#except like. in the courtyard of a city apartment building where no one would ever hang sheets

[aeide-thea]

i only ever experience dawn from the wrong side but even so there's always something at least a little heart-lifting abt the imperceptible yet inexorable paling of the world (ey says, having managed to describe it in a way that instead makes it sound like a fascist social manifesto) and the first determined little bird calling out like a newspaper guy <3

[chilling-seavey]

Qui Totum Vult Totum Perdit (d.s.) - 11

A/N An absolution 

Warnings: This story is centered around a murder so there will be graphic descriptions of blood, death/manslaughter, dealing with corpses, possible domestic abuse (physical/verbal), crime/covering up a crime, shock/grief, and other possibly heavy or triggering topics. Please read at your own discretion.

The sun was setting over the hills as I drove Jonah and myself out of Los Angeles and towards the desert. It was already getting later in the day so we decided to take the route through Palm Springs to stay there for the night and then make the straight shot to our shared ski lodge in Utah early the next morning.

Our drive was reasonably quiet, Jonah had connected his phone and was playing music quiet through the Bluetooth speakers in the car but neither of us were really focussed on the songs. That was a first, honestly.

I was too busy in my own mind; two Advil deep and still sporting a persistent headache while trying to piece together the events of the day. It had been both the fastest and longest day of my life. Did everyone always have it out for Avalon or was I just disgustingly dense? The way my brother spoke about her made me sick and the way Zach left our conversation with that sly dig made my blood boil. Avalon and I may have argued a lot but she was still my wife and I was supposed to protect her.

Right?

I’d be a complete asshole if I didn’t follow through with the one thing I swore to do in front of a whole congregation of our family and friends ‘til death do us part.

Goddammit.

It was dark by the time we pulled up to the resort in Palm Springs and the desert mountains were smudged into the starry sky in hues of black and dark blues. The city seemed quiet as if nightlife was non-existent. Normally, Jonah and I would complain about that – always ones to thrive off good nightlife, especially on a vacation – but right now, the quiet was perfectly ideal.

The sign out front of the resort read Riviera in curling letters and was lit from two spotlights on the grass below if beckoning us towards it. The parking lot didn’t seem too crowded, so we figured it was a safe place to stay. I parked the car near the entrance and pulled out a bit of the cash from the glovebox before we stepped out into the humid air.

Palm Springs felt far stickier than Los Angeles despite only being a two-hour drive away and I tugged haphazardly at the front of my black t-shirt to try and cool myself down a little as we headed for the doors. The burst of air conditioning that tumbled out of the building when the sliding glass doors opened for us was such a relief, even if our walk from the car hadn’t been that far. The lady behind the desk welcomed us with a smile and chipper hello and Jonah and I shuffled over quietly.

“We’re looking for a room for tonight. Two double beds preferably.” I said, keeping my voice down.

Being quiet felt necessary, even in the near empty lobby at the mere hour of 7:30pm.

The young lady typed away into her computer, her calm smile making me feel only more on edge than I already was. What was there to smile about? I drummed my fingers impatiently on the front desk and glanced back through the large windows to the direction of my car.

Her voice brought me back around, “We have a room available for you! It will be $185 for one night. Two double beds. Is a view of the pool alright with you?”

“Yeah.” I answered quickly. Pool, mountain, who gave a fuck. Honestly, dear reader, I never knew how much people can annoy me until I didn’t want to be around them.

“What’s the name for the booking?” she asked, glancing between Jonah and me expectantly.

“Seavey.” I answered and she typed it into her computer.

I figured since I told Christian we were going on a road trip it would only make sense to use my honest name if anyone came after us. God, I hoped no one would come after us.

I paid in full in cash – much to her surprise but she didn’t argue – and she passed us each a swipe key to our room.

“248. Second floor right past the pool on the other side.”

“Is there a Tesla charging station around here?” I asked.

“You’ll see it across the lot. Closer to the middle entrance doors!”

The hotel was built in a circular shape with the pool in the open courtyard centre and the two storeys of rooms in a pinwheel around it. Our room was at the far end of the building from the lobby and I drove my car down to the Tesla charging stations by the centre entrance to plug it in while Jonah pulled our bags from the backseat.

“What are we going to do with…the case in the trunk?” he asked me softly.

The quiet desert night made for ease of eavesdropping. Who could one trust at a time like that?

“The ice should keep it.” I whispered.

We opened the trunk and Jonah stood close to me for privacy as I unclipped the case and opened the top. The southern California heat had melted most of the ice on the drive and Jonah and I sighed in unison.

“Can’t keep her out here in this humidity.” Jonah whispered.

“I know.” I closed the equipment case and locked the clips again, “Bring her in with us then. It’ll be safer anyway.”

Jonah and I each draped our own bags over our shoulders and then each took a side of the case to lift it out of the trunk and onto the pavement. It was much heavier with the bags of melted ice and we found ourselves staggering a little down the hotel hallway with the weight of it. Of course we had to be on the second floor meaning we had to wait for the elevator.

Have you ever waited for the slowest elevator in the country with a dead body in your suitcase in the wide open? Didn’t think so. It is probably the most torturous thing one could experience. Or…one of the most torturous things one could experience.

I wonder if Avalon suffered.

The room was, of course, the lightest colours possible; the walls painted a light blue and the furniture and sheets all a crisp white. Jonah and I set the equipment trunk on the light brown carpet between us once we stepped inside and we took a second to look around the perfectly clean room. Where was there a place to put a bloody body that wouldn’t raise suspicions from housekeeping the following day?

Jonah peeked into the washroom that was directly to our left and he flicked on the light. The white tile floor was lit by warm pot lights along the ceiling and framed with white walls and a wood toned accent wall behind the dual vanity. The stand-alone tub was against the far wall and sat empty and perfectly clean.

We exchanged silent glances before letting the hotel room door close behind us and we lifted the equipment case into the ensuite. With equal soft huffs, we set it down on the tile and I unclipped the lid to open it up. Each melted ice bag was drained down the tub and the plastic packaging was left on the tile while we situated ourselves on either side of the case. I slid my hands under Avalon’s arms and directed Jonah to take her ankles and we lifted her up together and carefully set her in the tub. She was getting stiff so we tried to keep her in the same position we needed to put her back in the case come morning.

Jonah stuffed the empty ice bags into the bottom of the equipment case with the stained towel from home and he pulled it out of the bathroom and into the corner of the main room to keep it out of the way. I sat on the side of the tub and silently eyed the body of my wife that was lain in front of me. She seemed paler than when we left home and I sat there, afraid to touch her like she was stranger again.

“I’m going to grab some ice from the machine down the hall, okay?” Jonah said.

I glanced over at him and simply nodded before turning back to Avalon.

“Are you alright here?” he questioned.

I nodded again.

He hesitated in the doorway but left the room anyway.  

I felt numb when I first found her and I felt numb staring at her now, only hours apart but at the same time it felt like months. My God; my heart hurt.

I got up from the side of the tub and went back into the main room to where my laptop case was left on one of the beds. My hoodie and jeans were still inside it and I pulled out my sweater to take back into the ensuite. I carefully slid Avalon’s arms in it and then tucked it over her head and down her torso before resting her back against the side of the porcelain tub. The light bloody handprint over the chest was easier to look at than the gash across her neck and the completely dark red colour of her clothes. She looked nicer in my clothes anyway.

I sat back on the side of the tub and let my eyes study her face again. She was staring at the wall with that eery blank expression and I carefully reached over to close her eyelids. She looked like she was sleeping. I liked to think that’s what she was doing anyway…seemed to feel a little easier that way.

I let out a soft breath and reached my hand down to brush my fingers over hers, feeling the coolness of her once warm skin. She was unfamiliar now but, at the same time, still nothing less than the supposed love of my life. I ran my thumb over her knuckles and across the diamond ring on her left hand.

The glass fell and shattered on the kitchen floor between us, silencing our screaming match except for our heavy breaths and Avalon’s sniffled tears.

I sighed at the realization that the whole confrontation went on too far and I tried to reach for her, but she pulled her hand back and moved away from me, “Aves.”

“Don’t.” she snapped.

“Avalon, I’m sorry, I-”

“Sorry doesn’t fix everything.” she retorted sharply, yet I could hear the exhaustion in her voice. “I’m sleeping in the studio tonight.”

I swallowed thickly and nodded, glancing to the ground with a heavy heart, the pieces of broken glass shimmering in the kitchen light between us. She went to step around me but I instinctively reached out a hand to her to keep her back from accidently stepping on any broken glass, “Careful.”

“God, Daniel.” she huffed, “Please don’t.”

I didn’t make a move to stop her as she walked around me to storm across the living room and to the back door. She didn’t look back as she opened the sliding glass door and slipped out into the darkness that the falling night brought. I watched her disappear out of the house and into the backyard, her form fading from view like she had been a figment of my imagination the whole time, the cruelest most perfect kind of dream.

Oh, how I loved her. And I was so, so stupid.

I swallowed back my tears of realization as the pieces of the night came clearer to me. How I let her leave to the studio so easily, our last words spat in hatred, and how I could never truly apologize for not being the husband she wanted and deserved. I was too much of a coward and she was too good for me.

My tears came suddenly, breaking my breath in my chest with a shutter and I clenched my jaw to try and keep myself somewhat composed as the grief washed over me in heavy unbearable waves. I clutched her hand in mine and brought it up to my lips to press a soft kiss to her cold skin through my tears.

“I’m so sorry.” I whispered shakily to her, only hoping somehow she could hear me. Wherever she was. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

Detective Team: @jonahlovescoffee​ @randomlimelightxxx​ @stuffofseaveyy​ @hopinglimelight​ @tempus-ut-luceant​ @br4nd1s​ @xkelsev​ @hiya-its-amber​ @sexyseavey15​ @the-girl-who-cried-wolf​

[e-milieeee]

what if we already are (what we’ve been dying to become)—Marichat

Summary: Hawkmoth’s defeat should mark a joyous occasion for Paris’ superheroes, but instead, Chat Noir finds his entire world breaking apart.

(Marinette’s determined to help him build it back together, piece by piece.)

Notes: i... forgot to post this? reveal fic with uH angst and some healing and tears ahHAHAha whoops 

Or read on AO3

The whole world was made of fire—suffocating, terrifying fire—yet Adrien was drowning.

He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. Even as the rest of them apprehended Hawkmoth (no, not Hawkmoth: Gabriel Agreste, his father), Adrien didn’t help. Pieces of glass from the battle littered the ground, chaos spread all around, unfurling inside him, and the yawning pit of horror and fear and disbelief opened wider.

Hawkmoth was his father.  

He watched as the butterfly pin was taken, watched as Hawkmoth was led away, watched as his father’s lips moved, addressing him in words that didn’t reach Adrien’s ears. Plagg, who had hovered a little ways away after he had released his transformation, flew up to Adrien and nestled in his hair. If he offered any words of comfort, Adrien didn't hear them.

He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, drowning and drowning and drowning like there was no end to how deep the water could drag him down. The only breath of air was when the familiar sight of red and black dropped into his line of vision and Ladybug’s hand rested on his shoulder.

“Adrien,” she said.

Adrien. His name seemed to ring in his ears, growing louder until his head felt like it was going to burst. Adrien Agreste. She knew. Ladybug knew who he was.

Adrien Agreste, son of Gabriel Agreste—son of Hawkmoth.

The water once again dragged him under, and Adrien felt himself whisper the words of transformation before he was fleeing as fast as he could. Glass cracked under his feet like bones. Ladybug’s shouts for him to stay only made him run faster, and then Chat Noir was scrambling blindly through Paris, wind tearing at his face and guilt tearing even more viciously at his heart. He didn’t know where he was going, but all he knew was that he needed to get away.

For a very long time, the city blurred for Chat. Something seemed to carry him along, kept him going until he reached his destination.

There. The school. Perched on the roof, Chat looked down. Ladybug’s magic had fixed everything, it seemed, because not a brick was out of place. The crack that ran through the courtyard was gone. Everything was the same, even if nothing was anymore.

Inside him, a hurricane of emotions continued to swirl, each demanding their own share of his misery. They mixed and danced until Chat couldn’t tell them apart, but it didn’t matter. After all, they were only there to serve as a reminder of who his father was. And, as an extension, who he was.

Chat blinked, expecting to feel a prickling in his eyes—anything—but no tears came. Gabriel Agreste had always been a quiet, driven man, even when Emilie was still alive. But there had always been memories of better days, when his father had put aside his work to lift him up on his shoulders, running around the house and laughing while his mother chased them with a broom. There was the time his father had attended his piano recital, watching fondly with his mother tucked in the crook of his arm, standing up to clap when Adrien finished. There was the time they had decided to bake together as a family and eight-year-old Adrien splashed a bowl of melted butter over Gabriel by accident and received a bowl of flour over his head as revenge.

Such warm memories, once treasured pieces Adrien clung onto. Now they were tainted with new ones: seeing his mother in the glass coffin; Hawkmoth’s detransformation falling to reveal his father; the way he had attacked Ladybug, his friends and him.

A soft zing sounded behind him, and Chat whirled around in fright and surprise. Ladybug stood, blue eyes like the sky, even though the sky today was covered in a dark, angry grey.

A wave of terror swept over Chat. What did she think of him now that she knew the boy underneath the suit? It had always been Chat Noir which he favoured over Adrien Agreste. Who would she see when she looked at him? Her partner Chat Noir, or Adrien the son of Hawkmoth? Or maybe Chat Noir, son of Hawkmoth?

“Stay away,” he managed to croak, scrambling to his feet. Above their heads, thunder clapped and lightning streaked. A storm was on its way. “I’m—I’m—” The words caught in his throat, refusing to come out.

Ladybug raised her hands in a placating gesture. “Adrien,” she ventured, and he flinched back violently. She tried again. “Chat. It’s okay.”

“You know who I am.” The words were shameful, and he wished desperately they weren’t true.

Ladybug’s blue eyes remained locked with his, anchoring his feet to the ground, not letting him flee again. Then, without looking away, she whispered, “Tikki, spots off.”

As the bright pink light of her transformation faded, the first drops of rain began to fall as well. Before him stood Ladybug—no, not Ladybug. Before him was Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

Chat’s breath caught in his throat. His father momentarily forgotten, he took in the sight of her: black hair tied by red ribbons, brilliant blue eyes. The shape of her face. The sweep of her bangs, which were beginning to get soaked by the rain. Everything about her was so, so familiar.

How had he been so blind? Marinette, bringing the class pastries from her family’s bakery. Ladybug’s kind smile as she spoke gently, softly to akuma victims. Marinette, laughing as she kicked his ass once more in Ultimate Mecha Strike. Ladybug, whooping as they raced across Paris. Marinette, full of warmth and love and determination and a kindness that extended to everyone. Ladybug, always selfless and brave and beautiful.  

Of course. Who else could Ladybug be but Marinette?

And how vast the chasm between them. Marinette Dupain-Cheng didn’t deserve Adrien Agreste as her partner.

The thought swept through him and seized hold of his heart. With all the willpower he had left, he ripped his gaze from hers and turned to run again.

He only managed a single step forward before a hand latched onto his wrist. Before Chat could go anywhere, Marinette was tugging him back, rain streaking down her cheeks like tears. She said, “Stay.”

A choked gasp left him, and with it, all the struggle dissipated. Chat let Marinette tug him towards her, collapsing into her arms as she wrapped them around his body, tight and unrelenting. The storm threatened to tear him away, but she clung to him so strongly that he was anchored.

“Chat,” she repeated. “Adrien. It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” he told her. “It’s not. You—you know who I am. I’m—my father—Hawkmoth’s my father.”  

Marinette didn’t let go of him. The smell of apples and vanilla all around her—it was Ladybug’s scent; Marinette’s scent.

“And you,” he continued. “You’re Marinette. How was I so stupid?”  

“You’re not stupid,” she replied. Slowly, she removed his hands around her, only to put him at arm's length so she could meet his eyes. “You are every bit the person I would want you to be, chaton.”  

“You don’t need to say that to make me feel better.”

A laugh left Marinette as well, but it was quieter, maybe a little sad. She gave his shoulder a little push down, and Chat sat at her command. His body felt too numb, too out of control to resist. “Let me tell you a story. About you.”

About me. What good story could there to be tell about him? What a tale they could spin; Paris’ protector finding out the person Paris needed protection from was his own flesh and blood.

“When I first met you,” she began, “as Adrien Agreste, I hated you.”

The rain continued to splash down, and Chat felt his heart grow cold. Of course she did. Because how could Marinette, light incarnate, love somebody like him? All those days of pining after Ladybug, and he had never realized just how far apart they truly were.

“Then,” Marinette continued, “you gave me your umbrella when it was raining, and I fell in love with you.”

His breath caught in his throat. When he looked at Marinette’s eyes, they were wide and serious.

She fell in love with me.

“Why?” he whispered.

Marinette placed a hand on his cheek, letting the rain gather on her palms as it streaked down both their faces. “Because you were kind,” she replied. “Because you were generous enough to give a stranger your umbrella when it was raining. I began to notice you more after that, and I realized that you were so… you shined so bright. Even though you were famous, you were still humble. Even though you had the best grades in the class, you never bragged about it. There’s never a person you’ve been unkind to, even though they were unkind to you. The more I knew you, the more I loved you.”

The words repeated in Chat’s head like a broken record. “You loved me,” he echoed. “You loved me. As Adrien.”

“Yes,” Marinette agreed. “I loved you as Adrien. And I loved you as Chat Noir, as my partner and my other half. Except I didn’t want to admit it because I thought that I could only be in love with Adrien Agreste. Now that I see you, I don’t know how I could ever have imagined it to be anybody else.”

Chat continued to stare at her. Marinette met his gaze squarely, determination written all over her face. Every word she had said was the truth, no matter how ludicrous and outlandish and surreal it sounded. Just like the truth that his father was Hawkmoth, but this—this truth spoke of a kinder, more hopeful reality.

“Do you love me still?” he finally asked. “After you know who my father is?”

“I don’t care who your father is,” Marinette replied immediately, firmly, before he could even start fearing her answer. “You are not your father, and you’ve more than proven that to me. You’ve more than proven that to everyone. Especially yourself, Adrien.”

He breathed. For the first time since he had found out Hawkmoth’s identity, he truly, deeply, breathed. Then, “Plagg, claws in.”

A flash of light later, it was Adrien standing in front of Marinette. He searched her face for any signs of regret, any disgust, but all he could see was understanding and kindness.

“Adrien.” Marinette’s voice was barely above a whisper. She raised a hand to his face again, wiping at the water that kept on dripping down, drenching his clothing. “You have no idea how happy I am that it’s you.”

She pulled him into another hug and this time, Adrien let himself fall right into it. Her arms remained tight around him, and even as the storm around them raged, the one inside seemed to quiet down ever so slightly.

“None of us care that Hawkmoth’s your father,” she breathed. “It doesn’t matter. It won’t change the fact that you’re loved, Adrien. Just know that.”

Loved. The word pierced through him, finally breaking the dam he had been labouring so hard to hold up. He wept into Marinette’s shoulder out of pain and fright and relief and happiness all at once. Loved. It shattered something inside him, something already broken, and broke it so completely, so wonderfully. And Adrien realized that he believed Marinette—believed wholly with all of his bruised, fractured heart that what she said was true. That she loved him, as Adrien Agreste, as Chat Noir, as Gabriel Agreste’s son.

“It’s okay,” Marinette repeated yet again. “And it’s okay if you’re not okay.”

He sobbed until the tears ran out altogether and even after that, Adrien clung to Marinette like a lifeline. She didn’t let go either, hands soothing against his back, whispering quiet words that Adrien could finally believe.

Adrien was the one who pulled back that time. Marinette smiled at him, her face radiant, and he tried to mirror it. “Look,” he said. “I got your clothing all drenched with my tears.”

She wiped wet hair out of her face and laughed. “Looks like I did the same to you. Seems to me that we’re even on this one, kitty.”

Surprised delight unfurled in him hearing her call him that nickname. Then Adrien was smiling wider, more genuinely. His father was still a weight on his heart, but Marinette was there, holding his hand and not letting him carry it alone.

“I’m glad it was you,” Adrien admitted at last. Thunder rumbled, directly above their heads. “But at the same time, of course it was you.”

“Yes,” Marinette agreed. “Although look at how dumb we were. We couldn’t look past our own crushes to see the person we loved loved us right back.”

The person we loved. Adrien’s heart still stammered at that, leaped and soared and sang to hear such words from her. He wasn’t sure he would ever, ever hear it enough.

Marinette’s laugh suddenly cut through the air. It chimed like bells. “I would get so nervous around you,” she recalled. “I would stammer, freeze up, and could never look you in the eye. To think you were Chat Noir the whole time, and I was turning down the same boy I couldn’t even form a coherent sentence around because how hopelessly in love I was. Isn’t it ridiculous?”

“I can do you one better. I spent so much time convincing myself that you were just a friend and I couldn’t be in love with you because I loved Ladybug, but you were Ladybug all along.” Then he paused. “Wait. That means those pictures in your room…”

Adrien watched as Marinette’s face turned a dark shade of pink. “... they weren’t for your so called designer purposes, were they?” He feigned surprise. “Why, did you have a crush on me, m’lady?”

She smacked his arm. “Shut up.”

He sighed. “I guess all the times I professed my love to you might’ve not actually been for vain. It’s truly touching.”

“Shut up,” Marinette growled, now crimson. “You insufferable cat—”

She broke off, seemed to remember something, then scrunched her face into an expression of determination. Before Adrien could figure out what was happening, Marinette snatched a handful of his shirt and tugged him down to her height, lips brushing over his.

It was all over in a second. Adrien gaped at her like a fish out of water and Marinette tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, a shy smile spreading across her face. “For what it’s worth,” she murmured. “Maybe it’s—maybe it’s too early to say this, and it’s okay if you don’t return the sentiment, but I want to spend my life with you. With Adrien and Chat Noir. As Marinette and Ladybug.”

This time, it was joy that bloomed through his chest, full and bright. “Yes,” he breathed. “Yes. Me too.”

Marinette’s smile was the sun, her eyes the sky, and Adrien’s world was bright and clear despite the rain. She held out a hand to him, and he took it.

It’s okay if you’re not okay. The road to healing was a long one, and Adrien knew that it wasn’t overnight that he could finally come to peace with the fact that his father had been Hawkmoth. It wasn’t overnight that he could understand the reasons, to forgive and let go. But that was okay.

Broken, he might be. But broken could be fixed, and if anyone could help him do so, it was Marinette.

End notes: This is part of a set of three loosely connected drabbles (that all work as standalones). Here’s part one.

Fics masterlist here!

[crystalessenceswrites]

Burden of the Survivors- Chapter Two

Burden of the Survivors

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!reader Rating: T (at the moment- subject to change) Warnings: swearing, canon-typical violence *no spoilers- takes place in Season 1 timeline* Summary: Mando works alone- except for when the absolutely can’t. There are few people Din trusts – trusts as in he doesn’t expect a viroblade in the back the second he’s turned around. She’s one of them. Just as cautious and nearly as tight lipped about her past as he is, Din doesn’t mind her around too much. A/N: My inspiration is a fickle thing, I’ve been swinging back and forth between Shadows and BotS for a few weeks now. Finally got enough to sit down and finish this chapter, so cheers to that.

[Masterlist] [Chapter One] [Chapter Two] [Chapter Three] Cross-posted to AO3

Chapter Two

When Vero found you, you were nothing but a pickpocket on the lower-level streets of Coruscant-the byproduct of the horrors of the Clone Wars and the rise of the Empire. You were nearing sixteen and beginning to lose your touch. When you were younger-and smaller-it was easier to weave through crowds and avoid attention. Puberty and a growth spurt made it much more difficult for the teenage you to blend in. You made it work, you had to if you wanted to get by, but it took twice as much work to get folks to look the other way. Ever observant Vero caught on quick but said you had potential, just not as a street thief. The alabaster skinned theelin approached you with a job, a job that paid more than you could scrounge up in two weeks selling your stolen treasures. All you had to do was deliver a small parcel to a pilot friend of his at a docking station a few levels up without getting caught by the city guard before the pilot was scheduled to leave in two hours. It seemed easy enough and you desperately needed the credits. The last thing on your mind was what was in the package you carried. You knew better than to stick your nose where it did not belong, especially when you were getting paid. That decision changed your life.

The job was a test to see if you were capable and trustworthy enough to bring on for a real job as a runner, and you passed with flying colors. Vero took you under his wing and had you running smuggled goods and other products all over Coruscant. It was a reckless job, you knew that-even as a child-but it kept a roof over your head and food in your belly at a time in your life when you had forgotten what that was like. You were one of many street kids on Coruscant that had to turn to life in the underworld to get by, but you thank the Maker you ended up with the one crew on Coruscant that had some small sense of morals.

Vero worked for Shan Tillis, who had grown up on the streets of Corellia himself. Shan was sympathetic, smuggling had been his way out of the gutter, and he offered you that same opportunity. It had not taken long for Shan and the others to realize you were too smart and too quick on your feet to just move goods, that you and your brain could be used elsewhere. So, they taught you. Kom and Redarr, Shan’s lead muscle heads, taught you how to fight and how to fight dirty. Sola bought you your first proper viroblade (you’d nicked one years ago but it was made for hands much larger than yours so you’d always been rather clumsy with it) and taught you every trick in the book she knew, every weak spot on the body, how to wound but not kill and where to bleed someone out the fastest. Her lessons were always your favorite. Tala taught you how to pilot every kind of ship you could get your hands on, and how to hotwire a landspeeder- Vero was not thrilled when he discovered that lesson had been performed on his precious baby.

Everything that made you into the infamous bounty hunter you were now had been taught to you by that crew. Every cautious tick had been drilled into you by Kom and Vero. Redarr had schooled you on blasters, made you practice in-between jobs on how to take them apart and put them back together with your eyes closed. Zena taught you how to read people and how to know when a deal was about to go south.

Shan imparted you with the most practical wisdom of them all. How to know when you’re fucked.

This job seems pretty fucked to you.

The Mandalorian is silent as the two of you settle on the ridge above the compound. Scope out, he looks over the cluster of buildings. Even from a distance you’ve already counted ten nikto out and about, and you can safely assume they’re all heavily armed.

You tighten the various straps and holsters on your person before slipping your tactical mask into place. The contraption covers the lower half of your face and has always been more for the intimidation factor than much else. Redarr had gifted it to you all those years ago as more of joke than practical gear but you’d grown attached. Between the mask and its voice modulator, your hood and dark, nondescript clothes you could remained relatively anonymous when you wanted to, which was most of the time.

“If we come along the east side I think I can make it up to the roof without being seen, provide you with a little more cover.” You did always prefer the higher ground.

Mando nods, continuing to scan the scene, “there’s two on the northwest corner you’ll have to manage.”

Your scoff crackles through the modulator, “they won’t be an issue.”

He grunts before his head snaps back towards the edge of the compound, “shit. Bounty droid.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” You whip out your own scope, focusing in on where Mando was watching. Sure enough, you spot an IG unit bounty droid making its way up to the group of nikto lingering outside.

“Subparagraph 16 of the Bondsman Guild Protocol Waiver compels you to immediately produce said asset.”

You roll your eyes as the shooting starts. Droids had to have figured out by now it was never that easy. If it was, anyone with a blaster could join the guild.

The droid has a handle on the gunfight, but you groan as you watch the compound go into lockdown, all the blast doors slam shut before the last shot is fired.

“Droids.” Mando snaps as he stands, one hand clenched around the hilt of a blaster.

You jump up, following behind him. Again, with the acting first, thinking second.

As you approach the encampment Mando jerks his head up, “you take the topside.”

“Gladly.”

You scramble up the side of the building with relative ease, there are plenty of odd pipes and vents that make convenient grips as you haul yourself and up over the lip of the roof. When the droid had ruined any chance at a surprise attack, you’d lost sight of the two guards on the roof. You keep your rifle aimed in their last known direction as you settle onto your stomach, ready to cover Mando as needed.

“Subparagraph 16 of the Bondsman Guild Protocol Waiver compels you to immediately produce said asset,” the droid repeats.

Maker they really have no learning curve.

“IG unit! Stand down!”

The bounty droid has split second reaction times, shooting at what you can safely assume is Mando when he groans from somewhere down below and out of view. “We’re in the Guild!”

“So I suggest you stand down before you take a bolt to the brains, droid.”

Your quip draws the droid’s attention to your vantage point on the roof.

“You are Guild members? I thought I was the only one on assignment.”

“That makes two of us,” Mando grumbles. “So much for the element of surprise.”

That was a kriffing understatement.

“Sadly, I must ask for your fob. I have already issued the writ of seizure. The bounty is mine.”

“Unless I’m mistaken, you are, as of yet, empty-handed.”

“This is true.”

You have to restrain your eye rolling to keep monitoring the roofline.

“I have a suggestion.”

“Proceed.”

“We split the reward.”

How many people was he going to offer to share your credits with? This was beginning to get out of hand.

“This is acceptable.”

Well considering how much Mando hated droid he at least knew how to manage them considerably well.

“Great. Now let’s regroup, out of harm’s way, and form a plan.”

You were sorely doubting that the droid was capable of forming a decent plan or following whatever you and Mando came up with, but it was worth a shot considering the situation had become even more fucked thanks to him.

“I will of course receive the reputation merits associated with the mission.”

“Is this really the time?” You shout down at the pair.

Mando seems to have the same idea, “can we talk about this later?”

“I require an answer if I am to proceed-”

An orange head pops into view on the roof across from you, “we’ve got company!”

The nikto takes a shot at the droid, “oh, no. Alert. Alert. Alert.”

Whole lot of help this one was. You land a headshot just as the doors of the compound slide open, more soldiers swarming out, blasters drawn.

“Let’s go!” Mando dives for cover and the droid follows after.

Your spot affords you a decent line of sight into the courtyard but there’s more of them then you thought there would be out in the middle of nowhere guarding who knows what you were after. It takes you picking off three of them before they realize you’re shooting at them from above. There’s a flurry of shouting and pointing in your direction and Mando makes a run for the main set of blast doors at the back of the courtyard. You were going to have friends on the roof soon. Lucky you.

Rolling back you jump to your feet, taking a couple pot shots into the courtyard as you make for the far end of the roof. The droid is a decent shot, covering Mando’s mad dash while you focus on the nikto popping up across the roof. One hauls himself over the edge to your left, making a swipe at yours leg with his blaster. The loud crunch of your boot to his skull cuts through the blaster fire around you as the body falls into courtyard. Gross. Two more appear out of thin air, their shots barely missing your head. Losing your blaster you duck and roll, knocking both over as you draw a viroblade from your thigh holster. Neither have time to react before you’re on them, each taking one clean slice to the neck.

Mando and the IG unit have made it to the main door as you duck behind some ventilation equipment at the northwest corner of the building. You appear to have control of the roof for now, but you can see the soldiers in the courtyard beginning to regroup. They have Mando and the bounty droid pinned. Shit. You can hear Mando’s modulated shouts from below but you can’t quite make out what he’s going on about. Hopefully he’s chewing out the dumbass droid who go you into this mess.

The IG unit steps out again, laying out a spread of blaster fire that doesn’t seem to do much. The nikto have plenty of coverage behind debris and the series of pillars lining the courtyard. Their numbers also seem to be steadily growing. Just how many of them were set up out here? Who needed this many bodyguards? It was nearly a small army. The IG unit cannot keep up with the incoming blaster fire, even with your help from above.

Your stomach drops as you catch sight of another incoming nikto on a hover blaster at the encampment entrance. You were all fucked. All you can do is hope Mando’s found good cover down there as you drop to your stomach, bracing behind the ventilation unit. The nikto lets it rip, covering the area with a spray of bolts. Most sound like they’re striking below you, focused on where you assume Mando and the droid are hiding.

Then as suddenly as it started the gun stops. Poking your head out you watch as the nikto is flung backwards and Mando yanks the blaster to him. You thank the Maker for whatever good fortune he earned for that to work. It takes only moments for Mando to swing the blaster around and mow down the rest of the small army.

“Well done,” the IG unit cuts through the eerie silence following the blaster fire. “I will disengage self-destruct initiative.”

“Wait, you guys can self-destruct?” Seemed a bit counterintuitive.

Mando’s visor snaps to where you’re hanging over the edge of the roof, looking for a spot to climb down. He wordlessly offers you a hand and you toss your pack and blaster down to him. Its not too high up so you simply ease over the edge and drop to the ground, ignoring the harsh jolt to your knees.

“Manufactures protocol dictates I cannot be captured; thus I have a self-destruct initiative.”

So the droid could have killed you all if had deemed the situation too risky. Great. You’re glad you hadn’t been aware of that during the shootout.

Mando helps the droid back to its feet. “You know, you’re not so bad. For a droid.”

Had hell frozen over? Mando was as droid adverse as they got, and now he was complimenting one? The universe must be ending.

“Agreed.”

“That blaster hit looks nasty. You okay?”

“Running a quick diagnostic… it has missed my central wiring harness.”

“Is that good?”

“Yes.”

Mando glances back to you, “good?”

“Never better,” you grin. This could have gone significantly worse, so you had no room to complain at the moment.

“Well, now we just need to get the door open.”

The way Mando’s helmet whips back to the large blaster makes you groan. There were easier, less messy ways to go about things. You don’t attempt to talk the hunter out of it, he most likely wouldn’t listen to you anyways. It almost looks like he has fun shooting out the blast door until in collapses inwards.

You all take tentative steps inside the compound. One head appears around a far corner to the right. Mando’s quick draw has him downed before anyone blinks. “Anyone else?”

As if any survivors were going to offer themselves up to be shot.

“I’ll clear the west side,” you offer and Mando nods before heading off with the bounty droid in the opposite direction.

An unnerving silence settles over you as you stalk down the halls of the mysterious compound. The small army camped here had been prepared and well supplied. There are crates upon crates of food stuffs, weapons and ammunition. Some places are nearly packed floor to ceiling with it. What exactly was going on out here? How did they get all this out here in the middle of nowhere?

You worry your necklace pendant with one hand, an unconscious gesture you have yet to train yourself out of. Something was not right about this job, or at least more than normal. Over the years your own morals had morphed to accommodate your line of work. You worked for the guild and were often paid by unsavory individuals, but that was what you did to survive, and you refused to let that get to you. This however was picking at an old wound, long forgotten.

Another shot echoes through the compound and you find yourself racing back towards Mando and the droid, blaster held at the ready. Swinging around a corner you find Mando standing over a small floating pod, the bounty droid smoking out of its “head” on the floor. Maybe he didn’t want to split the bounty after all.

“Mando?” Your voice seems to cut through whatever trance the hunter was under, head snapping back towards you. “What happened?”

His shoulders drop, the tension seeming to fall away at your appearance. “He was going to kill the bounty.”

“I thought you said the client specified they wanted it alive if at all possible.”

Mando nods, “they did say that.”

That gnawing sense of dreads returns. Stepping up next to Mando you glance down into the pod-which appears to be functioning as some kind of traveling pram-and are greeted with wide dark eyes and pointy green ears.

Oh Maker no…

[letbenfuck2021]

be the thing that buries me (ao3)

For the last four years, Vanya finds herself both prison and prisoner. She doesn’t have super powers. She isn’t physically strong or a tactical genius. But ordinary and helpless as she is, Vanya is determined to find a way to save her brother. She doesn’t want her body to be a cage anymore.

sequel to “inside your head the sound of glass”

rating. explicit. warnings/tags. pseudo/sibling-incest, dub-con, dead dove: do not eat, obsessive behavior, possessive behavior, dark fic.

chapter 1:

It’s cold in the city. Winter came early this year, a brutal cold snap billowing in about a week or so after the Academy turned eighteen and it showed no signs of letting up. And it is this frigid autumn that finds Vanya nearly freezing at the kitchen table, attempting to cut carrots into somewhat bite-sized pieces. She is, so far, mostly failing.

“Vanya darling,” Grace calls from across the room where she is preparing cornish hens for roasting. “Why don’t you head to the drawing room? It’s much warmer up there.”

This was the third time Grace had made this exact suggestion in the past hour. Vanya’s clacking teeth and the precarious way her hands shake as she presses the blade of her knife down is agitating Grace’s programming. Each heavy thunk against the cutting board causes Grace to twitch, an electrical impulse in her software reacting to the quickly climbing probability of injury occurring.  

“I’m okay, mom,” Vanya replies under her breath before lifting the butt of the knife once more and wrestling the carrot into place under the blade.  

It’s a little past four in the afternoon and already dark, a cold blue light washes the room and leeches all the warmth from the air. A few moments, Grace will reach for the light switch on the far wall and plunge them into the dingy orange light of the fluorescents overhead. But for now, Vanya sits at the kitchen table, shivering under a large sweater, a hoodie and two thermals and narrowly fails to slice open her own hand as she cuts away another jagged, ugly piece of carrot.

“What the fuck? Watch what you’re doing, Al! You almost took my fucking head off!”

“Don’t be a bitch, Diego.”

The echo of Allison and Diego’s bickering wafts in through the open window above the kitchen sink from outside in the courtyard. They’re running drills practically in the dark and it is only growing darker, but her siblings still have another thirty minutes to go before they can venture indoors. When their father took Ben, Luther, and Five on mission three week ago, Reginald had given strict instructions for all of those left behind. Her own orders had been sparse but from what she could tell, her siblings’ regimen was rigorous and immensely detailed. When they aren’t training, they are out patrolling and running other smaller missions.  in the last ten days much to her dismay. Vanya sees her siblings more in the paper than in person, but she’s been waiting, planning for her moment and now, it’s almost here. So, despite the cold, despite the blade that veers too close for comfort to her left hand and the damn carrot that rolls once again beneath her knife, Vanya is determined to wait.

“Yeah! Duuun’t be a beeotch, Deeeeee-yego!” Klaus calls from somewhere else in the courtyard before bursting into a shriek of laughter.

Even his laugh sounds slurred. His voice is quite a bit more muffled than either Allison or Diego’s, as though he’d tucked himself into the far corner of the yard and it was really a miracle that he was awake at all. The night before, Klaus had slipped out sometime around midnight and hadn’t returned until that afternoon. No one said a thing when he’d stumbled into the dining room in the middle of lunch and draped himself casually across his seat across from Diego. These days, no one saw virtue in commenting on Klaus’ perpetual lack of sobriety. In the same way that no one said anything about what was going on between her and Five or the horizontal scars littering Ben’s forearms. They’ve all quietly decided that it’s easier to turn a blind eye to all these things. They’ve all agreed that Klaus’ slurred speech sounds better than his screams in the middle of the night.

“Let’s go again, Diego,” Allison called out. “Start from the top.”

If Diego had any reservations about running through another set in the dark freezing cold, he made no audible dispute. Instead, the courtyard went silent again except for the occasional grunt or shout from either of her siblings. Though it didn’t always seem like it, Diego and Allison were a pretty dynamic duo in hand to hand, at least that’s what she’d heard from Five. When he ran missions, Five would often pair them together despite Allison’s protests. Keeping Allison and Luther apart was perhaps a petty move on Five’s part but it was also a strategic one. Five often talked about their siblings to Vanya, his dissatisfaction with them, his begrudging affection all tied up in his keen observation. It’s a little like listening to a story, a novel on audiobook about people in a far away land. After what happened to Five, the line in the sand that was between Vanya and her siblings was now drawn in concrete. Reginald had always done his best to keep her separated from the others. She wasn’t a complete fool. Having her hold blank clipboards, blow whistles, and stand beside him during training were all his not-so-subtle ways of indicating to them all that Vanya was not like them. And if that message wasn’t clear enough then the slow building resentment towards her would surely do the job. Though her mundanity had damned her, it had saved her as well from the brutal, violent reality that her siblings inhabited. They all begrudged her, her normal and therefore privileged existence. What happened to Five was just the final nail in the coffin. Not even Ben would acknowledge her these days.

“Ah!”

The knife slips in her grasp too far for her to recover in time before the blade cuts a line across her thumb, from the edge of her nail to the first knuckle. The wound looks, at first, completely innocuous. Bright red across her pale, clammy skin but thin and strangely static as though someone had drawn on her in red ink. Then, the wound unfolds. Her skin unfurling like a curtain as the blood begins to pour and the sting turns into intense pain.

“Oh dear,” Grace suddenly at Vanya’s side.

Before she bleeds all over the table, Grace reaches out and grips Vanya’s thumb with a kitchen towel. Her mother squeezes tightly, the pressure stopping the sharp pain but it’s replaced with a throbbing ache that is just as intense and leaves Vanya breathless.

“Sorry, mom,” Vanya murmurs, finding the words difficult to form.

Grace crouches down, her other hand deftly fishing a small tin box from the pocket of her apron. She releases Vanya’s wounded thumb for a second to open the little box. The aching pressure on her thumb releases for just a second before a sharp burning pain floods her senses. The world seems to shrink to her bleeding digit and Vanya blanches when she sees something white peeking out of the mess of blood and tissue. As soon as the box is opened and placed on the table, Grace’s hand moves to cover her thumb again, her steady fingers putting an uncomfortable amount of pressure over the wound.

"Is it bad?”

“It’s alright, sweetheart,“ she says though Grace has yet to actually inspect the injury.  

They wait like that for a few moments. The pain in her hand is making Vanya’s head spin while Grace begins to hum. Vanya looks up from her finger and finds her mother’s face turned towards the open window over the sink.

"Your brothers and sister should be coming in soon. They’ve been playing all day. I hope they won’t be too tired for dinner.”

She still spoke about them all as though they were children. Breakfasts were still happy faces made of fried eggs and bacon, pancakes with shapes made of chocolate chips. What she must think of them all, her children. Though she made no comment on it, Grace left Vanya’s clean and folded clothes in Five’s room now and left her daily meds there as well. After another moment of looking out into the dark, Grace turns her attention back to Vanya’s thumb and uncovers it. Her face is a portrait of bland concern.

“Hm, we may need stitches,” she says, pinching at the wound and pushing the disparate edges together and letting them fall apart again. “Why don’t we just patch it up for now and we’ll see from there?”

Grace smiles and it’s beautiful. Of course it is, she’d been made to be that way. Vanya often wondered if her mother had once been a real woman, someone with real feelings, with thoughts and desires that existed beyond whatever Reginald had coded into her. Grace stands from her crouched position, easily keeping her balance despite her tasteful, four-inch pumps. She instructs Vanya to replace the towel and put pressure on the wound while she goes to wash her hands at the sink.

“Your brothers and sister should be coming in soon,” she says with her back turned to Vanya. “They’ve been playing all day. I hope they won’t be too tired for dinner.”

The old pipes groan as the faucet sputters, at first there’s barely a trickle but Grace’s hands are poised and moving as though through a steady stream.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine, mom.”

This earns Vanya another wide, blank-eyed smile when Grace turns around wiping her hands on her apron. It takes a few minutes for Grace to clean and bandage Vanya’s thumb. The sharpness of the initial pain has faded and is replaced by deeper ache that makes her head spin and stomach turn ever so slightly. Grace admires her handy work then lets out a small gasp as though she’s just realized something.

“Vanya darling,” she says standing to her full height. “Why don’t you head to the drawing room? It’s much warmer up there.”

Vanya shakes her head, eyes still glued to her injured thumb trying but failing to will the pain away.

“It’s okay,” Vanya implores.

Grace tilts her head to the side, the large curls in her blonde hair shift like water sloshing. She looks troubled, her programming stumped. The girl is clearly half-freezing and now injured as well. She should be someplace warmer, perhaps even in bed. Vanya is fragile, ordinary, and largely incapable of contributing to the household. This all information that has been coded into Grace as truths. Vanya should be out of the way as much as possible but heavily supervised. Quickly, her mechanics run through the options and settle on this.

A wide smile and “maybe some hot chocolate instead. Warm you up a little.”

Before Vanya can decline, Grace sets to work. First she covers the Cornish hens in foil, they’ll need to sit for another half an hour before they’ll be ready for roasting and the stove will need at least half that time to finish rising to temperature. The air in the kitchen is cold enough that she doesn’t need to put birds back in the refrigerator. Instead, she leaves them sitting on the counter when she goes to fetch milk and a saucepan.

“Why don’t you sit closer to the stove, dear? It’s much warmer there.”

Vanya glances out at the window over the sink. She thinks she can just make out the sounds of labored breathing but all she can see is darkness. They’ll be finished soon and she doesn’t want to miss her chance but Vanya is also freezing and the painful throbbing in her thumb is making her dizzy so she relents and slinks across the room to the stove. She bypasses the chair at the end of the table and opts instead to squat down beside the old rusting appliance. Grace had been right; it’s infinitely warmer in her new location, though Vanya already knew it would be. This isn’t the first winter evening that she’s spent crouched at Grace’s feet beside the stove waiting just to catch a glimpse of her siblings.

“Did you remember to take your vitamins today?” Grace says from above her.

Vanya nods, doing her best to balance on her heels and stay clear of the heated metal beside her. How could she ever forget? Her “vitamins” are actually a cocktail of different medications that she takes on a daily basis. Recently, she’d noticed the arrival of a new pill, round, pale and though she’d been given no explanation for its sudden appearance the timing of its addition suggests that it was some kind of contraceptive. It had been Five who offered that particular hypothesis about the new pill’s purpose. And despite being somewhat relieved that she had one less thing to worry about, Vanya had been downright scandalized and denied even the possibility. Instead she had insisted that there must have been a new development in her condition.

The smell of milk heating wafts through the air, cutting through the cold and making Vanya’s stomach churn. Her thumb still hurts, the pain seems to be growing as more time passes but she tries not to think about it. Instead, she focuses on Grace humming a song that sounds simultaneously familiar and alien as the warm smell of milk and chocolate hangs in the air.

Vanya considers asking Grace now about the new pill. It isn’t uncommon for pills to appear and disappear according to what her condition required. When she was four, Vanya had contracted a highly contagious illness and had to be quarantined away from the rest of her siblings for months. She’d undergone multiple treatments and a couple surgeries, and even now she required vigilance and a strict adherence to a daily chemical regimen prescribed by her father.

Vanya could remember practically nothing of her illness and the resulting treatments. Most of early childhood is a vague smudge for Vanya and what she knows of her condition is a patchwork of bits and pieces she’s overheard or been told. Nothing from that time of her life feels real, except for Five of course. He’s the only thing that she can remember with any sort of clarity from her childhood. There is of course the rejection, the loneliness, the utter desolation of being an ordinary child in a clutch of extraordinary ones, but those things are more like a murky lake of misery. Five stands out like a raging flame. She remembers him dogging her relentlessly, always seeking her company, rooting out her little hiding spots in the house. At first, it had been painfully awkward to be under the weight of his attention but it wasn’t long before painful awkwardness became desperate craving. Now, Vanya can’t imagine who she could possibly be without Five.

The stove steadily grows hotter and Grace’s humming begins to skew atonal. Five and the others are scheduled to return that night though. Reginald had called earlier in the day but, according to Pogo, he didn’t give a specific time. The thought of Five’s impending return sets Vanya’s teeth on edge, with both eagerness and apprehension. Pogo had been tight lipped about the progress of their mission and so she had no ability to tell what mood her brother would be in when he returned. Every mission took a toll on him, truthfully on all her siblings and Vanya worries what state Five will return to her in but she wants Five home, whatever state he’s in.

“Oh my dears! You’re practically popsicles!”

Grace’s exclamation jostles Vanya awake. At some point, she’d managed to drift off with her back pressed against the wall and balanced on her heels. She’s sweating beneath her layers, the stove’s oven is nearly to temperature.

“We’re fine, mom,“ Diego replies, his voice is labored and when Vanya peeks up over the table, she notices that he has Klaus on his back.  

“Why don’t you all have a seat, you’re just in time for hot chocolate!”

There’s a shuffle of feet and the sound of a chair legs screeching across the floor. Vanya rises to her feet just in time to watch Diego dump Klaus unceremoniously into an empty chair.

 ”Ow, Didi,“ Klaus whines. "Try a little tenderness wouldya? I’m precious cargo.”

His speech is still slurred but there’s a clarity to his words that wasn’t quite there earlier when Vanya had overheard him in the courtyard. Besides his griping, the room falls silent as soon as Diego and Allison spot Vanya. They both tense up as though they’ve seen a wild animal.

“What the fuck is she doing here?” Diego snarls.

His animosity is nothing new but Vanya winces regardless and tries to focus her attention on her sister.

“She lives here, genius,” Allison retorts glibly but the tension doesn’t leave her body.

Grace, seemingly unaware of the uncomfortable strain between her children, moves throughout the kitchen gathering mugs and setting them out on the table.With a mechanical poise, she divides up the hot chocolate into four perfectly even portions. Klaus doesn’t seem to notice what’s happening either. He’s opted to bury his face into his crossed arms resting on the table in front of him and doze off.

“I need to talk to you,” Vanya says, trying her best not to look at her brother.

“Like hell you do,“ Diego barks.

Vanya almost loses her nerve. Of all her siblings, Diego despises her the most or it may just be that he has the hardest time hiding it.

“Relax, Two. Drink your cocoa.”

Despite being Number Three, Allison is the unquestionable superior. Diego could never quite convince himself that he was or could ever be better than his sister. Allison easily outdid all her brothers in almost all things and where she was found lacking, she found ways to make up the difference. Diego      respected     Allison and so he usually deferred to her and this time is no different. He doesn’t stop glaring at Vanya but he takes a seat beside Klaus.

“Let’s talk upstairs, Vanya,” Allison says evenly. “It’ll be warmer up there.”

Vanya nods in reply and follows her sister out of the kitchen. Diego watches her leave with a hostile glare and kicks Klaus’ chair so hard that it jostles him awake. Behind her, Vanya hears them bicker.

"Get up asshole and drink your cocoa.”

“It’s hot chocolate.”

“Same thing.”

“What? No it’s not!”

Their voices grow vague as Vanya and Allison ascend. Vanya’s heart is fluttering in her chest and her stomach, which has been in knots all day, only gets worse. Vanya is afraid of Allison. Not in the way she fears Luther. She still has nightmares of the sound of her own fingers snapping, joints popping out of place and searing pain of skin ripping. She isn’t scared of Allison like she’s scared of Diego who took every opportunity to verbally berate her. Vanya has no memory of Allison ever being especially cruel to her or physically harming her but she knows what Allison can do and that’s more than enough reason to fear her.

“H-how was training?” Vanya asks hesitantly.

As much as she fears her sister, Vanya admires her more. Allison was everything that Vanya wishes she could be. Beautiful, strong, confident and most importantly, Allison is special. She’s extraordinary. And even if she’s scared of her, Vanya wants so badly for Allison to like her.

“It was like negative twenty out there,” Allison replies without turning around. “It sucked.”

Vanya nods even though Allison can’t see her. She doesn’t know how to reply to that. It had been years since she’s been allowed to participate, even in a spectator position, in training.

Allison leads her to the main parlor where a fire’s been lit. It’s exponentially warmer here and Vanya finally feels as though she can think straight. She watches as Allison makes a beeline for one of the ornate couches and lays herself out with a huff. Vanya opts to stand off to the side, nearer to the fireplace.

“Um..thanks fo-

“Just tell me what you want.”

Vanya’s throat suddenly feels dry. She can’t see Allison’s face from where she’s standing but she can hear the cold annoyance in her voice. It makes her feel small but she shoves the feeling down.

“I…I want you to undo the rumor you used on Five.”

Allison sighs heavily from her lounging position.

“Vanya. Really? This shit again?”

“Please, Allison. If you could just try, I know yo-“”

“I’ve already told you. I’m not doing that,“ she says sitting up. "Why don’t you just accept that he’s obsessed with you and take the win?”

“It’s not a win!” Vanya shouts, her voice cracks.

Allison looks genuinely startled by the outburst and it emboldens Vanya. She takes a step closer and continues.

“It hurts him. He’s not even himself anymore and he’s trapped here because of it. Because of      me    .”

What Vanya isn’t saying is, because of you. Allison hears it anyway.

“You can do it,” Vanya implores. “If you would just try.”

“I can’t,“ Allison says, punctuating her assertion by standing.

Allison is fairly tall for a girl her age and she certainly dwarfs Vanya’s miniscule five feet. She’s an intimidating figure but Vanya won’t back down.

"Yes you can. You’re the only one who can help us.”

“This is getting old. And a little pathetic. Enough already.”

With that, Allison turns and makes for the door but Vanya rushes forward. Before she can stop herself, Vanya reaches out and grabs Allison by the wrist.

“I’m just trying to help our brother! Why won’t you help me?”

As soon as Vanya touches her skin, Allison recoils pulling her wrist from her sister’s grasp. The force causes Vanya to stumble and Allison feels sorry for it. In all honesty, she has nothing personal against her sister. She doesn’t particularly like Vanya but she doesn’t hate her the way Diego does and she isn’t scared of her like Klaus and Ben seem to be. Truthfully, Allison doesn’t      know    Vanya. They’d lived practically their entire lives under the same roof, grew up together, shared meals, slept in rooms barely twenty feet apart but Allison had never felt any closer to Vanya than she felt to any given stranger off the street.

“Stop, Vanya. Just stop. You’re not helping, you’re just trying to make me feel guilty.”

“I’m no-”

“Yes. You are. And you know what? I am guilty. I made the rumor. I agreed to say it. I’m guilty. But that hasn’t changed anything for the last four years. It isn’t gonna change anything now. If you really wanna help Five, maybe you should stop blaming everyone else and figure out how to do it on your own.“

"Well you let Dad treat Luther like a tool all he wants,” Vanya says and she knows she should stop but the bitter words spilling out of her like vomit. “I guess it shouldn’t surprise me that you won’t help us.”

Vanya knows she made a mistake. Allison watches as her sister’s expression changes from resentful anger to utter fear and she wants to laugh. Allison had always pitied Vanya for her weakness and they both knew it. But for the first time, Allison is beginning to realize that she doesn’t just pity Vanya, she resents her. She had never once in her life been allowed to even seem weak but her sister wallowed in her frailty, relied on it even. Some dark, nasty part of Allison wonders if that’s why Five was attracted to Vanya so much in the first place. Five like little else more than feeling superior.

“I-I’m sorry,” Vanya stuttered, her eyes wide with fear. “I didn’t mean…”

Her trembling lip, Vanya’s little body shrinking away with anticipation. Terror slinks off of her like a rotten stench. Allison takes it all in and she feels terribly powerful. This isn’t a new experience for her. Allison had often stood above opponents, criminals, vandals, sometimes even her own brothers, and she loved being above them. She liked to savor the intoxicating feeling of being the winner, the victor because that was the Hargreeves way. Do whatever it takes to get on top and stay there. Even if you have to cheat and Allison had no qualms about playing dirty and yet, for some reason, the sight of her sister, trembling before doesn’t make her feel triumphant, it makes her feel sick.

“I’m sorry, Allison. I shouldn’t have said that.”

Vanya barely manages to choke the words out, her teeth are nearly chattering with how sacred she is. Looking at her makes Allison feel sick. Her shoulders suddenly feel too heavy, they slump as she sighs. She’s so tired that it nearly brings her to tears. But she doesn’t cry. Allison doesn’t get to cry, no matter how much she wants to.

"You’re right. You shouldn’t say that. Even if I wanted to, I don’t know if I could undo the rumor. They just have to run their course.”

\\\\

She wakes into the dark with a crick in her neck. She’d fallen asleep with her head at the foot of Five’s bed again, staring out at the snow falling against the darkness. It’s a bad habit but she’d always liked Five’s windows. Vanya isn’t sure when she’d fallen asleep but after her encounter with Allison, she’d dragged herself up to Five’s room, buried herself under his comforter and tried to find some solace in the snowfall outside his window. She must have succeeded because when she wakes, it’s nearly midnight and there’s someone with her in the dark.

“When did you get back?” she murmurs apologetically.

It’s become an unspoken ritual that Vanya waits up for Five when he comes back from a longer mission. It wasn’t always possible, but Vanya tried her best to be there for him whenever he got back. She attempts to turn her head to see his face but the muscles in her neck spasm. She can hear the sound of her own groan entering into the cold silence, jostling the air and she thinks she also hears a laugh. Just a small huff of air really, beside her ear all warm and soft in a way that makes the hair on the back of her neck stand.

His thumb finds the tight muscle in her neck, massaging circles into her flesh. It hurts at first, the sudden pressure makes her gasp and the flush of blood back into the area makes her a little dizzy. He curls his fingers under her neck, arching it upward so that he can suck hickeys into the skin he’d just massaged. She’ll be peppered with purple marks, too high above her collar and plentiful to cover but even so, she cranes her neck and lifts her chin exposing more skin for him to mark. Ever since the Paris job, they had settled into a kind of uneasy armistice. There had been no explicit discussion, no bargaining or clear transaction but something of a conclusion had been reached.

"Fi-ah!”

His teeth find the sensitive spot where her neck curves into her shoulder. Five bites down, hard enough to make her jump but not enough to break the skin. It’s both agonizing and thrilling the way it hurts.

“I missed you,” he mumbles, it’s the first words he’s spoken to her in almost three weeks.

He, Ben, and Luther had been running some kind of reconnaissance mission where secrecy was of the utmost importance and there had been no chance for the odd phone call home. His mouth is hot and wet over her skin as he trails languid kisses along her collar bone then back up to where he’s no doubt left teeth marks in her skin. His breath is warm, ghosting over the sensitive skin.

“Did you miss me?” Five murmurs, hovering over her aching skin.

At first, Vanya can only manage a sigh. He feels good, there’s no denying it. As much effort she puts into keeping the lines drawn between what is real and what is the rumor, Vanya can’t lie about how he makes her feel.  Five would have been a talented lover under any circumstance. Vanya is certain of that though she tries not to think of it much. Even if she believes that had he been given the vast wealth of opportunity that freedom would have afforded him, Five would never have chosen her, it still stings to think of him with others.

Before she manages to answer him in any sort of comprehensible way, Five laves his tongue, wide and flat, over his bite mark. Vanya lets loose a sound that is half whimper and half moan but entirely mortifying. But Five seems to appreciate it, an appreciative hum rumbles across her skin as she tries to catch her breath. It could feel humiliating sometimes, the level of intimacy he demands from her. Five is always struggling closer, ripping through the carefully constructed barriers she’s set between them for their own protection. He wants everything from her, every sound, every reaction and sensation. And had she been more of a fool, Vanya would give it to him freely but she knows that had it not been for the rumor, he would have never wanted it any of this. He may want every single bit of her now, but Vanya knows that when the rumor wears off, he’ll resent for every little inch she gives.

“Five, maybe we shouldn’t-” she begins to say, her nerves outweighing her desires.

But before she can finish her phrase, he bites down again. This time is harder than before, not enough to break the skin but enough to make Vanya yelps. Desperate to find anything to hang on to, she reaches for him, her fingers desperately scrambling across his face, over the shell of his ear, before settling and tangling into his hair. Though her nails are short and dull, there is no doubt that in her frenzy she left behind some damage but Five doesn’t seem to notice or care.

The pain only lasts a moment before he drags his tongue over the new bite dissolving the tension and rendering her a shivering mess. She lets out a low, guttural moan as he continues to mouth at her neck, sucking hickeys into her skin. Something stirs in her belly, a searing, aching need unfurls as his kisses shift downward. The comforter slides off of her body as he draws the middle line of her body. The frigid air is an assault on her body but it only makes her lean into him. Her shoulders rise from the mattress and the hand that had been at her neck trails down between her shoulder blades, propping her up.

She wants to put her arms around him, feel him closer. As terrified as Vanya is of the day when this all comes crashing down, it doesn’t change that she wants Five. Ever since they were kids, Vanya has ached and longed for him, even when he was right beside her. Wanting Five, wanting to be with him, wanting to love him in every way that has, does and will exist is not a new desire for Vanya. Sometimes, she thinks she was born that way. But despite all this, she hesitates as Vanya always does. So cautious, so careful, Vanya loves like a kicked dog. She flinches back before a fist is ever even raised, before he can even think of rejecting her, Vanya has already bowed out in repose.

Vanya is lost to herself, the torrent of desire and fear inside her when she feels the sudden shifting of weight as Five leans back. His hands are gone, the cold crowds in and she loses him in the dark. Turning on to her side, the weight of her raised torso resting on one elbow, Vanya squints into the darkness before her and finds her brother all cast in shadow. He’s not that far from her, his face still level with her own. There’s just enough distance, a few feet maybe, that the darkness leaves his face almost completely obscured. She can make out the curve of his ears, the corners of his jaw but his eyes are lost. He is just a shape, the suggestion of a man but not one entirely. He is some spectre made of stuff darker than the pitch darkness around them. For a second, she’s afraid. She doesn’t recognize him, even when she sits up on her knees, leans in closer. She can’t see him. Her blood pounds in her ears as the fear twists into something else, something more.

“Five?”

“I always forget,” he mumbles but she cannot see his mouth moving. “When I’m away, I always forget. Just how good this feels.”

His voice shakes as he says this, like he’s scared too. Five and Vanya had always shared so much, sweets, sweaters, kisses, why not share their fear as well? Vanya is aware of the phenomenon he’s referring to. It was Diego who had been so kind as to inform her that when Five is far enough away from her, the effects of the rumor lessen and what’s left in its place is a dull ache. A week, maybe a little more and Five starts to act like his old self again.

Hey, Seven. What do you think would happen if you just fucked off for good?   

Though it hurt when Diego spit that particular possibility at her, she had to admit, it’s a fair question. Five always espoused how much he missed her while he was away, how desperately he craved her the whole time but she wonders how much of that was actually true. What if he’d been happy while he was away? What if he’d been free? Or at least close enough.

“Did you miss me, Vanya?” he asks once again, this time he sounds unsteady, unsure.

It breaks her heart to hear her brother so degraded, but she can’t answer him. The words just won’t come as she stares back at him across the darkness, his features bleeding into view as her eyes adjust. He looks young. In the dark, he looks like her brother. The brother that had held her fevered hand when they were all ten and a bout of the flu had ripped through the entire academy but had settled on Vanya for nearly a month. This was her brother, who had kissed her on the mouth with sugar glazed lips and fed her so many doughnuts that she thought she would puke.

This is her brother. And she can’t even bring herself to tell him that she misses him. So Vanya takes off her shirt instead. Five waits in the darkness, watching her strip down to her bra. Vanya can feel his eyes on her as she slides her sweater and shirt off together. Her skin is a shock of goosebumps as her hands, already shaking with the cold, reach back to undo the hooks.

“Let me,” she hears him murmur.

He shuffles forward, even on his knees, he’s still level with her eye line. His long arms reach up and close the distance between them as finds the center of the band. It will only take him a few seconds to undo the hooks. Embarrassingly, Five is better at undressing her than she is but for these scant seconds, Vanya allows herself to rest her cheek upon his chest. It’s a small sin, to give herself this bit of comfort but she still feels the weight of it when Five’s hands slowly trail down her arms, taking the straps of her bra with them. She hears Five take a breath, holds it for a few seconds as he drinks in her body.

“You have no idea, Vanya,” he murmurs. “You can’t even imagine what it’s like for me to miss you.”

It’s true and the guilt she feels because of that makes her want to disappear. He skates his hands up her sides, sighing with relief at just being able to touch her skin. He puts his face into the crook of her neck to breathe in deeply.

“You smell like home,” he says into her skin. “You’re everything to me, Vanya. You know that don’t you? I need you with me.”

She nods slowly. It’s true. It’s all true but none of it’s real. His hands drop down to the waistband of her jeans, undoing the button as he places kisses along her shoulder, then her clavicle. The click of her zipper coming undone is loud in the silent, dark room. Five pushes them over her hips and down to her knees. Vanya sinks down, laying herself out on her back so that he can free her from her pants completely. He moves quickly from there. His fingers are already curling at the elastic band of her underwear when she stops him.

“Wait,” Vanya says, her hands falling over his own to stop their movement.

Five flinches as though she’s burned him. Under her breath, she murmurs an apology. It’s easy to forget just how brittle the rumor has made him. Her brother has always been such a large, looming figure in her mind, confident, strong, intelligent. Even after four years, Vanya forgets just how easily he breaks. With one hand, she laces her fingers through his own, an act meant to reassure him though he doesn’t seem moved. His eyes are hard as he watches her rise from his bed.

“What are y-” he begins to ask when she detangles her hand from his.

But he falls silent as soon as she turns her back to him, falling to her elbows and knees on his mattress. Behind her, Five takes in a sharp breath.

Then she hears, “fuck.”

Her heart is a sharp staccato in her ears as she feels him lay his hands over her hips, slowly, with near reverence. His hands are cold on her skin, colder even than the air around them. And not for the first time, Vanya wonders where he’s been. Part of her wants to ask him, wants to ask him what he’s done and what he’s given up to be here with her again. He pulls her back, pressing his hips into her ass. Through the fabric of their clothes, she can feel the hardness of his cock and it sends a shiver down her spine. He moans as he rocks his hips and Vanya gasps as he squeezes her buttocks. He leans back just far enough to slide his thumb down and press up against her pussy, feeling her through the fabric. Embarrassingly she can feel the cool dampness that’s spread into the fabric.

“You’re so wet, sis. You must have missed me.”

He nudges into her further, the fabric feels almost coarse on the sensitive flesh but Vanya leans back. There’s no point in playing coy now. Five hums appreciatively, massaging slow circles into her through the fabric in a way that makes her head spin. She’s panting like a dog in heat by the time she feels him push her damp panties aside.

He pushes into her without preamble. It’s rough and Vanya lets out a low sob as the pleasure of him filling her flushes up her spine like a fever. He loops an arm under her belly to hold her in place as he shifts his hips back and thrusts into her again. Five grunts, the heat of his breath fans out across her frigid skin making her shiver. A few more slow, languid strokes before he begins to pick up his pace. Tears bud at the corners of her eyes. Her elbows slide out from under her. The sheets come up to meet her face but his arm is still around her waist, keeping her ass up as he pounds into her so hard that her knees nearly give out.

It’s too much. It’s always too much. She’s all but lost in a haze of pleasure, trying to meet each of his thrusts. It feels good just to be with him, to have him in her and yet, she can’t let go. In the back of her head, she can’t forget that this isn’t real. And the guilt roils in her gut. She suddenly feels sick, her throat tightening until she chokes.

"Fi-Five-ah!” she gasps out.

Her face is pressed into the mattress, fingers grasping at the cotton sheets. The wet slap of flesh against flesh becomes erratic and behind she hears Five groan. His fingers at her waist dig into her flesh. He’s close. Vanya knows it, with each swing of his hips, he grinds into her harder, deeper. Then with a guttural moan, he thrusts one last time and spills into her.

“Sorry,” he gasps. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

His hips are still pressed up against her ass, rocking slowly into her as he rides out his orgasm. It takes a few moments before his breathing evens out, his cock softening within her. He slides out of her gingerly, careful to keep his arm around her waist. Vanya can feel the warm dribble of his cum sliding down her thigh as he gently lowers her to the bed. Sluggishly, she turns over onto her back.

“Lemme finish you,” he mumbles, dropping to his knees and spreading her thighs.

“It’s okay, Five,” she says dazedly. “You’re tired.”

He laughs a little into her skin as he plants kisses up the length of her inner thigh. Five sometimes jokes that she’s a little too polite, especially considering the things they’d done together. It’s cute though, he’d usually say with that too-wide grin of his and she’d blush and try to remember how to breathe. But tonight Five seems unwilling to indulge her impulsive niceties.

It’s still a little uncomfortable for Vanya to let Five eat her out. It’s embarrassing, of course but it’s all a little embarrassing. Sex is a mortifying, uncomfortable ordeal but what isn’t for Vanya? She’s lived her life feeling like an exposed nerve, both acutely vivid and devastatingly deadening. Mostly, it’s the intensity that scares her when he climbs between her thighs with greedy mouth and fingers and extracts from her a feeling that goes beyond pleasure or pain. She can feel it building now as he slides two fingers into her cunt.

He lifts one of her thighs and rests it on his shoulder, the other he pushes back, opening her wider for him. His free arm wraps up under her thigh, looping around and across her hip bone. Sufficiently locking her in place, Five puts his mouth to the top of her pussy. His tongue finds the sensitive spot to the right of her clit, pressing into it, hesitant at first, and when she begins to squirm, he goes harder. He knows her too well, knows that he needs to build up to her clit. The little engorged nub is far too sensitive, so he works around it.

He’s set a languid pace inside her, straying so very close to that erogenous spot. When gets close, brushing just shy of her g spot, it sends a jolt through her and Vanya yelps. She’s so dazed, her body is so warm, unbearably warm but also freezing. The room seems to have gotten colder and it makes every sensation that much sharper. Her nipples are so tight now that it’s almost painful. Five suddenly wraps his lips around her clit and sucks, not hard but it earns him a grunt. Her pleasure crests so suddenly that it leaves her literally breathless. For a second, everything stops, she loses track of herself as she hangs in the balance.

Then, she comes crashing down. Distantly, she feels him inside her, his mouth still on her clit. It takes her a few moments to hear her own squealing, feel her own body scrambling against Five’s grip on her hips. There’s a wet pop and suddenly there’s Five, grinning up at her from between her own thighs. She realizes she’s still breathing as he draws a line of wet, sloppy kisses up her body, to place a sweet peck on the corner of her mouth.

“Sorry,” he says again, then stands.

Vanya dizzily notes that he is still mostly dressed while she lies a complete mess and naked as the day she was born. It somehow always comes to that and Vanya cannot quite make any heads or tails of it. She feels both wound up and completely undone as she watches him undress and toss his clothes on the floor.

“We can go again in a bit,” he maneuvers her body easily, ushering her further on to the bed.

There’s a kind of wired energy to his words but even through hooded, heavy eyes, Vanya can see the sluggishness in him. He climbs in besides her, pulling his comforter over them in one fluid motion. Under the covers, he entangles their bodies, nudging her knees apart and hooking his leg through. He wraps her up in a tight embrace, he’s so much larger than her and she feels completely enveloped, the cold melting away with the heat of his body. Vanya is still too dazed to try to put up any kind of fight. She lets the pleasure of his kisses, peppered erratically over her face, wash over her. His hands wander and grope at her body as he pulls her even closer. Five has a habit of becoming hyper just before he crashes, one last burst of energy before the sudden stop like he’s on a sugar rush.

“I just…I need so-ome shut eye…” he trails off.

His hands still, his mouth is at her hairline, murmuring what sounds like nonsense. As he’s pulled under by exhaustion, Vanya feels herself returning to the surface. She feels both comfortable and uneasy in his arms. Nothing ever feels as good as being with Five but nothing hurts as much either. She’s caught between memorizing this exact moment, locking it away in the deepest, most secret part of her mind and guarding herself against it. It isn’t real. No matter how good it feels, no matter how much she wants it, it isn’t real. She chants this in her head even as she presses her nose into his chest and breathes in deeply. The salt and musky of his damp skin mingles with the brand of mild soap they use at the Academy. She doesn’t know how long she lingers awake, listening to the twin sounds of his heart beating and his slow, even breathing.

None of it can ever be real, she reminds herself. It isn’t her, it isn’t love. It’s the rumor and she can’t ever let herself want more than that.  And yet. She feels the words well up inside her, a truth too big to hide in her throat.

"I missed you,” she whispers hoarsely. “I miss you so much it’s killing me.”

[c-is-for-circinate]

I’m not good at violence.

I think I used to be.  I was raised to it; I’m a white woman, and I grew up with privilege and with trauma, and none of that makes me special but it does mean I have the capacity to cause harm to others.  I know violence.  I hate seeing it in other people.  I hate seeing it in myself.

And here is a fact: the violence coming from protestors and rioters right now is justified.  The violence happening right now has every chance of being effective.  This post is a really excellent breakdown of riots, both as an effective means of driving social change, and a valid and justified expression of the well-deserved rage of a community.  I support the anger and the violence that is happening right now.

But.  But I freeze, when I’m around it, when I see it directed at people around me, when I’m asked to be a part of it.  I’ve spent so many years trying to stop myself from lashing out that now it cuts the legs right out from under me.  Whether it’s the physical violence of a riot just down the block from my living room windows, or the verbal violence of one friend eviscerating another for daring to be worried about a brother and friends on the police force--I can’t do it.  I can’t help wanting to defuse it.  I can’t help freezing and wanting to run away.

Is it privilege, that I get to say no to violence in this case?  Yes, yes it absolutely is.  Everybody should have that privilege.  That’s the point of all of this in the first place.  And if I used that privilege to just sit down and hide from all of this, and do nothing, and say nothing, except “I’m not good at violence so I’m excused,” well--would that be as evil as all the sins that started this in the first place?  Of course not.  But it wouldn’t be good, either.

So the question is, what can I do?  If now is the time when decent people are called upon to act, what action can I take that will actually help?  Is there a place, in this moment of history that seems to be crying out for a violent response, to be non-violent and still help?

Of course there is.  There always is.  Not because nonviolence is the True, Correct Way (fuck that, sometimes violence is called for, and this is one of them), but because it is always most effective to go after a goal with a multi-pronged approach.  It’s not about how I turn myself into a sword.  It’s about figuring out what other skills I can bring to bear, and using them effectively.

For me, my number one skill, the thing I make my bread and butter on, the thing I can do right now is: I can talk.

I can talk to the people in charge.  I have government representatives on so many levels. Yes, I can write to my senator, to my House of Representatives congressperson, to my state governor--but I can also think small.  My city runs on its city council.  The representative for my district has an office half a mile from my apartment; I go in there a couple of times a year for parking passes.  He’s not a scary, distant stranger.  I can email him.  And once I’ve done that, if I move on to emailing the mayor, the county commissioner, the state legislature, and up and up and on up the chain, that’s great--but starting local is easy, and in so many ways, it’s the most important thing to do right now.  The woman in Washington is trying to save the whole country, but the man in the community garden down the block has the power to do something about rubber bullets and tear gas right now.

I can talk to the people who disagree.  I can talk to them with patience, and kindness, and understanding that other activists may not have the time or emotional wherewithal for.  My mom wants everybody to be safe and happy, and only sees riots as violence and danger.  My friend loves her brother, the cop, and refuses to go along with any absolutist anti-police rhetoric.  They are both (as all humans are) wrong about some things and right about others.  They’re wrong about whether these riots should happen, but they’re not wrong to be scared.  Ultimately, maybe they don’t matter--maybe they deserve to be denounced and shouted at, maybe they deserve violence--but I love them, and I’d rather have them for allies than enemies.  I can embrace patience.  I can validate their fears and the truths they know, and share with them the truths that I know: that the world is very scary right now, and that’s why demanding reform is so important.  That police officers aren’t fundamentally evil, they’re human, but humans can cause harm even by inaction, even by good intentions.  That riots and absolutism are violence.  That sometimes, violence should happen.

I can talk to the people who don’t know what’s going on.  I am a teacher.  Even now, in the middle of a quarantine, teaching composition and trigonometry over Zoom in one-on-one tutoring sessions with kids still wearing pyjamas, I’m a teacher.  And my students are young, and confused, and scared, because they don’t know what’s right or wrong but they know that the world is angry.  I can listen to them.  I can be calm, and gentle, and protect them from my own cynicism, because loading young children down with the whole weight of the world is violence, and it most hurts those who can’t fight back.  I can help them work through the things they don’t understand.

I can talk to other people in my same position.  I can write this post.  I can talk to my students and my mom and my other friends, who want to support black communities and protesters and the course of social justice.  I can remind people who hate and fear violence that some violence is necessary, and I can help them find ways to contribute if they are as bad at it as I am.  I can help steer them away from lashing out in fear and confusion at the very protesters and victims and social justice warriors they want to help.  I can patch them up and help them get working again, when the broadsword of “ZERO TOLERANCE” and “IF YOU’RE NOT WITH US, YOU’RE AGAINST US” accidentally catches them on the backswing.

Of course, not everybody’s a talker!  And talking, like violence, isn’t ever the one-size-fits-all solution to an entire problem either.  You may have to think through your own skills to find a good way to contribute, but there are a few additional things that I know I can also do, and they may be a good start:

I can provide literal, physical support.  Maybe this means donating money to bail funds and other BLM-related nonprofits.  Maybe this means getting masks and bottled water for protesters well before the protest starts.  Maybe it means setting up a space in the courtyard of my apartment building where protesters can seek safety if things go very bad two blocks away again.  Monetary donations are the most visible and obvious way we’ve been asked to contribute nonviolently, and they are important.  We can all watch an ad-supported donating YouTube stream.

I can help the people caught in the crossfire.  Whatever reason or justification these riots have, the accompanying looting is actively harming small black- and minority-owned businesses, including those in my neighborhood.  I can help sweep glass and board up windows.  I can bring coffee and doughnuts and ask my neighbors what they need to get back up on their feet.  I can help clean up the aftermath.

I can remember.  This is, as they always say, a marathon, not a sprint.  In a few weeks or a few months the active, visible, national news parts of this will be over, but the problems won’t be.  Some things may get fixed.  Some things won’t.  What do I do then?  Do I keep writing letters to my local representatives?  Do I go to community association meetings and community policing events, and ask awkward questions, and request accountability and reform in polite, measured, nonviolent, implacable, unrelenting ways when the time for outrage and shouting is over?  Do I look for the quiet, boring, nonviolent, tedious things that need to be done to help solve the problems of economic disparity that brought this about in the long run?  Now might not be the time for quiet, polite, and tedious--but it will come again.  There is always quiet, tedious work to be done, when the news crews and protesters go away.  I can make sure not to forget that.

[bettydice]

I didn’t expect you to be lonely (too)

Xicheng, Modern AU, JC&WWX reconciliation, E-Rated

Chapter 1

When Jiang Cheng opens the window in the morning, crisp, cold air hits his face. The leaves on the tree in the courtyard of the apartment complex are turning colours.

When did that happen? When did summer end?

It’s a new semester, a new season, and Wei Wuxian still hasn’t returned. Hasn’t called, hasn’t messaged. Jiang Cheng had thought… had hoped…

He should’ve known better.

The wind picks up and raises goosebumps on his skin. A leaf, dark red, is torn from a branch and flutters through the air.

He used to like autumn.

Jiang Yanli was spring, Wei Wuxian was summer, Jiang Cheng was autumn. Winter was them together, because it was cold and they had to stick close.

Jiang Cheng scoffs and closes the window. There’s no use in remembering or hoping. He has work to do anyway.

He makes himself an unsatisfying breakfast that consists of instant coffee and - oh, there isn’t really anything else. Of course the fridge is fucking empty.

He goes jogging, but he’s hungry and it’s cold and he hates jogging.

He takes a shower, but the water is either too hot or too cold.

When he sits down at his desk and opens his writing program, it doesn’t fucking work. Because of course not.

Error #234871FUCKYOUJIANGCHENG

“I don’t even know what that means, I’m not a fucking COMPUTER SCIENTIST!”

Like some people. Some people, who betrayed and abandoned him and moved in with some random-ass people to look after a random-ass child for no good reason and left him all alone. Now he has no one to share his meals with, so there’s no point in making sure his fridge is full, and no one who also hates jogging, so they can suffer together, and no one to fucking help him with fucking computer issues and this is all fucking bullshit.

Jiang Cheng slams his laptop shut.

Fuck you, Wei Wuxian. This is all your fault.

Another headache creeps up his temples. He’s already completely done with this day. At 9:37 AM. Fuck. He has a fucking essay to write about some bullshit topic he doesn’t care about, but how is he supposed to do that when his laptop hates him as much as everyone else does and his head feels as though it’s splitting apart?

His phone rings, and the sound feels like someone is applying a power drill to his brain. And of course it’s not on his desk but far away on the counter. Because nothing in his life can ever be easy or convenient, oh no. He stretches his arm and then his whole upper body to try to grab it from the counter without having to get up from his desk and then there’s a TWINGE and oh no, that’s not good. His shoulder feels as though it’s on fire and… yep, he can’t fucking move his head.

FUCK. FUCKING FUCK SHIT BALLS CRAP FUCK SHIT. FUUUUUUUUCK.

And his phone keeps ringing.

Everyone ignores him for DAYS but NOW when he’s literally DYING and can’t reach his phone, they want to talk to him.

He gets up, ignores the pain shooting down his right arm, carefully shuffles towards the counter, and answers the phone with his left hand.

“WHAT?”

“A-Cheng?”

It’s his sister. Jiang Cheng’s stress levels automatically lower by about 13% as soon as he hears her voice.

“Jiejie, hey. Sorry, I just…” He switches his phone to the other hand and then gets a painful reminder that this side is fucked. “Fuck, ow.”

“A-Cheng? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing! I just... pulled a muscle or something.” He sits down again and bites his lip to suppress a wail of agony. “Why did you call, Jiejie?”

He can basically hear Jiang Yanli’s gentle, slightly concerned, smile through the phone. “Ah, then I’m calling just at the right time. You’ve been struggling with tension for a while now and as you know, your birthday is coming up and -”

“Don’t remind me. That’s still over a month away. And I’m not struggling!”

“- and I have the perfect gift for you. You don’t have to wait until November to do it either. And I think it would be so good for you, A-Cheng, especially now with your pulled muscle.”

“And what exactly is ‘it’?”

“Do you remember Lan Xichen? He’s a friend of Nie Mingjue, and his uncle is Lan Qiren. I think we met him a few times during one of those large business-people dinners we used to get invited to, when father…”

Was still alive.

“I don’t remember anyone I met there, because I was bored out of my mind.” Because Wei Wuxian wasn’t invited to those. And because they were fucking boring. “What does this have to do with my mysterious birthday present anyway?”

“Ah, well, it turns out he works as a physical therapist and I guess you could call him a sort of life coach. Massages, yoga, meditation, physical therapy. He has his own little studio in his apartment, so it’s very private and intimate, and he spends a lot of time with every client, it’s not just a twenty minute massage and then you’re done.”

His sister speaks with rare urgency and Jiang Cheng feels a little bewildered by having this just thrown at him. “So, you want me to-”

“I met him recently, such a lovely man, and asked him whether he had time to take on another client, and he does! So I booked you ten sessions and the first one is Thursday, 5 p.m. We were going to meet that afternoon, so I know you have time, and we can just reschedule our meeting!”

“Jiejie! Ten sessions… I don’t… I’m not a massage person! I don’t want some stranger touching me!” This is all really very sudden, so of course his first instinct is to say no.

His sister, of course, is used to that, and expected it. So she laughs softly and continues convincing him. “Ah, but he’s not a stranger, he’s Nie Mingjue’s best friend and as I said, I met him recently - he’s very kind and sweet and he doesn’t just do massages. I’m sure he’ll be willing to listen to what you’re comfortable with and figure out what’s best for you. A-Cheng, why don’t you just go to the first meeting and see what happens, hm? It’s my present for you.”

As if he could ever actually say no to his sister. Nobody can.

“Alright, alright. But if it’s not my thing, you’ll use the rest of the sessions, okay? I could watch A-Ling while you go get pampered a little.” His sister deserves this much more than he does anyway. Not that she would agree with that.

“Just go and meet with Lan Xichen first, before deciding that it’s not for you.” She’s using her stern voice, oh no.

“I will! I’m just saying!”

“Alright. Let me know how it goes then.”

“I will.”

“Did you have breakfast?”

“Ah, yes, of course.”

“Good. Remember to drink tea or water, too, not just coffee.”

“Yes, Jiejie.”

“And-”

“I’ll call you after I’ve met with Lan Xichen,” Jiang Cheng interrupts, before she can shower him with even more care. “And thank you. I… could probably use some… relaxation.”

“Great! I’ll text you the address in a bit.”

They chat a bit more about A-Ling and what shenanigans he gets up to now that he can walk, and when Jiang Cheng ends the call a while later, his mood has significantly improved.

His phone makes a noise again. He looks at the screen, expecting a text from his sister with Lan Xichen’s address, but... Fuck. He unlocks the screen and stares at his daily Wei Wuxian selfie. Today he’s wearing a bathrobe so fluffy, it seems to swallow him, and he’s making… duck lips. Jiang Cheng’s mood plummets to the ground.

Why can’t he delete this stupid alarm or app or whatever his brother has infested his phone with? Why doesn’t he just change his fucking number, get a new phone? Why does Wei Wuxian keep up this nonsense, even though he’s obviously not interested in being in contact with Jiang Cheng anymore? Why torment him with these little glimpses into a life that he lives without his brother? The selfies don’t arrive at a set time every day and it’s a new one every time, so it’s pretty safe to say, Wei Wuxian takes them and sends them himself every day. They used to arrive between 11 a.m. and 1 p.m., but recently he sometimes gets them as early as 9 a.m. On one shocking occasion it was 6:45 a.m., though Wei Wuxian did look very sleepy. Since when does Wei Wuxian get up that early?

He also seems to be spending a lot of time at a place that is not the flat he moved into with the Wens. Not that Jiang Cheng spends a lot of time analyzing the background of the pictures. Because he does not care what Wei Wuxian gets up to. Wei Wuxian does not care about him anymore either, beyond annoying him like this.

Jiang Cheng shakes his head to make his brain stop thinking about useless things. Immediately, pain shoots down his arm, burns in his neck.

Fuck.

Maybe he should just go back to bed. Clearly getting up was a mistake.

Thursday

Lan Xichen lives on the outskirts of the city. Not quite the suburbs, but in one of those areas where rich people enjoy having a garden, or at least a balcony, and less busy streets, while the city centre is still only a few subway stops away. The kind of area where his own family once lived.

Jiang Cheng checks the house number again and rushes towards the building, wrapping his jacket closer around him. It is colder now, he’s known this and yet didn’t take that into account when getting dressed.

He enters the building, takes the elevator to the 2nd floor, finds the right door and rings the doorbell.

He doesn’t have to wait long until Lan Xichen opens him.

Oh.

“A-Sang… who… who is that next to your brother?”

“Huh? Aaah, that’s Lan Xichen. Da-ge’s best friend. Why do you ask?”

“No reason!”

“Oooooh, I see.”

“Shut up!”

“Well, now I finally know your type, Cheng-Cheng. You’re into impossibly beautiful people who you’re too scared to talk to.”

“I said shut up! I just asked who it was!”

“First Wen Qing, now Xichen-ge… But don’t worry, he’s super nice. Now, his brother on the other hand… So hot, but-“

“I’m leaving!”

Fuck.

“Hello! You must be Jiang Wanyin.”

Lan Xichen smiles at him and yep, yep, Huaisang was right, impossibly beautiful. Fuck.

Oh shit, he still hasn’t said anything.

“Ah yes, that’s me. Hello. Nice to meet you.” Jiang Cheng couldn’t be more awkward if he tried. Except he can, because then he bows, way too low.

Lan Xichen seems to be too polite to laugh at him, but his eyes sparkle as though he wants to, while he invites Jiang Cheng inside.

The apartment is large and bright and… full of plants. Lan Xichen leads him into the living room, where a pot of tea and two mugs are waiting for them on the coffee table. Jiang Cheng sits down on a very comfortable chair, next to a large houseplant with beautiful green and red leaves. All in all, the surroundings help him feel way more relaxed than what would be appropriate for the situation. The situation being: Sitting across from the man Jiang Cheng has seen maybe three times, back when he was 17, from afar, and whom he used to spend quite some time thinking about what it would be like to kiss him. More than three times. The same man who is supposed to give him a massage.

“Is tea alright? Would you prefer something else?”

“Tea is lovely, thank you.” Jiang Cheng hurries to take a sip and hopefully smiles instead of grimacing.

Lan Xichen picks up a notebook and a pen, rests it on his legs, then takes a deep breath. Despite his gentle smile, and the soothing smell of jasmine tea, and the literal urban jungle he’s sitting in, Jiang Cheng thinks he can pick up a hint of nervousness from Lan Xichen. But no, he must be imagining it.

Lan Xichen opens his notebook and looks at Jiang Cheng. “So, your sister already told me that you’ve been dealing with a little tension and stress. If you’re comfortable with it, I would like to ask you a few questions and make myself an overview of where you hold your tension and how it affects you, so we can think about how to best help you.”

Jiang Cheng only smiles and nods.

“This is only a preliminary meeting, so I already know how to best proceed, once we start our sessions.”

Lan Xichen asks him a few questions about his daily schedule (repetitive), whether he does any exercise (yes, well, sort of, sometimes), is he sleeping well (eeh), does he often have headaches (yes), and so on. Jiang Cheng answers as best as he can, and even though Lan Xichen shows no judgment at all, it is mortifying for him. His life is a mess and clearly he’s responsible for all of it. Why doesn’t he do more exercise? If he has headaches all the time, he should be doing something about that!

“Mhm, have you ever tried Yoga before?”

“No.”

“Can you touch your toes?”

“I don’t know? Why would I need to touch my toes?!” Jiang Cheng regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth but Lan Xichen only looks amused.

“Excellent question.” Lan Xichen puts the notepad he’s been using back down on the table and stands up. “Would it be okay if I touch your neck and shoulders to have a closer look at your tension?”

“Yes, yes. That’s alright. Sure.” Jiang Cheng puts down the mug and rests his hands on his knees, trying to project that he’s totally casual and relaxed and that he never spent even a minute wondering how those hands might feel on his skin. Why do these things happen to him? Why can’t he even nurse a schoolboy crush for a few months and then forget about it without suffering consequences???

Lan Xichen’s hands are warm, but not too warm. Perfect temperature for being touched, really. His fingers are long and smooth and it feels really good, the way they’re digging into his muscles and-

“Fuck!”

“Sorry. Looks like I found a sore spot.” Lan Xichen strokes his fingers in a soothing apology over the spot and that’s almost worse, because it feels really good.

“I, uhm, apologise for the… rude language.”

“Oh, haha, I’ve heard worse from clients. No need to hold back, I’m of the opinion that it can be beneficial to find release.”

“Right.” This is like one of Jiang Cheng’s dreams that starts out beautiful and turns into a horrible nightmare halfway through. Will he make it through this without horribly embarrassing himself even further and/or offending Lan Xichen in the process?

“You’re really... “ Lan Xichen runs his hands up Jiang Cheng’s neck and slightly presses his thumbs into a spot between his ear and his jaw. Jiang Cheng groans. “You’re very tense. In a lot of places. Do you grind your teeth at night? Or clench them?”

“Maybe?”

Lan Xichen rests his hands on Jiang Cheng’s shoulders for a second, then sits down opposite of him again. Jiang Cheng immediately misses the warmth of his hands, which is ridiculous and he needs to get a grip.

“Alright, well, I think for the beginning we will be focusing on relaxing and loosening your muscles. So, massage, thermotherapy, some gentle stretches. I’ll also help you find things you can do at home to destress and relieve tension. Does that sound good?”

“Uhm, yes. It does.” Jiang Cheng kind of tuned out after Lan Xichen said ‘massage’, because… He has this dreadful feeling his schoolboy crush never went away and instead just laid dormant until right now. Which is so fucking inconvenient, of course it’s happening to Jiang Cheng. “Thank you, Lan-ge… uhm… Lan Xichen.”

How should he address him? Apparently, he’s sort of a family friend (Where and why did Jiejie even meet him? Why didn’t he ask?) but now he’s also taking care of Jiang Cheng in a professional, sort of medical sense...

Lan Xichen is, of course, not oblivious to his discomfort, but smiles and pours him some more tea. “Whatever you feel comfortable with. Laoshi is fine, too.”

Lan Xichen then goes through a few formalities with him. He informs him he’s being paid per session, not by the hour, so they’ll never have to hurry. They exchange phone numbers, in case someone needs to reschedule or Lan Xichen wants to send him some exercises or something. Jiang Cheng only smiles and nods and agrees. When Lan Xichen proposes they have the first session tomorrow afternoon, Jiang Cheng smiles and nods, too.

After, Lan Xichen escorts him to the door, wishes him a lovely evening, says he’s looking forward to their sessions and Jiang Cheng should remember to wear something comfortable. When he smiles again, Jiang Cheng almost walks into the door.

As soon as Jiang Cheng arrives home, he calls his sister.

“A-Cheng! How was it?”

“Uhm, fine, but that’s not why-”

“He’s very handsome, isn’t he?”

“I… what? Why… why would you bring that up?” Jiang Cheng gives his phone a side-eye, even though his sister can’t see it.

“Well, it’s impossible to not notice. And he has such a lovely personality, too.” Jiang Yanli says this as casually as though she’s talking about the weather.

“Yes… I guess.” While both of those things are true, it’s unlike his sister to bring it up. Or at least, to bring it up so quickly and directly. “Jiejie, how do you know Lan Xichen again? Where did you meet?”

“Oh… he came over for tea recently.”

“And why did he do that?”

“Because I invited him.”

Well, his sister clearly is keeping something from him, something connected to his old-new crush and physical therapist and Jiang Cheng hates not being in the know when other people are clearly keeping secrets from him.

“How did you meet him? Why did you invite him? Why do you not want to tell me?”

“A-Cheng…”

Oh, of course. “Wei Wuxian.”

Jiang Yanli sighs audibly, probably frowning in the way she always does when they skirt around the topic of him and Wei Wuxian not talking. “Yes. Lan Xichen is-”

“I don’t want to know!” Of course this has something to do with Wei Wuxian. Because he can’t have anything in his life without Wei Wuxian. Are they… they’re not dating or anything, right? That would just be… actually that would be fucking typical.

“Jiang Cheng!”

“I didn’t do anything!” Is his sister… getting cross with him???

“I just… he misses you.”

“Yeah? I don’t see any evidence of that!” His headache is back with a vengeance.

“Because you’re not looking. Because you’ve convinced yourself he doesn’t!” It’s rare for Jiang Yanli to raise her voice, and compared to Jiang Cheng, she still sounds gentle. But he can hear her frustration, hear how tiring this is for her, and… He sometimes forgets he and Wei Wuxian aren’t the only people who are involved in this. Who suffer.

“Then why doesn’t he call me? He obviously still has my number!”

“Why don’t you call him?”

Because he doesn’t want to call someone who doesn’t want him. Because he doesn’t want Wei Wuxian to come back because he feels pity or obligation. Because he’s scared Wei Wuxian would still not come back.

“He’s the one who left.”

“It’s been over a year. Can’t you… I’m so tired of holding louder than normal conversations with my husband in the kitchen while one of you is in the living room, so you know the other is okay without actually asking for it.”

“A-jie, I’m sorry. I didn’t know… I… It’s just… “ Great, now Jiang Cheng feels mad at Wei Wuxian, guilty for upsetting his sister, who should never be upset, and sad… because he misses his stupid brother, doesn’t he.

“I can’t force either of you to make the first step, but… you’re both suffering. A-Cheng, I just want you both to be happy.” Now she just sounds resigned. Fuck.

“I know. I’m sorry. I’ll… I’ll think about it. I promise.” If only because his sister deserves better than this - being stuck in the middle between them.

“Thank you. I love you, A-Cheng.”

“… Love you, too.”

“Now, tell me about your meeting today. Did you already get a massage?”

Right. Lan Xichen. “Jiejie… is Wei Wuxian dating Lan Xichen?”

Jiang Yanli laughs. “No. No, no. He’s dating his brother. Don’t worry.”

“I wasn’t worrying! Just… wanted to know how you met.”

“He’s very handsome, isn’t he?”

“Stop asking that! That’s not why I… you know what, I have to go. I have… university… stuff. Talk to you later!”

“Bye!”

He can hear his sister still laughing when he ends the call. Mortifying. Why did he have to ask?

Wei Wuxian is dating Lan Xichen’s brother… That’s… Why is the world so fucking tiny? He couldn’t have picked anyone else?

Not that it matters. It’s not like Jiang Cheng was ever gonna do anything about… Lan Xichen is attractive and nice and lovely, which is simply a fact. Like his sister said, it’s impossible to not notice. Doesn’t have to mean anything. Jiang Cheng will only concentrate on… being less tense and maybe having fewer headaches.

And maybe… thinking… about… contacting Wei Wuxian…

“He misses you.”

Jiang Cheng is not convinced.

But…

[sparrowwritings]

Final Fantasy 14 Writing Challenge Day Ten: “The day I met you was the luckiest day of my life.”

Day Nine - Masterpost - Day Eleven

“I’m thinking you should have a rest.”

The Crystal Exarch blinked up from his work. His room, covered as it already was in books and papers, was in even more disarray then usual. This was due to him actively researching how to transport the Scions of the Seventh Dawn (and himself, if luck would have him) back into the Source. There was only so much time before their bodies would no longer be able to support the lack of aether that their souls would give them, so he absolutely needed to keep working.

That didn’t seem to be the opinion of Beq Lugg, the brilliant Nu Mou expert on souls. They prodded at the flesh of the Exarch’s non-crystalized arm until he flinched away from the desk he had been working on. “You have been staring at the same several pages for an age. You should rest if you’re stuck.” 

“Begging your pardon, Beq Lugg, but there’s much to do and no way of knowing exactly how much time we have to do it,” The Exarch protested. “My merging with the Crystal Tower has given me the boon of a body that has no need for rest. I can keep at the work.” He flinched again with a startled “Ow!” when the Nu Mou prodded even harder at his arm. 

“I didn’t mean a physical rest but a mental one you young fool.” They snorted. He was too astonished at being called “young” to interrupt. “You have poured blood, sweat and tears into saving the lives of your friends in the most literal of senses. Time is of the essence, but the only result of your inner workings slipping from their proper settings will be mistakes you can ill afford. Go and see to your Crystarium and allow your mind to work at the problem from a different angle.”

Having recovered, the Exarch implored, “But what about your end, Beq Lugg? You have been working for nearly as long with just as little rest!”

They snorted again, this time with something that sounded like amusement. “You need not worry about myself. I can handle the research and testing for the time it will take you to walk your city. Go.” 

“But--” Feeling more and more like a child, his plea fell on deliberately deaf ears.

“Keeper of this tower you may be, but I will not allow you to assist me further unless and until you have been away for at least a half hour.” Beq Lugg made a gesture and one of their familiars was summoned to the room. It hugged itself around the Exarch’s torso and bodily carried him to the main entrance to the tower where it let him go suddenly. 

He was already out the door and several steps down in his shock when he turned back. He wasn’t sure what exactly he was about to do, but the magic seal on the inner side of the door was proof enough that Beq Lugg was as good as their word. In the space of a thought, the Exarch could use the power at his command to break the seal and enter the tower regardless of the orders given to him.

Except, something stopped him. A nudge of a memory so old that it had almost completely faded from his mind. A sense of...familiarity about the situation came to him. Even though he had never once in the hundred years of being the tower’s master been locked out of it.

With a heavy sigh and a quick word to the Crystarium guard who saw to those who entered and left the tower, the Exarch stepped the rest of the way down the stairs. If he was being told to have a break, he might as well spend it seeing how the city fared. Much like he did in the hundred years past, he stood for a moment on the cobblestones and stared around at the courtyard. His ears twitched from their place on top of his head, following the sounds of his people as he tried to gauge the mood. 

Many were in small groups, scattered about and whispering of the visions recently forced upon them by Elidibus. The people affected wouldn’t describe the phenomenon with those words, seeing as they now were declaring themselves Warriors of Light and starting journeys similar to that of the heroes of old. The ones that sacrificed their very lives to prevent the Flood of Light from engulfing the entirety of the First. One of whom’s body was now possessed by Elidibus in some scheme that involved the creation of new heroes. 

The Exarch sighed inwardly. Half a wonder that Beq Lugg demanded he take a mental break. There was far too much for a single mind to worry itself with on top of the complex workings it would take to transport five souls (and his own) back to the Source unscathed. A walk was just what he needed. 

He decided to circle the city in a somewhat widdershins fashion. First he saw to the Spagyrics, listening to the concerns about supplies and wishing a full and quick recovery to those still being treated. Then he went past the Ballistics upstairs to the Amaro Launch to check in on incoming and outbound flights. As he journeyed through the city, passing through or by places such as the Crystalline Mean, the Cabinet of Curiosity and the Rookery, the Exarch allowed himself to spare a word or two to anyone that wished it of him. Raised as they were to trust in him and not question, none of the people had a word to say about his newly unhooded self nor of his race, known in this world as Mystel. All they cared about was his well being and, by extension, that of his friends.

“Seems they keep scattering off to find things these days!” Darlfort laughed. His tavern was one of the last stops on the Exarch’s patrol around the Crystarium. It was well past the half hour away from work that Beq Lugg had demanded of him, but he indulged in conversation in case there was to be any room for doubt in the Nu Mou’s mind. Not that he minded chatting with his people in the first place, of course. “Barely any time to come for a drink, much less a chat!”

The Exarch smiled, perfectly picturing the Scions in miniature while running willy nilly around the city. “Indeed. I feel I must apologize for your lack of patronage, as some of what they have been doing has been on my behalf.”

“Pah, well worth the lack of coin then.” Darlfort grinned as he cleaned a glass. “Although...come to think of it I saw the Warriors of Darkness heading towards the Pendants not so long before you came strolling up to my bar, Exarch.”

He thought back to what Lara and Roger were supposed to be doing in their quest to return the Scions back to the Source. He hadn’t heard that they had completed their mission yet. It was odd that the two of them had returned to the Crystarium so early and with nary a word. He felt his ears flatten a little with concern. “Strange. You’re the first to inform me of their arrival. I’ll have to visit them before I return to the tower.”

Darlfort raised a hand in farewell. “Be seeing you, then.” 

“And I, you.” The Exarch nodded before taking his leave. 

He’d been expecting to need to go to the apartment that the Warriors of Darkness shared. Instead, he discovered Roger laying on his back in one of the patches of grass just outside of the building. He was staring up at (or perhaps through) the glass ceiling that once helped shield the more residential part of the city from the harshness of the Light that pervaded the world until very recently. The weather had been kind, giving way for a clear blue sky with dottings of friendly white clouds. Through the tinted glass, one could even pick out shapes in those clouds. From the way he was lazily using an extended pointer finger to draw in the air, that appeared to be what Roger was doing.

“Well met, Roger!” The Exarch called out as he approached the young man. “How goes the sky watching?” 

Roger blinked several times before sitting up and looking in the Exarch’s direction. It took him a moment or two longer to process the question. “Oh! It’s fine. Sky looks...clear, here.” He scratched at the back of his head. “Just don’t ask me about other parts of Norvrandt. I dunno how the watchers manage to know…”

“‘Tis a trade secret I also have yet to glean.” The Exarch stopped walking when he came within comfortable hearing range, but did not make to stand or sit next to Roger. He refused to do so unless invited, particularly after...well, the reveal of his true identity.

“Oof, then I guess it’s gonna have to stay a mystery.” 

The two lapsed into silence. Despite being the one who was standing, the Exarch felt as if he were small under the scrutinizing gaze of one of the Warriors of Darkness. Or, well, Light as he once knew them. He briefly wondered if the two would adopt the new moniker on the Source when the thought was broken by a sigh from Roger. 

“You’re allowed to sit down next to me, G’raha. We’re still friends, you know.”

The Exarch’s ears perked up at the use of his true name. Even after having it known to the Scions, the use of it, particularly by either Lara or Roger had yet to fade in significance. That he was being reassured of friendship in the same statement also contributed to his upward mood shift. He took the invitation and sat himself down so that he was looking directly at Roger.

“I’m...glad to hear it. You have my thanks and yet another apology for my deception.” There would never be enough apologies for the well intentioned but failed plan of his to save his friends. Nor would there be enough apologies for the series of events that took place because of his actions. It was the best he could do while working on his actual apology gift of sending the Scions back to the Source. 

Roger rolled his eyes, which surprised the Exarch. “You really don’t need to keep apologizing. Sure I wish you would’ve told us who you were earlier, and it’s not like Lara and I were thrilled about finding that out on top of...everything else that was going on at the time…” He gained a faraway look as he trailed off.

Responding to his emotions far faster than his face ever did (one of the main reasons why the hood he wore over most of his face was necessary to his initial plan), the Exarch’s ears flattened against his head in shame. He also looked away from the younger man’s gaze.

Roger shook himself out of his state and continued, “Your plan was stupidly suicidal for how long you had to refine it, but you promised to do everything you can to live from now on and we both forgave you already.” He paused a moment before grinning awkwardly and scratching at the side of his face. “It’d be kinda stupid if we held a grudge about that anyway. Lara and I do a ton of stupidly suicidal things. Some of them we even plan out in advance.” He gave his final sentence a dramatic gravitas and the Exarch could feel himself smiling a half second after his ears had returned to their more neutral state.

“A cautionary tale against such plans indeed. I’ll endeavor to keep it to heart.” He looked around the lawn before settling his gaze back on Roger. “Speaking of your sister, where is she? I’d heard that you both had returned to the Crystarium but I only see you.”

The good cheer that Roger had been showing deflated at the question. “Lara’s...we did the mission and usually violence against things trying to kill us helps her feel better, but she’s still very upset about the Elidibus thing. She needed some time to herself, so I let her have the room for a bit.”

The Exarch nodded. “She and Ardbert were quite close, from what you’ve said. I can’t imagine what she must be going through right now.” 

Roger put a hand to his chest as he nodded in kind. “Close is a way of describing it, yeah. She really wants to tear Elidibus apart for just that. I’m...” He hesitated. 

“Conflicted?” The Exarch filled in.

“Yeah. I mean, I’m angry too. Just because I didn’t ever get to see or hear him doesn’t mean I didn’t get to know him so it hurt when we figured out it wasn’t really Ardbert. But. I’m also kind of...sad for Elidibus? Like, I feel like I might do something big and mean to the people that killed all of my friends, y’know?” 

The two were quiet for a moment.

“I think I do understand.” The Exarch said after a moment. “You’re trying to empathize with him.”

Roger shrugged and looked away. “I guess? It sounds stupid, though. We haven’t gotten anyone on the Ascians’ side to listen to us once.”

In the melancholy lull that was left by the Warrior of Darkness, the Exarch couldn’t help but chuff. “Another addition to your list of bad plans, I see.” 

The younger man blinked at him for a moment before snorting. “Yeah, it is!”

The two chuckled together until the laughter died down again. Instead of letting silence take over, the Exarch took initiative to say, “I actually had a couple of motives other than a need to apologise again.”

“Oh?”

“I wished to thank you and Lara for everything you’ve done.” The Exarch gave a gentle smile to Roger. “I’ve truly been blessed since the day I met you two.”

“What, even after everything??” Roger got to his knees in order to lean closer to the Exarch. “Doga and Unei, the long sleep, the time travel, the sin eaters, Emet-Selch...really?”

“Yes, really.” The Exarch put his living hand on Roger’s shoulder, as much reassurance for his friend as it was for himself. “While I have indeed made many mistakes in the process, I am still quite glad that I was able to save you and Lara both. I was able to discover my destiny, and in turn was able to save you. Whatever the future holds for any of us on the Source, I will be thrilled to join you two in what’s to come.”

Roger’s expression was far more serious than it normally was when he put his own hand on the Exarch’s shoulder. “You better make that a promise. You will live to see the Source again, G’raha Tia, and you will go on adventures with us.” 

Tears started to form in the corners of G’raha Tia’s eyes as he fiercely nodded. “This I swear by all that I am.”

“I’m gonna hold you to it.” Roger’s expression then softened a little. “What was the other motive for coming here?”

“Oh, er,” He sniffed and scrubbed at his eyes with the palm of his living hand. “Beq Lugg insisted I leave the tower for a mental break, so I took a walk around the Crystarium.”

There was barely a second’s pause before Roger snorted into a laugh.

“I know, it’s ridiculous…” 

“Not just that!” The hand that had been on G’raha’s shoulder came to Roger’s mouth, as if to try to contain the mirth spilling out of it. “They made you take a break like Rammbroes did when you hit that wall in your research!”

The familiar feeling from earlier in the day came back in full force as the memory unfolded before him. He’d almost forgotten that moment in his first adventure with Lara and Roger. “And...Lara made candies for the camp, to keep up our spirits. Honey drops she called them, or something similar.”

“Yeah, that’s it! I should ask if she can make more sometime, or teach me how.”

With that memory also came a memory of what had happened when Roger had consumed too many of the candies. “You’d never sleep again if she taught you.”

“It would be worth it! Honey’s the best!” 

“While I don’t deny that, too many candies will…”

The two had chatted a little longer before G’raha finally made his way back towards the tower. He felt more invigorated than he had been in ages. It was a moment that he planned to cherish forever. A moment that would have been denied to him had he gone through with his initial plan. Bolstered by the idea of fostering more moments like the one he just experienced, he stepped into the Crystal Tower with his head held high.

An idea had finally started to take root in his mind. With any luck, it would be the key to everything.

[attackfish]

5 headcanons for a batmai au? solely for the pun tbh

Nanananananananananananananananana BatMai!

Okay but seriously, I already have an AU with Mai as a dark themed masked vigilante, the Neither Queen nor Pawn verse. Continued from: [Link], [Link], [Link], [Link], and Neither Queen nor Pawn: [Link].

1. Ozai's greatest weakness has always been his arrogance. He found Zuko when his son registered for classes under his own name, but he himself has done nothing to hide from anyone who might come to retrieve his son. Perhaps he believes his own lie that Zuko is worthless and nobody would want him except for his Gift. Or perhaps it simply doesn't occur to him that any of his old victims might stand up to him. Either way, Ozai's school is still where it always was, in the same pretentious Victorian brick monstrosity of a building in the middle of nowhere Connecticut. There's even a glossy website that talks in veiled terms about children with unique abilities and their special challenges.

2. They put Sokka's name on the car rental. They figure he's the one least likely to be on Ozai's radar, since he doesn't have a Gift. There's seven of them packed into a car that seats four, so they take turns having bodies. The rest of the time, Mai practices turning them into shadow smoke. Or more accurately, she turns them into shadow smoke, and they practice not freaking out, since that's the way they're all going to sneak into the school.

3. The drive isn't that long, not even with city traffic. Once they're only a few miles away from the school, Sokka parks the car in a shopping mall parking lot. They buy burgers and get ready to sneak in. Mai turns each of them, and then herself into shadow smoke, and then she rolls along the ground with the evening fog, creeping her way to the Institute for the Education of Gifted Children.

4. Going back inside is a surreal experience, slipping back through the bars of the iron gate, past the grassy courtyard , through a gap under the side door. It's not a big building, not compared to her old elementary school, but it always seemed to loom over her in her memories. They used to joke that it was a former prison, or an insane asylum. She found out after she left that it used to be a girls' finishing school. The room where Ozai drilled her in seamless disappearances, and made her reappear holding onto bars hanging from the ceiling, or in a handstand, was once the music room, where middle class New England girls learn how to play piano and harp.

5. Once she's inside, it feels even stranger. She knows these halls so well. Moving through them is almost automatic. She goes first to the room where Zuko had been held after he had helped Aang escape, but he isn't there. Nor is he in any of the other classrooms, or the dorms, or the teachers' offices. He isn't in the gym that used to be a ballroom, or in the cafeteria, or anywhere else that may can think of. But just when Mai is about to admit defeat, she remembers the staircase that none of them were ever allowed to go up, the one that leads to Ozai's personal apartment.

[paullahotes]

Incalescent- Chapter Two

Pairing: Paul Lahote x Fem!OC

Summary: Em just wants to be loved and have a family for once in her life. But nothing has ever gone right in her life before so why should it now?

Word Count: 7.6k

Warnings: semi-abuse from father figure, gross feelings

A/N: Listen, I don’t think I’m a good writer so this could be terrible! Let me know what you guys think of it!

Three periods had crawled by, each one continuously going slower than the last. I was now sitting in my algebra class, watching the clock tick by slowly. This school was shaping up to be different than the others I had been to, everyone wanted to know me here. A couple different boys, whose names I didn’t remember, had all introduced themselves to me. They were all eager to meet the new girl, they rarely got new people in this town and I was ‘front page baby’. Of course I was not too eager to meet any of them and vehemently denied an interview for the front page of the school newspaper.

When I had gotten home this morning before school, my dad wasn’t there but the house was a mess. Our couch was shredded, pieces of wood and clumps of foam covered the living room. The pan he was cooking dinner in was burnt to a crisp, too far gone to be saved. When I threw it out I made sure to double bag it and bring it right to the can to make sure the smell didn’t linger in the house. The only thing I could do for the rest of the smell in the house was open a few windows and leave them for the day to air everything out. 

Thankfully Emily had given me a new outfit and food for school because I had no time for either when I looked around at the mess before me. Though, currently the wolves were the last things on my mind. The one thing at the forefront was that I had killed my mother and my father hated me for it. There would be no getting out of talking about this with him, maybe he would want to work things out. I knew though that that was far fetched, in his mind, I had killed the woman he loved. I had sucked the life out of her, leaving her dead and me a burden on him. My face practically mirroring hers a constant reminder of the tragic events.

“Miss Abbott?” The teacher called from the front of the class, his hoarse voice pulling me from the self hating thoughts. He was staring me down, waiting for a reply so I shrugged at him. The class was turned looking at me now, every pair of eyes trained on my face. “Miss Abbott, you’re new here, so I’ll give you some leeway this time but from now on you have better be paying attention.”

“Yes, sir,” I muttered back copying down the notes from the board that I had been neglecting. I had already taken this math class three times, I could probably teach it by now. Taking the notes however proved to be a good distraction from my thoughts and before I knew it, the bell was ringing for lunch time.

Paper bag in hand I made my way to the cafeteria and found a table in the corner that no one was sitting at. I sat in a seat so I wouldn’t be facing everyone but so I could still see if I was going to be ambushed by anyone. The few boys who introduced themselves to me this morning all stared me down as they say at a different table. I could hear them muttering about how anti social I was and how even Bella, who had ditched everyone for Edward, was still better than I was coming off. 

I didn’t think much of it as I propped my right leg up on a chair, to help with the swelling from the bite from Paul and scrolled through the apps on my phone. The lunch Emily packed me was delicious, with a good mix of veggies and fruit. I usually bought school lunch and picked at it because it was gross so this was a good change. There was nothing interesting on my phone except for a few texts from my dad begging me to come home and apologizing but I wasn’t ready to open up that can of worms over text with him.

“You’re back!” someone said, sarcasm was practically dripping from their mouth. When I looked up one of the girls sitting at the tables with the boys from earlier was looking at some newcomers. If looks could kill the three new people who were standing waiting for seats would be dead. 

Two of them were clearly vampires, the small girl with black spiky hair had the palest skin I had ever seen, even for a vampire. She had a sincere smile on her beautiful face, looking as upbeat as ever even with a whole table of people glaring at her The other vampire was a guy, he was standing behind the vampire girl and the other human girl. He was wearing a beige sweater and khakis, his hair disheveled but there was evidence of gel suggesting he wanted to look disheveled on purpose. 

The third one of them was a human, if she didn’t have deep brown eyes instead of golden like her two companions I might mistake her for a vampire too. Her skin was so pale it was almost grey. Her long brown hair hung over her shoulders, held back by a plain brown headband. She kept looking up at the male vampire like he was a Greek god with the sun shining out of his butt. He seemed very plain to me, with his beige outfit and brooding look on his face. He looked like he was ready to cry and recite poetry about something sad.

“Our family just loves Forks so much, we couldn’t stay away!” the small girl said excitedly, taking a seat at the table. Her two friends following suit while everyone else at the table shifted uncomfortably in their seats. The rest of the group fell back into their conversations, the girl who was fake excited turned away from the newcomers to talk with everyone.

The table next to me began talking about the three people who showed up at the other table across the cafeteria. One of the people whispered something about doctor Cullen’s wife not liking the big city so they all came back here. The word ‘cult’ was thrown in as a reference to their family because none of them ate or really tried interacting with anyone at this school. I found out from eavesdropping that there were three other siblings that came here last year but graduated. I wondered to myself if Sam and Paul knew that the Cullens were back since just this morning, they told me that they had left.

I studied the two vampires as they pretended to eat their lunch. The girl picked her food apart trying to make it seem like she was taking bites but the guy was actually taking bites. I’d seen my dad eat food to pretend to be human over the years but he said it tasted like ashes. He told me that he assumed the venom in his system just burned it up so why not just take a few bites to blend in with the humans. 

The human girl with them also picked at her food not eating it. Maybe she was trying to make the vampires look more normal or maybe she wanted to be one so bad she picked up their habits evan as a human. One of the boys called her ‘Bella’ as she was picking apart the bread on her tray. This was the girl they were talking about earlier, comparing me to her. Which would probably make the guy vampire Edward. 

My first thought when finding out that this was the girl everyone thought was better than me was petty. She was plain and from what I could tell didn’t give a damn about anyone else besides the vampires she was with. She was listening and contributing to the conversation with everyone at the table but her eyes barely left the guy. The whole thing gave me secondhand embarrassment.

It wasn’t too long until the bell rang and I was heading to my next class. I pulled my hood over my head to keep my hair from getting wet as I crossed the courtyard to get to the little buildings scattered along a paved sidewalk. This was the first school I had been to where it wasn’t one whole building but a bunch of little ones placed around a campus. Everyone rushed alongside me, most had umbrellas and the ones that didn’t, ran full speed through the crowd to get to their class faster. 

I left my jacket on the coat hook by the door when I got to class and found a seat toward the back so that I could be left alone. The assignment for the beginning of class was written on the board, the rest of the class had started writing about it in their journals so I pulled out my notebook. Writing isn't my strong suit but the prompt on the board read ‘write a narrative about something upsetting’ and I knew exactly what to write about.

While I was writing my narrative I glanced up as two people sat at the desks in front of me. Bella and Edward were sitting there, both turned facing each other with their notebooks out. She was glancing over at him every few seconds and I could hear her breathing hitch every time. I had to suppress an eye roll at the sight of it. Sure I had been lonely my whole life but I couldn’t imagine being that into someone. Though how would I even know since I’d never been in that situation. 

The class got started and a couple people shared what they had written. I didn’t volunteer to read mine because of how emotional it sounded. Bella and Edward didn’t volunteer either and every once in a while I thought I could see Edward turn and glance my way. After the first couple times Bella noticed and turned back to me and gave me a questioning look. I made sure I looked like I didn’t know what was going on and just sat there doodling in my notebook.

“Are you new?” she asked me when the bell rang, signalling us to leave and head to our last class. This school and everyone in it was going wildly out of their way to talk to me and I wasn’t having it.

“Yeah,” I told her bluntly and quickly walked away. I grabbed my jacket off the hook and shrugged it on going to my last class. I got there before everyone else, having sped off as fast as I could. I could feel my calf throbbing as I sat down. The bite mark wasn’t an open wound anymore but the teeth outline was still there surrounded by bruises. If I didn’t think about it the pain would go away but since I was reminded of it I had to limp to my seat.

I found a seat in the back of this class as well, internally thanking the universe for giving me the best seats as this school. As I sat at my desk waiting for the other students to arrive I stared out the window.  The rain had subsided for the time being, the sky still covered in dark clouds. The day had gone much different weather wise than what it had been this morning when Paul was walking me home.

The early morning sun was peeking through the trees as Paul and I walked side by side to my house. His hand kept bumping into my arm as we went. I had seen a couple cheesy movies where the boy and girl would be walking and the boy would bump his hand into hers on purpose because he wanted to hold it. But Paul and I had just met. He was probably so close because my leg was threatening to give out at any second. Emily had thankfully cleaned and bandaged it well so I wouldn’t have to worry about it for a couple hours. 

The walk back through the forest was different than last nights run through it. It had been dark and stormy, a combo that hadn’t let me really appreciate how beautiful it was. Though my mental state probably wouldn’t have let me appreciate it either even if it hadn’t been dark and stormy. 

The scenery was gorgeous. The entire forest floor was covered in old fallen tree trunks and moss. The green had overwhelmed me on the drive in but being here with the sunlight peeking through the tops of the trees was amazing. You could hear birds chirping and if you listened close enough you could hear the river rushing over rocks a little ways ahead.

Paul nudged me and smirked as we approached the river. My mouth set into a tight line as I thought of having to jump over it with how badly my leg hurt. I frowned up at him and he still had a smirk on his face. 

“Do you think I’d make you jump this after trying to take a chunk out of your leg?” He asked me, his eyes twinkling with delight. 

“Yeah, actually,” I mumbled back to him. His smile was so bright as he looked down at me. He shook his head and stepped back a bit before putting his thumbs in the waistband of his shorts and pulling them down. I looked away quickly as blush spread over my cheeks.

“You should watch this, I think you’ll think it’s cool,” I peeked back over at him making sure not to look down but directly at his face. His smile grew wider as he spoke again. “You’re cute when you blush.”

My face got even redder than before, I could feel the heat spreading across my face rapidly. Before I could even think of anything to say and let alone say it, Paul was visibly shaking. Then suddenly he exploded into a grey wolf five times his size. I stood there with my jaw practically on the ground. He grabbed his shorts in his teeth and walked them over to me.

“You were right, this is pretty cool,” I told him patting his head like I would a regular dog. He didn’t seem to like it so he nudged my hand out of the way and flung his shorts at my face. “Alright, alright I’ll carry these but I don’t know how you being a wolf is going to get me across the river.”

Paul laid down on the ground and gestured with his head for me to get on his back. My eyes widened and I took a step back and muttered ‘no way’ quietly. Then before I could do anything else Paul jumped up and ran at me full speed. I let out a shriek as he charged at me and jumped, my leg kept me from going to high and I was suddenly on his back. A low rumble from his chest alerted me to him laughing. 

“I’ll remember this,” I growled at him, gripping onto his fur. The wind whipped passed up as he ran forward, faster than I could run even when my leg was healed. I made a mental note to work on my speed so he wouldn’t have an edge on me. We got to the edge of the river quickly and he leaped across it like it was nothing, landing gracefully on the other side. 

“So how’d you like it?” Paul asked smugly a few moments later as he was pulling on his pants. It had been such a rush not being the one who was jumping. I was able to just sit back and let the wind whip through my hair and relax. Him turning into a wolf was pretty cool too, way better than being half vampire.

“It was alright, I’m glad I’m half vampire and can’t turn into some dog,” I tried ending my sentence sounding like I was teasing him. I wasn’t used to feeling anything but empty. I had never come close to even a sliver of happiness. The feelings I felt being around Paul and the feelings I felt back when we were at Sam and Emily’s house were foreign. My life had never known anything like this and as my stomach turned itself into knots I knew it couldn’t last forever.

“I know that you secretly wish you were as cool as me,” He taunted me, the bright smile back on his face. I tried not to look directly at him now that I knew I would blush at everything he did if he had that smile. 

“Please, I could find someone cooler than you without even trying,” I shot back, the words tumbling out of my mouth before I could stop them. This was the longest interaction I had ever had with anyone in my whole life. Even longer than anything with my father. I didn’t even know that I knew how to interact with anyone like this.

“Hey now, you gotta be nice to me or we can’t be friends,” Paul joked back, bumping into me. I looked up at him, my mouth opening then closing because I didn’t know how to respond. The look on my face must have worried him because he grabbed my hand and said, “I was just joking, we just met but I think we’ll be the greatest friends.”

“I’ve never had one…” I mumbled looking up at him. My forehead was furrowed as I looked up at him. It was pretty pathetic that I hadn’t had a friend but it was all part of keeping the family secret.

“You’ve never had a friend?” He asked sounding like he didn’t believe me. I shrugged as we kept walking and didn’t look up at him. 

“My dad never let me have one, he wanted to keep our existence a secret and thought that if I ever had any friends that they would somehow find out about us,” I explained, the more I thought about it the more dumb it sounded. 

“Your father sounds like a dick,” Paul muttered. He was right, that is how my dad sounded. Why else would he keep me from having friends? Why else would he keep me from being happy? Maybe it all went back to him blaming me for my mother dying, though if I could go back in time I would change things. I would never kill anyone consciously, that wasn’t me.

“That doesn’t matter anymore, we’re your friends now!” Paul said trying to pull me out of my thoughts. We were coming to a clearing and Paul slowed down his walk. “The whole pack is like one big family, we fight like real siblings and we have bonfires together. I really think you’ll get along with everyone once they see past you being a vampire.”

“Everyone?” I asked sounding a little uneasy. “There’s more than you and Sam?”

“Yeah! There’s actually ten of us that are wolves, two more phased for the first time the other day which indicates that more vampires are in our area.” He explained to me as I wrung my hands together. There were ten wolves in the ‘pack’ he was telling me about. Less than twelve hours ago I didn’t even know wolves existed and now I knew about ten.

“There’s a lot of you…” I quietly exclaimed. “How do you know when to phase? How can you tell that vampires are near?”

“You’ll have to come out to a bonfire sometime and hear our tribes stories. They explain it all but in short and to quote the stories ‘we have always had magic in our blood’,” Paul explained to me as we walked along somehow even slower than before. Meeting him had been a good distraction from my feelings and the pain in my stomach told me that as soon as I was alone I would spiral.

“That sounds fancy, I don’t think there are stories of how vampires came to be,” I muttered to him. “Though if there were they would probably be dark and contain no magic.”

“Don’t sound so negative about vampires, you aren’t so bad,” he emphasized ‘so’ and wagged his eyebrows at me jokingly. I let out a small chuckle, rolling my eyes at him. 

We made our way out of the thick trees and into my backyard greeted by the sun being out fully. There were no clouds in sight. The warmth spread over my skin and I let myself smile widely. The weather had been disastrous since our arrival yesterday and the sun was a welcome change. 

“You don’t sparkle,” Paul commented from behind me. When I turned to look at him he sounded surprised, the look on his face was priceless.

“I am half human, silly,” I told him. He cocked his head to the side watching me. “Maybe that makes me deadlier than a regular vampire. I look completely innocent.”

“It sure does,” He muttered before shaking his head and giving me a small smile. “I’ll see you later right?”

“Of course, what else do I have to do? Stay home and hang out with my dick of a father?” I asked him referencing what he said earlier. He was beaming now and waved me off. As I turned to walk to my house he was pulling off his shorts again and phasing into a wolf. I heard a loud howl in the distance as I was opening my front door, bringing a smile to my face.

“Miss Abbott,” someone said pulling me out of my daydream. I snapped back into reality and saw that this teacher was catching me for not paying attention too. I stared at him until he spoke some more. “Miss Abbott, I was wondering if you would like to introduce yourself to the class but if you’re too preoccupied don’t let me bother you.”

“My name is Em and I’m new. That’s all you really need to know,” I replied, sounding sarcastic. I didn’t mean for it to come off bad but I was irritated. More so with myself than the teacher who interrupted.

“Great,” He muttered back, the edge in his voice sounding like he was ready to retire any second. None of the students were staring at me this time except for the two who were sitting directly in front of me, again. Bella and Edward stared back at me, both looking different levels of shocked. Edward looked like he was shocked and frustrated. Who knew a vampire could be so uptight about a new student with an attitude problem? 

“Mr. Cullen, one student not paying attention is enough for me for one day,” our teacher called from right beside our desks. I gave the teacher a quick glance and then looked forward to the front of the room where he had our lesson up on the board. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Edward stiffen and turn around, clearly upset as he clenched his fists.

Besides a few snide whispers among the other students of ‘the new girl must already love Edward’ and ‘god she’s JUST like Bella, amazed by Edward already’, the class went by quickly and I was out the door while the bell was still ringing. The walk home was brutally cold with the wind whipping at my face, numbing it. With the way Edward already seemed interested in me I didn’t want to risk running home and being found out that I was some type of vampire. 

Each step I took brought me new anxiety, that tightened my chest with every breath. There was no doubt that my dad would be home now, waiting for me. I had no idea what to expect from him since everything was on the table now. His mood had changed rapidly during our confrontation that I didn’t even know what to expect from him in that sense when I walked through the door. 

When I turned down the street I lived on I could see the car out front of our house but I couldn’t remember if it had been there this morning or not. If he was home he would know that I was close by now, he could probably hear my footsteps and he could definitely hear me breathing hard. The door to the house swung open as I started up our front steps, he wasn’t there but I could hear him walking in the kitchen. My ears picked up on the soft sound of clothing moving against wood, telling me he had taken a seat at the kitchen table.

Once I was down the hallway and into the kitchen I could see him. He was sitting with his elbows on the table and his hands clasped in front of his face. He didn’t look up when I came into the kitchen or as I took my time placing my backpack on the island and taking my jacket off. I took a seat at the table across from him and sat silently, waiting for him to talk.

“I didn’t mean for you to ever find out about your mother,” he stated after a while of silence. His face was unreadable, blank. This terrified more than if he was showing any emotion at all. 

“Don’t you think it’s unfair of you to have kept that a secret from me? Don’t you think it’s unfair to treat me the way you do? Don’t you think it’s unfair keeping so much from me?” I asked him those questions with a shaky voice. My body felt like it was vibrating, heat spread from my stomach throughout my whole body. I kept myself from crying but the rest of my body was reacting. A slight sweat was building up on the back of my neck and scalp.

“Everything I have ever done was to protect you,” he said a little bit of emotion breaking through. The way he said it made me want to believe him but he had kept me not only from knowing the truth about my mother but also from knowing anything outside of our little bubble. I didn’t want this to keep happening. As much as I hated myself for now knowing what I did to my mother I wasn’t ever going to die so I had an eternity to go out into the world and explore and I wanted to start doing that soon. 

“I can understand that to a point but you’ve never talked about my mother, not once. I didn’t even know what a mother was until you put me in school and I saw that almost everyone else had one. I grew up thinking it was only something in movies, I thought mothers were fictional!” My voice wavered in the end, a few tears spilling out and rolling hotly down my cheek. He sat back, crossing his arms across his chest and looked like he was thinking for a minute.

“You seem to have given this a lot of thought, I guess your little run gave you a lot of time to think,” he was calm now, back to showing no emotion. Though there was a slight edge to his voice. I took in a shaky breath, an indication of how worked up I was about this. 

“I’ve been thinking about having this conversation with you my whole life. Do you know how hard it is to not have friends? How hard it is to have the only real interaction you have be with your father and even those interactions are few and far between?” My voice was beginning to crack with every emotion I had felt over the last twenty-three years coming to the surface. 

 “Em,” he let out a long breath, his eyes almost rolling. “You know how important it is to keep our secret! If anyone found out that we were vampires there would be terrible consequences.”

“How would they find out? What harm would it be for me to have a few friends? Do you think I would go to a sleepover and just tell them I was a vampire? Do you think I introduce myself as ‘Em, the vampire’?” This was when I began to raise my voice. The tears were flowing freely down my face as my father was glaring daggers at me. 

“Do you know how hard it is to have the love of your life taken away by a child that you never even wanted?” He shouted at me, standing up so quickly the table lurched forward and shoved me back. The chair tipped back from the force and I hit the floor, not bothering to use any of my enhanced abilities to stop myself. I was lying on the floor when he continued. “You have no clue what I’ve been going through every single day since you were born. I can barely look at you, your face is just like hers, you remind me of her so much. It’s unfair that you get to live when she’s dead!”

“Why didn’t you kill me then? Why did you let her have me?” I sobbed out, tears blurring my vision so that I couldn’t see anymore. The only thing that could be heard for a while the crying, each hiccup-like intake of breath echoing off the walls. 

“She wouldn’t let me, she wanted you so bad. She wanted to start a family with me. She was so optimistic, she thought she would live and I could turn her into a vampire and we could raise you. The perfect little family that she always wanted and I was willing to give her anything,” his tone was different now, almost like he was crying too but I still couldn’t see him. My tears wouldn’t stop. “I’m going to leave for a while, to give you some time to breathe. You have my cell phone number so if anyone needs you to confirm you have a dad or anything, just call. Follow the rules while I’m gone, I’ll know if you don’t.”

With the last threat he left, the door slamming so hard behind him that the whole house shook. It felt like years before I could calm down and pick myself up off the floor. My body was stiff as I stood up and put the table and chair back where they belonged. That was when my brain decided to rearrange things and not think about or process anything that had just happened. With the couch from the living room destroyed I decided to move some chairs around to make up for it. 

Once the house was completely rearranged and the sun had set, I began to cook my myself some dinner. Though my stomach currently felt like lead I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep at any point tonight if I didn’t eat. When the house began to smell like the food I was cooking, I started to feel better. I let myself breathe the delicious scents in as I stirred my food around the pan.

All the movies and tv shows I had seen over the years told me that this is what your home should always smell like. Your parents should be cooking in the kitchen while the kids are scattered around the house doing homework or other activities. Though I was fully grown now, I had been since I was around 7 years old, but now I was considered a real adult and most people at this age don’t live with their parents anymore. I had never had that and I felt like no matter how many years passed I would still crave a family. 

The loneliness crept back in as I stared down at the suddenly inedible food in the pan. The once delicious smells were making my stomach churn, my nose crinkling in disgust. Before I could even register it I was dumping my food out in the trash and scrubbing the pan violently in the sink. I hadn’t even finished my second day here in Forks and I was crying again, the tears running down my face as I splashed the sink water everyone in anger. 

How could my father do this to me? Why would he spend over two decades with me, raising me, if he hated and resented me so much? He didn’t seem to give a shit about what my mom had wanted since he barely even acknowledged that I was around so he wasn’t doing it for her in any way. 

A sudden knock on the back door pulled me out of my angry thoughts. I jumped at the sound making the soapy water in the sink spill over the edge and on the floor, soaking the bottom of my pants and shoes. The sun had set by now so I couldn’t see out onto my porch but my ears picked up on a rapid heartbeat and a familiar scent was beginning to seep in through the crack in the door. When I flicked on the porch light I was proven right, Paul was standing there soaked from the rain I hadn’t even noticed. I slid the door open silently, letting him in.

“What’s wrong?” His hands came to my face as he asked, palms cupping my cheeks and thumbs wiping my tears away. Part of me knew this behavior was odd from someone I had just met-been attacked by, yesterday. But another part of me wanted to be cared for like this, craved the soft, caring touches. 

“My dad left to give me some space to breathe for a while,” I choked out trying to calm down. Paul pulled me into a hug and I didn’t protest, pressing my cheek to his bare chest. The heat was coming off of him in waves, practically burning my cheek. 

“Maybe this is a good thing,” Paul tried to assure me, rubbing a hand up and down my back while his other was placed on the back of my head. “He is a dick after all.”

We stayed like that for a while, until reality kicked in a told me I shouldn’t be hugging a complete stranger. I couldn’t tell why but I felt a strong pull to Paul. If I had been in my right mind at all yesterday when he was carrying me through the woods or this morning when he walked me home I would’ve realized it earlier. The second he wasn’t touching me a part of me felt empty, having not realized I felt anywhere near whole when we embraced. I hadn’t even know him for a full twenty-four hours yet so I would be keeping these feelings to myself. 

“Are you hungry?” I found myself asking him, gesturing awkwardly to my kitchen. 

“Actually I came to see if you wanted to have dinner at Emily’s,” he told me looking around my kitchen. “You said you were going to come over after you got off of school but you never did. I didn’t have a real reason to come and check on you since we just met yesterday and I shouldn’t be worried so Emily suggested that I come and invite you to dinner.”

“I’m sorry, I totally forgot about it with everything that happened when I got home,” my cheeks flushed, the heat pooling in them immediately.  Maybe my dad kept me from having friends because he knew I’d be a terrible one. 

“Don’t even worry about it, I just really wanted to see you again,” he said the last part unsurely, like he didn’t know that he should actually confess that. His cheeks turned a little red after he spoke and he rubbed a hand awkwardly on the back of his neck. 

“Yeah, I would!” My feet squeaked as I walked forward to go with him. I had forgotten about my soaked pants and shoes. “Let me just change real quick.”

I flew up the stairs as fast as I could, throwing open my bedroom door and searching through my boxes of clothes for new pants and shoes. It felt like I had been up there forever once I came downstairs in my new clothes. Paul was waiting for me outback already in wolf form, his shorts in his mouth.

“I can hold those for you,” reaching out I took the shorts from him and climbed on his back, gripping his fur tightly. He took off as fast as he could through the woods, it was so dark out tonight that even I could barely see. The way he ran showed me how sure of himself he was, whipping between trees and over fallen ones without hesitation. 

The sound of rushing water filled my ears as we neared the river. Paul never thought twice as he picked up speed and suddenly we were soaring over the it. The water was rushing violently from the heavy amount of rain we had gotten, mist spraying up at us as we went. We hit the other side of the river with a thud, without missing a beat Paul continued forward until we were outside Emily and Sam’s house. Their small cottage lit up the small clearing it was in. I could hear several people laughing inside as I waited for Paul to turn back and put his clothes back on. 

“Come on,” Paul said from beside me. He was now dressed and holding out his hand for me to take. My face flushed as I took his hand, feeling more comfortable than I ever had as we walked into the house with our hands intertwined by our sides. 

“Welcome back!” Emily called out to me when we walked in. She crossed from room quickly and was pulling me into a hug away from Paul within seconds. When she pulled back she kept her hands on my shoulders and looked me over. “Is everything all healed?”

“For the most part! My leg is still bothering me a bit,” I told her. She looked passed me over to Paul and gave him a sympathetic look. When I glanced back at him he looked like he was on the verge of tears. So I quickly said, “At least you guys know now that I’m not a dangerous vampire, I’d want to keep my people safe too if I were you guys.”

“What kind of bloodsucker are you then?” A boy asked from the kitchen. He was sitting next to Sam and another girl I had never seen. His face was round and youthful but his eyes were hardened like he’d been through a lot. Even though he was sitting I could tell he was a few inches taller than Paul but not as tall as Sam, the three of them the tallest people I have ever been around. The girl next to him that I had never seen was beautiful, her long black hair was pulled into a braid that she had over her shoulder, a scowl on her face as she looked at me. I wondered if they were two of the other wolves Paul had been telling me about earlier.

“I don’t really know,” I replied honestly, shrugging at all of them. “All I can say is I may be half a vampire but I’ve never killed anyone for their blood.”

“Never?” The girl asked me sounding skeptical. No one except for my mom but this wasn’t the time for that. I shook my head at her, everyone in the room looked a little shocked. 

“I do steal things though, like blood bags from hospitals so I don’t have to feed directly off of a human. Sometimes I hunt animals…” I trailed off, looking between everyone’s faces. Beside me Emily grabbed my hand and led me to the table and pulled a chair out for me. I was sitting beside the boy I had never seen with Paul on my other side. I could tell that he didn’t like me already from the way he stiffened when I sat down next to him. 

“Enough about this! Em is welcome here anytime and she is to be left alone unless she decides she wants to be interrogated.” Emily informed everyone, her eyes landing on the boy next to me. He huffed and sat back in his chair, crossing his arms,

“Don’t mind, Jacob,” Paul leaned in to whisper in my ear. “He’s still in highschool and in love with a girl who doesn’t love him back.”

“Shut up, Paul!” Jacob barked from beside me, getting up so quickly his chair flew back and slammed into a wall. The girl I didn’t know looked like she had gone through this before, Emily wasn’t paying attention as stirred some food and Paul was laughing next to me so hard the table in front of me was shaking. 

“Just sit down, Jacob,” The girl said before Sam could say anything, though he was poised and ready, his fists pressed to the table. He took a few deep breaths and picked the pictures off the floor that he knocked down with his chair and came to sit back down. This time he made sure his chair was further away from me and closer to the girl.

“Thanks, Leah,” Sam told the girl, giving her a nod. She nodded back and then went to get some food like nothing happened. Paul started to put food on my plate without saying anything, then began to hesitate when I looked over at him to ask him why.

“I didn’t know if you felt like you should help yourself or not,” Paul explained, continuing to put more food on my plate for me.

“Thank you, I’ve just never…” I trailed off not knowing how to explain this to him and the rest of the people who were now staring at me.

“You’ve never had dinner before?” Jacob asked snidely beside me, a laugh coming out of him. 

“I’ve always eaten dinner alone, my father doesn’t eat and he’s my only family,” I began to explain. What I said made the expression on Jacobs face falter, some food threatening to fall out of his mouth as it hung open.

“Haven’t you ever been invited to a friend’s house?” Leah questioned, stopping to ask before she took the forkful of food she had. 

“I’ve never had a friend,” I told her quietly. My life was starting to sound pathetic to them and I could tell. I felt Paul’s hand press against my back and rub gently. Everyone was silent for a couple minutes, quietly taking bites of their food. I pushed mine around my plate, taking small bites here and there. Even Jacob was quiet next to me, his face no longer pinched in disgust at my presence. 

“Hell yeah another blood sucker free day in the books!” A voice giddily announced walking through the door. I stiffened waiting for them to notice me. The person who announced it stopped in his tracks when his eyes landed on me, the three boys following in behind him stopped too and followed his gaze to me. The youngest boy who followed in the first boy looked between Paul and I and gave me a small smile and a wave. 

“Sorry to ruin that for you,” I dead panned, our eyes never breaking contact. The young boy who smiled at me laughed quietly to himself, the two others cracking a smile. 

“Yeah, you should be,” He said walking over to the table and grabbing a seat directly across from me. As he filled his plate he began to talk to me, “I’m Jared, by the way. You must be Em, the girl Paul im-” Paul growled and kicked him under the table. Jared and Paul stared each other down for a minute before Jared finished filling his plate and began eating. I took a bite of my food as Paul calmed himself down, he didn’t seem angry but worried about whatever Jared was going to say. Though all he could’ve been saying was that Paul attacked me but he did seem to get upset when that was brought up.

“I’m Seth and these two are Quil and Embry,” the youngest boy said with a mouthful of food. He smiled at me and some food fell from his mouth and down his shirt. He began to laugh, causing more food to spill out of his mouth. I slapped a hand over my mouth as I tried to stifle my giggles. That’s how the rest of the dinner went, filled with laughter and happiness. They showed me how a real family was supposed to be and surprisingly I wasn’t sad, I was the happiest I have ever been. 

After everyone was done eating we sat around Emily and Sam's small living room talking and laughing more. Everyone except for Jacob, who was sitting outside on the porch in the dark, were sharing stories. Even Leah, who had been scowling lame when I arrived, seemed to be warming to me as I sat quietly next to Paul on a couch. The heat was radiating off of Paul in waves, warming up my body as I sat snugly against him. I felt happy here, at peace. A bunch of people I had just me were accepting me into their home, into their family. Between the heat and the melodic laughter my eyes began to get heavy and before I could even register it, I was asleep.

Tagged: @angelenemies @twilightxcx

[labyrinth-runner]

All You Need Is Love

Chapter 10 of The Greatest Thing

Christian x OC 

Moulin Rouge Fanfic

Read the rest here

As the days drew on, Estelle spent more and more time with Poppy, learning the ways of the courtesan. At first, Poppy was hesitant to teach her any more than just suggestive speaking, but Estelle was her friend and she didn't want her to lose the man she loved to someone because they had more experience with certain things than she did. Watching Estelle's confidence grow as they went on was perhaps what Poppy was most proud of, not that Estelle had ever been timid, but that she finally understood her full worth on her own and knew how to carry herself in a way that showed that. Their goodbye the night before Estelle left for Paris had been tearful, but Estelle had promised to write and tell her all about the Moulin Rouge and how Poppy was so much better than any of the women there. The next morning, however, saying goodbye to Mary had proved to be a bit harder than Estelle had anticipated.

"I can't believe you're leaving to travel for months," Mary had pouted as she sat on Estelle's bed while she finished some last-minute packing.

"You know precisely where I'm going and why I'm going there," Estelle replied.

"Yes, but, what are you going to do once you find him? What if he's with someone else? Oh, Elle, I don't want your heart to get broken and for you not to have your sister there to pick up the pieces," Mary sighed.

"I'll be fine. I may not have the best sister in the world with me, but I'll have Annalise," Estelle chuckled.

"What will you do if you stay in Paris?" Mary asked softly. "With him?"

"Annalise and I already have a plan worked out should I decide to stay," she replied.

"You'll have to let me know. I know father cannot know, but I wish to know should you stay there," Mary pleaded.

"Alright. If I stay... I'll write something cryptic in your letter. Something that you would know, but father would not should he read it," Estelle said thoughtfully.

"What would you say?"

"Something poetic and meaningful," she murmured. "I've got it! If I stay, I'll tell you: 'The lights in the city are so bright that they light up the night, vanquishing the dark.'"

Mary chuckled. "It's certainly poetic."

Estelle had a small wistful smile on her face as she sat on the bed next to her sister, "It certainly would be true."

"I'll miss you," Mary sighed, resting her head on her older sister's shoulder.

"And I'll miss you. If it weren't for you, this house would be unbearable," she admitted, wrapping an arm around Mary's shoulder.

A knock sounded at the door and their butler looked in. "Miss, the carriage has arrived."

"Thank you," Estelle smiled, picking up the last of her luggage to head downstairs. She paused next to the butler for a moment, "Take care of them for me while I'm gone, please."

"Of course, Miss. Like my life depends on it," the butler said with an affectionate nod.

Estelle made her way down the stairs to place her final bags in the foyer for the carriage boy to load. Then, she hesitantly made her way over to the cracked door to the library. She heard the muffled voice of her father talking, and when she peaked in, she saw that it was to the painting of her mother.

"Keep her safe, Maggie," he murmured.

Estelle had a sad smile on her face as she knocked on the door. Her father immediately straightened.

"Come in," he stated.

Estelle walked into the room. "The carriage is here, father. I didn't want to leave without saying goodbye."

"Yes, well," he said, turning to look at her where she stood a few steps in the room. His eyes scanned his daughter in her dark blue traveling dress with a black jacket and a matching hat and parasol. She looked so much like her mother did at her age that if he didn't know any better, he would think that he had traveled back in time. "You will write, won't you?"

"Of course, Father," Estelle smiled. "I would be a fool not to keep my family apprised of my adventures."

"I'm sure your sister would be disappointed if you didn't. She does live vicariously through you," he mused.

Estelle was taken aback by his demeanor. For a moment, he seemed like his old self again. He didn't look at her with sorrow, but he was looking at her with regret.

"Father, are you well?" she ventured.

"Of course, child. I am just pensive this morning," he replied.

"Father, you needn't worry about me. I'll have Annalise. We'll be perfectly fine," she reassured him.

"Oh, I'm not worried about that, Estelle," he said with a small smile. It was true, he wasn't worried about her traveling. Deep down, he was worried that she'd never return home after seeing the world, having found somewhere special and then finding London lacking in comparison. "Now, your carriage has arrived, has it not? You should go. You don't want to miss your ship."

Estelle hesitated for a moment, deciding on what to do. However, sentiment won in her mind and she went and hugged her father. "Goodbye."

After a moment, he rested his hand on her back. "Do not cause any scandal."

Estelle shook her head as she pulled back. Her father gave her one last nod of acknowledgement and she left.

The trip to Paris had been fairly uneventful, with the exception of Annalise suffering from motion sickness on the boat. The rocking of the waves lulled Estelle to sleep in comparison, but only until Annalise found herself feeling sick once more and needed someone to hold her hair. Their first day in Paris had been slow. Annalise had to meet with some of her father's friends as they owned the flat that her father had rented out for them for the week. Estelle played along, truly grateful, but she was chomping at the bit to get out and into Montmartre to the address that William had given her. She wanted to know what kind of place Christian had been living in. She wanted to see the people he interacted with, but most of all, she wanted to see him. She needed to know that he was okay, although somewhere in a place inside her that she kept hidden, she selfishly wanted to know if he missed her as much as she missed him.

After their obligatory lunch date, Estelle gave Annalise a pleading look.

"Fine. I'll handle tea with Father's former mistress myself. I always did like Cecile best. She at least had the decency to give me a gift whenever she saw me," Annalise said, rolling her eyes.

"Anna, you're the best," Estelle grinned.

"I know," Annalise winked. "Now, get out of here."

Estelle did just that, making her way out into the street. She found a carriage, giving them the address and soon enough she found herself outside of a slightly shabby building.

"He's living here?" she murmured to herself. Hastily, she made her way into the building, going up to the apartment indicated on the address. She knocked on the door multiple times, but heard no response.

"Excuse me, Mademoiselle, but, are you looking for someone?" a short man asked as he and another, taller, man came down the stairs.

"My friend," she replied, turning to look at him. "According to the address on this letter, he lives here."

The smaller man's eyes widened as he elbowed the other man in the thigh, but the other man had fallen asleep on his feet.

"Is everything alright?"

"I do apologize, but are you Mademoiselle Devereux from London?" the short man asked.

"I am... I beg your pardon, but have we met?" Estelle asked in confusion.

"Non! My name is Toulouse. I am a friend of your friend. You're just... precisely how he described," Toulouse murmured.

"You know Christian?" she asked excitedly. "Would you know where I might find him?"

"He's at the Moulin Rouge rehearsing," Toulouse replied, "We are going there now. Would you like to accompany us?"

"That would be lovely, thank you," she smiled, but then she looked at the taller man, "Although, I do believe he is asleep."

Toulouse sighed. "That's Santiago. He does that."

Estelle nodded, following them to a magnificent building with a windmill atop it. Her eyes widened in awe.

"It is quite a sight the first time," Toulouse smiled.

"It is," she murmured.

Inside however, was not an amazing sight. As Toulouse and Santiago went forward into the rehearsal space, she stayed a few paces behind, watching them from behind a pillar. Her eyes softened as she spotted Christian laughing, but then she noticed the other woman sitting in his lap. She was beautiful, with red hair and bright red lips. Her outfit had significantly fewer layers than Estelle's. Estelle felt her heart drop. Had she been replaced? She swallowed the lump in her throat. She had to leave. She pushed her way back through the double doors and into the courtyard for air. Perhaps this had been a mistake. Perhaps she should never have come. Perhaps she should have just-

"Ellie?" a voice called out.

Estelle looked up, locking eyes with him.

"Christian," she said softly.

They stood in silence gazing at each other for a moment as if neither believed that the other was truly standing before them. The world had slowed, letting them hear their heartbeats in their ears until it sped back up again and they were rushing into each other's arms to hold each other tight.

"I don't understand," Christian said, pulling back, "What are you doing here?"

"I'm on holiday with Annalise," she replied. She didn't want to tell him that she had come here for him, not when he was clearly with another woman.

"How long are you here for?" he asked softly.

"A few days," she replied.

"Come, let me introduce you to everyone," Christian grinned, taking her by the hand and leading her back into the building.

"A-are you sure?" Estelle stammered.

"Of course. It'll be nice for them to put a face to the name."

Estelle blushed. A face to the name. He talked about her?

"Everyone, I'd like you to meet Ms. Devereux. She's my friend from London," he grinned.

The red-haired woman's eyes alighted at this new information. "So you are the infamous Ellie."

"I wouldn't say infamous..." Estelle trailed off. She couldn't tell if the woman was kind, or if there was a hint of jealousy in her eyes, but the air between the two of them and Christian felt charged. Estelle was worried that she had disrupted something by being here.

Christian introduced everyone to Estelle and she learned the woman's name was Satine. Then, they had to get back to rehearsal.

"Christian, have you finished that scene yet?" Satine asked.

"No. I'm still working on the seduction scene," he sighed.

"Perhaps I can help you after," Satine winked.

"T-that's quite alright," Christian stammered.

Estelle looked away. "I should head back."

"Let me walk you out!" Christian replied.

The walk out of the building was silent, but once they were outside, he sighed.

"She's just a friend," he said.

"It's alright. After all, I'm just a friend, too," Estelle said with a sad smile.

Christian ached to correct her, but this wasn't the time, nor the place. "When can I see you again?"

"Annalise and I have things planned the next two days. Then, we have a fairly open day in case anything of interest came to our attention. The following day we leave," she explained.

"Then... I should like to take you out on that day. There's a lovely café that I think you'd enjoy," he smiled.

"Alright," she replied. She gave him the address of her flat and sighed. "I'm glad to see you doing well."

"And I am glad to see you," he said pointedly, taking her hand and kissing her knuckles. "I'll see you soon."

Estelle nodded and got into her carriage to return to the flat.

When she got back, she found Annalise waiting for her with a piping hot pot of tea.

"Well?"

"He's at the Moulin Rouge, writing a play. I think... I think he might have found someone," she said with some difficulty.

"Nonsense. If she's from the Moulin than he's either paying her, or she's scamming him," Annalise said dismissively.

"You didn't see the way they were," Estelle sighed. "There's definitely more to it than that."

"Are you going to see him again?" Annalise asked.

"On our open day," she replied.

"Good. Well, we have dinner reservations. You may wish to get changed," Annalise sighed.

Estelle nodded and went about it, but her mind was still on Christian.

In fact, her mind didn't leave Christian the next few days. The more she thought about him, the more she wondered if she would actually be able to leave him again. However, then she thought of Satine and figured that he may be just fine if she did.

When the day finally arrived to see him again, she was a bundle of nerves. Questions swirled in her head about whether she had been foolish to think that they would be reunited and pick up where they left off in London or if she had been right and he did miss her. As they walked in silence with her hand on his arm, she felt as though she were suffocating in the confines of her own mind, and oh how dark a place it had become there. She didn't think that even the city of lights could illuminate her darkness.

"Darling, you've been awfully quiet," Christian murmured as they sat at the table in the café.

"I just have a lot on my mind," she replied with a small smile. "But, enough about me. How have you been?"

Christian gave her a look of concern, "Well, I've found some friends who are very supportive of my work. They're not at all like the fuddy duddies of London society that we had to interact with for the season. I've been working on something new. You saw some of the play rehearsal, actually, but I've honestly been stuck."

"Stuck?" Estelle asked, leaning forward. "That's not like you at all. Back in London you seemed to go on about anything that interested you without trouble."

"I know. I'm writing this play about a penniless sitar player who falls in love with someone well above his station, but I'm having some difficulties with it," he sighed.

"You're having a hard time writing about love?" she asked incredulously.

"I know. It's hard, though, especially when my muse has been in London," he said softly.

She blushed. "I'm sure there's some courtesans who would know more about seduction that I will ever know."

"There's a difference between just seducing a woman's body and seducing a heart. You've always been good at both, if I may be so bold," he blushed.

"Then, I shall help. After all, what kind of muse would I be if I didn't?" Estelle replied with a wink. Her fears about Satine drifted away. She felt like they were back in London again.

"I would love that."

"Well, would it be instant attraction?" she asked in amusement.

"Yes, darling, I suppose it would," he smiled. "Although he has followed her career for quite some time, but when he first lays eyes on her... oh, the world stops."

"But, she's a courtesan, and he's a penniless sitar player. I think he would have to seduce her a bit in order to have her even look at him twice," she replied with a small smirk as she took a sip of tea.

"S-seduce her how?" he asked. His tea cup trembled slightly as he put it on the saucer.

"You're the writer, you tell me," she replied, crossing her legs, a trick she had learned from Poppy. Her skirts slipped up a bit and exposed her ankles, causing him to blush harder. She knew he'd been spending a lot of time at the Moulin Rouge, and she could see the appeal, after all, he was a man. However, the fact that her childhood friend was still flustered showed that he really hadn't changed much since she last saw him in London all those months ago.

His eyes traced over Estelle's face as if trying to decipher her. She'd grown since she'd last seen him at the start of the season in London. Back then, he'd been just as much of a dreamer as he was now. However, that was one of the things she loved most about him. He was a dreamer. He didn't see life just as it was, but how it could be. Talking to him made her want to believe that anything was possible… that she could find a match that was made in love as well as good standing. When he left, it was like there was a void in the London scene, and in her heart that she could never fill. Sure she'd had marriage proposals, but they weren't from the man she'd wanted the most. In this moment, watching him study her, she realized that she wasn't content to just let him slip away again, not when talking to him made her feel so free. Part of her, though, was still upset with the way he'd left things. It was apparent in her eyes. The passion within them burned, keeping him in place with the heat of her gaze as she challenged him to acknowledge it and the hurt that he'd caused by leaving.

After a moment of silence, he spoke. "You're mad at me."

Estelle blushed and looked down. "Nonsense. Why would I be mad? I'm not your keeper."

"I should have said goodbye," he sighed. "I owed you that much. I owe you so much more. That night, my father and I had a fight and I just left. I didn't think anyone would care that the hopeless dreamer had left. I'd been there for multiple seasons at that point, and everyone's father was telling them to steer clear of me."

"I cared," she said quietly before taking another sip of tea.

"You were the only one that ever did," he said with a small smile. "Which was why I couldn't say goodbye. If I had, I would never have been able to leave."

"You hurt me," she admitted. "I worried that it was something that I'd done."

"No," he said emphatically, taking her hand in his. "Ellie, you were the one good thing about London."

"One person isn't enough of a reason to stay in a place where you are ultimately unhappy," she said with a sigh.

"Not if you love that person. Love is a many splendored thing," he smiled. "Love lifts us up where we belong. All you need is love."

Estelle chanced a look around the small Parisian café that he had chosen to meet in. It was more colorful than the one's they had frequented back in London, but somehow seeing him here… this felt correct. In a way, she'd always felt like he was out of place in London when compared to everyone else. The colors back then were muted and his personality shone like the sun in comparison. But here? Here she felt like he belonged. He still stood out, as only someone like him could, but he also was a fixture, a focal point in a painting. The eye was drawn to it, but it wasn't out of place. Love may lift one up where they belong, but she loved him enough to want him to be in a place where he already felt at home.

"Annalise will be looking for me soon," she replied with a sigh, gathering up her parasol and purse.

"Will I see you again?" he asked hopefully.

Estelle paused to take him in. "Would you want to? I thought you wanted to cut ties with all the… oh, what did you call them… 'fuddy duddies' of London society?" she asked with a raised brow.

"Darling, I could never call you that. You were always so much more than our peers," he replied, getting up to walk her back to the flat.

"I'd love to see you again," she smiled as they made their way through town, parasol shielding her from the sun. It felt just like old times, and she was not about to let him walk out of her life again. She chewed her lip in thought, choosing her words carefully. She felt like Christian had missed her, but she couldn't help but worry that she may be wrong. "Perhaps I could convince my companion to continue on without me on our holiday. I've found Paris to be a bit too lovely to leave."

"You'd stay?" he asked in amazement as they came to a stop outside her building. "But, how would you pay for your flat?"

She turned to him with a small smile, "I was hoping that perhaps I could stay with a friend?"

He flushed at the suggestion. If she were anywhere else, with anyone else, they'd remind her immediately that that wasn't proper. Estelle could even see it in his eyes that he was warring with himself on whether or not to say it now, but to do so would be to say he still cared about the rules he'd left behind in London.

"Are you sure you'd want to stay with a friend in Paris when your best friend is traveling on?" he asked tentatively.

"Of course. I'm sure I could help my friend with his writing," she winked.

He was speechless, something that she'd seen rarely. It made her heart ache. Surely her affections weren't one-sided. No, this was the right choice. She knew it in her heart.

"I'll pick you up tomorrow," he said softly, taking her gloved hand in his and placing a quick kiss across her knuckles.

"Good night, Christian," she replied with a slight blush as she entered the building, leaving him on the front step. Estelle picked up her skirts and made it up the stairs to covertly watch him from the window that overlooked the street. She stifled a chuckle as she watched him stand on the steps dumbstruck for a moment before breaking out in a smile. He turned to walk down the street, jumping and clicking his heels together mid-air happily before continuing on his way.

"How'd it go?" asked a voice from the next room over.

She walked in to find Annalise in her corset and changing into her dinner attire.

"It went well, but I have to talk to you about something," Estelle sighed as she sat on the edge of the bed.

Annalise had a small smile on her face as she pinned up her golden hair. "You want to stay."

"How did you-"

"You're my best friend. I know he's the reason you turned down everyone else, and I know he's the reason you would never be happy with anyone else," she replied, looking at Estelle in the mirror. She placed her hands in her lap as she turned to face her friend. "How am I going to cover for you?"

Estelle smiled. Annalise was a schemer. "Well, I figured I could send you the letters for you to send to my family. That way, they'll think I'm with you."

She nodded, "Alright. That's one problem taken care of. Now, how will you pay for the flat? It'll be expensive on top of anything else you might need."

Instinctively, her nose scrunched up as she prepared to break the news to her. "I'll stay with Christian."

"I cannot allow my best friend to stay in some hovel," she sighed.

"It won't be a hovel," Estelle replied, "If Christian is there, then it's home."

She chuckled and shook her head at Estelle. "The two of you are a match made in heaven, that's for sure."

"Does that mean you'll go along with it?"

"If this is what you truly want. Just… include a letter to me along with your reports to your parents so that I may keep track of you," she replied, coming over to take Estelle's hands in hers. "And, if he even dares to break your heart again… I will break him."

With a chuckle, Estelle patted her hand on top of her's. "I'll be fine. Thank you, Annalise. I couldn't ask for a better friend."

"That's true," she winked, getting up to finish getting dressed. "Now, get changed. We have a standing reservation for dinner and then we're going to the opera."

With a happy sigh, Estelle pushed up off the bed and went to her room to get dressed. She was determined to make the most of her last night with her friend, but she was also excited to see what tomorrow would bring. Part of her felt like a Bohemian, turning away from everything she knew and living unchaperoned with a man. She wasn't as innocent as she once was, thanks to Poppy, but few people knew that Estelle knew about those kinds of things. Poppy had taught her many things about men, and she wondered how Christian would react to them. Then again, considering his current company, he may not even be shocked.

The rest of the night was spent with Annalise on the town. When they came back to the flat and were going to go their separate ways, Annalise stopped her.

"Stay with me tonight? Like when we were girls," she smiled.

"Just let me get changed," Estelle replied, disappearing into her room.

She emerged a bit later in her nightgown with her hair flowing around her shoulders.

The two of them laid next to each other, staring up at the canopy of the bed.

"Are you nervous?" Annalise asked, looking at Estelle out of the corner of her eyes.

She let out a sigh at her question. "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't."

"About living with Christian?" she asked.

After a beat of thinking, Estelle answered. "It's not quite that. I trust Christian. I'm more nervous about living with just him to rely on. What if… what if our relationship doesn't grow? Then I'm stuck here."

"You wouldn't be stuck," she reassured, turning to face her friend. "You'd never be stuck. I'd rescue you if you ever needed it."

"I appreciate that," Estelle said with a small smile. "Now, we should sleep. You have a long day of traveling tomorrow."

Annalise yawned in agreement and turned the other way to sleep. However, Estelle stayed up a little bit longer, looking up at the canopy, worrying whether or not this was the right choice. However, in her heart she knew it was. After all, the life here with Christian may not be what she was used to in London, but all she needed was love, and she felt as though Christian could give that to her. With that thought, her worries were gone and sleep claimed her.

The morning was a blur of packing and saying goodbye to Annalise. It wasn't long before Christian showed up after she left.

"Good morning, darling," he beamed as he picked up her luggage and placed it on the carriage she'd rented. He offered Estelle his hand to help her into the buggy, crawling in after she'd settled herself into the seat.

"I must warn you," he started nervously.

"Christian, you're an artist. I'm not expecting the Taj Mahal. A house is only a house. What makes it a home are the people inside," she replied pointedly.

He blushed. "Right. Of course, darling."

The carriage pulled up outside his building and he picked up her things. Not wanting to watch him struggle, she helped him by carrying some of her lighter suitcases. She had told him that she wasn't expecting much, but that still didn't prepare her for the apartment with a massive hole in the ceiling. Vaguely, she remembered his friends telling her they fell into Christian's life on the walk to the Moulin the other day. When she saw those same faces popping through the hole in the ceiling now, she realized they had meant it quite literally.

"Christian! You didn't say you'd be bringing home a woman," Toulouse smiled.

"Hello, Toulouse," Christian said, blushing awkwardly. "You remember my friend, right?"

"Oh, yes. She is hard to forget."

Estelle cleared her throat as she set about unpacking her things into the room.

"Toulouse, if you don't mind, would you talk to the land lord about fixing the hole in your floor? Now that there's a lady here, I'd like to give her some privacy."

"Of course!" Toulouse replied before disappearing back up into his own apartment.

"Sorry about that," Christian said sheepishly.

"No need to apologize. Your friends are sweet," Estelle smiled. Then, she turned to spot the portrait on the wall. "Christian... is that...?"

Christian blushed. "Yes, well, I was missing you terribly and Toulouse painted that for me to cheer me up."

"It's beautiful," she murmured, reaching up to straighten it on the fireplace.

"You are," Christian replied before sitting at his desk to write on his typewriter.

Eventually, she pulled up a chair and sat next to him.

"What scene are you working on?" she asked curiously.

"The one we were discussing the other day in the café."

"Oh, the seduction scene! Well, how does he end up seducing her?"

"I…well… I'm still working that out. That's why we've been going to the Moulin Rouge so much outside of rehearsals, but it hasn't helped inspire me in any way."

Part of her had to be happy at that. She was sure that Satine would have been a great help with this, but since she wasn't, Estelle figured she could implement some of the things she'd learned from Poppy.

"Well… you've always had a way with words. Why not have him make suggestive comments?" she suggested, a small smile toying at her lips.

"Like what?" he asked, turning to her.

She bit her lip, debating on whether or not to push her luck. Gently leaning forward so that her lips were inches from his ear, she whispered, "Well, he could speak softly into her ear."

He stiffened before shivering slightly at her actions. With satisfaction, she watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed, "A-and, what things would he say?"

"Things like… sometimes at night I dream about what it would be like to have you underneath me as my hands slide up your chest," she murmured in his ear.

"I-is that so?" he stammered, blushing furiously.

Hesitantly, she placed a hand on his thigh. "He touches her thigh, slowly sliding it up as he tells her how much he wishes there weren't any fabric in the way."

His eyes nervously flicked to her's. This was a side to her that he'd never seen before, and quite frankly it scared him. It wasn't that he didn't like it, but rather that he wasn't used to it. She was so bold and confident. Her eyes looked like they would devour him on the spot, which made a flicker of a thought flash in the back of his head. Clearly someone would have had to teach her this in order for her to replicate it. Had someone else had her before he could? Yet, he couldn't talk since he hadn't been chaste either. There had been one drunken night that- He banished the thought away as he looked down, seeing himself start to tent in his pants and reluctantly he stayed her hand.

She took his chin in between her thumb and forefinger, turning his head towards her so she could search his eyes. "What is it?"

"He's supposed to be trying to seduce her," he said quietly, "Because he knows that she's used to being the one working for affections."

"He came from far away to see her for himself," she replied softly. "When his eyes fell on hers, it was love at first sight. He vowed he'd never let her go. He wants her."

His eyes bore into hers. "She wants him, but she doesn't think she has the right to love him after everything she has done."

"Everyone has the right to love," Estelle murmured, sliding closer to him. "He wants to undo her clothes and let them fall to the floor. He knows its a sight others have seen before, but it will be his first time, and that's all that matters to him. Especially since he didn't need to pay for it."

"She showed him willingly," he replied, cupping her face. "Because he saw her soul first."

"He wants to kiss every inch of exposed flesh and worship her," she added, "Nothing is too good for her in his eyes. He wants to use his hands and lips to memorize her skin, to show her how much he cares."

They had gotten so close in their word exchange. Her eyes were wide as they gazed up into his.

"What are some of the things he says?" Christian asked innocently.

"I know you're used to things being rough, but I want this to be loving. I want to kiss every inch of you, leaving little marks where only we'll know where they are, so that when you see them, you'll know you belong to me. I want to show you the stars that hide behind your eyes," she said intently.

Christian's eyes widened, feeling his pants unbearably tight. Estelle was just talking about the play, wasn't she?

"A-anything else?" he asked breathily.

"I want to make love to you until my name falls from your lips over and over again like a nun praying the rosary. Like it's reverent to you and sacred, because you are sacred to me and I'll worship you like the celestial presence on Earth that you are," she continued.

His heart was hammering in his chest. Her words were beautiful, but somehow he knew she wasn't talking about the play. She hadn't been since she sat down. Although, she was wrong about one thing. He was the penniless sitar player, and she was the woman who was out of his depths now, and he had done this to them. He wanted her so badly, his breath hitching in his throat as she opened her mouth to speak again. He knew he couldn't take another round of whatever she was going to say and instead he kissed her. It was a desperate kiss to shut her up, but she kept trying to talk, so he kept swallowing her words with his mouth until Estelle gave up. She slid herself across to sit in his lap, unable to straddle him like she wished due to the restrictions of her skirt. Christian let out a groan as she sat on his lap, reflexively wrapping his arms around her.

Panting for air, Estelle pulled back and rested her forehead against his.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that," she gasped as her breaths mingled with his.

"I should never have left you," he replied.

"No, this was the right decision for you," she said pointedly.

"But, I lost this. I could have had this so much sooner," he sighed."We both could have been happy in London. I could have belonged to you and been happy."

"At the cost of the freedom to be who you truly are, Christian. That is true happiness. I could never have allowed you to give up on that. I could never ask that of you. You're a dreamer, and I love that about you. I love that you challenge me to dream of a better life, of a better world. I love that you're trying to create that world with your art," she replied frantically.

His eyes snapped up to her's, blue like the sky. "You do?"

"I do, because I believe in it. I believe in all this," she replied, gesturing to the room around her. "Freedom, beauty, truth…" she trailed off to look at him, smoothing her thumb across his cheek as she softly added, "Love."

"The greatest of these is love," he replied with a small smile.

"I love you," she replied softly.

"I love you, too, Ellie," he grinned before kissing her softly. "More than anything."

Estelle sighed, leaning her head against his shoulder. "I have to ask, though. What is Satine to you?"

Christian looked down in shame. "In truth, she's just a friend."

Estelle chewed her lip, dreading the answer to her next question, "Have you slept with her?"

"Once. We were working on lines and we were both very drunk," he replied. "It... it didn't go well."

"How did it not go well?" she chuckled.

"Well, I kept calling her 'Ellie'," he admitted.

Estelle sat up straight, "Oh?"

"And what about you? How did you learn all of... that?" he asked.

Estelle looked down, "I may have befriended a lady of the night on Grub Street?"

Christian chuckled. "Why?"

"I thought that was the kind of woman you wanted. Especially since you ended up here," she replied like it was obvious.

"Ellie, you're the kind of woman I want. I was just too dumb in London and didn't know how to admit it when I had everything to offer, and now I have nothing to offer but the truth," he said emphatically.

"That's not true," Estelle said softly. "You have love to offer. All I need is love."

[siribear]

alice avoids concord even though it’s a safer route, now clear of raiders and the deathclaw. well, she doesn’t avoid concord so much as she avoids the carnage, the blood and gore she caused, the first human lives she ever took. she barely spares it a glance as she cuts through the field just outside the town.

skirting the edge still takes her through familiar territory, familiar roads and buildings and maybe even trees? though they’re blasted and ruined and broken apart like everything else - except her. maybe.

now she wishes he brought codsworth, if only to not listen to her inner stream of consciousness.

she travels by road once she puts concord behind her. though it’s still mostly traveling off-road with the cars near-piled on top of each other. people trying to escape, those that couldn’t make it to a vault - those that weren’t on the list. one of her neighbors had wanted to drive all the way to the coast. she wonders if one of the rusted frames belongs to them.

somewhere outside lexington, she runs into a giant mosquito. it flies toward her with legs longer than her torso, and shrugs off more bullets than it should be able to. when it bites, it sinks deep into her neck and feels worse than a needle slipping under her skin. the too-long legs release her, and just like that it makes to fly away. vision blurring, she fires into its torso, watches as it falters and the blood it took from her slosh in a too-big sac. with another shot, she breaks the sac and it bursts like a popped water balloon, blood splattering across the road.

alice drops to her knees and presses her palms against the pavement like she can stop the world from spinning. stop her world from spinning. she checks her pipboy and there it is, the little warning flashing for blood loss. she drinks from a can of water, legs crossed, on the side of the road.

her neck itches.

ignoring the skin already rising as her body reacts to the bite, she switches to the radio on her pipboy. diamond city radio had always been the one station she could pick up but now - now there sits another, just under it. a military frequency. she tunes in, curious. static crackles from the speakers. out of range, possibly.

she stands, walks further into the commonwealth, toward college square. near cambridge, the transmission clears.

this is scribe haylen of reconnaissance squad gladius to any in transmission range. the transmission hisses with static. -requesting support or evac from our position at cambridge police station. repeat, requesting - knight rhys! the message cuts off with an automated voice before repeating.

nate always said she had an issue with helping people. with not helping people. but it was why she became a lawyer, to make sure the little people didn’t get swept under the rug of the law. to make a difference.

she never got the chance, before.

-

even if she didn’t know where she was going, the echo of gunfire leads her directly to the police station. barricades surround the courtyard, towering above her head. a group of ferals charges the barricades, slipping through the walls and piling near the openings. alice fires at the one in the lead, dismembering its leg on impact. a bright flash of red turns the feral into a pile of ash. the others charge through, kicking up ash as they storm the courtyard.

she slips in behind them to a scene from a horror movie. blood and limbs cover the ground, scattered around a small group of survivors: a man in power armor and a pair huddled near the door. she spares a glace at the two holding their own, and moves in beside the man in power armor. they share a brief nod before continuing to defend the others.

by the end of it, they’re surrounded by a semicircle of gore. blood mixes with ash at their feet, dead bodies piled around them. but the ferals are dead, and none of them are too worse for wear. the man beside her turns to face her with a sigh.

‘we appreciate the support, civilian.’ he reminds her of nate’s old military officers, despite looking her age. disciplined, nate would say. ‘but what’s your business here?’

alice shrugs. ‘i just happened to be passing by when i heard the distress call.’ she holds up her pipboy. ‘thought i’d see if you still needed the help.’

‘and if we didn’t, you’d simply come for the loot?’

‘absolutely not. if it was just me and that horde of ferals, i’d have run.’ she looks from the man to the others at the door. ‘is it just you three here? i’m amazed you held out.’

his eyes narrow. ‘answer my question first. you don’t seem like a regular commonwealth scavenger. not with how you took down those ghouls.’

‘o-kay. my name is alice. i’m with the minutemen up in sanctuary. the... general, actually,’ she adds, a small afterthought.

the man sitting by the door barks a laugh. now that she looks at him, he’s not so much as sitting as he is simply trying not to move. the woman kneeling next to him sticks a stimpak into his side. ‘like hell i’m believing she’s a general, paladin.’

the paladin closes his eyes and sighs again, heavily. ‘i’ve heard of sanctuary. there wasn’t anything up there of use to us.’ he eyes her pipboy. ‘just an old vault, locked tight.’

‘don’t look at me. i’m not from the area - ’

‘these minutemen must be desperate - ’

‘knight rhys. enough. scribe haylen, tend to him inside, please.’ haylen does, draping one of rhys’s arms over her shoulders.

‘anyway,’ alice continues, smiling to put the paladin at ease. ‘what’s your name? who are you guys?’

‘paladin danse, brotherhood of steel. i... apologize for rhys’s behavior. it’s been a fight ever since we got to the commonwealth.’

‘it’s no problem, really.’ she’s met plenty of men like him in her time. ‘why the police station?’

‘given its former use and fortification, it only made sense to use this as our base. the radio tower was an... unexpected boon.’ he gives her a nod.

‘guess you didn’t get the same warning i did about the ferals in the area, huh?’

she gets what she assumes is his equivalent of a laugh in a short huff of breath and a half smile. ‘apparently. we’re supposed to be investigating a signal - distinct, old-world tech. i’ve been trying to get ahold of my superiors now that i’m a man down and low on supplies, to no success.’

‘you could just ask for help, you know.’ again, that suspicious look. ‘call it curiosity. and a genuine desire to help.’

he looks her over before nodding. ‘all right, then. take what supplies you need from the station. when you’re ready, we’ll head out.’ a pause. ‘and don’t think you can steal anything.’

‘you have my word, paladin danse.’

she follows him inside.

-

‘arcjet isn’t that far away.’ his voice comes muffled through his power armor helmet. ‘just up this road.’ she pretends she doesn’t know the way.

‘so,’ alice starts. ‘what does the brotherhood of steel do?’

danse keeps up his half-jog when he answers, ‘we salvage technology. repurpose it to understand it. keep it out of the wrong hands. we protect the wasteland, much like you and your minutemen strive to do.’

‘sounds admirable,’ she pants, having to jog to keep up with him. ‘seems like a difficult job for just the three of you.’

he slows to a walk, allowing her to catch her breath. ‘once we retrieve the deep range transmitter from arcjet systems, i can contact the rest of the brotherhood.’

she nods, considering. ‘and that signal you mentioned?’

‘we narrowed it down to the area around cambridge, but haven’t been able to pinpoint its exact location.’ his grumble comes out lower through the helmet speakers. ‘i suspect it has something to do with the institute.’

‘the... institute?’

‘scientists that abuse the very power we try to protect against. the same power that brought about the great war.’

a cold chill runs up her spine. ‘sounds like bad news.’

‘indeed.’

-

arcjet systems, when they reach it, is mostly empty. she checks desks and bookcases to find them already looted. danse ushers her ahead. in the next room, bodies of broken protections, warped screws, and wires cover the floor.

‘someone took care of security for us,’ she says.

‘i don’t like it. no spent ammo casings, no blood...’

she hums. ‘laser fire?’

‘the institute and their synths,’ he confirms. she can already imagine the frown set behind that helmet.

‘what’s a synth?’ she asks as they slowly proceed down the next hallway.

‘synthetic human,’ he explains with infinite patience. ‘the institute’s favorite abuse of power. some of them near indistinguishable from another human. others...’ he braces himself against the doorway leading to another room. he gestures with his laser rifle, and she peeks into the room.

robots. plastic skeletons, all exposed wire and unfinished plastic casing, wide, yellow, unblinking eyes scanning the area. sleek, white guns in hand. the ones that took out arcjet’s security.

‘on three,’ he whispers, and begins to count down.

three, he bullrushes into the room, drawing laser fire toward him as he strafes the wall. alice fires at the synths on the upper levels, picking them off each time they poke their heads out of cover. danse finishes off those on the ground floor. the area smells like burnt plastic, after.

‘the transmitter is in the lowest level,’ he says while she inspects the body of one. ‘good work back there.’

‘you’re an excellent bullet sponge,’ she says with a grin.

they encounter more synths as they travel further into the building. the robotic voice disturbs her more than the yellow eyes. even general atomics equipped their robots with natural sounding voices, but these - the institute didn’t even try. their voices barely inflect, low and even and creepily robotic, as they taunt her and danse.

when they reach the core reactor, she can hear the awe in danse’s voice. ‘look at this place.’ he leads her down a metal catwalk and stairway. ‘scribes would have a field day in here.’

she has to agree. the catwalk spirals them around a large rocket thruster, to the bottom floor. on the other side of a window is another room with a set of terminals. alice looks up from the testing floor to the top of the room, where they’re supposed to be.

‘there has to be a way to power the elevator. check out that room. i’ll keep an eye out for any more synth patrols.’

unfortunately, the terminals lack power. alice puts her hands on her hips and sighs. she looks around. behind her, an open doorway to another room. inside, she finds another terminal, hardwired to a different power source. she hacks it easily, and finds the option to reroute power to the testing terminal.

when she returns to the other room, she watches danse, surrounded by synths swarming in from the other elevator. she yells his name, but he can’t hear her over the firefight. there’s way too many out there, at least twenty and counting. the only thing saving danse is the power armor.

she looks to the room again, to danse, keeping the synths out of the hallway leading to her, and the - the thruster. ‘hang on, paladin,’ she says, mostly to herself. she accesses the terminal in front of her and... there. initiate test fire. she hits the keys harder than she needs to and listens to the countdown as even more synths enter the room.

come on.

five long seconds later, the engine roars to life and what was once an orange flame flashes white, burning out the entire room as flames lick up the walls. she blinks to clear her vision, then looks back at the test room to silence. no synths, all ash, and - and paladin danse, kneeling near the door, unmoving.

alice runs.

‘holy shit. holy shit, paladin danse, are you all right?’

it takes him a long, agonizing moment of her thinking she’s cooked him in his power armor before he lets out a sharp exhale. ‘i’m... fine. my power armor saved me from the heat.’

‘i’m so sorry - ’

‘don’t be. it was quick thinking, and we’re both alive. let’s - ’ he rises to his feet. ‘let’s go.’

she follows him wordlessly to the now powered elevator, sweat prickling the back of her neck from the residual heat. in the top-most room, they find the transmitter and another elevator to the surface.

danse leads her back to the police station in silence.

[tysonrunningfox]

Ripped: Part 19

Remember how much has happened in this AU?  So much has happened.  Things just keep happening.  

Ao3

Eretson works like someone who knows the goalposts will be shifted by the time that he gets there, but he sees it as a challenge, rather than a guarantee of failure. Maybe his ceaseless, determined flipping through pages and pictures and notes in an untidy, almost childish scrawl would be reassuring if Astrid weren’t still half cuffed to an office chair.

She knows her rights. She hasn’t been arrested officially, just taken in for questioning under a strong and understandable suspicion, and she could demand that he uncuff her or actually arrest her, but then she’d have to decide what to do next.

Her eyes flick to the evidence bag in the middle of Eretson’s cluttered desk, a halo of medical records strewn around it, all of them read twice. The bullet looks harmless now, mushroomed and useless, a relic crusted streaked with long dried blood and scratched by the tools that removed it from the site of its discovery.

Stable.

When they left the hospital, Snotlout was stable, and Hiccup was anything but. Stable still isn’t an answer, it’s not the black and white yes or no that he wanted. She didn’t know what to do but tell him the truth, tethered to the chair, back cramping from twisting to keep her hand on his shoulder as he stared sheathed daggers at the wall.

When her uncle died, it wasn’t sudden. It was months and months of doctors and fighting and planning for the impossible, and she remembers feeling like something was wrong with her when relief hit quicker than grief did. Hiccup took no time at all to shift into the stunned limbo that precedes bad news, like it was a practiced position, a place he was comfortable living until he remembered its inherent timeline.

If she complained about the cuffs now, she could get back to the hospital and be there, if nothing else. Except she doesn’t know if Hiccup is still there or if there’s even a reason to still be there, since her phone is back on the kitchen counter at her apartment. The apartment she was so stubborn to leave until she had to, only to be discovered by Eretson, her sweatshirt a finger in a dam breach that was letting boats through.

If he uncuffed her, she’d have to go back there and face the consequences of clinging to her sunk cost.

Consequences exist even when you don’t face them, of course, but she’d like to think the three in the morning buffer against them exists for more than just a private tour that never should have led to all of this.

“Have you found anything?” She asks when the clock on the wall strikes three thirty, her voice coming out tired even though she doesn’t think she could sleep when she can’t blink without seeing Hiccup’s panicked face or the wall outside her building’s courtyard splattered with blood.

“Huh?” Eretson looks up with bleary eyes, startled like he forgot she was there.

“Have you found anything?” She can’t blame him for bringing her here, given the circumstances, but the brutal silence is absolutely his doing. “Any leads? Did the doctors give you anything?”

He looks at her for a long, exhausted moment, waffling over treating her as a suspect or something else.

“You know, I’d be a pretty shitty murderer if I paused my grand escape to try and stop the bleeding.” It’s the last thing she should say and the only thing she can. Her voice sounds metallic like it did in a hospital hallway, telling Hiccup that for a second, ‘Snotlout Jorgenson’ was a name that would be whispered late at night on the corner by someone in a vintage Tom Brady jersey to set the scene.

“It’s a nine millimeter,” Eretson picks up the evidence bag and stares at the bullet, “police standard issue, but that doesn’t mean anything because anyone could buy a box of the same at any Walmart in this bloody city.”

“So it doesn’t mean anything?” She sighs, slumping down in the uncomfortable chair and trying and failing to find a new part of her butt to sit on. “We spent two hours at the hospital waiting for them to dig it out of his shoulder and it doesn’t mean anything?”

“The doctor said the angle of the first shot, the one with the exit wound, indicated he was shot by someone taller than him.” Eretson looks levelly at her for a second and she waits for him to present his case again, linking the truth into a tangled web of a cage around her, but then he shrugs. “So it could have been anybody.”

Astrid snorts, too exhausted to stop herself, and Eretson relaxes ever so slightly, leaning forward in his chair to take his suit jacket off and pushing up his sleeves.

“I’ve spent the last twenty four hours sifting through every connection you have to this case,” he folds his hands on the desk and sighs. She doesn’t doubt it, from the circles under his eyes and the fact he’s only broken concentration to refill his coffee mug. “You’re halfway through your Masters in criminology at Berk University, I could use a second set of eyes.”

“I’m a suspect,” she says automatically, looking between the cuff on her wrist and the pile of papers on the desk that represent possibly the only way she could actually help Hiccup right now.

“My top suspect, in fact, until last night,” he stands up and stretches his arms over his head, “coffee?”

“What changed? I’m still connected to the other three m—events.” She barely stops herself from calling it a murder, but the damage is done anyway, and it feels like Hiccup must have heard her from across town, giving him the closure he wanted with the heaviest consequences attached.

“Like you said, you’d be a pretty shit murderer if you stopped to save your victim’s life.” He picks up his coffee mug and hints at another almost smile, “plus, anyone who disembowels indiscriminately in alleyways wouldn’t stop to help someone as annoying as Jorgenson. Do you not drink coffee?”

“Yes, I mean, I do,” she nods, shocked but grateful, and on the way to the door he pauses, flicking a finger against the chain on her handcuffs. The cuff around the arm of the chair falls open, like it wasn’t ever fully clicked into place and her eyes widen. “You were testing me.”

“Cream or sugar?”

“If I’d done it, I would have tried to get away,” she takes the key that he hands her and unlocks the cuff on her wrist, rubbing the sore line from where she stretched against it in the hospital.

“Black then.” He leaves the office and she scoots her chair forward, starting her sort at the outside of his piles and working in.

The coffee is burned, but it’s enough to keep her awake as she updates herself on the parts of the case she isn’t familiar with. There are witness accounts, most of them Grimborn enthusiasts from Hiccup’s doomed tour, drawing parallels that half make sense. There are notes on knives and how they cut and doodles of how victims were dragged to where they were found. There’s screenshots of the footage of her and Hiccup and a Google Maps estimate of how long it takes to walk between locations on various paths.

It’s the most complete file Astrid has ever encountered, the criminology story problem that doesn’t exist in which a case begs for a one variable solution.

“It’s a set up.” It’s seven thirty in the morning when she finally gets there, startled enough out of her study by the first few diligent officers settling at their desks to look up. “It’s too thorough.”

“Maybe I’m just good at my job, Miss Hofferson,” Eretson’s eyes don’t stray from his most recent print out, but the straight-faced tough-guy routine doesn’t work on her exhaustion frayed nerves.

“The witness accounts all agree, there’s not one Grimborn-ologist in here claiming a double event with a murder across the city or trying to call out a politician.”

“To be fair, one thought it was aliens,” he puts down what he’s reading.

“There’s always someone who says aliens,” she rolls her eyes, sliding that particular account towards him, “that was the body found behind the frozen yogurt shop. It probably has a rooftop refrigerator unit, the spaceship sound they claimed they heard could be someone walking on sheet metal.”

“Both you and Hiccup were there,” Eretson narrows his eyes and slowly slides a stack of papers towards her, “can you make any sense of this?”

It’s a sheet detailing health insurance payouts related to Snotlout’s benefits. Yearly physicals, the occasional mental health visit relating to occupational concerns, a couple of internal medicine visits pertaining to something gastro-intestinal. All in all typical, except for the prosthetics fittings.

Every visit is listed in chronological order and it appears that Eretson has some sort of provisional access to the system, because the patient in each line is only identified as ‘Male: 25’.

“Yeah,” she sets the stack down and waits for Eretson to reveal what he knows, Hiccup’s casual kindness to someone now fossilized in Berkian history on the front of her mind.

“I didn’t know I was risking a workplace sensitivity lecture every time I said Jorgenson didn’t have a leg to stand on,” Eretson jokes, still testing, still refusing to commit to anything in case he’s wrong and Astrid sees for a moment what she’s not allowed to see.

She sees that the well-documented case is still open and unsolved because Eretson refuses to ask for clarification, let alone help.

“It’s not him,” she sets the stack down, “it’s Hiccup. He has a prosthetic leg, he’s obviously on Snotlout’s insurance.”

“Do you know the second victim?” Eretson’s trust wavers briefly as he shoves a picture in front of Astrid.   Dave, who Hiccup introduced her to when one murder seemed impossible, in an army uniform, younger and better groomed.

She’s said too much to Eretson already, but she’s also learned more than she ever trying to stay out of it, like that was ever possible.

“Hiccup introduced us once,” she makes her move, hoping it’s not a mistake, “he knew him from volunteering at Gobber’s shelter. At some point he gave Dave an old prosthetic that he wasn’t using.”

“He didn’t mention that.” He tucks the picture of Dave back into his folder, “neither did you when I interviewed you at the crime scene.”

“Well, it would have made him look pretty guilty.” She shrugs, “especially after he stumbled upon two bodies in a row with word of mouth as his only alibi.”

“It would have, wouldn’t it?” Eretson looks at the clock and rubs his red eyes before standing. “You’ve given me lots to think about. Can I give you a ride home?”

“Home?” She thinks of the stain on the pavement by the courtyard wall and shakes her head, “I can stay here and help more, at least until we hear back from the hospital.”

“Grisly will be in soon, I think it’s in the best interest of my job if he doesn’t know that I let my top suspect see the case file.” He looks sympathetic anyway, more human for the night spent together.

“Right,” she nods, “makes sense.”

“Probably best if we leave through the back,” he double checks the hallway before waving her forward and herding her a little too fast to a door that opens into an alley that makes her head spin. An alley that looks like tours with Hiccup and blood and old pictures that don’t capture how it feels to see someone splayed out and taken apart.

Eretson doesn’t say anything when she gets in the front seat of his unmarked car and her eyes burn with the morning sun even through the window. Hours of reading without blinking enough in a vain attempt at not seeing what’s etched on the inside of her eyelids left them dry and itchy, and they seem to dry out more as the car approaches her building.

Her building that’s felt more like a bivouac than a home, exposed and impermanent in blunt ways that she pushed back at out of habit more than decision.

When the car stops and she looks up at the sound-deadened window of Elizabeth Smith’s apartment, her hand freezes on the handle.

“Miss Hofferson?” Eretson is all manners again and it’s so normal that it throws everything into sharp relief.

Ten feet away, she saw Snotlout almost die the night before. She’s used to handcuffs and polite police voices and the wrong end of murder accusations and suddenly the level head she prides herself on feels like a lead helmet, holding her down and drowning her in this chaos. If she gets out of the car right now like everything is normal and walks up into her apartment like it’s home, it would be inhaling brackish ooze and accepting her fate.

“Can you drive me to Ruffnut’s?” She re-buckles her seatbelt and starts giving him directions before he can ask about her change of heart.

She hasn’t showed up at someone’s house without texting first since elementary school, but she doesn’t hesitate to knock, pivoting again on a fallback point. Ruffnut was the first person she called when all of this started and maybe if she’d listened then, things would be different now.

But she wouldn’t have gotten to know Hiccup, and she feels awful for thinking it so soon after hearing those echoed gunshots and seeing Snotlout under the streetlight.

“Astrid?” Ruffnut opens the door in her pajamas, frowning slightly, “did you text?”

“No,” her voice shakes, just barely, but it’s enough for her friend to notice, “Eretson just dropped me off—”

“Is he still here?” She asks, too interested, and Astrid scowls, shouldering past her into her place.

“Is Tuff here?”

“What’s wrong?” Ruff shuts the door and follows her as she knocks on Tuffnut’s bedroom door.

“I’m mad at you, I’m here to see Tuff.”

“You’re mad at me?”

“Yes,” Astrid smacks Tuffnut’s door a couple more times until she hears signs of life inside, “Snotlout is actually a pretty good guy, I think. Or close to it. And you couldn’t take a murder investigation seriously enough to keep you from hitting on Eretson in front of him, let alone a relationship.”

“Giving me whiplash,” Ruffnut is genuinely concerned as she leans on the wall, “are you ok? What’s going on?”

“I thought I heard Astrid’s distinctively brutal knock at my door,” Tuffnut opens the door and places his hands on her shoulders before inhaling deeply. “You look like shit, what happened?”

“You don’t know.” She sighs, the weight of telling the story almost as heavy as the idea of living in it. She gains a new appreciation for the fact that Hiccup tells Viggo Grimborn’s story nightly, because the last few weeks must have felt like penance for something he didn’t do. Something horrible he’s been tied to for no reason.

“I don’t know anything,” Tuffnut grabs her arm and steers her towards their couch before sitting next to her, “and Ruffnut knows even less.”

“Not true, I know I was hanging out with Hiccup yesterday and he got some call and freaked out mumbling something about the hospital, but I definitely didn’t grab his ass that hard so—”

“This is exactly what I’m talking about!” Astrid snaps, dry eyes suddenly wet as Tuffnut slings his arm over her shoulders.

“I was just kidding with him, Astrid, I know you like him, I wouldn’t—”

“You can’t take anything seriously, it’s all about how you can shock someone or—Snotlout was over at my place last night, I think he was worried I was scared or something,” her voice dips and she stares at her lap, “and I guess I should have been, because he got shot right outside.”

“Is he ok?” Ruffnut blanches and Astrid feels like she’s letting Hiccup down all over again when she shrugs.

“He wasn’t yesterday.”

Ruffnut starts texting, all traces of humor gone from her expression as Tuff gets the rest of the story, pausing Astrid at the crime scene to suggest that she take a shower. He listens through the bathroom doorway as she scrubs under her fingernails, trying to be as vague as possible about what happened with Eretson. Tuffnut would say things he shouldn’t, even if it does seem like Eretson is coming around.

To what, she’s not sure, but she can’t think about that anymore today, not without news.

Astrid’s just changing into the band tee-shirt Tuffnut insisted she borrow, as she’d earned it by telling Ruffnut off, when Ruff bursts into the room, phone outstretched.

“It’s Hiccup.”

“Hello?” Astrid mouths ‘thanks’ as Ruffnut sits on her brother’s bed, curled up and holding her knees.

“Hi, Astrid,” Hiccup sounds impossibly more tired than she feels and it makes her chest ache, worried and off center. “How’s it going?”

“That depends,” she sits down next to Ruffnut, “how’s it going over there?”

“He’s out of surgery, in the ICU, we’re just waiting for him to wake up now.”

“That’s great,” she nods, accepting Ruffnut’s head leaning on her shoulder, too relieved to stay mad.

“I tried to call you but—”

“Yeah, I don’t have my phone.”

“I thought you might have said that, but um, last night was…kind of a blur,” he leaves room for a laugh that doesn’t come, “did Eretson take it?”

“No, nothing like that.” It’s a new euphemism for ‘legally, it’s not any worse,’ and she hates coming up with those. “I can come down there and wait with you.”

“They’re only letting one visitor in the room right now, but I’ll keep you posted.” He sighs, “you sound tired.”

“So do you.” That gets a breathy, exhausted laugh she feels in her chest and Hiccup says something about a doctor heading his way before hanging up. “He said he’d keep us in the loop.”

“He told me Snotlout hasn’t woken up yet.” Ruffnut is unusually somber and Astrid nods. “Was he—I mean, did I piss him off?”

“You pissed me off,” she sighs, “did you know he got suspended because he wouldn’t speak up as a witness and complicate the case?”

“That’s stupid,” Ruff wipes her face but her guilty expression doesn’t budge, “he should have just lied.”

“Yeah, but he didn’t.”

Astrid doesn’t expect to be able to sleep, but the long night catches up to her almost as soon as she hits the twins’ couch. She sleeps past hospital visiting hours but is glad to wake up to a text that Snotlout woke up alright and the doctors think that the next day they should be able to move him to a more private room. She gets the feeling Hiccup isn’t going home, but doesn’t know what to say about it, especially from someone else’s phone. After all their dates but one became public domain on account of murder, it seems unnecessarily rude for this urge to comfort him to be between anyone but them.

So when he calls Ruffnut again the next morning, almost sheepishly asking if someone could bring him a phone charger and a toothbrush, Astrid gets a ride from Tuffnut. There’s a strange blast of déjà vu entering the hospital without handcuffs and seeing Hiccup in a corner chair in the waiting room, pale but livelier than he was sitting next to her and shaking two nights ago.

“Hey,” he stands up and the extra little hop on his right leg makes her think back to Eretson’s office and all the things she can’t say right now. “I walked down so that you wouldn’t have to sign in. Thanks, Sharon!” He waves at a nurse behind a nearby station and points with his shoulder down the hallway.

“Is she taking a shift?” The nurse raises a maternal eyebrow and Hiccup shakes his head.

“Just bringing me supplies, I told you I’m here for the long haul.”

“I don’t think he’d mind a break from you!” Nurse Sharon teases and Hiccup waves her off.

“How’s he doing?” Astrid asks, reaching for Hiccup’s hand and tugging lightly so that he’ll look at her.

He’s exhausted, face waxy and jawline dusted with more stubble than she’s seen him with. It makes him look younger instead of older, like he’s dealing with too much to remember to shave. His eyes are determined though, even if his expression is cautious, taut with hope he doesn’t want to have.

“He’s awake,” he shrugs, squeezing her fingers and pausing outside a door, “the stitches are holding, and his vitals look good. Mostly the doctors are worried about mental changes, since his heart stopped in the ambulance and he’d lost a lot of blood so they don’t know how long his brain went without oxygen. Memory loss or personality change or…”

“Hey,” she tilts his chin up with the toothbrush in the hand not holding his, “let’s just go in, ok?”

“Sure,” he nods, self-convincing, before opening the door.

Snotlout is propped halfway seated in the hospital bed, tubes from his arms connected to a beeping machine at his side. She remembers being twenty in her uncle’s hospital room, watching similar machines stop beeping, but when she glances back at Snotlout, the comparison is shattered. His shoulders are bandaged, and his face is bleary, but he’s flipping her off with a disconcertingly gloating grin.

“Hey Astrid, Pats are winning.”

Personality change seems an unlikely symptom.

“Put your arm down,” Hiccup snaps, rushing to Snotlout’s bedside and ignoring when the middle finger is turned on him, “someone just tried to shoot it off.”

“It’s not football season,” Astrid tries not to feel awkward about how comfortable it feels to sit on the small couch next to the bed and look up at the TV. The relief is like a drug, an internal release as strong as whatever’s obviously dripping into Snotlout’s arm through one of those tubes. “Is this a rerun? You’re watching a rerun football game, really?”

“My boys are bringing it home, again,” he laughs then glares at Hiccup, “stop reading the papers, the doctors read the papers.”

“This says your cholesterol is up from your last check up, I’m going to ask a nurse about it.”

“Dude, I just got shot.”

“With a butter bullet?” Hiccup snorts, shaking his head and hanging the chart reluctantly back on the foot of Snotlout’s bed.

“No, with an actual bullet from a fucking gun, so could you please sit down next to your hot girlfriend and shut up for a second?” He winks at Astrid with both eyes as he compliments her and she remembers the reason for her visit.

“I brought the charger,” she takes it out of her pocket, but Hiccup isn’t paying attention as he’s staring Snotlout down with his best stern nurse impression.

“The doctors said mental changes could be anger issues—”

“Fuck off.”

“I don’t think he’s having any issue being angry,” she tries to joke, but it falls flat with Hiccup’s falling expression.

“Or memory loss, and you don’t remember who shot you.”

“Yeah, I was pretty busy being shot, I didn’t have a chance to introduce myself.” Snotlout’s heart monitor beeps slightly faster and Hiccup panics, rushing over to pet his head.

“You have to keep your blood pressure down—”

“Hiccup,” Astrid stands up and grabs his shoulder, attempting to pull him back towards the couch with her, but he shrugs her off.

“The stitches in your artery aren’t healed and it could burst—”

“Well it’ll burst all over your face because you won’t get out of mine!” He snaps, and the door cracks open enough for a nurse to peek her head in.

“Everything ok?”

“I don’t know, Hiccup, is everything ok?” Snotlout looks pointedly at the couch. Or he tries to and his bleary eyes drift sideways towards the floor.

“We’re fine,” Hiccup sits down, hands folded neatly on his lap, and Astrid sits next to him with a nod.

“Let me know if you need anything,” the nurse gives Hiccup a warning look as she shuts the door and Astrid lets her hand rest on his knee to keep him from jumping back up the second she’s gone.

“Just remember, the blood pressure,” Hiccup mumbles and Snotlout rolls his eyes.

“I know, which is why I’m relaxing,” he points at the TV, “by watching the Pats win, like they always do.”

“It sounds more like you’re gloating to me,” Astrid snorts and Hiccup relaxes in a disjointed, uneven way, like clothes falling halfway off a hanger.

“Maybe I can relax a tiny bit about the personality change.”

Snotlout’s hand curls into a triumphant fist on his lap when a play he had to be expecting goes right and Astrid shakes her head, relaxing back into the couch and dragging Hiccup with her. He’s more than stiff, he’s pulled taut, like invisible wires are attached to every point of him and yanking.

“Have you left since you got here?” She recognizes his jacket from the other night and maybe the shirt underneath it.

“Nah,” he shrugs with none of his usual bounce and Astrid wants to cut the cables holding him so rigid.

“Or slept?”

“Sleep?” He snorts, “who needs sleep?” There’s a frantic tinge to the edge of his smile, but it feels like the first time he’s actually looked at her today when he drops the joke, “just kidding, I got a couple of hours this morning when they moved him to the room with the couch. How about you?”

“More than that,” she shrugs, “not lots. Ruff’s couch isn’t the best.”

“Ruff’s couch?” He turns his shoulders to look at her more fully.

“I haven’t been back to my place either,” she shrugs, and even saying it sounds wrong. It’s Elizabeth Smith’s place and it has been for a hundred years.

“Astrid,” Snotlout says her name like he’s about to ask for too much and she narrows her eyes.

“Yeah?”

“Can you scratch my feet?”

“I’ve got it,” Hiccup jumps up, hopping again on his right foot and stumbling to the foot of the bed.

“No,” Snotlout shakes his head, “I want Astrid to do it.”

“Which foot itches?”

“It’s weird if you do it, dude,” Snotlout squirms, “it’s kind of a sex thing.”

“Then I’m definitely not doing it,” Astrid opens her mouth to add something addressing the fact that she didn’t try and save his life just so that he could be disgusting about it, but Hiccup speaks up first.

“I would say that I’ll call my mom right now, except you know you’re not supposed to raise your blood pressure!”

“Dude,” Snotlout adjusts his seat, eyes clearer than they have been since Astrid arrived, the shock of what Hiccup just said blazing through the painkillers in his system, “I was just teasing Astrid because it’s funny when she gets all red and huffy. You’ve got to calm down.”

“I’m calm,” Hiccup examines his shaking hands and laughs, “ok, maybe I’m not, but—”

“Come here,” Astrid doesn’t mean it like an order, but Hiccup takes it like one, deflating exhausted with the weight of momentary decision off his shoulders. When he sits down next to her, she tries to rub the back of his neck, but it’s so tense she makes about as much headway as she would on the wooden arm of the couch.

“Don’t do that,” he groans, head in his hands, elbows on his knees. “That feels too good, it’ll put me to sleep.”

“Maybe you should sleep,” she rubs a circle into his shoulder with her thumb and ignores the selfish, gratified twist in her stomach when he groans again. She’s felt helpless since the other day in Eretson’s office when the truth twisted circumstance and shoved her in the middle, but this is something she can fix. She can get Hiccup to sleep, she can take some of the stress literally off of his shoulders.

“What if the doctors—”

“I’ll talk to the doctors,” she insists, pushing on his far shoulder and guiding his head into her lap when his resistance runs out. It takes him a minute to accept the position and curl his legs up on the couch, shifting to get comfortable. She brushes his hair off of his forehead and he sighs, resting his hand on her knee and stroking Tuffnut’s borrowed jeans with a slow thumb. “Go to sleep.”

His head feels heavier as he drifts off, mumbling some kind of approval when she starts combing her fingers through his hair. It’s soft and a little overgrown, edges curling slightly above the collar of the jacket she should have suggested he take off before laying down. Boyish where his stubble isn’t, the contrast even more striking on his slack sleeping face.

“You’re like the Hiccup whisperer,” Snotlout says after a few minutes of silence, shifting in bed and wincing more than she’s seen.

“Are you ok?”

“No, I just got fucking shot,” he snorts, “it hurts even through the fun stuff they gave me, but if I so much as flinch, Hiccup has a fit about it.”

“He’s worried about you,” she traces the dark line of his eyebrow and it relaxes at the touch. Snotlout is watching his face, some drug-addled version of fond, and as irritating as the concept of the friend-group was the other night, she feels it now. “I was pretty worried about you too.”

It says something about her tenacity that it took this much for her to stop seeing being alone as a victory, but everyone has their limit.

“His mom’s really hot,” Snotlout sighs, relaxing back into his pillows.

“Huh?”

“Hiccup’s mom? Milf. It pisses him off when I point it out, kind of an inside joke.” He looks back at Hiccup, frowning like he just said something normal for this situation. “When I was moving in, she was trying to convince Hiccup to move back with her. It was like right after his dad died and the room I was moving into was this sad shrine he wouldn’t touch.”

“Oh, that’s…I’m sorry.”

“Our dads hated each other,” his eyes flick bitterly at the door, “which, considering who’s here right now and who’s not, I think we know who is actually a piece of shit. I was just trying to get out of the town I grew up in, because I knew I wanted to be a cop and if I did it there, I’d just be working for my dad and at my uncle’s funeral someone was asking Hiccup about getting a roommate.”

“You guys are so close, I assumed you had to have grown up together.”

“Like I saw him at Christmas and stuff, sometimes, he’s like my second cousin once across or some shit, but he was always doing something nerdy so we didn’t really talk.” He looks at her like he’s asking her to swear on something vital to him and she looks back at Hiccup’s head in her lap, his long eyelashes twitching in his sleep. “I just moved in because I needed a place I could afford, but I couldn’t take all his moping. He used to stare at the front door like he was waiting for his dad to come through it or something, depressing shit. If I didn’t do something, I was going to lose my mind.”

“So you made friends.”

“I tried, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but he’s a weirdo.” He smiles affectionately, “I tried taking him to clubs, but he doesn’t even have one left foot, so dancing is a lost cause, just a warning. I made him a tinder account and got him a date with some girl who wanted to go on a geeky historical tour and you know how that ended up.”

“He started doing Grimborn tours.” As complicated as this whole mess is, she still can’t make herself regret it.

“And he started going to class again and generally acting human. Well, his weirdo version of human anyway.” Snotlout sighs, “I’m really glad I didn’t bang his mom, then this really would have been like his dad getting shot all over again.”

“I don’t think you saved him any grief, Snot.”

“Maybe I’ve still got a shot then,” he grins, raising an eyebrow, and Astrid sighs.

“You know when you love someone, and they do or say something so incomprehensibly stupid that you judge yourself for a second? Like there’s that second you think to yourself: ‘I had to choose that one’?”

“I live in that feeling,” Snotlout shakes his head at Hiccup. “Why?”

“Me too,” she looks at Snotlout and admits defeat, “but I think it’s about to get a lot worse with the whole friend-group to consider.”

[bigasswritingmagnet]

Caught, Cleansed, Cauterized

Fandom: Dragon Age Pairing: none (gasp! I know) Word Count: 2607 Summary:  The Nightmare forces Hawke to live her worst moments over and over again. It shows her how useless she is, how she failed everyone around her, how nothing she did ever mattered.

AO3 link | I do commissions!

(Special thanks to @thehumantrampoline​ for beta-ing)

---

Hawke cradled her mother in her arms. The world was too sharp and too bright, every detail burning into her mind. The cold from the foundry floor leaching into her skin where bare knees met stone. The stench of rot and fresh blood searing the back of her throat. Her mother's eyes, the wrong color, clouded and grey, holding no love for her eldest.

"Where were you?" she rasped, the necklace of stitches tugging with every breath. "Why didn't you come for me?"

"I did ," Hawke wept, as she did every time. "I did, I tried--"

"I waited," Leandra said, as if Hawke hadn't spoken. "I waited for you to find me."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm--"

Leandra's face went slack and her body still. The foundry faded, and Hawke was alone in darkness once again. She pressed her forehead to her knees and hugged herself tightly, trying to find some solace in what she knew would be the briefest of respites.

Every time she thought she had gone numb, every time she thought she had learned to resist the Nightmare's torments, it found whatever place in her mind she was hiding, and dragged her out again.

"Sister, get up!" Carver shouted. "What are you doing? We have to fight!"

Hawke lurched to her feet in time to send a charging darkspawn flying backwards. If she could get to Bethany, she could save her. But she couldn't get to Bethany. Every step she took, another dozen darkspawn would appear in front of her, and no matter how hard she struck, no matter how wide she cast her spells, it was never enough.

The ground shook beneath her feet. Great, twisting horns rose from behind the crest of the hill, and Hawke despaired. Her staff slipped from her fingers, but the darkspawn didn't cut her down. That was not their purpose here.

The ogre wrapped one huge hand around Bethany's waist and wrenched her from the ground. Once, twice it slammed her against the ground. Crack of bone. Soft gasp of her sister's last breath. A corpse tumbling to the ground, limbs splayed like a forgotten doll's.  

It never mattered what she did. She could never make it in time. She tried, every time, but nothing she did mattered. There was no way for her to stop the ogre.

Hawke could never have stopped the ogre.

Nothing she did mattered.

The explosion nearly knocked her off her feet, the blaze of light making her throw up a hand to shield her eyes. Anders stood on the steps, his face almost skeletal in the harsh light of the burning city.  

"You could have stopped me," he said, simply, sadly, exhaustion in every line of his frame. "If you'd payed attention, you could have talked me down from this. Why don't you ever listen?"  

"I could have stopped you," Hawke repeated. "But nothing I did mattered. Nothing I ever did mattered."

Anders looked briefly puzzled.

"You were selfish," he pressed, "too busy with your own problems to really help us. You never cared about this city."

But Hawke wasn't listening.

"Nothing I did ever mattered,” she whispered, more thoughtful than agonized. “but I could have stopped you."

Hawke was in the foundry again, holding her mother. There had been so much going on, so many things to fret and worry over, qunari and templars and what was one more murderer in a city that chewed itself up like a mad rat even on a good day? Maybe if she’d pressed Gaspard harder, maybe if she’d looked into it more, maybe if she’d paid more attention to Anders, maybe, maybe, maybe.

“Where were you?” her mother demanded, but Hawke didn’t hear her. She’d gone through all of this over and over and over again, and no matter what she did, the outcome never changed. And sure, the Nightmare was making sure she couldn’t but...

"But I didn't try to stop you," Hawke said, dropping her startled mother to the ground and standing. "If I had tried, would I have succeeded? Nothing I ever did mattered; does that include the things I didn't try to do?"

Hawke stared down at the lyrium idol in her hand, felt its sibilant hum in her bones.

"If I nothing I did mattered, that means I would have failed no matter what I did. But if I would have failed anyway, then I couldn't have stopped you."

She watched the blight creep up the veins in Carver's neck, black tendrils crawling under his skin. The Nightmare was moving faster than it usually did. Normally it liked to linger, to force her to wallow in the results of her failure. Now it was shuttling through the horrors so quickly Hawke could barely keep up, making it hard for her to follow her train of thought.

But not hard enough.

"You could have saved me," Carver said. "You did this. You did this."

"No," Hawke said. He twisted, shifted, became Bethany, dripping blood from her mouth and eyes and nose.

"You could have saved me."

" No." The word echoed in the darkness, and Bethany broke apart like a reflection in a rippling pond. Hawke was again standing in the burning rubble of what had once been Kirkwall's chantry. The heat of the fire made her skin feel tight and raw, but she barely noticed.

Nothing she did mattered...except for the things she blamed on herself.

Hawke turned her back on Anders and descended the steps to the Chantry square, and kept going. The landscape scrambled to keep up, streets and buildings erupting around her.

"If nothing I do matters, why should it matter to me? If I'm such a failure, everything would have turned out this way anyway. Why should I be to blame for something I couldn't have stopped?"

Her friends stood in the next courtyard, their faces twisted in hate and disgust.

"You ruined everything ," Merrill hissed, words dripping venom. Hawke sidestepped her and kept going.

"But nothing I did mattered. How can I be the one who ruined everything if it would have been ruined no matter what I did? Either I'm to blame for everything, or it all would have fallen apart no matter what I did. It can't be both, can it?"

The Arishok loomed in front of her.

"You could have stopped this," he said. Hawke walked straight through him.

"Could I have? I won't deny that I had a hand in some of the worst things. I released Corypheus. My actions brought the red lyrium to the surface. I helped Anders destroy the Chantry."

"Everyone has a story they tell themselves to justify what they've done. In the end, you are always alone with your actions."

Her own voice boomed through the streets, rattling in her skull. When she’d said that to the Inquisitor, she’d believed it, fully. Now, though...

"With your actions ," she repeated. "Not the results , our actions. I've spent the last four years trying to fix things. Those are actions, aren't they?"

The walls of Kirkwall fell away, and became the scorched, twisted scrub of the Kokari Wilds. Darkspawn lined the path, hissing and clawing at her, but her eyes were fixed on the horizon and their hands passed through her like smoke.  

"I wasn't trying to help Corypheus. I didn't make Bartrand betray us, or sell the idol to Meredith. I didn't drive Meredith mad; I didn't give her the sword. I didn't tell Anders to do what he did. I didn't know what he had planned."

The wilds fell away, and Hawke found herself in darkness so complete, she couldn't tell if her eyes were open or closed. She stretched out a hand, warily, and felt her fingers brush rough fabric. Before her stood a crowd of people, bruised and bloody and bloated with the corpulence of death, some half-rotted away, some so fresh only a grey pallor betrayed them. Most of them she didn't know, but she recognized enough faces to realize what she was looking at. The Nightmare was showing her every death she had ever caused. Directly or indirectly, they had died, and they were here.

"Little Hawke," the Nightmare taunted in the oozing voice she had come to know so well. "You attempt to delude yourself, as guilty men always do. You see for yourself the results of your actions. You know who is to blame."

The air was thick with the stench of death, blood and decay and worse, but she’d seen it all before. The Nightmare was repeating itself.

"I was willing to die to stop you. That matters. I tried to find a way to get rid of the red lyrium; that matters.” Hawke squared her shoulders, gritted her teeth, and shoved her way through the crowd.

“I came back to help the Inquisition fight Corypheus; that matters. I stood up to Meredith, I fought the Arishok, I made a deal with the Witch of the Wilds to keep my family safe--”

Hawke knocked her shoulder against Merethari’s, half thinking I didn’t even like you.

“Either none of it matters, or it all matters! I am, in part, responsible for all of this. But I am not at fault."

"There is no difference," the Nightmare snapped and aha, Hawke thought, there was a trace of irritation in its voice. She was getting to it.

Hawke was faced with Bethany again, but barely glanced at her sister's face before shoving past.

"Of course there is! You can't put all the blame on me. I can't blame it all on me either! Other people make choices. I can't control what they do. I can only control what I do, and all I have ever done is the best I can."  

She was moving faster now, the bodies fewer and fewer, and growing more insubstantial. The Nightmare was straining to keep up.

"I am not straining! I am the embodiment of all that men fear!"

The bodies were gone. A stone wall rose before her, so high she couldn't see the top, so wide it stretched beyond the invisible horizon.

"I don't know why I bloody listened to you in the first place,” Hawke said, looking up at the wall. “You're a demon. Just because you're telling me what I'm afraid of is right, doesn't mean you are. What do you know about fault, anyway?”

She slammed her palms and her power against the wall, blowing open a hole as easily as if it were made of paper. As soon as she was through, the wall collapsed behind her.

“You're a parasite, feeding on fear-- fear you don't even make! You just sit back and let the darkspawn and the templars and everything else do all the real work. People need to already be afraid, or you can't do anything!"

"Silence!" the Nightmare roared, the power of it shaking her bones and nearly driving her to her knees. But she grinned like a wolf, teeth and triumph bared. The Nightmare’s frustration tasted sweet on her tongue, and she let loose the vitriol the demon deserved.  

"You coward! You pathetic little thing! Was being Compassion just too hard?" She dug her fingers into the darkness and it broke away like rotten wood. "It's so difficult to help people. It takes so much work, and it never ends, it's never enough! I had every person in Kirkwall come to me with their problems. It was exhausting. Sometimes I wanted to tell everyone to fuck off and deal with it themselves, but I didn't! And do you know why?"

The Nightmare did not answer. Hawke ripped away another chunk of darkness, and found a small crack, shining with bright white light. With renewed vigor, she tore at it, a starving animal at the belly of a beast.

"Because I don't give up! Because I do what needs to be done, no matter the cost! Because I don't run from my mistakes, I fix them!"

The darkness around her cracked, crumbled, fell away. Hawke was in the Fade once more, in the Nightmare's valley, where the Inquisitor and Alistair had left her. Where she had left herself. There was no sign of the mountainous, many-eyed monster that had dragged her into itself.

Before her cowered the Nightmare's true form: a humanoid figure made of wispy white light. Just a spirit. A wraith.

"I am fear," it said.

"Yes," Hawke said, lip curled in contempt. She wrapped her hand around what passed for a neck, and drew the Nightmare towards her, until they were face to face. "And I am not afraid."

Lightning burst through her fingertips, cascading through the Nightmare. It screamed and writhed and, with one last terrified howl, crumbled to ash in her grip.

Hawke stared at her empty hand.

Perhaps this was a new trick. The Nightmare let her think she'd won, then just when she was on the verge of escape, the illusion would crumble.

If that was the plan, it was very poorly thought out, because Hawke's epiphany seemed as true as it had before. She believed every word she'd said.

No, this was no trick. She had stood in the Nightmare's own realm and talked her way out. What a very Varric thing for her to have done. The thought made her smile. It felt strange. How long had it been since she'd last smiled, really truly smiled, without exhaustion or worry making it hurt? She used to smile all the time. She used to tell jokes. She used to be fun.

Hawke resolved to try and smile more often. She’d forgotten how nice it felt to be happy.

"Not that it hasn't been fun," she told the Fade at large, "but I really must be going."

The Inquisitor had closed the rift at the top of the stairs, but Hawke trudged up them anyway. When she reached the top, she held out both hands, palms forward, and wiggled her fingers experimentally. Yes, she had a feel for the Fade now. She could sense the push and pull of it, the way it was woven together. The Inquisitor had sealed the rift, but it had left behind a seam. Hawke wiggled her fingers again, and slid tendrils of magic in between the stitches. She tugged, and felt it give. Excellent.

A little wisp floated by and bumped against her hand, curiously. It was the same shade of silvery-white that the Nightmare had been. Hawke wondered if this was what was left of it. She wondered if it remembered her.

"Shoo," she told it, waving her hand gently at it. "You won't like this next bit."

As slow and directionless as a dandelion fluff, the wisp floated away and out of sight. Perhaps it would gather strength and the Nightmare would return anew. Or it might return as Compassion. Maybe it would become a completely different kind of spirit. She liked that idea. A second chance for everyone.

Hawke tore open the fabric of the fade with one vicious pull, unraveling the Inquisitor's work. She resolved not to feel too badly about it. It wasn't exactly hard to close a rift. All the Inquisitor had to do was wave a hand.

Hawke stared into the swirling green portal. On the other side, she could see the courtyard of Adamant Fortress, and Inquisition soldiers scrambling to arm themselves.

Won't Varric be surprised, Hawke thought, and this time she laughed, the sound echoing in the empty space where the Nightmare had once been. Her heart lighter than it had been in over a decade, Hawke stepped through the rift, and went home.

[clairebeauchampfan]

We’ll always have Paris*

“There is a moment in your story when you can pinpoint the exact time you fell in love, be it with a place or a person. I can remember both like it was yesterday. I had just left a casting where I had, again, been humiliatingly rejected in front of 20 of my peers. Choking back tears I had rushed out of the building and ran to a nearby park hoping to find a secluded spot. My eyes burning, willing myself to get it together, I looked up to the sky hoping for some divine comfort and suddenly everything stopped.

I realized I was surrounded by the most beautiful square, Place des Vosges. With its rose-hued walls, the square softly glowed in the sunlight and radiated calm and beauty. My sobs subsided, and I was hit with the most over powering sense of gratitude. I forgot about the casting director who had just reduced me to nothing. I wasn’t nothing. I was a young Irish woman, and I was here, realizing a dream and living in the most beautiful city in the world.

…Eventually, though, I would move on — to London, New York, Los Angeles and then Glasgow, each with their own magic and beauty.

But on certain sunny days, I am always brought back to my bench in Place des Vosges, and my heart swells for a beat. It’s true, you never forget your first love, and, for me, that will always be Paris.”

Caitriona Balfe NYT article. Thanks to the lovely Lulu-Tan79 for the extract 

I was in Place des Vosges yesterday, funnily enough, so I cast around to guess which bench Caitriona had sat on, the ones in open or the ones under the shelter of the pleached lime trees that provide shelter from the bright summer’s sun. 

Place des Vosges has always been a favourite spot of mine ever since, many years ago now, I bought myself a little apartment in the 4th Arondissement  just two blocks away, on Rue de Sévigné , named after  Marie de Rabutin-Chantal, marquise de Sévigné. I had come into some money, and had always dreamt of owning a place in Paris, ever since I had made my first solo visit when I was just twenty years old and, just like Caitriona, fell hopelessly and madly in love with the City.

My apartment  was up 75 steps (I counted them), no elevator,  the steps getting progressively narrower the higher you went. It would have made a great scene for a production of La Boheme, except that in the seventies some clever architect had opened up the attic so it  had high ceilings and old wooden beams full of woodworm, with  a mezzanine sleeping platform above a big sitting room with three French windows that gave onto a dark and gloomy courtyard far below.  

Opposite me lived a charming lesbian couple who used to exchange passionate kisses in their window on the hot, airless  summer nights; the gay quarter of Paris is not so far away, along Rue des Archives where every restaurant seems to boast a rainbow flag and even the pavements are marked in parti-coloured stripes.  Nearby is  all that remains of the once flourishing Jewish community  around Rue des Rosiers.  The area is studded with ancient synagogues; I wonder how many are used for worship today, when French Jews are once more threatened by evil.   

 In summer my apartment, being right under the roof, was baking hot, in winter I froze, but it was my refuge from difficult times at work and at home too. Sadly, like many  affaires du coeur, it came to an end, and I sold it so I could buy a place deep in the English countryside. But in my heart, I too will always have Paris* . The line comes from Casablanca; Ilsa Lund, beautifully played by Ingrid Bergman, is torn between two lovers; her husband Peter Lazlo (Paul Henreid)  and her former lover Rick Blaine, played by Humphrey Bogart, with whom she had a torrid affair years before, in Paris. Rick tells her she has to go with her husband; it’s her duty. “ I'm no good at being noble, but it doesn't take much to see that the problems of three little people don't amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world.” But as he reminds her: ‘We’ll always have Paris”. And so will I. And so will Caitriona Balfe, no matter what this crazy world throws at her, and whoever  she loves, and whoever  loves her. 

[awkward-radar-tech]

An Awkward Tech: Part 2

Summary: It is time for the “next time” dinner!

Part 1 – Part 3 – Part 4 – Part 5 – Part 6 – Part 7 – Part 8– Part 9 – Part 10

A few days passed and you and Matt continued having small conversations over text. You would text him to complain about your stupid paper and annoying classmates and he would fire back with complaints about his brothers and classmates as a show of understanding. At some point you guys decided you would have your “next time” dinner the night after your paper was due to celebrate. Ally fully interrogated you when she got home the next morning since you and Matt were texting nonstop from when she walked in to after she came back to the kitchen after a shower. She fully approved your crush, since apparently she had been trying to find a way to introduce Matt to you from the moment she saw him the first day of class. When you told Matt all you shared with her, you left off that comment from Ally. That would be something you would share if you ever started dating.

Right after you turned in your paper, you text Matt that you were finally done, and to see if he would finally tell you where he got reservations for tomorrow, since apparently you finishing your term paper required going to a restaurant that needs a reservation.

5:40 pm: no, I’m not going to tell you the name of the restaurant, but you need to wear something nice

5:43 pm: sir, why must we go to a restaurant that requires nice clothes

5:46 pm: cuz I want to treat you. Papers are hard, and that virus must have caused a lot of stress

5:48 pm: oh yeah, definitely ;P

5:53 pm: why do I even talk with you :p

5:57 pm: cuz ya like me

5:58 pm: maybe

6:02 pm: okay, yeah, “maybe”. Can you please tell me the name of the restaurant? I want to look up the menu

6:07 pm: I’m not gonna tell you. But they serve pasta so you’ll be good.

6:10 pm: you know me so well, ya nerd

6:12 pm:  yeah i do and am. you’re a nerd too, so I wouldn’t be talking ma’am

6:14 pm: shut up

6:16 pm: fun fact I haven’t spoken a word out loud in an hour so I can’t shut up, I’m already shut

6:17 pm: YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN SIR!

6:19 pm: I do but I enjoy messing with you. I gotta go, we are having dinner with our parents tonight. Pick you up at 5:30 tomorrow

6:21 pm: have a good evening. See you tomorrow :)

You spent most of the day talking with Ally about the possibility of Matt actually really liking you, and that is why you are going to a nice restaurant. She also convinced you to let her do your hair and makeup for the dinner because what are friends for. Around 5 you changed into your favorite dress and flats and sat and waited for Matt to arrive. You hoped he would arrive early, because you were excited and wanted to spend as much time with him as possible.

As you had hoped, Matt knocked on your apartment door ten minutes early. You greeted him with a hug and asked if he wanted to come in or leave now, he opted to come in for a moment. As he walked to the couch, you took note of his outfit, a pale blue dress shirt and dark grey slacks. After you shut the door, you joined him on the couch.

“So, uhh, will you tell me the name of the restaurant now?”

“Nope. You’ll find out when we get there.”

“Fine… I really like your outfit, it looks really nice on you.”

“Oh, uh, thank you. I really like your dress. You look pretty, like always.”

At some point Ally had entered the room from her own, and you didn’t notice. “Will you two just make out or something already, like seriously.”

“ALLY! Really, why are you like this. We should head out now, shouldn’t we Matt?”

“Yeah, uhh we should.”

You followed Matt to a nice looking black sedan. He opened up your door for you and closed it before getting in himself. The drive was quiet except for the radio and the passing traffic, because of the residual awkwardness from Ally’s perfectly timed comment. Matt broke the silence to tell you that you were almost there, and when he pulled into the driveway you realized he made reservations at one of the nicest Italian restaurants in the city. He pulled up to the valet station and was out of the car and at your door before you could even process that this was really happening. He offered his hand to assist you with getting out of the car, then offered his arm to lead you into the restaurant.

A nice hostess stood behind a desk and greeted you both when you walked in. “Good evening and welcome. Mr. Organa-Solo, what a pleasure it is to see you tonight. If you two would please follow me, your table is ready.” She lead the two of you to a slightly secluded booth in the corner, “As requested, sir, and James will be your server for the evening. Enjoy.”

“Matt, you didn’t have to bring me to a place this nice. And why does the hostess know you?”

“I did have to, and I’ll tell you why in a moment. Also, my family comes here often, my mom is a senator.”

“She is a what?!”

“My mom is Leia Organa, the well-known sassy hard-headed senator.”

“Oh my god. And that is why your last name sounded familiar. Now, can you please tell me why you brought me here?”

Right after you said that, James arrived to take your drink order and bring you a basket of bread. After he left Matt spoke up, “Uhh, well, umm, there are two reasons. One is that I wanted to make sure I definitely covered what you paid for our whole meal last week, because that is who I am….”

“Okay, and the second reason?”

“Well, you see, Ally kind of got my feelings right earlier. Well, I don’t want to necessarily make out with you right now, but I do really like you (y/n). And I would like to know if this could count as our first date, if you like me too.”

“Oh, Matt. I really like you too. I would love for this to be our first date.”

“Really?!”

“Yes, I was going to ask you out on a date at the end of the night if you didn’t, so…”

“Oh my goodness, I can’t believe this. I thought you just liked me as a friend or something like that.”

“I thought the same thing about you!”

The night went on perfectly fine after that. No awkward silences, only pleasant conversation, some giggles, and one game of footsie that you accidentally initiated when you stretched out your leg. You both enjoyed your meals and shared a nice dessert.

While you waited for the valet to bring back the car, Matt asked if you wanted to visit his favorite place to go and think in the middle of the night. Not wanting the night to be over yet you agreed.

Matt drove you to some type of small warehouse building, and when he got out of the car, you stayed put because of his apparent need to open doors for you, and you weren’t going to complain.

As he lead you around the building to a locked gate he explained that his family owned the building and it was currently his brother’s art studio, but the roof was mainly his. He lead you through the courtyard before going into the building and up a stairwell to reach the roof. Once there, Matt flipped a switch on the wall at the top landing then opened the door to a roof covered in various potted plants from succulents to roses to vegetables, a few benches, a picnic table, and it was all illuminated by a lot of white string lights.

“Oh, Matt, this is beautiful! Did you put all of this together yourself?”

“Mostly. My mom taught me how to tend to a lot of the plants and chose some out herself, and I had help from my brothers to bring up the benches and table. It is calming to care for all these plants, and sometimes when my brothers are annoying me or I can’t sleep I come here to relax and let my mind wander.”

“Wow, I wish I had a place like this. I just end up laying in bed the whole time.”

“Well, since we are dating, anytime you feel the need to come here just let me know and I’ll come and take you. I even keep a sleeping bag and tent in the shed for really bad nights. I guess I should get another sleeping bag for you.”

“Aww, that is so sweet of you Matt.”

The two of you continued to sit next to each other on the bench you ended up on in comfortable silence. You held his hand and rested your head on his shoulder while just watching the distant city lights and enjoying the peaceful atmosphere. A few times Matt placed a kiss on the top of your head which made you smile. After awhile, he lightly squeezed your hand so you slightly lifted your head in order to look at him and smiled when you locked eyes.

“Thank you for coming up here with me. You are the first non-family member to come up here.”

“It is my pleasure, I didn’t and don’t want the night to end. It feels like an honor to be the first outsider up here. Thank you for tonight Matty, I have really enjoyed it.”

You both looked at each other for a moment longer before you leaned in for a kiss. It was a sweet and innocent kiss that left you both blushing and smiling like fools.

“I, umm, have really enjoyed tonight, too. Can I uh kiss you again?”

“Yes, Matt, please.”

This time Ally’s tease from earlier became reality. Matt got you to sit across his lap and held your waist, and, to help yourself keep your torso turned, you cupped his head in your hands. The kisses were long and passionate, you were the first one to involve your tongue but after Matt realized what you wanted, he matched you in dominance. You eventually parted and rested your foreheads together while you caught your breath.

The two of you just sat there holding each other for awhile longer, before you both decided that if you stayed out any longer you would be unable to escape the torment of teasing from your nosy roommates about what you had to have done on such a long date.

When you arrived at your complex, Matt walked you to your door before leaving you with a goodnight kiss and wishing you luck with Ally’s inevitable interrogation. You told him to text when he got home, wished him luck with his brothers, and gave him one last hug and kiss before unlocking your door.

You were greeted by Ally sitting on the couch in her pjs just waiting for you to enter. “Sooo, how was dinner?”

“It went well. He took me to a nice Italian restaurant that his family frequents, and I found out that his mom is Senator Leia Organa.”

“Anything else you would like to add, like maybe the reason it is almost 11 and you left at 5:30?”

“Well, he asked me if the dinner could count as our first date, to which I said yes. Then after dinner he took me to his rooftop garden that is on top of his brother’s art studio. And now I am back and he is driving home.”

“(y/n) I know you are leaving out more details, you know I need everything. So spill woman! Did things get spicy?”

“Not in the way you are thinking Ally. We just sat and talked for a bit, then just sat. He kissed the crown of my head a few times, then we actually kissed and made out for a bit.”

“Sounds romantic, you guys seem too sweet already, I don’t think I could handle a double date with you two.”

“Okay Ally, whatever you say. I’m going to bed, goodnight.”

“Goodnight (y/n).”

Once you got into bed, your phone buzzed with a bunch of texts from Matt.

11 pm: I’m home.

My brothers are already in bed or out. I’m safely in bed now so I think I have escaped the interrogation for tonight

Wait I just heard a door open, at least one of them heard me come in, I don’t think I actually esacaped

I was right, they both ambushed me with questions in my room

11:05 pm: oh no. Ally was legit just sitting on the couch in silence waiting for me when I walked in. she wasnt that bad thankfully

11:30 pm: I SURVIVED!!!! They wouldnt believe me when I said we only kissed. They are lumps but i finnally convinced them

11:32 pm: Ally beleived me, thank god, but she caught on that i left out details in the begining

She also said she would never go on a double date with us because we are already “too sweet”

11:35 pm: oh goodness…

You had begun to drift off to sleep waiting for his response after his interrogation, and fell asleep before you could type out “goodnight.”

11:45 pm: I am going to assume you fell asleep. Goodnight sweetheart ❤