#armies in rear view mirror are closer than they appear

[pratchettquotes]

Cohen looked at the forest of lances and pennants. Hundreds of thousands of men looked like quite a lot of men when you saw them close to.

"I suppose," he said slowly, "that none of you has got some amazing plan you've been keeping quiet about?"

"We thought you had one," said Truckle.

Terry Pratchett, Interesting Times

[guiltgoreglory]

Heat Waves (Chapter 1: A Warm Welcome)

(Very) Brief Summary: Reader is a government contractor joining the team in Benghazi.  (Eventual Tanto x Reader) (2,684 words)

Chapter 2

Foreword: In this series, the reader will be loosely based off of Nikita from the TV show Nikita (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nikita_(TV_series)). The reader has an extensive background in black-ops and is currently an independent contractor working with the department of defense in coordination with the executive branch. If you have any questions about the character, feel free to reach out to me and I can clarify. The story will generally follow the plot of the movie with the exception of a few scenes. Lastly, the POV will shift throughout the story, a change in POV will be signaled by a line.

Author’s Note: Hey guys! I have a full plot already set up but it has been a long time since I’ve written a fic. I’m so sorry if the writing is kinda shitty but I really wanted to get it down in writing. I hope you like it!

You closed your eyes and rested your head against the headrest, trying to find an ounce of comfort in the cramped seat. The dull hum of the plane was cut through by various murmurs amongst the travelers. After a minute or two, you deemed the effort fruitless, letting out a frustrated sigh. Instead, you opened your eyes and looked out the window, watching as the monotonous view trailed by. For the next several weeks, maybe even months, you’d once again become acclimated to discomfort. This shitty seat is probably as good as it gets, you thought. The department will likely have you shacked up in some storage closet on a grimy 20-year-old cot. You have had worse and at least you’d be occupied. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Silva shift. You turned, watching him from a row back, across the aisle. He grimaced as he took off his wedding ring, putting it into a small metal container. He didn’t appear to notice your gaze as you turned your attention back to the window, the heat already radiating in. You felt sorry for him. Leaving people behind is never easy, especially kids. Luckily, you didn’t have that problem. 

As the plane began its descent you skimmed the team comp in your head. You’d been thoroughly briefed on the contractors, on top of all the research you had done on your own. You were joining alongside Jack Silva. A family man in real estate. Pushed to fly back overseas for the money to support his family. From all that you had seen, he’s a good guy. He seemed to be good company. It’ll be nice to not be the only strange face, you thought.

You readied yourself. Benghazi is far worse than most believed. Ever since the department even suggested you might be helpful here, you’d been keeping track of the chaos. It was only a matter of time before it erupted into a full-blown civil war. 

As the landing zone came into view you checked your hijab, making sure not a hair was out of place. You wore a casual white button-down shirt with a gray tank top underneath. You unfolded the sleeves, covering as much of your skin as possible. Given the heat, you’d love to run out in something a little more breathable, but the beige cargo pants would have to do. Next, you checked your “cello” case that sat in the seat next to you. Moving the strap towards you for a quick and effortless disembark. Being you had its perks, one of which was bringing some of your own firepower. 

You cracked your neck as a familiar ding came over the com. 

“Welcome to Benghazi.”

_

The two men settled into the car, watching over all the civilians walking past. Rone leaned forward, pulling a handgun out of the back of his pants. “It’s loaded.” Jack accepted the gun readily, cocking it within his lap. 

“How’s the team here?” 

“Good. Three ex-marines, one ex-army ranger. It’ll be nice to have some more team guys around.”

Jack briefly glanced back at Rone. “Guys?”

“Yeah. We’re waiting on one more before we head out.”

“You work with him before?”

“Nope. Defense department assigned her.”

Jack furrowed his brow slightly, pursing his lips in surprise. “Alrighty then, what’s she look like?” Jack looked more intently for another westerner standing out like a sore thumb. 

“No idea. I’ve been told that she will find us.”

“Oh how ominous.” A smile tugged at the corner of his lip. 

Rone hummed in agreement as he eyed the rearview mirror. Out of the crowd, a body began to beeline towards the car. “Think that’s her.”

Jack nonchalantly stretched, turning towards the back of the car to catch a look. 

_

You approached the dust-covered truck, already craving shade from the burning sun. Your sunglasses did little to protect your eyes from the glare off of the ground. As you got closer, you could see Tyrone eying you from the side mirrors. You adjusted the straps of both your cello case and your duffel, making sure not to make any sudden movements. You made your way to the driver’s side door, turning to face him. “You Tyrone?” you asked, knowing full well it was.

“Yes, Ma’am. And you are?”

“Y/N.”

“Nice to meet you, Y/N. Hop in.”

You nodded, moving back towards the rear of the car. Swinging the back door open, you threw your stuff onto the ground next to the seat. Leaving just enough room for you to climb in. As you sat down, you angled yourself towards Jack so that you could have a proper introduction. He noticed your movement, turning back to face you. He reached out his hand for a handshake. 

“Jack Silva”

You took his hand. “Y/N.” 

He settled back into his seat as Rone started the car. “Just Y/N?”

“Just Y/N.” You affirmed. 

As Rone made his way through the city they began to catch up, making friendly jabs at each other. You yanked your duffel towards you, rummaging through the various clothes. You could feel Jack’s eyes peeking at you ever so often through the mirror, making sure you weren’t doing anything unsavory. Trust is earned.  Finally, you found your shoulder holster. You unbuttoned your shirt, throwing it on the seat beside you. You put on the holster, adjusting the straps as needed so that it sat comfortably. After you were satisfied you again began to look through your luggage, pulling out two black pistols. You loaded a magazine into both of the guns. The sound quickly drew the attention of both men as the conversation briefly paused before they returned to their conversation. You paid them no mind, knowing that any response would probably make them more antsy. You then cocked them before placing them within your holster. Grabbing your shirt, you put it back on, leaving it unbuttoned. It was opaque enough to conceal your firearms as long as no one looked too close. 

“So, Y/N,” Rone directing the conversation towards you, “The Defense Department didn’t tell me much about you. What branch you from?” 

You turned from watching out the side of the car. “Covert operations.” 

That definitely piqued his interest. Jack let Rone do the questioning, but it was clear he was just as curious as him. 

“Alright. SEAL Team?”

“Uh, no. It’s a little more complicated.”

“Oh I get it, you’re on some James Bond shit huh.” He chuckled to himself as you smiled and rolled your eyes.

“Pretty much.”

Rone left the questioning there, knowing he’d probably not get much more of an answer, at least not until you’d come to know him a bit better. The two of them shared a look before the car came to a sudden stop. 

“Shit. No, no, no, no, no this isn’t good.” Rone’s body tensed as he assessed the situation. 

Civilians began to run around the car, whimpering in fear. You straightened up, readying for a shit show. You positioned yourself in the middle of the back, between the two men so you could see as much as possible through the windshield. 

“Fuck.” Rone’s discomfort quickly seeped through his cool resolve. “Who the fuck are these guys?” 

“What do we got?” Jack stayed still, his eyes scanning over the various armed men.

“Brigade we coordinate with, February Seventeenth Martyrs. This ain’t them.” He looked back past you and he switched into reverse. Moving back a few feet, the path was blocked and the car jolted forward. “Shit we’re boxed in.”

You settled on your knees, carefully unclipping the straps keeping your guns in place, just in case. Both men leaned out of the window. Jack looking up towards the man on the balcony readied to run.

“We bailing?” He asked, voice calm and collected.

Rone, giving no response, pulled out his radio. “Base this is Rone. Come in, over.”

“This is Base, go Rone.”

“I’m in a Jam off Fifth Ring Road. I’m lookin’ at about 8 armed tangos here.”

“Copy that, sit tight.”

“Sit tight, that’s great advice.” Everyone in the car became increasingly more agitated as the armed militia made its way in your direction. 

You took a deep breath. “If we’re bailing we gotta do it now.” You glanced at your bags. You could leave the duffel. There wasn’t anything particularly important in there. The case on the other hand couldn’t be lost to a rampant terrorist cell, if you did, the government would be up your ass about it for at least another 10 years. You fidgeted slightly, knowing that the opportunity to flee was about to pass.

Jack clenched his jaw. “They got a KPV.”

Fuck this is bad. 

“Base we ain’t got all day.”

“Hey, Rone. They’re trying to get Feb 17 to back you up, but we’re coming.”

Deeming that transmission utterly useless, Rone whipped out his cell. “Oz I’m in a jam of Fifth Ring.”

“Ty.” Jack interjected as the men became uncomfortably close.

“Rone, 17 Feb QRF is being alerted.”

“Fuck that, the only Quick Reaction force I want is my guys.” Without an immediate response, Rone continued on. “Send them. I want my guys.” He said more adamantly. 

“Negative, Rone. Just hang in there.”

“Maybe I’m not making myself clear. I’m looking at multiple radical insurgents with AKs and a 50-cal technical set to blow my rover all the way back to Zimbabwe. Over.”

You watched as a man dressed in a disheveled suit made his way around the vehicles and debris. He’s the big guy.

“It’s not my call, brother.”

Goddamnit. Looks like we’re either talking our way through this, or we go out quick. The thought gave you the slightest bit of comfort.

Rone looked towards Jack frustrated. You could sense he felt an inch of guilt for getting his friend stuck in this hellhole.

“Here we go.” Jack said nonchalantly as he could given the circumstances.

You crossed your arms, giving yourself easy access to your handguns without looking too conspicuous. A man stood at the front of the rover, yelling something you couldn’t understand. He pointed his AK right at you, maybe it wasn’t on purpose but you couldn’t help but mentally scoff. Well, that’s not very nice.

“Welcome to Benghazi.”

The man in front banged on the hood as the leader moved towards the driver’s side window. Jack raised his hands up innocently as Rone smiled at the man. 

“Salaam.” Rone raised his badge up to the man in the suit as he gazed at him incredulously. “Libyan visa. Official. Libyan government.” The leader looked him up and down. 

The guy with the AK was now in Jack’s face. His gaze shifted forward, doing his best to remain calm despite the barrel of a gun being inches from his forehead.

“Friendly? Hm? Friendly?” Rone again gestured with his badge.

Rone whatever game you’re playing it better fucking work because last time I checked a friend of Al-Qaeda is no friend of ours. You did your best to blend into the back of the car, feigning as the harmless woman. 

“Pull over for inspection.” The leader said sternly.

Rone shook his head. “No.” 

“Pull over for inspection!” He was now angry, his voice shaking with every word.

Alright, this is how it’s gonna go. You crept your hands slightly closer to your guns.

Rone’s voice remained steady. “I’m sorry, sir. I can’t do that.”

The man at Jack’s door yelled once more. Banging his palm against the dirty surface. Then the slightest movement came from Jack. 

It’s showtime. You thought. You gripped your pistols and whipped them forward, pointing them as the secondary soldier positioned at the front of the rover. Jack and Rone acted similarly with Jack’s gun pointed across at the leader, and Rone’s gun pointed at the soldier beside the door. The soldier at the front adjusted his AK, pointing it more fervently towards the car. 

“Look up.” Rone pointed towards the sky with his empty hand, never moving his gaze from the leader’s eyes. “Go ahead, look up.” Some of the aggression left the leader as he looked towards the sky, confused. “You see the drone?” The man looked back down. “No? That’s okay. The drone sees you.”

Nice play, Rone. You thought to yourself. A couple of Americans? No problem. We don’t pose that much of a threat. But good ol’ American air support? Now that carries a little weight. 

“Sees your face. We know who you are.”

Jack, facing the soldier at his door, swallows hard. Keeping with Rone’s power play, he maintains eye contact.

“If anything happens to us, your home, your family, boom, gone. Give us the order to let us go.”

Jack, looking past the AK in his face, doesn’t flinch as the soldier gestures with his gun.

 “I want the car!” 

Within a brief moment, Jack and Rone switched their aim, with Jack now pointing his handgun at the soldier and Rone at the leader. You flinched ever so slightly at the movement, but you remained steady, watching for any worrisome movement amongst the militia. Adrenaline pumped through your veins as you could feel your heart pounding in your chest. You ignored the harsh metal of the rover digging into your knees. This was your guys’ only shot to make it out of this cramped alley. They had to think your little caravan of three had the power of the entire U.S. military revolving overhead when in reality, you were just three Americans with a couple of guns in the middle of fuckin nowhere.

“No, I’m not gonna do that.” Jack shakes his head, leaning forward towards the man. The energy around the car was beginning to shift. Despite the KPV having enough firepower to destroy your car, and about 5 cars behind you, you three possessed the upper hand. They recoiled at the barrel of your guns, not the other way around.

The leader’s eyes began to soften, his harsh exterior falling at the thought of losing everything. For a moment, you actually pitied him. “I earn the right to decide the future of my country.” You understood the sentiment behind his words. Once again the U.S. had shoved itself into the center of a country, with no right to do so. But you, and the men sat beside you, just wanted to keep others safe. You had no agenda.

“You’re talking to the wrong guy. How willing are you to die for your country? I’m ready to go right here, right now.” Easy, Tyrone. Don’t push it too far. 

The leader’s frown deepened as he considered the weight of Rone’s words. He slowly backed away from the car. “Leave here. While you still can.”

You stopped yourself from relaxing your figure even though it felt like the weight of the world had just been lifted off your shoulders. Rone leaned back into his seat, beginning to maneuver the car between the debris. Jack slowly lowered his pistol to the door as the car inched forward. You followed suit and lowered your guns into your lap. You could hear the leader yelling to his men, and their posture relaxed enough to show they weren’t an immediate threat. Air filled your lungs for the first time in what felt like 5 minutes, before you looked behind through the dusty back window, making sure the leader was true to his word and you weren’t about to get shot in the back. You settled back onto your seat, leaning back against the warm metal. You debated holstering your weapons but decided it was best to have them at the ready until you were within the walls of the base.

“We got air support?” Jack’s voice was calm but demanding. You knew the answer to his question but left Rone to give him the bad news. Rone didn’t take his eyes off of the road as he did his best to make it back to base in one piece. 

“We don’t have any fucking support.”

[avarkriss]

Small Town

✭・.・✫

Francisco “Catfish” Morales x Female Reader (no y/n; use of she/her)

Rated: A for All, minimal warnings apply

Word Count: 1.025k

Summary: You and Frankie are best friends, but his feelings for your run a little bit deeper than friendship

From the 200 Follower Prompt list! Two anons sent in: 

“You have no idea what you’re doing to me, do you” with lovesick Frankie

“How much have you had to drink tonight” with yearning Frankie

Warnings: lovesick and yearning Frankie, a lil’ bit of angst, alcohol use

Author’s Note: These two asks worked so well together that they went into the same little ficlet. I really enjoy writing Frankie and will have to do more in the future! I’m still new to this so I dunno if I should tag drabbles...if you wanna be tagged in them let me know?? Please enjoy and be well ~

Frankie adjusted his hat in the rear view mirror of his pickup truck before looking at the bar and sighing. He doesn’t know why you always pick the same place for your birthday, wishing he could shake that high school memory where your older brother found the two of you around the corner of the building, about to share in a first kiss.

The moment was ruined after that and you went on to kiss several far more popular guys before you graduated, taking a piece of his heart with him when you went to college. He took to the army instead, wanting to fly, but just like everyone else he wound back to the same small town, surrounded by the same people, at the same bar, on your birthday.

And for you, his best friend? He’d do anything, even if it meant having to watch Donny and Jayce play beer pong for the ten millionth time while he quietly sipped his beer at the bar, carefully watching you on the dance floor, alert to your surroundings so you wouldn’t have to be.

When he walked into the bar you noticed him immediately, face breaking into a huge grin while you rushed to crush him in a hug.

“Frankie you came!” you said excitedly, bouncing on your heels while wrapping your fingers in his.

“‘Course I did,” he smiled gently at you, noticing your dilated pupils and feeling your hammering pulse course through the vein in your wrist.

“C’mon, come dance with me,” you said, pulling on his hand.

He groaned and tipped his head back, following along with you only because you wanted him to. When you got to the dance floor you spun yourself under his arm, coming back to stand in front of him and bounce to the rhythm. He tried so hard to watch your face, but the way your chest bounced under your clothes kept drawing his eye down, only to snap back up to stare into your smile. If you noticed, you didn’t care.

It wasn’t long before some of your friends came by and pulled you away, leaving him alone in a sea of people he just barely tolerated and only for your sake. He made his way to his spot at the end of the bar, getting his usual beer. He sat against the corner and sipped while he watched you, quietly taking in every luscious curve of your body. The way your chest moved up and down as you breathed; the curve of your hips, popping to a particularly good beat; the round of your ass, swaying side to side as you moved your feet.

“You have no idea what you’re doing to me, do you?” he muttered to himself, watching you with your friends; his soft smile turning to a hard line when Donny came by you, surely planning to try another one of his lame pick up lines. You danced with him for a song and Frankie’s beer started tasting worse, so he set it to the side while contemplating what excuse he could use to leave early. He couldn’t watch you go home with someone else.

Again.

Frankie turned to the bartender to pay his tab, still running viable excuses to leave through his head when you appeared at his shoulder.

“You’re not leaving yet are you Frankie?”

He turned to look at you, your eyes wide, skin glistening with a thin layer of sweat. “Well, I-”

The words had barely started to tumble out of his mouth when you stole the cap off his head, putting it on yours and flashing him a wink before running out of the bar. He rolled his eyes and got up, calling your name as he stepped outside. He heard your drunken giggle around the corner and ran his hand through his hair, breathing out an exasperated sigh.

“Alright,” he said while he rounded the corner. He lost his train of thought while he looked at you in your favorite birthday outfit, half illuminated by the street lamp, eyes covered by the brim of his too big baseball cap settled on your ears.

“Hey Frankie,” you breathed, twisting your hands together while you bounced on your heels a little bit; “you remember the last time we were here?”

“We come here every year for your birthday,” he muttered, the brief memory of the kiss that never was flashing in his mind again.

“Not that,” you said, slowly walking towards him.

“Remember, when we were kids. You had me against this wall,” you said, backing him into the siding of the building.

“And you were leaning in, so we could both try something new,” you whispered, inching closer and closer to his mouth.

You sighed when you felt his hands settle on your waist, surprised when you felt him pushing down.

“How much have you had to drink tonight?”

You blinked in surprise, taking a step back from him. “Only a couple shots Frankie, same as always.”

Frankie’s jaw ticked, unsure just how drunk you were. You were his best friend and he didn’t want you doing anything you would regret in the morning, despite how badly he wanted you right now.

“Keep my hat,” he said, walking away. “It looks cute on you.”

“Frankie wait,” you called after him, heart pounding inside your chest. When he turned to look at you the yearning on his face broke your heart in half, a realization flooding you that after all this time, he had always been there waiting for you.

“Please don’t go,” you whispered quietly, willing the tears to stay off of your face.

“I don’t want you to regret it,” he said, leaning on his truck to look at you, not trusting himself to get any closer. He didn’t have to as you quickly crossed the distance and pulled his mouth to yours, groaning when you felt his arm wrap around your waist. You pulled away from him, eyes wide and earnest.

“The only thing I regret is not doing this sooner.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Next Part

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Full Masterlist // Retired Masterlist

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Tags - Tumble has a tag limit and we’ve exceeded it (which is so cool I can’t believe that many of you are interesting in reading my work!) so we’ll be switching to comment tags, this should also mean that everyone’s tags will work for once!!

Tag lists are open: just CLICK HERE and tell me what you want to get tagged in, or send me an ask/DM! Please note I no longer write for the Pedro Pascal fandom, and no longer carry a tag list for those works.

[nothingbutfangirlsmut]

The Girl Out of Time

Pairing: Bucky x Reader and Sam x Reader

Background: Willow Roffe was born and raised in Brooklyn. She lived her life as happily as she could with her two childhood best friends Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers. When they both left her to join the military she tried to continue with life but that didn't get to happen for her for the simple fact that she meant something to James Buchanan Barnes.

Rating: Story will be overall MATURE but not every chapter. There will be strong language, talk of both mental and physical abuse, some good ole angst, and smut. There will be a warning at the beginning of the chapter when it includes smut.

Chapter 29

“Hey Cap!” Sam shouted.

I was instantly moving to kneel in front of James when Sam grabbed my arm pulling me back.

“We don’t know his condition yet.” Sam said sternly.

I looked from Sam to James. The man sitting on the ground looked lost and exhausted. His eyes locked with mine and I knew he was Bucky again.

“Steve” Bucky said as our friend entered the room.

Steve stayed back keeping his eyes trained on James. He leaned against the wall then crossed his arms over his chest.

“Which Bucky am I talking to?” Steve asked.

Bucky sighed.

“Your mom’s name was Sarah.” Bucky spoke in a scratchy deep voice.

He chuckled softly.

“You used to wear newspapers in your shoes.” He added with a smile.

I couldn’t help but laugh. I had totally forgotten Steve used to do that.

“Can’t read that in a museum.” Steve nodded.

“Just like that, we’re suppose to be cool?” Sam asked in disbelief.

I shot him a warning glare then turned back to Bucky.

“What did I do?” He asked with a pained look on his face.

“Enough” Steve said simply.

“Oh, God, I knew this would happen. Everything HYDRA put inside me is still there. All he had to do was say the goddamn words.” Bucky said through clenched teeth.

My heart hurt for him. He had no control. This wasn’t his fault.

“Who was he?” Steve asked.

“I don’t know.” Bucky shook his head.

“People are dead. The bombing, the setup, the doctor did all that just to get 10 minutes with you. I need you to do better than ‘I don’t know’.” Steve ordered.

“Steve he-“ I started to defend.

“No doll it’s fine.” Bucky interrupted.

“He wanted to know about Siberia. Where I was kept. He wanted to know exactly where.” He told Steve.

“Why would he need to know that?” Steve asked.

Bucky sighed.

“Because I’m not the only Winter Soldier.” He said flatly.

My heart plummeted.

“Who were they?” Steve questioned further.

“Their most elite death squad. More kills than anyone in HYDRA history. And that was before the serum.” Bucky explained.

“They all turn out like you?” Sam asked bitterly.

“Worse” Bucky answered.

“The doctor, could he control them?” Steve asked stepping forward.

“Enough” he said simply.

“Said he wanted to see an empire fall.” Steve told him.

“With these guys, he could do it. They speak 30 languages, can hide in plain sight. Infiltrate, assassinate, destabilize. They can take a whole country down in one night, you’d never see them coming.” Bucky explained chillingly.

Steve and Sam stepped closer together. Instead of joining them I finally got to kneel in front of James. I gently pushed back his hair to check his head injury. It looked like just a scratch now.

“How are you feeling?” I asked him quietly.

“I’ve been better.” He practically whispered.

“I’m sorry about all this.” I told him as I pushed a bit more of his hair out of his face.

His flesh hand gently grabbed mine pulling it away from his hair. He pressed a soft kiss to my knuckles making my heart flutter.

“It’s ok baby doll. None of this is your fault.” He smiled at me.

“Jamie there’s some stuff you should know.” I said hesitantly.

“It can wait.” He said then dropped my hand.

I felt a hand on my shoulder making me look up to see Sam. I stood up to face him and Steve.

“Give me a hand with this would ya?” Sam asked gesturing to the wench.

I nodded then walked around him. I lifted it up enough so James could pull his arm free. He stood up as he rolled his shoulder trying to work the stiffness out of the joints.

“Steve’s making some phone calls. We’ll be leaving soon.” Sam told me.

I noticed him glare at Bucky before placing a quick kiss to my temple. Great. Masculinity at its finest.

“You and him a thing?” James asked with a slightly sharp tone.

“It’s complicated” I sighed.

“How’s that?” He asked.

I looked up at him to see his eyes focused on Sam’s back. His jaw was clenched tight.

“I don’t know what me and Sam are anymore. I adore him. He’s fantastic and he’s been by my side for awhile now but after I remembered you completely then saw you again in person things started to change.” I explained softly.

“On your end or his?” He asked turning his head to look at me.

“Mine” I whispered unable to meet his eyes.

I felt his warm flesh fingers under my chin. He forced my head up so I’d look him in the eyes. A ghost of a smile was on his lips. Silently he pulled me into him. My head collided with his chest. His large arms wrapped around me holding my body tightly against his. I wrapped my arms around his back burying my face more into his chest. I felt one of his hands slide into my hair. Just feeling him wrapped around me like this brought everything back in a split second. His warmth. His scent. For a moment I was back home the night before James left for the Army. The night he held me like this while we danced.

The sound of someone clearing their throat brought me back to the present. Steve was standing in the doorway behind Sam with a smirk on his face. Sam stood facing us with his arms crossed over his chest and a scowl on his face.

“Time to go” Sam told us.

I pulled away from James then walked past Sam to Steve. When I reached him he tossed his arm over my shoulder.

“You got one hell of a decision to make Will. Let’s hope you decide before those two kill each other.” He whispered as we walked towards the car.

“You’re ever so helpful Rogers.” I told him sarcastically.

“It’s why you keep me around.” He chuckled.

I quickly climbed into the backseat expecting Sam to get in the back with me. What I didn’t expect was to see the two full grown men have a mini race to the car. It was no surprise that James made it there first. He climbed in the backseat with a smile on his face. Sam grumbled to himself as he sat the passenger seat back then sat down.

“For heaven’s sake you two. Could you at least pretend to be adults?” I asked them both in disbelief.

Steve laughed as he started the car. I made it a point to ignore everyone. I sat against the window with my arms crossed. I kept my eyes out my window the whole drive. It wasn’t until Steve finally pulled off under a bridge that I took in my surroundings.

In front of us was another car. Steve got out the same time that car’s driver did. I was surprised to see Sharon Carter but honestly I shouldn’t have been.

“Can you move your seat up?” James asked Sam.

“No” Sam answered simply.

“Guys” I warned.

“That’s alright doll. Gives me an excuse to sit a little closer to you.” James said mischievously.

I huffed trying to ignore the heat quickly growing in my cheeks. Sam glared back at James but still didn’t move his seat.

The three of us turned our attention to Steve and Sharon only seconds before Steve finally kissed her.

“About damn time” I groaned but smiled nonetheless.

Steve was quick to retrieve his shield and costume from her trunk as well as Sam’s wings. Sharon closed her trunk as Steve walked back towards our car. I felt Bucky’s eyes on me the next second.

“Can I help you Barnes?” I questioned dryly.

He chuckled then gently tugged at the collar of my brown leather jacket. I jumped slightly at the sound of Steve opening the trunk. Bucky wasn’t fazed as he kept his fingers and eyes on my jacket.

“This looks exactly like the jacket I wore as a Howling Commando.” He said softly.

“That’s because it is your old jacket Buck.” Steve said then closed the trunk.

I sat there in surprise for a moment until Steve got back in the driver seat.

“What? How is this his old jacket? It shouldn’t fit me.” I asked in disbelief.

Steve chuckled as he started the car.

“Remember when I had to take my old costume from the museum?” He asked.

“Yes” I said slowly.

“I grabbed Buck’s jacket too. It’s genuine leather and it’s old. It shrunk a bit over the years making it the perfect size for you. I couldn’t resist.” Steve said happily as he glanced back in the rear view mirror.

“Looks perfect on you too like it was meant to be.” James smirked.

Sam made a disgusted noise from his seat.

“Behave Barnes” I told him biting back my own smile.

“Where’s the fun in that doll?” He whispered into my hair.

In that moment I wish the ground would swallow me up or Thor would appear and say he needed my help on Asgard. Anything to get me away from here. James was gonna be a relentless flirt knowing he had me eating out of the palm of his hand while Sam was going to sulk like a gentleman and let me make my choice. A choice I was afraid I may have already made without even realizing it. I just couldn’t make a final decision yet. I needed more time. I needed to think but it was so hard to do right now.

—

[beatricethecat2]

if/then (v2.0) - 23

Hello everyone out there, I hope you're surviving social distancing! It's been quite a while since I managed an update for this, but here we go. It's on the longish side but there's lots of dialog, so I think it goes fast. Also lot of fluff in here. (Links to previous chapters in the comments) Typos are all mine, I will fix them eventually! (edited 5/2/20)

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“Ow!“ Myka mouths as she steps into the mini-bus, a stray soccer ball bouncing off her knee. The cabin’s filled with girls yapping blissfully, while two, no, three girls wrestle over the backs of their seats.

"Girls, settle down,” Helena shouts from her spot behind the driver. She’s standing, but facing away from Myka.

Conversation slows, and the wrestling ceases. All eyes fall on Myka.

"Who's the lady, Coach Harry?" one girl asks.

"This is Myka," Helena says, glancing over her shoulder at Myka. "Our good luck charm from America."

"Hello," Myka says, smiling, in what hopefully is a friendly way, adding a tiny wave for good measure.

The girls whisper amongst themselves, the word "American" floating throughout.

"Hello," Myka says, smiling, in what hopefully is a friendly way, adding a tiny wave for good measure.

The girls whisper amongst themselves, the word "American" floating throughout.

"Girls, manners," Helena chides. "Please welcome our guest."

A chorus of "hellos" rises in the bus, a mish-mash of comically pronounced "Mykas" tacked on.

"Sit," Helena says, turning and tipping her head towards the empty spot next to her.

Myka studies Helena's face as she settles into the seat. The bandaid on her forehead makes sense, covering the gash from yesterday, but the sunglasses are a mystery.

“Onward, please," Helena says to the driver, grabbing hold of the seat as the bus lurches into action. She turns back towards the bus's occupants. "In approximately a half an hour, we'll face our toughest opponents yet. I suggest you reserve your energy for the game rather than waste it on tomfoolery. Owen, please assist the young ladies in the back, and place the balls back into their bags." Helena looks towards Owen, who has already jumped up from his seat and is on his way.

"Aye coach!"

"Did you sleep well?" Helena asks as she turns and sits down.

"What's up with these?" Myka says, reaching out to grab Helena's glasses.

Helena places her hands on the sides, blocking Myka's grab. She slides them down then back up again, revealing a swollen lid and slightly red eye.

"That can't be from yesterday. What happened?" Myka scoots closer and yanks the glasses off . She cups Helena's chin and tips her face up, moving it from side to side to view the damage.

"A ladder mishap—"

"Mom, Gwen says she's going to be sick," Christina says, poking her head over the seat.

"But we've only just left!"

"I know. I think she's nervous."

"Alright," Helens huffs. "Sit with Myka while I sort this out." She snatches the glasses from Myka's hand and slides them over her eyes. "Pardon me," she quips, with a hint of provocation, as she shimmies past Myka and into the aisle. Before making her way to the rear of the bus, she whispers something into Christina's ear. Christina then scrambles over the seat and fills Helena's former spot by the window.

"Did you see your mom's eye?" Myka asks.

"Did you see her shoulder? It's purple!"

"What?" Myka looks toward Helena, visibly wincing as she crouches down to speak with what must be Gwen. Did a thug rough her up to get information? And if so, does Christina know? "She said she fell off a ladder."

"Yeah, she does that sometimes. Especially when she can't sleep and she's working on the house. And she's always working on the house. You'll see."

Of course, Helena's remodeling their house. And, of course, she has trouble sleeping. "Shouldn't she see a doctor?"

"Probably, but she never does," Christina says, seemingly offhand but with underlying concern. She scoots closer to Myka and lowers her voice. "Mom said we're being watched. Someone came by about the painting."

Helena smooshes Myka over as she slides onto the seat. "Crisis averted. For the moment. Let's hope there's no rough road ahead."

"What happened last night?" Myka asks, turning slightly to face Helena, constrained in the middle. She wriggles an arm free and pushes Helena's jacket collar back, first on the left, then the right, searching for the bruise.

"I cooperated fully."

Myka hooks her fingers under Helena's hoodie and stretches the fabric gently to the side. She touches a finger to Helena's collar bone, the inflammation evident without much pressure. "You should ice this."

"I'll get an ice pack," Christina says, clamoring over the seat and out into the aisle.

"I'll see the medic at the pitch," Helena says, placing her hand over Myka's. She lifts it up and off, then lays them together on her lap. "It's only a bruise."

"I don't like you being hurt."

"Nor do I wish to be. But I assure you, this was my folly." Helena squeezes Myka's hand, eyes focused on Myka's lips as she leans forward and speaks in low tones into her ear.

"They're ringing later with details. Though it suffices to say, I'll be taken to Leeds imminently. But there's something off about all this, things are not as straightforward they're meant to seem."

"McPherson's not behind this?"

"Not singularly. I'd wager, were one to peel back the layers, someone else is pulling the strings."

"Great," Myka says, meeting Helena's concerned gaze, eyes flicking down to Helena's lips, mere inches away from her own. She aches to kiss them, though she knows this is neither the time nor the place.

"Mom, here." Christina returns, her fist beating an ice pack into submission.

"Scoot in," Helena says to Myka, and they shift to accommodate Christina. She takes the ice pack and slips it under her collar. "Let's inform Myka of the backstory we concocted."

Christina's smile is a carbon copy of Helena's, their conspiratorial glee almost too much to bear.

*

"Freezing your tits off yet?" Sondra says as she approaches Myka at the top of the bleachers.

"Um…yes?" Myka hadn't realized just how huddled she'd become waiting for the game to begin. Her muscles ache in protest as she straightens.

"Sun's made an appearance today, but the damp's set in." Sondra holds out an army green jacket, which Myka readily accepts. "Harry said you wasn't prepared for all this."

"Definitely not." Myka sheds her soiled trench coat and slips on the fluffy parka. The warmth it offers is instant; she wants disappear inside this coat for the rest of her stay. "Thanks."

"Not a bad fit, is it? It's David's, you know. You're a mite taller than me and Harry."

"True." She'd noticed Sondra was several inches shorter than Helena last night when they said their goodbyes. "Won't he mind?"

"Nah. He's on tour. Bethan's gutted he's not here."

"There's always next week," Myka says, folding her trenchcoat and sliding it under her posterior for extra warmth.

"Between you and me, I doubt we'll qualify," Sondra says, taking the seat next to her. "No offense to Coach Harry."

"I'll take your word on that." Myka zips the parka up and flips the hood halfway over her head. "Thank you so much for this," she says. "I only have work clothes."

"Harry said that." Sondra reaches into her bag and pulls out a thermos. "Cuppa?"

"Sure."

Sonrda unscrews the lid and hands it to Myka, then pulls a second cup out of her bag. She hands to the cup Myka then unscrews the stopper and pours steaming liquid into both. She then screws the stopper back in and sets the thermos on the bleacher.

"Harry also said you two used to knock boots." Sondra plucks the second cup from Myka's hand.

"Used to what?"

“Knock boots."

"Kick each other?" Myka takes a sip from her cup.

Sondra snorts a short laugh. "Mind you, Harry might wind you up enough for that. But nah. Mollock about."

"Mollock?"

"Shag, love."

"Oh, that. Yes. Yes, we did." Myka sips her tea again, burying her gaze in the clear brown liquid, the heat of embarrassment creeping up her neck.

"Star-crossed lovers, she said. Long-distance. Then she up and disappeared."

“All true," Myka says, her disappointment ringing clear. Their actual story, in that sense, somewhat mirroring the one Helena dreamed up. But the rest of it, not so much: Helena latched onto Christina's multiple city idea but turned her nose up at the dating app. Instead, she concocted a near fairy-tale level, met-across-a-crowded-room scenario, one which she likes better than the actual circumstances under which they met.

Sondra tops up Myka's tea without prompting, the jolt of warmth radiating pleasantly through the metal cup into her fingers.

"You know why she's here then?" Sondra asks.

"Not exactly. Do you?"

"Heard she saw a murder."

"What?" Myka spits out her tea. "Where'd you hear that?"

"Village talk. What'd you hear?"

"Money laundering. Her boss."

"Better that than the other," Sondra says. She looks out onto the field, waving as she catches her daughter's eye. "Here to warn her, are you?"

"Am I?"

"You, turning up out of thin air? Something's not right."

Myka stares out into the field, mimicking Sondra's action. Christina hops up and down, waving as Myka sees her.

"The village can help, you know. Make them disappear like they never were here. Lots of places to hide in the mountains leftover from the war."

"I-I'll let her know. I'm sure she'll appreciate it."

"Sondra! Get down here, they're starting!" a woman shouts from the bottom of the bleachers.

"Alright, in a minute!" Sondra yells back. "Join us lot for the event of the season?" she asks Myka.

Myka surveys the group of parents, many she recognizes from last night. And just like last night, she should be able to disappear in their midst, which works for her. "Sure." As she stands, Sondra looks down at her flats.

"Oh, bugger me," Sondra says. "Not got my head on straight, do I? There's socks and boots for you in the car."

"Really? That's awesome," Myka says, genuinely excited to have more appropriate footwear. She follows Sondra down the bleachers and out into the parking lot.

"Harry's lucky to have you, Sondra. You're a really good friend," Myka says as Sondra opens the back of her SUV.

"I do my best." Sondra pulls out out a pair of lightly worn work boots. "David's, again. Maybe a little rough for your taste."

"I'll take anything." Myka snags the boots and plunks down on the tailgate, fishing a sock out of a shoe.

Sondra leans on the fender next to her. "While you're here, if you're up for it…well, Harry, she's a bit, all on her own, if you know what I mean. Maybe you two could…."

Myka's lips curl up as she tugs on a lace. She certainly does know and certainly hopes they do. "That's not up to me."

"She's still mad for you, she said."

"That's sweet."

A whistle blows from the field.

"Game's on. Let's go!" Sondra shoos Myka off the tailgate and throws it closed in record time.

*

The game was lackluster at first, but by the end, Myka was cheering like a pro. In a suspenseful twist, a tie was broken in overtime by a penalty kick from Christina's team. High spirits followed, leading to an overly social lunch. Congratulatory pats on the back and constant recaps squashed any hopes of chatting with Helena alone.

But at least she's understanding conversations better, following the lilt of the words rather than hear them as an indecipherable mash. It seems the Welsh add syllables generously, such as the word "roll" strung out into "ro-ew-ell." And H's often sound like Y's: "here" as "year," "heard" as "yurd."

"So, I promised ice creams for the team," Helena says after their sausage rolls and chips are depleted. "Will you help me distribute them?"

“Sure,” Myka says.

"Charlotte, you and Bethan gather the team."

"Ok, mom!"

Christina and Bethan scurry off while Myka and Helena join the line at the ice cream truck. Helena looks down at Myka's boots and gives them a tap with her sneaker.

"I see Sondra's clothed you as David. But the parka suits you. Perhaps you might keep it for your stay."

"Sondra said I could."

Helena smiles and inches closer, slipping her hands into Myka's pockets and tugging her towards her. But the line moves all too soon, and as they shuffle forward, Helena's phone buzzes. "I have to take this," she says, frowning as she looks at the screen.

"Is that 'the' call?"

"I believe so. Here." Helena fishes her wallet out of her pocket and hands it to Myka. "Flakes for all of them."

"Flakes? What's a Flake?" Myka asks, but Helena continues walking, already absorbed in the call.

The line moves forward. Christina and Bethan return.

"What can I get you, miss?" the man behind the counter asks.

"How many do we need?" Myka asks Christina.

"Twelve. Vicky didn't want one, and we couldn't find Tessa and Harpreet."

"Ok, twelve, um, 'Flakes' please?" Myka says to the server.

Bethan giggles at Myka's shaky ordering skills. "Do you not have Flakes in America?" she asks.

"No, we don't."

"It's just an ice cream with a chocolate bar in it."

"And a very pointy ice cream at that," Myka says as the man hands her a cone. She nearly passes it on, but instead, holds it up and studies it. “Oh! The Outer Hebrides—"

"Miss?" The server holds out a second cone.

"The outer what?" Christina asks as Myka passes both cones over.

"There's an island shaped like these cones way up in Scotland."

"Cool! How'd you know that?" Christina asks.

"I, um…I thought you and your mom might…" Myka thinks twice about finishing her sentence as she passes the next cones to an expectant Bethan. "You two better deliver those before they melt. And hurry back! He's doling them out fast."

The man hands her another cone. "Can I pay for these while we wait? How much is it?"

"Fourteen pounds."

She balances the cone and Helena's wallet in one hand and draws out a twenty with the other. As she waits for change, she slips out Helena's driver's license. Helena's hair is even shorter and freshly bleached, and again, she's hardly recognizable as herself. Angharad Haf Llewellyn lives on the very non-descript Mill Road, one of probably hundreds of others in Wales alone.

"Your change," the man says as Myka slips the card back in. He hands Myka a note and a coin, which she tries to stuff in the wallet, but the cone drips down her wrist, and the wallet tumbles to the ground.

"Allow me," Helena says, plucking the cone from Myka's hand. She licks the drip, slowly and deliberately, keeping eye contact with Myka. Myka watches, transfixed, as Helena's tongue drags up the soft-serve, leaving a deep groove in its wake before playfully nipping the pointy top off.

"Would you like some?" Helena says, brandishing a haughty smile as she moves the cone closer to Myka's mouth.

“Sure?" Myka holds Helena's gaze as she licks off another drip, aroused but puzzled by this shift back to flirting. There's something she should ask, something Helena's deflecting… “ hat happened on the phone—"

"Ma'am, your cones," the server says.

"Oh, sorry." Myka turns and takes both cones.

"I'm pleased to see your curls are regaining their integrity. The wave they've taken on is quite flattering," Helena reaches out to finger a lock.

Myka raises a brow, high. That's a non-sequitur if there ever was one.

"Here's mom's wallet stuff," Christina says, having returned unknowingly and scooped up its contents. She holds the cards and cash out towards Myka.

"Here, I, um…" Myka hands a cone to Christina and Christina passes the wallet contents to Myka. Myka grips the items tightly while handing over the other cone.

"Miss," the ice cream man says and Myka looks toward him. He's holding two more cones.

"I'll manage this," Helena says just as Bethan reappears.

Myka steps to the side and shoves the bills back in the wallet, but as she does so, notices a sliver of paper sticking out of a seam. She gently pries the seam open and slips the paper free. It's crinkled and faded, but instantly recognizable: it's the photo of Helena's family that once occupied her locket. Something Helena, or rather Harry, should not have on her person.

She glances at Helena, dutifully passing cones on to the girls, and blinks back tears welling up behind her eyes. She was isolated in LA, but she was at least, mostly, able to be herself. Helena and Christina had to be other people, vigilantly, with different names and backstories, acclimating to a foreign culture, with no access to their past.

Whatever this next trial is, it better be quick and painless, as this charade needs to end now.

*

"Tonight. Or tomorrow," Helena says, finally alone in the Rover, in response to Myka's question of when she'll be taken to Leeds.

"It better be tomorrow," Myka grumbles as Helena navigates out of the school parking lot. "If they know where it is, why do you have to be there?"

"Morgana and I both must be present to open the vault. She's on her way there now."

Helena slows at a junction and glances at Christina, wilted and spread out, covering the entire backseat.

"Perhaps she should stay with you tonight at the inn."

"No, we're staying with you." Myka pokes Helena's bruised shoulder, lightly, but hard enough it elicits a wince. "And you're putting that sling on the medic gave you." She looks toward Christina, who has one eye popped open.

"Mom..." Christina drawls, the implication clear without further clarification.

"Alright," Helena says, huffing out a small, defeated sigh. "We'll pick up Myka's bags and head home."

*

"It seems our only option is pasta," Helena says, poking her nose in the pantry. "Saturdays offerings can be quite slim as Sunday's our big shop."

"Pasta's fine," Myka says, looking around their galley kitchen while dragging a finger along a pristine marble countertop. White cobblestone walls and exposed timber beams ooze country charm, while everything else seems lifted from a high-end lifestyle magazine. "You did all this?"

"Most of it. With licensed builders when necessary. The house was a shambles when we arrived, as you'll see from other rooms. I'm told parts of it date from the eighteenth century, but it's been heavily modified. When it's light out, you'll glean that from the roofline."

The drive from the school was less than fifteen minutes, but it was dark by the time they arrived. And a portion of that was spent navigating their claustrophobic driveway. When they emerged from the hedgerows, the lights from the house glowed like a portal to another dimension. Stars glittered in the sky, so far removed were they from light pollution.

"How'd you find this place?"

"Morgana did, years ago."

"Years?"

"This exercise was pre-planned, in anticipation of just an event." Helena reaches into a cabinet under the countertop and pulls out a medium-sized dutch oven pot.

"That...makes sense." It's irksome this wasn't as seat-of-the-pants as Myka thought, as it reminds her of how little she really knows about what's going on. "When did you learn to fix cars?"

"Giselle's cousins. Several are mechanics. They taught me the basics. We ran with the idea once Morgana found the house."

Myka frowns as she watches Helena fill the pot with water. Morgana, Giselle, both good people, both more helpful than she's been.

Helena sets the pot on the stove and lights the burner. "Allow me to show you our humble home," she says. "This is the kitchen, of course."

"Which is amazing," Myka says.

"Christina deserves it, after all I've put her through. We even added a small wood-fired oven, which may or may not have been present in the original kitchen." She points to a brick arch in the space where the fireplace is.

"I'm sure she loves it."

"She'll regale you with our trials and tribulations if you ask. Though she might even if not prompted." Helena guides Myka beyond the kitchen towards the back of the house. When they stop, Helena motions towards a closed door.

"The bath is just here, in the extension. Fully renovated as well. Nothing like our old apartment. It might even rival Claudia's."

Myka lifts a skeptical brow.

"Our water pressure's not as hearty, but serviceable. I'd say we could peek in, but Christina's grown quite accustomed to her privacy. Perhaps it's best to circle back after she's finished showering."

"She is ten now. I guess she's grown in lots of ways," Myka says with a chuckle.

"More than you can imagine." Helena swings back through the kitchen towards the living room. "Once the novelty of being here wore off, there were some difficult times."

"She seems settled now."

"Her happiness has been hard won." Helena stands by an enormous fireplace with a heavy wooden mantle, the flip side of the kitchen hearth. "We'll build a fire here after dinner, and the entire house will warm."

"It's pretty warm right now, but that would be nice." Myka's sure Helena turned up the heating already just for her. But it's been years since she's been anywhere with a real fireplace, the last time a ski trip to Vermont with Abigail and some friends in grad school.

Helena guides Myka up a narrow set of winding stairs to the second floor. "Mind the plastic."

"You fell down these?"

"Yes. The water damage I've been wrestling with is just there." Helena points to a spot where the hallway ceiling meets the slope of the stairway. "We need a new roof."

"That's a big investment."

"Indeed. The longer we're here, the more it needs doing. I've been patching it for now."

"That's ok, right? You won't be here forever."

"Myka," Helena says, the plastic crinkling as she steps forward and takes hold of her hand. "Even if this were over tomorrow, I'd still be deported. And my involvement with this case won't look favorably towards shortening my sentence. If I'm ever allowed into America again."

"T-They can't…you didn't do anything wrong! Interpol can fix it. They have to!"

"They'll try, but there are no guarantees."

"But…no," Myka says, voice softening, looking Helena directly in the eye, waiting for a flicker of hope but seeing only apologetic resolve. "Would you stay here if you couldn't come back?"

"I'd rather Christina not be moved again unless it's to Claudia's. But it's not entirely my decision. There may be other factors. Let's remain optimistic, please." Helena squeezes Myka's hand.

Helena's "please" tugs on Myka's heartstrings. She nods in response, afraid her voice might crack if she spoke. And again, there are so many things factoring into this she's not privy to. She should know better; nothing these days is ever set in stone.

Helena clears her throat. "Christina's room's just there." She tugs Myka's hand, guiding her down the hall.

Myka pushes the door open and peeks in. The room is bigger than she thought, being that the house seems small, but it must extend over yet another extension. She walks in and steps up to a wall filled with drawings made with markers, pens, pencils, and even pastels. The image of a tuxedo rabbit is repeated throughout; this must be Mr. Bubbles, his coloring similar to Dewey's.

Myka turns toward Helena. "These are really good."

"Her sketchbooks are brimming. She's dying to show you."

"Maybe after dinner?"

"Which we should get to making. After one final stop." Helena takes Myka's hand and leads her down the hall into her bedroom. "I've only shored up the crumbling walls in here. This is what the house was like when we arrived."

The water damage is evident, as is the questionable taste of the former occupants. Overly-floral wallpaper covers half of the room, the other half ripped-off to reveal bubbling plaster.

"But you decorated. And it looks like you really live here." A four-poster bed fills the far corner, while a matching dresser sits on the opposite wall. There's a deep-set window with a seat underneath, perfect for reading or napping, but currently covered in folded laundry.

"That was our mandate," Helena says, walking toward the mantle, fidgeting with a wooden knick-knack of a cat. "I channeled my mother's antique leanings but added a modern flare. Homemaking was never my strong suit, but the task required it. And Christina deserved a home she could boast about to her new friends."

"This feels very…settled."

"I wish it to be equated as such. I believe Christina feels safe here, which is the most important thing in the world to me." Helena walks towards the bed and sits on its edge.

"What about you? How do you feel?" Myka sits next to Helena lays a hand on her shoulder.

"I'm …all right," Helena says, the pause clearly indicating a censure of honest feeling. "But, I do have a confession."

"Ok." Myka withdraws her hand and turns slightly to give Helena full attention. She wants to know everything, but a confession? That doesn't sound good.

"A few months ago, in a moment of weakness, I stalked you on the internet. Not here...during some downtime on a job in Cardiff."

"Oh." Myka's relief is palpable. "Do you think that's how they found you?"

"I was certain I was careful. But now...I'm questioning that theory." Helena looks down at her hands, balling them into fists to stop their fidgeting.

"What did you find about me?"

A smile tugs at Helena’s lips. "I found an extraordinary woman willfully moving forward, making connections wherever she traveled, working tirelessly for a museum, continuing to exhibit her art."

"The job part is right, but the rest...I had to project a certain lifestyle, just like you."

"There was an article in the New York Times about your show in LA—"

"Group show. And not just that one, other shows in LA, too."

“—with a beauteous photo of yourself standing next to an attractive, dark-haired woman with a beguiling smile."

"T-They made us stand that close. The photographer did," Myka blurts.

Helena raises a brow.

"She's a friend, one I met at that residency, in LA. She got me into the show." Calm down, Myka. You do not want to have this conversation right now, if ever. "That show got really good reviews. I'm lucky."

"I'm so pleased with all your successes," Helena says, taking hold of Myka's hand and threading their fingers together. "I wish I were there to support you."

"You're there in spirit, always." Myka scoots closer and leans in to kiss Helena, to remove any doubts floating in her mind.

Helena turns to align their lips, but grimaces and pulls back. She circles her shoulder and rubs her neck, groaning as she hits a tender spot.

"Here, let me," Myka says, pushing back onto the bed and laying her hands on Helena's shoulders. "You really should wear that sling. And take a bath to loosen up your muscles, help them heal."

Helena groans even louder as Myka presses her thumbs into her trapezius muscles. Myka's stomach flutters at the sound and the memories it conjures.

"Do you remember the first massage I ever gave you?” Myka asks.

“How could I ever forget? The one where it took every ounce of my being to not turn and ravish you."

"Uh-huh." Myka maneuvers so that she's entirely on the bed, her legs stranding Helena's hips from behind.

"I was madly in love with you already." Helena turns her head toward Myka as far as it will go.

"So was I." Myka twists her body to meet Helena's gaze. She brushes her fingers over Helena's blackening eye then trails them down, cupping her jaw, guiding Helena's mouth toward hers until their lips meet.

"Mom, water's boiling!" Christina yells.

"I'll be down in a minute!" Helena yells back, lips quickly returning to cover Myka's. "If I'd made better choices earlier on," she says between soft but heated kisses, "perhaps we'd not be in this predicament."

"Ravishing me then wouldn't have changed this." Myka's hand tangles in Helena's short mane.

"Had I read you in earlier, you might at least be here with us now."

Helena's kisses trail along Myka's jaw, then down, towards the crook of her neck. Myka moans as Helena's nose digs into the well above her collarbone.

"You didn't know me well enough to trust me. And you couldn't have predicted any of this—"

"MOM! The water's boiling away!"

"Alright! Add the pasta."

"The whole box?"

"Yes. And remember to stir it."

"I don't forget. You do."

"Yes, but I'm reminding you." The end of Helena's sentence is buried in Myka's neck, as she returns to kissing her way across.

"Is there sauce?" Christina shouts.

Myka barks a laugh as Helena sighs into her shoulder. "In the freezer, leftover from the last batch we made." She rests her head on Myka's chest as they wait for Christina's answer. Myka hugs Helena close, combing her fingers through Helena's locks, which are still, thankfully, just as silky smooth as ever.

"I can't find any."

"Then we're out. Butter and garlic it is," Helena declares. "Wait a moment, and I'll come and help." Then to Myka, "Barebones supper, I'm afraid. I hope you don't mind."

Myka tips Helena's head up and kisses her as if she'd said they'd be eating a five-star meal. "Any dinner with you two? Best. Dinner. Ever."

*

They eat in the kitchen at the thick, wooden table, its cloth napkins and lit candles making it almost a formal affair.

"The candlesticks came from an estate sale. Christina has her grandmother's eye for decor." Helena smiles at Christina, a proud twinkle in her eye.

Christina beams at the compliment and launches into other finds, such as the wooden bread bowl on the counter and a cuckoo clock above a sideboard.

"I haven't heard it cuckoo," Myka says of the clock.

"It's yet to be fixed, but it's on our list," Helena laments.

"Aunt Claudia could fix it," Christina adds.

"She sure could," Myka agrees.

Helena doesn't comment.

The table quiets. Forks scrape and ice cubes clank as everyone tucks into their food. Speaking freely about the past is clearly a contestable issue.

Helena glances at the clock, then at Christina. “Your Aunt Claudia would add tech to make the bird sing."

"Or talk. Sing and talk," Myka adds.

"And you could control it from your phone," Christina says.

"That must be a thing already. We should look it up." Myka slips her phone out of her pocket.

"No phones at the table." Helena gives a disapproving look.

"But yours is right there." Myka points with her eyes to Helena's phone, next to her plate.

"Extenuating circumstances."

“Oh...right." The normalcy of their meal lulled Myka into a sense of false security. This wasn't merely a pleasant ritual, they were waiting for the call that could potentially change everything.

"We'll add 'make cuckoo sing' to our list of summer projects," Helena says, swaying the conversation back to trivialities.

"Will we still be here?" Christina says.

"I believe so."

"Can Aunt Claudia visit us now, since Myka's here?"

"Perhaps. But I can't make any promises. The next few days will be telling."

Christina lays her fork down, her plate three-quarters cleared. "I'm done."

"At least finish your toast," Helena says.

Christina stuffs what’s left of her garlic bread into her mouth all at once.

Helena purses her lips in disapproval. "During your foray into the freezer, did you spy any ice cream?”

"No, but there's cake."

"The Genoise or Chiffon?"

"Genoise, with the strawberry frosting. It's really yummy!" Christina says to Myka.

"It's quite a delight. One of our more successful forays into baking."

"I believe you," Myka says.

"Why don't you pull some out and we'll have it later."

"Ok!" Christina pushes her chair back and makes a beeline towards the fridge.

"Why wouldn't you be here in the summer? She knows you're still deported, right?"

"Yes. But she also knows, since our location has been compromised, we may need to disappear again."

"You didn't say that earlier. You said if you cooperated, everything would be fine!"

"I also said certain decisions were not up to me. I didn't want to sound alarmist."

"If you go, I'm coming with you. You can't do that to me again."

Christina lays a plate on the table containing two pieces of frozen cake and looks at Myka expectantly.

"Wow, those look great!" Myka says, a little too emphatically, changing her tone on a dime. She turns the plate for a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view. Fluffy layers of yellow cake sandwich pink icing with strawberries and even more strawberries line the top.

"Fancy a spot of tele after the washing up?" Helena says to Christina.

"There's a new Bake Off! Have you been watching?" Christina asks Myka.

"I haven't."

"I'll catch you up."

"Shall I light the fire, or you?" Helena asks Christina.

"I'll do it!" Christina scurries into the living room.

"Well. That's sorted." Helena stands and moves towards the kitchen.

"Hey." Myka touches Helena's forearm, her fingers sliding down as Helena continues moving away. She cuffs Helena's wrist, and Helena flinches, her arm stretching, the pressure straining her sore shoulder. Her wrist slips free as Myka’s grip loosens, but Myka hooks their fingers together before Helena disengages entirely.

"Where's that sling the medic gave you? You should put it on."

"I believe it's in the car."

"Go get it. I'll clean up."

"I'll clean up. It would please Christina to no end if you'd assist her with the fire."

"Sure, but—"

"You're our guest."

"Guest? Since when am I a guest?" Myka stands and squeezes Helena's hand.

Helena closes her eyes and lowers her head, letting out a deep, weighted sigh.

"What's wrong?"

"You're cross with me."

"No. I'm just…hey, look at me." Myka tips Helena's chin up.

Helena's eyes flick up to meet Myka's.

"I'm sorry I snapped at you. But it's frustrating, being in the dark about everything."

"Were there time, I'd explain."

"I know." Myka cups Helena's cheek and brushes her thumb over her brow. Helena's physical state is bad enough, but hurting her emotionally? Not ok.

"We can talk later." Helena says, leaning into Myka's touch.

"Talking is not what we're doing later. Or not much of it."

Helena’s eyes light up. "I like the way you think.”

"Mm-hmm." Myka leans in and presses a soft kiss to Helena's upturned lips.

"Mom, do you know where the long matches are?" Christina shouts from the living room.

Helena pulls back and rolls her eyes. "They're in here, love."

"I'll bring them in. I want to see this fire being made!" Myka answers. "Come with me," she says to Helena. “Leave the cleanup for later." She laces their fingers together, on Helena's good arm, and gently tugs.

Helena looks towards the dishes then back at Myka. “Quite the genius tonight, aren’t you?"

“I know.” Myka grins. “Grab those matches, and let's go."

-TBC-

[burtlederp]

Anton and Jackson Drabble

A response to this prompt... Turned out quite a bit longer than I intended. XP STILL, I feel pretty good about it, and I ain’t even gonna break it up. Wordcount: 3154 :0 Thanks to @delicatewhumps for the prompt!

tw: blood, gore, death, animal violence.

“Anton, keep the strap across your chest.” Jackson reminded the inhuman patiently. Anton hissed, annoyed, but pulled it back over his head.

“It is… hurt. Gentle hurt?” He searched for the word.

“Uncomfortable?”

“Yes, that.” Anton grimaced, working his clawed thumb underneath the strap to pull it away from his collarbone.

“I know it is, but it’ll keep you safe in a car crash.” Jackson smiled. 

“Well, half the time.” The cleric’s voice floated back from the front seat, and Jackson frowned. 

“Half the time is not all the time.” Anton grinned, starting to pull the strap back over his head, but Jackson reached over and took hold of it.

“But half the time is more than none of the time.” He pointed out sternly, and eyed the cleric grumpily in the rearview mirror. Lyle smiled and looked back to the road as Jackson straightened up in his seat, looking out the window. There wasn’t anything to see, it was the middle of the night, pitch black, at least for Jackson. The wee hours of morning, or when the most calls came in, reporting appearances, sightings, attacks, and interactions with magical beasts that needed dealing with. Normal police forces couldn’t quite measure up to the power of some, which is where the Magic Affairs Agency came in--and, by extension in this situation, Jackson, his adopted son Anton, and Lyle Cohen. They were on their way in Lyle’s car to a call in some business park just inside city limits.

“What is it again?” Anton inquired in his strange, thick accent. “The thing we will fight?” 

“A troll is what it sounded like. Something large and strong.” Lyle replied casually. 

“Didn’t they mention it had claws?” Jackson questioned.

“Did they? Huh. Maybe not a troll.” Lyle shrugged. “Something big, strong, and evidently with claws.”

“I have claws.” Anton stated, looking down at his hands. “It is fair fight.”

“Maybe if it were just you and it, but you aren’t alone.” Jackson scoffed. “You got me and Lyle, remember?”

“Yes.” Anton nodded. “I could take it on my own.” 

“But let’s not, okay?” Jackson chuckled, ruffling Anton’s hair affectionately. 

Anton scrunched up his face, but shrugged. “Fine.”

It wasn’t long before they were pulling up to the business park where the thing had been reported. A herd of deer scattered as Lyle parked the car.

“I don’t see anything…” The cleric commented, peering out into the dimly-lit area. There were streetlights that illuminated the main road that ran between the rows of gray, nondescript buildings. Trees blocked most of the artificial light from reaching the parking lots, grown on the sparse patches of manicured grass.

“You don’t have darkvision.” Anton rolled his eyes, and opened his door, slipping out and closing it behind himself quietly. Jackson and Lyle got out as Anton climbed atop the car’s roof.

“Hey, careful, this car is new!” Lyle whispered hoarsely, but the inhuman ignored him, keeping himself low to the car’s surface, slowly straightening up.

“Shh, it’s fine, he’s careful. See anything Anton?” Jackson inquired, keeping his voice low.

“No…” He replied slowly, but he wasn’t sure yet. There was a lot he couldn’t see, his view blocked by the trees and the buildings. He saw movement, the herd of deer they’d disturbed, across the way in the neighboring parking lot. He watched them for a long moment, clustering around a clump of closely-spaced trees, wondering if Jackson would let him hunt one if they couldn’t find the monster. Then, Anton saw the trees move. He ducked down, ears flattening in alarm.

“What is it?” Jackson pressed, and Anton pointed towards the deer. Jackson followed his finger, squinting in the dark, and saw those trees moving--except, he realized, they weren’t tree trunks. They were legs. Thin, with short brown fur, and dainty, black, cloven hooves. They were moving towards the street, and a moment later, it stepped out into the light. The three of them could just barely see it through the leaves, but they could tell what it was now. 

A giant stag, its sharp antlers reaching up above the trees, too many tines to count at first, and while they couldn’t see its large head, they knew it was looking at them. 

“It sees us.” Anton breathed, just barely loud enough for the others to hear. Jackson nodded slowly.

“Alright, let me get my pickaxe out of the back.” He said after a moment, sighing and shaking his head as he walked to the back of Lyle’s car, popping the trunk. He started maneuvering his giant pickaxe out of the just-barely-big-enough trunk, when he heard the cleric curse softly. He looked up, and felt his heart jump in his chest. Small white dots, eyes, glowing in hundreds of pairs, glowed in the darkness beyond the mighty stag. They had an audience. Or perhaps it was an army?

“What do you think are the chances that they’re friendly?” Jackson said softly, half-joking, half serious.

“They are not.” Anton could tell. He could feel it. The giant stag was not merely watching them, it was glaring. 

“What do we do?” Lyle asked, shifting on his feet, unsure.

“We wait for it to attack first.” Jackson replied. “No point in fighting if--” He was cut off as the deer suddenly pushed off the ground, and sailed into the air. Jackson didn’t need to shout the order to scatter, Anton, Lyle, and he did it fine. Jackson barrel-rolled out of the way, Lyle throwing himself onto the nearest grass, and Anton scurried away in the opposite direction of the deer, disappearing into the shadows. The deer’s hooves hit nothing but concrete, narrowly missing Lyle’s car, much to the cleric’s relief, though it rocked precariously. The asphalt was cracked beneath the deer as it spread its legs out properly, swinging its huge head back and forth, picking a target. 

Jackson didn’t give it the chance to choose Lyle, snatching a rock from a decorative garden bed and hurling it at the stag. It knocked off the deer’s head, and it quickly turned on him. Teeth bared, Jackson realized the thing had fangs, and just barely dodged a snap of its jaws. He swung his pickaxe, messily, the broad side slapping its face away from him. It cried out, that odd, chilling, unearthly sound that deer could make, rumbling in Jackson’s chest as it reared up. 

He leapt out of the way of the thing’s hooves, the stomps getting closer every time. After the fourth stomp, he jumped towards the stag’s hind legs rather than away. He’d dropped his pickaxe, but that didn’t matter, summoning it to his hand as he swung a much better hit at the deer’s left hind ankle. The sharp point of the pickaxe buried itself into the leg, and the stag tried to jerk its leg away. The pickaxe was not pulled from the wound, but it was ripped from Jackson’s grip as the creature bucked, flicking the weapon off. He summoned it back to his hand before it could leave recall range, and tried to dodge the subsequent bite, but wasn’t entirely successful. Luckily, the bite was just barely overshot, and hard gums mashed down on his arm rather than teeth. He was spared an amputation, but he still felt his bones bend incorrectly as the stupid thing clenched hard, then whipped its head, tossing Jackson towards the large herd of deer in the dark.

Jackson, now sailing through the air away from the main fight, had at least provided Lyle with enough time to fetch his things from his car. So as the stag turned to him, baring those giant fangs, the cleric was ready. It snapped at him, but he sidestepped it, and smashed a warped, glass container onto its nose. It tossed its head back, calling, the shards sunk into its flesh as the liquid that spread upon its face sizzled, burning away fur and flesh. It glowed in the dark of night, a furious orange like fire. It was spreading, up its face.

“Weak to fire, mm?” Lyle panted, wishing he had packed more than two of those splash-potions. He glanced around, staggering back. Where’s Anton? He thought, then saw a shadow flicker out towards the deer. It scrambled up the deer’s stationary right leg, the stag trying to rub the goo off its snout with its other leg and only succeeding in spreading the potion more, as the little shadow suddenly was hanging on its throat. There was Anton, hissing and spitting like a wildcat as he dug his claws into the deer’s neck, pressing his face into its fur, trying to find the soft flesh to bite. 

“Anton, watch out!” Lyle’s warning wasn’t quite in time, the deer jerking its body violently to try and throw the inhuman. It just barely failed, Anton hanging on with one hand, and quickly darting up to its ear, where he could get a better hold. Holding and yanking on the ear, the stag bellowed, turning according to the direction it was pulled, and started running, away from the cleric.

“Aw shit, aw shit, aw shit,” Lyle breathed, and started giving chase, but was soon left behind in the dust. It was fast, even with an injured leg.

Anton hung on for dear life as the deer careened towards its army of brothers. The inhuman, noticing that the deer weren’t looking very friendly either, swung himself onto the back of the stag, trying to stay out of reach of enemy antlers. As the giant stag galloped through the herd, Anton wondered where the hell Jackson was. He landed just over here, hadn’t he? He thought, when the stag stopped so suddenly, he didn’t have time to prepare. Anton was tossed between the giant antlers, but just barely managed to reach out and grab hold of lower tines, stopping himself short. Directly in front of the stag’s lowered head was a nest, a thicket of spikes, the antlers of other deer, ready to impale him. They were already bloodied, but Anton didn’t have time to figure out where from. He was awkwardly situated on the stag’s face, his chest facing the sky above, arms twisted back to grip the antlers, knees bent as his feet straddled either side of the muzzle. Unfortunately, that’s where some of the splash-potion had spread, and Anton quickly began to feel it, a sharp, hot pain on the bottoms of his feet, his butt, and shoulder blades, the parts that had made contact with the substance. He hissed, and could feel the stag getting ready to rear, try and throw him off. 

Anton was quicker, though. Knowing that all the deer were clustered at the front of the stag’s face, he whipped himself to the side, not letting go of the antlers. The stag hadn’t braced, and so its head was twisted with Anton. It cried out, antlers slamming into the ground, and it staggered sideways, but didn’t fall. He hadn’t flipped it, but it didn’t matter, there was a better opening now. Quick as a wink, he darted to the throat of the deer, latching on again. It raised its head slowly, clumsily, discombobulated from the hit on the asphalt. It tried to shake its head and neck, but only did so weakly, too disoriented to move properly. Anton didn’t waste time, shoving his face past the rough fur to the skin, biting, and tearing. A bit of skin and muscle came with, but the hole was started. He shifted his hands, taking hold of either side of it, and started raking his claws out from it, over and over again. Hot, sticky blood began to flow profusely from it, the flesh vibrating as the stag uttered a loud, shuddering cry, but Anton didn’t stop. He buried his teeth into the viscera and tore.

He fell off then, but it didn’t matter. It was over. A wave of hot blood spurted from the neck of the beast as it collapsed, the life fleeing its eyes as fast as it did from its throat. Anton heard a scrape of hooves against pavement behind him, and he snarled, whipping around, ready to fight. But there was no new assailant. No, the herd of deer that had surrounded him, serving the stag, was backing away now. They’d lost. 

Anton bared his own teeth, sharp, red with blood like the rest of him, and he roared, hissed, and spat. It was enough, the deer turning tail and running as their leader’s body jerked, the last weak struggles as it slipped away. The deer quickly disappeared into the night, and Anton slowly relaxed, breathing hard, watching them. He looked down at himself, nose scrunching at the sight of himself, entirely drenched in blood. He tsked, turning around, beginning to lick his arm when he stopped. 

Just a couple yards away, lying in the gutter, was a familiar limp form. His own blood ran cold, and he moved to Jackson’s side faster than he had ever moved before, falling to his knees beside him. He rolled him over onto his back, praying to some goddess he’d sworn he’d forgotten, asking that Jackson wasn’t dead. He gave no thanks though as he found he wasn’t, Jackson giving a pained moan as he was moved.

“Jackson!” Anton cried out, looking him over. Holes, stab wounds, so many wounds, littered his body, red soaking through his clothes, his face not spared either. The inhuman remembered the antlers that he’d nearly fallen onto, they’d been bloodied already, with Jackson’s blood, he realized now. “Shit, fuck!” He cursed, dragging his hands down his face, looking over the man’s form helplessly. What do I do? What do I do? How do I--? How--? 

“L-language…” It was barely understandable, just slightly louder than the whistle of the air through the hole in his chest, but Anton heard it.

“Jackson, J-Jackson, w-what do I do?” Anton swallowed, fists clenched, eyes wide. “What do I do?! How do I help you?” Jackson weakly raised a hand, his brown eyes hazy, distant, and Anton went quiet, ears lowered, waiting. Waiting. Please, tell me what to do. I don’t want you to die.

“H-how bad is it?” Jackson croaked, ever-so-gently laying his bloodied, mangled hand on Anton’s. The inhuman’s fist relaxed, and he slipped his fingers between those large ones. Anton gulped, feeling tears burn in his eyes. 

“Y-you’re not hurt that bad.” He lied, biting his bottom lip. “Please, Jackson, don’t die. Help is coming. I will help you.” Anton breathed. Jackson coughed, suddenly, a terrible, wet sound, and Anton hated hearing how the air he tried to suck back into his lungs bubbled and whistled through the holes in his chest. 

“J-Jackson, Dad, please,” Anton felt tears roll down his cheeks, but he didn’t care, leaning over Jackson’s face. He was so pale, so very very pale, his eyes sunken. Anton had seen eyes like that before, many times--the eyes of his prey, bleeding out; his tribe alpha, writhing in the dirt as the newcomer choked him to death; Ezin, when he had died in Anton’s arms. And now, here those awful, haunting eyes were again, but on the one person he never, ever wanted to see them.

“Please, Dad, no, Dad,” Anton sobbed, hands pressed on either side of Jackson’s face. 

“It’ll be okay, Anton…” Jackson wheezed, smiling faintly, resting a hand atop Anton’s. His eyelids fluttered. 

“No, no, no! Dad! Dad!” Anton howled, but it did nothing. 

“I love you.” The light slipped away. Anton felt like the air within and around him had vanished, like his heart had stopped, his sobs choking in his throat. His lips moved with words he couldn’t speak. Dad, I love you. Words he hadn’t said enough. I love you. Words he had thought silly, meaningless even. I love you so much. Now they were everything he had ever wanted to say, the only ones he ever wanted to tell Jackson, but he couldn’t. He was gone. 

Anton wailed, flinching away from the body, curling into himself as he wept, loudly, inconsolably. He didn’t want to see it. He couldn’t. If he didn’t look, it wasn’t there, and Jackson wasn’t dead. Jackson was okay, he was at home, waiting for Anton, waiting to wrap him up into a hug and kiss him on the cheek and tell him how much he loved him, with dinner ready and waiting in the kitchen. But he wasn’t. And he wouldn’t be.

He heard footsteps, panting, something approaching. The inhuman felt a surge of protectiveness, snapping to his feet, claws ready, teeth bared, snarling. 

Lyle skidded to a stop, falling back onto his rear, gasping. Anton’s eyes almost glowed in the dark, indescribably, a fury there that had no light. He was covered in red, in blood. The cleric’s eyes darted to Jackson’s limp form.

“A-Anton, please, I can help him, I can save him,” He breathed, slowly sitting up. Minutely, he saw a bit of that animalistic anger fade. “Please, Anton, please, let me save him,” He begged. His heart pounded, he was acutely aware of the pain of his own wounds him--the damn deer had flankedbut his adrenaline was flowing. Anton’s snarl faded into a fiery glare, and he took a step back. Warily, cautiously, keeping an eye on the inhuman, Lyle crawled quickly to Jackson.

“Aw shit, they did a number on you, didn’t they?” He breathed, hands hovering over Jackson’s chest. His eyes darted to every spot of blood on him, processing every wound in his head as fast as he could, but it was too much. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, and leaned over the dead man. He pressed his mouth over Jackson’s, his hands over the eyes, and breathed into him, speaking the spell in his mind. It took just a moment, when light shone dimly from beneath Lyle’s hands, and he lifted his head. Jackson’s weak, limp form took a deep, shuddering breath, but no air whistled through the holes of his chest. He exhaled, slowly, then again inhaled. He didn’t stop breathing. Lyle sighed in relief, and looked up at Anton.

The inhuman stared down at Jackson, eyes wide, not daring to breathe, and risk taking it from his father. He fell to his knees again, lip trembling. Lyle carefully reached an arm around him, and Anton leaned into it. 

“Breathe, Anton, breathe, it’s okay,” Lyle murmured, and the poor boy gasped for air, realizing how long he’d gone with it. And the floodgates burst. He buried his face into the cleric’s chest, shaking with emotion, unable to comprehend what had happened. He felt Lyle wrap both arms around him, holding him close, and even though he didn’t know him, he let him. He didn’t care.

“Th-thank you…” Anton gasped, breaths hitching in his chest between sobs. “Thank you…”

“You’re welcome, buddy.” Lyle rocked him gently. “You’re welcome. You’re okay. He’s okay. We’re all okay.”

[yminie]

bts | the spotter | park jimin

I FUCKING LOVE THIS LOOK ON HIM IM SCREAMINF 

characters: Jimin, OC, mentions of Yoongi and Taehyung. genre/warnings: mentions of weaponry, oc is up close a personal with a gun, mentions of killing(mild), gang au, mafia au, one shot only. words: 1976 summary: as a young detective, you’re committed to tracking and investigating one of the most lethal gangs in the country, but little do you know they have their most trained eyes on you.

carrier | supplier | spotter | consigliere | caporegime | underboss | boss

a/n: this is a one shot, using Jimin as his character from this masterpost here. stay tuned for the next instalment tomorrow night(AEST)!

You’re staring at the door to the private club hard enough for your eyes to sting and water, but you refuse to look away, determined to catch any and all moments possible, because you never know when you’re gonna find the right clue to solve the case.

Sitting in your undercover car, you squirm in the hard leather seat, your backside having gone numb over time and the uncomfortable itch starting to set in through the denim of your jeans. Of course your preference for this evening would have been to stay home, break out some pizza and a nice bottle of wine, but instead you were posted and alert, the last dregs of coffee from your thermal disappearing on your tongue as you lifted the binoculars to your eyes once more. The magnification made it so much easier to differentiate BTS members from bystanders, but that really only worked when they were, you know, where you could see them.

BTS was short for Bangtan Songyeondan, one of the leading top gangs in this sector, and you’d been on their case for four months. Dead end after dead end had left you desperate in this investigation, because you knew they were guilty, and you knew they were the ones behind the string of bombings on the north side of the city, not to mention the huge drug ring they were feeding into, but you just couldn’t get the proof to stick.

So here you were, just past 2am on a work night and your stomach grumbling in protest of your lack of eating, but you could feel it, that if you left for even thirty seconds to grab something to eat, they’d be gone, and you couldn’t afford to risk it when you were this close.

The boss wasn’t here, you knew that much; if he was you knew the entourage would be much larger, but you had good reason to believe that the next best thing was – second in commands come in just as handy.

A slight movement in the doorway had you clicking record on the digital recorder sitting in your lap, reading for you to list off any details worth remembering for later, and you jerked the binoculars back to your face, eyes unblinking.

A black cap came into view, the wearers face turned away from you to begin with, and you could faintly see white blonde strands peeking from beneath the rim, but when he turned his head, you instantly identified him.

“Time is approximately 2:36am Tuesday the 16th, Min Yoongi alone spotted on the outside of the establishment, please note for description a change in hair colour, hard to differentiate from colored light interference, but believed to be a light bleached blonde.” You pause in your rattling, arching your neck as you followed his walking frame with the binoculars firmly against your face. “He has left the establishment, walking towards a large black car, interference from other cars and objects, unable to clearly see model or number plate, please note to check surveillance in this area for cross checking.”

You continued to list as you watched him make his departure, the large black vehicle disappearing down the end of the street. He’d gone in with two more members but left alone, and that had you curious.

Having just clicked the recorder off, lowering the binoculars as you blinked your stinging eyes, you jumped slightly in shock at a light tapping noise at the rear of your car. Eyes flicking between the clubs’ doorway down the street and the rear vision mirror, you squinted in an attempt to catch sight of anything that could have caused the noise, but you found none and quickly eased back into the seat, eyes aching once more as you focused your stare.

“Oh!” You gasped this time, flinching as the sound is repeated on the rear window, slightly harder, and you’re instantly on edge, momentarily abandoning your observation for the sake of your own safety, and you use every means of view to check your surroundings, mirrors, windows and nearby reflective surfaces the like. But still you find nothing, the night stagnant around you in the depths of the morning, and you take a deep breath to calm your slightly racing heart.

Not a minute later, and you’ve reached your limit, the tap on your back window not entirely unexpected but enough to have you ready to engage. Whatever it was, it was distracting you, and you needed to sort it out immediately to get back on track.

Your radio is clipped to the back of your jeans, badge shoved into your left back pocket and handgun tucked close to your thigh as you quietly and quickly climb from your vehicle, glancing back towards the club and ensuring you’re not exposing yourself in the process.

You carefully but speedily study your surroundings once more, focusing your gaze the hardest in the dark shadowy areas, but you come up short, back straightening and body relaxing as you look around once more, preparing to climb back into your car and resume, and then you hear it once last time, the ting of metal on metal as it lands just short of the window and bounces off the boot of your car to tinkle against the ground, and you rush forward to see what it was.

You register the colour first, a coppery gold that stands out against the dark black asphalt, and when you finally realize the shape, your hand is flying back to grab your radio. But your wrist is gripped and pinned far faster than you can tug it away, and you’re driven forward roughly until your cheek meets the glass window inside a doorway alcove and your arm is pinned back behind you.

“I wouldn’t if I were you.” An airy voice warns you, fingers tightening around your wrist before abruptly releasing you, and you roll your shoulder to ease the sharp pain he’d left behind. Your attacker was still pressed close, the heat of his chest radiating warming your back, but he takes a small step back wards, quickly letting you realize your gun was no longer in your hand, and you turn slowly with your hands up.

The young man in front of you was, while his face was swallowed in shadows, effortlessly handsome and you recognized the dark head of hair in seconds. “Park Jimin.” one of his brows rose, the hand not holding your gun lifting to brush the dark strands back from his eyes. He studies you for a moment before stepping closer once more, forcing you to press yourself back against the cold glass’ bite in order to keep your skin from touching yours.

“You know my name?” he smirks, eyes curving like crescent moons, and the relaxed vibe his casual lean against the building gives you has you on edge. This man has delivered more headshots than some of the best soldiers in your country’s army, and you know he’s not to be taken lightly, no matter how sweet his smile appears.

“I know a bit more than just your name.” His smirk spreads into a fully fledged grin and he chuckles, head tilting back as his arms come uncrossed, and that’s when you spot the glint off metal on his back, the distinctive barrel of a Barrett M82 Sniper Rifle shining in the dim light from the street. You’re almost what you would call impressed by the relaxed way he stands so calmly out in the open with the huge gun strapped to his back, but then again, it takes just as much balls to so freely wear the logo patch on his leather jacket.

“Hmm, interesting…” His head tilts curiously to the side, and he reaches toward you, the hand holding your gun moving forward confidently and pushing against the side of your hip and you flinch away from him, eyes wide with shock, but he just laughs again as he shuffles closer, free hand sliding behind you and over the curve of your ass.

“Excuse me!” Your hands press against his chest to push him back before you can filter through your brain whether or it’s a good idea, but he ignores you with a smile, your badge wallet now grasped between his fingers. Flicking it open he smile wistfully at the shiny badge inside, eyes dropping to read over your ID card.

“_____ _____…. A detective? Impressive.” The wallet falls closed in his hand and he surprisingly hands it back to you, dropping it in your open palm when you manage to hesitantly hold it out. “You seem a bit young to be a detective, _____.”

Gritting your teeth you push the leather square back into your pocket, shoulder stiff as you maintain eye contact with the man. “Can’t say it’s the first time I’ve heard that.”

“I can imagine.” He continues to grin at you. “Nice to finally know your name though.” Your eyes bulge slightly as you stare at him, mouth opening and closing as you search for a reply.

“What do you mean by ‘finally’?” You blurt, blood running cold, and he leans closer to you with another chuckle.

“You can’t really follow us around for four months and think we aren’t going to catch on? Can you?” He questions you with another raised brow. “We knew you were here before we even pulled up, sweetheart. I think you’re in a little over your head here.”

“Is that so?” Your blood is boiling beneath your skin for multiple reasons. You’d like to say that adrenaline and the gun pressing against your thigh were the only things to blame, but you couldn’t ignore the way his proximity was making your face flush.

“Drop the case.” He warns with a sweet smile, hand coming up to pinch your chin between thumb and forefinger. “Drop it, and I wont have to come after you.” You lift your chin from his grip, chin tilting almost arrogantly and it pulls a breathy laugh from his throat, hand dropping back to his side.

“I’ll drop the case when you and your team are locked up for the destruction you’ve caused.” You bite back, the heat in your tone making his jaw clench.

“Sweetheart, when my boss makes the decision that your time is up, your time will be up.” The gun is lifted from where it rests pressed against your leg and he uses it to push back a lock of your hair, holding it against your temple for a mere second. “And I don’t miss.” The metal clinks slightly when he taps it against your skull, and for a short tense moment, part of you thinks he’s just going to shoot you now.

Instead, he leans in closer, lips brushing the shell of your ear and making your eyes squeeze closed. “Be a good girl and do as you’re told. Don’t get yourself killed just for your pride.”

And then he’s gone, your eyes opening to watch him as he strolls towards your car, and you almost jump again when you notice the second man now in your vicinity, leant against your car as he stares up at you. “Ready to go?”

“Yep.” Jimin nods before reaching over to put your handgun down on the boot of your car, and both of the men cross towards the motorbike you now notice parked two spaces down, climbing on and revving the engine to life.

You’re still stood frozen as the two of them disappear down the street, and you finally sink to the ground once you can no longer see them, hands shaking and breathing labored as you reached down to click on the recorder, stating the details of his number plate.

You were going to catch them, and you were going to catch Park Jimin first.

[thejokersenigma]

Joker x Reader (Frost’s Daughter) - Frost’s Secret - Part 5

Ok guys, sorry it took me so long to get this one done, the last few days has been quite busy for me. This part is quite short, but I think I roughly know what I’m doing for the next so hopefully it shouldn’t be too far behind once I’ve done a few parts of my other stories!

I hope you enjoy it - I’ve gone a bit off track from where I had originally seen this story going, but I’m just kind of rolling with it...?

Let me know if you want to be tagged in anything!

REQUESTS ARE ALWAYS OPEN

MAIN MASTERLIST

FROST’S SECRET MASTERLIST

You staggered, feeling the sharp sting of the cut where the heavily ringed hand had caught you. Your legs were weak and unable to keep you upright and you threw out your arms as you fell, jolting your wrists painfully when they made contact with the floor. You felt the grazes on your palms prickle and the pain in your hip blossom as you fought back the water in your eyes.

You remained on the floor, trying desperately to keep some sort of dignity. You knew better than to get back up again – though you hadn’t known better than to back chat the man a moment ago.

“Your pathetic mother was only supposed to threaten Frost.” The man growled, pacing in his temper “She seemed to think she seized an opportunity by nabbing you – personally” He snarled darkly. “I think, she’s just saddled me with another thing to feed.” He spat at you cruelly, looking at you like you were something he’d found in a drain.

Everything in you wanted to snarled back at him, but you kept your mouth shut, twisting your head up to glare at the tall, burly man.

No, you wouldn’t get yourself killed, but you wouldn't let yourself be bullied either. You defiantly refused to stem the slow trickle of blood now oozing from your cheek - he’d have to try harder than that to break you.

“Now.” He growled again, his temper gone, but replaced with a nasty grin. “I am more than happy to withhold such luxuries from you.” He warned, grabbing your chin in a painful hold, crushing your jaw in his strong fingers so you couldn’t help closing your eyes at the pain. “But… whilst you’re here…” he mused quietly in your ear. “We might as well make use of you...”

 Frost had watched the video three times now since it had turned up outside his flat door earlier that morning. Twice he had watched it alone, now he was finally showing it to his boss.

J’s jaw had got tenser the longer he watched to the point that it looked close to snapping.

“What are they asking for?” He finally growled out, not moving his gaze from where [Y/N] - weakly supporting herself on her hands and knees - was now kicked in the stomach, spending her sprawling across the floor. The child was bruised, bleeding and weary, but he could see something in her eyes that told him she hadn’t given up yet. There was still some fight in her.

“Money. A large amount of it.” Frost answered stiffly, wishing he didn’t have to watch the torture again.

“And this was just sent to you?”

“Yes.” Frost frowned, confused by the question.

“Good.” The Joker muttered, now getting up from his chair at the head of the long meeting room table, though the tape continued to play out on the projector screen.

“Boss?”

“If they’re only threatening you, Frosty,” J grinned sinisterly, “then they don’t know about my part in this…” He mused to himself, a plan clearly forming in his mind. “And they’ll believe you’re limited to your resources alone.”

“And I’m not, boss?” Frost questioned with a raised brow. “Are you offering to help get my daughter back?”

“No.” J growled, turning back to the video screen, watching the balding man now back handing [Y/N]’s already bruised face. “I’m going to get my girl back.”

Frost had inwardly cringed at J’s continual possessiveness over [Y/N], but he couldn’t afford to argue with the crime lord now, desperately needing access to the Joker’s funds and equipment – especially with the time passing so quickly and having no way of knowing how well his daughter was holding up.

J had happily handed over the large sum of money without Frost even needing to ask, but the head henchman did have to draw the line when the Joker wanted to accompany him to the transfer point. Frost couldn’t risk causing any more harm to [Y/N] by him dragging along his unpredictable boss.

So, Frost now found himself driving, alone, into the cavernous loading bays of one of the many abandoned warehouses that lined Gotham’s docks. It was hopeless to think that this was the kidnapper’s hideout - this was just a suitable location off police radars that had enough boxes, rooms and other nooks and crannies to hide a small army, as well as conceal numerous snipers should Frost make a wrong move. He wasn’t stupid, he knew his movements would have been watched since the moment he’d turned onto the street.

Frost pulled up opposite a car that was already parked in the large, concrete room, noting the large balding man – roughly Frost’ s size – who leant against the side of it, watching him as he got out. Frost met the man’s gaze, alert for anyone else around him or any slight movement.

“Hello Johnny-boy.” The man grinned, his arms crossed over his chest. Frost showed no sign of acknowledging the greeting, his face blank of expression. “Got a bit of lose cash for me?” The man continued, unperturbed by the lack of response.  

Frosts turned, without a word, back to the car, reaching in and extracting a black leathery briefcase which he then swung up onto the roof.

“Now hand her over.” Frost growled across the length of concrete, turning back to the blackmailer.

“Oh, no.” The man grinned, pushing himself off the car so he stood upright, “That wasn’t our deal.” He said, shaking his head. “You think I’d give up my little bargaining chip over a petty pile of cash? Nah. Our deal was, give us money and we wouldn’t put any more scars on her pretty skin – you know you really should read the fine print...” The bald man added with a smug smirk. Frost glared coldly at the man’s deception, any hopes of getting his daughter back quickly waning.

“Now toss it over.” The man gestured for the case.

Frost was having to think on his feet now, and quickly, the silence between the men stretching into the lingering shadows. He turned and grabbed the suitcase, but then promptly dropped it on the floor, sending up a fine layer of dust. “Only if I see she’s still alive.” Frost growled.

“Fine.” The man shrugged, before gesturing behind him with a flick of his wrist. For a moment nothing happened as the signal was conveyed to the necessary people, then a solid fire-escape like door behind the kidnapper was opened and [Y/N] was forced out. Her shoulder was held firmly by a burly man behind her who was then flanked by another two more men with machine guns in their hands.

[Y/N] appeared to be cringing under the grip on her shoulder as she was driven forward, her movements laboured and indicating a limp from her left leg.  

When she got closer, the extent of her injuries became more apparent, her face swollen and patchy with dried blood and a rainbow of bruises, her cheeks and jaw decorated with small cuts gashes and her throat held the clear marks of fingers.

She was manhandled towards Frost and the other man until she was harshly pulled to a halt next to the bald man.

“Daddy.” She croaked pathetically through a fat lip, her voice raw and scratchy and her eyes watering as she drank in her father’s appearance. From her, Frost could see her legs were weak and shaky, close to giving way under her. He wanted nothing more than to run forward and support her before she collapsed, but he knew one slight movement in that way, and they’d both be shot dead by an unknown figure hiding in the eaves above them.  

Frost finally managed to tear his eyes away from his daughter and back to the bald man who appeared to be the mastermind behind all. He stood now with a smug expression, his arms crossed over his chest once more, watching Frost as he battled to keep his face void of any emotion. He could show no weakness.

Coming here had been weakness enough, but for his daughter Frost was willing to give these men that much, but now he couldn’t afford for them to get anymore over him.

“What is worth her return, then?” Frost growled, determined not to look at his little girl again, needing to keep his head straight if he was to have any hope of negotiating her release.

The man paused in thought, though didn’t dwell on it very long, clearly having expected this question. “The clown.” He said simply. “Dead, or alive, it’s your choice.” He shrugged, uncaring.

Frost’s eyes didn’t leave the man as he thought about this, his gaze unwavering. If [Y/N] could have managed to speak she might have protested at this offer, but it was taking all her energy to remain on her feet and she couldn’t seem to open her mouth.

“Deal.” Frost finally growled, kicking the suitcase across to the man, briefly allowing his eyes to flicker to his daughter once last time before he then smoothly turned climbed back into the car. In an instant he was revving the engine angrily tearing out of the building, unable to make himself look back in the rear-view mirror where [Y/N] had finally collapsed, tears streaming down her grimy cheeks.  

tags: @sami1024 @mundane-cup-noodles @sheldonsherlocktony @jemjem-chan @white-chocolate-mocha-fan

[scottyunfamous]

#RunningWilde Ch. 35 | Fallen from Grace

Remove her, send the cheetahs to the tomb

Our war is over, our queen has met her doom

No more she lives no more serpent in her room

No more he has killed Cleopatra

-Pyramids

Frank Ocean

*

What should she have done; said yes and risked Aiden's wrath or denied it and seized her first real opportunity of freedom? Because this thing -this all-consuming, dark, glittering vice that enveloped their indomitable attraction wasn't right, no matter how right it felt... Yes, Aiden was unfairly handsome, attentive, thoughtful, loyal, protective, downright irresistible...but he was also a murderer; cruel and dangerously impulsive with an army of murderers and narcotic dealers who would fulfil his every whim. With she who would fulfil his every whim (hard limits not included). He was the anomaly that perplexed and predicated her. A monster crafted by the harsh hands of the city's ghetto and a poor excuse of a woman who was no more his mother than an addict who had an accident. What was she meant to do?

Aiden stepped in front of her once more, shielding her from his mother's beady eyed gaze. "Her name is Heaven Michaels. She is my wife and I forbid you from speaking to her."

"Your wife," Grace guffawed, "As if any woman in her right mind would marry a twisted little fuck like you!"

Aiden's nostrils flared and his colour deepened.

"The only bitch dumb enough to want that title is dead –good riddance." She spat on the ground. "This is the Lockewood girl. I know it." She swiped the back of her arm across her chapped lips where remains of her spit lingered.

Heaven tried her best not to scrunch her nose up at her only way out.

"Poor thing; I don't even want to think about what my son has been putting you through, but don't you worry, we're gonna help each other out, you and me." She peered around Aiden and flashed Heaven a nefarious smile the same colour as her stained walls, "Looks like I don't need your money, A. Once the police get wind of this they'll be offering me a fuck-load of it on a silver platter. No doubt you will too, ain't that right sweetheart? Gratitude and all that shit. I bet you can't wait to get home and be back with your friends and family again. Won't that be nice; to be free of this cunt?"

Aiden gripped Heaven's hand tightly, "You're high," he tried unconvincingly, wanting to convince his mother that it was the drugs skewering her perception. He knew he'd have to deal with Heaven being recognised eventually, but he'd anticipated it being by someone easily disposable, not his mother. He couldn't dispose of her...could he?

No!

It was out of the question, and even entertaining such a thought only made Grace's words ring truer -twisted little fuck.

"High doesn't mean stupid, Aiden. I know it's her. It's hard to forget such a pretty face –I expect that's why the media are still so obsessed with you, girl, because you look the way you do. So pretty..." she reached out to graze her haggard fingers against her new meal ticket.

Aiden knocked her hand away, glaring at her like she was mad to even think she could touch Heaven. His jaw clenched and his chest rose and fell making the still wet droplets of Titan's blood gleam under the naked lightbulb that hung from a wire in the middle of the kitchen ceiling. He'd bought her a shade because she complained the light had been too bright for her bloodshot eyes, but it wasn't there anymore. No doubt she'd sold it.

It's unquestionable. I could never. She's my mother...

"What do you want, Grace?"

Grace rose up and wobbled on her tip toes, futilely trying to be at eye level with her son's towering frame. "I want to see you rot in a jail cell for the rest of your life, you little shit. The money is just a bonus. I've got a new piggy bank. You can't control me anymore," she cackled.

"I'll double your allowance."

"Pfftt!"

"Triple it. Just keep your mouth shut."

"Hmm," Grace straightened up, "And the funeral?"

"No."

"Well then I can't help you."

Aiden's hand slammed against the flaky door jamb close to his mother's head, making her jump back as tinted paint flakes crumble to the sticky linoleum floor. "You can't do that. There are people after her. Bad people. If they find her, she'll die."

"Is that what he told you?" She looked past him and at Heaven, "Is that how he's kept you foolishly at his side, because he's trying to save you? Listen girl, if anyone will be the death of you, it's him. Ask the white girl...oops, sorry, you can't," she smiled sardonically at Aiden with more pleasure than a soul should possess for such a ugly subject, "She dead." She barged past him and staggered in the dank dimness of her living room.

"Grace," Aiden growled, his tone inflected with warning. She was really toeing the line right now.

"I have nothing else to say to you." She picked up her handset, yet another tar stained object -a retro fashioned (formerly) baby pink rotary dialer. She stuck her gnawed finger in the hole with a 9 inside of it and dragged it around thrice.

"Didn't you hear what I said? They will kill her."

His mother turned her back on him and waited for the calm enunciated voice of the lady working at the emergency services switchboard to monotonously drone, "999, what's your emergency?"

"Yes, hi. I'd like to speak to the police please."

His heart turned to stone...

"Okay ma'am. May I ask what it's regarding?"

"I've found the Lockewood girl."

...And sunk with the quickness of an anchor with a broken chain, falling aimlessly into the boundless darkness below.

"Okay ma'am. I'm putting you thr..."

A hulking roar masked the end of the operator's sentence and a terrible tearing and popping sound played percussion beneath it. The line went dead.

"Hello?" When Grace looked back at her son she saw his eyes void and the severed phone cord sparking and hanging from his prominently vein encased fist, looking like wrought iron placed underneath his skin to hold that terrible, terrible thing inside of him in.

"What the fuck are you doing, you little shit?"

Wordlessly, Aiden allowed for her chosen terms of endearment to roll off his back and glided into the hallway with savage elegance. He was too calm on the surface –it contrasted with the hell that had risen inside of him, all thick black smoke, and fire, and brimstone and claws rattling his rib cage.

She'd attempted to take his life and now she was risking Heaven's.

The unquestionable became questionable.

He hooked his arm through Heaven's and dragged her half walking, half stumbling behind him to the front door. "Dougie?" he rumbled.

Dougie raised his eyebrow.

"Take Heaven down to the car and wait for me. Tell Driver to turn the engine on. The rest of you," he looked at his men, each of them as still as the gargoyles on the Notre Dame with worry etched into their features. Calm Aiden wasn't a good thing, not when he was this calm; his voice levelled and lulling like the ocean gently lapping against a rocky cliff, his eyes beholding the macabre soul of the underworld... "You can go."

"Until when, boss?" one of them spoke up.

Aiden narrowed his eyes at the one who dared to speak. "Go. Now."

They scattered like cockroaches.

Dougie didn't move.

"What's going on, A?"

"We're done here. Do as I say. Go."

"Aiden," he came closer and lowered his voice, "I know that look. I invented that look... Think about what you're about to do."

Aiden blinked at his best friend like he hadn't heard a word he'd said, "Why are you still here? The feds will be here soon. Stop wasting my time." He pushed Heaven out and closed the door in their faces.

"Shit," Dougie muttered. He rounded on her, "What happened in there?" he snarled.

Heaven flinched, "T-they w-were fighting."

"They always fight. What else?"

"S-s-she called the p-police," she squeaked, trembling under his unnerving stare. "She was going to t-tell them that she f-found me."

Dougie's blood ran cold and he glared at her, "Of course. You." He grabbed her arm and tugged her down the empty cement block stairwell, "It's always you. If he'd just killed you like he was supposed to, we could have avoided all this extra shit, but no_"

Finding her voice, she tugged her arm away, "Stop acting like I asked for this. I was happy. I didn't want any of it."

"Didn't you?" You could have stopped this a long time ago if you'd had the common sense not to get involved with him."

"Then I'd be dead!"

He gritted his teeth and growled, "You were dead the day he met you. It's only a matter of time now."

*

They sat in the truck in silence; Heaven milling over her Dougie's words whilst Dougie peered up at the third floor every so often, both anticipating, and dreading, the moment Aiden appeared over the tarnished red barrier of the public balcony of the flat. Aiden was going to hate himself after this. Maybe not right away, but when the magnitude of what would be his deadliest sin finally caught up to him, not even his rationality would let his soul rest. He took a break from staring at the blocks and peered at Heaven in the rear-view mirror. This infuriating young innocent would be Aiden's end...and possibly the only thing capable of pulling him back once he got too close to the edge. He was pretty damn close already. If it hadn't been for that fact Dougie would have did what he does best a long time ago.

Aiden appeared at the foot of the stairs, his body glimpsed and concealed between the grease and dirt clouded glass of the security door, with the same unreadable expression on his face. Too composed, too calm. For a moment Dougie wondered if he'd actually gone through with it, but when he got in the car and closed his eyes, speaking only on syllable to order Driver to "Drive", Dougie feared the worst had come to pass.

Driver pulled out of Myatts Field Estate car park.

He had to know; "Do the maids need to do a double clean up?"

"No. I took care of it."

God dammit Aiden!

"Better safe than sorry," he replied gravely, the burden that would surely rest on Aiden's shoulders starting to weigh down on his own. He should have stopped him. Why the fuck didn't he stop him? Fuck!

"The police will be here soon. There's not enough time. I took care of it."

"A, you can't just leave her there..." he lowered his voice, "She's your mum."

Aiden curled his fist u tightly in his lap and opened his eyes to glare back at his friend in the rear-view, "Stop. Talking."

Heaven shifted closer to her side of the car.

Yeah, so...that happened. On a scale of '0-what the actual fuck bruh?!?' how out of control do you think Aiden is right now? Should Dougie have stopped him or do you think Grace had it coming?

Please click the heart and leave your comments below.

Love Scotty x

[shinichirosbabymama]

(Donald Pierce x Reader) Part 2

A/N: So I still don’t have a title for this and I’m awful at titles so your suggestions would be appreciated. Contains slight spoilers for Logan but the events are mostly altered from the plot of the film. Contains a lot of blood and violence. Enjoy!

Part 1 can be found here. 

The following day you and Donald were rumbling over dirt roads as you made your way into the desert in the front of an open top jeep. You were flanked on either side by Donald's small army of 'associates' each one of them armed with an AK47.

You pressed your own pistol close protectively close to your thigh. It was ridiculous really, you knew you'd never need it given your powers but to Donald it seemed sensible.

'I know that bitch is hidin' out here.' Donald grumbled as his hand rested tightly at the top of the wheel.

'What are you going to do if you find her?' You asked casually, glancing at the dust which gathered behind your vehicles as you pushed on.

'What d'ya think?' Donald fired back sharply and you didn't respond. After a few second his human hand moved over to squeeze your knee.

'I'm sorry baby. I'm under alotta pressure to neutralise this situation.'

'I know.' You responded after a few moments, distracted  by your own thoughts as you desperately tried to concoct a plan. It would be impossible to help them escape without Donald knowing. But maybe you could make him see. If you gave it time. All you had to do now was hope he didn't kill you in the process.

'You know I love ya, don't you?' His hand squeezed your leg again and you looked over to see that he was looking at you over the top of his glasses.

'Well you do say it about a million times a day.' You teased.

'But I always mean it.' He replied in a serious tone and you felt a twinge in your chest. You did love him. But you had to do this – for the good of people like you.

'We're here. Stay in the truck please.' Donald mumbled as you parked up outside what looked like an abandoned warehouse.

A black limo parked on a jaunty angle stood out from its dilapidated surroundings. Even from your position you could see that it's exterior had been marred with various scratches and what looked like bullet holes. The men around fell you fell into a defensive position as they approached crouched with their weapons drawn.

Everyone froze as the door swung open with a loud creak and a man appeared. He had a broad and naturally muscular frame, but looked haggard with streaks of grey through his hair and beard. His eyes looked sunken and his face was heavily lined as he scouted out the numbers around him. You could have sworn you had seen him before – he looked so familiar but now wasn't the time to be racking your brain. Instantly the sound of guns being loaded fill the air but you could see Donald raising a hand to stop them.

The men watched apprehensively as Donald marched confidently towards the limo. He signalled two of his men to restrain the man which he did so willingly given the numbers of armed personnel around him. Donald barely gave the man a second look as he examined the interior. You noticed that there was a second figure in the back, the tinted windows made it difficult to see his features but from what you gathered he appeared immobile given that he hadn't moved.

Donald reappeared with his features set into a scowl. 'Find the girl.' He growled, signalling the two closest men to him towards the warehouse.

The tension in the air was thick as the two men swiftly made their way into the building. You placed your foot on the inside of the door of the jeep, ready to leap out at any moment and strike. But maybe you'd missed your chance already.

Suddenly the sound of automatic gunfire filled the air. It continued rapidly and you knew right away that it was no ordinary execution. A fight had begun.

The men around you writhed with the desire to act but Donald stopped them simply by raising his hand once again. You were intrigued that he had not yet instructed them to storm the building and quietly climbed out of the jeep and approached unnoticed at the back of the party.

You fought to keep your breathing even as a small girl appeared at the front of the building, walking towards the men. You expected her to be gunned down immediately but no such thing happened as she got closer. To the collective horror of the people around surrounding you, you realised that she was holding the head of one of the men sent in to retrieve her. With ease she tossed the head into the sand and it rolled towards Donald's feet. You couldn't read his face from your position but you expected him to be furious.

'Now Laura...' Donald began, voice laced with persuasion as he took a step towards the girl. 'You're going to come with me.'

The girl didn't move – or at least, she didn't until Donald took a step towards her and a snarl ripped from her throat as two pairs of metal claws sprung from her knuckles. Almost simultaneously you heard the sound of flesh ripping followed by a thud as the man behind you split open the skull of a man using the same blades that Laura had extended, only larger and more deadly. The last remaining pieces of what had been puzzling your brain fell into place. That man was the Wolverine.

Instantly the scene around you erupted as the men opened fire. Your heart leapt into your throat as the girl was struck by bullets but she didn't fall. Instead another low growl made its way out of her mouth as she lunged forward, narrowly missing Donald who had to dive out of the way as she made for the parked limo.

You were astonished by Laura's abilities and as she made her way towards the limo with an almost animalistic intent.

But with the Wolverine picking off the men around you, you knew that Donald was already in grave danger. Laura was still the innocent in all of this and your priority but you knew you had to get between them. You wouldn't allow Donald to die needlessly.

'Y/N what are you doing!?' You heard Donald roar over the sounds around you as you ran full pelt towards the battle. Laura was distracted by the conflict around her which gave you the opportunity to grasp her tiny forearm.

'Come with me I'm trying to help!' You spat out quickly as she immediately turned on you. Your words fell on deaf ears as she immediately twisted from your grip and slashed as you. You dodged the attack (mostly) as her blades sliced into your arm. The blood began to flow instantly but the wound didn't look too deep.

'Please.' You pleaded with her as she studied you with anger in her eyes. Out of the corner of your eye you could see Donald racing towards the two of you and you knew your time to convince her was limited. You turned to face Donald to say something, anything, that would give you more time when you realised that the limo, driven by the Wolverine, was racing towards him and accelerating with each second.

You stepped forward and raised your hand. In the moment you didn't even think about what you were doing as you discharged a strong kinetic current – powerful enough to stop the limo in its tracks right before it ran Donald over. The force of your power was sudden and uncontrolled and the extra electricity discharged from your fingertips caused the front of the limo to burst into flames.

Donald stared at you for a moment completely dumbfounded. You'd never seen him wear an expression of such shock before but you only had a second to register it before you felt hands on your arms and legs as the men around you tried to force you to the ground. Realising that now there was no going back, you used nearly all your energy to shock the men around you unconscious (only unconscious, you hoped) and broke free of their grasp.

The remaining men situated behind Donald had opened fire on the limo and no signs of the Wolverine or the mysterious man in the back made themselves known. With one final glance at Donald, you scooped Laura up under your arm who was screaming like a banshee and made for one of the parked vehicles which had since been abandoned by his men.

You threw Laura into the back seat and kept your head low as fresh bullets rained over you both as you started the jeep. You didn't look back as you raced away from the warehouse, engine roaring loudly and a burning smell in your nose as you pushed the engine to its absolute limit. You didn't look back in the rear view mirror until the warehouse was nothing more than a glint on the horizon, but nobody followed you.

[webcricket]

The Devil in the Details

Characters: CastielXReader

Word Count: 1693

A/N: One-shot inspired by 12X12 Stuck in the Middle (With You) – consider this your spoiler warning. I hesitated to post this fic, since there are so many other amazing reader insert “re-writes” of the most epic Cas scene ever. But after re-reading and editing it, I think it’s different enough to share. Script straight from the episode is italicized and not mine. Obvious angst (You saw the episode, right?! Right?!), also fluffy flooff.

(GIF source @subcas)

Let me tell you a story – the unlikely story of Lucifer’s underling, Ramiel, Prince of Hell, who unwittingly used one of heaven’s most unyielding weapons to unleash the undying love of an uncommon angel. And how the King of Hell, Crowley, unquestioningly the luckiest upstart crossroads demon ever to usurp the underworld, gave this unparalleled love an opportunity to unfold with nary a soul unpeopled in the undertaking. You could say the match was made in heaven, but the devil was undeniably in the details.

Castiel, fallen angel of the Lord, former soldier and commander of Heaven’s divine army, recent (only in practical terms of eons of existence) sufferer of human weakness, the seraph with too much heart, remained stoic even in the face of certain death.

“Crowley’s right, you should go.” Cas pressed his dimming blue eyes shut, gasping against the flood of pain surging in his chest.

Your affect remained strangely numb as you processed Crowley’s words. Dying, Castiel is dying – maliciously stabbed by Ramiel with the lance of the archangel Michael, doomed to rot from the inside out. Crowley lies, you told yourself. He’s a demon, a poor example of one at that, constantly sympathizing with Winchesters. Demons lie. Cas can’t die. Not now. Not like this. We’ll find a way to save him. We always find a way. Your shock cold fingers clasped over the angel’s sticky, bloodied hand. “I’m not leaving.” You peered helplessly between the angel’s anguished aspect and the Winchesters, eyes beginning to pool with tears you refused to acknowledge. The Winchesters stopped the apocalypse, killed Death, reconciled God and the Darkness, survived death (more than once) - surely they could save one injured angel. “We’re not leaving, right?”

“Cas, come on.” Dean backed up your words.

“No, you listen to me.” Cas growled through the agony. “Look, thank you. Thank you. Knowing you, it-it’s been the best part of my life. And the things…the things we’ve shared together, they have changed me.” Stifling a groan, he somehow summoned the composure to quiet his quaking frame. “You’re my family.” Expression watery, his focus flitted to you, regard dropping remorsefully when he met your dewy eyes. “I love you.”

A sob shattered your bosom, tears flowing freely. You squeezed his hand tighter.

“I love all of you.” He closed his eyes, mustering the courage to send his loved ones out of harm’s way, to ask them selfishly to abandon him. “Just please, please. Don’t make my last moments be spent watching you die.” Desperation grated in his tone as he attempted to appear unwavering in his request. “Just run. Save yourselves. And I will hold Ramiel off as long as I can.” He struggled to push himself upright, failing in a fit of coughing as you helped ease him back to the tattered couch.

“Cas, no.” Dean shook his head.

“Yes.” The angel panted from the futile exertion.

“No.” You sniffled, flattening a palm to his shoulder.

“You need to keep fighting.” He avoided your gaze, frightened to see the emotion in your features after his dying confession and final request – knowing one look at you would be the undoing of his resolve.

“We are fighting. We’re fighting for you Cas.” Sam firmly countered.

“And like you said, you’re family, and we don’t leave family behind.” Dean added sternly.

The angel trembled, breath shaky, glancing between the brothers, understanding nothing he could say or do would sway the decision - Winchesters were a stubborn lot.

Dean, Sam and Mary left you and Cas alone while they clustered to confer on a plan of action.

“Cas?” You brushed the sweat-slick hair from his forehead, willing him to look at you. “Angel?” You normally playfully teased him with the title, eliciting an eye roll or narrowed scolding squint in answer. But your tone was different now, the returned affection you shared for the angel unhindered.

He dared peek into your countenance, eyes brimming with tears, finding a modicum comfort in the soft familiar lines of your aspect. “Y/N. I-I’m sorry that it’s going to end like this. I should have…I never meant for it…”

“Shh angel, save your strength.” You gently pressed a finger to his lips, leaning closer, rubbing small circles into his arm. “You’re my world Cas. I…”

The King of Hell interrupted the moment, unceremoniously crashing screaming through the wall of the barn, landing in an unconscious heap at the base of a tractor.

Ramiel entered onto the scene via the new egress in the wall.

You cupped a palm to Cas’ cheek, compelling him to focus on you. You’d wasted so much time skirting around your love for the angel, believing he could not possibly feel the same. If this was the end, all the time you had left to spend together, you weren’t going to squander a second more. “I’ve got you, angel. I love you. It’s just us now, okay?”

Cas nodded, acquiescing to your touch, weakly resting his hand over yours, the tiniest of smiles tracing his mouth in defiance to the pain.

You searched each other’s eyes, chasing the eternity you’d been denied.

Cas knew without a doubt that your soul would persist on, lingering in perpetual peace and contentment. He hoped perhaps your nook in Heaven might even give you more time with him. Or rather, a representation of him constructed from your memories - an ideal happily ever after if that’s what your heart truly desired. Of course, angels didn’t have souls, and for him, this would be the it - the end of his story. The idea of your Heaven, however, comforted him as the black fissures in his vessel crept up his neck and cheek. Eyes fading, head lolling, he gagged as thick black began to ooze from his mouth.

“Cas!” Ramiel defeated, the lance of Michael clattered to the cement floor, Sam racing to the couch when the angel cried out.

Dean and Mary followed closely on his heels.

“Right here buddy. Hey we’re here Cas.” Sam crouched, settling a palm on the angel’s knee.

You clutched at the angel’s tattered shirt, uselessly trying to loosen his clothes to allow him to breath.

“We’re right here buddy.” Sam’s voice faltered.

Cas’ eyes rolled back, body seized in a convulsion.

“Do something!” You bawled, blinded by the sting of tears.

“Hang in there, alright?” Sam looked franticly at his brother. “What do we do?”

Dean’s chin dropped, resigned to the angel’s fate. He reached out to hold your shoulder.

You flinched away, wringing Cas’ arm, trying to pull him out of the seizure. “Castiel, please! Don’t go!” You collapsed, clinging to his torso – a pure blue light suddenly radiating against your tightly closed eyelids.

Taking a few tentative breaths, the angel’s strong arm wrapped protectively around your back, glinting blue eyes lifting to Crowley, the now broken lance spinning in his grasp.

“Magic’s in the craftsmanship.” Crowley stated matter-of-factly.

“Cas?” Dean tore his eyes from the demon to the apparently healed angel.

Cas stared, disbelieving between the King, the Winchesters, and your crumpled figure clutching to his chest.

“Oh.” Crowley shrugged. “You’re welcome.” Disinterestedly dropping the lance, he disappeared.

Marching shell-shocked from the barn en masse, no one said a word. Against all odds, Ramiel was dead. Against even greater Biblical kinds of odds, Castiel was alive. Dean said you were going home, but that wasn’t exactly true. There was a hunter back at the cabin, Wally, that wanted last rights of a hunter funeral. It wouldn’t do to have demons swarming around at news of the death of a Prince of Hell and an empty meat suit with a hunter’s face laying invitingly out on the front porch.

Hours later, exhausted, achy, filthy, caked in blood and numerous other substances you didn’t intend to attempt to identify, you slumped into the backseat of the Impala, door held open chivalrously by the angel.

The atmosphere in the car remained oddly still as Dean turned onto the highway. After a few minutes, he switched on the radio. “You guys mind?”

The murmur of collective disapproval vibrated the cabin.

“Fine.” Dean begrudgingly switched the dial off. “But when I fall asleep at the wheel you have no one but yourselves to blame.”

Sighing, Sam slouched against the window, fitfully adjusting to find a comfortable position in the seat to try and get some sleep.

Approving of the idea, you closed your eyes, rolling your head to rest on Cas’ shoulder.

Cas peered down at your lap, sliding his outstretched fingers across your thigh to nudge yours. “Y/N?” Something had just occurred to him - something huge. Despite having said he was okay in the barn, the angel didn’t quite feel normal after he’d been miraculously healed. He felt fine, but different. Different, but not abnormal. He’d finally pinpointed the source of the peculiar feeling.

“Hmm?” You hummed, inching your fingers to intertwine with his.

“Can I tell you something?” The angel’s blue eyes fixed steadily on you when you opened your eyes.

“You’re okay, right?” You sat up, clutching his arm, a rush of worry zinging you to alertness.

“Yes.” He wound his arm around your shoulders, snuggling you into a warm embrace. “I’m better than okay.”

“What are you talking about Cas?” Dean’s gruff voice interceded with concern.

Cas met the elder Winchester’s gaze in the rear view mirror, an unusual full smile blazing across the angel’s face. “The power in the lance healed me.”

“Yeah, we got that buddy.” Dean half-smirked, wondering if the angel had gotten a few wires crossed in his close brush with death.

You curiously studied the angle of Cas’ stubbly jaw, surprised to hear an unmistakably familiar wave of celestial intent whisper in your mind, encouraging you to trust him, that everything would be alright - to hold on.

“No Dean, all of me.” Cas gave an exaggerated wink. Wings healed by the power of the archangel’s lance, the long forgotten flutter of angelic flight filled the air. Dean slammed on the brakes, sending Sam’s sleep-limp frame crashing to the dashboard. Throwing his arm back across the seat for leverage, he whipped around to gape at the empty backseat.

[xoleahbeanxo]

Sanctuary: Chapter Twenty

Land of the Hallowed Halls

           Mouse felt as if she’d been pushed from behind and was falling down a dark well. There was nothing around her, nothing speeding up to meet her but when she did stop, it was sudden and disorienting. She managed to land on her feet without any pain in her ankles, knees, or hips. It was a strange landing that only hinted she was standing on anything solid. The world under her was as much a void as it was anything else. Even her heavy breathing echoed beyond the nonexistent reality she now stood in.

           There was a figure several feet in front of her that was fighting against a mass of blackness that shimmered against the muted darkness like a reflection on the water. Mouse raced up to aid them in whatever way she could.

           To her surprise, it was Grek and she was keeping the masses at bay with her bow and dagger. When Mouse joined the fight the strange globous masses shrieked and retreated back a few steps. They cut much the same as aspic. It felt satisfying to dig her katana into them, though the wound simply closed up as they moved away from her.

           “What are you doing here?” Mouse’s voice echoed into the beyond.

           Grek shrugged. Her mouth was moving but Mouse couldn’t hear what she was saying. It was as if the real Grek was still beyond this plane and only a mirror image dwell in this place. Mouse figured it had something to do with the hyena’s connection to the druids.

           Grek snatched up a few of her arrows from one of the closer masses and started away. Mouse was amazed to see stone flooring appear beneath her feet as if the striped hyena had discovered something about this world that slipped past Mouse’s comprehension. Mouse followed hoping that this Grek knew where she was going.

           The stone floor gave way to stone walls and ceiling complete with muted glowing torches set along the wall. The world was forming around them as if their imagination were registering the images to life.

           Mouse could hear the sound of the jelly things flapping against the ground and then dragging themselves closer. She looked back over her shoulder and saw that they moved faster than she’d believe possible. Even though they seemed fairly harmless, it was still unnerving that they were following.

Mouse stepped around the corner and almost ran into another mass of whatever the creatures were. She backed away but not before receiving a hard slap against her arm. It felt freezing to the touch and burned like white hot fire. The fur patch on her arm went from gray to white in a simple second and it made her arm throb. Her screams only incited the thing to come closer.

As the thing flopped closer to her, she ducked close to the wall and darted forward to get around it. The dodge was close but she managed to skirt it. Just ahead Grek waited for her and then she was gone. She disappeared into nothingness. The very walls and floor where she stood started crumbling and falling back to its strange black reality.

Suddenly the visage of Sheik took Grek’s place. The hyena came into the world swinging. Her sword striking the stone wall silently but with enough force to bring sparks into the reality. Relief filled her face when she saw Mouse and hurried to her. Mouse didn’t waste any time with words, she was sure that the hyena wouldn’t be able to hear her anyway. Instead, she ran to meet up with her.

The floor started to ripple into existence once again. This time it shimmered like sand, climbing up over Mouse’s boots. Sheik smiled warmly and took the smaller girl’s hand, leading her onward towards the waiting blackness. After a time, the stone was replaced by familiar city walls. They climbed up around them as if they were back in Sheik’s home again and down scouring the alleyways as they’d once done. Turn after turn, it seemed as though Sheik knew where she was going and Mouse followed. It seemed as though, the only sound she could hear in this world was her own breath and the sounds of the things that existed in this world.

Sheik slowed her steps and turned to look at Mouse. A sad look came to her face and she waved. Mouse knew her time was up and soon she’d be gone from this place. The smaller girl couldn’t hope to fully comprehend what was going on but was thankful to have her friends and family there to help her out. Little did she know that her journey had just begun and things were only going to get harder from here on out.

Behind her, the mass was swallowing up the path that she and Sheik had made. They seemed larger now, more violent. Their eyes were growing to sharper pits of glowing light. Tendrils separated from their black masses and dug into the floor tearing it away and digesting it as if a breadcrumb trail left behind for them.

“There no going back, is there?” Mouse looked at Sheik but she was already gone.

Loky smiled warmly in her stead and pulled her firmly behind him and led her along. Sheik’s mark on this world slowly disappeared as the hyena had and soon a new path for them to follow came into view. They followed it, to whatever destination lay beyond.

***

Grace pressed her back to the stone wall and took a deep breath. The monstrosities looked far worse in the daylight hours. She could make out the rot and mold forming on the bones that lived among the black mass of sinew. The chattered of teeth within the skulls was almost scarier than the sight. Its jaws gnashed as if it were eager to taste flesh before it took another slow sloping step.

Sarah darted away from a pillar and scaled a tree nearby as if it were nothing. She bore a salt treated spear, something of Gilda’s design. It seemed to burn the otherworldly creatures. It even managed to catch one on fire and left it nothing more than a boiling mass of black soup on the ground.

“We’re running out of help!” Gilda stepped up next to Grace, her sudden appearance caused the hyena to jolt.

“You don’t happen to have a few thousand soldiers in those pants of yours, do you?” Grace growled as she leaned out and fired her revolver.

The salt pellet plunged deep into the closest bone creature. It ignited immediately sending out a shower of maggots and smoldering black meaty bits.

“In these pants, dear? They’re almost too tight for me to fit into them.” Gilda laughed and ducked around the corner at a quick pace.

She made a precise slash with her blade and another creature’s “leg” flew away, smacking wetly against a tree. The body slowly tipped over and fell to the foliage in a smoldering mass. The thing was down but it used its corroded white claws to grab the ground and drag itself along.

“Loky is wearing down, we need another connector,” Sheik grunted and leaned against a nearby tree. “You’re up, doc.”

Gilda grunted and backed away slowly. “Hold the line. Don’t let them see you shake in fear.”

The antelope pranced away at the fastest pace Grace had ever seen her move. The hyena turned the corner and saw another three coming out of the trees in addition to the one that was dragging itself along. There were too many of them and Loky’s remaining lion and hyena army’s numbers were dwindling by the moment. Soon the bone creatures would be upon them and everything would be for naught.

“Don’t suppose ye could use the help?” A familiar Irish accent broke the silence.

Grace saw the brawny badger stepping through the woods into the ruins. There was a slice on her forehead and a few bruises under her fur but she’d never looked more beautiful. Behind her shambled the abominable Cre. She was in much the same shape but looking fierce for the fight. Claudia was the least harmed out of all of them, a comforting smile on her narrow muzzle.

“I found them,” Marybeth yelled from behind the tree line, her and Torvik bringing up the rear.

“Oh god, I could kiss you all.” Grace uttered.

“What stopping ye?” Patty smirked.

“Well, big nasties just yonder would be a good guess,” Cre grunted. “Where can we help?”

Grace gave them the quickest explanation she had and everyone broke free of the huddle to do the tasks they were appointed. Arming with the salted weapons was the first. Marybeth was put in charge of caring for those entering the connection and pulling the people into the resting camp.

Grace was overwhelmed with happiness to see them again, but there was work to be done. She didn’t want to boil their return down to nothing more than bodies to help Mouse in the Everall but these were very desperate times. Things were starting to look bleak. 

***

           Mouse was sad to see Gilda leave. There was a quiet composure in the way she led them along. They’d covered so much distance and her existence in the world had lasted far longer than the other ones. It made Mouse wonder if that’s how this world worked. The ones with the stronger presence in the real world had the stronger mirror image in this world.

It was Claudia’s turn to take her place. The opossum took her place in the muted blackness that closed in around them. Mouse was shocked to see her alive and well. Things were so hectic when she arrived that the last thing she’d heard was Claudia’s carriage had gone missing. Mouse had expected the worst.

“This way, darling,” Claudia said.

Mouse took a sharp breath. “How did you do that?”

“I don’t know. As soon as I woke up in this world everything played out like a map in my head. It’s almost like I know the path to take.” Claudia giggled.

“I mean, how are you talking to me?” Mouse was so grateful to hear the opossum’s voice. “None of the others could talk to me.”

“Oh. That, I don’t know. Perhaps I’m just a little more otherworldly then they are.” Nothing seemed to faze Claudia, ever.

Mouse noticed another thing. Unlike the others, Claudia didn’t conjure anything when she made her through the empty world, nothing formed in her wake. There was no hallway, no alleyway. Nothing, the same as it had been for Mouse. There were no answers as too why and neither of them knew enough to venture a guess.

“What do you see? Mouse asked. “In your head, I mean.”            “It’s strange. I see a map of this place, but it’s not the type of map you may be thinking. I can only see a certain distance and then it goes black beyond that.” Claudia’s voice was soft. “It’s so cold here. How are you not freezing?”

“I don’t know. It feels strange to me. It feels like I’m walking through a thick fog. My breath is heavy and it’s muggy here.” Mouse explained. She took the same sharp turn Claudia did.

“Strange, I wonder if this world is different for everyone.” Claudia mused quietly.

           The opossum came to a stop and turned to face Mouse. “My time is coming to an end here. Just know that we’re all fine out there and holding the line. Please bring Annabelle back to us.”

           “I will.” Mouse reached forward to hug the opossum but stepped right through her as if she were a figment of her imagination.

           “Hurry up and save Annabelle, so you can give me that hug for real when this is all over.” Claudia smiled a toothy grin.

           “I promise,” Mouse whispered but she was sure Claudia didn’t hear her since she’d already started fading away.

***

           “You’re up!” Gilda grunted tiredly as she took the revolver from Patty and started to reload it.

           “Aye aye, keep it together, girls. I’m certain Mousy’s close to finishing this thing.” Patty chuckled and ran over to take Claudia’s place in the circle.

           “I hope so,” Grace grunted as she fired another bullet in the army of bone creatures that pushed on through the trees and were converging on the center of the ruins.

           Sarah crouched in the trees and peered out. She wasn’t sure what she saw but something glinted behind the tree lines and it was coming fast. A flash of bright colors could be seen hanging through the foliage. It was foreign and familiar at the same time. Then something broke through the trees that could bring tears to the eyes of the firmest soldier.

Lilian rode on the back of a steel colored automaton horse and behind her an army of brightly colored wagons that bore hyenas, and lions. To her left were Charlotte, Lucie, and the twins. To her right, sat Rebecca loading a flintlock rifle. They’d come to rescue them in their most dire time. How? Sarah choked on her reasoning. How was not important. What was important was that Sarah had to sound their approach.

           Sarah brought a horn up to her lips and blew a deep bellowing roll and Grace snatched a glance at the beautiful sight. Soon a red wolf snapped the reigns hard her carriage breaking away from the pack, taking the lead. She swung a sword ferociously and it flashed in the mid-morning light and they all follow Molly in this final charge.

           Molly steered her carriage toward the camp, slowing as she saw Grace crouched behind a broken wall. “Rounder than usual, aren’t you?”

           “Har har!” Grace smiled wide enough for her teeth to show.

“Merely joking,” The wolf smiled back affectionately.

“You get us out of this and you can make all the jokes you want.” Grace pushed away from the wall to greet her with a handshake.

           Clad in leather armor over brightly covered clothes. Molly looked bigger than the last time Grace had seen her. She looked mature, older to be exact. The little girl wasn’t so little anymore. She was acting the proper lady now and it showed. Grace didn’t fail to notice the salt treated sword she wielded, someone must have told her sooner what was going on.

           “Fall back to the main camp you guys. My men will make a perimeter around the ruins and we will hold them off as long as we can. Your job is to ensure that Mouse and Annabelle get back alive.” Molly’s look was grim as if she’d known more than she’d let on.

           “How do you know about all of this?” Grace asked skeptically.

           “Mother Maggie saw a vision inside of her crystal ball. You can call it what you will even laugh if you must, but Mother Maggie’s prediction are never wrong. I see she is much more right than even she realizes.” Molly explained as she offered a quick thrust with her sword, leading several of the wagons to the east. “In the vision, a woman by the name of Beatrix, who looked much like the master’s wife, told us to come and be prepared to fight.”

           “You couldn’t have come at a better time. Mouse is in the Everall trying to find Annabelle right now.” Grace explained.

           “Then buy her as much time as you can. Leave this to us.” Molly explained.

           Grace nodded and before she could thank the red wolf, she was off to tend to her flock. Grace turned and saw that the others were already falling in line. Marybeth was next and with just a little more luck Mouse would be back with Annabelle and this nightmare would be over.

[vagabond-sunshine]

Fantasy Based on Reality

Chapter 6: Ill Tidings

Summary: The Crown City has Fallen. 

Count: 5448

Read on Ao3 

The morning had actually come faster than anyone had cared to notice. With the rising of the sun, Noctis, Prompto and Gladio entered Scarlet and Jynx’s room. The reason for that? Ignis had sent out a mass text requesting the that the group got together for some news he had to tell. So there they sat, Jynx coming in carrying to coffee mugs, handing one to the Princess before she took a seat at the table in the center of the room.

“I don’t see how you can drink that crap,” Jynx muttered taking a sip of tea from her mug. Scarlet held her mug closer to herself defensively.

“Let me have my bitter bean water,” she grumbled in reply, sleep still lingering in her tone. “You can keep your nasty leaf water.”

“Bean?” Noctis asked turning to look back from where he stood at the ceiling tall window. A shudder passing through him. It was no secret the young Prince hated the small foods with an unhealthy passion.

This caused Gladio and Prompto to share a laugh on the other side of the room.

The door then opened slowly, Ignis walking in with a look of confusion and worry on his face. It was almost like he had seen a ghost, ironic considering the man of fact did not believe in them. Still the group noticed the paper nearly being crushed in his hand as he shut the mahogany behind him.

“What’s that look for?” Noct asked, his voice gaining a slightly shaky tone as Gladio approached the Advisor, Prompto not far behind. Scarlet shot a look to Jynx, worry evident in her features as Ignis held out the newspaper slightly for Gladio to take.

“It’s in all the papers,” he muttered softly.

“Insomnia… Falls?” Prompto struggled to read out loud, trying to see over the Shield’s shoulder. The look of shock settled to Noctis’ face as Jynx stood slowly from her seat, Scarlet’s face paling slightly as she set her mug down on the bedside table. The overall feeling in the room turning to surprise.

“What…?” Noct asked after a moment. Denial came into his tone as he raised his hands slightly to Ignis. “Is this your idea of a joke?”

“I need you to calm down so I can explain,” the Advisor replied, his posture growing like a board against the wind. Stiff and slightly shaky as Noct approached slowly.

“I’m as calm as I’m gonna get!” The Prince snapped back now a few inches from Ignis.

“There was an attack,” the other replied, trying to keep his voice even. He watched Scarlet get out of the bed, limping over to her brother, holding tightly to his arm. Both were in disbelief. “The Imperial army had taken Crown City.”

The emotions in the room turned to grim in that instant, Jynx turning away from the others, focusing her stare nowhere in particular. Her mind racing to think of how this could have happened. The wall was up; the only way they could have done anything was if they were on the inside. That would mean someone had betrayed the crown. But what of their families? All the innocent people there? What of the King himself?

Gladio had the answers as he began to read aloud. “As treaty room temper’s flared, blasts lit the night sky. When the blasts above the Citadel had cleared, the King was found… dead.”

“No, wait… Hold on…” Noct said slowly. As if trying to fight the facts that were being thrown at him and his sister. The Glaive then turned, now seeing Scarlet move to Ignis’ side, the Advisor holding her close at the tears that threatened her eyes.

“We had no way of knowing,” he said softly.

“No way of knowing what?” the Prince asked, anger rising in his speech.

“That the signing was last night.”

“But the weddings! Altissia!”

“I know!” Scarlet flinched at the change in Ignis’ tone. One man that was usually so calm and collected was nearly to the point of yelling. The Princess looked to Jynx, looking for anything from her friend that would help the situation, yet the Glaive had nothing to offer, only looking at the bed where Scarlet once lie.

Still Ignis continued. “The reports of the invasion are all the same, how could every headline in the Kingdom be wrong?”

“Lies,” the Prince snarled.

“If only,” Prompto looked between all his friends, brows knitted together seeing everyone facing their own direction. Gladio sighed loudly, dropping the newspaper to the table, “What else do we know?” The only response, Ignis offered was a shake of his head.

“We can’t know unless we see it with our own eyes,” the Shield reasoned.

“Then that means we go back to Insomnia,” Prompto declared looking to Noct, who now sat in the chair beside Jynx.

“It might not be safe for us there,” Ignis said with a sigh, holding Scarlet a little closer at the sound of her trying to cry silently.

“It might now be safe for us here,” the blonde challenged.

“Turn back?” Gladio asked, looking past the table to Noctis.

“Yeah.”

 Within the hour, everyone’s gear was packed into the trunk of the Regalia, even Jynx and Scarlet’s, if for no other reason that the two speed daemons would lose it at the rate speed they were planning on going. The Glaive shoulder the Princess to her bike, for a moment hesitating. “You sure you can ride like this?”

“It’s gonna hurt, but I can handle it,” Scarlet replied, she left little room for debate already grunting climbing onto the ruby red machine. She cast a glance to the men, already climbing into the car. Noctis shook his head, climbing back out to approach the two women.

“There’s no way,” he muttered to his sister. “You’re not riding like this.”

“Six, Noct, we’re not kids anymore.”

“Great, because the minute you need to make a turn and you can’t shift because of your legs, you’re going down.”

Scarlet sighed, she knew he was mostly right. It wasn’t like she was ready to tell him that. “What do you propose then?” she pointed to the already crowded car. “That I get to sit between you and muscles?”

“Exactly,” Noct crossed his arms.

The Princess looked to her Shield in disbelief. She was exactly the same age as Noctis, with one or two minutes between them and here he was babying her as if she were ten years old. Jynx could only shrug slightly, much as she hated to go against her Queen, her King was right in this sense, there was no need for Scarlet to kill herself, trying to ride a bike with a bum leg.

“The both of you I swear!” She frowned deeply as Noct helped her from the bike, leading her to the Regalia. She eased herself into the seat beside Gladio, he smiled down at her as she set her leg straight before her on the center console. Jynx watched her from the bikes taking her own keys out ready to climb on.

“You might as well come with us,” Noct mentioned standing in the space between the bike and the car.

“Yeah! Less gas and all!” Prompto called turning in his front spot taking acknowledgement of the current gil situation.

 Soon enough all were squeezed into the Regalia, Jynx perched on Gladio’s lap, Scarlet between them and Noctis, Prompto sprawled in the front seat and Ignis at the wheel. They were headed back to the Crown City. The sky above had gone from clear and blue to grey and clouded. Passing Hammerhead, the rain began to fall, the roof of the car coming out into place to keep the occupants dry.

“I hope everyone’s okay,” Prompto said softly looking out his window.

“Lotta good hoping’s gonna do,” Noct replied bitterly.

Ignis glanced back to the Prince in the rear view mirror. “You mustn’t lose faith.”

“Really? Can faith stop a fleet of imperial dreadnaughts?”

“Noctis, that’s enough,” Jynx voiced seeing Scarlet visibly worried at her brother’s words. “There’s no use in talking about it.”

“Maybe we should talk about it! Our families could be dead!”

“Give it a rest,” Gladio sighed.

“My old man had plenty of faith!”

“Enough.”

“But the empire lied, they betrayed us,” the young blonde spoke once more.

“Conjuncture gets us nowhere, we’re searching for truth,” Ignis said, though his tone was acting to keep the others as calm as he could manage.

Though, Noctis wasn’t helping, and now it seemed Scarlet was on the Prince’s side. “All you’ll find are lies—like that ceasefire,” she said solemnly.

With that everyone went quiet, preoccupying themselves with anything they could to avoid another round like that. Jynx was the first to notice the large imperial airship lazily flying overhead. It wasn’t alone, being joined by a second.

Gladio had taken sight of them too, she could feel him lean forward trying not to shove her face first into the back of Prompto’s seat. “Look at the size of those things,” he muttered.

“Imperial dreadnaughts,” Ignis confirmed. “They transport soldiers, namely the magitek infantry.”

“The robots?” Jynx asked tearing her stare from the flying death machines.

“Mass produced, humanized, weapons of warfare, to be more precise.”

“Doesn’t look like they’ll be signing that peace treaty,” Prompto mumbled with a soft sigh leaning back in his seat only to shoot straight up pointing out in front of the Regalia. “Up ahead!”

Everyone looking the best they could, they could see lines of cars being stopped before a large imperial machine. Rows of Imperial soldiers began to make an appearance lining up across the road as some sort of blockade.

“They’ve set up an inspection point,” Gladio said in a low mutter counting how many there were. “If this road’s blocked, we find a way around.”

Nodding, Ignis turned the car to the left, taking a dirt road towards one of the barricades to the city. He drove for a few moments longer before pulling off to the side of the rode giving a nod back to the rest of the party. “Let’s make a detour. There ought to be a decent vantage point up ahead.”

Noctis was first out of the car, extending his hand back in, helping Scarlet to slide out, supporting her as they waited. Jynx and Gladio were next out, the Glaive rolling her shoulders as she stretched out, looking up to the sky as another ship flew above. Rain falling harder from the clouds over head, creating large puddles that splashed over the boots of the group as they walked. Noct leading the way as if his life depended on it.

They followed the Prince, Scarlet constantly grabbing to Jynx for support, walking was a challenge, especially with the ground as wet and slick with mud as it was. The female Shield always there to catch her, eventually pulling the Princess’ arm over her neck, shouldering her along just as she had done before.

They had rounded a cobblestone corner, the first sight they were greeted with, Imperial troops with plenty of guns and ammo looking away from them. Jynx practically dragged Scarlet back as the guys made sure they were all hidden. Noct turning to the females. “You two try and hang back, let us take care of them.”

“I can fight,” Scarlet challenged in a whisper. “Let us help.”

“No. You and Jynx need to stay back in case something happens, we can’t protect you.”

The Princess sighed, the fight with her brother was over before it began. Jynx didn’t even bother to argue, she knew Scarlet was emotionally compromised, her teachings from the Glaive told her this was for the best. So she sat her Queen down beside the wall as the others rounded the corner, already shouts and gunfire were heard.

“You look like you’re about to cry,” the Shield commented handing a lit cigarette to the shaking hands of Scarlet. “What’s going on?”

“This,” she replied, forcing her tears back looking up to the sky. “My father is dead, my city is being destroyed and invaded.”

“We still don’t know that for sure,” came the reply. Even Jynx knew it was a terrible lie, but something to keep Scarlet calm was better than nothing at this point. Only silence fallowed after that, long silence that seemed to go on for hours in the soft downpour.

The sounds of hurried footsteps approaching the girls’ hiding location. Ships flying overhead to deliver more troops to the city. The pair sat in silence waiting to hear more splashes of foot falls. It only seemed to be the one, Jynx already having her sword drawn. Scarlet managed to stand herself up against the wall, focusing her magic to her hands, the feeling of heat at her finger tips.

“Do you think it’s imperials?” she asked quietly to her Shield.

“Could be,” the other replied raising a finger to her lips. “Stay back.”

When the steps sounded close enough, Jynx sprang from the corner. The shimmer of her sword as she raised it high in the air ready to strike down with full force. That was until she caught the pair of Amber eyes that seared into her own. She froze in place.

“Shit,” Gladio flinched back. “Put that away!”

A light blush found the Glaive’s cheeks as she let her arms down to her side, her sword lightly tinking off the ground. “You could have called out,” she said softly putting the blade away. She then rounded the corner once more shouldering Scarlet to begin fallowing Gladio back up the trail.

“I came back to you two, the way is all cleared. We need to hurry.”

“How does it look?” Scarlet asked, a waver finding her tone.

“Don’t know yet, the amount of soldiers we tore through, doesn’t seem good.”

The two females took note of every dead soldier they passed as they followed the King’s Shield. It was clear the splatters of blood mixing with the rainfall, they weren’t going anywhere any time soon. The smell in the air that of copper slowly mixing with death. One would consider it nearly overpowering.

Near the top of the hill Ignis, Prompto and Noctis all waited patiently. Rather than the usual smile, they were greeted with grim expressions. The others turned taking the lead as they regrouped at the very top of the hill, Scarlet pushing away from Jynx to lean on Noct as they all could see the devastation to Insomnia.

The bridge they had crossed to leave was now a blaze in most areas, some piling up and floating toward the heavens. Small towns that used to be around the wall were no longer there, buildings were smashed. The Citadel itself looked like it had been punched by some sort of missile, or some huge creature. Scarlet covered her mouth seeing it all.

Jynx only stepped forward, standing at the cliff’s edge taking in everything. Her fists clenched tightly, were she without gloves, it would be a sure bet her knuckles were white.

“All of it…” Scarlet mumbled. “It’s all… Gone…” Jynx glanced to her Queen then to the city once more. All heard Prompto’s phone give of a radio signal, stating the King was dead, but now the Heirs and Lunafreya were pronounced dead as well. Jynx glared at the ruined Insomnia. Lunafreya had to be alive, Nyx was getting her the hell out of there right? He was alive right? He had to be… But what if he wasn’t…

Yanked from her spiraling thoughts with the others, Noct’s voice spoke shakily above the rain. “H-hello? Cor?”

He paused for a moment, “What the hell’s going on?”

Scarlet leaned in listening to the conversation. “We’re outside the city, with no way back in…. “Makes sense”? Are you serious? What about any of this makes sense!?” He stepped away from his sister. “The news just told me, I’m dead here with Scarlet, along with our father and Luna!”

Jynx watched Scarlet’s eyes widen at whatever Cor had just said, Noct turning back to where he could see the Citadel. She bowed her head, the King really was dead…

Noct hung up the phone placing it back in his pocket slowly with a sigh. “What did the Marshal have to say?” Ignis asked softly.

The Prince paused for a moment, Scarlet frowning as she grabbed his shoulder. “What the hell else did he say?!” she snapped. “Where the fuck is he!?”

“I don’t know!” Noctis snapped back pushing her arm away. “I don’t know, he said he was gonna be in Hammerhead!”

Gladio stepped forward, “Now isn’t the time for this… What of the king?”

Noct only shook his head taking one last glance back at the city. Their homes were gone, the lives they knew, everything was gone.

 Jynx had let Ignis shoulder Scarlet. It was probably for the best as the two shields took point leading them back down the hill. “How are you feeling, my Lady?” the Advisor asked the Princess softly.

She grunted in response, eyes down cast, reflecting the pain she held. “Crushed,” she muttered after a moment.

“I don’t blame you,” he whispered. “How is your leg?”

He was trying to take her mind off what she saw, a pitiful attempt, but as good as any he could make. “Feels like it’ll snap in two,” she smiled softly, catching the slight smile on his face.

“You are a sorceress, my Lady, don’t you have something for that kind of injury?”

“I’m not a white mage,” she replied shaking her head.

“What kind of mage are you?” he teased her back softly, anything to keep her thoughts from spiraling down the black hole.

“Haven’t decided yet, for all we know, I could be messing around with necromancy.”  The look on the Advisor’s face going from amused to slightly concerned. “I’m kidding,” she laughed patting his cheek slightly with the hand that was over his shoulders.

Gladio cast a glance back at the group behind him and Jynx. He watched Ignis interact with Scarlet before looking to Jynx. Sure he could say he liked being around her, but the woman was a mystery in other senses. He couldn’t even tell you her last name. Maybe now, would be a good time to change that. The look in the Glaive’s eyes was set to kill, he needed to get her away from that.

“You think some imperials are waiting for us by the car?” he asked falling in step.

She gave a light shrug, “Not sure, they’d be idiots for sure.”

“Always looking for a fight aren’t you?” he questioned catching sight of the bodies they had passed before. She smiled at him softly. “Could say the same about you, ain’t that how you got that scar?”

He smiled shaking his head, “Actually, got it saving Noct from a bully at some club. What about you? Any scars from protecting gimpy back there?”

Jynx gave a soft laugh putting her sword away as they reached the Regalia, Gladio mentally sighed in relief seeing the anger in her eyes dulled. “You’ll have to find out,” she winked letting him get into the car while she helped Scarlet.

Soon enough all squeezed back in, they headed to Hammerhead. It was a sobering moment to process what they had seen. “Don’t suppose the Crownsguard is still active,” Gladio muttered after a while.

“Wouldn’t count on it, not with the Marshal out here,” Ignis replied.

Prompto leaned back in his seat, “I wonder how things are in the city…”

The girls had to wonder as well, looking at each other as if having a silent conversation. “There should be reports before long,” Ignis said calmly turning off the radio that kept spilling recent reports.

“Yeah,” Gladio chimed in. “Something this big can’t go ignored.”

“And what about us?” The blonde asked looking back between the seats. “What are we going to do?”

“We make for Hammerhead now, and figure out the rest later,” the Shield said lastly.

“It’s our best bet to calm down for the day, and to let Scar rest her leg,” Jynx added motioning to the Princess. She looked back at Gladio feeling a buzz against her rear. “That your phone in your pocket or you just happy to have me here?”

He smirked pulling the device out. “It’s a message from my sister; she’s with refugees bound for Lestallum.”

Both Jynx and Scarlet sighed at this. Both had known Iris for many years, the thought of her being caught in the crossfire… “Well,” Prompto paused their thoughts. “At least Iris is okay.”

“Doesn’t sound like everyone else was so lucky,” Jynx mumbled looking out the window, watching the road as it passed.

“Then we best make haste, Noct won’t be dead forever,” Ignis motioned to the fast approaching town ahead. “No going back—only way’s forward,” Prompto said softly as a means of motivating the others as they parked.

Noct gave a sigh. “No going back… Let’s go.”

They exited the vehicle looking around for a moment before Gladio greeted Cindy as she approached. “Glad y’all made it,” she smiled sadly. “Princess Scarlet… Wish we met on a better day. Name’s Cindy.”

The Princess only nodded remaining firmly at Ignis’ side. She saw the way this woman dressed, and while the Advisor was a gentleman, he was still a man. She only relaxed seeing Prompto practically swoon when Cindy turned her attention to him.

“Where’s Cor?” Noct asked stepping around the Regalia.

“Left to see to business, and left y’all a message with paw-paw. Boss ain’t sat still one second since he heard y’all were comin’.”

Noct looked to the garage, motioning the others to follow. And they did, finding Cid sitting on a few old tires near the back of the space. His withered face solemn. “The crystal and the King’s ring—what they been after all along,” he grumbled out lowly.

“So all talk of peace was merely a pretext,” Ignis realized, bringing his hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose, the others only shaking their heads. Jynx had to turn away from them, pulling her phone out of her pocket to tap at the device before turning back seeing Scarlet’s eyes on her.

“They played my father for a fool,” Noct let out, sounding defeated, it was like he had been kicked while he was down.

“Don’t kid yourself,” Cid retorted. “Reggie wasn’t born yesterday. Lucis got dealt a losin’ hand, and your old man played it the best he could.” The elder man stood then picking up a wrench. “He saw this comin’ a mile away, and he wasn’t gonna go down without a fight.”

Scarlet looked to the ground, picturing her father fighting with his shield in the last moments he had. How strong he must have been, what he would have been able to do. She had to recoil those thoughts, strong as her father’s will had been, his body was frail… She couldn’t remember the last time she had seen him without his cane or someone nearby in case he fell.

“In the end, though…” Cid said lastly. “Well, it just wasn’t enough.” He tossed the wrench back to the table he got it from beginning to walk out of the garage. “You need something else you talk to Cor.” He was at the door now pausing his steps. “Can’t even remember the last time I saw Reggie. Feels like a lifetime ago…”

Scarlet felt the urge to cry come up again, already the tears pricking her eyes as she grabbed on Noctis’ shoulder giving a light squeeze. Both knowing their father was loved by many but was actually cared for by so few. He always seemed so strong and kind, even when he was being strict. It was pain, true pain that they were feeling for the first time since they had lost their mother.

Jynx could see it, watching the heirs interact in that moment before taking Scarlet’s arm over her shoulders once more leading her from the space where the clouds began to clear, allow sight of the sun as it began to set. “Hey, Cindy,” Noct called. “Mind if we use that camper for the night?”

“Go right ahead, y’all need to get some shut eye,” she smiled tossing him a set of keys. “It’s a little cramped but with the fold out bed I think y’all can manage, better than a rock right?”

They could only nod walking over to the lone off white set up at the end of the parking lot. Getting settled was… difficult to say the least. Gladio could have taken up the whole thing for himself if he wanted. “Is Cindy sure we’ll all fit?” Scarlet questioned glancing around the small space.

“The chairs here and there,” Noct pointed. “They fold out to beds, guess we’ll be grouping up tonight,” he sighed helping Prompto move the small table closer to the wall out of the way, Ignis already pulling out one bed. Scarlet only grumbled under her breath already missing the hotel room she had back at the resort.

“Well,” Gladio smirked crossing his arms eyeing the largest bed already. “I doubt anyone can fit on a bed with me. So looks like I’ll just—”

“I’ll fit!” Prompto exclaimed, already earning scoffs from the others. The ball of sunshine already trying to make for the bed before Gladio grabbed the back of his vest. “No way in Hell am I sleeping that close to you again.”

“I said it was an accident!”

“What happened?” Scarlet asked leaning on the wall beside Ignis. “Prom kicked him in the nuts this morning,” Noct flopped back onto the bed a laugh escaping his chest.

Jynx stifled her own laugh raising her hand. “I’ll fit.”

Scarlet scoffed crossing her arms. “Of course you will.” The Glaive’s small smile spreading to a wide grin as she threw herself back onto the bed, barely taking up a small portion of it. “You guys figure this all out,” the Princess turned to the door. “I’m gonna get some fresh air before I get crushed by man sweat!”

With that she was out of the cramped area. Hobbling over to the small picnic table set up just outside the camper. Sitting in one of the plastic chairs she pulled out her cigarettes lighting one before leaning back in a sigh. The air was cool and smelt clean from the rains, it was a calming feeling really. Casting a glance down at her leg she grimaced, there was no way she could keep going like this.

Blowing smoke from her nose, holding the cigarette between her lips she leaned forward, setting to work on removing each piece of bandaging there. Once the last layer was removed she tilted her head. It wasn’t as bad as she thought, even though there was still a huge chunk of her leg missing. Maybe Ignis was right, she could fix this herself.

It had been a while since she practiced restoration, her skills were a bit rusty. There was a chance it could back fire and amputate her limp completely. “You got this,” she whispered to herself pressing her hands on either side of her calf, wincing slightly at the slight sting. She tried hard to focus on the energy forming in her hands. That was a challenge in itself, the sounds of the others drifting from the camper.

Managing to drown them out, a faint yellow glow formed from her palms. She could already feel skin mending back together, muscle being restored. Soon enough she sat back testing her mobility. “Good as new,” she smiled victoriously leaning forward once more to adjust her pant leg back over the scars.

 Jynx heard Scarlet mumbling outside curious for a moment as to what she may have been doing. She let it pass looking back down to her phone from her spot on the bed scrolling through calls and texts even checking the read status of her most recent ones. For a moment she wanted to throw it frustrated, that was before Gladio nearly sent her flying off the bed when he decided to toss himself on it. He then reached over dragging her by the waist.

“And who do you think you’re texting,” he teased. “You got the King’s shield in bed with you, gotta make your man pretty jealous.”

“As if,” she scoffed trying to fight her own smile wriggling out of his hold back to her spot. “There isn’t a man alive that has the patience for me. Unless you count my family.”

Gladio took this as hopeful, it was really no secret to the guys of the small crush he had on the smaller Shield. She was just so feisty, ready for any challenge, not to mention the comebacks and teasing she shot off with. “What’s your family like?” he asked genuinely. “If they’re anything like you I’m sure they have the best stories in all of Eos.”

Jynx smiled warmly, casting her gaze away from Gladio to the others, Noct and Prom already out like lights back to back in their bed, Ignis having his nose buried in a book. She then shrugged, “They were great…”

“Were?”

“You said you knew I wasn’t from Insomnia.”

“Well yeah, where are you from? Hammerhead? Galdin? Tenebrae?”

The Glaive shook her head reaching her hand up moving her hair away from her neck showing the trail of small arrows that lead a path up behind her ear. She then removed her gloves, showing another trail on her left index finger. “Galahad…” Gladio whispered looking at the small ink marks.

“Don’t remember much from it,” she fibbed slightly laying back. “Had to leave when I was seven. But that’s what happens when the place is a warzone. Now it’s just me and my brother.” She smiled. “You’d like my brother, he’s a huge dork just like you.”

“Whoa, hey now,” Gladio laughed reaching over and yanking her close once more.

She let out a soft shriek being locked against his chest. “Get off me ‘ya dork!” She pressed her hands against his pectorals trying to wriggle out of his grip.

“Nah,” was his only reply as she finally settled down grumbling under her breath.

“I can at least promise you I won’t kick you in the morning,” she teased quietly letting out a laugh as Gladio narrowed his eyes. “I’ll get him back.”

“Don’t hurt the Chocobo-boy,” Jynx laughed more resting her head on his shoulder. “We kinda need him, boosts moral.” The Shield smiled himself watching the Glaive’s eyes start to droop, her body relaxing. It literally took a few minutes before she fell asleep a small smile still on her features.

 Scarlet reentered the camper after having a nice walk on her freshly healed leg. Looking to each bed for her spot. The only place open was beside Ignis, who currently had a book pressed to his chest, head to the side with his glasses still on. The Princess only shook her head gingerly climbing onto the mattress, moving the book to the counter before reaching for his glasses. They would break if he rolled over in his sleep.

Course he scared her half to death grabbing her wrist as she barely moved the eyewear. “It’s okay,” she whispered softly. “You fell asleep with these on.”

Ignis smiled tiredly letting her take them off for him. “I was waiting for you,” he admitted watching her set the glasses on top of the book he had been reading.

“Waiting for me?” she replied a smirk coming to her lips. “I was ten fee away.”

“Ten feet with no protection, my Lady,” he added moving over slightly for her to lay comfortably. She shook her head kicking away her boots bringing her legs up.

“You gotta see this,” she whispered pulling up her pant leg to show the wound that was now nothing but scars. In the dim light from the moon, Ignis’ eyes widened. “You healed yourself,” he said in amazement.

“No holes, no blood, good as new,” she smiled. A sparkle coming to the Advisor’s emerald eyes. He helped with the blankets to get settled before he spoke, “You impress me more and more each day, my Lady.”

“You gave me the idea,” she replied laying her head on his shoulder, letting his hand find her back keeping her close. A light blushing finding her cheeks as well as a welcomed smile as she let her mind drift off.