#it’s hard for me to get ‘actually she’s been special all along!!’ fatigue after the c*ssie p*lmer books lmfao but

[rooftoptag]

me, 12am on a work night trying to ignore weird heart palpitations like: but what abt the one line halfway through the book that the main character didn’t blink on bc i definitely think there’s something there

[oreoambitions]

Would love to see supercorp “I’ve never been festive”! Glad to see you back on my dashboard!

The thing about Lena, Kara thinks to herself as she strolls down Main Street with her hands shoved in her pockets, is that she wants to seem tough. That's the problem in a nutshell. And anyone else here in Midvale would tell you that it's just a city thing, that all the city kids want to seem tough, that Lena is no exception, but Kara doesn't think that's true. Well, okay, she knows it's true. But with Lena, it's something else. Something deeper. Something maybe related to the way that Lena has withdrawn into herself day by day as Midvale has begun to dress itself up for the holidays.

But Kara can do I'm-so-tough. She can do I-hate-Christmas, and she can do I-don't-believe-in-fun because at this time of the year she can do anything and get through to anyone. A little bit of light, a little bit of magic... maybe a little bit of love. That's how Christmas goes, right? Especially in a place like Midvale.

Kara likes to think of Midvale as a postcard town: the kind of town folks are only ever passing through on their way up and down the coast, a scenic detour, a cozy place to spend the night or just the afternoon before you move along. It's a place where time seems to have come to a standstill or at least a crawl, where it was a big deal when the first (and only) Starbucks opened, where nothing at all is open after 8pm, and you'd be hard pressed to run any errands on a Sunday, and you'd better not let Mrs. Nal catch you doing anything untoward or you can expect you'll be the topic of every conversation in or out of church for the next week or so at least. Kara would know; she's been the talk of the town on more than one occasion.

But these last several weeks the talk of the town has been the young woman who pulled up one evening in a car worth probably more than every vehicle on Main Street put together and strolled into the aforementioned Starbucks in a beat up hoodie sporting red rimmed eyes and trembling hands to ask the barista whether possibly anyone had a spare phone cable. She didn't want to bother anyone, only she'd left Metropolis in a hurry and forgotten hers and without GPS she didn't have any idea where she might stop to purchase one. She'd slid a hundred dollar bill across the counter as payment for the manager's beat up old charger and rolled right back out of town before anyone could tell her just how far from home she was.

Only then she'd rolled back into town some six hours later and booked herself into the bed and breakfast. And then she hadn't left.

The Danvers have assured Kara that in all the years Eliza and Jeremiah have run the bed and breakfast, and all the years Jeremiah's parents ran it before that, stretching back all the dusty decades since Midvale was founded, they have never had a longterm guest, no sir. It has simply never happened before. Kara doubts the veracity of such a statement but it has been delivered to her with all the solemn weight of sacred fact, and so she's taken it in stride - something which Alex seems to have found suspicious. And, true, on another occasion Kara might have been found elbow deep in records on a personal mission to prove that Jeremiah has pulled this particular historical "factoid" from some place the sun don't shine, but, well, she's been a little distracted these past weeks. Distracted by sad green eyes and coy smiles and the overwhelmingly mysterious circumstances that have delivered Lena directly into Kara's home.

Unfortunately Eliza has strictly forbidden Kara from asking the hundred and one questions perpetually on the tip of her tongue, and Kara's objections that she's twenty four now and she'll ask her questions if she so pleases haven't actually outweighed the sense that, at least where Eliza is concerned, she ought to do as she's told. So she's restrained herself. And as the weeks have gone by, she and Lena have fallen into an amicable, if not entirely comfortable, routine.

Kara serves Lena breakfast in the dining room with the other guests at precisely 8:15 every morning: two poached eggs with avocado on a thick slice of Winn's sourdough bread, a cup of coffee (black, diluted with hot water), and a side of roasted vegetables (no potatoes). Every morning Lena invites Kara to join her at the table, though Kara only does so when there are no other guests around to serve. They eat - together or not - in a silence broken only by small talk and the occasional lingering gaze when one catches the other looking until, at precisely 9:15, Lena excuses herself to seek out Eliza and enquire after the availability of another night's lodging. She pays in cash, one day at a time, without fail. She and Kara see one another again on the stairs, Kara on her way out to work a shift at the library and Lena on her way back up to her room. A small smile passes between them, affectionate and familiar, and Kara thinks perhaps... But no, the moment has passed and they've gone their separate ways for another day.

Kara has resolved that this pattern will not repeat itself again. Not now, not when Midvale is draped in heavy golds and greens, when the smell of Christmas pastry is wafting through the streets, when the trickle of seasonal tourists is threatening to become a thunder which will by necessity pry Kara's attention away. Not now when Lena is withdrawing further and further, when those lingering glances at breakfast seem to be few and far between, and it seems the onslaught of Christmas cheer is threatening to drive Lena out of Midvale altogether. If Kara is going to get through to her, today is the day.

She swings into J'onn's diner with a determined expression, sidestepping the younger Arias who has eyes these days only for her iphone and not so much for where she's going. J'onn is predictably behind the counter; Kara isn't sure he's taken a day away from the diner in all the time she's known him.

"I need two to go mugs of Bad Day Danvers Brew," she tells him. "It's urgent."

He plops two large paper cups down onto the counter almost before she's done asking. "I thought your sister was on duty tonight."

"She was. Is. It's not- It's for me."

"I don't suppose this has anything to do with a certain green eyed young lady from out of town."

It's not really a question the way J'onn says it but Kara somehow still feels pressured to answer. She flushes, turns away, scans the room. The dinner rush hasn't quite arrived. J'onn bustles about behind the counter without further comment, though he does arch an accusatory brow when Kara meets his eyes again.

"You do know," he says as he slides the drinks across the counter, "She's going to leave this place. She may not be ready yet, but the day is coming."

Kara frowns at him. "Leave is a four letter word."

"L - e - a -"

"You know what I mean."

"Maybe you should consider it too. Whole world out there waiting for you, Little Danvers. Seems a shame not to go out and see it."

Kara thinks for a moment of this world as she saw it first: a little marble hanging in a black sea, so fragile and small, so far away from home. Midvale is home now, and she'll be damned if she's going to leave it behind. She forces a smile for J'onn's sake.

"I'm right where I'm supposed to be," she says. She tries to pay him for the drinks. As he has a hundred times before, he turns her money away. Kara slips the cash into the tip jar on her way out the door.

When she gets home it's to the smell of apple pies bubbling in the oven and the sound of some old 50's Christmas record playing almost too loud for Jeremiah's battered old bluetooth speaker and hardly loud enough to compete with Jeremiah himself. Kara creeps up the stairs two at a time, one Bad Day Danvers Brew clutched in either hand, quiet quiet quiet. If Eliza catches her she'll try to put her to work and Kara isn't sure she can explain exactly what she means when she says she's too "busy" right now to help out.

She occupies herself with that thought, thinking up excuses for Eliza, each one more improbable than the last, and then she finds herself standing in front of Lena's door. She feels suddenly grimy, foolish, clumsy. What she hasn't considered in all her planning for this moment is that with both hands occupied she can hardly knock on Lena's door, and with her heart pounding an urgent rhythm in her chest and her body trembling with something that is distinctly not fatigue Kara doesn't trust herself to tuck one of the drinks into the crook of her arm.

So she does what any sane person would do: she kicks the door. Gently. As gently as she possibly can, but it still feels brutish and Kara winces as the sound of it tumbles down the hall to clash with Jeremiah's crooning and the roar of the vacuum cleaner in the foyer. Grimy, foolish, clumsy. But then the door swings open and all such thoughts fall from Kara's mind.

She has words picked out for this moment but they don't come to her. Lena stands in the doorway in jeans and a cardigan and socks that have bumble bees on them and Kara feels like she needs just a moment but the moment is already passing. Green eyes search hers, curious, bemused. Kara wants to reach out and tuck that stray lock of hair away, but-

The drinks. Right. "I brought refreshments," she says, proferring the paper cups. "For us," she adds, in case it isn't clear.

Lena reaches out for one of the cups, hesitant, then pries the lid off to take a whiff. "Hot chocolate?"

Kara wants to melt on the spot but she sticks to her guns. "It's special hot chocolate," she clarifies. This is not how this conversation was supposed to go. She had this exchange all planned out, there were contingencies, it was all perfect and here she is muddying it all up. "I was thinking maybe we could go out tonight."

"Like on a date?"

Oh, Rao. Kara's eyes drops to Lena's mouth without her say so and then they travel a little further south to the line of that cardigan and she swallows. "No," she forces out, "like on a walk?"

There's a long pause and then Lena laughs. "You're really very charming, Danvers," she says, and Kara feels an unexpected thrill at the sound of her last name in Lena's mouth. "Let me just get my sweater."

"You're already-" Kara starts, but the door clicks shut before she can finish. "Wearing a sweater," she mumbles to herself.

Lena emerges some minutes later, just when Kara is beginning to get fidgety. She's thrown on a hoodie which is perhaps a size too big and a pair of converse rather the worse for wear and Kara isn't sure what she was expecting but it wasn't this. Which is not to say that she doesn't like it. Lena licks her lips and fixes Kara with a pointed look.

"There is whisky in that hot chocolate," she says.

Kara shrugs. "I did say it was special."

They make it down the stairs and out of the bed and breakfast without Eliza noticing, though Kara is all but certain Jeremiah saw them leave together and will have Questions with a capital Q about it later. The sun is just now sinking below the horizon as the two of them turn down Main Street, ducking around Mr. Schott who is occupying most of the sidewalk with a rickety old ladder in an attempt to install another strand of lights above the toy store window. Already the street lamps bear oversized red bows and long, heavy pine garlands, and it will be only a matter of days now before every storefront from here to the edge of town is bright and warm and magical. Kara takes it all in with a growing smile. Lena takes it in with an expression that borders on an outright scowl.

"So are we going anywhere in particular?" Lena asks. They duck around a knot of visitors asking after a table at the brewery and for an instant Kara is almost certain she feels Lena's fingers brush hers.

"We are," Kara admits. And then, because she doesn't want to give away their destination, she adds, "You don't like Christmas."

Lena grimaces and takes a long sip of the Bad Day Danvers Brew. "I wouldn't say that I don't like Christmas."

"But?"

"But I've never been festive. And this year..."

Kara's mind fills in the words that Lena doesn't say: This year it's hard. Hard to see the joy and the magic and the laughter all around when you're alone and far from home. Well, Kara knows a thing or two about that. She takes a sip of her own drink and, resolutely, carefully, looking straight ahead, she reaches out to touch Lena's hand, so gentle it could have been an accident.

"This year you have me," Kara says. She's shocked the line comes out of her mouth as smoothly as it does. Her heart is so far up her throat she almost fears she'll choke on it.

Lena steps in closer until Kara swears she can feel the heat radiating between them even through both of Lena's sweaters and her own Christmas flannel. They walk in silence for a block or so, shoulders bumping once in a while, before Lena asks, "Do you have any favorite holiday traditions?"

Kara shrugs. "I like the carols. Jeremiah and I always go out caroling on Christmas eve. Oh! And the cookies. Pie for breakfast on Christmas morning."

Lena laughs at that. "Pie for breakfast? Lilian - my step mother - she'd have a fit."

"Well you can have pie with us this year if you want; I promise not to tell Lilian a thing. If you're still hanging around."

Lena looks at her sharply and then looks away, leaving Kara to feel silent and small and a little rejected. But Lena touches Kara's wrist as they move through the crowd and then, when Kara doesn't pull away, she takes her hand.

"Christmas is always an important social event for my family," Lena says. She glances at Kara as if to check that she's listening and then away again so quickly that Kara almost wonders if she imagined it. "Everything has to be perfect. The food, the decorations, the music. The family. And it's beautiful, really. Imagine a pine tree towering up to the very rafters, all the ornaments carefully curated and arranged, and a cellist flown in from Italy perches in the corner playing O Come Emmanuel while the city's elite pass through pretending to enjoy bite sized Christmas pastries prepared overnight by a team flown in from France. I suspect it would feel magical if it weren't so much work. It's hard to enjoy the magic when you're a part of it. Especially as a child."

Kara frowns. Her fingers tighten around Lena's, tugging her ever forward towards the Christmas tree in the center of town. She's thinking of Krpyton, of a perfect family, a perfect people, and a perfect world crumbling under the veneer. But she can't say that to Lena, so she flashes her a bright smile instead and says, "In Midvale, everyone who wants to gets to put an ornament on the town tree."

"Everyone? That doesn't seem practical. There have to be, what, at least a thousand people living here."

Kara nods. "Yeah. Not everyone participates, but most people. And of course that means the tree isn't curated like your family's, but it's got a special kind of magic to it. The kind you get when you aren't trying to make magic follow the rules."

It occurs to Kara that there is a sort of comedic timing to this, as this is the moment Kara steps over the low fence with the sign that reads "do not walk on the grass" and tugs a protesting Lena after into the shade - or, in this case, the light - of the Midvale tree.

"Rules," Lena is saying, "Generally exist for a reason, and when you break them willy nilly you don't get magic, you get chaos. It's important to- Wait, is this your Christmas tree?"

"Yep," Kara says. She reaches out to press a hand to the trunk and then stares up at the tiny golden lights wound among the branches with care, ornaments dangling here and there, some homemade and some not. She's definitely not supposed to get this close to it but, well, it's Alex on duty tonight and she doubts her sister is about to arrest her for trying to make a move on a pretty girl. "This is the one."

"But it's an oak tree," Lena observes. She steps up beside Kara to touch the trunk.

"Couple hundred years old, or so they told us in middle school," Kara says. "She's a gorgeous tree, isn't she? Not a pine and not perfect, but. Our own kind of magic." Then she grimaces. "Sorry; I'm being terribly cheesy right-"

"Did you know that mistletoe often grows in the California oak?" Lena interrupts.

Kara falters. She did know that, but this tree is carefully tended. No mistletoe here. She opens her mouth to say so when Lena holds up a finger to stop her again.

"To be perfectly clear I'm suggesting that we kiss here under this tree. Because you're charming and a little over the top and I hate that I love your Christmas flannel and I would very much like to have pie with you on Christmas morning. So if you'd like we can pretend there's mistletoe in the Midvale Christmas tree. It would be a very reasonable mistake; mistletoe really does grow on-"

Kara kisses her. The surprised gasp that falls from Lena's lips almost makes her laugh, but this is a serious moment so she tries to keep it in. She's got only one hand to work with - the other is still hold her Bad Day Danvers Brew - so she slides it around Lena's waist to pull her closer, and it's her turn to gasp when Lena tilts her head to slide her tongue along Kara's bottom lip.

Someone on the sidewalk cheers, and that is when Lena drops her drink. And then they do laugh together there under the tree, spiked hot chocolate splattered over the bottom of Lena's pants, Kara pressing her own drink into Lena's hands, and the sound of Mrs. Nal nearby screeching about public indecency while James tells her to go suck an egg. The two of them will be the talk of the town for weeks. Certainly through New Years. Kara doesn't think she minds.

///

Merry Christmas to everyone celebrating; Happy Holidays and a lovely morning to everyone who is not! Thank you for this prompt! I expected to write a quick 800 words but it got away from me and took all month.

[daddyloveslabor]

James and Little

James stood directly in front of his Little, close enough that he could breathe in her scent, but he didn’t touch her just yet. He studied her face and her eyes. He knew them so well by this point. And this was the point. The one where his expertise of her face and eyes would alert him immediately to any signal from her, subdued or otherwise. Any misgivings whatsoever that she may have about what was about to happen to her, what was in store for her...he would see them.

She had been flawlessly obedient, always, save the small buckish provocation here and there when she desired extra correcting. And she never failed to know when *he* desired to more thoroughly correct her. She had always, truly, anticipated him at every turn.

She was perfect for him. He didn’t want to change a hair on her head, except in this one way. In this enormous, incredible way that in actuality was a thousand ways. The way that would change her irrevocably and indelibly.

He loved her precisely as she was. And it was because he loved her that he wanted to reconstruct her, just so. He throbbed with the need to observe, and then absorb, every single moment of her enduring and taking and suffering as she navigated the long transformation ahead of her. That’s what she did so, so well, after all. She endured. And she took it, everything he meted out to her, whether in tenderness or in sternness. She took it each and every time, with a grace and submission that endeared her to him harder and further every time he dominated her.

He wanted to witness every. Single. Second. As she morphed inexorably from the fruits his actions tonight would bring to bear upon her. He knew he was going to lose sleep in the months ahead, in an attempt to miss as little as possible.

Those eyes of hers. They were looking unflinchingly into his. Awaiting his encouragement and his instruction. They shone with a trust so pure and so fierce (and so devoid of shame, he realized, as his heart contracted in his chest) that the pact he had made with himself when it came to her - to protect her and cherish her at all costs - was reinforced tenfold.

He leaned in to smell her neck and she tilted back her head to give him better access. As he inhaled deeply, he ran his nose up her throat and along her jawline.

In a low growl, he said, “Mmmmm. Yes. That’s it. You’re ready for me, aren’t you?”

Head still tilted back, she replied, “Yes, Daddy. I’m always ready for you. But tonight especially.”

“Hmmm, that’s right. Your timing, as always, Little One, is fucking perfection. You smell...ripe.”

“I am. I made sure of it. I’m ready to receive.” She gave him a coy wink.

He couldn’t help but smile slightly. Her sense of humor, God damn. He would never stop thanking the Good Lord that he was given someone who would kneel down and suck him whenever he ordered...and that was funnier than anyone else he’d ever met.

When it was appropriate, of course. She never failed him in that regard either. She knew when it was time for her to shut her mouth.

“Good.” He took another long sniff along her collarbone and then backed away from her 3 paces.

He crossed his arms over his chest. She reflexively folded her arms behind her back and openly met his gaze.

Tripling down on his effort to ensure he didn’t miss even the most miniscule reflex in her eyes and her face as he spoke, he said, “The time has come, my Darling One. Tonight is the night.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“You are ready, yes?”

“Indeed I am, Sir.”

“What are you ready for, Love? Say it. What happens tonight?”

She shook her hair slightly and said firmly, “Tonight is the night you knock me up.”

He frowned. “Say it better.”

“Yes, Sir. Tonight is the night you fill me up. In every way. With your love, with your cock, and with your seed. You are going to bring me near to bursting in each regard.”

“Good girl. You’re going to be the home to my baby for the next ten months, isn’t that right?”

She licked her lips. “Yes, Sir. I am honored to carry your baby.”

He saw her eyes flash. But only in that “stop fucking teasing me and get on with it” way that he had come to know and love so well.

She suffered so gorgeously.

He forced another frown. “Mmm. Say that better.”

A microscopic smile. “Very well. As you wish. Sir?”

He raised an eyebrow at her and gestured for her to continue.

“Sir, I wish for you to fuck me tonight. Hard. I want to be sore tomorrow. And as I am, I want to be reminded that that soreness is nothing, nothing compared to what is waiting for me, because tonight you are going to put your baby inside me. And I promise I will let it grow and grow and grow, making me big and uncomfortable, all while you guide me and assist me and chastise me as needed.”

James’s throat had thickened and his cock had stiffened listening to her. “Yes, Love. I’m going to make you big. So very, very big. How big do I want you to be?”

“Very,” she replied, knowing full well what he wanted her to say and drawing it out.

“How big, Sarah? How big does Daddy want you? Say it.”

“You want me so big that I can hardly walk.”

“Mmm, that’s exactly, exactly right. I want you so stuffed I’ll have to help you stand up.”

“I want that too,” she breathed.

“Of course you do. It’s in your nature. And ohhhh, Baby. My sweet, sweet girl. It’s going to hurt you.”

“Yes.”

“You’re going to take it for me, though, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

He closed in on her the 3 paces he had taken back prior. He placed his hand on her stomach.

“Oh, my Little. This flat, flat belly of yours. Once my baby has taken residence there, it’s going to start growing. And each and every day this nice flat belly is going to get a little rounder. A little heavier. A little harder.” He rubbed his thumb over her belly button and sighed with longing.

“Eventually your skin is going to be stretched so taut it will feel like a drum. It will hurt. Your belly button may pop out of your belly completely. Your back will ache more and more. Even so, as you begin to support your back with your hands, you will realize you still have weeks left to go, more pressure and strain compounding with each passing day.” He rested his hands on her waist and stroked her back with his fingers.

Moving his hands to her hip bones, he said, “Your hips will separate and throb. You will be so, so uncomfortable at night that sleeping will become difficult. Your gait will change as these hips spread out, making room to cradle my baby’s hard and heavy head deep inside the bones of your pelvis. You will have trouble getting out of bed and out of chairs. You will waddle, perhaps. And I will adore you.”

His hands slid up her sides and cupped her breasts. He worked her nipples with his thumbs and they hardened under his touch. She arched her back slightly, moving her breasts more fully into his large, warm hands. “Your breasts will become enlarged and sharply tender. I must admit to a ravenous curiosity there. How can perfection be improved upon? I will see, I am so sure.”

She smiled. “Thank you.”

Both his hands moved back down. “But this belly. Oh my dear, this belly. It will be massive. When you are nearing the end, you will find yourself holding it with both of your hands, seeking a few seconds of relief from the interminable, burdensome drag of it on your body. And you, no matter how weary, will carry it until I say it’s enough time. Understood?”

Her breath had become shaky. “Yes, Daddy. I understand. I will grow your baby so well for you, and I will take whatever pain and discomfort comes with it. I want to be so huge for you.”

He could see the pinkness in her cheeks. “And you know I will see to you like never before. Isn’t that right?”

“I do, Daddy.”

“Mmm. If you are sick, Babe, I will hold your hair back for you and wipe the sweat from your face. If at first you are drained and fatigued, I shall provide you the most comfortable accommodations available, so your rest is undisturbed and restorative. When you are in your second trimester and lusty as hell, I will eat you every night and day, sucking that delicious clit of yours and giving you the sweetest orgasms of your life. I will take you from behind when you grow too big for me to take you from the front, and I will satisfy your swollen, tender, juicy pussy with my cock while I caress your giant belly. And I won’t allow you to relax; you’re going to have to hold your hefty self up on all fours until I release you.”

She sucked in her breath. “I promise; I won’t relax, no matter how tiring it is for me to support my extra weight while you plunge into me. Only when you say.”

“When your feet are aching and worn, Daddy will massage them for you, Sweetheart. When your back is killing you, Daddy will knead it and rub it and smoothe out all that tension you build up from getting bigger and bigger. Daddy will rub oil into your sweet, tight belly so your skin can stretch and stretch and stretch. Daddy will feed you when you’re hungry, all that you want, but only what’s good for you and my baby.”

“Yes, Daddy. Of course. You are so good to me.”

“I am. I will care for your aches and your hurts with more love and attention than ever before. Because you know I crave them. Yes?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“I want to know them all. Every one. No matter how minor each one may seem to you. No matter if I am sleeping or if I am away. Which I won’t be, much. They are mine to have and hold dear, and to soothe as I see fit. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir. I will keep nothing from you, nothing. I will report every twinge.”

“Good girl.” He stood back from her 3 paces again and she, once again, placed her arms behind her back dutifully.

“Sweetheart. When I am punishing you, what happens when you say our special word?”

“You stop.”

“Mmm hmm. Immediately, yes?”

“Every time. Sometimes before the word is even past my lips.”

“That’s right, Honey. You know - you have always known - that while I may correct and punish you, you have the true control over what I do to you. You have all the power of our special word in your mouth.”

“I do, Sir. And you know that I only use it when I genuinely cannot take any more.”

“Oh yes I do, my little one. I know that. But you see….well. What must happen when you are swelled so large and stretched so tight? When your little pelvis has loosened just enough, and my baby is ready to enter this world through you? What must you do? Say it.”

“I must give birth.”

“Yes. You must. Your many, long days of growing and nourishing my baby must come to an end sometime, as they have in every pregnancy before yours. And then, honey. And then...my baby must come out of you. And that, Sweetheart, is not a process I will have any say or part in. Were it up to me, I might choose to keep you knocked up and enormous and tight-bellied and awkward and hungry and aching forever. But it is not up to me. A higher authority than I will call upon you, and you will be unable to refuse Her. I will not be your Master while you culminate your greatest work, and endure your toughest punishment. Mother Nature will be your Mistress. And Mother Nature, for reasons known only to Her, chooses to punish her daughters with notorious cruelty. Do you understand?”

Sarah’s tongue flicked rapidly over her lips. Her breathing was coming in little hitches. “I understand. I will take it.”

“Yes. You will. But not from me. The power to dole out your pain and relief will be completely out of my hands this time. Your body will be taken over, Darling, by a force that is you but that is also much, much greater than you. Even if I should desire to provide you a moment’s relief, if only to see it register with you before you are wracked in agony again, I will be unable to do so. This time the power will not be mine….or yours. You will succumb to Her and only Her, the ultimate dominatrix, whether you find yourself willing and ready or not. She honors no safe words. Do you understand?”

“I understand. I will suffer.”

“Yes. Oh my dear one, you will suffer terribly. You will tense, perhaps just occasionally at first. Your giant, heaving belly will tighten again and again and again; you will lose count within just a few hours. You will strain and you will struggle. You will moan. Your throat will grow hoarse and your lips will become dry and cracked from your frantic breathing and your cries. You will writhe. Your valiant perseverance through all this will be rewarded only with more brutal and ruthless pain. The wrenchings of your heavy belly will only grow more and more excruciating, a vice that will grip you relentlessly and repeatedly. As they hurt you more, they also will grow longer and will peak harder, and you will get to the point where you will not get much of a break between them, if any at all. Time will stop for you.”

He studied her face and her eyes intensely. He saw resolve and fire. She never could resist a dare. But what he sought most urgently - and found - was the markings of her suppressed arousal.

“You take things so well from me, Honey. You know how I love to hear you beg me and plead with me, yet I can count on one hand the times you have used our special word. When you truly had taken all you could take. But my dear one, when your time comes, all the imploring you have in you will do you no good. There will be no special word. You will be well, well past the point where you thought you could take no more, and then you will be there again. And again. You will take more. She will make you. You may weep and beseech Her for mercy, and She will not only deny you, She will punish you all the harder. You will realize - perhaps 100 times - how much worse it must be before it is better. The only way out, Sweetheart, will be through.”

He reached down to adjust himself and her eyes flicked down and saw the momentary pressure he put on his bulk. He was rock hard, she could see it plainly, and she felt a response instantly, a clenching in her groin as heat pooled in her crotch.

“And Baby. For the inestimable duration of your travail, so torturous for you, all I will be able to do is watch. Watch the slow escalation as you are first so mercilessly squeezed...and then merely observe as you yourself are forced to participate in your own rending. As you anguish and push and stretch impossibly to initiate my baby into this world through your waters, your own initiation into motherhood will be by fire. The Ring of Fire, perhaps the most apt name on earth. All this will be there for me to behold, but there is no part of it I can take for you or away from you. Oh I will be there for you, Sweetness, in any capacity I am able to be. My presence, my touch, my voice, Honey….these things may offer you a paltry comfort, but make no mistake. Where you must go, I cannot follow. There will be no making it go away. There will be no making it stop. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“For my part, I must be content with being a witness only.”

He rubbed himself briefly through his pants again. With his other hand, he hooked his knuckle into the soft flesh beneath her chin bone and moved her so her eyes met his directly. “And I will glory at each fresh and unheralded wave of exquisite agony that twists and contorts your lovely face.”

Sarah puffed out a small breath between her lips. She was pulsing between her legs. God in heaven, hearing him speak to her this way was about to make her climax just standing there. She opened her stance slightly. He saw. Of course he did. He always saw. And the mischievousness of the devil himself sparked in his eyes.

She cleared her throat. “Sir?”

“Yes.”

“If I do this for you, will it - “

“Specifics, Little One. You know I despise ambiguity. If you do what for me? Say it.”

“I’m sorry, Sir. I do know that. Your pardon?”

He nodded.

“Sir, if I develop and sustain your baby in my belly for 40 long weeks, and then labor hard to push him out of me, all by myself...will it make you proud of me?”

His face almost softened. “You have no idea. Sweetheart, I will worship you.”

“Then that is merely the cherry on top, Sir. I’ve already decided.”

“Good girl. And, as discussed, unless you or my baby are in danger, the birth will take place here. I and I alone will attend to your needs. There will be no pain relief, outside of what I can provide. Say it.”

“Yes, Sir. When my appointment time with Great Mother comes -”

His head went back in a silent laugh. “By all means, continue.”

“When Great Mother calls me forth for my supreme punishment, only you will be with me. If my torment can be soothed at all, it will be by you.”

He closed the 3 paces of space between them, enveloped her in his arms, and kissed the top of her precious head. “You are the bravest creature I’ve ever met, you know.”

“I know.”

[sabraeal]

Sic Semper Monstrum, Chapter 6

[Read on AO3]

Obiyukiweek 2021, Day 2: Death Upright: Change, Ending, Release Reversed: Refusal to Change, Unfulfillment, Stagnation

A seam strains along a well-worn shoulder, so stretched he can actually hear it creak over the din of the canteen. That clinches is: that asshole’s got to be picking out too-small fatigues from the GI bin.

There’s no other way for him to look like that, biceps testing the tensile strength of cotton every time he takes a sip of his coffee. Sure, this guy’s jacked the way all the active rangers are, ready to heave 750 tons of metal onto their backs at a moment’s notice, but he’s not Mitsuhide. It makes sense when he pops buttons off his coverall, or stretches out one of their dingy cotton tees. But that’s not this asshole.

He’s lean, the kind that telegraphs that taking an elbow from him might be career limiting. There’s no reason the general issue tee should cling to his back like it’s painted on, his coverall hanging off his hips like he’s got an occupation other than freeloading. Shirayuki leans over, fingertips brushing over his sleeve with a laugh--

“Just punch him already,” Kiki drawls, “get it out of your system.”

Zen blinks, suddenly aware there’s still some Taco Tuesday left in his mouth. “What?”

“Kiki.” Dark bruises circle the skin beneath Mitsuhide’s eyes, underscoring the weary strain in his voices. “We shouldn’t be encouraging that sort of behavior.”

“Why not?” Her elbows dig into formica as she leans over her plate, shoveling rice into her mouth. At her father’s table, Kiki knows the use of every spoon, the name of every fork, but this deep in the dome, Ranger Seiran’s never met a meal she can’t inhale in five minutes flat. “I did it.”

Air hisses right through his perfect teeth, the only sign he’s annoyed besides the tense bar of his shoulders. “And you’re lucky you didn’t get caught.”

Kiki hums around the lip of her mug. “You mean like you did with Lugis?”

Mitsuhide doesn’t have skin like his, the sort that flares up like flash paper at the barest hint of sun or taunting. But still his neck flushes red as a burn, so bright Zen’s half tempted to slap it, just so he knows what it’s like.

“T-that was an accident,” he insists, even as his mouth settles into a satisfied smile. “Even the inquiry said so.”

It’s a struggle to keep his own from curling at the edges. “Only because Lugis didn’t want to press charges.”

“Only because he didn’t want it getting out that a girl ran circles around him on the mat,” Kiki corrects, each word a scalpel’s slice, excising those particulars from that shitshow with surgical precision. They can talk about this; Lugis’s challenge and the way Kiki swept him; that he was hardly on his feet when Mitsuhide somehow mislaid his fist and found it in his face, but everything else, the whys of it--

Those are all off the record. Forever. Or at least they would be, if Lugis wasn’t crawling through the dome like a stoat that’s caught whiff of an egg.

But that’s not what this is about. “And you want me to do that with that asshole?” Zen mutters. “Since it made Mitsuhide such good friends with Lugis, after all.”

“Obi isn’t Hisame,” Kiki informs him with the kind of steel in her tone that suggests she won’t be taking critique on that particular assessment. “All your issues with him are external.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he snaps, teeth gritting down.

It’s a mistake, a rookie one at that: never ask a Seiran a question you don’t want the answer to. “He’s got Shirayuki’s attention and you don’t.”

Mitsuhide clears his throat, shoulders set like Zen better plan to shelter in place. This particular storm isn’t about to hit its usual conversational breakwall. “Attention you’d have, if you hadn’t skipped out on your session.”

Zen grips the table to take that hit. But it’s not nearly the last; the stare Kiki turns to him is wide-eyed, half-betrayed. “You didn’t say anything about that.”

“It’s none of your business.” Even as the words fly from him, he knows it’s not fair, that he’s spitting nails into the wind so that they’ll hurt someone else instead of him. It doesn’t stop him, it never does, but a guilty knot settles in his gut. “The sessions are voluntary. They always have been. I don’t need--”

“Someone to keep your head on straight?” Every syllable snaps like ice, her eyes twice as cold. “That was the whole point, wasn’t it? So if something happens to us, you’d have--”

He can’t listen to this, not another word. “That was never the plan! I would never plan for you guys...”

Not coming back. For Redwood Dancer to be left a ruin on the sea floor, their bodies strapped in, hermetically sealed until the ocean wore the jaeger down to parts.

“Nothing is happening to you guys,” he grits out. “Shirayuki was always an addition, not a-- a replacement, because you’ll never--”

“No one can promise that.” Mitsuhide’s never one to throw a first punch, but oh, does he know how to end a fight. All the breath’s knocked clean out of him, and there’s Dancer’s right hand, shoveling down another bite of rice like it’s nothing. “Every time we go out there it’s a flip of a coin. It doesn’t matter how good we are, one day there’s going to be a kaiju that kicks us clean off our feet.”

He shakes his head, wishing the words would fall right out of them. “No. That’s not--”

“Zen.” He’s never heard a siren’s call, but it can’t be as inexorable as Mitsuhide saying his name in that tone, both firm and pitying and mournful all at once. “You know better than anyone. Rangers don’t grow old.”

There’s no thought when he levers himself up from the table, just up with away chasing its heels. He just can’t be here listening to this, not now, not after they just barely crawled home from another kaiju clawing its way across Korea’s shoreline. Not when he knows he should be fighting shoulder-to-shoulder with them-- that he would be if they stopped trying to saddle him with every rookie that rolled out of the simulator and finally put him with the only person that could fill that brace beside him.

“Zen!”

It’s easy to ignore Mitsuhide’s shout over the dinner rush; it’s just part of the noise, a buzz at the edge of his senses. Something to goad him, to push him out of there before either of them think to follow after. Their pity’s the last thing he needs, the last thing he wants. After all, it’s not him that won’t climb in the Conn-Pod, but his--

“Boss!”

Zen blinks, the empty corridor resolving around him. He’d let his feet carry him, their only imperative away-- and now he’s all turned around, every bulkhead the same. He’s heard about this happening to rangers when they lived in the dome too long; chasing the Minotaur, a ranger called it, three drinks down at the local hangar. And no fine little princess to give you string to find your way out.

Except he did have one of those. A person to help him through the labyrinth, even if she couldn’t show him the way. He’d been avoiding her.

That seems stupid now. It’s not like she’s on that asshole’s--

“Hey! Hey, boss.”

Speak of the devil. Zen turns, and there he is, too-tight t-shirt and all: his own personal problem. “What do you want?”

“Nothing.” He holds out his hands, as if that’s proof enough to clear him of ulterior motives. “I just...saw you head out and it looked like...”

Zen’s shoulders square, body braced like they’re back on the mat. “Looked like what?”

Obi’s breath rushes out of him. “It looked like you shouldn’t be alone.”

It’s not until he lifts his hand that he realizes it’s trembling, barely able to push his bangs back where he needs them. “Yeah? And you thought-- what? I’d want to see you?” Even to his own ears, his laugh is bitter, wrong, like it came from someone else’s mouth. “You, the guy who won’t get out of my way?”

Something ripples across this asshole’s face, too fast for him to catch more than its wake. “You think I’m the stick stuck in the mud here?” When those strange cat’s eyes stare at him, it’s out of placid waters, but that grin on his face-- it doesn’t reach them. “Rock, meet hard place.”

Zen’s hands clench, so hard his knuckles creak. “You think this is a joke? You’re trying to shove your ass in a seat that isn’t for you, and you--”

“You think I want to be out there?” He lets out a bark somewhere between pitying and derisive, arms folding over his chest. Zen takes special care not to check how stressed his seams are. “I did my time, Your Highness. I got out. I got told no one would ever look for me again.”

“Then why are you here?” Zen spits. “No one wants you.”

“You don’t know how true I wish that was.” A hand pulls at his shoulder, long fingers digging in around the blade. “But your brother dragged me down the coast because I’m not done. I’ll never be done, because I can’t sit on the sidelines and watch Snotju or Head Banger or whatever cosmic asshole crawls out of the rift wreck another wall.”

His hand lifts, scrubbing through the bristle of his hair, just a shade too shaggy to be regulation. “It’s fucked up, isn’t it, Master? I’m the one who doesn’t want to be here, but I’m the one who’s got the balls to get back in that jaeger. And you--” a cold gaze rakes over him-- “you’re content to sit there and watch the world burn just because I’m not--”

“Shut up.” He’s trembling, every muscle straining against his self-control. “Shut the fuck up. You don’t know a goddamn thing--”

“I’ve been in your head,” that asshole reminds him. “I know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“You don’t.” He can’t. “You don’t fucking know a thing about me.”

He cocks a hip, grin loaded like a bullet. “The prove it.”

Kiki’s right: in the instant where his knuckles hit that cut-glass cheekbone, Zen feels great.

Shirayuki’s office has always put him at ease; he stepped in here the first time before she’d even properly covered the walls, the tension seeping right out of him into the push carpet under his boots. There’s just something about how she fills a space-- something that has nothing to do with furniture or wall hangings or motivational posters-- that makes his brain put out whatever chemical that means safe. He’d never understood why the other rangers avoided her, not when they could have forty minutes in the room equivalent of a warm hug.

But it’s different this time.

“Izana made you call me here.” He’s ramrod straight on her worn couch, hands clenched in his lap. Or rather, right over the throw pillow he moved to sit. “Didn’t he?”

“The Marshal’s personal feelings have nothing to do with this.” Her words snap like a window on a sill, closing on that topic with a sense of finality he expected from the top brass, not their therapist. “The PPDC’s code of conduct is quite clear on the procedure to be followed after a non-sanctioned physical altercation between personnel.”

There’s a loose thread right by the fringe; he’d noticed it months ago, but never dared to tug it. Every time he’d felt the urge, he’d think of dominoes and load-bearing pillars, of the whole edge unraveling in his hands right as she looked at him.

Today, he pulls. It comes right off with a snap. “And that’s the only reason you brought me in?“

Shirayuki turns to him, one incredulous brow raised. “You were the one who cancelled our last session--” her mouth twitches as she twists the knife-- “last minute.”

Well, he deserves that one. Sure, he’s had his reasons, but Shirayuki-- well, she deserved more than one step up from ghosting. If the thought of having to look anyone in the eye after all that hadn’t made his stomach turn for three days, maybe he would have come to that conclusion before Kiki ripped him a new one over it.

“Sorry about that,” he mutters, aware with every word that it’s not enough, that there’s not enough apologies to patch up the trust he broke. “I wasn’t...ready to talk.”

He expects the clap back; yeah I got the message, or but you were ready to take a swing? But he should have known: that’s not how Shirayuki works. She’s a professional, whether that’s what he wants from her or not.

Instead he face softens, right back into his friend. “I know. What happened in the drift can be...intense.” She hesitates, teeth sinking into the plush bow of her lip. “I just wish that you had felt comfortable conveying that to me. As my patient, you’re supposed to be able to control--”

“I don’t want to be your patient.”

Her mouth closes with a grunt, hand pressed to her stomach as if he hit her. “O-oh,” she murmurs, breathless. “I hadn’t realized that you, ah, wanted to terminate our sessions--”

“No!” God, it would be nice to be able to say this all smooth like he’s sure that jacked asshole can, leaning against a wall with his hand right by her head, sexual tension rocking the Richter scale. “I just meant--” his teeth try to grind down his thoughts into something palatable-- “Shirayuki, I don’t want to just be your patient.”

He could fall into her eyes they’re so wide, rounded ‘o’s that match her mouth’s geometry. “Ah, Zen, that’s...”

“I don’t mean because I-I like you.” Even though he does, but there’s rules for that. The kind the PPDC will look the other way on, but not Shirayuki. She’s not from under the dome; she still worries about what people might think outside of it. “I just...wish you were on my side.”

“I am on your side.” Her shoulders pull straight against the back of her chair, her soft look hardening into resolve. “Which is different from telling you want you want to hear.”

He jerks back, cheeks stinging like he’d been slapped. “I didn’t say I wanted that,” he mumbles, hands clenching over his lap. “But I don’t need you to tell me to do whatever it is Izana wants me to either.”

“I wasn’t going to.” The notebooks in her lap closes with a snap, and with trembling fingers, she sets aside her shield. “Izana wants you back in a jeager for the legacy. For the unbroken line of Wisterias standing between humanity and the rift. But I...”

Her eyes lift to his, and they’re no longer the lush, leafy green of a forest, but the hard glint of emerald. “If you get back in that cockpit, you need to do it for yourself.”

It’s an effort not to say, I don’t see the difference.

“I saw you when the siren went off.”

Zen scrubs a hand over his face; he remembers. Their eyes had met over that seething mass of fear and competence, and-- and he’d been so sure that if he saw her, something more than that glimpse of red in the corner of his vision, he’d forget every inch of his resolve and go to her. That he’d just take her in his arms and tell her all the thoughts roiling in the sea of his mind, but--

But he hadn’t. He’s taken one look at her and, without even a pang of guilt, left her there. A real hero.

“Zen.” She says his name so firmly, so seriously, that his head jerks up, gaze tangling with hers. “You don’t want to be on the sidelines. You don’t want to be the general hiding being his troops. You want to be out there, Rex Tyrannis shoulder-to-shoulder with Redwood Dancer. And you could be.”

It’s his breath that’s rasping, the death rattle of the man he’s let himself be these past few years. “How?”

There’s not an ounce of hesitation in her when she says. “You have to choose to move forward.”

And cozy up in the cockpit with that asshole. He thinks about that grin, cocked with a confidence he’s never been in the neighborhood of having, and...

It’s so familiar that his double vision makes his head pound. “I can’t work with that-- Obi. I won’t.”

“I know that...” Her lips press together, bursting apart with a pop. “I know there’s no limit to the amount of people a ranger could potentially drift with, but there’s something...special when you find the right one. That there’s something right about it than can’t ever be replaced.”

He stares, head galloping in his chest. She shouldn’t know that-- there’s no way she could. Most rookies out of the academy just drift successfully once, and that’s it-- that’s their partner, for better or worse, like marrying the first kid you kiss. There’s exceptions-- emergencies, injury, irreconcilable differences-- but even though this job has a high turnover...rangers rarely die alone. There’s not enough people for a paper.

“Yeah, I’ve...heard that too.” Probably from the same mouth she did, though it seems Mitsuhide’s polished the speech since he last gave it. To him, at least.

“I understand that you have a vision of who you want beside you in the pod,” Shirayuki presses, voice growing tighter, more tense with every word. “But Atri’s gone.”

Every drop of blood in him turns to ice. “Atri?”

Her breath hisses out through her teeth, relief slumping her shoulders. “I know no one can be him, but--”

“You think this is about Atri?” A giggle bubbles up from him, bitter on his tongue. “I’ve been sitting here for weeks-- no, months! And you think all this, the whole reason I won’t climb in a jaeger with just anyone off the street is because of Atri?”

Every corner of her face lost. “Isn’t it?”

“No, I...” He pinches the bridge of his nose, like it might stem the pounding of his heart behind his brow. This whole time he’d been so careful, trying to be understood for once, to let someone see him instead of his mistakes--

But he should have known; as long as his brother is obsessed with sending him an endless parade of nobodies which he sits behind a desk, it’ll only be his hang ups hung out for everyone to rifle through.

“I should go,” he finally manages, levering himself to his feet. The room spins, his heartbeat thrumming in his ears, but he can’t stay here, not when she thinks-- when she’s always thought--

“Zen,” she murmurs, voice muffled by distance. “Are you all right?”

--That he’s pathetic. “Yeah.” He stumbles to the door, swinging it open. “I just need to--”

And of course, standing right there is that asshole, hand half-raised to knock.

“Boss,” he breathes, clearly stunned. “I, uh, didn’t think you’d be...”

The awkwardness in the office is palpable, so thick that he might as well be moving through molasses. Before this guy showed up, he’d though he had half a chance; he was practically the only one outside of K-Science that would even look at her, and his sessions always felt like more, but now--

Well, it’s no wonder he didn’t stand half a chance next to him, if she thought he was waiting for Atri.

“Don’t worry about it.” Zen pushes back him, shoulder clipping his. Or at least near enough to claim the feat. “I’d hate to keep you two from your--” date-- “dinner plans.”

Shirayuki’s breath gasps from her. “Zen, wait, we’re not--”

“It’s fine,” he lies, every muscle tense where he stands, fighting the urge to look back. “A couple of things are clearer now.”

It’s not just her. They all think he’s waiting for him, that one day he might stroll back in here like nothing happened, and Zen--

“Please.” Shirayuki’s voice trembles, and even if he’s not looking, he knows she’s at the door, vibrating in its frame. “Let’s just finish the session.”

-- and Zen’s been giving them nothing else to work with. All these years, looking like a kid stood up on prom night.

“No, I just remembered there’s something I’ve got to do.” He forces a smile on his face, giving her a bare hint of it as he peeks over his shoulder. “I’ll see you next week.”

It kills him how much hope lights in her eyes. “Next week?”

“That our appointment, isn’t it?” he says, light tone limping. “Unless I see you around the dome before then.”

“Right,” she breathes, cheeks flushed at both corners of her smile. Obi’s watching her, concern writ large in his eyes, and well-- maybe he’s not as much of an asshole as Zen wanted to believe. “Until then.”

He gets halfway down the hall, before Obi calls out, “Hey, boss...”

It’s clear when he looks back that Obi hadn’t meant to speak, but now that he has, he clear his throat, giving himself a visible shake.

“You could come with us,” he says, hesitant. “If you wanted.”

It’s an olive branch, one he doesn’t deserve. One he should take, if he wants all this to heal over without a scar. But he’s not ready for that, not yet.

“No.” He shakes head. “I wasn’t joking about having something I got to do. Go enjoy yourselves.”

This is a terrible idea.

He knows it the entire time he’s walking, the anxiety cresting the second he sees the plate on the door, engraved and letters painted black: IZANA WISTERIA. MARSHAL.

“Well,” Izana hums from his desk. “Are you going pace outside my office all day, or are you planning to come in?”

Zen lets out a rush of breath and pushes the door open the rest of the way.

“You win,” he says, all in a rush. “I’ll do it. I’ll give him another chance.”

“I think at this point, he’s giving you another chance,” Izana tells him, barely glancing up from his pile of papers. “But...I’ll arrange it.”

He nearly says, I figured you’d have it all arranged already, but bites it back. “Thanks.”

“My pleasure. And Zen.” His brother looks up, capping his pen calmly before he folds his hands over the desk. “It’s not me who wins. It’s humanity.”

“Yeah,” he breathes, meeting that steely gaze. “But I’m not doing it for them.”

For once, his brother doesn’t have anything to say.

It’s Obi who’s locked in first this time.

His cheeky smile is already waiting when Zen steps on deck, body gripped by Rex Tyrannis’s hydraulics when he throws him a wink. “Second time’s the charm, right Your Highness?”

“Third time,” Zen mutters, keying in his code. “It’s third time’s the charm.”

“Right, but you were top of your class.” A guy like Obi shouldn’t be so comfortable when he’s got twenty tons pinning him in place, not when he’s got a face just asking to be hit. “So we can shave one of those off, right?”

“Depends.” His mouth twitches. “Where did you rank?”

Obi’s grin grows stiff enough to float. “I think you’d say I’m a natural talent.”

“That bad huh?”

A laugh saws out of him, raw in the loud silence of the pod. “You have no idea.”

“I think I could take a guess.” The hydraulics hug Zen tight; even lifting to his arm to the panel is a chore. “Ready?”

“For you?” Obi’s mouth stretches into a leer.  For once, he feels like he’s in on the joke. “Any time.”

Don’t chase the rabbit. It’s Obi’s voice that says it; not the way he had before, serious and concerned, a scolding and a reminder. No, this one is a laugh restrained, sing-song. One pill makes you big and one makes you small.

There’s a faint riff of guitar, and Zen’s about to tell him to can it, that putting trash in the drift just clogged up the flow, but--

But between one breath-- one blink and the next, he’s lost in the tide, rolling through his memories rudderless. When a hand grips his shoulder and--

“I’m ready.” Zen’s always too honest, too eager but he’s young here, younger than he ever remembers being wearing the badge. “To pick up the legacy. To be what father meant us to be.”

The memory runs true, his younger self still chatting away with Shidnote, unaware that his whole world’s about to be cut off at the knees. But he’s not watching that now, he’s watching the way shadows crawl across his brother’s face, a storm front that appears and vanishes in the moments no one looks.

“About that.” Izana settles his hand on the desk, but the drumming is no longer bored but...nervous. An asynchronous beat that runs at the speed of his thoughts. “I meant to tell you. I’m being promoted.”

“Promoted” The word still kicks his legs out from under him, still knocks the wind out of his lungs as efficiently as any punch to the gut. “But I thought we would--”

“They want me in a command capacity now that Mother’s taking over Anchorage.” Izana won’t look at him. The man who has built his career on being able to stare down Orochi in Sagami Bay can’t bear to look him in the eye. “I’m being taken off active duty.”

“But--” He looks between them. “But--”

“But--”

“But--”

The memory stutters. It’s him, he’s the one who’s pushing away. He’d always thought he couldn’t give this to someone, to some guy right off the street, someone who might pity him, but it’s-- it’s him. He can’t look at this. He can’t face failure another time.

And he doesn’t know how to stop.

Hey. Obi’s voice is too close, but he’s just an outline in the drift, blues and grays fuzzing between misfiring synapses. Hey, we don’t have to watch this.

They do. They have to, if he’s going to get through this.

Right. There’s no way for Obi to sigh here, where there’s no air, but he does, long and loud. It sounds...different. Almost...feminine. I have worse. Want to see me wet the bed when I was--?

The words fuzz before they can continue. Go ahead, Obi says, sounding like himself. Take as much time as you need. It’s not like we have clocks here.

Zen can’t nod here, not without a body, but he breathes, one solid in and out--

“It’s supposed to be us.” Even with the distance of time, every word is carves straight from his flesh, laid out on a platter for his brother to see. “We’re supposed to carry on the legacy.”

“Shidnote will continue on in his current capacity,” Izana explains, bored, as if he didn’t even speak. “He’s served me well. I’m sure you’ll both be sufficiently compatible.”

“But--” Zen grits his teeth. “It’s supposed to be us. Why are you giving me an excuse--?

He blinks. He never said that. He’d been thinking it the whole way to his bunk, but in the moment it had only been a yes sir. I understand, sir.

Then why--

“It’s an excuse.” The shine’s all worn off Atri’s grin, baring the raw edge beneath. “That’s all I’ve ever been to you.”

Scrap litters the floor at his feet; he’s never known what jaeger-grade parts sold for on the black market, but he knows it’s not pocket money. This is a small fortune if someone knew where to sell it.

Which clearly Atri does.

“You’re going to blame me?” Zen’s laugh limps with bitterness. “I catch you with stolen goods, and it’s my--?”

“It’s not stolen, it’s salvage,” Atri snaps, snatching a length of steel from his hands. “It’s not like they’re using it.”

A lie-- there’s not a shred of steel or wire that’s wasted in the dome. Jaegars come with a price tag that only governments can pay, and any corner that can be safely cut on maintenance is considered savings passed onto tax payers. There’s no way he can’t know it, not after six months, but--

He doesn’t care. He never did.

“This is why you agreed to be my copilot.” Every word aches as he births them from his lips, a truth that cuts even as he speaks it. “You didn’t care about protecting your friends. You just wanted access to parts.”

Atri shrugs, the barest twitch of his shoulders. “I never said I gave a single fuck about all that hero shit. You just assumed I did, because you do.”

“But the drift...” His breath wheezes, the way it did when he was a kid, before his dad paid for all that to be fixed. “How did you...?”

“I just thought about the stuff you cared about. Friends. Kaiju. Me.” Atri’s grin turns smug. “Some of us don’t wear our heart on our sleeves, Wisteria.”

Wow. Obi’s outline fuzzes as he circles behind Atri, a single brow raised. He’s a real fucknut, huh?

His memories are jumbles, him-now and him-then all tumbled together until his first instinct is to jump to Atri’s defense. He may not be an academy-trained ranger, someone who has a lifetime worth of experience in a simulator, but put him in Rex Tyrannis and he’ll--

Steal the toilet cover? Obi offers, mouth canting into that insufferable grin. The one that always reminded him of--

Ah.

Obi darts a glance to where Atri stands frozen beside him. Jeeze, you really know how to hit a guy where he lives. You think I look like this asshole?

Just the grin, really. He’s almost a head taller, broader in the shoulders, and Asian besides. Better looking too--

Obi’s smile stretches into a leer. You don’t say, bossman?

Maybe Atri’s right. He’s got to get better about what he thinks about in the drift. Especially with someone this insufferable around.

If anything, Obi’s more amused. So it’s this guy though, he’s whole hold up you have with me? It’s not--

Against his will, Atri springs to life, mouth curled into his nastiest sneer when he says “I don’t know why you’re acting so betrayed. After all, you only wanted me to get back at the Marshal, and I played my part, didn’t I? I’m sure he’d jump in the pod if that meant he could be rid of me.”

“That’s not--” true, he should say. He can’t though, not when he’s not this-Zen, when he’s just looking out from his eyes, straight into Obi’s.

“Yeah.” There’s no spit to swallow in the drift, but he does anyway, a force of habit. “It is.”

The memory fuzzes away from him, and it’s just them now, two men braced in the Conn-pod, staring at each other through their visors.

“Right hemisphere, calibrated.” Zen blinks, watching as his hand opens and closes, the robotic voice’s dulcet tones washing over him.

“I never wanted this, you know,” he murmurs, “not if it wasn’t with my brother. That’s how it was supposed to be, me and him versus the kaiju.”

“Left hemisphere, calibrated.” His arms seem to move on his own, and it’s strange how he can’t keep the smile off his face this time. It feels good, moving like this again.

“No,” he breathes. “It was supposed to be me and him versus the world.”

“Ready to activate the jeager.“

Obi’s arms lift, a fighting stance to mirror his. It’s easy, so easy. Easier than he ever thought it could be. “What changed?”

He’d shrug, if the hydraulics would let him, but this isn’t Redwood Dancer. “Seemed like a shitty reason not to save the world.”

“Calibration complete.”

Obi grins, teeth shining bright under the lights of his visor. “Doc tell you that?”

Zen laughs. “Pretty much.”

“She’s got a gift,” Obi agrees, hands moving in sync with his. “And it’s making you feel like an asshole.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Looks like you jokers are getting along,” Kiki deadpans through their helmets. “How do you feel about taking Rex out for a drag?”

“After being cramped under this dome for months, Princess?” Obi drawls, tossing him a conspiratorial wink. “It’d be my pleasure.”

“Just give us a sec!” It’s been a long time since Zen’s talked much with the crew in CIC, but he recognizes that voice-- Yuzuri, one of Shirayuki’s friends. The peppy one with the cute accessories. The one that told him she’d give him cement shoes if he made her cry. “Let’s see if we can get you off your leash.”

He’d always liked her. Hopefully the feeling’s mutual, since she’s right next to the plug.

“Hey, boss.”

Zen blinks, glancing across the cockpit. “Yeah?”

“I know Atri was supposed to be a big fuck you to His Majesty, but...” He hesitates, thoughtful. “You drifted with the Big Guy for a while after that. Why?”

“Ah--”

It’s impossible not to think of it, the siren rising in the air, the men running past them, voices drowned out by the drone.

“I’ll do it,” he says, glaring up at the man across from him. “At least you know you’re just a seat warmer.”

“Zen--”

He blinks, the memory stuttering beneath him. That’s not what Mitsuhide called him then, that wasn’t until after--

“Zen.”

That’s not inside the memory, that’s inside his helmet. “Mitsuhide?”

“You’re out of alignment.”

He shakes his head, uncomprehending. “What do you--?”

“You’re out of alignment.” He repeats, each words strained. “You both chased the rabbit, and...Obi went straight down the rabbit hole.”

It doesn’t make any sense. “But I--”

“You have to go get him,” Mitsuhide says, dire. “He’s pointing the plasma cannon at Mission Control.”

[syndxlla]

Be

part six of the Dinner and Diatribes series

part five here

summary: When you see Mando in action for the first time, you begin to recall more and more of your childhood memories.

word count: 4.7k words

warnings: Swearing, passing out, being shot at, Mando kills a guy, mentions of abuse.

a/n: “Be” is the tenth song on Hozier’s album Wasteland, Baby!

Sorry it’s been so long since I’ve updated! I got a little uh *cough* depressed *cough* but I’m feeling much better now, I also wanted to be present for all the holidays and didn’t want to be glued to my phone the whole time haha. ANYWAYS enjoy!!!

-

“Be”

“We need to refuel.” The Mandalorian said through the modulator. This time, it wasn’t a lie. The three of you were a little less than halfway to Kiros, travelling through hyperspace for almost a full day now. It had been a few hours since the kiss, enough time for the kid to wake up, eat, and play enough to get tired again. He was nestled sleepily on your lap, mindlessly fidgeting with the beskar ball you gave back to him to occupy to little squirt while you sat in the cockpit with Mando. You think the bounty hunter slept while you were down in the Hull taking care of kid. It made you wonder how he ever got rest when he was alone with the monster. 

“Already?” You ask, finding it hard to believe you already needed fuel. After you spoke up, the kid drowsily babbled, slowly getting more fatigued. 

The Mandalorian nodded. “She’s onto me,” He said to himself. He couldn’t lie to you again, the truth would get back to you eventually, and it would be best to keep it as accurate as possible. “Should be fast.” He explained. 

“That’s alright.” You shrug, you didn’t mind, and it’s not like you could change the course. You remind yourself that he does what he wants. 

“We’ll stop on Uyter, it was just liberated by the New Republic a few years ago, so it’ll be pretty dangerous.” He began after clicking a few random buttons, “Feel up to the challenge?” Mando asked, the slightest bit of teasing in his voice. 

“Oh I’ll be fine. You’re the one we need worry about.” You sighed, sarcastically playing along.

 He very lightly chuckled, “We’ll see about that.” 

You smirked. Neither of you have brought up the kiss yet, between being occupied with the kid and not wanting to ruin the lingering magic of it, you both made a silent agreement to leave the moment alone. Every time you thought of it, however, you received a wave of shocks through your body, causing your spine to shiver in euphoric bliss. You hoped it wouldn’t be the last time he kissed you. However, you didn’t want to get your hopes up, as far as you know, that was just a short moment of weakness for him. But his words lingered on your mind, “that’s how you can help”. His remark after kissing you implied that it would happen again, but you were still walking on egg-shells in every situation with him. He would have to be the one to make the move every time, you were too timid to be the one to initiate any form of physical contact. 

It wasn’t much longer before you were snapping out of light speed, a small but lush planet in your view. “Utter?” You raise an eyebrow, the kid now asleep in your arms. 

“Uyter. You-ter.” He enunciated. 

“I’m sorry, could you say that again?” You ask, poking your tongue to your cheek, enjoying teasing him far too much.

“No.” He grunted, making you quietly giggle. 

“Have you been here before?” This was one of your favorite things to ask him, it was so interesting to hear about his adventures through the galaxy. 

He nodded in response, “Capital City has a good Cantina, found a bounty there once.” 

Cantina meant actual food, which made you happy. 

“So, how dangerous is this place.” You try to ask nonchalantly, like you didn’t really care how dangerous it might be (but you did care, a lot). 

“The empire used to have an academy here, a pretty big one too. It’s been dismantled now, but there are still remnants.”

“There are all over the galaxy.” You sigh. The Empire was even able to reach out to Nal Hutta at some points. 

The Razor Crest moved into the atmosphere, and before you knew it, the Mandalorian’s ship landed on the surface. The descent was boring, and all you could see for miles and miles was farmland. 

“They used to produce food for the Empire, one of my first missions with the Mandalorian’s was to burn the fields.” He explained. 

“What? I thought you bucket-heads were neutral when it came to imperial affairs.” You tilt your head as you ask. 

“We are, but if the price is right, we’ll work for anyone...” 

“How old were you?”

“...Eighteen. I think, not sure about how hold I really am.” Mando cleared his throat, something told you that you are the only person he’s ever told something like that. “It was me and some of my brothers of the creed... I’m the only one of that troupe still alive...” You swear you could hear a little bit of sadness in his voice, but it was hard to tell. You thought you were getting better at reading him, but he’s so mechanical from the outside, it makes you wonder what he’s really thinking. In no way do you want to seem invasive, and the last thing you want to do is offend him, but you couldn’t help yourself from wanting to know more about him, to be...closer to him in some way. 

“I-I’m sorry. Let’s just be fast then, yeah?” You reassured. 

Capital city was nice, much nicer than Nal Hutta. It was a relatively large city, bigger than any city on your home-world. You were significantly closer to the inner-rim as well, which meant more wealth, prosperity and civilization. You knew this, but that didn’t stop your childlike awe as you looked up at the towering skyscrapers above. 

Mando noticed the way you looked up at the sky, “Two hyperspace lanes cross here, we’ll be moving onto the other one after we leave, getting us closer to Kiros.” He spoke up. 

“Can we eat here?” You shamelessly ask. He nods in response as he powers down the ship, and stands up from the pilot’s chair. 

Uyter was just like Junkfort station but on the surface, bustling and diverse, but running with more crime than the space station. Mando payed a few credits to the Rodian crew at the docking bay, and the three of you were off. The kid was nestled safely in a metal pram, the lid sealed shut, keeping the outside world from distracting him (and vice versa). The carriage followed you, who followed Mando as the trio walked into the heart of the city. This was the first real city you’ve ever been in (that you can remember). And you knew that this was a significantly smaller city than anything on the core worlds. The galaxy was so big, so much bigger than your little shack on the bayou. As you weaved through the winding streets and pop-up shops, you wanted to attach to the bounty hunter at the hip. Although you were mesmerized by the higher level of civilization, you didn’t feel safe, and you knew he would protect you. You remember that this is what every planet is like, every city. They all have a crime rate, they all have dark alleyways and bounty hunters and remnants of the Empire. You’re sure Lothal wasn’t much different from here. Men of all types of species watched as you and the metal man walked through the crowded streets, the hordes of people seemed to part at your expense. It gave you a sense of fulfillment, a feeling of power. When you were seen with the Mandalorian, you were seen as a threat, too. As far as any of these strangers know, you are just as intimidating as a bounty hunter in a beskar shell. In reality, you were nothing more than a naive girl with no childhood and the only useful experience you have has come from a cantina owner and abusive ex-boyfriend on a planet ran by massive slugs. But none of these people needed to know that. That was something you could definitely get used to; in the rest of the galaxy, no one knew your name. It was like a fresh start, and you could become anyone you wanted to be. Hell, you could even become a Mandalorian if you wanted, but life inside of a can isn’t very appealing to you. You hardly know how to shoot a blaster anyways, so maybe life as a bounty hunter isn’t the one for you. You could accept that. 

Mando wandered into the Cantina. It was about mid-day, so it wasn’t too busy yet. A few droids worked behind the counter and there were a handful of aliens quietly conversing. The three of you found a place to sit at the bar, and you timidly pulled out some of the credits the Mandalorian gave you a few days ago. “Get something for the kid.” His voice quiet through the modulator.

You nodded before ordering some generic and cheap food from one of the droids. You pull the pram forward before unlatching the lid, letting the little monster see outside again. His eyes adjusted to the light, and turned to look up at you.You hand him the food you gt, and he was immediately happy to be eating. Something about him being a glutton was so cute to you. You hoped he was getting enough to eat, that Mando was taking good care of him. You still have so many questions about who the little monster is and where he came from. How had the Mandalorian came into possession of the kid? What species was he? You know they haven’t been together for very long, but you do know that it’s been long enough that they have a very special bond. Almost like father and son. 

You mindlessly ate your food, completely unaware that something might’ve been wrong. You were so used to the silence bounty hunter at your side was so comfortable with that you didn’t think twice when he sat completely still, his visor facing straight forward. “Gotta go.” He said so quietly he might as well have stayed silent.

“What?”

“Hurry.” He cleared his throat. You were confused, but were too afraid to ask what was going on, so you quickly helped the kid finish eating.

“All right let’s-” You began to say but was interrupted.

“Now how did the guild let you get away with that?” A deep and dangerous voice said from behind you. You froze up, and darted your eyes over to Mando, side-eyeing him. You slowly move your hand back to close the metal case holding the kid. It snapped closed at the touch of your finger, slightly startling you with the noise it made. “Heard you’re the most wanted member right now...” The voice from behind you said again, Mando stayed perfectly still and collected, almost like he knew this was coming. He was so good at his job that he probably did, you remind yourself. You looked to him for reassurance again, and he slightly nodded before quickly turning around and drawing his gun, shooting the man behind you two in the leg. He yelled out in pain and you jumped in shock. You stayed frozen in place as the other patrons in the Cantina all stopped what they were doing to look at the scene. The loud blast from the gunfire had silenced the semi-busy establishment, and the only sound was the thud of the man falling on the floor in pain. You turned to look down at him in shock, he wasn’t dead, Mando wasn’t trying to kill him, but the sight of his blood put a pit in your stomach, like you could puke. 

“Mando-” You swallowed thickly. 

“Hey! Take that outside!” An alien yelled from across the room. 

The man on the floor writhed in pain but somehow pulled together enough strength to pull his own blaster out and point it at not Mando, but you. You weren’t sure what do to, and thank the maker the Mandalorian noticed what was happening and acted quickly. He bent down to grab the gun from his hand right before the shot was fired, ripping it out of his grasp and shooting the guy in the head with it instead. As you held your breath, your eyebrows slowly started to knit together, processing what had happened. The murder caused the other patrons of the bar to get rowdy, no one wanted to see that but something told you that this wasn’t the first time. 

“I said let’s go.” Mando repeated himself as he dropped the blaster he stole and grabbed your hand, pulling you towards the door. A few people surrounded the man and it wasn’t much longer until yelling could be heard.

“Who was that?” You timidly ask as the bounty hunter tugs you into the street. 

“Not sure, but I didn’t like how much he knew about me.”

“Knew about you? He hardly knew anything!” You contradict, trying not to go into a state of shock. 

“He knew enough, he knew that I’m wanted in the guild and he knew about you and the kid.” 

“Me?”

“If I had let him live, your face would’ve gotten out, you’d never be able to stay in one place for very long.” He explained. The pit in your stomach only seemed to grow. 

“You aren’t getting away that easily!” A new voice yelled from down the street, the noise causing Mando to move into a light jog, yanking you forward with him. A few blaster shots were sent in your direction, and it took everything in you not to scream. It had been a long time since you had been shot at. Mando pulled the three of you into a side alley, pushing you up against a brick wall and pulling out his own blaster. He held the weapon up by his helmet and turned his head to look around the corner of the wall, lowering the gun and firing a few shots back. As he worked, you turned to metal cradle and opened it to make sure the kid was alright. As the lid snapped open, big, beady eyes looked up at you, completely unaware of the situation at hand. 

“You okay?” You ask before giving an awkward smile of reassurance and closing the case again. You took a deep breath, trying to calm your heart rate. “Can I help?” You as the Mandalorian, who like usual ignored you. “I’ll take that has a no.” Before you could decompress again, he was turning and grabbing your wrist again. The chase continued down the alley, and you were able to make good time before you were being shot at again. Your mouth was dry, and you began to get tired of all the running. Mando must have noticed this because he pulled your arm forward so you were in front of him and he could shield you with his body, the carriage following closely behind. You tried to lead but the alley way led to a dead-end, and suddenly, you were cornered. “Shit, what now?” You turn to ask him. He was already turned around and shooting back at the people chasing you. It was the first time you had really seen him in action, and you had to admit, he was good at it. He took down one, two, three of the people against you, making it look easy, effortless. You stared at him in awe, you knew he would be good at this, you’ve seen Mandalorians in action before, but he was... different. Everything he did had a purpose, the way he moved was like a strictly choreographed dance, and it practically put you in a trance. 

More men were coming, and you genuinely wondered how you were going to get out of this. Soon, the shots stopped, but men gathered on the rooftops around the dead-end. You looked up at them in fear, Mando’s helmet tilted up too. “How are we getting out of this?” You muttered, asking out of genuine concern for your life. 

“Don’t worry about it.” He responded. 

“Oh yeah, twenty men are pointing blasters at me from all directions, I’ll stay calm.” You sarcastically reply. Before you could really think to get scared though, Mando was taking a step behind him in your direction, bumping into you as he was cocking his wrist back. Two dozen small missiles shot from his wrist guard, all of them flying in different directions and hitting man after man, causing them to fall to their deaths as a whistle of power shot towards them. You close your eyes and push into his back, not wanting to see the pain of so many people. The sounds of yelling and pain filled your ears and it was almost like you were dreaming as your memories began to flood to view. “Not here, not now.” You whisper to yourself when you start to recall things from your childhood again. 

Like you said, it had been a long time since you were shot at, and the last time you were involved a ship, an old one, one you hadn’t seen since you were little. You memories flashed before your eyes: a man in full armor pointing his gun at you, his voice rough with a thick accent, it was a voice you had heard before. The sight of an explosion in the distance, a man with blaring red swords being flown from a building. A girl flying, you were in her arms, was she wearing a Mandalorian helmet? You weren’t sure, although the memories were vivid, you were getting dizzy and tired. The unfamiliar face of the woman holding you as you flew towards the rafters of a building was becoming blurry, and her helmed face slowly turned into the Mandalorian’s who you were travelling with. You regained your vision for just one more short moment and you saw you were down on the ground looking up at Mando’s. After that, you slowly faded into unconsciousness. 

--

When you woke up, you were back in the Hull of the Crest, your sore back and pounding head lay against the Mandalorian’s rough cot. All the lights were off, and you could tell you were back in hyperspace. Why had this happened again? You were still sick to your stomach, and probably should have gone back to sleep, but scooted out of the bed instead. You rub the sleep from your eyes, and drowsily made your way to the ladder to the cockpit. You slowly climb up it, carefully working not to fall off, you were still very dizzy and weren’t sure of what happened after you regained some of your memories. You eventually made it up the ladder, and knocked one time on the cockpit door before going on. The Mandalorian sat in the pilots chair like usual, his head leaned back against the read rest, sitting perfectly still. In his arms was the kid, sleeping comfortably in the protection of a strong embrace. He was drooling just a little bit onto the bounty hunter’s elbow. You smiled warmly at the image, and assumed he was asleep too. Not wanting to bother his rest, you sat in one of the extra chairs, pulling one of your legs up onto the seat and holding it there with your arms, resting your forehead against your knee. You sat there comfortable for a long time, not sleeping, but just contently enjoying some peace and quiet. If Mando had been awake, he would have said something by now to let you know. It gave you a moment to process what had just happened, and the memories you had possibly regained. They were so vivid it almost felt like you were watching a holorecording, which is why you are so confused on what was real and what wasn’t. Is it possible that all of this was an elaborate mirage? Something your mind was making up to fill in the blanks? Your childhood was a complete mystery up until a few days ago, so what about this experience has triggered your memories to come back? 

“You feeling okay?” His modulated voice startled you, and you lifted your head up to see his helmet turned in your direction. 

“I-I’m sorry,” Your voice was hoarse, you cleared your throat after speaking. “I’m sorry I’ve been such a burden on you. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I’ve never had anything like this happen before.” You admit, trying to explain what was going on. “If you want to leave me on Kiros I understand-”

“Stop.”

“What?” you raise an eyebrow. 

“Stop. I don’t care, I’m just glad to see you up and moving.” He sighed. 

“Oh?” You eyes widened.

“I don’t think it’s safe for you to be out of the ship, both times you have been this has happened.”

“I know, that’s why I’m saying sorry-”

“It’s not your fault, you’ve spent your whole life isolated, the galaxy can be... overwhelming.”

You thought about what he said, “Why are you being so kind to me?” You timidly speak up. He was a dangerous man, so what had you done to gain his favor? 

He shrugged, “Can’t just leave you behind.”

“Yes you could, you’re a dangerous bounty hunter and I’m just... just-”

“The only person to treat me like a man.” He interrupted you. 

“Huh?” You weren’t sure if you heard him correctly. 

“Everyone treats me as just that: a dangerous bounty hunter. But you didn’t, you looked me in the eyes when you spoke to me, you weren’t afraid to tell me no. I’ll admit, it’s pretty frustrating to not get everything I want when I ask the first time, but I wouldn’t have ever known that if you hadn’t come along.” He explained. 

“Oh... you’re welcome? I guess.” You shrugged, not really sure how to respond. “But really, if I’m too much of a burden, you don’t have to keep me around, I don’t mind.” You reassured. He lightly chuckled, “No offense, but you wouldn’t last very long on your own.” 

“Hey now.” You teased back, while you understood he wasn’t serious, you knew there was some truth behind what he was saying. “So.. you’re okay with me staying?” You asked after smiling. 

“If you want, after Kiros I’ll still take you to Lothal, hopefully by then you won’t faint at any minor inconvenience.” He tilted his head, this one made you roll your eyes, but you still smiled at what he said. 

“Sounds like you want me to stick around, too.” You raise an eyebrow. 

The Mandalorian didn’t respond to this, and instead turned his head down to look at the sleeping kid on his arm. You followed him with your eyes, your chest filling with warmth as you watched the dangerous man’s fatherly instincts. Somewhere in there, there was a man, and you were determined to find him. 

“How close are we to Kiros?” You finally ask, interrupting the comfortable silence. 

“Still a few rotations, get comfortable, we aren’t going to need fuel any time soon.” Mando nodded. Sometimes it was so easy to make conversation with him, but a lot of the time he was like a brick wall: impossible to break through. This entire journey you were walking on egg-shells, trying to stay on his good side and prove that you were worth his time. However, at the end of the day, you were only human, and after years of almost complete isolation, constant companionship is starting to sound nice, even if it’s just for a few weeks. You slouch in your seat, letting your foot fall back to the metal ground. You stared up at the glass overhead, admiring the swirl of light speed. You can’t remember if you had ever been in hyperspace as a child, everything is so unclear. At least you thought it was. Now you were unsure. You spent over twenty years being completely content with your lack of childhood, it rarely crossed your mind. As you recall, you remember that there were only a few instances in which you felt like you were missing something. Once when a mother helped her child off of a speeder, and another time when you watched future bounty hunters and criminals play with a ball. You don’t remember ever having friends growing up, but seeing kids interact with each other before they become corrupt from a galaxy of bad made you long for what could have been. If you made it this far without wanting more, why do you suddenly want to now? 

“I think I know why I’ve been passing out.” You say, cursing yourself after. He probably didn’t care, you didn’t think before you spoke and now you’ve sprung your own trap. He tilted his head after you spoke, urging you to go on. You took a deep breath, maybe he had some answers, it doesn’t hurt to try and find out. “Growing up on Hutta, I never remembered much...” You began, unsure of how to even go about this. “I would forget simple things, like names or times...” You shrug, considering you were a literal child, you suppose it didn’t matter much. “I know I wasn’t always on that planet, there’s a chapter to my story before then... but no matter how hard I try, I can’t remember what it was.” You sigh. You felt silly, but he didn’t tell you to stop, and something about the situation convinced you to keep talking, “That was until a few days ago... when you mentioned the war.” You cleared your throat after you said this. “I don’t know, it must’ve triggered something in my memory because now... now I’m starting to remember things, strange things, but they’re incredibly vivid.” You wanted to shrink, could he at least confirm he was listening to you? “Both times I’ve... passed out... it was because I remembered something.” A wash of relief flooded your body when you finished speaking, whatever happened next was in his hands. You looked over to him, hopeful that he would respond. You bring your fist to your mouth, waiting in suspense for his response. “Say something, say something, say something...” You think silently to yourself. 

“What did you see?” He said, you felt like you could sing after he spoke up, thankful he was even listening. 

“Gun fire, bright lights, a helmet that looked like yours...” You listed out, trying to remember all the things you saw, “Flying up towards rafters, a man yelling at me, his voice was familiar...” You recall, thinking hard about the memories. “And the strangest thing was a man with red swords? I know that sounds ridiculous. I had a dream about it once before, but I was very sick, the doctor on Nal Hutta told me I had a fever and that’s why I was having strange dreams but now I’m not so sure.” You falter off as you speak, you probably sound crazy. Mando didn’t reply, you hoped he was absorbing what you had just said. “I know it sounds crazy but I don’t know what to do and until I figure out what’s going on I’m gonna continue to faint at any minor inconvenience.” You finish on a lighter note, hoping to take some of the tension off the mood. He still didn’t respond, and you sighed in defeat. You should have known this would happen. You shift in your seat, and try to fall back asleep, if you’re lucky you could get another hour or two in. So you were relieved when you began to dream about a mysterious boy softly kissing you, telling you everything will be alright. You just wish you could believe him. 

[bookstantrash]

A/N: Sorry for disappearing, I promise I have not given up on this fic. Life is kinda of a mess right now. The College Entrance Exams Season has just begun, and I’ve been studying nonstop, which leaves me with little time to write and a brain overheated due to excessive studying.

Good news tho! So far, I have been accepted in the two colleges I’ve already applied for, which leaves me with just The Big Scary Exam in January which also has a second phase that is FIVE DAYS AFTER ACOSF IS RELEASED. And which is pretty much my dream college

But let’s talk about happy things. Get comfortable and enjoy the long overdue Part Four!

In which she makes a friend, Part Four

Cassian woke up in the late afternoon. After a silently breakfast with Nesta, he went to report to Devlon and go over the papers he had left piling up in his absence. Nesta had gone to her room — probably to take a bath and change out of the leathers — and he had not seen her since. He had promptly fallen asleep as soon as his head had hit the pillow, his aching muscles and wings screaming for some well deserved rest.

Cassian debated whether to knock on Nesta’s door or not as he splashed some cold water on his face. He had decided he was going to help her, he just didn’t know how to do that without seeming as if he was just following orders from Feyre. Nesta was not a burden. Would never be. At least not for him. He was going to do this right and make up for the two months he was away.

Gathering his courage, he softly knocked on her door, straining his ears to listen to something that would indicate that she was in her bedroom. When he heard nothing, not even her breathing, he remembered the stone bench. The weather was sunny — with “sunny” in Illyria meaning that the grey sky was more or less free of clouds and the cold not as unforgiving as usual. However, when he opened the front door and stepped outside, he did not see Nesta but the young Illyrian he had seen earlier, Kaelin.

Cassian stayed quiet, taking the opportunity to inspect the kid, which was so busy writing something down in a piece of paper — Cassian could see him biting his lip in concentration and pushing back a stray curl that kept falling on his eyes — that didn’t take notice of his arrival. Kaelin was a question mark that had suddenly appeared in his life. Cassian didn’t know who the Illyrian was, but if Nesta had chosen to trust him — to take him under her care when she could not deign to care for herself — then he was going to trust her decision. And he would ask Kaelin to work with him to help Nesta heal.

“You know, if you’re thinking of growing your hair maybe you should have something to tie it back” Cassian said, clearing his throat to warn Kaelin of his presence.

Kaelin almost fell from the bench in surprise, quickly raising to greet him.

“Please, there’s no need for that” Cassian pleaded, interrupting Kaelin before he did the formal salute “You are living here now, you may address me informally”.

“Yes, sir” he hesitantly answered, as if unsure if he should be treating his superior like that.

The younglings usually liked Cassian. He did teach a lot of them to fly and played with them whenever he had the chance. But Kaelin was in the phase where training got harder, tougher. When the Camp Lords started to separate those who had potential and those who would only be another number in the army.

“Isn’t it better to write inside? The bench looks uncomfortable” Cassian tried, hoping to gain the kid’s trust.

“Nesta said...she said it’s good to read out loud while you write” the tip of Kaelin’s ears turned soft pink “I didn’t want to disturb you, sir”

Nesta was teaching Kaelin how to read.

Cassian didn’t know what to do with this new information. He had really missed a lot on two months.

“I wouldn’t be woken by your voice. I usually sleep like the dead”.

“When I can actually sleep” Cassian thought. His dreams usually turned into nightmares, and he only slept well when he was near the point of passing out from fatigue. Like today.

“Oh, I see. Nesta gave me one of the military books in your living room to practice, I hope that’s fine” the young Illyrian knotted his eyebrows in confusion “She said she didn’t have any books I could read”.

“No, I don’t think she has” Cassian allowed himself a small smile, thinking about the dirty romance novels he knew Nesta liked. He didn’t think they’d have been proper for Kaelin “Feel free to take any books you like. I’ll see if I can get hold of less boring ones for you”.

“I don’t want to burden you!!” he quickly said “Really, they’re not boring. A bit hard to understand, but I usually write down the words I don’t know and Nesta helps me later”.

“It’s not a bother. I was planning to get some books for Nesta. She reads a lot and I think she may have run out of books now”.

Cassian tried to calm Kaelin, making sure it was nothing out of his way. He knew how it felt when you had nothing and people offered you things. The first time he had received a present, a solstice gift from Rhysand’s mother, he had been afraid to accept and had cried afterwards, once he was alone. He could only imagine how it was for the Kaelin. An orphan who once had some and suddenly was stripped of even the little things he had to call his own.

“You and Nesta... you seem close” he tried to appear nonchalant, laying the ground for his intention of gathering Kaelin’s aid.

“She’s nice” he answered, pushing the stray curl away again.

“How has she been? Has she been going out a lot?” Cassian cringed internally at how desperate he sounded, but he could not deny how worried he was that Nesta was not back when it was beginning to darken.

“I’ve know Nesta for two, three months at most”.

“And?” Cassian inquired.

“She does not eat much. Started going out recently” Kaelin eyed him in suspicion “I don’t know if I should be talking with you, sir, about her. I know that I wouldn’t like to have someone talking about me behind my back. Specially with someone who had left me alone for months”.

Cassian realised that, in this conversation, he was the enemy. Kaelin knew Nesta, but had no reason whatsoever to trust Cassian, ranks in the army be damned.

“I was busy. Commander stuff” he didn’t want to talk about how a civil war was most likely to happen.

Kaelin’s only answer was to raise an eyebrow in question, an act that reminded Cassian so much of Nesta that he was momentarily thrown back. Was his idea about to go down the drain before he had even tried it out?

“I wouldn’t have left if wasn’t really necessary”.

“I didn’t doubt you” Kaelin said, the corners of his mouth raising slightly.

Cauldron, he couldn’t believe how he was being played by a teenage boy.

“And I guess I know what you’re trying to do” Kaelin commented, gathering the book, tucking the piece of paper inside it and pocketing the pencil.

“If you know it, then are you willing to be my helping hand?” Cassian remembered why he usually stuck with training the younglings. They didn’t have smart comebacks.

“I cannot possibly train Nesta. I only know the basics I’ve learnt as a kid. But you sir, are a legend” Kaelin’s eyes sparked in admiration.

Mikael had told Kaelin stories about the Commander of the Illyrian armies. Of how an orphan who was supposed to be a foot soldier had the biggest killing power in Illyria’s history.

“I’m willing to do anything to make Nesta happy” Kaelin’s expression saddened “She is not doing well. And I own her my life. It’s the minimum I can do”.

“Thank you. I think she’d listen more to you than me” Cassian stretched his wings “First things first then kiddo. Could you tell me where she is? It’s getting late and she should have someone accompany her back”.

Kaelin gave him a wide smile, and before Cassian could do anything, got airborne.

“Don’t worry about it!! I always walk Nesta back!!”

And with a last goodbye shout, Kaelin flew away to meet Nesta at Cauldron knows where, leaving Cassian no option but to enter the house and get dinner ready.

~•~

To say dinner had been awkward was an understatement.

Cassian didn’t remember ever being so tongue tied before. Nesta had also kept quiet for most of the meal. Kaelin, however, did enough talking for both of them.

The kid had completely lost all shyness regarding Cassian, although he still added ‘sir’ sometimes when it seemed he was going overboard. Keeping his word to help Cassian with Nesta, Kaelin had talked nonstop about the things that had happened in those two months. Cassian learned that Nesta cooked quite well — “Illyrian culinary is different from high Fae but she learned so fast! It didn’t even feel like the food had been kept in the ice box for so long!” — and that she also knew how to sew — “She fixed all my clothes! They fit perfectly now! It feels as if they’re brand new!”.

Cassian would be pleased to just sit there and listen to Kaelin praise Nesta and tell all her hidden abilities, but he saw the way her pointed ears were getting pink and how she stuffed food in her mouth to avoid getting asked more questions. So he changed topics to Kaelin’s training, and he swore he saw Nesta silently thank him by the way her grey blue eyes softened.

The rest of the dinner run smoothly. He was also relived to see Nesta getting a second helping of food. Cassian could bet that she had not had lunch and, as a result, was starving.

He had made rice with cooked vegetables, along with fish seasoned with baniwa, a pepper based sauce. He had also left some fish without baniwa, not knowing whether Nesta liked her food spicy or not. He was happy to see that she choose the fish with the sauce and decided to stick with solid food, not taking any of the Imu Yanisa Kiyauriri he had offered, in case her stomach was not well.

After quietly washing the dishes while Nesta dried them — she had just gotten up and grabbed the kitchen rag, not sparing him a glance as she took the clean plate from his hand — Cassian locked himself in his room, hoping to get a good night’s sleep.

However, lucky was not on his side. He tossed and turned on his bed for hours, until finally giving up sleep and moving to his desk to go over the training schedule and other minor documents. Maybe work would tire him out enough to get maybe three or four hours of sleep.

Cassian was in the middle of a report regarding the preparations for the Blood Rite when he felt a shiver running down his spine. A faint sensation of panic came forth, and he was momentarily thrown back. Shrugging it off as fatigue, he turned back to the paper. But the sensation did not disappear. Had someone gotten over the wards somehow?

“Oh, screw this” he cursed, raising from his chair and opening his bedroom door.

Looking in the living room’s direction, he saw Kaelin completely passed out in the couch, sleeping on his stomach, his wings twitching in his sleep and drooling. The kitchen was clear as well, the same with the outdoor patio and the bathroom. The sensation got fainter, and he almost gave up when he walked by Nesta’s bedroom.

Cassian felt that panic rise within him once again. Felt that sensation of dread and helplessness knock him with full force. Without thinking, he opened her door, all reason flying out of his head to knock or call her from outside. Once inside, the first thing he notice was how cold the room was. She had not lit the fireplace, but it for sure was not due to lack of firewood. Why had she chosen to bury herself under multiple fur blankets then?

Second thing he took notice of was that said blankets had been thrown to the floor. And that Nesta was painting, fists tightly closed beside her body.

“Nesta...” Cassian breathed, slowly approaching the bed. He could see her eyes moving frantically under eyelids. The sensation was stronger now, threatening to consume him. He could not imagine how Nesta felt. Tried not to think why he also felt it.

“No...get away...” she murmured feverishly in her sleep “Take me. Take me instead”

Cassian smelled smoke, and he realised that Nesta’s fists were burning the sheets were they touched, her skin damp with sweat.

“Ness....” Cassian knew that you should not wake up someone when they were having a nightmare, not when they were letting their power lose. That indicated that the person had lost all sensation of reality and imagination, and could hurt whoever approached them. But Cassian could not see her suffering and just do nothing.

Gently, he kneeled beside her bed, and tentatively run his thumb across her forehead.

“You’re safe Nesta. Breath.” he murmured, bringing his other hand to her clenched fists, squeezing in reassurance, the fire around them not hurting him.

“It’s my fault...my fault” she whimpered, and sorrow and guilty hit Cassian just like earlier.

“Shhh.... Nobody can harm you” his thumb kept caressing her, trying to transmit comfort through his touch.

“I’m sorry...” she took a sharp breath, and Cassian could feel she tremble slightly.

“Nesta. Nesta.” he willed her hand to open, clutching it on his “Hush now xe r-endy, I’m here. Îebyr pe ixê.”

He kept talking in Illyrian, and she started to calm down, her breath coming in regularly and some tension leaving her body.

“That’s it sweetheart. You’re safe” Cassian tucked the blankets over Nesta, getting her comfortable.

“Cassian...stay” she grabbed his hand, eyes half open and laced with sleep, her strange and mysterious power faintly shinning on them.

“I will stay until you fall asleep” he replied.

And Cassian spent the rest of the night and early morning sitting on her bedroom floor. Holding her hand. And when the first of rays of sunlight appeared, he let go of her hand.

And he left Nesta’s room.

•

Tags: @sayosdreams @thewayshedreamed @sjm-things @perseusannabeth @arin1030-blog @caotica-e-quieta @vidalinav @swankii-art-teacher @ireallyshouldsleeprn @duskandstarlight @greerlunna @thegoddessaltenia @dayanna-hatter @verypaleninja @awesomelena555 @courtofjurdan @allilal

{Please let me know if you’d like to be added to my tag list.}

[sardinesandhumbugs]

“Congratulations, you have invented a new kind of stupid.”

I think you know which two characters this is for.

A/N: I know you intended this to be Ratty & Toad, but since you didn't specify (and because someone else has actually submitted the exact same prompt & characters) I'm going to play ignorant and apply this to Mole & Ratty instead. :D Also this is set after @a-place-to-come-back-to's recent ficlet, which I've very kindly been given permission to follow up because I needed to return fire the angst.

x

Rat didn't remember much of being sick.

He supposed that was a blessing of sorts.

(In the weeks that followed, fleeting déjà vu would unsettle him – in a turn of phrase, in the looks that haunted him – but right now he was simply tired and aching and borne down with the effort of waking.)

Mole entered, and Rat blearily recalled the parting words Badger had thrown his way earlier. "I've been told," he said, aiming for humour but sounding hoarse instead, "that you might have some choice words for me."

Mole sank into the chair beside the bed, and his failure to rise to the teasing tone unnerved Rat more than he cared to admit. There was a presence in the corridor beyond the room also, that of Badger and... Toad? Their shadows caught the edge of the threshold, uncharacteristically still in the latter's case. There was a heavy silence thickening the air, the kind found on hallowed ground, or libraries.

Or funerals.

Rat decided he didn't like the last comparison.

"Mole–"

"How do you feel?"

Hadn't he already answered that for Badger only a few minutes...? Or was it an hour? Hazily, Rat realised he'd dozed in Badger's leaving and Mole's arrival, and time had slipped from him. He couldn't be sure the reddened sky was dawn or dusk, or indeed if it was even the same sunrise/set that he'd previously woken to.

Better to be dusk, he thought. Wasn't that the phrase? Red sky at night, sailor's delight? Red sky at morning, sailor's... something. Mourning? No.

"Ratty?"

Mole's prompting brought Rat back to the present, and he refocused on the question. "I feel as fit as a fiddle," Rat croaked. It wasn't in the least bit convincing, but anything to curb that grieving fear that his home had seen far too much of. "Give me another hour, and I'll be doing cartwheels."

There was a harrumph from the doorway, followed by a gruff, "Least he's feeling well enough to joke about it," that Rat suspected he wasn't meant to catch. Regardless, the crotchety tone reassured Rat. It was far more familiar than the desperate relief he'd encountered upon his first waking.

Beside him, Mole gave a snuffling, tired laugh. "You've never done cartwheels in your life."

"I've just never had need to."

"You'd trip over your tail."

"Name one time–"

"On the open road," Mole answered instantly, just a smidgen too smugly for Rat's liking. "Several times. You got rather drunk that first day in the caravan."

"Oh." Rat attempted to remember it, but between the vagueness of his post-illness mind, and the inebriated haziness of the original memory, he had no hope. "Well," he grumbled, "that was the drinks' doing, not mine."

"Sure, Ratty."

They lapsed back into silence, and Rat could feel the mood shifting as Mole prepared to broach whatever subject Badger had alluded to with his 'choice words' remark.

In the emptiness, Rat's mind eddied. It swung between the cacophony outside – the birds sang, was it in their rising or their dawn chorus? – onto if it were the latter, how sparingly had his friends slept? There was certainly the fatigue of sleepless nights about in both Mole and Badger – before the train of thought slipped away entirely in a fit of exhaustion and he was momentarily only aware of how his whole form ached.

"Why didn't you tell anyone how bad it'd gotten?" Mole eventually demanded.

"Why didn't you say how bad it was?" Ratty demands. The room is warm, too warm, and still the older animal shivers. The creeping sickness is stealing his father away in inches, but only now does Ratty see how the finishing line for this fatalistic race is a matter of feet, not miles.

His father answers in that rattling breathlessness that has become so cruelly familiar. "I didn't want you to worry."

In the here and now, Rat hesitated. "I..." The memory crowded his mind, and he refused to echo the past a second time. "I thought I'd get better. Without having to wo– without having to inconvenience anyone."

Mole snorted. "Well then, congratulations," he said. "You've invented a new kind of stupid."

Even through the post-sickness, Rat had the energy to look indignant. "I find that hard to believe when we're both familiar with Toad–"

"If you'd just admitted to this earlier, we could have got the pneumonia seen to before it got this bad," Mole snapped. "Instead I had to get Toad and the doctor involved on a matter of urgency, then fetch Badger late into the day, and Mrs Otter has been round twice, and when you wouldn't wake–" Mole faltered, anger and fear choking the words. "I don't give a fig about the inconvenience of it all, but since you do, perhaps you should have considered that before deciding that hiding it away would be a kindness."

"How long have you known?" Ratty stands in the too-hot kitchen with shaking paws. He clings to the anger. It hurts less than the grief.

"Ratty–"

"How long?"

Though his nose might not have been as sensitive as Badger's or Mole's, Rat could smell it now. The fear. Potent and tearstained and the type that preceded grief. It mingled with the scent of worm stew – one of Mrs Otter's specialities when it came to home cooked offerings for Rat's housemate – and, all in a rush, he recalled another time the house had been a recipient of the otter's culinary kindness.

"For you," Mrs Otter says, pushing the dish into Ratty's paws. "Thought you might not be eating much after... well–" she glances subtly but not subtly enough to the empty chair along the jetty, "you know."

He looked back to his friend now, the past ricocheting and overlaying the present in uncomfortable parallels. "I'm sorry. I should have – should have told you sooner."

"You should've," Mole agreed. "And we won't make that mistake again, will we?"

Rat rather felt that that was a rather pointed usage of the royal 'we.' "No, we won't."

The tap of the cane denoted Badger's entrance. It sounded louder than usual, as if Badger was leaning heavily against it. "Right then, now that's all sorted out, it's time that some animals got some sleep." He laid a paw on Mole's shoulder. "You too."

"I'm fine–" Mole began.

"Dozing on and off through the wee small hours of the night does not count as fine," Badger told him. "I'm not having two animals collapse on my watch."

With only a small amount of protesting – which betrayed just how tired he was – Mole was ushered out, leaving Badger alone at the bedside.

"So," Rat said, "I guess you're on invalid duty?"

"I'm off to fetch the doctor," Badger said. He grinned. "Toad is on invalid duty until I'm back."

As if on cue – and, to be honest, Rat couldn't be sure that Toad hadn't been waiting in the wings for the perfect entrance – Toad staggered in under a small mountain of blankets. "Don't you worry, Badge, I have this all under control! I've had my staff bring over the finest blankets from Toad Hall, so much better than any ratty old throw you probably have here, no offence, Ratty–"

"Offence taken."

"–and my chef is cooking up enough chicken soup to keep you going through 'til next spring. By the time the doctor comes round, you'll be so well recovered that she'll wonder why she was summoned."

"Toad?" Rat implored Badger. "You're leaving me alone with Toad?"

"It wouldn't have come to this if you'd come clean sooner," Badger said, with just a dash of tell-tale impishness to his words.

"I'm sick! I need rest!"

"And you'll get it," Badger said. He added, in a tone that belied a semblance of pity, "I won't be long."

"This is cruel and unusual punishment!" Rat wheezed.

The door swung shut behind Badger, and Rat was left to warily eye his assigned caretaker.

Toad, in comparison, didn't seem the least bit perturbed by Rat's outburst. He patted Rat's shoulder. "All this stress will do you no good, Ratty, but fortunately, Toad is on the case and I know just what you need."

"Peace and quiet?" Rat offered hopefully.

"Entertainment! Distraction! And, luckily for you, I happen to have discovered the most intriguing hobby. You see, it began last week while I was dropping by the town, and who should I encounter, but..."

Rat didn't remember much of being sick. But, it turned out, he would remember every moment of the recovery.

Whether or not he wanted to.

[blogbuddy2]

Blog 6: Tales Along the Senescent Trail--An Unexpected Adventure.

Incredibly, it’s been four hours now!

I’ve been lying on this gurney for so long I think I’m going blind.

Wait! Here comes someone who’s actually making eye contact with me.

“Mr. Thornton. I’m Dr. Jones. I’m working the ER today.”

My throat is so parched, I can only croak an acknowledgment.

“Sorry for keeping you waiting so long, but we get homeless walk-ins all the time. We had to make sure you weren’t just another drug user looking for a fix.”

Hello. I’m wearing farmer Jones bibs with suspenders. Do I look homeless to you?

“We get too many folks trying to get in here every day looking for a quick fix when they run out of drugs, so we had to make sure you weren’t one of them. We try to help them but it's reached a point where we are being overrun."

I sat up. Suddenly I didn’t feel too good. It was getting hard to breathe again.

“Hey, Doc!. I’m having trouble breathing. Can you give me some oxygen or something,” I gasped as I laid back down. I had a pale complexion before I ever came down to the VA hospital. Now I was turning a purplish color.

The doctor made a quick gesture to an orderly standing close by and called for a wheelchair, an IV, and oxygen. They whisked me up to the fifth floor and into a hospital bed there. You know, the kind with the flip-down rails running horizontally along each side.

I began to feel much better after they put a nasal cannula in my nose. The nurse pulled a curtain between me and the guy next to my cubicle. I quickly fell into a deep sleep—the best I’ve had in a while.

I woke up the next day feeling much better. Soon a nurse entered the room pushing breakfast food carts with trays, but she didn’t stop by my bed. I wasn’t very hungry anyway.

The nurse pulled the curtain back, and I chatted for a while with the guy next to me. He was a cheery, talkative young man who very nonchalantly told me they were going to cut his foot off in a couple of days. He stepped on a nail, it seems, and it got infected. Turned gangrenous on him. So, now it had to go.

A little later in the morning, Dr. Smith came to see me. We chatted for a while about my symptoms. He said that he wanted to perform a catheter insertion through my right thigh so we could take a look at my heart. I said sure. Anything was better than going on like before. Not getting enough oxygen to your brain is like slowly drowning where you’re gasping for air but not quite suffocating.

When we said goodbye, I lay down thinking about the stress test I had taken the year before and felt a shiver go up my spine.

When I first started displaying symptoms of fatigue, my doctor at that time recommended that I go to the VA hospital in Atlanta and take a stress test. I had no idea of what I was getting into.

So, at the appointed time, I went to the hospital for the test.

Now, you’ve got to understand that parking at the VA hospital in Atlanta is an adventure all on its own. I tried it once and finally gave up after circling the parking deck twenty-eight times. After that, we utilized the Valet Service at the front door of the hospital. That was really great—if you could ever get to it. Sometimes the valet parking line snaked all the way around the hospital, and even out into the main road at times. It took a long time to get to the front door.

I finally made it and took their redemption ticket. I made my way back to the stress-test room where they determine how your heart works during physical activity. They stuck a bunch of cardiac memory loop monitors all over my chest and put me on the treadmill. I can tell you I wasn’t looking forward to the test because of my angina episodes. I did warn them, but they didn’t seem to be too concerned.

We started out real slow, and things were just fine—until they picked up the speed. I started to huff as the speed increased and warned them I wasn’t feeling too good. They poo-pooed that and cranked the speed up.

I was having trouble holding my own and warned them I was “fix’n to go.”

The male nurse hollered, “just give me another minute . . . just a minute more!”

“I’m fix’n to fall!” I gasped. Then I did. Right down on the still rapidly moving treadmill. I slumped to my knees and grabbed the support bars as my knees dragged out behind me.

A couple of male nurses grabbed me and picked me up and off the machine and set me down in a nearby chair.

“We’re so sorry! We thought you were okay,” the nurse stuttered apologetically.

Yeah. Sure. Like I didn’t warn you.

So now you can see why I was a little leery about having a catheter procedure. As it turned out, it wasn’t so bad. They took me down to a special room where they administered the stent through my inner right thigh and up to my heart with a camera.

It was terribly interesting. I was able to see my own heart beating and all the little black web-like arteries and veins that roped to and from my heart.

The doctor--and I forget his name now--seemed surprised at not finding something wrong there.

“Hmmm. Your heart is only twenty percent blocked, and that’s really good for your age,” he murmured, more to himself than to me. He paused . . .

“I think we’re going to send you to the Nuclear Lab to let them take a Nuclear Lung Scan because I don’t see anything much wrong with your heart. For your age, it’s in pretty good shape.”

The next day, I went in for the scan.

He brought the results back and gave me a strange look.

“Well, it looks like you’ve got three clots in your right lung and two clots in the left one.” he paused, “You should be dead. It only takes one to kill you.”

Thanks for the cheery prognosis. Needless to say, they sent me back to the fifth floor and put me on a blood thinner right away.

Later that evening, the doctor came by.

“We want to keep you here a few more days to make sure everything is going okay (with the thinners).

“Okay,” I said. “Hey, Doc. Do you think I can get something to eat? I haven’t had anything in two days.”

He just stared at me for a moment in total exasperation.

Somehow, they didn’t have my name on the patient list for food so the food cart kept bypassing me when it came to the fifth floor.

I lost fifteen pounds during my stay at the VA. Not by choice, I can assure you. I looked forward to leaving.

This was a real scary brush with death. It wasn't my first, and it wouldn’t be my last. Over the next couple of days, I thought about many of the things I had done—both good and bad—over the course of my life.

It all seemed much clearer now. I knew what I had to do.

[kurinoot]

[day 4] four priceless treasures | sawamura daichi

-> the pandemic sure has limited us from meeting our loved ones physically, but even the pandemic can’t stop you from showing your love to your boyfriend this valentines’ day.

pairing: daichi x reader

themes: fluff, post-timeskip, pandemic au, flashbacks and all that stuff

word count: 2268 words

note: struggled a bit on this one bc I had to change a bit on specific parts of this fic after proofreading :) + my proofreader friend by the name of @msmeowski​ (who is a HARD daichi stan) didn’t allow me to post this one until it’s p-e-r-f-e-c-t lol but anyways, tell me what you think about this! and lastly, don’t forget to stay at home and be safe! also, I included a spotify playlist as a hyperlink somewhere in the story to add to the experience while you’re reading :)

You stared at your phone, texting your dad about your quarantine situation about giving him an update on your status before he replies with a ‘take care, I’ll see you soon.’ as you toss your phone on the bed and strode to the hotel balcony, taking in the solace of the wind blowing through. Luckily, it was your last day in quarantine and no symptoms have been detected so far. All you were waiting for were the results of your lab testing, and if affirmed negative, then you’re free to go back home.

You were then disrupted when your phone rang an oh-so-familiar tune that was meant only for him. With haste, you lay on the bed as you answered the call.

“Da~i~chi~!”, you teased with a short giggle “Did you receive my gift?”

“About that...can we have a video call?” Daichi asks as he clutches the parcel closer to his body. You hum in response, signaling a yes to at least see his face and see him open your gift. Giddiness fills your inner being before switching to a video call.

A few seconds later, your boyfriend graced your screen, still wearing his police uniform. Noticing you appearing, he flashes you a warm smile, happy to at least see you again albeit virtually. You gave him a warm smile, grateful for this opportunity that you got to see him again, and oh how you want to see and feel him ripped in his police uniform in the flesh.

“It’s a box.” Daichi replies as he closely inspects your gift for him for the day. You gave off a laugh as you rolled on your belly, kicking your feet on the air by his response.

“You sound rather disappointed,” your lips smirked with a mischievous thought in mind for him, starting with the box. “Were you expecting something more?”

Daichi flushed red as he looked away from the screen. “Not that I’m selfish, but I was expecting you. I really miss you, you know?” You could not help but get flustered at his honest response, since you’ve been away from Japan for a couple of years now.

Daichi clears his throat. “Are you doing okay? I know it’s been stressful for the past months.” while he lethargically removes his police vest. You can tell by the way he removes the vest and his dark circles under his eyes.

“I'm fine where I am, Daichi. No need to worry.” You calmly reassure him as you walk to sit down on the balcony chaise, looking at the sky while listening to Daichi's sexy voice. He chuckles as he weakly throws his police vest somewhere in his room, feeling the exhaustion taking over.

You look at him with concern, “The pandemic’s definitely taking a toll on you. Are you even getting enough sleep?”

He slouched as he ran his hand over his face, fatigue from the workload and the strict measures from the pandemic, answering your question.

“Look, as much as I miss you and really want to talk with you today, I want you to sleep. My surprise, I would say, require some walking.”, You say as your boyfriend who now wears a mask of doubt in his face.

“Anyways,” you continue. “Don’t open the gift yet! At least for today. I have a surprise for you tomorrow, that’s why you better sleep well tonight!”

You can see the slight scrunch in Daichi’s face as he replies “Aren’t you still overseas? And considering the situation, you won’t be back home easily.”

‘Ah of course, he doesn’t know that I’m already here in Japan, yet.’ You smile internally, feeling the anticipation and the adrenaline more as you already lay out your Valentines’ surprise for him in mind.

“Well, I had some help actually!”, you bounced back in reply. Remembering that you had your sibling’s help while you were still in transit from overseas.

“Look”, you say with a stern tone. “As much as I really want to talk to you tonight, I also want you to get some quality sleep. I can tell from here how tired you are, my dear Daichi.” You can hear Daichi let out a deep sigh, stuck between wanting to continue talking to you and wanting to take a good night's sleep.

You continue further with concern and underlying excitement, “I don’t want you to be so tired by the time you get to see my surprise tomorrow. You deserve it so much.” Daichi could only feel giddy as he became flustered at your concerned gesture, before agreeing and deciding to sleep.

Daichi wakes up the next day, feeling rejuvenated from the short conversation you both had last night. He’s fortunate that he has the day off work, as being an officer in these trying times can be proven stressful, and the distance between the both of you is definitely not helping the mental strain. He stares at the ceiling for a moment before he feels the familiar buzz of his phone. He opens his phone to the view of your text message.

You can open the box now!

Without any second thoughts, Daichi picks up the unopened parcel beside his bed. He grabs a cutter from his table and immediately cuts the package open. He slowly unfolds the flaps of the box to find a piece of paper and a used red radio he knows too well.

It’s my old radio... Daichi thought as he pressed the switch, and to his joy, it played a familiar song, albeit slightly static. The music then conjures a special memory of him riding his bicycle as you perched on his back when you were both still in high school. Furthermore, he could see the all-too familiar red radio dangling on his bicycle, playing the songs you both like.

You watch as the view of the Miyagi prefecture passes by, watching the sun set in the distance as Daichi pedals the bicycle on the way home with his old radio dangling on the right handle, playing Bread and Butter’s Summer Blue. Your arms tightened around his waist as your eyes closed, relishing the warmth of his broad back as your head lay on him, inhaling his mixed scent of salonpas and sweat after volleyball practice with hints of cologne. A smile plays on Daichi’s lips as he feels your warmth surging through him.

‘Summer blue, summer blue…

Sora dake ga aoi...’

The music started to fade in the background as it continued on to the next song.

He can’t help but clutch his chest in happiness and love, as he feels a surge of contentment in his veins. He closes and smiles as he immediately thinks of the precious memory. A tear then slips through his eye, missing your physical presence. He then wipes the tear that has threatened to pour more before starting to prepare for the day ahead. Relieved from the catharsis, he pulls out the piece of paper from the box earlier and reads a “Here’s your clue for the next surprise!” along with a haiku:

‘The smell of warm broth

Shared by the ramen couple

In the cold autumn’

If his memories were correct, he knew exactly where it was. You were regular customers ever since high school, there’s no doubt that it was the ramen shop that you and he used to go to almost every week, and your shared love for shoyu ramen somehow gave you both the reputation of the ‘shoyu ramen couple’ by the owner, as he calls it.

He saw the same shop from years ago as it exactly was as the smell of the broth enticing him to enter the old place.

The old man who owned the shop recognizes Daichi as he enters before greeting him behind the clear protective cover of the counter, as per safety measures as he went to the kitchen to prepare a special meal, ushering Daichi to an empty seat where they usually sit.

His eyes wandered around the empty place, looking for the possible next clue of the next gift. The owner then comes out with a bowl that has a recognizable smell and serves it to Daichi.

“Here’s your shoyu ramen,” The owner winked at Daichi, hinting at something before continuing, “Specially made, requested by your girlfriend.” Daichi, albeit somehow surprised, folded his hands together with an “Itadakimasu!” before quickly slurping the ramen he loved so much in contentment.

“That girl...her sibling came by saying that your girlfriend has a ramen request.” He chuckled before Daichi stopped to listen to his story. “She thought that you might be too busy to come by so she went ahead and paid for it as your gift.” The owner laughs as he resumes cooking, leaving Daichi in disbelief at the owner before looking at his bowl of shoyu ramen, reminiscing a memory.

As the leaves fall while you are walking down the street in a cold autumn afternoon, you pull Daichi’s hand, leading him to the familiar street right after he had volleyball practice.

“Let’s go to the usual!”, You smiled at him as he followed suit.

The place has seen its years with a smoke coming out from the ventilation shaft with a thick warm smell that led you and Daichi come in further, the owner greeting the both of you as usual with a smile before you two sit at your usual spot near the window of the shop. The owner was familiar with the both of you, eating at his place almost every week, and knows what both of you would order.

“Two bowls of shoyu ramen for the couple!” He teases that left you and Daichi flustered at his statement.

“A-anyways, the ramen w-will get cold if we don’t start eating now.” Daichi says, seeing his cheeks redden as he looks away before he digs in to avoid the awkwardness. You gave off a laugh, making his eyes gaze to you that somehow made him flushed even redder as you perched your chin on your hand, looking at him tenderly.

“Somehow...it makes me happy that we’re a couple.”

The owner tells him as he wipes the counter clean, “Keep her. You don’t find women like her nowadays.” He chuckles as he slips a piece of paper in front of the eating policeman, “She also requested to give you this.”

After a few minutes, Daichi had already finished the bowl cleanly with no traces, quickly grabbing a handkerchief to wipe his mouth afterwards.

“Thank you so much for the food!”, he thanks and waves at the owner before he leaves the establishment to go to his next destination.

‘New Year approaches

As the bell tolls from afar

We pray for good luck’

He chuckles as he reads the paper. “She never fails to impress me with her surprises...”, he breathes optimistically as he wears his mask and wraps a scarf around his neck before going outside.

As he arrived, he noticed the familiar shrine wearing down from the years, but was still being taken care of. A few women, mostly high school girls, prayed for the special day while holding each of their own stashes of chocolates. Daichi went up to the shrine, paying his respects before wandering around, looking for the next clue.

“It really brings back memories.” He whispers to himself as he looks around the place, a smile forming on his lips.

You both stepped in front of the shrine after you both celebrated and lent your wishes for the New Year, with hands and eyes closed in prayer. He could only look and stare at you still, hands and eyes closed in prayer. He smiles at the sight of you earnestly praying.

‘I pray that we would always be together.’

Daichi saw a paper dangling on the tree along with the other wishes, taking what seemed to be your final clue.

‘As the storm passes

Spring has finally come home

Awaiting blossom’

His eyes widen in realization as he rushes back to his house, only to find it unlocked. He catches his breath as he opens the door, without any second thoughts, he removes his mask as he enters to look for the final gift. He finds a couple of luggages sitting in the middle as well as a paper he knows too well. He inspects it further, shocked to see your name along with the words negative written in the results.

Daichi then scrambles as he hears the sound of the nearby bathroom door open, only to see you wet in your towel. You immediately went red in embarrassment before Daichi, overfilled with longing and excitement, rushed to ensnare you into a tight embrace despite your towel-clad body. You hold your breath further as he places a deep kiss on your lips, immediately tasting the shoyu ramen you know too well. You could only drown yourself in his kiss as you slowly close your eyes, wrapping your arms around his neck.

You both break the kiss afterwards, panting as Daichi pulls your head over his chest, longingly hugging you.

“I was expecting that you would be home a little bit later. I even haven’t dressed for you yet!”, you pouted as you rested in the comfort of Daichi’s arms.

Your boyfriend could laugh, flustered with the state of your undressed state, “I missed you, Y/N. I missed you very much.” You could only hug him tighter as you both smiled.

“I’m home.”

He smiled before kissing you again, but this time passionately as he embraced you once more.

“Welcome home.”

back to valentines masterlist

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Tokyo Love Story (Part 3) Ghosts

.... .... The clouds are gathering...

@rurifangirl

Like the summer days and winter nights in the arctic, it was getting hard for you to keep track of time. So when Caesar taps on the closet door to wake you up, you almost ask what day it is wondering if you sleep for 3 days straight, like before.

You still feel a little achy in your bones but otherwise your pain is gone. There is only the lingering fatigue and gnawing hunger. Caesar was prepared with a hearty breakfast of oatmeal fruit and eggs.

“Eat up and get dressed. We have a lot to talk about.” He was not dressed in his flamboyant work clothes so it must not be evening just yet. He had on a simple grey sweatshirt and jeans. Still, you pause and look because it was so rare to see the Gattuso heir dressed so casually. He tosses you some clothes and you catch them.

They were nothing like the sexy cheongsams that you were used to wearing, just a simple woven sweater and puffy slacks. Comfortable, like his clothing was. In fact, the sleeves were a bit too long. You open the door of the closet and yawn, rubbing your sleeve against your eye. The men had bathed already. Caesar was sitting in a chair slightly too short for him. Chu Zihang was leaning on the wall next to him, in a button down shirt and dark pants, arms crossed, his long sword slung behind his back. He looked at you pointedly, but didn’t say anything.

“Where’s Mingfei?” You ask, looking left and right for him.

“Lu Mingfei is on a special assignment. Turns out he escaped from Genji Heavy Industries by being mistaken for evacuees. And he just happened to have the young Uesugi Clan chief with him.” Caesar sat back in the chair making it creak. Despite the sweatshirt, there was no hiding the musculature there.

“Oh… Is that bad?”

“It’s good and bad.” Caesar said. “There’s a lot I can say about her. To start, it looks like she’s been extremely isolated her entire life. According to Lu Mingfei, her living quarters in Genji was a replica of an old Japanese house. It doesn’t seem like she was ever let outside of it. While we were watching her, she was just sitting and listening to birds. So it's reasonable to believe that the area was nearly soundproof.”

You’re still hungry so you make your way over to a minifridge they had delivered and grab a small tub of yogurt.  “That’s awful.”

Caesar shrugged. “It’s all she knows. The theory is her mind is so unstable she couldn’t handle a drastic change in environment without losing control. But… in this case. Mingfei said that she insisted he stay in the room with her for comfort. Because she seems to have an odd trust in him, his presence puts her mind at ease. Taking him away would be dangerous, so we thought it best he stay with her for now.”

“Mmm… I guess that’s okay if she’s okay with it. After all, it’s how I’ve been living all this time.” You say.

Caesar eyes you silently for a moment.

You continue. “I just … wonder if Lu Mingfei will be okay with it. He’s kind of a perv.” 

“You picked up on that too huh?” Caesar grinned bitterly.

“Right. He was always anxious about my so-called purity, he must have been having impure thoughts.” You take a bite of yogurt thinking to yourself. Mingfei is the brother of Z after all.

“He might have those thoughts but he’s terrified of her.” Chu Zihang muttered. “And with good reason. You never said anything about it so I assume you didn’t know how we all escaped the Trieste disaster. You said you were rescued by dolphins, but if it weren't for Uesugi you wouldn’t have survived long enough for rescue.”

You pause, spoon hanging from your mouth. “I thought you blew up the monsters with Royal Fire?”

“I tried, but Royal Fire is limited in water.” He fixed you with his cold gaze. “It was really Erii Uesugi who destroyed the remaining enemies by producing a massive iceberg out of thin air and ramming it into the beasts. They were all eliminated  in one blow. I thought I’d never see anyone with a Yanling that powerful… but…” Chu Zihang trailed off.

“So she saved us?” You ask.

“We don’t think it was intentional to save us. We just happened to be saved.” Caesar replied.

“That Yanling  is called 'Judgment' and is so powerful that it makes her look like a god standing in the clouds judging humans, hence the name. But the actual effect is to eliminate all life in its field. It’s a rare 'command' type of spirit of speech." Chu Zihang continued. He then glanced at Caesar.

You start to get a strangely uneasy feeling. Like there was something they wanted to say but were nervous about saying it. Your eyes shift from Chu Zihang to Caesar. “So… what’s the plan? Are we holding her hostage or...”

Caesar chuckled in disbelief at the notion. “We can’t hold someone like that hostage. Chisei Gen we can capture, but her? Her power surpasses his.” He sighs.

Chu Zihang lets out a breath. “Chisei is supposed to be the strongest a White King Hybrid can get. He surpasses the blood-threshold and still remains sane. The only explanation for her being stronger than him is that the Uesugi family head is an anomaly. She is the strongest Ghost. She surpasses Chisei but her bloodline is not stable." Chu Zihang said slowly.

“So she’s like me.” You raise your eyes to him.

Chu Zihang’s eyes shift from yours “You were not as unstable as she is. That said, your use of Blood Rage has not helped matters. Without specialized equipment, I can’t tell how unstable you are.”

Your heart beats a little faster and your eyes widen. “Are you scared of me?”

“MC… relax!” Caesar says sharply. “Both Chu Zihang and I have already talked it through. It was fine keeping you here, so it should be fine to keep Erii in the short term. Especially keeping Erii out of the hands of Hydra while we wait to get in contact with the Academy.”

“Then… … if she does endanger Mingfei, I will fight her?” You ask quietly.

“You’re the only one who could stand a chance.” Chu Zihang said.

“But let’s not jump to such dark conclusions yet.” Caesar gives Chu Zihang a steady warning look and you wonder if Chu Zihang told Caesar that he was authorized to kill you if needed. Caesar said they had talked it over, but you’re getting the feeling that the talk was more of an argument. Chu Zihang was going along with it, but they were not of the same mind.

“It’s hard not to think that though.” You say. I’ve been questioning for a long time why I was awakened and sent here  with you after being asleep for 20 years. I’ve always been raised as a weapon, but… I’ve never been needed in my full capacity.” You turn your dark eyes up to him. “What better reason to wake me up, than to serve as someone who could potentially defeat Erii Uesugi?”

“No…” Caesar’s voice was firm. “That won’t happen.”

You grip the yogurt cup tightly in your hands. “I think you should plan for it. If she’s really as strong and unstable as you say, to go against her I will need to do more than create an 8.0 earthquake. It will be like Godzilla vs. Godzilla. No matter who wins, all of Tokyo gets destroyed!”

 "How can you compare yourself to Godzilla?” Caesar turned to you, putting on a winning smile. “I’ve never seen you that way, MC. When I look at you, all I see is a beautiful girl! Same with the Uesugi Clan Chief. I wouldn’t pit two beautiful girls against each other.” He pulled a cigarette from his pocket and lit it calmly.  

Chu Zihang looked stone-faced.

You let go of your tight grip on the yogurt cup but it was completely crushed. You toss it away. Of course he wouldn’t pit you against each other. But the world was cruel and evil and might not give him a choice.

“By the way, there was something you wanted to tell me in the trunk of the car… what was it?” Caesar asked, exhaling smoke.

“Oh… right.” You take a breath. “When I was using my abilities to cause the quake, I was under Genji Heavy Industries, at the lowest point. And when I put my mind into the ground, something big was there. It was distant… but the fact I would sense it over that distance meant… it’s very big.”

Caesar’s lips closed over the cigarette. “Dragon?”

“From what I heard?” You say seriously. “More than one.”

------

The Kabuki theater you are invited to is over 100 years old and is considered the throne of Kabuki theaters. It has been burned down and rebuilt several times, and today, the building has a distinct Momoyama-era style, with a purple cloth hanging in front of the door.

 Numerous national treasures of Kabuki actors have appeared here, and it is considered a great honor for newcomers to debut in this theater. This night a newcomer was on stage and, although the attendance was not expected to be high for newcomers, the tickets for tonight’s show were sold out early and a banner saying "Thank you" was hung in front of the ticket window. Those who came to buy tickets were young women, dressed in fashionable and hot clothes, not at all like the traditional older audience of Kabuki. This bright young throng crowded in front of the ticket window. The theater manager, who hadn't seen such an unprecedented turnout in more than a decade, was thrilled to the point that he thanked God that this ancient art had not been cut short and had managed to attract such a large young audience. The staff who knew what was going on said with a bitter smile that the manager misunderstood. They did not come for the traditional art, they just wanted to see the man who was amazing.

The newcomer on stage was named Ruri Kazama, and the play was "A New Telling of an Ancient Tale.”

The ticket you received was for a special royal box seat, separate from the seats of Chu Zihang and Caesar. Lu Mingfei couldn’t attend, obviously, so they graciously allowed Whale to come take his spot. 

For you, this great and illustrious occasion was part of the MC Romance contest and you had star-heart tickets to give away to a suitor who pleased you best. But because tickets were sold out for the show, the only thing they could do was send you gifts and give you a complete makeover. When you entered the Takamagahara spa and beauty salon, the entire boutique staff of the Takamagahara was waiting for you, lined up in two neat rows on the left and right sides of the door. They all bowed simultaneously with a loud “Irasshaimase!” 

The day outside was warm and bright and sunny. Perfect for a day out on the town, but the worst weather imaginable if you wanted to avoid the searching eyes of Kaguya. You would get a complete makeover that would hide your identity.

It started with full body skin treatments, shaving and hair removal, even massage. After that, you were whisked away in a fluffy robe for a manicure and pedicure where your nails were buffed and shined. Then your hair and scalp were treated to make it soft and aromatic. At this time, when you were sitting in the chair, your hair being pulled through a hot press, a Japanese woman in a pinstripe suit with long legs and sharp eyes walked into the room. You’d never seen her before but she seemed familiar with you.

She looked you up and down with a critical glare as all the workers stopped and let her inspect. “Well, things are coming along pretty well for our diamond in the rough. But my boss needs you to look like a queen and so long as you have that wide-eyed stare, you won’t fit the part.”

“Your boss?”

The long legged woman handed you an oblong carved sandalwood box that was tied with a red ribbon.

You pull the ribbon and remove the top. In the box was the deadpool's claw, buffed to a mirror like sheen. The raw knuckle bone was now inserted into a wooden hilt painted in vermillion and engraved with gold. It looked like a weapon one might find in a hidden tomb surrounded by other precious artifacts. A legendary weapon. The note said, “From Z.”

When you look at this woman again, she puts her finger to her lips. “There’s something I need you to understand. As the queen, the world only exists by your express permission. So from now on, I need you to simply ignore everyone around you. If you act like an ignorant girl, people will question you. Only pay attention or acknowledge anyone if it’s absolutely necessary.”

Knowing that this woman was acquainted with Z raised goosebumps on your skin. So rather than say yes ma’am, you turn away and stare into the mirror.

Your immediate obedience seemed to please the woman who said, “Good girl.” Before leaving.

You sit still while they paint your face with pale powder. Then they pile your hair up on your head. One of the women shows you an intricate golden comb the shape of a flying phoenix. A card came with it. “From Diamond,” it said. You nod mutely and they use it to secure your hair in front. The comb was from Diamond. Another shows you a bottle of floral scented perfume “from Armani”. You nod again.

At the end of the night, two men carried a large mirror to you and you caught a glimpse of yourself. The person reflected doesn’t look like you. You don’t see an orphan from Siberia but a delicate young woman. She smiled from the mirror. Her eyes were bright and sparkling in shy surprise and delight. Her eyebrows were dark and slender. Her ebony hair bloomed with flowers, gold and jade.  Her clothes are fine linen and silk brocade, a Chinese Hanfu reminiscent of the Tang Dynasty that reached the floor and pooled underneath her in red and white. Her shoulders are draped with translucent gold colored silk shawls. 

She didn’t look like you. But she was you.

Even though Caesar said you were beautiful over and over, this was the first time you ever felt that way about yourself. You find yourself swaying in the mirror, observing the way the silk shawls sparkled on your arm, a little giggle makes its way out. You feel a strange sense of thrilling excitement. Joy even.

You’d always thought of Renata as much prettier than you. Renata’s pale hair and her blue eyes were like the sun and the sea. But your dark eyes and your dark hair reminded you only of ravens. You cared for yourself like a potted plant, so you never thought of yourself as something to be admired, something dainty. You were a weapon. That was all you were good for. But now you admire the tendons of your neck, the curve of your collar bones, the taper of your wrists.

The sun sank in crimson and gold over the city of Tokyo. The light of the sky went out and the city lit up like a sea of stars. A sleek black limousine rolled up in front of the Takamagahara as it opened for the night, but you would not be there for the performers. Instead, the performers were lined up to see you out. The suitors in white suits while the rest of them wore their finest blacks.

They tilted in a stiff bow when you appeared. Per the instructions you received through the Japanese woman, you keep your eyes forward. In doing so, you feel a smile come to your face as you walk between them. Your heart swells and you straighten your back and lift your chin. 

You step out into the humid night. Heads turn, but you’re accompanied by your suitors who walked you to your limousine on the left and right of you. Even if someone were going to try to get a picture of you, the view is blocked. 

They only get a glimpse of royalty.

In the box right next to the stage, you sit in a velvet chair. There was one seat next to you but it was empty. You can look down directly onto the stage and the lower audience.

The curtain was low and the stage was dark, and the guests whispered quietly. They are all regulars at nightclubs, usually laughing and exchanging drinks, but tonight no one is making any noise. The audience is dressed in fine kimonos or foot-length evening dresses, ladylike and reserved. Although he is a male escort, Ruri Kazama's performance has been praised by several kabuki masters, who didn’t mind saying in the newspapers that they have gone out of their way to visit rowdy nightclubs to listen to this kabuki lover's performance. This is not a game, but a proper Kabuki performance, a masterpiece.

 Caesar and Chu Zihang were sitting in a box on the second floor, so you couldn’t see them but they could see you clearly from across the theater.

 "Ah… I guess this is my seat.” A familiar voice says. Chance walked down to the seat next to you. At your wide eyed surprise he said, “Were you expecting someone else?”

You were expecting Z to show up. But of course you couldn’t say that. “I thought none of you could get tickets.”

“I have an inside contact.” He winked and you notice that he has a pin on the lapel of his tux.  It was the Chinese character "ghost". Your jaw drops and you stare up at him in concern. On the envelope containing your invitation, there was a small seal in the corner, consisting of a painted dragon and that same character. Caesar told you that meant that this performance was hosted by Ruri Kazama and that Ruri was a Ghost and belonged to the Devil Clan, the enemies of Hydra. Chance raises one finger to his lips. “I see you understand.”

“You’re the inside contact. You’re the one who told Ruri about me. About… all of us?”

He nodded once, winking.

You lean forward, smiling nervously. “Then you’re… like me? You’re with the Devil Clan?”

Chance smiled warmly at your bright enthusiasm, but sat back in his chair. He was still wearing his bright gold chains and hands were freshly painted with a new pattern in Henna. “Have you ever seen a performance like this before?”

You shake your head. He was clearly changing the subject to avoid talking about his unstable bloodline. The knowledge that he was a Ghost like you cast Chance in a new light. You had so many questions. You had more in common with him than you did with Chisei Gen.

 "Just look at the translation screen above the stage. The lyrics will appear there for you to read so you understand the show.”

Z said that this Kabuki performance would answer many of the questions you’d had since waking up at Cassell and your pulse quickened. Finally, you would start to get a grasp on your new reality.

 The lights suddenly went dark, and someone struck a snare drum. The drums sounded hoarse and low, like a ghost whispering in a distant ancient time. The curtain was pulled back and the plain white woman stood quietly in the center of the stage, draped with long, dark hair.

But it wasn’t a woman. It was Ruri Kazama.

"All happiness in this world is a fleeting blossom in the shadow of the moon. 

Only loneliness and pain are always with us in the depths of Hell.”  

He sang and slowly raised his head, his face as pale as paper, only the corners of his eyes were a harsh blood red.

His costume looks like a stark ghost in the depths of the underworld, but his body is graceful and feminine, just like a stunningly beautiful woman wrapped in a veil, making people's hearts flutter.

But the words he sang. In the first lyric, Ruri Kazama presented a stinging rebuttal to your response to him the day before, when you proudly told him you were not perishing. Chance turned to look at you. His hand moved over your hand and he gave it a gentle squeeze but that was scarce comfort. You were suddenly struck with a sense of doom, as though the voice of Ruri Kazama were a death knell.

[scapegrace74-blog]

The Second First Christmas

A/N Despite the fact that I’m posting it after Boxing Day, this little fic is about Metric Jamie and Claire celebrating their first Christmas as a couple.  It is unadulterated fluff, and in keeping with the season of giving, I’m going to give this an Explicit rating.  You’re welcome.

With special thanks to @lady-o-ren, for Jamie’s gift idea!

All other parts of the Metric Universe are available on my AO3 page.

December 24, 2018, Spitalfields, London, England

Claire could hear her phone vibrating loudly on the metal shelf inside her duty locker.  Overcoming fatigue so severe it blurred her vision, she entered her combination and yanked open the door, thumbing the screen just before the call went to voicemail.

How did he do it?  Jamie had an uncanny, and frankly slightly unsettling, ability to guess her whereabouts, even remotely.  The past week he had found her in the massive Spitalfields Market merely on the hunch that she would be craving sushi after her Pilates class.  At one point she’d found his prescience disturbing, but now it soothed her.  Someone cared for her enough, knew her well enough, to plot the passage of her days on the virtual map of his mind.  And that someone was on the line.

“You’ve reached the voicemail for Claire Beauchamp’s circadian rhythm.  Press One if you’re a cortisol suppressant, Two if you’re an espresso machine, or Three if you’re Claire’s boyfriend, last seen in the flesh prior to the winter solstice.”

Jamie’s low rumbling chuckle filled her ear.

“Ye’re verra funny for a lass goin’ on twenty-four hours wi’out sleep, Sassenach. How was yer shift?”

Having worked most holidays in the A&E since graduating nursing school, Claire knew they went one of two ways: either complete bedlam, or utter boredom.  This one had been the latter, for which she was thankful.

“Surprisingly calm, but that means no lovely adrenaline to keep me awake.  I may sleepwalk into the Thames on my way home.  Are you at the station already?”

“Aye, jus’ starting my shift.  Can ye be at the main entrance of the hospital in five minutes?  I’ll call ye an Uber.”

“Jamie, that’s really not necessary.  I’m quite capable of walking...”

“Claire...” he interrupted, and needn’t say anything more.  They’d had numerous conversations and minor confrontations since becoming a couple over what Jamie termed her “wee addiction to self-sufficiency”.  She was trying to learn to accept help when it was offered, but it was an iterative process.

“Thank you.  I’d appreciate that.  Will I see you tomorrow morning before I go back on duty?”

Both Jamie and Claire were working extra hours over the holidays to offset the cost of refurnishing their flat.  Every minute spent together was therefore doubly precious.

“Aye, I’ll wake ye when I get in an’ we can celebrate our second first Christmas t’gether by tryin’ tae keep the other awake long enough tae open our presents.”

She smiled, but it morphed into a yawn.

“Get some rest, Sassenach.  And Claire,” he added in a serious tone, “t’would be a fine gift tae find ye in my bed, preferably naked, when I come home on Christmas morn.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” she husked, suddenly much more awake.

***

There was a puff of cool air and then the Earth moved.  Straining to hold onto slumber, Claire rolled away from the disturbance, gripping the blanket beneath her chin.  A low chuckle preceded a solid warmth radiating along the entire length of her spine.  Something bristly abraded her shoulder and she flinched away.

“Has anyone told ye ye look like a wee hedgehog when ye sleep, Sassenach?”

“I’m fairly confident they haven’t,” she retorted, rolling onto her back and stretching before opening her eyes.  The room was mostly dark, but Jamie’s auburn curls glowed in the dim lamplight escaping their living room.  His bare shoulders were humid and pink from the shower.  “What time is it?” she asked.

“Gone four.  We have a few hours afore ye have tae be back at the A&E, aye?”

“Mmmm,” she hummed affirmatively, caught up in tracing the ligatures of Jamie’s upper arm.

“Good.  That should leave us jus’ enough time.”

“Just how many presents are we exchanging?” Claire laughed, mesmerized by the eager passage of Jamie’s eyes over her face.  The hand that wasn’t bracing his head aloft began a lazy exploration beneath the blankets, touching her naked skin so softly that it almost tickled.

“Only two.  An’ the first one’s already unwrapped.”

“How fortuitous,” she teased before leaning upwards to capture his waggish lips in a warm introductory kiss.  “Merry Christmas,” she murmured as they parted some time later.

“An’ tae ye as well, Sassenach.  Ye canna imagine how many times I thought of ye t’night, yer beautiful skin warm against my sheets.”  Jamie’s free hand was on the move again, firmer now along the contours of her body as it came alive to his touch.

“Slow night, then?” she gasped as his knuckle found her nipple, slackened with sleep.

“Painfully so.”

There was no further conversation for a time, mouths being employed far more enjoyably.  Four months of intimacy had bridged the span from friends to lovers, replacing hesitation with ardour.  They were still learning each other’s tells; when to lead and when to follow, how to ask and how to demand.  It was a giddy education for them both.  

Tonight, Jamie’s fatigue and drawn-out anticipation left him shaking with want, a sensation akin to sharing a bed with an earthquake.  His broad torso was outlined in the light from the door as he knelt between her thighs, lust pinwheeling like sparklers in his eyes.  Fortunately, condoms were no longer a necessity after they both produced clean blood tests and Claire had an IUD implanted.  So when he slid into her body, there was nothing but the needy clasp of flesh on flesh.  Her sigh of pleasure mingled with Jamie’s groan of relief as they began their dance.

“Yer breasts, mo nighean donn,” Jamie growled past the iron clench of his jaw.  She dragged her pupils down from the back of her eyelids to observe the twin objects in question, undulating in time to their meeting and parting.

“Touch them for me,” Jamie commanded.

Aware that her every movement was being minutely observed, she made a show of arching her ribs and running her hands first beside, then below, and finally between her breasts.

“Seadh, mo ghaol.” The words snuck unbidden between Jamie’s strained lips.  She didn’t have the Gaihldig, but his meaning was clear.  Go on.  So go on she did, dragging fingernails over the creased flesh of each areola before giving both nipples a sudden pinch.  Whatever tectonic fluctuations her actions caused, Jamie felt them, for he let out an ecstatic whimper.  A worried furrow now marred his brow.  Her fluent eyes read the desperation written on his face.  He didn’t have long, and he needed her to go before him.

Her right hand drifted down to where they were joined.  His cock was thoroughly coated in her moisture as it emerged from her body.  Wetting her fingertips, she began to trace the intricate geometry of self-pleasure against her flesh.  Breathy moans filled the air.  Jamie’s teeth were bared in a snarl of panicked concentration.  She wasn’t going to overtake him in the wire sprint to the finish, she realized.

“Do it, Jamie.”  His crazed glance snapped upward to meet her own certain one.  Doubt clouded the seascape of his irises.  “God, please,” she begged.  They’d spoken of it.  A fantasy.  A mental titillation not yet brought to life.

Resolution came just in time.  Slipping from her heat, he grasped himself and with two hard strokes erupted all over her skin with a hoarse cry, anointing the final acceleration of her fingers as she echoed his climax with a convulsion and a sob.

Minutes later, they lay side by side, still recovering their breath.

“Don’t fall asleep,” Claire warned.  “We still need to exchange gifts.”

“Greedy wee thing,” Jamie groaned, already halfway to slumber.

***

A shared shower and two cups of strong coffee later, they sat on their new sofa.  Claire’s carefully wrapped gift for Jamie lay on the coffee table before them.

“I can’t help but notice that there’s nothing under our tree for me, Fraser.”

“Och, ye mean ye expect me tae serve ye and give ye a wee present, Sassenach.  Ye truly are greedy,” he groused dramatically.  Standing, he extended his hand and confused, Claire allowed him to lead her towards her bedroom.  For a moment she considered that he might actually be taking her back to bed.  As he turned on the light she understood his intention.

As a lifelong wanderer, Claire could count on the fingers of one hand her precious material possessions.  Her mother’s emerald earrings.  Her father’s pocket watch.  A jade fish from the Cat Street night market in Hong Kong, a lucky talisman she carried in her pocket for every test and exam.  And a beautiful antique print of Persepolis left to her by her Uncle Lamb.  All but this last had survived their apartment fire unscathed, but the water and smoke damage to its parchment had been irreparable.  Or so she had believed.

“Jamie,” she gasped upon seeing the lithograph once again mounted in its frame on her wall.  “But... how?”

“Well, I willna bore ye with the details, but suffice it tae say that there’s an antiquarian o’er in Bermondsey who can work miracles.  There’s still a wee bit o’ smudging near the edges, but I reckon it adds to its character,” he explained.

“A palimpsest,” she said, taking his hand.  At his questioning look, she explained, “when one story is written overtop of an older one.  This print is a remembrance of my Uncle Lamb and his love for me.  And now, when I look at it, I’ll be reminded of your love as well.”

“Aye, just so,” he agreed.

***

Claire was unaccountably nervous as Jamie began to unwrap her gift.  She’d felt certain she’d picked just the right thing for him; personal without being sappy, meaningful without being extravagant.  But with eyes still misty from the thoughtfulness of his present to her, she was having doubts.

“Tis rather heavy,” Jamie observed as he lifted the rectangular package onto his lap.  His eyes were alight with childlike glee, which was a gift unto itself.

“A chess set!”  His smile was genuine, but Claire’s heart plummeted.  What kind of woman bought her lover a chess set?  She began to stammer.

“I... ummm... I thought you could invite your friend John over to play.  You mentioned missing the challenge, and ummm....” she broke off, floundering, but Jamie paid her no heed.  He was lifting each wooden piece from its velvet resting place, inspecting its shape with a look of utter fascination.

“Where did ye find this, Claire?” he asked at last.

“Oh, uhh, online, actually.  It’s from a store in Inverness, but of course I wasn’t able to...”

“It’s Culloden,” Jamie interrupted.

“Errr, yes.  I thought, you know, a chessboard is a tactical battlefield.  And with you being Scottish and your family’s Jacobite history...”

“Claire, this is the most amazing chess set I’ve e’er seen.   Look here.  See this wee knight?  Tis a Scotch Hussar.  An’ the white king is the Duke of Cumberland.”  Jamie’s finger traced the words and images carved on the plinth of each piece, going on and on about the clans represented by the tacksmen pawns and his own grandsire, Lord Lovat, symbolized by a tiny strawberry carved on the base of an ebony rook.  Claire’s ribs began to loosen their vice-grip on her lungs.  Maybe she hadn’t horribly miscalculated after all.

“Sassenach, thank ye.  Truly.   Tis a grand gift.”  The chess set had finally been set aside and they sat facing each other, hands gently caressing as the winter sun slowly warmed the room in tones of blush and grey.

“You’ve very welcome.  I’m so relieved that you like it,” she replied with candour.

“I love it.  But no’ half sae much as I love ye.”

“I love you too.”  It was only after the words had taken flight from her lips that she realized she had never said them aloud before.  Not to Jamie, whose sudden stillness indicated that he had heard her.  It was too late, then, to pluck her soaring words from the air and cage them once again inside her heart.  Too afraid to meet his gaze, she concentrated on smoothing her palms over the backs of his hands in a hypnotic rhythm. 

His response, when it came, was whispered into the secret stronghold they had built together.

“There’s naught on Earth tae compare wi’ the gift of yer heart, mo nighean donn.  I want ye tae ken that I shall treasure it, an’ ne’er give ye reason tae regret placing it with me for safekeeping.”

Jamie lifted her hands to his mouth and kissed them both sweetly.  Still looking down, she nodded her acceptance of his pledge, a single tear escaping from the tip of her nose.

It was well past sunrise by the time Claire rose from their bed a second time, kissing her sleeping lover goodbye before creeping out of their flat and into the gemstone light of a perfect Christmas morning.

[fiddlepickdouglas]

Viva Las Vegas, Pt. 12 - Willie Alone

Summary: Sunset Curve AU, Willex, will he make it?, 5.2k

@trevor-wilson-covington is the bestie who makes these lovely edits, we stan supportive friends

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11

Day one down with no Caleb. Purple began to border the horizon. Hours of skating broken up with brief rests had Willie pretty tired. Sheldon seemed to be holding up pretty alright, even if he was stuck in the funny makeshift carrier Willie had made from a t-shirt to wrap around himself. Whatever town he’d stopped in was a little ways from the interstate, but it was nice being in a smaller place than a city for once. He actually couldn’t remember if he’d ever been to one.

Willie skated up to a cafe that doubled as an ice cream parlor and let Sheldon down on the ground. He hooked a leash to the cat’s collar but let it drag along the ground, knowing he would be followed. Entering the cafe, he sat at a table and leaned on its surface in exhaustion.

The night before already felt like so long ago. He’d spent all day debating whether it was smart to skate along the highway because it was an easier route to follow, or if he should take some back roads because they had less traffic and likely no cops. Seeing that shed light up was unforgettable. Willie hadn’t watched too many movies since he’d lost his memories, but it was a moment that had definitely felt like he was in one. Did he count as a fugitive now? He sort of liked the flavor of mystery and adventure that came with it.

Sheldon was up on his hind legs, pawing at Willie’s knees to let him climb up. Sitting back so his cat could leap into his lap, Willie cradled him with one arm. He thought about getting some ice cream and realized that he already missed the chamoy candy from Escobar’s bodega. It would’ve been nice to have a few more snacks on him. He’d get something in a little bit - standing up was going to make him feel sore.

He wondered how Alex was doing. He’d chosen to go to L.A. in the hopes of at least finding him and the rest of his friends. That sense of closeness and familiarity that Willie had felt when they were at the Pearl had become everything to him. Even Julie and Flynn would be great to meet again - in fact, he wished he could give them something in return for allowing him the second chance he’d needed to find Alex. Then he could figure out where to go from there.

Finally getting up from his seat, he approached the counter for some ice cream, leaving Sheldon held down by putting a chair leg through the leash handle. A girl who looked too young to be working there came to serve him.

“Hi, what can I get for you?” she said politely.

Willie looked down at all the flavors underneath the glass. What he wanted to do was climb inside and get the cool-off he really needed.

“Uhhh...how about the - ” his eyes narrowed to be sure he was getting it right. “ - the swass?” As far as he could see it claimed to be a white chocolate flavor with cayenne pepper in it. He’d never heard of a spicy ice cream before.

The girl giggled behind the glass.

“How many scoops?” she asked, barely containing laughter.

“Two scoops, in a waffle cone,” he said, watching as she got it prepared. “What’s so funny?”

They traded hands as she gave him the cone and he gave her cash.

“Swass is short for sweaty ass. It’s a summer special.”

Willie snorted and laughed along with her.

“Nice!” he said, pointing a finger to accentuate the word. She held a handful of coins out to him. “Don’t worry about it, keep the change.”

Mood now lifted by his ‘swass’ ice cream (which was surprisingly delicious once he began licking it), he went back to the table. Sheldon kept watching him, eyes hungry for the unfamiliar substance. Willie watched in mild entertainment for a moment as he continued eating. Then he got the idea to move the ice cream around, seeing Sheldon’s eyes follow wherever it went. It made him giggle.

Holding the cone within reach of Sheldon’s face, he let the cat sniff at it for a moment before daring to take a lick. After a few more licks, Sheldon sat back with his mouth wide open in shock, and Willie felt bad for laughing.

“Did you get a brain freeze, buddy?”

Sheldon looked betrayed, and crawled underneath the chair and began cleaning his face. Some noise caught Willie’s attention and he looked up to see a small TV set up in a corner of the cafe. The news was on, and while he couldn’t clearly make out what was being said, he saw footage of a building in flames while a fire department was trying to put it out. Fear clenched in his chest as he recognized it. Lifting Sheldon’s leash, he immediately got up from his chair and headed out the door.

So avoiding public places was going to be the plan from now on. He didn’t know what was being told on that news story but considering that was definitely the shed from behind Caleb’s place...arson had awful consequences, and Willie didn’t like his odds. It certainly put a wedge in his plan to find shelter, but he could get creative.

Grabbing his board, Willie skated through the streets and checked out his best options while finishing his ice cream. It was getting late, and businesses were closing quickly. He didn’t fancy staying anywhere outside, mostly for the safety of his cat. After getting a good look around the town (or most of it at least), Willie had to pick between the movie theater or the laundromat.

He thought of trying the theater. The seats would be perfect to sleep in, and the dark stillness of an empty theater at night sounded so relaxing. But there was the question of getting in without having to buy a ticket or being kicked out after a movie was finished. That was likely to cause enough fuss with the employees for them to identify him. Scratch that off the list.

Willie made his way to the laundromat, albeit unwillingly. It was the only place open for twenty-four hours with no one to bother him about why he was there. As he went inside with Sheldon, he peered up at the yellow lights. There had to be a dark corner somewhere. A handful of loads were going, and they were all spread out so that the noise would bother him no matter what. However, a door toward the back caught his attention and he checked to see if it was locked.

To his surprise, it opened to reveal an empty office. He flipped on the light to get a better look. There was only a desk, chair, and empty bookshelves, as if whatever it was used for had been decommissioned or moved elsewhere. Dragging a finger over the desk, a layer of dust came off. The room didn’t look like anyone would check for a person in there, so Willie decided it was where he’d make camp.

Luckily enough, there was a lost and found area with the laundry of people who’d somehow forgotten to pick up their loads. Finding a blanket in the pile, Willie made sure Sheldon was inside the office with him before turning the light out and shutting the door. It blocked out the noise of the machines well enough. Using his backpack as a pillow, he laid down and pulled the blanket over him as best he could and sighed.

Thinking back to earlier when he’d celebrated being a fugitive...well, it certainly had its cons. As Sheldon nestled on top of his legs, Willie chuckled softly and tried to focus on falling asleep. The backwards dream was bound to happen again, and he wondered if anything about it would change now that he knew what it was really about. Aside from his memories of Alex and his dad, it was the best motivator he had now. He closed his eyes and let the sound of purring lull him to sleep.

Day three without Caleb. Note to self: never underestimate the amount of sunscreen, food and water needed on a trip, and bring a map. Packing light was a mistake. Willie was avoiding the highway now, but had taken a wrong turn somewhere after passing through that small town and thought he’d found somewhere to get back on track, but only ended up more turned around than ever. Now he was skating for miles on some back road with no cars or civilization in sight and was getting worried. He was rationing the water between him and Sheldon, and now that it was high afternoon and the July sun was beating down, he was worried. The food he had packed for himself was already gone, and he was pretty sunburnt.

He’d originally decided not to hitchhike because he didn’t want to be recognized and turned in, but now he was considering it was safer than wherever he was right then. If the laundromat had been rough, rest stops were much less desirable to sleep in.

Slowing his board down, he moved to the side of the road for a minute and set Sheldon down on the ground so they could both stretch their legs. These past few days had been hard, but he was determined to never go back to Caleb. He felt more like himself and a new person all at once, more than he had ever felt since he’d lost his memories. Even with desperation creeping under his skin, he didn’t regret it one bit. Sheldon rubbed against his legs and Willie opened his backpack and dug for some food.

“Here you go, buddy,” he murmured, laying the food down and massaging the back of the cat’s neck. “You sure are handling this better than me.”

All he got in response was content purring. Willie was grateful he wasn’t entirely alone. It wasn’t a usual thing for cats to travel, right? He wondered what made Sheldon so special.

Pulling out his water bottle, Willie saw that it was down to a mere gulp. As if to punctuate his disappointment, his stomach growled loudly. This was beginning to feel like more than a low point. The pain and fatigue started increasing as he sat in the dust, the notion of how lost he was settling in uncomfortably. Shaking the water bottle, Sheldon perked up and watched him pour some into his hand before licking it up.

Finishing the last of it, Willie was hardly satisfied. It was better than nothing. The heat was getting unbearable, though, and with how tired he felt it was a hard debate whether he should take a nap or keep trying to find shelter.

Stubbornly trying not to imagine the worst, Willie reminded himself of his goal. Find Alex, find somewhere to stay, and play it by ear from there. He even teased the thought of finding out if he still had a family. That didn’t sound likely, especially with the amnesia factored in, but this was the first time he could dare to dream bigger than the small life he’d had back in Vegas. If he did make it, it was all worth the strain he was feeling right now.

If - such a laconic, dooming word.

His legs felt too much like jelly to attempt riding again, though, and he pulled Sheldon into his lap. The cat made a few funny chirping noises at him.

“Sorry, buddy, I’m too tired,” he apologized. All the rubs against his shirt couldn’t renew his strength fast enough. Willie felt tears well up in his eyes and he couldn’t tell if they were from fear or exhaustion. Only a couple fell and immediately dried on his face.

He tried summoning the memory of Alex’s eyes, letting the ocean waves bring hope in a dire attempt to fight everything else. Their rhythm and focus remained preserved so well in his mind. If the world was made of hard, painful, unbearable things, Alex was the softness of respite. From bandaging his hand to running his fingers through his hair in comfort, there was a gentleness that made Willie believe in something greater than one day in Sin City. The waves grew and he dreamed of being washed clean and refreshed and like he could leave his soul at the shore forever and never be hurt.

They crashed over him again and again, like a lullaby. The sensation dulled the pain until he was numb. Nothing remained but the beautiful sea of green before him.

Willie didn’t know when he passed out or for how long, but he was jolted awake by feeling his body hitch up and down, like he’d gone over a bump. He heard the running of an engine and opened his eyes. A window beside him was down, and he looked directly into his own reflection in the rearview mirror of a truck. Turning to his left, he saw a person at the steering wheel through bleary eyes.

“Dad?” he muttered thoughtlessly.

“Sorry,” the voice of an older woman spoke. “Not your dad.”

Willie only blinked as he tried to orient himself. The woman had salt and pepper hair styled in a mullet and looked coarse from years of hard work.

“Pardon me for being blunt, but what the hell were you doing out there?” she rebuked. “With a cat!”

He immediately sat up in alarm, looking for Sheldon.

“He’s fine,” she assured. Willie nodded as he saw the cat sitting on top of a blanket in the back seat next to his skateboard.

“It’s a complicated story,” he told her.

“I bet it’s complicated,” she muttered in slight consternation.

There was a few minutes of silence as Willie’s mind tried to understand where he was.

“Don’t try to thank me,” the woman began speaking again. “It was only so easy to put you up in my truck after I saw you had no water, no food, nothing but a few changes of clothes and a wad of cash.”

“Thank you,” Willie said, embarrassed he hadn’t said it quicker.

“I said don’t thank me; I could’ve taken all your cash.”

He looked at her anxiously until her lip curled.

“Don’t worry, you’ve still got all of it.”

This lady was abrasive, but at least she was kind.

“I’m Bessie,” she said. “And if the name is right in your wallet, you’re William. Bet you go by Willie though.”

“How did you guess?”

“You don’t look like a William kind a’ kid.”

It was amazing how she could hold his attention so well without taking her eyes away from the road. Her intelligence was effective. It kind of made him smile.

“You hungry?” she asked. Her head nodded in the direction of a bag sitting between them. He smelled chicken and he hesitated for a moment, eyes darting between the food and her. “Go on, you can have some. I can eat more when we get to Roy’s.”

“Who’s Roy?” Willie asked, carefully pulling out a chicken wing and biting into it.

“It’s a motel. Me and my husband own it. And it looks like you’ll be our only guest tonight.”

“Oh,” he said through a mouthful of food.

“I apologize, but you need a shower,” she told him, wrinkling her nose. Willie only continued to chew in silence and bowed his head. He’d forgotten about that while he’d been focused on skating his way to freedom.

“So where is this motel at?” he asked after a few moments.

“It’s in Amboy. We’re a little ghost town out here. There’s only five of us, the rest are tourists. Sometimes we get Harrison Ford coming through.”

Willie raised his eyebrows, guessing it was impressive trivia. There were numerous names people used that he seemed to be expected to know, but unfortunately most of them he couldn’t keep track of. He silently ate his chicken, relishing in the taste.

“We’re almost there, so just sit tight and keep eating,” Bessie said.

He noticed she hadn’t mentioned anything about recent news, and while it was possible she knew about it, Willie didn’t think she would hold back her commentary if she did. He decided not to bring it up.

Not even ten minutes later they pulled up to the retro motel. Movement was agony, every bit of his exposed skin on fire. Sheldon lifted his head and meowed in curiosity as Willie opened the back door to get his things. Pulling his backpack over his shoulder, he scooped up Sheldon with one arm and grabbed his board with the other. He felt nervous claws immediately dig into his shoulder and he tried to soothe his cat the best he could.

“Shhh, buddy, it’s okay,” he whispered. It was a good thing he had a leash on.

“I have never seen a cat travelling with a skater before,” Bessie said as he followed her into Roy’s. “The things you get in this little town.”

She took him up to the main desk and pulled out a reservation book, licking her finger to turn the pages.

“Alright, let’s get you a room,” she murmured.

“I can pay to stay here,” Willie said shakily. She’d practically saved his life, and he hadn’t exactly counted how much he took from Caleb, but added onto his own money it was quite a stash. Bessie looked at him thoughtfully.

“If you insist,” she surrendered without argument.

Sheldon was sniffing everything and peering around, obviously wanting to explore.

“You can put him down for a minute, I’ll keep an eye on him,” Bessie told Willie, handing him a key and a bottled substance after he let Sheldon go. “You get yourself washed up and put this aloe on. I suggest you stay for a few days at least so those burns don’t get worse.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Willie heard himself say. Too late, he reconsidered the use of ‘ma’am’ but Bessie only smirked and shook her head. He wondered how often she picked up strangers and set them up at her motel, because she was so well prepared. Glancing at his cat, who was content to swat at some flies that had made their way inside, he went toward the room that matched the number on the key.

Showering hurt, even with cold water, but Willie tried to bear it as best he could. At least applying the aloe wasn’t too bad. He was glad he hadn’t skated with his shirt off because it wouldn’t have been any fun to try reaching certain parts of his back. Looking out the window of his room as he got dressed, the sunset was in its late stages. For a while, he simply sat on his bed and hugged his knees to his chest, watching it go down.

Now that he had time to slow down, Willie felt a huge weight finally lift off of his shoulders. He hadn’t been allowing himself to think about it as much since he was so focused on being on the move and trying to stay safe while he had Sheldon with him. Actually, he didn’t even remember when he’d crossed state lines. But he felt a little safer now. Caleb didn’t care enough to come after him all the way out here, he didn’t think. Burning down the shed had been a little dramatic, he admitted, but once people forgot the news it was probably miniscule in Caleb’s eyes compared to everything Willie had lost.

For a minute, a ball of anger grew inside his chest and Willie closed his eyes and breathed deeply in an attempt to cool it down. It was probably a good idea to take Bessie’s advice and stay a while since he was being given the opportunity. He got up and went back out to see how Sheldon was.

The cafe was quiet except for Bessie speaking on the phone with someone. Sheldon was near the cafe counter where someone had set out a bowl of water and a can of tuna. Willie went over to him and knelt down to pet him. Any motion was still a pain, but he made himself ignore it. Footsteps sounded from behind the counter and Willie looked up to see a large man with a mustache peering down at them. He appeared to be from somewhere in the Pacific Islands.

“You’ve got a nice cat,” the man said.

“Thanks,” Willie replied with a small smile as he continued running his hand from head to tail.

“Can I get you some water?”

“Oh...uh, yeah, thanks.” It was going to take a while to get used to people being kind. As the man left briefly and returned with a glass, Willie graciously took it and sat at a table. Like that, the man had disappeared and he almost questioned whether he’d actually been there.

He saw the napkins on the table and pulled one out of the dispenser. The only thing he’d actually learned how to make with origami was those little frogs, and he never seemed to use a proper piece of paper when he got the urge. Now, he didn’t have anyone to gift it to if he did make one. He sure wasn’t going to hand one to Bessie.

Just as he thought that, she came over to sit across from him.

“So what’s the plan, kid?” she asked, folding her hands casually.

Willie looked at her for a moment, unsure what to explain.

“Come on, something’s gotta motivate you to be going cross country on a skateboard,” she pointed out.

“Well,” he sighed. “I’m trying to get to Los Angeles.”

“And the bus just didn’t do it for you?”

Willie sat back, dumbfounded. Part of him knew that there were bus routes across the states, but he just hadn’t remembered that.

“Yeah, so fun fact about me: I only have a year and a half of memory, and I forgot about busses.”

Bessie raised her eyebrows, and then furrowed them.

“I’ve seen some things, I’ve seen some things, and I have seen some things. You are not something I have seen yet. I won’t ask for what your whole story is, but I can only imagine the convoluted circumstances that got you in your position.”

Willie bowed his head, unsure how he should respond. It was clear that she truly wasn’t aware of the news, though.

“Do you even know what you’ll do when you get to LA?” she asked.

“Not much,” he said, shaking his head. “But I have a start.”

“Please tell me you don’t plan to skate the rest of your way out of here.”

“Well, do I have any other way to get there?”

Bessie pursed her lips as she considered his words.

“I’d have my husband drive you out, but he just went out of town to do some business. We’re actually trying to sell the town, so once he finishes up his deal this place will be out of our hands. I can’t keep you here for long.”

The news made Willie realize just how inconvenient it was for her to have pulled him from the side of the road, and more guilt rose in his chest. He couldn’t keep getting in everyone’s way just by showing up.

“How soon is he supposed to be back?”

“A couple days. And then we’ll spend the rest of this week cleaning up and heading out.”

Feeling something touch his leg, Willie saw Sheldon had finished his can of tuna and come over to him. Picking the cat up and holding him in his lap, he looked at Bessie.

“You’ve been really generous,” he said. “You practically saved my life. I don’t know how to thank you.”

She shrugged.

“Ain’t much you can do but say it, and that’s okay. And maybe just rest enough so you’re in good shape before you get back on the road. Can you do that?”

“Yeah.” Willie nodded emphatically.

“Alright. Well, I’m going to turn in, but you hang in here as late as you like, although I don’t know what you would do.”

Willie only smiled as she got up from the table. He did the same, carrying Sheldon with him to the room. It was going to be nice having a bed and not being on the move from the second he woke up. Even with his skin continually on fire, he was able to fall asleep the moment his head hit the pillow.

The next day he woke up and it was already noon. Sheldon was meowing to be let out the door, intermittently coming up to Willie and nudging him with his head.

“Yeah, I get the hint,” Willie laughed.

He quickly got himself together before hooking the leash to Sheldon and heading into the cafe. There were two men he hadn’t seen the day before eating lunch. It was probably a good idea to eat, considering he had slept through breakfast. The large man with the mustache was at the cafe counter, and Willie was silently relieved he hadn’t hallucinated him. It appeared he had set out the bowls of water and food already for Sheldon, who immediately went to it.

“Hello, little man,” he said as Willie came toward him. “What can Big Bo get for you?”

“Are you Big Bo?” Willie immediately loved the name.

“Absolutely.”

“Well, I could eat anything, what do you recommend?”

Big Bo thought for a minute. And then he smiled.

“I’m gonna make you a nice burrito.”

Nodding and smiling, Willie watched him leave as he went to a table and immediately began folding napkins into frogs. After a while his face got itchy, and he realized his skin had begun peeling from the burns. That was going to be fun to handle. Big Bo brought his burrito over and then tried getting attention from Sheldon.

Most of the rest of the day was pretty boring. Willie rotated between doodling on napkins, playing card games with the deck Bessie pulled out from the motel office, and walking around with Sheldon. He was reminded to consistently use the aloe vera he’d been given. Boredom rose to the point where he helped Big Bo deep clean various appliances behind the counter in the cafe. By the time they had finished, it was just time to eat a late dinner and Willie was tired out from all the cleaning.

He took a shower and tried to lightly scrub off all of the dead skin. Sheldon curiously poked his head in and got a faceful of water, causing him to make a surprised noise and run off. Willie couldn’t help but laugh with a twinge of pity as he peeked out and saw his cat glaring at him from the bed. Honestly, he wouldn’t have managed to get this far without Sheldon. It felt good not to be alone, but also feel free to just be himself and still be followed out of sheer loyalty.

The bed was already so comfortable and inviting it made Willie sad that he couldn’t stay longer. Maybe in the future he could recreate something like this place - small and friendly, where he was always prepared to help poor strangers find shelter. There wasn’t much to do here, but he could play around with ideas for his own thing. He’d definitely add a skate park, though. A strange thought occurred where he remembered Caleb’s hotel being called the Desert Oasis - the irony of it all couldn’t have been more obvious.

For the first time in weeks, Willie had a peaceful sleep.

A couple days later, Bessie’s husband still wasn’t back in town. She didn’t seem too worried about it, but Willie could feel tensions building up for himself. He was slowly running out of ways to entertain himself while his burns were finally toning down into tan lines, and he was afraid he would wear out his welcome while she was waiting for the town to be sold. His backpack was already packed and ready to go, but it was mid-morning and he still felt unsure about when was a good time to leave. For now, he simply doodled over the top of the comics in the newspaper.

The door of the cafe opened. Willie didn’t bother looking up but he overheard the conversation.

“Well, I am surprised to see you here again,” Bessie was saying.

“Hello, Bess, how’s it been?” A man’s voice was heard speaking. Willie couldn’t tell where he recognized it from.

“Slow. Buster’s been out of town. I guess we oughta tell you we’re leasing the place so you’re not in for a surprise next time you want to fly out here.”

“Leasing the town? Well, that’s a shame.”

“Any day now.”

“Any day now? If I’d known this would be the last stop I make here, I would’ve planned better. I was just gonna go out to the salt flats for a bit and then hightail it back to LA.”

Willie peeked over his shoulder. He still couldn’t see the man’s face, but he felt his heart rate go up at the mention of Los Angeles. Not wanting to appear rude, though, he continued with his doodling and tried to tune out what they were talking about. Eventually the man left the cafe and it was difficult to tell if he was going to come back or not. If it took until later that evening, he was willing to wait to find out.

In the meantime, he let Big Bo teach him how to make his special dinner rolls. The man was very quiet but he clearly loved making food and it made the process more fun. Also, Willie enjoyed the way he got called “little man” because it came out sounding so laid back and welcoming. While they waited for the dough to set, Big Bo showed him some tattoos he had and explained the symbolism of each one.

“This represents Nāmaka, the Hawaiian goddess,” he said, pointing to a woman’s face surrounded by ocean waves on his bicep. “But to me she really represents the course of life. The tide goes in, and the tide goes out, and the good things and bad things do the same. What you and me do is just ride that wave wherever it takes us in life.”

Listening intently, Willie thought back to Alex’s eyes and the countless times he used the visual of ocean waves to bring him calm amid the turbulence. Big Bo had spoken a simple concept, but it was something more powerful than anything Caleb had ever said. Something in Willie’s heart felt like he could finally find a purpose outside of all of this chaos.

After they had finished making the rolls, Willie sat eating one while petting Sheldon when he heard the door to the cafe open again. Footsteps approached and suddenly, a man Willie recognized had put his leg up on the chair across from Willie and was leaning on his knee casually. Surprise seemed to slap him over the face when he realized who he was. Indiana Jones, Han Solo, the Fugitive himself looked down at him in a bomber jacket and jeans.

“So my friend Bessie tells me you’re in a rough spot, kid,” Harrison Ford said. Willie looked back in shock. “I’ve got my own plane out there right now. You want a ride?”

[paperficwriter]

I’ll Follow You Into the Dark

Harboring a fugitive means having to be careful, having to be smart about it. Because what terrible things might happen if someone were to find out? Unfortunately, being particularly clever is not one of Badd’s strong suits.

Written for @kaincuro​! Cut is for length, not for content.

“Where have you been?”

Badd hasn’t even gotten in the door yet. He’s just opened it with his shirt covering his hand because it’s gross, because there are splashes of gore on his clothes. Showers are available at the Hero Association HQ, yes, but it would have meant being out even later. The chance to take advantage of the Class S wing’s amenities was outmatched by his desire to be home with Garou.

“I got sidetracked by two monsters when my shift was supposed to end.” Garou’s eyes shine in the dark like a cat, even when the rest of his face is obscured by shadow, and Badd gropes for a light switch. “Ya could have at least waited with a lamp on. Where’s Z—”

“She’s staying over with that one annoying girl from her class.” A hand grabs his wrist and pulls him. “Why didn’t you call? You’re always browbeating me about using the burner phone you got me.”

“I said I was—”

“After.”

“It died. Garou, let me get a damn light, ya fuckin’—”

There’s a mouth jamming into his, which isn’t really the best way to describe a kiss. This is more like he’s being berated, like it’s a scold in the form of affection that’s being taken rather than given. Garou licks his face, and that’s so fucking gross, he’s told him how gross that is, especially right now when he’s sweaty and dirty. 

That sharp nose presses in next to his, and his face is held by icy fingers. He can hear his lashes falling on his cheeks, and between their eyes is this singing . That’s the only way he can think of it as. A high-pitched energy.

I was worried, Garou is thinking into him so he doesn’t have to say it. 

“I’m sorry.” Despite the grime (clearly Garou doesn’t give a shit) Badd palms the back of Garou’s neck until their foreheads touch into a point of pain. “Hey. I’m sorry.”

“Mm.”

He puts on a little smile. “I’m real flattered that ya missed me so much, though. It’s nice to be missed. Kinda sweet, comin’ from you.”

“Shut the fuck up.” There’s not even an ounce of bitterness in those words; the only thing reflecting any hurt is the way he pinches his cheek.

“Ow.”

“What? You’re the one who liked being missed so much. I should show you all the things I miss. Like these stupid soft cheeks of yours.”

“You’re just jealous. You’re like all skin and bones and shit.”

It’s still dark, but Badd’s eyes have adjusted. He leans his bat against the wall by the coat stand, on the linoleum where he can take it out and hose it off later. It’s the only moment he takes his hands off Garou, and he returns them just as quickly to sweep over his chest. Garou’s shirt is just a little loose on him, which is a pretty big indicator that he’s borrowing one of his.

He leans up until he feels a little soft hair on his nose and the bump of Garou’s ear. “Why don’t you show me all the other things you missed in the shower with me?” he whispers, and damned if he isn’t dragged down the hall on the spot.

Garou hisses when he finally turns the bathroom light on, and Badd gets his eyes on him for the first time since that morning. God, he kind of looks awful. Not that he’s going to say that, but there is this worn quality to the skin on his face, his eyes are a little squinty (even after he gets accustomed to the light) and there’s just a fatigue that’s there that’s not normally there.

“G. I’m okay. See? None o’ this blood’s mine, yeah?”

Slim fingers pick at some dried blood on his collarbone, then practically tears his shirt off. 

“I’m really, really sorry. I promise I’ll try not to let it happen again. I—”

“I almost went out looking for you.”

Badd stops talking for a second. His heart squeezes uncomfortably. “Ya know ya can’t do that durin’ the day. You’re…” A wanted criminal. The only monster that has ever escaped from the Hero Association. “It’s not safe.”

Garou scowls, pulling back, his touch rescinded entirely. He bends his head to rub his face against his own shoulder like a cat, and it makes Badd wonder if he’s trying to spread his scent onto his cheek. “I didn’t, did I?”

"It won't be forever. And it's nice when we go out at night, yeah? To our special spot?"

On the hill that overlooks the river. The one that's two miles outside the city, where sometimes Garou will meet him after work or Badd will drag him out on evenings like this in a completely different outfit.

Sometimes they don't even get there at the same time. They even pretend they're strangers. To spice things up. Keep it interesting.

But Garou doesn’t seem to want to go anywhere. He’s kissing him again, grabbing for his pants, and those pale fingers are getting dirty on his buttons. Badd scrambles to try to undress him too, but Garou is like some unstoppable force when he’s like this. 

“No trips tonight,” he says when he gets to his neck, hand slapping out to start the water. It hits too hot, but Badd can’t get to it to adjust. “I need you here. I’ve needed you here. I don’t want to share you with anyone else, even if it’s just the fucking bugs and birds and shit.”

Badd chuckles and lets Garou pin him to the wall. The water is running murky right now, and this should be gross, he should be shoving him off, but denying Garou is like trying to stop a hurricane with a parasol. 

“Alright, babe. I’m not going anywhere.”

How does it happen?

They fuck up somewhere. It’s hard to say where, or when, or how.

Was it when Garou slinked along beside Badd when he went on a midnight grocery run?

Or the time Garou snarled at a guy who catcalled a girl as he was waiting for Badd to get off the train, and Badd grabbed his arm so he wouldn’t actually take off after the weasel? 

Or was it just chance? A suspicion, a hunch, and a window open a little too wide in the bedroom?

It doesn’t matter.

Garou had gone for a walk. Just a walk. It was fall, so the nights were getting longer, so while Badd dropped Zenko off at their cousin’s for the weekend, Garou went out into the crisp air, hat pulled down over his ears, Badd’s favorite jacket on with the embroidered tiger on the back (the hero had made the piece of clothing too tantalizing, always scolding that if he ripped it or stained it, he’d fucking kill him).

Although Garou’s walks always took him into a run, and then a leap, dashing up buildings until he could see for miles. And this one was different. His slippered feet propelled him from rooftop to rooftop, the smell of drying leaves and burning wood in his nostrils, air whistling.

His phone vibrated. ‘Gonna pick up food. What u want?’

He landed on one foot on the top of a stone cross erected on an empty church. Pigeons noisily swarmed from inside the belfry and out into the air. ‘Dumplings. Soup. Meat.’

‘lol, ok. See u soon.’

That’s the last one. The last text.

When he’s coming back, the noises make his ears twitch as much as his nerves. Anyone else wouldn’t notice, but he knows every inch of Badd’s house. He knows the furniture in it, the weight of it, and he knows what it’s like to fight inside (there were a few of those when he first started living there). 

There are people inside the house. There are people ransacking Badd’s house. 

The part of Garou that Badd always calls “the guard dog side” heats up to combustible levels. Usually it’s “cute” (again, something Badd says), when he glares at the door before he’s pushed off Badd and down the hallway out of sight. 

They’ve sprayed something on the windows so he can’t see. Fine. If they want to do this the painful way, he’ll oblige.

The window breaks as he goes through it so fast that he barely cuts himself, rolling into the bedroom. There are three men in suits, and the bed - their bed - is turned upside down. The nightstand is cracked, the drawer thrown open and turned out. Everything that they have worked to make theirs is ruined, and Garou roars. 

“He’s here! He’s—”

Garou grabs the man’s face and throws him through the broken window. The other two reach for guns on their belts, but the movement takes far too long compared to the speed with which Garou attacks, sending each of them flying into the walls. 

I’ll kill you. I’ll kill you. I’ll kill you all.

“Garou…”

It only takes a few sprinting steps to get to the stairs that lead to the living room, although it takes three (precious, few, too many) seconds to take out goons in the upstairs bathroom and in Zenko’s room. One manages to get a shot off, and the sound rings in Garou’s ears even as his fist breaks through his nose and jaw. He drops the bullet he caught onto the ground.

From the landing, he can see down into a black sea of men in suits, like the ones he’s dealt with upstairs. Badd is sitting up in a chair, and even from here Garou can see that his eyelids are heavy, a sagging in his cheeks and muscles. 

He’s been drugged with something.

One of the guys has his foot on his bat, which is on the floor, and there are several guns trained on Badd’s head.

He does the math.

Garou is fast, and if it was one person, only one, he could make it. But there isn’t one. There’s...twenty. They are crammed in here, and they all have guns, and there are too many for someone not to get lucky. And from the range they have on Badd, they don’t even need luck.

Run. 

It’s not a word that comes to his mind. It’s one silently mouthed by Badd.

Run, Garou.

Garou shakes his head. How can he run? How can he leave him? Now, at their worst point? That’s not just making him a coward. It’s making him a truer villain than he ever possibly could have conceived of himself to be. “No. Badd—”

So Badd is the one who moves. He sinks his teeth into his own hand, and Garou can feel as much as see how his Fighting Spirit flares. 

That’s when all hell breaks loose.

Shots fired at him, around the room. Ten men pile on Badd, and he disappears under their bodies. “Run, Garou! Get the fuck outta here! ”

Two shots hit him. In the side and in the shoulder. Too much happening. Too many distractions. Below him, he can see Badd struggling, and he knows he’s alive and if he’s alive he can find him, he can get him back.

“Take him down! Don’t let the Hero Hunter get away!”

The Hero Hunter.

That’s all he is to them. He’s still that version of himself that he had given up, the already-flimsy mask that had been torn off in that last fight.

Breaking into a run down the hall is like running through mud. Maybe not physically - physically he outpaces them all, a wild animal that knows the woods better than any clumsy human - but with every step he’s calculating when, where, why, how, will they, won’t they, what are you doing?

He doesn’t just go through the window; he takes half of the wall with him. This time, he barely touches the rooftops as he jumps from one to the next. Anything it takes to put as much distance as he can between himself and that house, those men.  

And Badd? A voice in his head asks.

He smothers it in his molten rage.

---

Who is he kidding? Garou can’t stay away. It doesn’t matter that it’s only been a few months. It doesn’t matter that they will probably check in on the house, or that they may be watching it now. He’s drawn back to it like a bird - like a chicken, that awful voice says again, rearing back, returning over and over no matter how much he ignores it - and in the dark he’s much harder to spot.

He waited a day. That’s as much as he can be expected to wait, isn’t it?

They’ve only put tarps over the holes, so he goes in the exact same way as he did that afternoon. 

Everything is still a mess. Any shelf that was standing or on the wall has been torn off, tipped over, emptied. Clothes have been pulled out and left scattered on the floor, or in piles. Nothing seems intact.

Even the bed has a gash running through it, clearly torn open by a knife. It nicked Badd’s pillow, and feathers are bleeding out onto the comforter. The sight makes him so angry that he picks up the whole bed and he’s about to throw it through the wall when two eyes shine up at him.

“Meow.”

Tama. She’s pushed herself into the tightest ball she can in the corner, somehow evading the terrible events of the afternoon. He puts the bed down, leaning it against Badd’s desk, and reaches down for her. She darts down the hallway into Zenko’s room.

The scene is the same. Granted, he always hated the posters and standees of Amai Mask, but seeing them ruined, torn off the wall (for what fucking purpose, those bastards) makes him nauseated. 

“Meow.” Now she’s under Zenko’s bed. He gets down on his stomach and pats the floor. She doesn’t move.

“Come on, Tama.” She backs up, and he kicks the door closed with his foot so she can’t run away again. “Come. On.”

She can survive. Cats are predators, and they can handle themselves. You’ve done enough— 

“Come on!” His fist lands on the floor. A piece of paper falls off the pink cork board over Zenko’s desk, fluttering to the floor. Not paper. A photo. Badd is grinning, with her up on his shoulders, and Zenko is making bunny ears over his head. Garou stares at it, not blinking, not moving. And then he realizes that he’s just barely in the picture. Half his face, the visible part of his smirk, and he recalls Zenko begging Badd to let her keep it. 

“Just that one. And it stays at home. Understand? No showin’ it to anyone at school.”

“I promise!”

He hates this feeling.

And it’s one he should be used to, isn’t it? Being on his own. He was on his own for so long, living in that shack, stealing food. And only a few times did it ache a little, to be away from the world, but it was worth it, because he had a goal.

What does he have now?

...nothing.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Liar. Liar. Liar.

You could have stopped it. You should have died stopping it. 

No. No. No.

The bristles of Zenko’s carpet are making his face itch, but all the energy has gone from his body. It’s hard to tell how long he stays there, the silence so eerie. No television. No talking. No breathing. 

And then, there’s something. A gentle vibration. He glances up to find that Tama has occupied the space of his slightly-bent arm, where it had been outstretched. Her eyes are heavy, and she’s purring gently. When he picks her up, she lets it happen, and he pockets the photo as well.

For a moment, he considers taking more, but…

No. 

...better to let this chapter end. It’s easier to let it all go. He has the jacket, and Tama, and one picture of them together.

Yes. Look at where attachments have brought you.

---

Garou memorizes the address on the fridge, and rips it into tiny pieces. If they found it already, they have it, and if they don’t, they won’t now. It doesn’t look like anyone is watching the place, so far as he can tell.

He gently knocks on the window.

“Garou!” Zenko looks like she’s been crying, so she must have some idea what’s happened. That makes things easier, although who knows what they’ve told her. Her face is red, and she grabs his arm, trying to pull him in from where he’s crouching on the window sill. 

“No. I can’t stay.”

“You can’t go!” One of her fists punches his arm as her eyes start filling with tears again. “Don’t go, Garou!”

It hurts. He doesn’t...he wasn’t expecting it to hurt this much. “Here.” Reaching into his jacket with his free hand, he takes Tama out and hands it to her. She has to let him go to take the large cat in her arms.

“Tama…” Now she’s sobbing into the cat’s fur, and he remembers just how old Tama is. Old enough to have been there through losing their parents. Old enough for all Badd’s antics, all the things that led him to promise ‘no violence in front of her.’ 

Some good that did.

“Do you…” she hiccups and scrubs her eyes. “Do you know where he is?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you know if he’s okay?”

“...I don’t know.”

“What do you know?!”

“Nothing!” Before he can stop it, his voice goes as sharp as hers. “I don’t know anything yet! Are you happy?!”

At first, in the moment he regrets it, he thinks she’ll start crying and then...what, is he going to try to comfort her? But instead she puts Tama down, jumps up and slaps him in the face. Which doesn’t really hurt all that much (physically, at least). Not as much as when she yells at him, “You’re the adult! You’re supposed to be able to deal with it!”

...he is, isn’t he.

He holds his hand out. “Give me your phone for a second.”

When she unlocks it and hands it over, Garou brings up the news and searches for ‘Metal Bat.’ Immediately, there are several articles about his “leave of absence” from the Hero Association, about “suspicions of misconduct,” and how he was currently staying in the Hero Association Headquarters where they would be investigating his involvement with “possible criminal monsters.”

A monster...

Garou hands the phone back to her. “You probably saw that he’s at the hero headquarters.”

She nods. “That doesn’t narrow it down much...the new one is huge. You can’t just— Garou!” Zenko pulls hard at his arm as he tries to jump away, like she can yank him inside. “You can’t just go in!”

“I don’t have much of a choice.”

“Take me with you!”

“No way.” She’s about to yell at him again, he can tell, but he gently, firmly pulls his arm out of her grasp. “Your brother will kill me if I get you in trouble. And who will take care of Tama then?”

Zenko hates it. He can tell, because the expression on her face is how his gut has felt all day: angry, grief-stricken, hurt. “Promise you’ll come back for me. That you’ll both come get me!”

He nods. “Fine. Call Tareo. He’ll be worried, and I don’t want you alone.”

He leaves after that without saying goodbye. There’s nothing more to say, and he can’t make any more promises he’s not sure if he’ll be able to keep.

---

Garou spends that night in the special spot. He curls up in the tall grass where he usually does, and below him he can hear the water gently lapping over the rocks. It’s dark, and there’s a breeze, but there are stars overhead. 

He takes Badd’s jacket off and balls it up under his head, where he can breathe it in.

“I love ya, Garou.”

“Is that right?”

“Yeah, it’s right, jerk.” Badd laughs and smacks his chest. He’s using him as a pillow, that night, and it’s warm yet cool enough that this is the first time they’ve been able to stand being out in it. In the distance, storm clouds are moving in. They’ll be forced home soon.

Garou is playing with his hair. He usually has it down when they go out. The pompadour is too much of a signature for him, too unique. Like this, Garou can pass his fingers through it without it getting caught in product. 

“You don’t have to say it back.”

“Good.”

Badd’s smiling into his flesh, and he traces the outline of one of his pecs. It makes goosebumps jump up across Garou’s shoulders. “You at least like me, don’t ya?” he teases, poking him near the armpit so he jumps. 

“God, no.” Garou rolls until he’s got Badd on his back and he’s looming over him, growling as he places several nipping bites down his throat. “Can’t stand you…”

“Yeah, I get that a lot from folks,” Badd laughs.

“No, you don’t. And that’s what I hate the most.” He follows the path of the bites with little kisses, faintly feeling Badd rubbing at his scalp. “You’re so damn likable...everyone fawning all over you...you’re like the neighborhood mutt everyone wants to give treats to.”

Badd sits up a bit until he can press his face into the soft space of skin under his eye, slotting his nose into the dip of his cheek. “Do ya wanna give me a treat?”

God. He wants to be annoyed, but Badd’s boyish face, his little smile, his hands, even the calluses on his fingers...every piece of him just endears him more and more. Does that mean that this is love? Is this what love is? It’s not like he’s ever felt this for someone before, this positive energy. The only things that he can think of that have fueled him are spite. Anger. Bitterness. At best: boredom.

Not that he hasn’t been kind to others (as kind as he has thought possible) but…

But he doesn’t know enough to say it.

…

You should have said it. You might never get a chance to tell him again. You knew at the time, and the only reason you didn’t say it was because you were a fucking coward.

Garou curls up tighter. 

Or.

An itch is beginning to cover his skin. His eyes actually hurt, like he’s been swimming with his eyes open, but it deepens into a worst burn.

Or you never loved him at all.

“No!” When Garou punches the ground, he can see that his skin is different. Harder, stony. Like that day. His head is on fire. The voice that comes up from his throat doesn’t even sound like his. It’s coming out of a smoking muzzle. 

When he gets up - on all fours, so tall now that the long, hard tail swinging behind him knocks two trees over - he picks up the jacket, the picture still in the pocket, and holds it against his chest. The armor shell that has been forming around him seems to swallow it up, and he can feel the material, feel Badd, pressed to him. Present. Protected.

It’s very possible that he won’t survive the night.

He accepts that.

And as he lets out a howl so long and so low, so reverberating and far-traveling that he can hear dogs on the far shore return his call, he turns away from the hill and begins to run back toward the city.

---

It’s like this was the only form he could take to quiet his mind.

Because when Garou gets to the Hero Association Headquarters, he doesn’t stop to think or consider his next plans. He’s not crafty or cunning (was he ever?). He’s a mad dog. No, a wolf. A rabid wolf, in form as much as action now.

And the Hero Association has never been good at actually defending itself against monsters.

The glass in the front of the huge building shatters as he goes through it. 

“Baaaaaadd!” It’s the only thing that comes out of his mouth where gray fangs make the darkness within look like a cave without an end. “Badd!”

The men inside are shooting at him, but this isn’t like inside the house. The bullets bounce off him, and he runs through them, into a door, another passage. His huge nose sniffs at the air, and even though they begin crumbling under his weight, he starts taking the stone stairs that lead up further into the building.

More security. This time, in the form of flying drones with both constant artillery as well as drugs, electricity, nets. 

Insects. All of them.

It’s not to say that Garou doesn’t feel their attacks. The rocky armor surrounding him cracks in places, pieces falling to the floor in small piles. But he’s being fueled by something greater than metal and energy.

They crunch like cans in his jaws. 

“Baaaadd!”

He tears through another door, clearly reinforced, having to dig through it with his claws. Cameras are watching him; sometimes he catches one out of the corner of his eye, and in the lens he can see his blood-red, burning eyes. 

He doesn’t waste time with them. Let them see.

More humans. More humans with guns, with long spears that end in shock cords, like the kind used to leash strays. Do they think it will be effective? They sting when they touch him, sure, when they manage to loop his ears but the moment he shakes his head he can hear their bodies make contact with the walls.

They keep trying to trap him, trying to close him between lock-down gates. It’s obvious they think he’ll try to go through the steel, but then he just turns and rips his way through the wall. 

More robots. More rolling, shielded automatons. They issue warnings he doesn’t heed, and the ones he can’t literally destroy he just ignores.

Then, it gets quiet.

And that is worse than any of the defense that he’s faced to this point as he’s climbed higher and higher in the building, following Badd’s scent, tracking him through corridors and stairs and firepower. 

When he gets to a large, open room, empty but for equipment and air ducts far up in the ceiling, he’s about to start scaling the wall when the door in front of him opens and a lone figure walks through.

“Ah...I just want to sleep...why do they want to put me to work so late?”

It’s him. Saitama. Again, here, at the end of everything, why, why, why .

He’s picking at his ear, his other hand in the pocket of his striped pajamas. “Didn’t even have time to change…”

Garou’s options are limited. He can go back the way he came, or he can charge forward. But then, would he make it either way? Saitama was fast last time. And Garou… 

He can’t help slumping. God, he’s tired. 

He’s no stronger than he was before…

“Oh, it’s you again. You look a bit different. So...you here to cause trouble, or…?

Garou growls. He’s talking to him like he’s a child that’s gotten somewhere he’s not supposed to be. On the tip of his nose, he can just barely smell Badd still. They’re moving him. Higher? Farther away? It’s hard to tell. “Badd…”

Saitama turns and looks up toward the ceiling, where Garou’s gaze is fixed. “Is that why you’re here? Are you two friends now or something?”

The growling intensifies. This isn’t a conversation he wants to have. This isn’t a moment he wants to share. Not with him. Not with the one person who could break him down so completely, who could ruin everything like it was nothing. 

“I don’t like that, you know. What they’re doing.”

Garou stops moving. 

“Everybody knows Metal Bat. He talks about his sister in every meeting. I don’t think he would do something that would endanger her.” He drops his fist in his hand, as though something has made sense to him. “It was you, wasn’t it? Who they think he’s associating with. You two are friends now. Good thing Genos isn’t here...that probably wouldn’t be enough to stop him.”

Garou watches as Saitama moves, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I think,” he says, cracking his bare feet against the floor, “this is better for you, you know. Doing more of the hero thing. The villain thing was kind of half-assed, you know.”

Saitama walks away from the door he came out of, leaning against the wall.

“And I’m sure I’m probably already in trouble, but it’s going to be worse for you if you don’t go get him now. Because they’ll probably send one of those other heroes after you...maybe that scary girl that flies around.”

Every instinct Garou has is telling him this is a trick. A trap. Not to trust anything he says, to stay and fight.

But what is there to gain? What would be smarter or better than just letting the strongest hero kill him right here, right now? 

...he’s still not going to thank him. He won’t give him that satisfaction. 

Garou just smashes through the door and keeps running.

—

Badd wonders if he’s having some kind of out-of-body experience.

He can’t focus on anything, he realizes. Not asleep. Not awake. 

At one point he thinks...is he at the dentist? Because there’s something in his mouth, keeping him from putting his teeth together...but they don’t cuff your hands to the bed at the dentist, do they?

Now and then, he hears people talking.

At this moment? People are talking much louder. More excitedly. Above him, lights are moving quicker. He can see them around the mask over his nose. 

He’s in a hallway.

And everything is starting to feel...bumpy. Like there’s an earthquake. Is it an earthquake? Are they taking him somewhere safe?

...somewhere safe...because...this place isn’t safe, is it?

People start screaming, and suddenly something huge is standing over him. He’s staring into gray dark, and there are four limbs over top of where he is laying. Somehow, in all of the fog, it’s like…

It’s like he knows he’s being protected.

“Hnngh…?” He can’t talk with the thing in his mouth. And his hands are still trapped.

This...god, yes, this has to be a dream. It’s the only thing that makes sense when all the sounds stop and the creature backs up and stares down at him. A wolf. But...a statue of a wolf? No, more like a gargoyle, because there are cracks in the stone, and that’s falling away, getting smaller until…

Garou.

Garou’s here.

He tries to reach his hands out to him, but...right, no, those have to stay where they are. Except then Garou breaks the thick cuffs, and he’s snapping the harness that’s around his head, holding what he sees now is some kind of bit. He takes the mask off him too.

Slowly, he begins to come back into the real world.

“Garou…Garou, I…” Arms go around him, holding him so suddenly, so tightly, that his muscles object because… “How long have I been here?”

“Two days. I love you.”

Badd blinks. “Garou, it’s—”

“This is my fault. It’s all my fault. I ruined your life. I ruined your life, and they took you away, and if I had lost you, I would have...I don’t know what I would have done. And you would have been gone without me having said it back.”

Badd pulls back enough to look him in the face. He doesn’t even know how to describe the expression that’s there. Garou looks like he’s the one who was coming close to death. “I love you too. Okay? I’m okay. They probably...fuck, they were probably keepin’ me under and all so I wouldn’t trigger my Fightin’ Spirit. If I accidentally bit my tongue ‘r somethin.’”

Garou kisses him, and he kisses back. He’s pretty sure they both know this is not what they should be doing right now, but… 

“Zenko. Fuck, Zenko, is she—”

“She’s okay. So’s Tama.”

Even in spite of the terrible condition they are in, as Garou helps him out of what seems to be a modified hospital bed, Badd has to laugh. “Ya went back for Tama, huh…”

Garou picks up something off the floor. His jacket, he realizes, and Garou puts it on him, over the sort of sterile gown they changed him into. He takes a step and almost falls, and Garou picks him up effortlessly in his arms.

“Ya know...I didn’t think that the first time you would carry me like this would be so...dire, ya know?”

Garou’s face is starting to soften, and as he hears approaching footsteps - running, quickly - he takes them through an empty room. The windows overlook the city beyond. It’s a long way down, but...they’ve both managed from higher places. “Ready?” he asks.

Badd tucks his face into Garou’s neck and steals one last kiss before bracing himself. “Yeah...yeah. Let’s do this.”

He’s not lying. The rest of the details aren’t important. He just closes his eyes as Garou carries him through the glass and the air, into whatever comes next for them, trusting that he’ll get them there, no matter what. 

[love-dreams]

batch of love

mingyu/reader | idol!au | pure fluff

synopsis: cooking in mingyu’s life has always been surrounded with good memories. now you can add another. 

content: use of mild cursing, kiss scene, cooking scene

notes: happy birthday mingyu!! with my limited korean: 생일 축하 합니다! idk what’s happening with these updates but i don’t like them at ALL. 

wc: 1.2k

cooking always reminded mingyu of home. full of rich, warm aromas and loving arms. nowadays mingyu didn’t go home much because of his busy schedule, but he found a way to cope with that loss. 

days like this he wished that time could stretch infinitely and that the memories would burn into his brain. 

today was mingyu’s birthday and you knew that food had to be a part of it. so that’s the reason why, at 6:00 in the morning, you woke up and dragged your fatigued body to the tiny kitchen of your apartment. 

the members of seventeen had put you on the task of simply baking a cake and bringing it to their dorm. it didn’t have to be special or anything, they assured you that anything from you would suffice.

however, an important note to mention is that you have actually never baked before in your life and all the cooking had basically been pushed onto mingyu ever since the two of you had started dating. so, needless, to say, you were slightly panicked at the thought of potentially ruining your perfect boyfriend’s birthday and very unqualified. 

scrolling through internet recipes, you started to gather all of the ingredients before hearing incessant buzzing of your phone. 

huffing as you finally laid out all the ingredient before you, you checked your messages, surprised to see multiple from members. 

[operation mingyu]

[>>y.jh] if mingyu calls you, do. not. pick. it. up.

[>>b.sk] we said you were out with friends and that you left your phone on silent. don’t text him back!!

[>>b.sk] don’t text back after this!!

and sure enough, there multiple texts from mingyu asking where you were and if you remembered that it was his birthday. 

[>>♥bf] baby, everyone’s saying that you already went out?

[>>♥bf] did you forget today’s my bday?

[>>♥bf] baby i miss you can you come over

cooing at his cuteness, you quickly made sure they were unread again before placing your hands onto your hips and getting started. after all, you had a job to do.

“okay, y/n, you got this. just follow the directions and we’ll be fine!” you took a deep breath. “everything’s fine.”

everything was not fine. you had forgotten to preheat your oven and used a whisk to mix your dry and wet ingredients, causing the dough to clump together in the whisk. poking out the batter with a chopstick, you sighed in frustration.

“this is for mingyu, this is for mingyu,” you repeated, resuming in trying to salvage the rest of your cake batter.

by the time that the cake was done, plus decorating, you had depleted your entire morning, leaving you exhausted and slightly annoyed. it was all worth it, though, to see the finishing product with homemade icing. after you popped the cake back into the refrigerator to chill, you started getting yourself ready as well; showering and then spritzing some of mingyu’s favorite perfume and wearing one of your new outfits. 

finally, you were ready to leave.

[operation mingyu]

[>>y.jh] are you done yet??

chuckling at jeonghan’s impatience, you replied:

[<<me] omw 

then, snickering to yourslef, you shot another text:

[<<me] had so much fun!!

mingyu didn’t know where you were but he knew that you definitely weren’t out with friends. 

how did he know that?

well, he had been sending frantic messages to every single friend of yours he knew, asking if you were with them, and you weren’t with any of them. 

now mingyu was starting to get worried. what if you were kidnapped? what if you were murdered? he would never know because you won’t read his damn texts! 

sulking in his room, mingyu scrolled through his phone lazily, laying on his bed.

“come on gyu, we’re going out for groceries. you don’t wanna stay inside for your entire birthday do you?”

mingyu glowered at wonwoo for a few moments before reluctantly dragging his lanky body out of the dorm. he wished you were with him. 

it was about halfway through preparing lunch that mingyu decided that he was angry at you. you were the one had forgotten his birthday and refused to answer his texts!

washing the vegetables fervently with anger, mingyu was suddenly distracted by hushed whispers behind him. huffing, he tried to ignore his members until they got louder. turning his head slightly to reprimand them, mingyu saw jeonghan and joshua along with seungkwan huddled over a phone.

“is she coming yet? lunch is almost ready and mingyu looks pissed.”

“jeonghani, i told you already, she’s on her way, quit it.”

“y/n’s coming?” mingyu asked, looking surprised.

the trio separated instantly, feigning looks of innocence. 

“i told you to stop eavesdropping, mingyu,” jeonghan scolded. 

mingyu scoffed, “i wouldn’t have to eavesdrop if you told me y/n was coming in the first place!”

joshua rubbed his neck in embarrassment, but stayed silent, choosing not to pick sides in this argument. 

“shush mingyu, it was supposed to be a surprise. y/n’s been working super hard all morning, so don’t ruin it, okay?”

y/n’s been working all morning? now mingyu was intrigued, curious as to see what surprise the members and you had prepared for him. giddy with excitement, mingyu returned to his cooking task. 

after finishing the last dish, the members ushered for him to sit down, laying out the dishes they had prepared prettily. still no sight of you, though. when all the members were seated, jeonghan finally piped up. 

“happy birthday to our puppy mingyu! turning 23 years old!”

everyone cheered, whooping loudly. mingyu blushed at the commotion but he still was waiting for you. when everything quieted down, all the members looked awkward, shifting in their seats as they waited for you. disappointment seeped into mingyu.

“uhm, y/n should be here-”

ding dong

the doorbell interrupted jeonghan’s sentence; mingyu rushed to the door, flinging it open to see you, slightly panting.

“you’re late,” he breathed. 

seoul was normally busy, but not this busy. as you walked through the streets, you mentally cursed as another person bumped into you; you were trying to keep the cake in pristine condition. it seemed as if fate had something against you to place this many people in the path to the boys’ dorm. finally, you gave up on trying to weave yourself through the crowds of people and called a cab:

who of course had to make you wait for another ten minutes before showing up. 

driving through the heavy traffic, you began to stress out, wondering what was going on in the dorm with all the members.

oh my god what if mingyu thinks i forgot his birthday?

after you made it to the street of your destination, you sprinted to the members’ dorm, climbing up the stairs with the cake box in one hand, slightly smooshed, but no real damage done. 

panting as you reached the designated floor, you determinedly pushed the doorbell.

it seemed as if mingyu was at the door instantly after you heard the ringing in the apartment. he stood before you, his tall figure towering over you, a huge grin on his face.

“you’re late,” he whispered out. 

you smiled, showing him the cake box, “happy birthday mingyu.”

“did you like your birthday?” you whispered into mingyu’s chest. 

mingyu kissed your forehead softly, cupping your face gently. He nuzzled his face with yours, murmuring a quiet “yes. But not the part when you ignored me for four hours though.”

you grabbed his cheeks from underneath him, squeezing them. “i told you already, it was supposed to be a surprise!” 

mingyu pouted at you. “but you left me alone and ignored me the entire morning!”

you grinned at mingyu’s adorableness, reaching out to secure your hold on his neck, gently bringing him down to you. 

you kissed him first, lips melting into each other and tongues entangled; mingyu lead since it was his birthday, afterall, relishing in the warmth of each other. it had been so long since the two of you had held each other, felt the heat of each other. 

mingyu really liked his birthday that year.

[maple-writes]

WHG 14: Boat 2

tagging @concealeddarkness13 (thanks for all Zenith’s team) @ratracechronicler and @pen-of-roses

###

Almost as soon as we were one the ship and guilted into sharing one room between the all of us, we were split again. I hadn’t seen where most people had gone, disappearing off to different parts of the ship. Somehow I found myself smack in the middle of the party hall.

I stuck myself right next to one of the tables filled with fancy foods and drinks, trying to look busy and interested in the platters instead of desperately trying to catch my breath and steady my heartbeat. Although… I leaned over the table. Some of these actually looked pretty good, though I had no idea what half of them were supposed to be. Tasting one after another they were good. Tasty. I guess if this stuff was supposed to cost this much it made sense for it to be this good. Would it be weird to take some for later, maybe—

Magic. It crawled up my back as someone passed behind me, the same as whatever Zenith took back with him that day. The same he’d said was laid on him by someone from his old team. I glanced over my shoulder as the person passed by. Dark skin, long braid, capitol regalia. Shit. What was he doing here? Were they all here? If he’d all but cursed Zenith, what would they all do once they realized he was here? I swallowed, the dessert suddenly dry and tasteless in my mouth. This wasn’t good.

He didn’t seem to be going anywhere in particular, walking through the party with a watchful security eye. I followed him, keeping him where I could see him as anger started to build. This was someone who’d gone and hurt Zenith. I grit my teeth. He was going to pay for that.

He slipped into a quiet hallway and I followed, scurrying around a table to stop from loosing him. Almost as soon as I was out of the party hall, the music and the chatter was gone, replaced by my own footsteps against the metal. I quickened my pace, hurrying to catch up with him before he turned somewhere else, somewhere where someone would notice.

Footsteps echoed behind me, stepping out from some unseen crevice.

“Could I see your ticket, sir?”

I froze, heart skipping against my ribs as I whirled, facing the two who’d snuck up one me. One of them, probably the one who spoke, watched me with his arms crossed and a smirk across his freckled face, looking down at me like a cornered prey. The other stood by his side, watching me closely. Dragon-like scales covered her skin, hard and impenetrable. No doubt they were Zenith’s other teammates. No doubt the capitol hired them here. Shit.

“I,” my voice shook. Damn it. “May I ask why?” This was it. This was it.

“You were tailing my friend there. That is suspicious behavior.” He held out his hand, gesturing for me to comply. “Please, your ticket.”

My legs trembled. I couldn’t face all of them. I couldn’t take all of them, not at once, not here, not now. How could I be so stupid, so stupid to run off on my own in a place crawling with peacekeepers and enemies and, and…

I forced my arm to move, finding my ticket and handing it over. “I, I swear I wasn’t.” They weren’t going to believe me. “I thought he was someone else.” No way they were going to believe me.

The one with the freckles, his eyes wandered over the ticket before looked back at me. “Ah. One of Alastair’s special guests. Do you know Zenith?”

Shit. Shit Shit. “Zenith?” I swallowed. Think. Think. Think. “I might have hard that name once or twice.” Weak, what kind, what kind of excuse was that?

The woman with the scales punched him on the arm and rolled her eyes, turning to me. “I promise we’re not working with the Capitol anymore. I don’t know how to prove that, but we’re trying to help. I’m sorry my teammate decided to be all dramatic.”

“Hey!” He rubbed his arm with an injured frown.

“Oh?” I blinked, glancing back and forth between the two of them. They weren’t? “You, you aren’t? But what about what you did to Zenith?” I turned back, facing the one with the magic that Zenith had taken back with him. He’d hurt him. “It was your magic, wasn’t it?”

His eyes grew dark. “Yes. And I don’t regret that. But we figured out how shitty the Capitol is. So, I’ll only punch Zenith in the face once he’s escaped completely from the Capitol.”

The dragon shot him a glare. “That’s not a good way to convince him.” She sighed, and she was right. I wasn’t so sure I should be standing so close to him myself. “But yes, we’ve figured it out. Probably way too late, but we can at least try to help. We had heard whispers of the Capitol worrying about the captured tributes trying to escape, so we had been thinking about trying to help them escape, but now you’re here.”

My shoulders slumped I took a free breath. “Really?” This was better than I thought. They seemed honest enough. “So you can help us?”

The freckled man nodded. “Yes, we’ll graciously help you—” He flinched under the dragon’s glare. ”I mean, yes, we can help.”

The dragon frowned. “Actually, we’ve heard some other whispers from other Peacekeepers. It seems the Capitol is anticipating your interference. We’ve heard they have security measures in place against you, but we don’t know what they are. I’m sorry.”

“Makes sense.” I sighed. Of course they would at least prepare a little for something like that. For us to try something. If our plan were to still work, we might need a bit more confusion on our side. Maybe…  A grin spread across my face. “Do you think you can do us a favor then?”

The dragon nodded. “Sure, what do you need?”

Perfect. I smiled wider, sharper. “There’s life rings on this boat right? The ones on the right side of the boat, could you make those disappear?” Time would be critical if someone were to fall off, and if more seconds could pass before safety…

The freckled one matched my smile. “Absolutely. Completely off the boat, or to a certain location?”

“Far enough for someone to be hard to find in the water by the time anyone finds one.”

“It will be done.” He gave a salute and signaled for the others to follow.

I thanked them as they left, then quickly turned and hurried to rejoin the rest of the party before anyone would have noticed I was gone. I had to find Triel, or Elvira, one of them. They’d have to know to send Snow off the right railing. Who knows, maybe by the time they found the rings he’d be long gone, vanished somewhere in the lake. Wouldn’t that be nice?

#

The hours went on, and if we weren’t here to sabotage an official event it might have been fun. But even with a faked smile on my face and what I hoped sounded like genuine laughter at uncomfortable jokes, I could still feel the nerves around my throat, tight enough my head started to spin. It only got worse, being passed from partner to partner on the dance floor. Each one felt the same, lighthearted joy and drunken excitement passing through my skin, through my hands and up my arms and down my trembling legs. I should have asked Triel for gloves.

Finally a song ended and I had the chance to slip away before someone else asked to dance, skirting the other partygoers as I scurried out one of the doors.

As soon as the door swung shut behind me it was quiet on the outer deck. Quiet and crisp with cool lake air. I took a deep breath, then another, as I strolled along the edge of the walkway. Spare clouds dotted the sky and smaller boats bobbed at their distance like ducks in a pond. Birds flew, flapping just above the glassy water’s surface, soaring high up in the air. Somewhere up in that air Triel’s airship was supposed to be waiting.

I glanced behind me, thankful when I didn’t see anyone else out here. At least, no close enough to pay any kind of attention. I leaned against the railing, sighing and letting my head fall forward. As nice as it was to have Zenith’s team on our side now, how long would it be until we could get out of here? Already I could feel the fatigue starting to pull at my eyes, starting to drag at my legs. I wasn’t used to this kind of life, taking in so much all the time from people all around me. Maybe I would end up actually using our overcrowded room if this went on much longer into the evening…

Wing flaps and the clicking of little feet against the metal railing beside me made me raise my head as two birds came in for a landing barely a couple feet from my elbow. One looked like some kind of loon, sitting and preening the feathers under it’s wing, but the other one… I frowned. It settled down beside the loon, watching me with curious little eyes. Mottled black and white feathers covered it’s little body, smooth and streamline and familiar.

It looked like a murrelet, but what was it doing here?

The murrelet shook out it’s blunt wings, tucking them snug against it’s body. It blinked and raised it’s little pointed beak.

“Are you Cirrus’ friend?”

What.

I stared, dead to the world around me, at the little bird with the words falling unpracticed off it’s tongue. It waited with an expectant tilt of it’s head and I nodded. I, yeah, I was Cirrus’ friend.

The bird stretched it’s neck up tall, peering over the loon and around the near-empty deck. Satisfied at something, she bunched back up. “I am his sister.” Her intonation wavered, as if not sure where inflections should fall on a bird’s voice. “What are you still doing here? Why escape just to return?”

His sister? Right, he’d told me he had sisters before. “We, well,” I took a breath. “Some of our friends, they didn’t make it out with us. It didn’t feel right to just leave them here, so we’re trying to take them with us.”

She tilted her head the other way. “And what did Cirrus think of this whole ordeal? Going back to rescue these captives?”

“I don’t know,” what was she asking for? “He’s here though.”

The murrelet’s eyes closed with contentment, feathers fluffing up across her chest. “Good to hear. You have been a good influence on him I think.” She hopped forward, fluttering up to sit lightly on my shoulder. “My sisters and I are not allowed to contact him, but we have been checking on him where we can. My husband and I will offer our assistance.”

The loon on the railing raised his head in a nod. “The winds will favor you in your flight from here.”

I smiled. “Really? Thank you.” If there were dragons on our side, surely nothing would go wrong, right? We’d be able to get away at the very least, no matter what the capitol sent out after us. “Thank you.”

The murrelet nodded. “Of course. If I may ask however, Cirrus cannot be told about this.”

I sighed, but what could I do. “Okay. I won’t tell him.”

“Good.” The murrelet stretched forward, testing her wings and twitching her tail. “Good luck.”

She leapt from my shoulder, wings whirring as she and her loon husband flew away over the water. I watched them go, squinting until they disappeared in the distance against the lake. Then a smile crept across my face. Maybe things wouldn’t be so bad. All we had to do was get off this boat and then, between her help and Shine’s engineering, we’d be safe. We’d be safe.

I pushed off the railing, spinning back to get back to the party inside. Pushing the president, finding our friends, that was all we had to do. Easy enough. Doable. Perfect. I pulled open the door and slipped back inside, into the music, into the clamour. This was going to be a fun night after all.

#

An hour later and I’d collapsed on one of the beds in our room. There’s been too much, too many people, too much to take in from accidentally brushing by strangers and people snatching my arm to pull me into some kind of dance and having to mitigate the constant stream of emotions passing through my skin and into my blood like static fuzz. The magic too, it drifted through the air like stray smoke that no one else seemed to notice. Not just from Zenith’s ex friends. There were others, looking no different from anyone else besides the jolt that ran through my bones at their touch and all but made the hairs across my body stand on end. And, and the drinks. Why hadn’t I known there would have been alcohol? Masked by whatever syrups and fruits mixed in I hadn’t noticed until the boat rocked too much under my feet and everything seemed to be moving so much faster around me and everything felt too soft. Too fuzzy.

It felt good to finally lay down. Lay down, curl up under a blanket and close my eyes.

The light outside had dimmed when the sound of the door opening woke me up. Cirrus slipped in, moving quietly as if trying not to disturb me even if it was too late. He didn’t seem to notice though, ignoring me as he went to lean against the window frame and look out at the lake. The toe of one of his boots tapped against the floor, soft in the quiet. He sighed, dropping his head and rounding his shoulders to stare down at the floor between his feet.

I frowned, sitting up slowly. “Hey, everything okay?”

Cirrus’ head snapped back up and he turned. “I thought you were asleep.” He paused, glancing out the window again. “I’m just, you know.” His shoulders fell. “There’s a lot going on tonight.”

I nodded, swinging my legs around to dangle off the edge of the bed. “I saw you dancing with Nesri earlier.” A cheeky grin spread across my face. “Looked like you had fun.”

“Oh shut up.” He flopped down on the bed beside me. It creaked with his weight, gentle and comforting. “The other guests weren’t going to let us leave without it.”

Sure looked like he had a good time. I slumped over, leaning against his shoulder. “I saw the way you were blushing.”

He huffed. “Maybe.” But then he softened. “Okay, it was nice.”

I smiled, letting my eyes close again for a moment. It was nice to see him starting to meet new people. “You like her?”

He blinked. “What do you mean?”

“You know,” I shrugged. “She’s been following you around like a stray dog all week, you may as well keep her.”

His face fell, and for a second stiff worry drifted from him to me. Then he sighed, shaking it off. “Yeah, maybe. How are you holding up?”

“Tired.” I failed to stifle a yawn, sinking deeper into his shoulder. “I didn’t realize there was so much alcohol in those drinks.” I didn’t usually drink at home, and everything still felt just a little off. A little slowed, dampened.

Cirrus snorted. “It’s a capitol yacht party, what did you expect? I’m not going to have to babysit you am I?” He smiled, golden makeup around his eyes glinting as he looked down at me. “There’s still some  time before the others get back here to rest.”

I yawned again. Cirrus shrugged me off his shoulder and laid me back down and draped the blanket back over me. He stayed on the bed though, shuffling back to the foot and leaning against the wall. I shifted, curling up on my side and watching him a moment longer. If only I could tell him about his sister, about how they still cared enough to check on him, how they hadn’t forgotten about him. How they were going to help us because of him. Maybe he’d find out someday. Hopefully he would. We’d just have to get out of here first.

[xseildnasterces]

if.

I’ve never been a fan of ice-cream. I remember when I was younger everyone thought I was a complete weirdo (not just because I didn’t like ice-cream…), but it was certainly something that people thought was strange. However, there is one particular flavour of Ben and Jerry’s ice-cream that I absolutely ADORE. It’s a ‘special’ flavour that is only available for very limited periods, so imagine my absolute excitement when I was trying to find something to order for dessert yesterday on my delivery app and I saw that it was currently the special flavour!? I ordered a full tub for the freezer and also a scoop to eat last night. It is literally the best flavour of ice-cream I have ever had, and I love it so much! It certainly cheered me up.

I had Finnish this morning but felt completely lost. I felt like I didn’t know anything and just didn’t know what I was doing. I’m not sure why. Perhaps I just need to do some more work at home and actually spend more time on it, but considering the other two students in my class have Finnish partners, I cannot be too surprised that I am not learning as fast as they are. They can practice everyday and already have bilingual children or have lived in Finland, so of course, this makes a huge difference. 

The weather was beautiful yesterday, but as always, I was in a bit of a weekend lull and spent the whole day doing absolutely nothing. I was feeling a little down for a number of reasons. My sister is home and being an absolute nightmare daughter and driving my parents crazy. Minutes after arriving home and surprising my parents she went mental about her room and just exploded like a volcano. To say she had been away for one year and this was her attitude when she returned is just ridiculous. I’m surprised my parents didn’t tell her to just get back on a plane and go back to Bangladesh. I feel sad that they are having to deal with her but also jealous that I am not there. It almost feels like someone is in my place – as stupid as that may sound. I’m anxious for when I do go home because I know it’s not going to be the same. Don’t get my wrong. I am very pleased she is home and safe, but her attitude sucks and I know that we will argue like hell when I am at home. The last few times I have been home have been some of the best in my life, but knowing that my sister will be there next time I go home makes me sad in one way, because I know it will not be the same. This also means Christmas will not be the same, and the last two Christmas’ really have been the best I can remember from my adult life. R hasn’t replied to my voice messages since Thursday which also makes me feel a little down. Although I do not believe I have done anything wrong, my anxiety does not recognise that and believe I did indeed do something wrong. Not only that, but it just increases my feelings of loneliness which really are rife right now. Feelings of loneliness are also coming from D not replying as actively as usual, and H, M and F going out for days out without me. I feel horrendous feeling sad about this. They are a family and I am always telling H to ensure they do things as a family and not with me because I do not want to take up all their time, yet when I see they have been out and adventuring somewhere I feel sad that I was not invited. When I think about it properly, I do not believe I am sad about not being invited, I am sad that I do not have friends to do it with. 

I have noticed that I am feeling sad a lot at the moment. I feel very in my head and full of confusion. I definitely miss physical touch from just about anyone, in terms of hugs or just being held. I really miss just being held and comforted, but I also miss making-out and sex. Both of which I have not indulged in for almost two years (or more?)… blah. For some reason this is something that has really been on my mind recently and I am not too sure why. It’s just ‘there’ in my head, and… nothing helps to make it go away. Nothing. 

My face hurts today. My skin is still a mess despite my new skincare prescriptions. I know it will take about three months to see any difference, but regardless its painful. Having weird lumps on your face, a.k.a. cystic acne is just so sore and attempting to pop then to relive the pressure doesn’t only not work, but also makes the whole thing worse. Yet, it’s really hard to restrain. 

I feel that this post is very much like little thoughts and bits ‘n’ pieces just being thrown together, and I guess it sort of is. I am missing travel so very much. I want to explore, and I feel as though I have been tied down with a ball and chain for the last year and beyond. I know most people have felt the same, yet I still feel incredibly sad and depressed about it. I feel frustrated, anxious, agitated and more than anything just so fatigued. I feel a constant sense of exhaustion each and every day. If I do not make myself to into the office during the week, I could very happily lay down on the sofa and do nothing else but sleep. I had my monthly massage on Wednesday which certainly made me feel better, but I also ended up feeling pressured into buying some melatonin gummies to aid my sleep. I’m usually not someone easily pressured into buying things, but for some reason I was not in the mood to make the situation awkward, so I bought them anyway. I think they are helping slightly with aiding my sleep. Perhaps they are in fact just acting as a placebo, but either way I appear to be falling asleep early in the evening so that has to be worth something right? 

In two weeks, I will be fully vaccinated and hope I will feel a little safer doing things. Of course, not right away, nor directly after the two weeks have passed to ensure utmost immunity. Yet it will ease my fear whenever I am able to fly home, and it will ease my fear of spending so much time in the office. It will also ease my fear of removing my mask for a couple of seconds whilst I take a sip of my drink whilst walking down the street, and it will ease my fear of just doing things in general. This can only be positive. It may also help my poor little dry hands that have certainly become a victim of the pandemic with my excessive handwashing and hand sanitising every single time I move.

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To prove my point regarding my constant need to sleep… I wrote all of the above around 2 hours ago, put the laptop down for five minutes and found myself asleep for over an hour. I just can’t help it. I honestly find it hard to get through the day without having a nap to reset and enable me to feel more focused and alive. I have also woken up to absolutely crazy weather. The windows are shaking, and the rain is hitting the windows at full force. The week has been wonderful regarding weather. It has been so hot and sunny and now this. I have no idea what is going on. It honestly feels like I woke up some place else! As much as I hate the rain, it certainly makes me feel much less guilty about not doing anything and spending my day indoors doing very little. 

It’s less than a month until my birthday. This time last year it was a weird feeling to be celebrating a birthday during a pandemic, now it seems the norm. My birthday was made special last year by a number of people, yet I’m unsure if that will be the same this year. L is no longer my ‘friend’ due to them ghosting me, yet everyone else who made my day special will still be doing what they can to do the same this year. I know it sucks for everyone to celebrate their birthday during the pandemic, but even more so here when I am so far from everyone I love, and I live completely alone. I think in a way it emphasises the loneliness I have been feeling throughout this period. 

This has been such a random post. I feel like I wanted to write, and had so much today, yet when it came to put ‘pen to paper’ I had no idea what I wanted to say, nor how to. I guess I feel a little overwhelmed – yet do not know why. Let’s hope it’s a good week. I’m ready for something exciting to happen, because right now, life is just bobbing along and as I said in therapy this week – I feel like by the end of this we will have lost at least two years of our lives. Even more annoying, is the fact it was the last two years of my 20s. There was so much I wanted to do and ‘cross off my list’ before turning 30, and I know I’m not there yet, but it’s certainly coming and I feel as though I will spend time grieving for the time I have lost. I know some people will think that is dramatic, and perhaps it is, but at the end of the day we will most likely have lost two years of life, and losing two years of the ability to do anything you love is something to be sad about.

[Blog title: If - Lucy Spraggan].