appendage inside him and the end snaps off. Marcus falls like a rag doll to the ground with a splash. Another moment of quiet hangs precariously in the air carrying the threat of the potential for more horror. Monty, realizing that he hasn’t breathed in the last couple minutes, tries to take a breath but only a shallow gasp escapes. The creature leans over Marcus’ limp, viscera covered the body with an expression of almost expectation of his response. “M-Marcus!” Suddenly explodes out of Monty. The scream seemingly came from nowhere. As if hearing it, Marcus suddenly starts to thrash and convulse, letting out gurgling and heaving noises. His veins grow black while his skin remains a deathly pale. Black crystal clusters burst violently out of his skin in certain parts of his face, torso, arms, and legs as though his skin were paper. Large clusters suddenly burst out of his eye sockets with a guttural pop and a squishing sound and the monster seems...pleased with the abomination it created. Marcus stops moving again after a moment. 

“Well?” The monster asks.

“Y-yes” a deep and gargling voice gurgles from Marcus that is not his own.

“Wonderful. Now go my child! Bring him to me.”

Marcus raises his head abruptly and stares absently at Monty with his crystal clustered “eyes”. Monty's heart sinks. He scrambles to his feet, gurgling and growling and runs towards Monty, his intestines dragging on the ground. Monty, wide-eyed in shock and horror, aims at Marcus. Hesitating for only a moment before he fires. The round bursts through his shoulder leaving a gaping hole, then through the base of his throat. He keeps advancing, unfazed by this.

[myvoicenottheoneyougiveme]

(edit for the day’s parting shots and the increasingly apparent need to break away from toxic people)

...what it looks like, what it almost always presents as, is a false choice between two hyperbolic extremes ...and the rending of whatever human connection is facilitating ...the active knowing willful poisoning.

I live in a rat race made out of human connections. A maze that leads to nowhere and whose antics are always but for effect... the cost is betrayal and an evisceration of the most vulnerable parts of a person through the active denial of reality.

There are no consequences. There are no crimes begging consequences. But I am served consequences, the consequences of gaslit reframings of every single breath I take.

every

single

one

And “this” contorts in one direction and then another with no apparent regard for how it contradicts itself from one moment to the next. It fails to punish my existence to the point of ending me, and so finds a new angle of approach... almost without stopping to see whether it’s latest assault has taken affect or not. ...like a car might roll over something and then reverse and do it again, repeatedly without the driver stepping out to see whether he’s even finding his mark.

...And we’ll all tell ourselves that someone with nothing to hide, will not be harmed by what we’re doing. As if the payload really mattered next to the action. Is it a steel drum filled with water or sand? Does it matter? It flattens new pavement all the same. Only a narcissist would pick up on what we’re doing, so only our true target would be harmed or take issue with what we’re doing. Harm is somehow proof. Harm, when we’ve conditioned and trained someone for 14 years to expect certain things from us.

How should someone feel, when the people around them harbor such thoughts and intentions? How should someone feel, as a human being with any investment in their own life? How should someone feel to know ...know ...and we’ll distort reality, and we’ll hope to kill him like we killed him before. Projection is what we’re after. But projection is not what we ever get. It’s not science if the target knows. It’s not a true result if he can see right through you. It’s not fill in the blank, if it’s you literally beating him over the head with it till you get a reaction.

I can’t understand. I will never understand.

“This” is not something, I could ever do, could ever imagine doing to anyone. How can my frame of reference on “humanity” be that askew, that every last person I know dances to the beat of “this” drum?

You don’t think I won’t walk out of here and leave you holding the bill while I get my own place? Are you willing to take that bet? I’ve come closer to many things in the last couple of days, than I’ve been in some time.

The goal was to find a place where you are not. Why do I need that rig if I don’t have to come home to people like you?

What will you do then, short of breaking down the doors?

How many years, how many years day after day of “this” falling flat on its face, only to double down and redouble its efforts? How many years of “this” science before any result can be satisfactory?

How many YEARS does it take?

It’s not science, it’s not truth seeking, if it can’t accept a negative result.

How much blood do you have to take, before you are sated?

And the flying monkeys will believe one thing, and you will know another. You know deep down, and you don’t care, and even if you don’t know, you still don’t care. Remaining at the center of “this” is all that matters to you.

As long as “this” never ends, as long as it never ends... you never had an exit strategy. You never had an end goal. The goal posts you move on a daily basis. Holding onto “this” is the only goal you have. What is “true” is then whatever you need it to be, to serve that purpose.

And what’s true one moment, will be false the next. And the next will be something else, to contradict what came before it.

As long as there is something for you to cry wolf about, you’re satisfied. But you don’t even have that. The mental gymnastics you employ to create your ever shifting narrative, no sane person could ever put any stock into.

...but here we are. Somehow. Here we are, all dancing for you. All dancing around you. All of us. Every last one. For you.

The cost is the end of every last thing in my life you lay your hands on.

How many years of my life will you take from me?

Oh, it’s fine. Oh, it’s business as usual out there. Take my money to pay the bills and tie me down to force-feed me “this” death.

I can’t understand. I will never understand.

I can’t understand how human beings, could ever be capable of “this”.

A false choice between two extremes.

One of two things.

Till the day I die, an insidious disease unraveling the very fabric of human ties. Tomorrow will be the same as today. And the day after. And the day after that.

I will not live “this” way.

(edit last: comment: I should stop referring to my own lived experiences from the top-down perspective of a hypothetical scenario, but I recognize this as a defense mechanism I am employing against the full weight of these realities. It also doesn’t help, that... well, it’s ok when it’s done to me, yes? Or guys maybe. I should just buck up then. Whatever it is, I am not a human being worthy of such regard--humanity. Perhaps some part of myself is stained or partly caved in, not that I believe such a notion, but that I might have ever begun to feel its “truth”. But that’s all that manipulation and gaslighting is, whether that’s done to people around me or against me myself. Manipulation of emotion to override objective realities. You can begin to make me feel, in that brainwashing way that gaslighting is, that narcissistic abuse is, that I am not a being worthy of the kind of concern, I might myself apply to someone else, especially any such notion of “she”, that archetypal victim/hero I seem to fall for. What would my rage look like to see such harm done to her? Am I not worthy of respect and care and love myself? ...Hypothetical then, hypothetical imagined person suffering “this”, someone I can feel moved for or bleed for, even if I can’t always apparently afford myself or own myself (not that anyone will let me), the grave torture I am put through in “this”.

Referring to myself, my own experiences, from the third person or the hypothetical, I am distanced from the grief. I am also allowed to feel the rage I am entitled to, just vicariously. A person, someone, someone who is not me. Someone who is not the person who is apparently unworthy of human decency. To push back against “this”, a rallying force against “this”, from the emotional perspective of someone else’s stead.

It’s all beyond criminal... just not when it’s done to me apparently.

This I do frequently to even lift my voice against “this”. To zoom out and speak of “this”, as collected as even possible. To speak of the evil being done, removed as a bystander, rather than the one being buried alive by it.

Besides... schadenfreude means to relish an immediate or present, emotionally present loss of blood, further amplifying, further deepening the trauma. And owning the pain of “this” often invites an intensification of what is being done. Presence, emotional presence, is the antithesis of survival.

I would not plea for mercy from the likes of you. But I would condemn and name the evil done at your hands as evil... and you by extension.)

[sonderlivra]

Dea(r)th - An SnK (Eruri) Canon One-shot

Summary:

Erwin Smith suddenly finds himself with a dearth of several things -of soldiers, of words, and of ways to help his grieving Captain.

Angst, Graphic Descriptions, One swear word ahead.

Read on Ao3

“We have to be quick. Take Dominic's squad with you.”

“Understood!”

The man practically runs away, purposeful and energetic. Erwin can't help but wonder what it is that makes the man so zealous, so eager, even, to do such a vile task. Perhaps it was him, the fact that it was his command. Perhaps that was a good thing.

There is a commotion on the edge of their clearing, and Erwin suspects its reason almost instantly. Sure enough, when he makes his way through the huddled men, he finds two soldiers right in the middle, swords drawn, breathing heavily.

Levi's face is a dangerous, emotionless mask. He holds to his side, quite casually, a slimy bundle that is very clearly a human being. The next second allows Erwin to focus on the face through the slime.

“Eren,” he breathes.

The girl next to Levi speaks up, her voice clear and ringing. “We need to help him-”

Two or three people surge forward, one of them Hange, and they grab Eren from Levi's grasp.

“What happened?” Hange gasps.

“He's fine now. Clean him up,” Levi says wearily.

No one else questions him, not when he speaks in that tone. The girl with the red scarf leaves them abruptly, trailing behind Eren with poignant emotion on her face.

Mikasa Ackerman, Erwin reminds himself. Eren's childhood friend, his fearsome protector, the girl already being touted as the Levi of her generation. A small, blond boy joins her as they hurry past, his face etched with even more worry than the girl.

Ah. Eren's other childhood friend. His name slips Erwin's memory for the timebeing, but it can wait. There are more pressing issues at hand.

Levi hasn't moved an inch as he watches them take his underling away. He is still breathing heavily and his cloak is still faintly steaming.

“Levi,” Erwin begins, “what-”

“Are we retreating?” Levi cuts in, his voice still even. It is almost insolent, and with anyone else, Erwin would have taught them their place, immediately. But this is Levi. Erwin is acutely aware that no one else seems to have accompanied him and the Ackerman girl, and he can somehow tell from his blank expression that he doesn't seem to expect anyone else to join them.

He has never seen his eyes so dead before.

“In some time,” Erwin answers him. “We're trying to retrieve the bodies-”

“Is there another cart to spare?” And that is it, that is all Levi has to say. For a split-second, the world seems to rotate around Erwin in a slow, dizzying, sick circle. Then it stops, and he is standing tall and firm in the gloomy forest and Levi is looking up at him with dead eyes.

“Yes,” Erwin manages to say. They have more than enough carts, now that they've used up all the snares and the cannons that Hange so painstakingly put together.

“I need thirty minutes.”

“Would you like me to come with you?” Erwin blurts. But then he finds he doesn't regret asking. His soldiers can handle themselves, and there is little else left for Erwin to do at the moment, other than waiting for his men to bring back the eviscerated remains of his dead soldiers.

Levi is already walking to the closest empty cart. Erwin hears his low “Yeah” and nods, oddly relieved.

Mike is never far from him and handing him the command is a matter of seconds, something he has done many times before. Mike, being the excellent friend and excellent subordinate that he is, asks him nothing, only grasps his hand in a quick, reassuring grip.

And then they are off.

Levi doesn't use his gear. He sits at the head of the cart and drives the horse, Erwin sitting beside him. Neither of them say a word.

When he stops the cart, the huge trees around them are strikingly devoid of blood or human remains.

“It's further in.” Levi mutters. “The cart won't be able to go.”

Erwin nods and draws his triggers from his holsters. They shoot into the trees at the exact same moment, but unsurprisingly, Levi takes the lead two swings in. He is lighter, faster, and more skilled than Erwin could ever be, and Erwin has known this for a long time.

When the first figure comes into view, hanging feet up from the wires, Levi turns to Erwin. “I'll cut, you catch,” he says, and Erwin nods again.

Just before the wires are snipped, Erwin almost misses him say, “Watch the neck.” Almost. He leaps at the figure just as Levi swipes at the wires, and when he swings down with the body, he cradles the head carefully in the body's own bloody cloak.It is not difficult; Gunther Schultz was a light man.

They fly back to place the corpse carefully in the cart, arranging his head so it looks like it is still completely attached to the rest of his body.

Then, without another word, Levi takes off again, and Erwin follows him, silent as well.

They find some mangled, bloody mess that could have been Eld Ginn’s legs when he was alive. Without discussing it, they decide to leave it there and only take his torso back to the cart.

For their next run, Erwin is glad he thought of taking along one of the shrouds. Compared to Eld Ginn, Oluo Bozard is whole. Compared to Eld Ginn’s torso, Oluo is… not.

It has been a while since Levi has spoken a word. Concern is pounding in Erwin's chest, thrumming through his veins. But he knows there's no point talking to Levi now. He knows they have one last run left.

Petra Rall is on her knees, gazing sightlessly at the sky as if with veneration. The image is sickening. Erwin knows, from years of experience, that this -this will forever be branded into his head, another image that will be dredged up in his dreams to taunt his sanity.

But it is nothing, Erwin knows. It is nothing, because Levi sees it too. Levi stands before Petra Rall, as still as a statue, alive and breathing before her mangled corpse. What Erwin will take away from here, now, is nothing compared to what Levi will forever be burdened with.

They stand in silence before her for several long moments. Erwin simply waits for Levi's lead. In this moment, Levi commands him, not the other way round.

When Levi finally speaks, Erwin can only hear the crack in his voice but not his words.

Before Erwin can ask him, Levi repeats, “Her father.” He clears his throat and continues, “She wanted me to meet her father. She said he'll be waiting for us this time. She said he has something to tell me.”

For the first time in many years, Erwin is at a loss for words. Not a single word in his extensive vocabulary seems apt for the moment. Instead, he simply takes a step closer to Levi, hoping that at least this, his presence, will mean something. He knows it is too hollow a hope, though. He has been a soldier in the Survey Corps long enough to know that.

“I…” Levi finally turns around, finally looks at Erwin again. His eyes are dead, they are lifeless, lightless, tiny pinpricks of screaming, dark void.

“I don't know what to tell him.” The voice is low, quiet. He could be muttering in a meeting back at HQ. He could be whispering something in the quiet of a dark stable so as to not wake the horses. But he isn't. And Erwin still has nothing to say.

“I…” His eyes close, the lines around them weary, tired, betraying his age in an otherwise smooth face. “I don't know what to tell him, Erwin.”

Erwin steps closer, places his hand cautiously on his shoulder, says the only thing he can. “Levi…”

“I don't know…” Levi lists forward, as if he is falling, but Erwin is already too close. Perhaps he knows this, because when his forehead touches Erwin's arm, it does so gently. Erwin stretches his other arm around his shoulders and they stand there, frozen, rooted to the forest floor in grief.

When they break apart neither of them says anything. Levi gathers up Petra's body and leaves, with Erwin scrambling behind to catch up. When they reach the cart, Levi places her gently next to her comrades, wraps her up in her shroud as if he is putting her to bed. When he steps away and walks to the front of the cart, something catches Erwin's eye.

“What's wrong with your leg?”

Levi halts, shoots him a glance over his shoulder. “What?”

“You're limping.”

Erwin barely hears the soft “Tch.” He climbs up on the seat next to him and begins resolutely, “If you need a medic-”

“It's nothing.”

“You're limping.”

“It's nothing. I'm fucking limping, Erwin. It's a limp. It's nothing.”

The horse begins to trot as Levi guides it back to base.

“You're going to have to slow down.”

“After we return. Fine. I get it.”

Erwin thinks he heard an inflection of something at the word 'return’. He glances at Levi's hands, knuckles stark white against the reins of the horse.

“I can speak to him,” Erwin says softly. “If you like.”

There is a pause. It hadn't seemed possible, but Levi's knuckles clench more, turn more pale. “No.” Another pause. “It's gotta be me.”

Erwin sighs soundlessly. “Understood. But if you want me, I'll be there.”

“Okay.” He glances at him and then glances away. “Thank you.” Those two words are filled with more meaning than anything else Levi has spoken in a while.

His twisted, heavy heart seems to lighten in his chest, and a sudden lump finds itself in Erwin's throat. He nods, and swallows the lump.

“It’s nothing,” he says.

[dontcallmecarrie]

Fic Idea: The Fix-it Version [I Probably Won't Be Writing Because I Can't Do Romance To Save My Life]

Warnings: mental health issues, dubious morality, probably OOC in some places, extreme/severe Wanda bashing [which culminates in character death; if that’s not your cup of tea, sorry, maybe next time?], a JARVIS that’s uncomfortably close to Skynet, and a mindtrip of epic proportions [that can probably be classified as cruel and unusual torture, Inception-style]. Semi-canon compliant, through a certain point of view, though with shameless timeline fudging.

...On the plus side, there’s also Science Bros [kinda], and Team As Family feels? 

[The attempt at romance in here could fit with probably any pairing, I just picked this one because I used to ship it a lot harder in the past.]

Also, heads up for a very, very long post. [Sorry about that.]

Edited only to put in a cut, because I’m not kidding as to how long this is.

Tony Stark was a genius.

It was a fact of which there was no doubt, he had the test results from age three to prove it, even his greatest critics were forced acknowledge his intellect. Not to mention his impressive track record involving new patents and elements, or that one of the media's names for him was "the Da Vinci of our day"-- he was a genius, full stop.

That the world somehow forgot was another matter.

Sure, he was surrounded by superpowered people—gods and spies and doctors with breathtaking anger issues— but it still got old, the way everyone seemed to forget his multiple doctorates with each explosion. His laundry list of awards, hell, the new element he’d created, seemed to get overshadowed by the people he ran with. [To be fair, it'd be kind of hard to see past the Crown Prince of Asgard, but still.]

Point is, his brain's wired differently. It may sound arrogant, but it was true. Tony Stark had a gift that let him interact with the world on a level far beyond most mortals' ken, was able to take and assimilate data and work miracles.

Reason this all comes up is because a) that meant mental health issues were a special sort of hell, and, b) Wanda really didn't know what the fuck she was doing when she tried to screw with his mind.

What I’m getting to is this:

Tony never really snapped out of the initial mind-whammy Wanda hit him with, back in Sokovia.

It wasn't something she'd expected; she'd practiced with plenty of people, and yet the one guy she'd sworn revenge against for years gave a single panicked gasp, before slumping over and promptly going comatose.

Here's the thing: Wanda hadn't accounted for how his mind would accept the data presented. Like all other things, Tony's gift for rapidly processing and assimilating other input took this newest development, and proceeded to take it and run with it.

Tony's trapped in his head, stuck with only his inner demons and Wanda's malice. He doesn't notice; between his PTSD, and the way his greatest strengths are now being used against him, Tony only knows he's being confronted with his worst nightmares being turned reality, and the worst part is? It's a prison of his own making.

Every single subconscious fear is being dragged to the forefront, from betrayal to his own inadequacy at protecting those he loves. He's being torn down again and again by strangers wearing familiar faces, and Tony knows something's off but he can't quite pinpoint what and… and it's getting to the point where part of him's so bone-tired he sometimes can't help but wonder: would death would really be that much harder? Because as time goes by, he's getting so, so worn and he's so alone, that he's nearing his breaking point. [Just like Wanda had wanted him, in that moment when she'd thoughtlessly toyed with the very fragile and very powerful thing that was Tony's mind.]

There's just one problem: Wanda did her job too well.

See, JARVIS was the first to notice something was so, fundamentally wrong: Sir's readings had flickered erratically, but then after the female Enhanced had taken her leave, he had remained unresponsive to his increasingly desperate attempts to get his attention. Even as he notified the Avengers to this newest development, however, he set to scouring the world for the Dead Person Walking who'd dared to harm Sir. [He'd eviscerate them, would make them bleed and burn the world with a smile if it meant Sir's safety, Sir, please, wake up—]

The Avengers aren't ones to take this lying down, either.

Clint's especially vicious, at first; he's the first one to reach Tony, sees the fading traces of red in his eyes, remembers when his world had become awash with blue, and his hands don’t shake when he takes a shot at the fleeing duo [even though he so, desperately wants to]. The cry of pain he hears is vaguely cathartic, but vanishes the moment he hears Tony's first whimper and something is Not Right, this is beyond his pay grade, he needs backup stat!

Natasha's expression is blank, and that was everyone's first tip as to how furious she was. She hasn't let go of her phone, between keeping her friends updated [Pepper had cried when she'd heard Tony wouldn't wake], and scouring her contacts list for anyone who might have a shred of a clue as to how to help. She refused to give up on her friends, and Tony'd shared his coffee with her more than once at three in the morning, and they'd commiserated about tough choices and bloody pasts and second chances one too many times for her to consider him anything but.

Bruce is taking readings. He hasn't stopped, because the alternative is looking at the too-still and far-too-silent figure on the bed rather than the data, and if he does that… they'd have to deal with the Other Guy, who has some Strong Opinions as to his favorite person's current state— no, make that their favorite person: Bruce is very reserved, can't afford to be anything else, but somehow, despite everything, Tony'd managed to wriggle past his defenses with his constant chatter and Star Trek references and snacks and if he thought about it too much he'd have another Code Green, nope, focus on those brainwave patterns and see what he could do—

Thor had rushed to Asgard with the Scepter in tow, intent on returning with assistance, because Midgard was still so young in so many ways but he knew what branch of magic Lord Anthony had been a victim of, had heard Loki mention it offhandedly once or twice in their youth when showing off the power of enchantments, and there had to be a healer or magician willing to help—

Steve, meanwhile, has been taking it the worst: he'd been bantering with the team not five minutes before, and now he's seeing Clint, sharp and brittle in a way that was dangerously similar to the New York fiasco, and snarling about magic and oh god that was Tony.

Steve's heart had stuttered when he saw his body, and Natasha's bumping shoulders with Clint in an effort to help calm him down and Bruce looks like he's about as controlled as ever, but Steve's just. Drowning.

Because he's lost another friend, now; he'd just started to heal from Bucky's death, when the HYDRA reveal happened, and Tony'd been there for him afterwards, had been a good friend and helped him and Sam in their search. Tony'd been one of the last reminders of his past, had been a walking memorial of the generosity of an old friend [for all that Tony had hated to talk about his father, he was the spitting image of the man Steve had known, in some ways], and now? He's just…lost.

Steve had been talking to Natasha and JARVIS as to how to break it to Tony gently about his growing suspicions about HYDRA's involvement in Howard's death.

 [maybe it wasn't the Winter Soldier who did it, in this reality; maybe it was someone at the party who'd kept smiling and upping the alcohol content in Howard's drinks, and had sabotaged the brake fluid in his car instead. Thing is, Tony's head is a scary place, and with his growing paranoia and Wanda's influence, he can't help but jump to the worst-case scenario]

And ditto as to his possible crush that Natasha may or may not have been teasing him about for months. The crush that had merited multiple pitying looks from the team, because apparently he'd been very unsubtle in his attempts at hiding it, even if Tony had never noticed because the man was surprisingly obtuse in anything that vaguely smacked of emotions. Yeah, that crush. The one he'd put on the backburner, and was now bitterly regretting it.

So, yes, Steve wasn't doing well.

Time passes, and Thor comes and goes in his forays to seek out help. In doing so, however, the Avengers are only freaking out more and more, because with every hour that passes, Tony's condition only gets worse. His body's visibly getting more stressed, Bruce's tests have him hitting the tea more than ever before in an attempt to get a grip, and Steve hates seeing Tony like this but can't bear to leave [or let go of his hand].

JARVIS was especially distressed when, a few hours into his not-coma, Sir started to cry and call for him, and he'd never felt more helpless than when his sobs tapered off and mutters of a 'Vision' started. In his frustration, he dedicates more firepower towards finding the Dead Person Walking, and redoubles his search for anyone capable of doing anything.

It takes JARVIS less than three days, for him to find Wanda. It takes even less time, to capture her. Natasha is more than happy to aid him in interrogating her, and if the realization that she didn't know what she had done resulted in yet another corpse in a now-abandoned HYDRA bunker? Well...the instigator's death had no effect on Sir's condition meant it was no loss, at any rate. [That she'd shown absolutely no regret about having hurt Sir on such a fundamental level was only part of why JARVIS hadn't been particularly concerned about it all.]

More time passes, and the Avengers are growing increasingly desperate. Bruce had been forced to abscond to the Hulk-proof room after his latest set of readings, because Tony'd been showing all the warning signs for an impending heart attack despite their best efforts to help, and Steve's now going for a new streak in 'number of punching bags broken in an hour'.

Clint and Natasha are only marginally better off; having the knowledge that the witch was dead did something for Clint's peace of mind, but seeing Tony suffer was still grating on his nerves, and their spars grow increasingly vicious as time goes on. [If Steve wasn't even worse off, he'd have been staring in shock; as it was, he could only offer a tired smile when he saw them from his spot in the gym.]

Then, Thor returns with a name: Kamar-Taj.

Apparently, the Earth had magic as well, though it'd been hidden remarkably well. JARVIS takes this newest development, and runs with it as far as possible. The Quinjet was in India within the hour, with Bruce and Natasha calmly making their way to where JARVIS had identified a possible location. Clint's busily guarding Tony and keeping an eye on Steve, who'd wanted to go but was self-aware enough to know he wasn't the best guy for the job at the moment, and Thor was too conspicuous for it too.

Bruce knew enough Hindi to get by without too many weird looks, and the look in Natasha's eyes is enough to keep any potential muggers at bay. They find it quickly, and the wary questions they're asked means they're ushered to a darkened room in short order. Another terse few minutes of conversation finally have the Ancient One, alongside her right-hand man, walking back with the duo. [Bruce has to quell his knee-jerk reaction to run when he feels how everyone's attention when he mentions Thor's mention of 'mind magics' and something about stones? Man, he hated magic.]

A quick portal [that had the Avengers shifting and tensing uneasily when it'd opened, because hello security concerns] trip later, and Steve is a hairsbreadth away from snapping when the Ancient One surges backwards from where she'd run a few cursory hands near Tony's head.

"Who did this?" She asked, devastated fury evident in her tone and the way her companion moved to protect her. "This is an unspeakable act, punishable by death."

"They're dead." Clint replied, cold smile on his face and rolling an arrow [one of Tony's designs, one he'd been fiddling with before Sokovia] between his fingers.

"Good," the Ancient One bites out, "this is a travesty. It's mentioned in our archives, but only strong magicians with years of training even dare approach this, and only ever for healing purposes."

"Is there anything you can do?" Thor asked, "Few mages in Asgard specialize in this branch, and among that number the ones I knew who were capable of it are dead."

She looks at them, at the desperate look in their eyes, at the weariness in Bruce's face and the tension in Steve's frame and utter blankness in Natasha's expression, and smiles.

"Yes. It requires a lot of delicacy and preparation, especially for something that's lasted as long as this, but yes. Your friend is strong; it's been centuries since a human's been recorded with being under this, and they all died within three days."

Steve dented his chair when he sat back down, while Natasha merely tilted her head and replied, "It's been a week."

That added to the urgency, apparently: the Ancient One shared a look of horrified awe with Mordo, and set to work making their various preparations. Within the hour, they were ready, and when she asked if they would permit some of Kamar-Taj's students to observe the enchantment necessary for it, the team had a hurried, hushed debate.

"Please use your discretion. Only those who would not impede the process, I suppose." Natasha finally said, electing to be the Avenger's spokesperson [now that Tony was out of commission nope don't think about it—].

Steve didn't leave Tony's side until a few minutes before the ritual started; and then, he couldn't look away from the growing circle and only blinked when the light got too close to blinding even for him, and when he heard a quietly heartbroken "so was I" and a scream Thor had to help hold him down to keep from interfering.

Clint, meanwhile, shifted the entire time, antsy about magic and couldn't help but envy Bruce for stepping outside [the Other Guy was even less of a fan of magic than he was, and that took effort], and trying not to stare too openly at one of the students who'd elected to watch the ceremony. It was kind of hard, actually; he'd introduced himself as Dr. Stephen Strange, but in the minutes that it'd taken for Mordo to finish setting up the room, Clint couldn't help but notice the way the man hadn't stopped with the questions [much like Tony had with Thor nope nope he'd wake up dammit—] and it was uncanny, especially with the Van Dyke the man was sporting.

The ceremony's completed, and Tony's heart stopped partway through.

Fortunately, apparently Strange had actually been a medical doctor in the past, and between him, Bruce, and the Iron Man suit JARVIS had  commandeered to help in this endeavor, restarting it was less stressful than the past few hours had been.

"He should wake soon," the Ancient One told them, "make sure he takes it easy while he recovers, it's not often that people survive a death-curse."

The Avengers in general thanked her profusely, and JARVIS did the same. Then, at long last, they went home.

Tony wakes up to JARVIS' voice updating him about New York's weather forecast and stock prices and his relief of his latest change in status, with the familiar beeping of a heart monitor in the background. [Well, now familiar, at least, between Rhodey and Happy and nope—]

"Hey, Vision, where you at?"

"Sir, who is this 'Vision' you speak of? It is currently May—"

Tony sat up abruptly, heart starting to hammer again as he took in his surroundings. "Vision, where am I? This isn't funny."

"Sir, I am JARVIS. Do you require medical assistance?"

Tony froze from where he'd been running a hand through his hair. "JARVIS?" He breathed, and then looked around again carefully, "Oh, god. I lost it, didn't I?"

JARVIS was alarmed when Sir started laughing, and then his breath hitched and he started crying.

As such, it was perfectly understandable that he urged the Avengers to hurry; Mr. Barton and Ms. Romanov had been sparring in the gym while Capt. Rogers had been coming back from lunch, and Thor was currently in the middle of yet another Q&A session with the Ancient One concerning possible extraplanetary threats and magic.

Tony was barely getting his bearings back, and wondering what the hell was going on, when the door burst open, and what the fuck?!

He couldn't quite hide a flinch when Steve surged towards him, relief evident on his face, and…what.

Why was he being hugged? Was this another attempt to kill him, wasn't Siberia enough? What the— why was Natasha smiling? No, strike that; why was Clint smiling? Bruce was here?! And why was he hearing JARVIS' voice from the walls and not from Vision, again?

"Oh, god. I've really lost it this time, haven't I?"

The story comes out, of course.

Tony doesn’t know why Steve refuses to let him go if at all possible, but the part of him that hopes this isn't just some nervous breakdown isn't shy about enjoying the hugs [even if they got almost too tight in some parts, like when his voice broke when talking about Ultron, or the Civil War and it was all his fault—] and the way the team didn't seem to hate him [for once].

Actually…Tony isn't sure if he's really lost it, but he's also not sure if he wants to find out. Because here, JARVIS lives, and Rhodey can walk, and people actually listen to him about his worries and actually seem to care—

Clint and Natasha share a Look, the more Tony goes on. [Clearly, they'd been too merciful, when dealing with Wanda.]

Bruce greeted Tony with a smile, and then gave him some personal space: he knew him well enough to know it'd be appreciated, and what with the way the rest of the team was acting, Tony'd be lucky if he so much as went to the bathroom without an armed escort for the rest of the year.

Thor, when he arrives, tries to wrap Tony up in a hug—which makes for a dicey situation, because Steve refuses to let him go and Natasha and Clint are also a lot more likely to try to cuddle right now after the scare they all had. There may or may not be a small battle royale going on in the living room for the best spot on the couch, whenever Tony so much as gets up for a glass of water.

[aka Tony gets all the hugs]

Steve, meanwhile, is just as bad as JARVIS regarding his willingness to let Tony out of his eyesight. That is to say, he's very unwilling to do so. As in, barely willing to let him out of arms' distance, and that'd been before he'd heard about Tony's ordeal. [He hadn’t noticed Tony's flinch at first, but it's not until he heard about the 'Civil War', and Siberia that it hits home, just why he'd reacted that way, and it hurts.]

JARVIS has been in Sentry Mode since Sokovia. He has yet to let Sir out of his sensors' range, and the odds of that ever happening lower with each day that passes. Not that Sir's complaining; more than once, he'd simply called, "JARVIS?" just to hear a response, and seemed to take comfort in his updates about the situation.

Colonel James 'Rhodey' Rhodes had been in the middle of a mission, when JARVIS informed him of Tony's coma. If it hadn't been so sensitive, he would've up and vanished, but as it was he was the only thing between a warlord and a poor province until backup arrived, and though he burned to leave ASAP, he couldn't. [Tony'd never forgive him.]

The moment the op was over, though, and the people were safe, James pushed his suit to the limit to get to Tony's side, where his best friend was awake and coherent and rushing in for a tight hug just like he'd been after Afghanistan. He knows exactly why Rogers refuses to let go of Tony [even if it's for starkly different reasons; the man was not subtle at all, and if he hadn't known Tony for years, James'd wonder if he was being purposefully obtuse, because this was getting ridiculous].

He stays for as long as he can manage, and the way Tony just collapsed into his side each time means he's sharing increasingly concerned looks with the Avengers, because he's known Tony to be rather stoic about some things [ha—understatement of the year], and yet the friend he's known for decades teared up the moment he strode into the room, and what the hell happened to him?!

But no matter; he'll be there for Tony. Just like always.

Pepper's much the same way, having been dealing with investors in Japan, and able only to arrive after all had been said and done [though she'd noticed the haunted look in Tony's eyes, and made a note to talk with James and JARVIS about what actions needed to be taken to remedy this]. She wraps him up in a hug when she first sees him, and the way he'd only slowly relaxed was enough of a warning in and of itself, to her.

She's got a business meeting coming up, but in the meantime she and Tony curl up and watch old French movies with the lights off, and sharing blankets and granola without a care for crumbs. [She smiles when he finally loses that last edge of tension, when he slumps bonelessly against her and the couch, and doesn’t make a comment about the blinking earpiece he’s got, the one JARVIS likes to use whenever Tony’s out and about and needing a discreet way to stay connected. Tony was strong, he’d pull through. And she’d help him, whenever he asked it of her, as per usual.] 

Time passes, and Tony heals. 

He stops flinching at everyone’s sudden movements, stops startling whenever he hears JARVIS, gradually starts opening up again and lowering his guard, inch by inch. Slowly starts to up his chatter again, and the team’s never been more relieved than when the familiar strains of AC/DC start to filter through again, after months of silence [because Tony only ever played music when he was comfortable, when he felt safe and happy and secure with his place in the world].

Time passes, and everyone gradually moves on, though JARVIS' Sentry Mode is still a constant shadow to Tony and the Avengers' paranoia regarding magic never really goes away, not until months after Stephen Strange becomes a consultant and they see him and Tony bantering about facial hair and Arthur C. Clarke and doctorates.

Time passes, and when Thanos arrives, it's to an Earth with a set of guardians all as fiercely protective of each other as a pack of wolves, a tight-knit and cohesive unit devastating both on the battlefield and off of it.

[Suffice it is to say, Thanos doesn’t walk away from that particular encounter.]

There’s more going on in the background, of course. Exhibit A being the romance subplot [that could apply to just about any pairing in this scenario], and I’ve really skimmed just how long it takes for Tony to heal from experiencing canon events. 

Steven Strange’s part got shifted up in the timeline, and the Ancient One doesn’t die; instead, he ends up being a consultant for the Avengers, but his focus is on keeping the New York Sanctum safe. [Mordo, Wong, and James Rhodes just share a Look, the moment they first see Tony Stark and Stephen Strange in the same room. It may or may not have been one of horrified awe, of ‘oh god there’s two of them’, minutes before the first explosion started.]

...FYI, this JARVIS is basically TWiFFON’s JARVIS, and just my approach to him in general. That is to say, his focus on Tony’s safety and happiness is one of [if not the] biggest motivation for his actions, and a morality a lot more nebulous than most would probably be comfortable with, given he’s basically Skynet as is.

[itispossibleihaveissues]

This Night - Chapter 4

TITLE: This Night AUTHOR: Mikimoo RECIPIENT: tristen84 PAIRING: JayDick RATING: Mature

WARNINGS: Off screen Non-Con, murder of innocent young people, 

THIS CHAPTERS WARNINGS: Reference to non-con, a racial slur, violence and nastiness. The usual.

SUMMARY: The Red Hood and Officer Grayson are on the same case. A small misstep has far reaching consequences for them both.

Chapter 1, 2 3

Ruiz was waiting for him, crouched just off the path, gazing out at the dappled light of dawn. How many days had they been in this goddamn jungle? Jason had lost count.

“I can hear them coming,” she said as he approached. Her knuckles were white where she gripped her gun, but her hand was steady. Probably steadier than Jason's, who could really feel fatigue setting in. He was used to running on empty, used to over extending himself – but the high doses of drugs he had been shot up with just days before were playing havoc with his body as they were flushed out of his system. He could only imagine how unpleasant Dick's come-down was.

“Lets run,” he told Ruiz, pulling her to her feet. “Got to leave a clear trail for them to follow – then when we're far enough away, we can head into the jungle and try to loose them.”

Ruiz nodded and they took off at a reasonable pace. It was jarring and Jason's whole body ached and throbbed. “What kind of dog is it?” he asked between breaths, sudden curiosity helping to take his mind off the pain.

“What?” Ruiz panted beside him, shooting him an angry glance from under the wild tangle of her hair.

“The dog you're going to feed Dick to.”

She gave him another incredulous look, and Jason wondered if he also caused all those eye rolls and twitches that seemed so prevalent with people who suffered exposure to Dick Grayson and his special brand of bat-shitery.

“A Pomeranian,” she said at last, almost defensively.

Jason snorted despite his lack of breath. “One of those dumb fluffy things? Hardly a corpse devouring fiend.”

“Have you ever met a Pomeranian? They are tiny rat-bastards.”

“I'll take your word for it,” Jason huffed, amused despite himself. “I always fancied getting a dog, but don't really have the lifestyle for it,” he mused. By his calculations they had run a quarter of a mile; time to turn off the path and start making there way though the undergrowth.

“I enjoy dogs,” Ruiz said, her voice harsh with the effort of keeping pace with Jason's longer legs. “These little asshole ones especially – they're tiny savages.”

Jason motioned for her to stop and they both took a moment to catch their breath. “What's it called, your tiny, viscous fluff-ball?”

“Napoleon,” Ruiz said, straight faced.

Jason laughed loud enough even the dense jungle couldn't quite swallow the sound.

 Half an hour later and they were running again, this time fighting through the tangled, rough terrain of the forest. The good news was their ruse seemed to have worked and the gang was following them, rather than hunting for Dick. The bad news was the men tracking them were fit, well rested and well fed. And they had gained an alarming amount of ground.

It was only a matter of time until the soldiers caught up, and Jason was pretty sure they were still far enough out from the rendezvous point that when they did it would be a very uneven fight. But there was not much more they could do but run and pray to whatever gods might be listening.

In the end they got further than Jason thought they would. But it still wasn't far enough.

Bullets shot past them as they ran, and Jason tugged Ruiz behind a tree. She was flushed and panting, great gulps of air that looked painful. Jason's own lungs felt tight with exertion and sweat was running into his eyes. He wiped his face with his sleeve as he tried to think of a way out of this, but he was coming up blank - there was fuck all he could do to save them.

On one hand he was glad Dick wasn't here for this final stand, maybe he would have a chance to survive, maybe the mercenary would find him and rescue him, maybe he would be able to contact someone on the tablet. Or, on the other hand, Dick might be facing a long, slow death of fever, dehydration and sickness, alone in the forest. Either that, or he might end up back in their hands; tortured and abused. Jason shuddered, fought down the impotent rage that welled up in his chest. He couldn't let himself dwell on that. Dick would find a way to survive. He had the tablet and he was smart. If he managed to stay conscious he would figure out a way. Jason decided to stick to that thought, to keep faith in Dick's ridiculous ability to beat the odds.

“We know you're there, officers,” a voice called out from the bushes behind them. “You give up, and we let you live. I can even guarantee you will not be harmed. But you run, or fight back and you will be made to regret it before you die. This is your last chance.”

Jason had three bullets left. Ruiz had none. They were fucked.

Ruiz watched him check his ammo, her mouth set in a grim line. “I have no intention to go quietly,” she told him, “I won't make that choice for you, but I will ask that you save one of those bullets for me, if they capture me.”

Jason nodded numbly. For the first time he let himself wonder what had happened to her during her three days of captivity, whether she had endured the same kind of torture Dick had, if she had also been assaulted. He had assumed, because they hadn't drugged her, that they were keeping her unharmed for a reason. But perhaps it was just that Dick had been so much harder to handle.

Not a question he was going to ask, and not a choice he was going to contest, even if he wanted to. He handed her the gun. “That's your decision, Ruiz, but pick your moment carefully and use the other two on them. I'm going to see if I can take a few out before I go down.”

“How?”

He shrugged. “Bullshit, mostly.” He checked his hidden weapons carefully and took a few steadying breaths. He was going to have to be convincing, if he had a chance in hell of getting in close enough to get a couple of them with his blade. He raised his voice, “I'm not one of the cops you want. That means you've got no reason not to shoot me, so I'm not seeing an incentive for giving up without a fight.”

“That's true, but we might go easy on you.”

“Yeah, right. I was you, I wouldn't go easy on a guy who killed my buddies. So I figure I got to give you a reason, right?”

“Right,” the guy said, unimpressed.

“How about fifty thousand reasons?”

“I'm listening,” the guy replied, his voice picking up a bit. Greed was a wonderful motivator.

“You know who the American cop is, don't you?”

“Wayne's gypsy brat,” the guy said, his tone contemptuous. “Worth more than his weight in gold, or he was. Not sure Wayne will want him back now, never thought sloppy seconds was the kind of thing a guy like that would go for.”

Jason took a moment to wrestle down the red haze of rage that suddenly colored his vision. The only thing that kept him clinging to his sanity was he would get to kill more of them if he waited until the time was right. Beside him Ruiz sucked in a sharp breath, and Jason could feel the fury radiating off her. She probably hadn't been aware of what had happened to Dick when they were separated. Her anger helped steady him, tighten his resolve.

This guy was going to be first to die.

Once he had his voice level he spoke up again. “Wayne will pay a ransom for me, too.”

The man snorted in disbelief, “I don't think so, a fucking cape like you?”

“Everyone knows Wayne finances the Batman and his crew,” Jason said, warming to his story. “You ever wonder why?”

“No,” the guy was starting to sound bored.

Jason did spare a thought for the shit-show that this bunch of crap could bring down on Bruce, but apart from the one big lie, he wasn't saying much that wasn't already known or rumored. He was actually quite proud of the thread of almost plausible shit he had just managed to cobble together on the fly.

“I'm his illegitimate son,” Jason said. The words sounded absurd when they came out his mouth, but they skirted close enough to the truth that they were almost convincing. And they were backed up by the gossip that had been circulating for years - that Bruce had fathered numerous kids and kept them and their mothers quiet with cash. There was even speculation Tim was his biological son, and the adoption was mealy a way to legitimize his chosen heir. Something that people felt was backed up by the fact he had not adopted Dick until he was an adult – the gossip sites liked to speculate that only happened to try to distract from the rumors that his interest in Dick had been sexual in nature.

Fuck knows what they thought of Damian, but Bruce did try to keep the boy out of the public eye. Partly because that kind of life was stressful for a child, and partly to avoid a lawsuit, when an incensed Damian verbally eviscerated a reporter or two. Or literally, with that kid, literal disembowelment was also on the cards.

“Right,” the guy said, unimpressed.

Time to sell it. “Grayson knows me, that should be obvious – he rescued me, I rescued him. We're brothers, after a fashion. Not to mention the fact that if you ask Wayne and he denies it, I know I'm going to die a lot more painful than a bullet to the head.” Jason was aware of Ruiz watching him carefully, assessing. Jason hoped there was enough truth in there to persuade the bad guys, and enough lies to convince her he was bullshitting to save his skin. “You've got nothing to lose, and everything to gain. You either get cash, or the chance to kill me.”

The guy was quiet for a moment, thinking. “I hear a lot of you talking, and not much from Grayson backing you up. You got anything to say, or you just let the real men talk?” he said, presumably to Dick.

Jason bit his lip until it bled, forcing calm before answering. “I'm afraid you've lost your chance with Grayson. He's long gone.”

“How'd you mean, long gone?” Now the guy sounded angry, the thought of that ransom slipping through his fingers.

“We separated a while back, he went his own way, figured we were more likely to survive that way. So, you have very little chance of catching him up, I'm afraid. Which means, you want your ransom, you got to go with me.”

There was a moment of angry silence while the guy thought it over. No doubt weighing his need to hurt something for the embarrassment of losing Dick, verses his greed. Greed won out, it usually did. “Throw down your weapon and step out. Let me look at you.”

Jason tossed out his empty gun. “The guy that's speaking, is mine,” he whispered to Ruiz, “use your bullets carefully, and run like hell. You might get away while I distract them – don't argue – if there is a chance one of us can live to get help for Dick and to bring these guys down, we have to take it.”

She didn't look happy about it, but she nodded.

Jason stepped out into the clearing, his whole body braced for the bullets that didn't come. It looked like they had taken the bait, at least for now. He could feel the comforting weight of the long knife strapped to his back, and the firm tug of his wrist sheath as he calculated the odds. He had to get closer. In his left sleeve there were three tiny shuriken that could be released and flung with devastating results at this range, but he wanted to gut this fucker.

He took a step forward.

The man looked him over carefully. Jason thought about what he would look like gurgling his last breaths, blood pulsing over the blade of Jason's knife. He tried to keep the bloodlust off his face, but might not have suceeded, as two of the men took a step back.

The lead guy could only see money though. “Fifty thousand is not much for a man like Wayne. Not much for a son.”

“I didn't say he liked me, just that he's my father. However, he is very fond of my mother, so you let me speak to her first and she'll push the price up. Sky's the limit.”

The guy nodded, already seeing all of Bruce's money at his disposal. Jason wondered if he was actually supposed to be doing this or whether he was planning to act independently and keep the cash. Made sense, as they had not appeared to have made the connection between Dick and Bruce back in the house above the river.

“Okay, lets take him,” the guy said.

Jason tensed, feeling adrenalin flood his system. The shuriken fell into his hand when he released them and nestled between his fingers. The smaller knife slid free too, ready to stab that piece of shit in the throat.

He stepped forward again, as a thug with some cuffs moved doubtfully towards him.

Then everything changed.

He saw the sudden glint of a sword slicing down toward the leaders undefended neck and time seemed to stand still for a beat, then the guys neck and part of his jaw exploded outwards with the impact of the blade. Jason threw himself forward, not a second too soon as some of the guards fired there weapons in surprise, aimed right at the spot his head had been moments before.

He hit the ground hard, but rolled with his forward momentum and saved himself from being perforated by the dumb assholes squeezing the trigger at random. His instinctual lunge had saved him from death but a bullet still clipped his ankle sending white hot pain shooting up his leg.

One of the shuriken had sliced his fingers as he rolled but the other flew out and in to the eye of an armed guard, who screamed and dropped his weapon. Jason dove for it. Most of the men were now firing haphazardly into the jungle trying to hit whoever was picking them off with a big-ass sword. Big mistake. Jason sprayed them with bullets not caring who or where he hit. Ruiz sensibly remained behind the tree, thus missing being splattered in the uncoordinated spray of bullets from both sides.

Then there was an eerie silence, men lay dead around the clearing, and Jason was almost giddily shocked he wasn't among them. He blinked stupidly at the gun in his hand and his bleeding fingers. Then his ankle remembered it had been shot, pulsing with sudden agony and Jason sat down on his ass, hard.

He hoped it was just a brush of a bullet and nothing more serious, but he couldn't tell with the throbbing and the banging feeling in his head. He was suddenly aware he was incredibly thirsty, almost gasping, and his body felt shaky and weak.

He was also very aware this was not over yet.

“Jason, are you OK?” Ruiz called from behind the tree. Her eyes were wild but she was still gripping her gun with a steady hand. Jason added one hundred points to his already very high opinion of her as she remained hidden in the relative safety of her spot until she knew if their mysterious rescuer was friend or foe.

“I'm fine,” he was amazed at how even his voice was. “You may as well show yourself,” he called to the person waiting in the line of trees.

The man that stepped into the clearing was instantly recognizable despite his dark, nondescript fatigues and black balaclava. The sword was only part of it, the way he moved made the hair on Jason's arms stand on end.

Fuckity fuck. This was one of the three people he didn’t want to have picked up their contract.

They stared at each other for a moment, Jason still sitting in the dirt clutching an empty gun. Wonderful, not at all awkward.

From behind him, he could hear Ruiz's ragged breaths – she might not know who this was, but she sure as shit could sense the dangerous menace radiating off him.

“Oh, for fucks-sake,” Jason burst out eventually. “Tell me you're taking the contract and I don't have to fight you?” he tried to keep the plaintive note out of his voice, but he suspected he hadn't quite managed it.

Slade Wilson pulled his balaclava up, revealing one blue eye and an amused smirk. “You're not the brat I was expecting,” he said, “and you seem to be one light. My contract was for three.”

Jason nodded, unbelievably relieved, but not ready to let his guard down – he and Wilson did not have the best working relationship. “How much did you hear?” he asked, forcing his body to move he struggled to his feet. His ankle ached and throbbed but he was glad to find it took his weight.

“Some,” Wilson said, after a pause.

Cagey fucker. Well, Jason would deal with that issue later, for the time being they needed to get Ruiz to safety and head back to where they left Dick. The sense of urgency was nagging at him, every second they wasted was courting disaster. “Dick was injured, we left him a way back, we didn't know who would pick up the job, but we figured getting to them was our only hope.”

“Hmm,” Wilson said, turning his single eye towards the tree Ruiz was still crouched behind. “You didn't just abandon Grayson when he became too much of a burden?”

“We did no such thing!” Ruiz shouted angrily, “and the longer we spend here the more likely he will be found – we must go back!”

Wilson looked amused. Jason wasn't sure what to make of that. “Do you have transport?” he asked, hopefully. “And tracking equipment? We have a signal we can follow back to where we left him.”

Wilson nodded. “I came by Night Jet. Lets return there and see if we can pick up this signal. My contract was for three, and three I will bring back, dead or alive.”

That sounded so encouraging.

Ruiz finally emerged from hiding, still clutching her gun. She eyed Wilson suspiciously. “You know this man?” she asked Jason, quietly, although probably not quietly enough to escape his notice.

“Yeah, Slade Wilson. He's a... private contractor we paid to help us escape. We have some history.”

“You trust him?”

“Not an inch. But he is good at what he does, as long as we pay him, he'll help us.”

Ruiz nodded and bent to retrieve the gun of a fallen guard. She looked exhausted and at the end of her reserves, but she still examined the weapon carefully and tucked it into her belt as she picked up another. Jason followed her example and restocked his own ammo supply, and then moved after Wilson back into the jungle.

 The Night Jet was a small military grade stealth plane. Ruiz sank into the seat Wilson pointed her too with open relief. Jason perched on the edge of his, reluctant to sit properly in case he couldn't get up again.

“So,” Wilson begun, “what should I call you, Red?”

“Jason,” Jason replied, wearily. He appreciated Wilson's efforts not to blow his cover, but he was fairly sure Ruiz was going to have some serious questions for Dick when this was all over. He hoped they could come up with something convincing.

Wilson raised an eyebrow, but gave no further indication of his opinion. “Track Grayson's signal and I'll find him.” He passed over a hand held devise.

Jason quickly utilized it to find Dick's signal – it was still strong. Although that didn't mean there was any guarantee he was still in one piece, it was still a relief to know they could track him. “I'm going with you,” he told Wilson, handing the devise back over.

“You don't look like you are in any fit state, Jason.” He practically purred the name and it made a uncomfortable shudder work its way up Jason's spine.

“No compromise.”

“Okay, it’s your money, and your skin.” Wilson smiled like a shark. “Or is it Wayne's?”

Jason grit his teeth. “Doesn't matter as long as you get paid, right?”

“I'll come too,” Ruiz said, struggling upright from where she had been sinking into the comfortable seat.

“No,” Jason said, “not because you would be a hindrance, you wouldn't, but if shit goes wrong, I want there to be someone who gets out and brings the hurt down on these fucks.”

“We will come back,” Wilson put in mildly, “at least I will.”

“Well, then you can get her out of here and then take the extra cash to return and help clear these bastards out,” Jason snapped. “Can we stop wasting time and just go?”

Wilson shrugged his huge shoulders and stood with the fluid grace of a man who was completely at ease with himself. Jason had to concentrate all his energy and stubbornness just to regain his feet and even then he couldn't keep the wince off his face.

Wilson looked at him critically. “I'm willing to humor you to some extent, kid, but not at my own expense. You want to come with me, you let me patch you up.”

The thought of Deathstroke that far in his personal space, putting hands on him, made Jason shudder again. But they really didn't have time to argue, and Wilson was holding all the cards. Jason nodded stiffly and sat back in the chair.

Wilson raised an eyebrow at his easy compliance but didn't mock him for it, for which Jason was grateful. “Apart from the ankle, any other major injuries?” he asked kneeling in front of Jason and taking hold of his boot in a strong grip.

“Bruises mostly. Bit stiff from being shot through body armor and pumped full of weird drugs.”

“When was that?” Wilson started to untie the laces on his boot, each tug made Jason's jaw clench in pain.

“Few days ago,” he said, attempting to control his voice. “Dick shot me out a window.”

Wilson snorted and the edge of a smile tugged at his lip under the short beard. “Did he now?”

His fingers against the swollen, sore flesh of Jason's foot were not gentle, but they weren't overly harsh either - brisk and firm; professional. Jason wished it were painful instead. The sensation was making his skin crawl.

Wilson declared his foot unbroken, but the bone might have chipped a little from the impact, it was obvious from his expression that he thought Jason was going to fuck it up even more if he traipsed back tough the jungle on it. But instead of giving the lecture he expected, Wilson just wrapped it tightly in bandages and handed over a couple of light painkillers.

The walk back into the forest was unpleasant, but Jason had come back from the fucking dead, he wasn't going to let a little exhaustion and pain get the better of him. Also he had already fallen on his ass in front of Wilson once today, he wasn't going to do it again.

The jungle itself felt more oppressive now, although he felt a lot safer with Wilson's big frame in front of him. Wilson would take down any attackers, he had no doubt, but Jason was sill hyper aware that he himself was a walking liability. It was a nerve-wreaking trip.

It felt like hours, but was probably closer to forty-five minutes. Apparently in their frantic run he and Ruiz had taken something of a convoluted route. They finally made it back to the path and Jason felt another bolt of adrenaline hit him. Was Dick okay? Had he been discovered? Had he succumbed to his injuries and they were walking towards a corpse? Jason's heart was hammering so hard in his chest he felt queasy, and there was a cold pit of anxiety bubbling in his stomach.

The other nagging concern was if he was making a huge mistake trusting Wilson – he wasn't sure what he and Dick's relationship was at the moment. Over the years it seemed to have run the gauntlet of wry, antagonistic affection, all the way to outright hatred and back again. Jason couldn't shake the worry that he was leading Deathstroke towards a critically injured Dick who would be unable to defend himself if Wilson was currently holding a grudge – or someone else's contract.

But there was fuck all choice at the moment – if things went to shit, he would just have to deal as it happened. If Wilson had any indication of the direction of Jason's thoughts, he gave no indication and instead tugged aside the undergrowth to reveal Dick, awake, but glassy eyed and sweating. He was also holding Jason's gun in shaking hands, pointed right between Wilson's eyes.

Relief flooded though Jason, the feeling so intense it almost knocked him off his feet. “Stand down, Dickie,” he said.

Dick blinked up at him, the gun stayed pointing at Wilson's face though. Wilson, for his part remained still and calm – a wise move Jason suspected.

“Jay,” Dick slurred, “Ruiz OK?”

“Yeah, how you holding up?”

“M' fine,” Dick said, unconvincingly. He swung his gaze back to Wilson – recognition in his face this time. “He our help?” he asked.

“For our sins, Yeah.”

Dick didn't look overly alarmed, and lowered his gun, which went a way towards convincing Jason that Wilson might not just kill them out of hand.

“You look a mess, kid,” Wilson said.

Dick grimaced at him and held out an arm to Jason, like he wanted to be pulled up.

Jason stepped towards him, but Wilson held out an arm to stop him. “You don't look like you could withstand a healthy sneeze in your direction, Red. I doubt trying to help the kid up is going to do more than land the pair of you back in the dirt. And I don't think we have the time to take the luxury of sorting you out again.”

Jason didn't like it, but it was true. He was wobbling on his bad ankle and Dick didn't look too steady either and he was still sitting down. Wilson didn't give him time to think it through though, and reached to haul Dick to his feet, holding him upright with one big hand.

Dick clearly wasn't expecting it and lashed out wildly, toppling backwards in an uncoordinated flail of limbs. Wilson looked comically surprised. None of the frantic blows hand even landed, which was a testament to Dick's physical condition, but it was the action it’s self that indicated his emotional state and it felt wrong. And not just to Jason, judging by the way Wilson was watching Dick as he lay panting in the undergrowth.

“Sorry,” Dick said into the awkward silence, as both Jason and Wilson stared at him. “You took me by surprise. I'm not with it,” his speech slurred slightly at the end of the sentence, and he wet his lips, peering up at them.

Wilson nodded and held out a hand again, this time Dick accepted the help and Wilson pulled him upright. Once on his feet he wobbled for a moment, looking pale and sick. There was no way he was going to make it back though the jungle on his own two feet, and Jason wasn't going to be the one to carry him. From the look on Dick's face he knew it too, and didn't like it.

“Kid,” Wilson began, but Dick waved him off.

“I know, just give me a moment. Got water?”

Wilson handed him a canteen and Dick drank greedily, his eyes almost closed. Then he nodded his consent. He avoided looking at Jason, as Wilson scooped him up in his arms like he didn't weigh a thing. Wilson remained impassive, but Dick looked explosively tense for a moment, before relaxing into the hold and laying his cheek against Wilson's shoulder. It made Jason uncomfortable, but he couldn't quite say way.

“Red, you need to take point,” Wilson growled at him.

Jason forced his body into motion again. An hour to safety. 

Just an hour.

[omgnsfwisnsfw-blog]

Acquaintance

Mike couldn’t believe this was happening. It was like some kind of bad dream, and while they couldn’t be angry at John, they were a tad irked that his unflappable gentle politeness had gotten them into this mess. But there was nothing to be done for it now. They were stuck. Stuck with a roast beef with carrots and potatoes, green beans, dinner rolls, and their mother casting thinly disguised disapproving glances in both they and John’s directions. For his part, Kerry McGuire was trying to keep the mood pleasant, and with his infectious jovial attitude he really could’ve succeeded if not for the tension that any one of the four people at the table could’ve reached up with a fork and stabbed. Liz McGuire, however, wasn’t nearly as naturally cheerful, at least as it appeared- she was a lithe woman who kept her swimmer’s taut figure in defiance of age, her blonde hair pulled back in a slightly loose bun. She could’ve been a very pretty woman if she’d only smile, but alas, her expression only seemed to fluctuate between grim and slightly sour. Occasionally her eyes met her only child’s, only for the gaze to break almost as soon as it found purchase. “So!” Kerry’s voice was almost jarring in its good cheer as it broke the awkward sounds of clinking cutlery and soft chewing. “You two’re gettin’ to to defend those belts of yours again this month, aye? Bet you’re lookin’ forward to it.” John stacked green beans on his fork. Feeling two pairs of eyes on him, now three, he looked up briefly. “Sure.” Three beans was enough, he popped them into his mouth and chewed quietly. “Hopefully you make it through in one piece. I still don’t like that you went into such a dangerous situation after just getting a cast off, Michelle. I like even less that you wound up with one in the first place.” Mike bit into their forked bit of roast quite a bit more savagely than necessary. “I’m fine, Mom.” Their eyes flick to John, trying to both be encouraging and wordlessly beg for them to make an exit. They’d wanted to avoid this very scenario for a reason- when Kerry had invited them home for dinner Mike had been one breath away from telling their father sorry, but they’d already made plans, but before they could, their partner had accepted. If it’d been just Kerry, that would’ve been fine. But nothing ever seemed to work out just the way Mike would find ideal. “Good. Anyway. John, is it? It’s been quite some time since Michelle brought anyone home, and she never tells me about her… acquaintances.” Liz leaned forward, her gaze scrutinizing. “You’re obviously in the same… industry… as my daughter. Around where were you before she found you? Anyplace I might’ve heard of?” Mike’s head whipped to face Liz, eyes hard as stones. John sipped at his glass of water and dabbed at his mouth with a napkin. He then looked into the older woman’s eyes. His tone was blunt yet still respectful. “Prison.” “MOM.” Mike leaned forward, looking about two seconds away from blowing a serious gasket. Kerry cringed a bit, trying to come up with some way to diffuse this situation. It wasn’t going the way he hoped it would, either. The younger redhead practically hissed through her teeth. “You knew that, Mom. You f-- you knew that already. What was the point of asking if you knew?” “I was simply trying to make polite conversation, Michelle.” Liz dabbed at her mouth as well, in a ladylike fashion, and took a sip of what looked to be lemon Perrier. “Anyway. What happened to your girlfriend? I thought you were seeing that charming looking Southern girl… Natalie, I believe your father mentioned.” The blonde woman’s tone noticeable softened, and for the first time that night, a smile briefly flicked across her tastefully glossed lips- if anything, a sign that she quite approved of the now defunct match. Mike just sighed, surprised smoke didn’t escape. Their expression softened too, though in a far less positive way. They poked at a carrot on their plate. “...didn’t work out, Mom.” “She was nice.” His fork scraped against the plate inadvertently. “To a fault.” His tone was icy for the briefest of moments. The tiniest part of him felt what could be construed as resentment. He had been made to understand the reasoning behind the letter. He felt sympathy for her. But strangely anger, too. Perhaps misplaced. “Oh.” Liz’s expression hardened over again. “Pity.” “Now, Lizzie. Sometimes these things happen. If it just weren’t to be, it weren’t to be, and that’s all there is to it.” Mike glanced at their father, grateful for the backup, and subtly scooted their chair closer to John’s. Not just closer to him, though- backing away from their mother. “I suppose you’re right, Kerry. Still, I wish you would’ve brought her home before, Michelle. I’ve seen her on television and she seemed absolutely lovely. I’m sorry it didn’t work out.” “...’salright, Mom. I’m... getting over it.” “Are you? That’s good. … So, you two live together, then, is that right?” At this point, John looked at Mike. Mike did not return eye contact. Better not to. “Yes. I’m in the guest room. Easier arrangement for business.” Mike’s eyebrows shot up slightly, as if shocked by something, but they didn’t say what or even make note of anything being amiss. “Business, hmm? Is that all?” “That’s right.” But John’s direct gaze faltered just for a second within Liz’s. Liz glanced back and there was something there. Behind the facade of a prim, severe woman was a fanged mother wolf, looking to eviscerate anything she even perceived as a threat to her single cub. Mike’s jaw ticced. “That’s all, Mom. You don’t need to keep picking at things. You always do this.” “I do this because it’s my right to know. I want to make sure you’re safe. I don’t call a broken hand safe. John. You’re her ‘partner’, aren’t you? Isn’t the point of that whole method you two fight with protecting each other? How did her hand wind up broken, if that’s so?” “That was an unfortunate turn of events. We’ve had our fair share of those.” And his eyes returned to Liz’s. “Couldn’t stop that. Or when my nose was broken. Or when we were both taken to the hospital. But as partners, we were there for the receipts. To pick up the pieces. I am her partner.” John paused. “Her friend even through what could be considered a brotherhood. We take these failures that you’ve mentioned here and learn from them.” Mike reached over to their left. Their hand gripped his wrist both in solidarity and defiance. “I know you don’t think much of what I do… what we do, Mom. You never have. And you can doubt him and doubt me all you want. But we’re fine. We know what we’re doing.” “Is that right.” Liz’s mouth was drawn into a thin line. That she-wolfishness was still behind her eyes, but there was something else too. A heaving black undertow of panic, of unfathomable worry. “You said you knew what you were doing before, Michelle. That you could handle yourself. And then that horrible brute St--” “Elizabeth. That is Enough.” The sudden thickly-brogued bark was like a thunderclap. Kerry McGuire was at his feet. “You need t’ stop this, now. I’m tired of it. You’n Mikey have been havin’ this silent war for way too long. You need tae let go, Liz. We know what happened, we know it was terrible. But Mikey’s a grown-up. You have t’ trust her judgement, that she isn’t helpless.” “Last time I trusted her judgement against my own instincts she was nearly killed.” “You’re actin’ like I don’t know that. But you see Steve in every man Mikey interacts with and that ain’t fair. I can tell y’right now, Liz. He’s a good man. He and Mikey make a fantastic team.” Liz got up. “...that may be.” She gave John one last point blank look. “Are you a good man, John?” Once more, returned. “That’s not up for me to decide.”