#side note but the exclamation of MINOR with the finger got me

[sardonic-the-writer]

YOURE A CHILD????!???!??? MINOR 🫵

my birth year is literally in my bio.

[stebeans]

She-Ra Inspired Actor AU - III

Maya Sanchez as Catra

Taylor Cruz as Adora

Jessica Cho as Glimmer

Marcus Patterson as Bow

A She-ra Actor AU fic where She-ra and the Princesses of Power is a popular tv series and our lovable characters are played by actresses/actors. Inspired by the amazing fanart and concept by @sunzho and @hey_adora on instagram #cayaactorau, see link below and please follow them!

https://www.instagram.com/explore/tags/cayaactorau/

The Call/Cast Meet

The call that had changed her life had come months ago and even now it hadn’t really sunk in. Maya’s agent, a family friend, had called her with the good news just a few days after Maya’s graduation. She had been at the park, playing with her brothers and the neighboring kids in a game of pick-up baseball, if you could even call it that as it was pretty much a no-rules, all-out game of America’s favorite sport. Remi – Maya’s brother and the youngest of the boys – was catcher and a no-good cheat, who kept poking her in the side every time she went up to bat knowing full well she was ticklish.

Maya had managed to hit what looked to be an infield home run and had been rounding third base and was sprinting to home when her second oldest brother, Rafael, playing pitcher had caught her around the waist. Being much taller and stronger than Maya, Rafael had easily lifted her off the ground and held on tight, laughing loudly in her ear as she tried to squirm out of his hold. “Let me go Raf! You asshole!” she screeched, slapping her brother in the arms and back but Rafael had held on until the shortstop had fired the ball into Remi’s awaiting glove. “You guys suck. So much.” Maya snapped, pulling Rafael’s cap over his eyes when he had finally set her back down on the ground. “You’re so lucky I didn’t kick you where the sun don’t shine.” She hissed, ignoring the way her brothers celebrated the win with their obnoxious dance and their chanting of “Maya’s a sore loser! Maya’s a sore loser!”

Sulking grumpily, Maya had made her way to the bench where she had left her stuff. She had just finished gulping down what was left of her water bottle when her cellphone rang. Digging into the outer pocket of her backpack for her phone, and immediately her heart beat faster when she had caught the caller ID. She had auditioned for a variety of roles leading up to graduation after the epic fail of the She-ra callback. A few had been minor roles for TV, one was for a background character for a movie, but mostly they were commercial roles. Distantly, Maya wondered if she landed that shampoo commercial gig. The casting director had been kind and had even praised her for her natural, long and luscious hair. “Hello? Serena?” Maya answered, wiping the sweat away from her forehead with the back of her hand and hoping she didn’t sound too out of breath from her game.

“You got the part kiddo!” Serena had practically shrieked into her ear, forgoing the typical phone etiquette greeting.

The celebration on the field faded away at Serena’s words. “What?” Maya had landed a few minor commercial roles before but Serena hadn’t even delivered the news with half the excitement as she was now.

“Maya! You got the part!” Serena cheered. “You’re going to be in She-ra!”

“What?” Maya was stunned. “No way! Are you kidding me right now? Did Raf and Remi put you up to this?” Because there was no way in hell did Maya ever imagine landing the lead role in a TV series.

Dazedly, Maya noticed the curious looks her brothers shot her when they caught their names being said. “No Maya! It’s not a joke! You got it kid! You got it.” Serena asserted. “You got the part of Catra!”

Catra.

Catra.

Not Adora than.

Catra may not have been the lead character but still. Catra was a significant role and was infinite better than any of her previous roles combined. Shock and disbelief was fading faster as excitement began to take over. “I got Catra?” Maya whispered delicately. “I’m Catra?” She repeated..

Maya could see the concerned looks her brothers gave her and were quickly trekking towards her. Serena laughed happily on the other end of the phone and Maya was guessing she might’ve been crying a little bit too. Happy tears though. Kind of like the ones gathering behind her eyes now. “Yes.” Serena affirmed behind a quiet sniffle. “You’re Catra.”

“Maya what’s wrong?” Remi asked worriedly as her brothers approached her.

Unable to form words, Maya shook her head and wiped at her tears. “Did someone hurt you?” Remi asked. “Who was it? I’ll quick their ass!”

At the threat Maya laughed behind a half sob-half hiccup. “No! No. It’s nothing like that. It’s Serena.”

At the information both Remi and Raf froze. their eyes scanning the happiness behind their baby sister’s eyes despite the tears and the smile that was tugging on her lips. “Aaaannnddd?” Rafael pressed, anxiety for his sister crawling underneath his skin.

“I got the part.” Maya replied faintly.  “I got the part.” She said a little louder. “I’m going to be in She-ra!” She shouted in excitement, lifting her arms in victory.

There was barely a delay before Remi and Rafael whooped and hollered louder than they had when they won the baseball game. Remi had messed up her hair as he shouted out his congratulations but Maya was too happy to care and when Rafael had picked her up and spun her around the second time that day within the span of minutes, instead of kicking him in the nuts like she wanted to do the first time, Maya laughed and cheered. “I’m going to be in She-ra!”

“Yeah you are!” Rafael hollered.

“Ma-ya! Ma-ya!” Remi chanted, Rafael joining in quickly.

The chanting had caught the attention from the players on either teams and it only took one glance to notice the happiness and excitement emitting from the trio of siblings. It was contagious and it didn’t take long for the others to join in on the chanting as they gathered around the Sanchez’s. News spread quickly between the teams and soon they were all celebrating in Maya’s achievement to her delight and slight embarrassment. During all the commotion Maya had dropped her phone but somehow the call with Serena was set on speaker because Maya could hear her tinny voice chanting along with the others.

These were people who she had grown up with. Neighbors who hosted and attended their summer BBQ’s. Friends and classmates who played pick-up games with her. Kids who she helped babysat. Others who had babysat her. They were a small yet tight-knit community and Maya was happy she was able to share the news with people who cared for her and vice-versa.

“I’m going to be Catra!” She shouted to the darkening sky, now lifted on her brother’s broad shoulder and a wave a cheers followed her exclamation, echoing throughout the field.

That call had been months ago but Maya could recall it as if it was yesterday and it was easily one of the best days of her life. Today, was a different story. Today might just take the cake for being the most anxiety-filled day she had ever experienced. It was infinitely more stressful than any of her past auditions and all those first days of school she had endured.

Her mother had dropped her off with a kiss on her forehead and a genuine “have a good day” at the gates of the studio where the security had been strict. With her bag slung over her shoulder she was quickly directed to one of those golf carts where one of the assistants would courier her to where the cast was meeting for the first time for a table read. Approaching the cart she noticed she wasn’t the only one getting a lift. A short Asian girl, with the coolest rose gold ombre colored hair that Maya had ever seen, sat in the back with her eyes glued to the phone in her hands. She didn’t even seem to notice when Maya approached, taking a seat next to her. “Hi.” Maya greeted shyly, anything to break the awkward silence.

The intimidating girl spared her a quick glance before turning attention back to her phone, scrolling through what Maya guessed was Twitter. “Hey.” Was her blasé reply.

Well. Can’t say she didn’t try. Maya drummed her fingers against the jean-clad thigh, taking the time to take in the scenery around her. DreamFlix wasn’t one of the bigger film production companies but they were certainly gaining popularity in their recent years and their studio lot was the bigger and grander than any lot she had ever stepped foot in. The golf cart weaved past various bodies, buildings, onsite sets and Maya couldn’t help but be amazed. One of the sets they drove past had a hose mounted to a crane where they were testing a rain pour. So. Cool. Her face must’ve betrayed her dorkiness because “First time?”

Maya rushed to close her slacked jaw. Grinning she shrugged. “Yeah. I’ve never been to a studio this big before. It’s amazing. Magical.” Maya added when they passed a group of people dressed up as mystical creatures.

The girl beside her let out a chuckle. “Yeah. It is pretty magical.” She agreed before holding out a hand. “But the novelty kind of wears off when your running late and you’re stuck behind a stampede of trolls and hooved centaurs. I’m Jessica by the way but everyone calls me Jess.”

“Maya.” Maya introduced with a warm smile, taking the offered hand with a gentle shake. “I’m guessing this isn’t your first time here then?”

“I’ve been doing this for a few years now and I had a couple small roles before. I’m mostly in the recording studio as the lead for an animation series but this is my first big gig on a live action series. So I guess I’m seeing things differently this time around.” Jess noted, pointing out where a few guys were heaving a wagon dolly carrying a ten-foot half-built mechanical dragon. “It’s pretty cool looking at everything with new eyes. Though I do know my way around the studio lot. Stick with me and I can show you were they hide all the cookies and the best place to throw a tantrum without anyone knowing.” Jess said with a laugh, her eyes crinkling at the edges and Maya couldn’t believe how she thought this girl was intimidating before.

Maya joined in on Jess’s joke. “Looks like I got myself a tour guide.”

The two of them made small talk, pointing out cool and unusual things from their vantage on the cart as they zipped past sets, giggling and laughing as if they were long lost friends before the they came to a stop in front of a non-descript brown building. It was smaller than the others they had passed but Maya guessed nothing fancy was needed for a table read. After jumping out of her seat, Maya smoothed down her grey oversized t-shirt, making sure it was tucked neatly into her black jeans at the front. She ran a hand through her hair, making sure there were no knots and breathing out a big sigh when she followed Jess to where the cast and crew were gathered.

Just before the assistant can knock on the door and leave them to fend for themselves, Jess reached out and gave a Maya’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “Don’t worry too much. You’ve already gotten the part. You’re going to have to screw up big time to lose your role and something tells me you aren’t the diva type. So just go in there and have fun okay? Today is about meeting the cast members and the production team. Then we’re just going to do a little reading. No big deal right?”

“Right.” Maya nodded, shooting Jess an appreciative smile though she could feel her hands trembling slightly.

The door opened and Maya was ushered in, noting that the room was already filled. She hoped she wasn’t running late. The director, casting director and the producer were easy to pick out as they smiled at their entrance. “Welcome Jessica and Maya. So glad you could make it to today’s table read. We are very excited to have you on our team.” The producer said, smiling kindly while shaking their hands. “Looks like we are just waiting on our star and then we could get this party started but why don’t you ladies help yourself to some refreshments in the meanwhile.”

A fold up table topped with snacks and drinks was set up at the far end of the room while the middle was occupied by a conference table with chairs set up on all sides. It looked barely enough to sit the amount of people in the room. There were maybe thirty people in the room already – and easily this was the largest cast meet Maya ever attended – who were huddled in small groups around the snack table and at the front of the room where it was left open.

Helping herself to a water bottle and some chips Maya took the chance to survey the occupants in the room and was honestly surprised at the diversity of the cast and crew. A good chunk of them were women and of various skin colors too. Am I in the twilight zone or what? This is so amazing. Maya thought, happy to know that she wasn’t going to be one of those “token” characters again. This was already shaping up to be a good show.

It was when Maya had a mouthful of chips did one of the rare guys in the group approached her and Jess. “Hi! I’m Marcus!” He introduced, a cute dimple appearing when he smiled and wow, did he have the nicest set of teeth and softest looking skin ever.

Like the majority of the cast, Marcus was a person of colour, he might actually be the darkest skinned person there, with a hipster afro buzzcut, broad shoulders and a muscular physique that even Maya could appreciate. “How cool is this?” Marcus continued as he stared wide-eyed around the room. “I’ve never been on a show with this much diversity!”

Maya nearly choked on her chips when she laughed earning a concerned look from Marcus and Jess as well as a couple others around her. Thumping her chest, Maya had to practically force the water down her throat. “Sorry! Sorry! I didn’t mean to laugh. It was just…I was thinking the exact same thing!”

Marcus laughed, patting her on the shoulder. “Well what do you know, great minds do think alike. Or maybe it’s because of our instant connection.” He joked, wagging his eyebrows up and down in exaggeration.

“Okay Romeo, that’s enough.” Jess rolled her eyes before introducing herself and Maya.

Marcus chuckled good naturedly and shook their hands. They fell into a comfortable conversation, talking about their last gigs and past horror stories they had endured and Maya earning baby-cooing noises when she mentioned how she graduated high school before the summer officially started.

“Aww you’re just a baby!” Jess tutted and Marcus busted out laughing.

Pouting and knowing full well it didn’t help out her case, Maya whined out “I am not a baby! And look!” Maya pointed to a nearby cast member. “That girl is like…twelve!” Said girl whirled around to level a death glare at Maya who stammered out a “ But like also, good for her! Very, very impressive.”  Which only set off Jess and Marcus again, with the latter legitimately having to wipe tears from his eyes he was laughing so hard.

“That little girl is Mei Lin and she is probably the greatest child star in the business right now. She isn’t just a baby. She is The baby.” Marcus explained through his bout of laughter.

Maya shook her head. “Fine. Whatever. I’m still not a baby.” She grumbled under her breath as she raised her bottle up to her lips to take a long pull of water only to have it come spluttering back out when she instantly recognized the newest addition stepping past the door threshold.

Coughing and gasping, Maya did her best to wave off Jess’ and Marcus’ concern as she tried to breathe through her choking. Way to be subtle, Sanchez. “Dude! Are you okay?” Marcus inquired, patting her firmly on the back. “Even I know babies don’t choke half as much as you do.”

Blinking back the tears in her eyes from the burning in her nose Maya offered a flimsy thumbs up. “Sorry. Just...wrong pipe. I’m fine.” She lied, cursing inwardly at the look of alarm she was garnering from the majority of the room seeing it was hard to ignore someone who was choking to death.

She met Taylor’s surprised eyes from across the room. “Just peachy.”

[ethereousdelirious]

Okay, here’s that thing I wrote. Since it’s an original thing, I will also put some context under the cut haha

This was originally supposed to be classic whump but my brain was like “no. fevers and puking.” and who am I to deny whatever impulse crosses my tiny little mind

Context: I was possessed by a writing demon and wrote fanfic/a potential ending for my (unfinished) NaNoWriMo 2019 story. (I still have no idea if it counts as fanfic if I’m the creator of the source material haha)

Setting: A fictional steampunk universe. 2 neighboring nations are locked in an intense cold war. Our story takes place in Agria, one of the countries. The Agrian government has just sent agents to covertly steal a design for the first-ever aeroplane, which they will then develop into a weapon, allowing them to conquer much of the surrounding area and start a war.

Cast:

Gilles: Mid-twenties, Black man. Dark skin, dark hair kept in dreadlocks. As this fic begins, Gilles has just stolen the only aeroplane the government has managed to design and crashed it into a lake to prevent them from manufacturing more and starting a war.

Whitney: 60s, Black woman. Dark skin, white hair kept in an afro. She is Gilles’ mentor and the person who invented aeroplanes (in this universe). She has been waiting at her home to see if he survives.

Sterling: Mid-twenties, mixed race man. Medium brown skin, black hair grown out long into a ponytail. He helped Gilles break into the facility and destroyed the government’s blueprints so they couldn’t build more aeroplanes.

Hewitt: Mid-twenties, white man. Pale skin, blond hair kept in wild, unruly curls. He helped Gilles break into the facility and destroyed the government’s blueprints so they couldn’t build more aeroplanes. 

One Final Note: I wrote this on my phone and did not have time to proof read it. I am not looking for a beta reader at the moment. Please excuse any minor typos.

The Story, finally:

Soaking wet, aching all over, and with blood dripping down his forehead, Gilles walked. Pain became the frame by which he viewed the universe as the moon rose and he continued to stagger down the hiking trail, forcing himself to pick up his feet so he didn't stumble over the uneven ground.

He dried slowly, his fingers and toes aching with the cold. Eventually, he wrapped his arms around himself and shoved his hands into his armpits. Wind rustled the leaves on the trees and made him shiver, but he kept walking, his breath loud in his ears.

Dimly, he knew he needed to make some sort of plan, but the inside of his head was radio static and impulses, little fragments of imperative.

Get to Whitney. Don't get caught. Don't pass out. Keep walking.

A sigh of relief passed his lips when the trail evened out and he emerged into the park. It was abandoned but for the fowl asleep on the edges of the pond. They barely stirred as Gilles staggered past.

He made sure no one got a good look at him when he hit the main street. The only people out at this hour were drunkards and the people serving them. Gilles resisted the urge to hail a carriage and continued to stagger down the road. The last thing he wanted was to walk the 8 miles to Whitney's house, but she was his alibi and walking was better than imprisonment.

So he walked.

At this point, every part of his body hurt so uniformly that he could almost tune it out, just keeping himself anchored on his final destination.

The lights were on at Whitney's house and the driveway was empty of vehicles. Gilles accepted this with relief, though he did try to keep an eye out for other potential signs that anything was amiss. Surely if the government suspected her of the crime, her estate would be in uproar. This had to be a good sign.

He reached the door and knocked, leaning heavily against the porch railing.

To his surprise, it was Sterling who answered, looking haggard and slightly ill.

"Gilles!" he said, and all the tension seemed to go out of his body with that one simple word. "You're alive!"

"I'm…" Gilles rasped. His head was spinning too badly to think straight. "I need…"

"Come in, come in, we'll take care of you." Sterling steered him inside, locking the door behind him, and sat him down on the couch.

Whitney and Hewitt were seated in overstuffed armchairs and leapt to their feet with joyous exclamations that Gilles was too exhausted to acknowledge. He slumped back against the couch cushions breathing shallowly, his eyes only half open.

Moments later, a glass of water was pressed into his hand. Gilles leaned forward and drank it down gratefully, only to immediately be presented with another. He took a few more cautious swallows, not wanting to make himself sick. Too tired to hold himself up, he leaned forward and braced his elbows on his knees.

"Where are you hurt?" Whitney asked, sitting down beside him. 

"I don't know," Gilles said. For the sake of cooperating, he tried to think. Dimly, he noticed he was shaking badly enough that he was sloshing water out of his glass.

Almost as soon as the thought crossed his mind, Hewitt appeared at his other side with a throw blanket. "Here," he said, wrapping it carefully around Gilles' shoulders. "Sterling is making tea."

"Thanks." Gilles took another sip of water and tried to assess himself. "I don't think I'm hurt much. I landed in the water and there wasn't really anything to crash into. I hit my head on the dashboard and I think I have whiplash, but other than that…" He shrugged and winced at the pain that shot up his neck.

"You're going to be sore tomorrow," Whitney said. She rubbed a hand over his knee. "Did anyone see you?"

Sterling entered with the tea and Gilles gratefully accepted a cup. "Nobody saw me," he said. "Not up close, anyway. I was in the air before the housekeeper was even halfway across the lawn." He drank some of the tea, a light chamomile. Warmth flooded his body and rushed into his cheeks like a blush. He shrugged the blanket off his shoulders and shifted in sudden, added discomfort at the heat.

"What about you? How did you get out?"

Sterling and Hewitt exchanged a glance before Hewitt decided to take up the burden of explaining.

"Well, you were a pretty good distraction once the plane was in the air. We were going to run for it, but Sterling wanted to go back in the house. We were able to go straight in the front door."

"Why did you go back in?" Gilles demanded. His temples throbbed and there was an odd tickling sensation crawling up his chest and down his stomach. He gave a shallow sigh.

"I cut their main phone line," Sterling said with just a hint of a smile. "To delay their ability to call the authorities and hopefully give you an opening to get back into town if you, um. Survived."

"Oh," Gilles said. His whole body was hot now and his breath was shallow, frantic. Reality was graying at the edges.

"Are you okay?" Hewitt asked. "You don't look--"

Almost before he realized what was happening, Gilles bent double and vomited straight onto the hardwood floor. Tea poured out of the teacup and spattered across the toe of his shoe, but he was too distracted to do anything about it. His abdominal muscles contracted violently and he vomited up another thin stream of water and bile. Someone took the teacup from his hands and he tried to swipe his locs out of his face but his hands shook too badly and his body refused to stop dry heaving even though there was nothing left to vomit up. Tears were streaming from his eyes now as he continued to gag helplessly between his legs.

At the edges of his consciousness, he was aware of panicked voices and a gentle hand on his back.

"Shit, he's burning up."

"Gilles, honey, can you try to relax?"

Gilles took a deep, shaky breath and sat back. He was still hopelessly nauseated, wary of opening his mouth or putting his abdomen under too much strain, and he wrapped his arms around his middle like a shield. 

"Do you want some water?" Hewitt asked.

Gilles shook his head. "S-sorry. I can clean that up."

"I'm taking care of it." Sterling reappeared from the doorway to the kitchen, arms full of rags. "You just lay back and try to relax. We need to take a look at that head injury."

"A concussion wouldn't cause a fever," Hewitt argued, his voice a touch more shrill than usual.

"It doesn't hurt to be thorough."

Whitney's return to the room was preceded by the sound of her footfalls on the stairs. She shooed Hewitt out of the way and sat down next to Gilles, placing a stained, industrial-grade plastic bucket in his lap. "Can I take your temperature?"

Gilles nodded and opened his mouth to accept the thermometer. The mercury began to climb up the glass and Gilles' stomach did an unsteady flip.

He tried to swallow back the sharp salt tang in his mouth and only succeeded in jostling the thermometer a bit.

"Try to sit still," Whitney said gently.

Gilles nodded his understanding, clenching his hand in the damp fabric of his shirt, trying to will his stomach to settle down.

The mercury continued to rise and Gilles went cross eyed trying to watch it, hoping it would finish before the mounting pressure in his stomach became too much to bear. The cold weight of inevitability weighed down on his belly and made him shudder.

At his feet, Sterling gave his leg an affectionate stroke and straightened up, carrying away the dirtied rags and water basin with him. Another wave of nausea lapped at the back of Gilles' throat and he swallowed with difficulty, again jostling the thermometer in his mouth.

He caught Whitney's eye and tapped the waterlogged watch on his wrist.

"2 minutes to go," she said, catching his meaning.

Gilles nodded his thanks and went back to staring at the opposing wall, willing the nausea down. It wasn't working. The illusion of control was rapidly slipping away and it was Gilles could do to hold on. He was shaking all over now and his mouth was starting to flood with saliva that he couldn't swallow down around the thermometer under his tongue.

It reached a point where Gilles couldn't take it any more. He tore the thermometer from his mouth and pitched forward, retching.

He spat stomach acid into the bucket and let his head hang. His stomach was starting to cramp up, his abs protesting the work.

When he resurfaced, Whitney was there to slip the thermometer back between his lips.

"I'm sorry," she said, smoothing a few errant locs out of his face.

Gilles just nodded and accepted the thermometer, letting his head rest on Whitney's shoulder. Hewitt came over and sat by his other side So he could hold Gilles' hand.

"You're pretty sick, huh?" 

"Mmph," was all Gilles could manage.

"What happened?"

"His system was probably already fighting off a bug." Sterling's voice came from the other side of the room. "Crash landing in a lake and walking all the way here was probably enough of a stress on his body to let the virus get the upper hand."

"Oh." Hewitt gave Gilles' hand a light squeeze. "Don't worry; we'll take care of you."

Unable to say anything, Gilles squeezed Hewitt's hand back.

They sat in silence until Whitney leaned over to pull the thermometer out of Gilles' mouth.

"103," she announced to the room.

Gilles, half asleep against her shoulder, barely stirred. That did explain how awful he felt.

"Bed?" he managed, his voice barely more than a piteous whine.

"One last thing," Sterling said. "Can you open your eyes for me?"

Gilles did, though it made pain drum fiercely behind his forehead. Sterling shined a light in his eyes and disinfected the cut on his forehead.

"Alright," he said once he'd finished his examination. "Let's get you to bed."

"I have a room in the back," Whitney said. "I'll show you."

"Up we go." Sterling draped one of Gilles' arms over his shoulders and helped him stand. Every muscle in Gilles' body screamed in protest, but he let Sterling help him to his feet and down the hall.

They were almost to the bedroom when Gilles' vision started to tunnel. His knees started to buckle and he swayed into Sterling.

"Easy, easy." Sterling started to lower him to the ground. Gilles' awareness faded out.

"You're sure we shouldn't call an ambulance?" Sterling again.

"I don't know. I'm worried about calling too much attention to us."

Gilles stirred, not bothering to open his eyes. He was in bed now and felt marginally better. Evidently someone had stripped him down to his underwear, because he could feel the soft cotton on his chest. He gave a sigh of not-quite-contentment and shifted slightly.

"Just wanna sleep," he begged.

"We'll let you rest," Whitney said. "Hewitt can keep first watch."

It took a while for the meaning of the words to permeate  the fever heat boiling Gilles' brain. He was in darkness now but if he listened closely, he could hear Hewitt's light breathing.

He lay there a bit longer. The night's events kept playing back through his mind in fragments. He was quite sure no one had seen him, which was a relief. But the plane… He hadn't flown to very far; he'd been able to make the journey on foot before the night was over.

Was it enough? At the time, crash-landing in a lake had seemed like the surest guarantee, but what if they were able to dredge it up? Or drain the lake? It wasn't enough. He had to go back. If he dived down enough times, he could dismantle it piece by piece, steal parts of it, make it completely unsalvageable.

Gilles sat up and tore the covers off. He had to go.

"Whoa!" Hewitt was by his side in an instant, hands on his chest. "What's wrong? Are you going to be sick again? There's a bucket over--"

"No, no." Gilles was frantic, he didn't have time. "I have to go back, it wasn't enough--" He tried to get up, but Hewitt was still holding him fast by the shoulders.

"What are you talking about?"

"The plane! I didn't, it's not-- Hewitt, please let go of me!"

"Lie back," Hewitt pleaded. "Your fever isn't going to get any better if you don't rest."

"I can't rest yet, I'm not done."

"You're done." Hewitt's voice was surprisingly forceful. "I'm going to get something to cool you down. Do you trust me?"

"Yes."

"Then stay here. Okay?"

"Okay."

Hewitt left and clouds formed just below the ceiling. Gilles watched them float by, forming shapes of animals and objects. It must have been another ingenious invention of Whitney's, a little machine to make clouds appear indoors. They took on the shape of a train and the engine puffed out even smaller steam clouds that took on still more shapes.

Then Hewitt was back and it all disappeared.

"Thank you for staying put," he said, leaning over so he could drape a damp cloth over Gilles' forehead. "Sterling would have killed me if I'd let anything bad happen to you." He adjusted the cloth a little and fussed over the placement of the covers on Gilles' chest. "Will you sleep now?"

"Yes," Gilles said. He closed his eyes, his brain still whirring with frantic activity.

[firebirdsdaughter]

Random Writing Tidbit Safety!…

… So… I got thinking about Jin’s gun safety… And I had an idea…

I know that’s not technically the correct way to use ‘misfire,’ but it sounded better than ‘accidentally fired.’

Also… Sorry this is so crappy. I may have written it in the middle of the night bc it would not leave me alone.

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Jin misfired the gun exactly once after receiving it.

It was pretty much immediately after, in fact, when he’d jumped up to begin playing with it before Horobi had finished speaking, twirling the weapon in his hands and fiddling with the clip. He hadn’t been listening to Horobi in that moment, too invested in his new toy… Until he flipped something wrong and something clicked.

“Jin!”

Several things happened very quickly, simultaneously with Horobi’s exclamation—hands closed around his, yanking both them and the gun away from his face, and he felt them bump into something. A tremendous bang filled the small room, making him wince, squeezing his eyes shut. Whatever his hands were pressing against jerked sharply, and he felt wetness running over his fingers. There was a long moment of silence—once he was sure there would be no more loud sounds, Jin hesitantly opened his eyes to look.

Horobi had grabbed his wrists, tucking them against his chest… Right along with the gun. There was something off about the way the other HumaGear was slightly hunched over, brows furrowed slightly. He didn’t even raise his head as the silence continued, didn’t see Jin’s worried, questioning look.

Then, Jin saw the blue.

Liquid was running down the barrel and over both their hands, practically black in the low light of the room. A few minor adjustments to his visual systems, however, made it clear that it was blue. A little bit of tuning also revealed there was something off about Horobi’s mechanics—a strange discrepancy in the preciously even pattern of sound that usually accompanied Horobi’s basic functions. Frowning, Jin followed the line of the gun barrel—and froze.

The muzzle was wedged against Horobi’s shoulder—and Jin didn’t need to adjust his sight at all to see the damage.

“Horobi!”

At the sound of his voice, Horobi did start, raising his head—just a little slower, Jin noted, then he usually did. “Jin…” His words were slower, too. “… Are you damaged?”

Jin shook his head quickly, biting his lip anxiously. “No… But…” He moved toward the other HumaGear, “Horobi…”

“Wait.” Jin stopped immediately, letting out a small whimper, his eyes still on the wound on Horobi’s shoulder. Horobi gave a soft sigh, then shifted his own hands slightly, loosening his hold on Jin’s wrists. “Let go.” Jin obediently untangled his hands from the gun, snapping his arms to his sides. That done, Horobi turned and carefully set the weapon aside on the table. With his hands free, Horobi moved one to hold his injured shoulder and closed the small distance necessary to collapse into his chair, leaning back and closing his eyes.

Jin couldn’t take it anymore, and hurried forward, reaching out to clutch the bottom of Horobi’s sleeve worriedly. “Horobi…” He knelt down beside the chair, raising the hand not holding the sleeve to try and examine the wound. “You’re hurt…”

“This is nothing.” Horobi told him simply, though there was a slight edge to his voice Jin had never heard before. With another sigh, Horobi shifted forward, his eyes reopening. “… Give me your hand.” Despite his reluctance because of the blue still staining Horobi’s fingers and the exposed, damaged mechanics visible on his shoulder, Jin released the other HumaGear’s sleeve and put his hand in Horobi’s. “That gun is powerful enough to hurt us,” Horobi told him softly, taking his hand and arranging it so that Jin’s index finger as sticking out and his thumb pointing up with the rest of his fingers curled, “You hold it like this unless you’re actually going to fire.”

Jin nodded frantically when Horobi gave him a questioning look. “I will! Promise!” The sight of Horobi holding the gun to his own chest to keep it from going off in his face was already imprinted onto his memory as an aggressive reminder of caution.

Horobi watched him for a moment, then seemed satisfied, letting go of his hand and leaning back in his chair again, his fingers briefly ghosting across Jin’s cheek for a moment and rifling through his hair. “… Good.” Sparks flickered from the wound, and Horobi winced, turning his attention back to his shoulder. “…Get my tools.” Jin was up and rushing for the repair tools before Horobi even finished the sentence.

He hovered anxiously the whole time Horobi was working, obediently holding things as was requested of him. When Horobi finished patching himself up, Jin returned the tools to their place—he spent the rest of the night and the following day worrying over the wound, no matter how much Horobi tried to brush him off. It was two whole weeks before he even risked picking the gun up again.

And he never misfired it again.

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

In case it wasn’t clear, Jin nearly accidentally shot himself in the face, so Horobi pulled the gun away, but ended up taking the shot in the shoulder bc the fastest place he could pull the gun away was toward himself.

I shouldn’t be explaining this, but I am too tired to care.

[sassycassie-s-writing]

Lake Trip

By: SassyShoulderAngel319

Fandom/Character(s): Young Justice - Jason Todd/Robin

Rating: PG-11/T-

Original Idea: Just came to me in the shower.

Notes: (Masterlist)(By Character)(About Me) Takes place sometime between S1 and S2, after Kaldur’s “betrayal.” ( @what-even-is-thiss coined the term “Mud Fic” for a piece of fic that has no context, and that’s what this is.) Also I will admit I didn’t realize how long this was until I finished it and highlighted it all to bring over here... 1,932 words... @welovegroot @jason-redhood @jason-todd-squad

^^^^^

“Robin!” I shouted, watching the second boy to take up the mantle fall off the tube being pulled behind the speedboat in the lake.

Conner raised the orange flag, signaling to other boaters not to come near because there was someone in the water. The boat slowed down, under Nightwing’s careful driving skills, and started to turn to circle back to Robin.

“Wait. Where is he?” Artemis asked.

Robin’s head wasn’t bobbing around.

After a moment, his life jacket—the one with the worn-out straps that Conner had advised against wearing and Robin had retorted not to tell him how to live his life—popped to the surface.

“He’s still under,” Garfield said, voice shaking a little.

Nightwing swore under his breath and as Conner moved to hand the flag to Artemis and take his shirt off to dive in.

From my position at the bow of the boat, I jumped to my feet, moved the window out of the way, ran down the boat, jumped up the back bench like it was stairs, and launched myself over the two-and-a-half-foot aft deck, diving in.

I hit hard. The angled plane of my chest smacked into the surface hard due to the angle I dove in on making my chest parallel to the water. The impact knocked the breath out of my lungs as I plunged deep under the surf, wasting no time in heading in the direction Robin had gone under. Once my entire lower body was underwater, the violet scales of my tail appeared from under my skin. My two legs melded together and turned into my tail. With a high-pitched, dolphin-like whistle, I used my echolocation to look for Robin in the murky lake water.

I got a hit a moment later, ahead of me. I pushed harder, trying to reach him.

The rest of the team knew I was Atlantean. They just didn’t know about my tail. Kaldur had legs and lived in Atlantis—so they didn’t even suspect that I wasn’t a biped one-hundred-percent of the time.

After mere seconds, Robin’s unconscious form emerged from the murk. His ankle was caught in some sort of aquatic vegetation—the freshwater variety that I wasn’t familiar with.

With a twist and a flick of my tail I was down at Robin’s ankle, freeing it from its tangle with the plant.

I swam back up and held his back to my chest, hauling him so his head could break water.

By the time we both broke surface, I pretended to take a deep breath of air. They knew I could breathe underwater but they also knew the transition between breathing one to the other could be a little rough.

“Aquamarine!” Nightwing called. I never told him my actual name since he’d never told me his. So he was Nightwing to me and I was Aquamarine to him.

I shook my hair out of my face. “He’s not breathing! He got caught!” I shouted. The boat was getting closer off to the side. I looked around wildly. If I pulled myself onto the aft deck of the boat, I would reveal my tail to everyone. Which I wasn’t sure if I was ready to do yet. “I can’t give him CPR on an unstable boat. He needs solid ground… I’ll take him back to shore. It’s faster than the boat.”

“You want your life vest?” Artemis called.

“Nope! I’m Atlantean!” I kept Robin in the lifeguard hold, his chin cupped in my hand to keep him abovewater. “I’ll meet you guys at the shore nearest the cabin!” I gestured behind us at the shore. It was a half-mile away at least. I could still swim that faster than the boat could get back to the marina. Even with Robin braced against my chest. “And I’ll try to call an ambulance while I’m at it!”

“Just be careful!” Nightwing called. “That’s my brother!”

“I know. I will be!” I started backstroking away from the boat with one arm, fighting the minor current caused by the boats.

“Here!” Conner called, throwing the orange flag at me. “Keep that up if you can. So you don’t get run over.”

“Sure thing.” I took it in my hand and raised it. Using my tail, I started swimming toward the shore. Robin in one arm, on top of me, and the flag in the other arm. The boat sped off when I’d swum a safe distance away.

A half-mile swim was nothing with my tail and my powers. I urged the current to aid me rather than fight me and a decent wave washed Robin and I ashore in a few moments.  When my legs were no longer submerged, my violet tail vanished. I dumped the flag in the rocky sand and rolled Robin onto his side. His two mirrored curls on his forehead dripped to the sand.

I used my hydrokinetic powers to draw the water out of his lungs. “C’mon, Rob, breathe,” I pleaded while also grabbing my phone from the bag I’d left on the beach.

He didn’t move. His pulse was weak under my fingers when I checked it.

“Fine,” I muttered, pushing him onto his back and starting chest compressions with one hand, the other dialing 911. Thankfully Atlantean muscles were dense to withstand the pressure of deep water, so I was strong enough to do compressions with one hand until I could plant my phone between my shoulder and my face. While it rang, that was exactly what I did. Thankfully I didn’t have to wait long.

“Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”

“Hi, I’m at Happy Harbor Lake and my friends and I were out boating and one of my friends flew off the tube and smacked the water hard enough to knock him out. His ankle got caught in some plant life underwater and it held him down. He inhaled some water. I got him to dribble it out and I’m giving him CPR but his pulse is weak. He and I are alone on shore for the moment because we were close and I couldn’t do CPR while on a rocking boat. I think we need an ambulance. He’s not breathing. Our friends had to get back to the marina first. I can give you the address of the cabin we’re staying the night in that I can literally see from right here.”

“Alright.”

I recited the address while still doing chest compressions. I took a moment to breathe into his mouth when the dispatch lady was talking, confirming that the ambulance would be sent ASAP.

My hair was sopping wet and I was probably ruining my phone but I had to stay on the line. I could get a new phone, but I couldn’t get a new Robin.

^^^^^

Jason woke up with a huge pain in his chest. He groaned.

“Oh. Yeah. I had to separate your ribs from your sternum,” a familiar voice said.

He peeled his eyes open. Aquamarine, the Atlantean who replaced Kaldur after his betrayal, was sitting in the uncomfortable wood chair of a hospital room with her legs crossed, looking tired.

“How come?” Jason complained.

“You weren’t breathing and your pulse was weak. I had to do CPR. It’s just cartilage. It’ll reform and you’ll be fine.”

“Where… where’s Batman?”

“On his way. Nightwing and the rest of the team are in the waiting room. But since I’m the one who did all the work in saving your life, they figured I should be the one to be in here with you when you woke up.” Aquamarine threw some of her hair off her shoulder. “Sorry about breaking your ribs off your sternum. I’m stronger than the average human and it’s also necessary for proper CPR.”

“I know,” Jason said with a small grunt of pain. “Doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck.” He paused, holding his ribs. “Thank you. For saving me.”

“It’s no problem. That’s what we do as a team. We look out for each other.”

^^^^^

I smiled at Robin gently. He looked pretty bruised from the impact of falling off the tube and me giving him compressions, but I knew him. He was a resilient kid.

He grunted as he shifted on the hospital bed, holding his ribs.

“Hey, try not to move, Rob,” I said. “Your ribs and sternum are separated. The cartilage needs to reseal them.”

Robin settled. He had a cute face under the sunglasses and mask and swim goggles. I’d never seen his whole face bare until entering the hospital room. “Sorry, Aqua,” he said. “Just—” He winced. “—tryin’ to find a—more comfortable position.”

I made a face. “Should I go get Nightwing?”

“No!” Robin’s exclamation made him clutch his ribs but wasn’t loud enough to be heard from the waiting room. He shook his head. “No. Don’t call Nightwing. Please.” His eyes—sharp blue—bored into mine.

“Okay. I won’t call Nightwing,” I said.

Robin relaxed. “Thanks.” He winced again and held his torso.

There was a long stretch of silence between the two of us during which I stared out the window toward the sky.

“Hey, Aquamarine?” Robin asked, breaking the silence.

“Hmm?” I looked away from the window.

“I dreamt about you while I was out,” he said.

“That right?” I smiled.

He nodded. “Yeah. I dreamt you had a mermaid tail. Probably because you’re Atlantean. It was purple. That’s how you saved me so fast,” he said.

“Huh,” I said. “Interesting.” I rubbed the back of my neck. That probably meant I’d have to tell him that I actually do have a mermaid tail sometime soon. When he didn’t come back up and his life jacket was broken, I shouldn’t have been so reserved at keeping my little secret from the rest of the team. I still didn’t know what I was so afraid of. An emergency like Robin possibly drowning could have been a fine moment. But I’d resisted. For no good reason.

“Yeah. Anyway…” He reached up and touched his face. “Oh. My goggles are gone.”

I nodded.

He shrugged. “Welp. If I stayed on this team much longer you’d find out my name anyway. ‘Sup? I’m Jason.”

I smiled and gave him my name in return. “Nice to meet you, Jason.”

“You too.” He shot me a wink.

The door to the hospital room burst open—and a very familiar man burst in.

Bruce Wayne.

Wait. Bruce Wayne?

Batman was Bruce Wayne?!

Why did that make so much sense?

I didn’t know a whole lot about the cultures of the surface world yet, but I knew who Bruce Wayne was. The team talked about him a lot.

“Jason!” Wayne exclaimed. Then realized I was in the room. “Oh. Aquamarine. What are you doing here?”

“She saved my life, B,” Robin—Jason—said.

Wayne looked between me and Jason, blue-grey eyes settling on me. “You did?”

“I’m Atlantean,” I said. “Swam him a half-mile to shore in a lifeguard hold, drew the water out of his lungs with hydrokinetic magic and gave him CPR until the rest of the team came to give me a break and the ambulance picked him up.” I stood and held my hand out for him to shake, giving him my name.

“Thank you. For saving him,” Wayne said.

“It’s what a good team does for each other,” I replied, looking past him to Jason, whose crooked grin made his eyes twinkle with mirth and mischief. “Look out for one another.”

[qhostqizmo]

Magnificent

And maybe this true romance, Is getting the better of you and me. But nothing people can say, Is gonna stand in my way, ‘Cause this is where we belong.

- - - - - - - - - -

Practice makes perfect; or at least, that’s what her instructor said. Essätha didn’t truly believe becoming a world famous musician to be her talent, but she did like a challenge. If a little extra patience and time out of her day improved her newfound hobby, then she was willing to put in the effort.

The absent, almost forgotten forlorn grand piano had been left untouched for as long as she could remember. She’d brought it up to Amon once, and he had shrugged it off as merely decoration. It had been used on occasion during parties by performers, and he recalled his Father purchasing hours with a tutor for his sister when he was younger, but it mostly sat. Lonely, the interior dusty, it had been badly in need of tuning the first time she ever laid a finger upon its ivory keys curiously.

Perhaps it was ridiculous, an older woman with someone roughly the same age-group as her, teaching her how to use an instrument for the first time, but she tried to hide her embarrassment. Sometimes there weren’t enough books in the house to curb her interest, and between shared and separate duties to the household and the territory with her other half, Essie found gaps of time with nothing to do. Her beloved husband in the garden, the laundry done, the house clean and animals pampered, needing nothing…

Well, the piano could use as much an acquaintance as anybody.

Folding open the worn pages of the amateur's music sheets gifted to her by her coach, Essie propped it upon the upper stand. She curled her fingers together, popping her joints. A shimmy here, a shimmy there to straighten her posture, and she relaxed her digits to linger upon the back strip of wood beneath the keys.

What was once a jumble of nonsense to her was now easier to read. She leaned forward; something her instructor would have scolded her about, and laid her fingers upon the keys of F Major F to the A Minor. The notes hung together in the air, lingering.

Exhaling, Essie tapped her fingers along the next notes, holding her lingering stare upon the sheet music notes rather then the keys, as instructed.

Her fingers danced, clipping from key to key slowly; measuring her stride slower then the pace of the music implied.

Returning to the bridge and chorus on the second run, her fingers held more confidence; trailing smoothly from one key to the next. The melody filled the air, but more then that, it felt as though it filled her soul. Comforting, familiar; she hummed along with a savvy little smile. Confidence exuded from her with each pass; each stroke across with the pads of her fingers gently growing more sure.

The side-door creaked. Oblivious, she continued to play; the sheetwork her guide, and her mood the muse.

With a smile brimming his lips, Amon observed; a silent statue in the doorway. He leaned his shoulder against the frame, allowing the wash of the harmony to fall over him. It was not the quality of an artisan; he could catch the moments her fingers held too long, or not enough; or when she skipped too close to one keystroke and mistakenly tapped two at once, but it was lovely and original, all the same.

Better then the symphony of one instrument, was the player. Stunning and calm, she moved with poised majesty. The perfect sculpted shape of her face, the strands of dark hair escaping the loose ebony fishtail braid she had laying on her shoulder, the almost magical serenity that was her existence. If anything, she complimented the song, and not the other way around.

As the keys carried back to the chorus, the nobleman cleared his throat, following the memory of the easily-recognizable song, and added the lyrics.

“You held my heart in your hand, while it was still beatinnnggg.”

Startled, Essätha’s fingers slammed on multiple keys at once, looking up from the piano with golden wide-eyed wonder.

He motioned for her to continue, humming quietly. Her hands moved from him, to the manila parchment, and back again. Her fingers fumbled for the next keys; her eyes lingering upon him, rather then the sheet music she’d worked memorizing on for months now.

“I hope you understand, that this is the way it’s meant to beeeee.”

Prying his weight from the doorframe, the nobleman stepped into the dining area. He couldn’t help but to grin. A bit wicked, a big chaotic, and certainly adoring of her awe-struck expression as he continued on. Her surprise made his heart quicken; mouth slightly parted, the rise and fall of her chest from being taken off guard. He loved that look, and he loved it even more when he brought it to her face.

“‘Cause we’ve got nothing to prove,” he sang; raising his voice as he moved closer. “We’ve got nothing to lose, this is where we belonnnggg.”

Her eyes still followed him as he extended his hands, gesturing to the manor, and slowly moving to offer out to her; the most stunning woman before him, who he called his wife.

“So take a look around: it’s so magnificent this love of ours.”

Again, flustered, her fingers jerkily tapped on a few incorrect keys. She visibly winced, her entire face a beacon of brightly shaded scarlet. Ignoring the mistake, he continued warmly and inspired as ever.

“It’s something brilliant,” he crooned in a husky, low rumble, moving in to slide beside her on the piano’s bench.

Her breath hitched. His smile only grew wider.

“So close your eyeeess again.”

The nobleman reached for her, brushing hair away from her face. Any moment was a good excuse to serenade her, but this was just the icing on the cake.

As though the lyrics and his voice held some sort of magical property over her, her fingers held awkwardly on the previous keys. The faded chords rippled in the air as she closed her eyes, leaning in to his touch.

Gods, he should not have this sort of power over something so beautiful; so perfect. Her body turned more towards him, craving his touch as though drawn to him.

When she opened her eyes again, he flickered his to the keyboard and back to her, raising his eyebrows.

She sheepishly smiled, and moved her hands to the next keys.

Inclining towards her, Lord Amon pressed a soft kiss to her cheek, whispering the next lyrics close to her ears,  “And hope the fireworks never end.”

Her hands slammed the keys, sending off a screech through the room. With a sympathetic wince, the nobleman reached up to tug the edges of his fur-lined mantle. Prying it off his shoulders, he draped it over hers instead with casual slowness.

“They’ll never end,” he reassured her in a gruff lyrical, pressing his lips to her burning cheek once more.

“No matter what we go through, there’ll always be you and me.”

Overwhelmed, Essie tore her trembling fingers away from the keys as they tripped numbly over a handful of them. She swore beneath her breath in elvish, turning her face away from him.

“That’s not part of the song,” the nobleman scolded, gently sliding his hand beneath her chin. She followed his beckoning, turning to face him once more.

Essie hissed at him softly, sticking her tongue out.

“I’m sorry I distracted you and ruined your performance, darling. You were doing an exceptional job.”

“You just couldn’t help yourself?”

He grinned meekly at her in return, caught red handed.

A smile curved her lips. “Don’t ever stop.”

His brow knit. “Stop what?”

“Wooing me. Being yourself. Loving me the way you do; as the most amazing husband in the world”

“Never.”

With his breathless exclamation, he laid his lips softly where they belonged, upon hers. Sweet and inviting; his fingers lingering to her chin, encouraging her to tilt her head back as her fingers made their way from the piano to his hair while she desperately stole his air with a softened sigh.

“I love you, m’lord Amon.”

“I love you too.”

Making a throaty groan in the back of her throat, she pushed closer, her curves against his chest as her fingers threaded through his dark locks.

“We could make that itty-bitty curse part of our lyrics, though,” she teased him, a dangerous sparkle in her eyes.

Swallowing thickly, the nobleman cupped her scaly-patched cheek, and slid his arm behind her; beneath his cloak, anchoring her to his chest.

“If you insist.”

Essie laughed, the sound far more charming and musical then the song itself as he moved in to kiss her once more. A far better ballad then any song he would ever hear in his life, and was graced to hear it nearly each and every day.

Life couldn’t be more magnificent then this.

[violetsmoak]

Tabula Rasa [4/?]

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20183281/chapters/47927632

Blanket Disclaimer:

Summary: Tim and Jason have known they are soulmates for years, though neither has said anything about it. Tim thinks Jason doesn’t know, and is just trying to live with it. Jason thinks Tim knows but doesn’t care, which is fine with him, he thinks the soulmate thing is a crock anyway. But one night, a minor mishap forces them to confront the issue head-on, leading to a series of events no one could have predicted.

Rating: PG-13 (rating may change later)

JayTimBingo Prompts This Chapter: #a lie #bright vivid colors #enemies to lovers #i’ll protect you # secret identity #soulbond #soulmark tattoo #soulmate aversion

First Chapter

________________________________________________________________

Jason’s body moves before his mind catches up, prompting him to drag them both to one side and out of any easy line of fire. There’s a small alley several yards away, and he does his best to get there without jarring the man in his arms. Tim’s eyes are wide in shock and pain, body crumpled and limp. Jason’s brain is numb as it scrambles to understand what just happened.

Tim’s been shot. Tim’s been shot in the head.

There are screams from the other passersby on the street, people running and scattering like rats. It’s the middle of the day, but shootings aren’t out of place here; people know how to take cover. They also know not to relinquish that cover to help someone down by a bullet.

Even a Wayne.

Especially a Wayne. 

No one wants to provide another target to whoever’s decided to shoot up Crime Alley.

Except, Jason notes dimly, there hasn’t been another gunshot.

Maybe whoever it is won’t waste bullets when there’s no target.

Jason’s fingers are slick with blood, slipping against Tim’s neck as he looks for a pulse. It’s there, though weak, and Jason shifts automatically, angling him upright to keep him from choking on his own blood.

As he does his best to use his hands to staunch the bleeding, he snarls, “Don’t…you…dare…” 

Jason can’t remove his fingers to tap his comm; several seconds pass before he can nudge his ear hard enough with his shoulder to turn it on.

(He’s beyond thankful he put it back in when he returned to Gotham—doesn’t want to think how this could go if he hadn’t.)

“Drake’s been shot,” he barks when the telltale static hiss informs him, someone, somewhere is on the line. “GSW to the head, get a fuckin’ bus to Park Row and West.”

“En route,” he hears Batman growl immediately, followed by a series of horrified exclamations from other Bats.

Batgirl and Signal, he thinks, but he honestly isn’t paying attention to any of the entreaties over the line anymore. He’s too busy monitoring Tim’s condition, counting the younger man’s breaths, and the pauses in between. They seem like they’re getting longer. He tells himself it’s Tim, using that absurd Bat training to slow his breathing, but he knows better.

“Stay awake,” he orders. Tim’s breathing is wet and choked, and his eyes roll like he’s on the verge of unconsciousness. “Come on, you’ve never taken anything I’ve said seriously before, don’t you dare start with this.”

It’s the longest three minutes of his life, but then Batman is there, looming over them both. People across the street are staring—Batman doesn’t show up in daylight as much as Gotham’s other vigilantes do. Robin lurks at his side, normally dark skin pale as he regards Tim with a clenched jaw. For once, the kid has no smart-ass comments.

Instead, he moves forward and makes a gesture as if he intends to take Tim’s weight from Jason, who shakes his head sharply.

“I’ve got him,” he snaps. “If we move him more than we need to he could bleed out. Go check those rooftops across the street. Look for evidence of a sniper, any clue about what fucker did this.”

For a wonder, Robin doesn’t even argue; he’s gone between one blink and the next.

“The ambulance will be here in another minute, and Dr. Thompkins is on the way to Gotham General,” Batman says. Of course; brain injury is more than she can handle in her clinic. “What. Happened.”

“High-velocity bullet entered from the back of the head,” Jason says, automatically switching into report mode. “Based on the angle it was—”

“That’s not what I meant. What were you doing here?”

It’s not a question, and the tone is almost accusing; Jason recoils as if slapped. Only practice keeps his hands immobile on Tim’s wound.

“This is my fucking neighborhood!”

“And normally you avoid Tim. What were you doing with him?”

“Exactly what are you implying?”

There’s no answer as the ambulance arrives, two technicians jumping out and hurrying over to Tim. Another unloads a stretcher and gear, which they start to set up. Batman vanishes and Jason focusses all his attention on whatever the techs are telling him as they work on Tim.

He’s not sure how long it is before they finally lift Tim out of his arms. Suddenly Dick is there, dressed in colorful tropical clothing too ridiculous for February, bare arms and legs chapped from what appears to have been a frantic ride on a motorcycle.

“I thought you were in Hawaii,” he thinks he says; thankfully, Dick isn’t paying attention.

“Tim? Oh my God, Tim! What happened?!”

“Sniper,” Jason says as the paramedics hurry the still form of the youngest former Robin into the back of the ambulance.

“I’m coming with him,” Dick announces, already climbing into the vehicle with the techs.

“Sir, you can’t—”

“I’m his brother, and I’m a cop,” he snaps. “And if none of that matters to you, my father’s fucking Bruce Wayne. You’ll never work again if you don’t get my little brother to the hospital now!”

The doors slam shut, and the ambulance tears around the corner. Jason remains standing in the middle of the street, blood still soaking his clothing as the crowd of onlookers grows.

“What about you?” a voice asks, and Jason jumps when he notices that Robin has returned.

“Did you find anything?” he responds, ignoring the question.

“Nothing.”

“What?” Jason snaps, glowering down at the thirteen-year-old. “That’s not possible.”

No sign of a sniper my ass. There must be something. Even fucking Deadshot leaves evidence.

“I know how to survey a scene, Todd, and there was nothing—where are you going?”

“Somewhere I can make a damn difference,” Jason retorts, already stalking away.

“I’m coming with—”

“Batman needs you more than I do, kid.”

He doesn’t wait to see if Damian listens, too intent on running far and as fast as he can. He won’t wait around to answer questions from the cops, could still be a target—

How the fuck did I become a target, to begin with? How did they figure me out?

He heads for Byron Avenue, keeping close to the buildings and out of open space that might prompt another attack, then ducks into the subway station. Besides his safe houses, he has several caches all around the city with spare gear and basic medical kits.

After double and triple-checking that he isn’t being followed, he heads for a storm drain where he’s stashed a waterproof bag with everything he needs. There he changes into his helmet and gear, leaving the blood-soaked hoodie and jeans behind.

Returning to the scene of the shooting, Jason makes his own investigation of the rooftops. The building he thinks was the sniper’s nest provides an excellent vantage point. Down on the pavement, he can see the drying puddle of Tim’s blood—but it’s as Damian said. There is no sign of a shooter—no footprints, hair, bullet casings.

So, whoever this is got wise since the last time, or…

His thoughts stutter, interrupted by the memory of Tim’s wide-eyed stare and he swears.

That’s not going to help find the fucker who did this.

He refocuses, tries to put himself in the sniper’s position. What would he do once he didn’t hit his target?

Honestly, he’d have kept shooting, so why didn’t this guy? Unless Tim was the target—which is possible, but unlikely. Red Hood’s the one that’s had some kind of silent war declared on him. The last time Jason checked the only major grudge against Red Robin from someone who knows his identity was Ra’s al-Ghul.

And he has a gigantic, creepy crush of Tim’s brain, so probably not going to risk breaking it.

Jason’s thinking in circles now and it makes him want to punch something—so he does. The wall doesn’t give, and he’s sure he sprained one of his knuckles, but the pain focuses him.

“He’s gonna be okay.”

Jason jerks around, hand flying to his hip holster as Signal appears beside him. “Christ, kid, don’t sneak up on me today.”

“O says he’s in surgery,” Duke goes on as if he didn’t almost get shot. “They had him in the operating room within fifteen minutes of him getting shot. You did a good job of keeping him stable.”

“If I’d been doing a good job, I’d have noticed some asshole taking a shot at us,” Jason growls. A moment later it dawns on him why Signal is here. “Did he send you to read the area?”

Duke nods and surveys the rooftop. “This the place?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re sure?”

“Pretty damn,” Jason replies. “A bullet’s trajectory doesn’t lie.”

“Point.”

“So what can you see?”

“Gimme a minute, it’s not like a switch I can just flip,” Duke retorts. He takes a few steps toward the edge of the building and stands still for a moment. Jason recognizes his posture as one of the standing meditative stances Bruce uses.

It’s several long minutes, where the only change is Duke’s breathing becoming a little more labored and his shoulders tensing a bit.

“Okay, I think…I think I got something,” he says, cocking to his head to one side as if he’s listening to something Jason can’t hear. “Yeah, there was definitely someone here—set the gun up here—” He waves a hand over the edge without touching it. “—but that’s it.”

“What.” Jason narrows his eyes.

Duke’s shoulders relax as if in defeat. “Exactly what it sounds like. I can’t tell anything, man.”

His frustration matches Jason’s. “You just said you saw someone.”

“I did. But whoever they are, they’re dressed all in black, wearing a balaclava and visor. Average height, average build—I guess more on the athletic side? I can’t even tell if they’re male or female. Could be government, could be a new mask, could be ninjas for all I know.”

“In my experience, ninja favor swords and shuriken instead of high-caliber sniper rifles.”

“Hah.” Duke pauses, and when Jason remains silent, tilts his head to one said. “Wait. You’re not kidding.”

Jason doesn’t answer, instead takes out his grapple gun and shoots a line to rappel down the side of the building.

“You’re welcome,” he hears Duke mutter behind him.

Jason needs information, and none of his people are talking to him right now. He could contact Oracle, but—no, probably with the Family right now, if Dick’s here already.

But she’s also protective as hell, so she’ll be working this even if she’s in waiting to find out if Tim’s…

Jason’s brain stalls again, the image of Tim in his arms, the stickiness of the blood, expression resigned after what Jason says—

Against his will, against his attempts to keep busy, his brain seems keen to remind him that his soulmate was just shot in front of him. That he very well might die—could be dead already.

“Yeah, well, my life would have been a lot easier if you didn’t exist!”

Suddenly it’s of dire importance that he finds out how Tim’s doing.

Gambling on Dick’s presence signifying a fortuitous early return of the honeymooners, he flicks through the channels on his comm until it gets to Oracle’s frequency.

“Is he…?”

“Are you coming to the hospital?” she interrupts, her regular voice sharp in his ear.

“Don’t think I’d be very welcome there.”

“B isn’t here. He’s been doing the same thing as you. It’s why he sent Signal your way while he tracks down possible witnesses.”

“Are you fucking kidding me? That’s his kid in there!”

“When have you ever known him to sit around and wring his hands when something like this happens?” 

Jason growls at that.

“Listen, I get why you might not want to come. But you should. It would make Dick feel better at least. He’s a wreck and needs his siblings right now.”

“Cass and the brat aren’t there already?”

“They are. But you’re his brother too.”

He snorts.

“Don’t give me that. He is. And Tim is too.”

“No, he’s not.”

“Oh, for god’s sake, why do you have to be so difficult!” Barbara snaps. “Pull your head out of your ass for once in your life and be here for your family. Gotham General, Room 1602. If you don’t show up at least once, I’ll load viruses in all of your tech for the next year.”

There’s a definitive click that closes the conversation.

Jason scowls into the distance.

She would, too.

Another ten minutes of debating with himself, and he heads toward the hospital.

⁂

Jason can’t bring himself to enter the hospital, to sit around with the rest of the Family and pretend that he’s one of them. Not with Bruce’s cold question ringing in his ears.

“What were you doing?”

Still, he brings up the floor plans to the building on the screen in his helmet, uses it to pinpoint where Tim is. He climbs the nearest fire escape and fixes a grapnel to the window outside the conference room that has become an impromptu private waiting room for the Wayne family.

They’re all there, talking in hushed voices like it’s already Tim’s funeral. The undercurrent of tension and fear is so tangible it permeates the walls of the building. It sounds like even Bruce is there now, and Jason wonders if Barbara threatened him, too.

Jason’s got his microphones tuned into the sound inside and can hear every whisper. None of it is relevant to Tim’s condition, so he ignores most of it.

“Okay, you harpy, I’m here,” he mutters into his comm, digging with his free hand into his pocket for. “But I ain’t comin’ in, so don’t push it.”

The words it’s a start flash across his screen, and he rolls his eyes as he fits the cigarette to his lips.

Jason stays there for what seems like hours, hanging along the wall like a living shadow and smoking like a chimney. When his hand is empty, he’s not staring at it, watching his soulmark as it fades in and out of existence. He’s never focused so much on the eddying patterns of color before, or what they mean.

He’s also not sure if he’s relieved or terrified to realize he has a more accurate idea of Tim’s condition than the Family waiting on updates.

It feels like forever before there’s movement inside, bodies jumping to standing, and the sound of a door opening. Jason presses closer to the window, his entire body rigid in anticipation. It’s Doc Thompkins greeting them.

Instantly, everyone is clamoring around her.

“Is he okay?”

“How much longer will the surgery take?”

“Will he be alright—”

“He will be out of surgery soon,” Thompkins says, cutting everyone’s questions. “And as of right now, his odds are as good as they can be.”

There’s a collective sigh of relief; Blondie gives a half-sob and Alfred murmurs a prayer of gratitude under his breath. Something in Jason’s chest, which he hadn’t noticed has been clenched since he processed the fact that Tim was shot, loosens.

“The bullet went through clean,” Thompkins continues, “and it didn’t stay in the brain, which has kept the damage minimal. From what Tim’s neurosurgeon Dr. Scherr described, it entered from the back and exited the front, traveling the length of the left hemisphere. He’s still extracting the skull fragments from the brain matter and dealing with the other injuries to his head, but otherwise, Tim should be out of surgery soon.”

Dick makes a choked noise, and Bruce begins, “The team working on him—”

“Have all been vetted,” Thompkins assures him. “I have complete trust in their discretion. And I will continue to monitor him myself once I finish updating you.”

A collective wave of relief settles across the room.

“He’s not out of the woods yet,” Thompkins warns. “The surgeon had to remove part of his skull to allow for swelling without compression. It will need to remain open for a while. They’ll keep him in an induced coma for some time to allow his brain to rest.”

“How long will that be?” Blondie asks.

“They won’t replace the piece of the skull until they’re sure there are no bacteria from the bullet remaining, which could be awhile. As for the coma, that will depend on him. It will last as long as it needs to last.”

“But he’s…he’ll live?” Dick asks.

“That remains to be seen,” the woman sighs. “A person’s chances of survival depend on the areas of the brain that struck, the velocity of the bullet, whether the bullet exits the brain.” Jason hears a shift of clothing, no doubt something like a shrug. “I can say this, it’s a good thing it passed only through the left hemisphere; if it had been both, the damage would be worse, if not fatal.”

“I don’t understand,” Cass says. “He is…okay. But not.”

“The brain can sometimes tolerate losing one half,” Bruce explains to her, though his voice does not sound as optimistic as that news might call for. “Sometimes.”

“The bullet didn’t touch the brain stem or the thalamus and missed the major blood vessels, the ventricles…that’s good news,” Thompkins says. “As for the bad news…”

“The left side of the brain controls language and speech.”

“Exactly. So, in the coming days, he’ll be under observation and when he wakes up, we’ll see if he’s able to process anything.” Thompkins sighs. “I won’t lie to you. His recovery process will be a long one.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time for one of us,” Dick says, trying to sound hopeful.

“When can we see him?” Blondie wants to know.

“As requested, a private room is being set up for him. Once he’s brought in, you can go see him one at a time. He won’t be awake for a while, though.”

It’s as promising a prognosis as it can be, and Jason decides that the kid’s in good hands. He’s met Barbara’s ultimatum, and he’s assuaged any minor concern he might have about Tim. There’s nothing else for him to do here.

Jason turns away from the window and releases the grip on his grapple to allow him to rappel down the wall.

Back to the drawing board, he decides. Maybe if he looks at the scene from a different vantage point, he’ll get some inspiration. Track down any witnesses and if Batman hasn’t scared the piss out of them yet, ask his own questions.

It’s time to put the fear of Red Hood back into the hearts of the criminal underworld.

⁂

Two weeks later, as Jason numbly stares up at the fiery remnants of his last safe house in Gotham, he realizes it might be time to go underground.

Every day since Tim’s shooting, it’s been another attack on him, either with his boltholes' destruction or the people on his payroll turning on him. The word is out that he’s got a price in his head, and everyone’s trying to collect.

The smart thing would be to leave Gotham for a bit, regroup and plan his bloody answer for his latest challenger in the shadows. But Jason’s always had a stubborn streak. If a soulmate crisis can’t keep him out of his city, some upstart trying to take over the Gotham underworld won’t do it either.

But until he can get a better understanding of what’s going on, he’s putting more and more people in danger. Two of the working girls were attacked since the first safe house was bombed. And there’s that horrible, needling sense that what happened to Tim was because of Jason that won’t go away.

No one’s going to work with Red Hood right now, and it’s too dangerous to start asking questions outside of the mask. Especially if someone has a vague description of him in mind.

But he has a plan.

Unfortunately, the plan requires Red Hood to die for a little while.

It’s easy to find a body to stick in the ruins of his safe house. He’s got an in at the morgue and his pick of John Does for the right price—someone of his height and build. The most difficult bit is transporting the body and wrestling it into his spare gear and a helmet.

And then he disappears; grabs a go-bag from another cache (those haven’t been found, which is at least one thing going right), sneaks through sewers and backstreets to avoid being followed. He’s been switching motels every day—sometimes twice a day—and paying in cash, so if anyone’s watching his online presence they can’t track him that way.

A trip to an outlet mall in Otisburg provides him a new wardrobe (one that more closely resembles something Bruce might wear, albeit at a lower price and quality). After the last stop in a pharmacy, he’s got everything he needs to bleach his hair and tint it closer to his natural shade; he’s stopped shaving, so the stubble will eventually grow in a matching color. Finally, he takes a page out of Superman’s book and adds a thick-rimmed pair of glasses.

He frowns at himself in the cheap mirror of his temporary room, unable to see anything of himself in the reflection.

I look like a douchebag grad student.

It’s time to begin the next part of his plan, but he finds himself hesitating. His eyes stray to the mark on his hand, which he’s looked at more in the past two weeks than every year since it appeared on his skin.

Tim’s still alive, but there hasn’t been any news on that front. Nothing mentioned in the news beyond replays of someone’s shoddy cellphone recording the shooting. He’s looked that footage over from every angle, hoping to find a clue in it as to the identity of the shooter, but there’s nothing to find.

He hasn’t run into another cape for two weeks now. Though he’s heard snatches of conversation on the comms suggesting they’re still around, he suspects it’s not in full force. If things are dire, that would explain the lack of vigilante activity in the city right now.

Jason sits on the decision for another two hours before deciding to bite the bullet and head to the hospital. He should at least check in once more before going into hiding.

(Not because he’s worried about Tim beyond the cursory sense of not wanting him to be dead.)

Alfred is the first to see him as he ambles through the door, eyes widening imperceptibly. “Master Jason.”

The words cause an immediate reaction. He didn’t tell anyone he was coming, figuring they’d tell him not to bother or call security on him. As such, the sudden rise in tension as he shuffles into the room is understandable.

Steph sits bolt upright from where she was lying head in Cass’s lap, and Babs mouth draws into a thin line, though she gives him a nod. Duke pushes off from the nearby wall, uncrosses his arms like he’s ready to throw down if something goes wrong. Dick, though, seems lost, stumbling from his chair and over to Jason, looking torn between hugging him or shaking him.

Bruce and Damian are nowhere in sight, for which he is both grateful and a bit resentful.

There’s no way they went on patrol tonight, is there?

And then there’s Tim. Lying in the hospital bed, bandaged and bundled into something like a hockey helmet, his usually pale skin impossibly white. Jason can see the veins beneath it even from this distance. He looks so much smaller and weaker than Jason remembers him being.

He has the bizarre urge to check his pulse again, just to feel it beating, even as the monitor he’s hooked up to beeps out a steady rhythm.

“What the hell is he doing here?” Steph demands though Cass reaches out to squeeze her hand. She shakes her head at her soulmate and then looks up at Jason with a small, encouraging smile.

“He is here. For Tim.”

There’s a sharp stab of fear just then, that Cass might know. That any or all of them might, but like Tim, just never mentioned it. It wouldn’t be out of the realm of possibility for the Bats to keep something from him to protect one of their own.

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

He shifts his weight, ready to step back into the hallway, but Dick seems to come to a decision then. He envelops Jason in a sudden hug which makes him tense up and clench his fists so he doesn’t reflexively punch him.

“Thank you,” Dick breaths, pressing his head against Jason’s shoulder. “You kept him alive. If it weren’t for you…”

“Don’t go thanking me yet,” Jason dismisses, pulling away. “He’s still in a fuckin’ coma.”

“But he could be dead,” Dick says, not seeming bothered by Jason’s rejection. “You saved him.”

Or got him shot in the first place.

As inaccurate as Dick’s sentiments might be, they do the job of diffusing the tension; everyone relaxes, and Alfred gets up from his chair to greet Jason. He doesn’t hug him, but in an uncharacteristic touchiness, squeezes his shoulder.

“I can only echo Master Richard’s sentiments,” he says, and then considers Jason. His mouth quirks in a smile at his hair. “And that is a look I have not seen in many years.”

It takes a moment before Jason understands, and then he shifts in something like embarrassment. “Yeah, well, it’s only temporary.”

“A shame. Do you know how many chemicals and carcinogens are in those awful dyes you continue to use?”

“I think at this point, cancer is the last thing that’s going to kill me,” Jason replies dryly.

“Should have known he was a ginger,” Steph mutters not quite under her breath. “It’s the lack of soul that should have given it away.”

“Want to run that one by me again?” Barbara asks lightly, but there’s a dangerous glint in her eyes.

“I already know you don’t have a soul, boss lady,” Steph replies. “Not with how many times you’ve sent me into Gotham’s sewers. You’re Beelzebub as far as I’m concerned.”

“Steph, knock it off,” Dick says.

“I’m just saying, it’s not beyond the realm of possibility. I mean, he was dead, who knows what kind of Hell STD he might have picked up.”

“He’s here to check on Tim, not pick a fight.”

“I don’t know, I could probably use one,” Jason replies thoughtfully.

Steph bares her teeth. “Me too.”

“You will do no such thing. Either of you,” Alfred pronounces, in the voice that even Batman doesn’t argue with. “Master Richard, perhaps you might update our new arrival as to Master Timothy’s condition? If only to stave off any further bloodshed?”

Jason and Steph both slump, chastised, but Dick is already nodding.

“The first two or three days were hard,” he says, motioning for Jason to come further into the room. “They woke him every few hours to check for responsiveness, and he was able to make some noise, which the neurologist said was a good sign. But then the third day the swelling got really bad. They were worried they’d have to go for another surgery to relieve the pressure, but it went down on its own.” 

“The neurosurgeon says we won’t know if that caused any other damage until he fully wakes up,” Barbara adds.

“The next day they reduced to sedation to see if he could breathe on his own, which he could,” Dick goes on. “They had to put him back on at the time, but Leslie says the fact he had the ability so early in the healing process is a good sign.”

“Then the day after, when they changed his bandages, he opened his eyes.”

“Was he okay?” Jason asks before he can stop himself, eyes flitting to Tim and back.

Dick shakes his head sadly. “He couldn’t see anything. The doctors tested that first thing, and nothing. He was trying to speak, though, and kept choking around the tube in his throat. They had to put him under again.”

“Shit.”

“That was last Tuesday. Friday they decided to check his breathing again, and that time they brought him in for a tracheotomy to give him a smaller ventilator tube. They want him to get used to breathing on his own again, slowly. Then on Sunday, they fixed the damage around his eye-socket.”

“As much as they could, I guess,” Steph adds with a sigh, settling back against Cass. “He’s going to have a scar there even if he gets reconstructive surgery.”

“Luckily we have no need to create a cover story for that scenario,” Alfred says. “The press has been airing the news about the shooting for two weeks now.”

“He has been shot. Twice. In the last year,” Cass points out. “Big news for them.”

“I think Vicki Vale might actually be crouched in a corner somewhere in the hospital live-tweeting the whole thing,” Steph complains.

“She is not,” Alfred snorts. “Master Bruce gave explicit orders that the hospital would be losing significant financial contribution if his family’s privacy was not prioritized at this time.”

“Must be nice to own the world, huh?”

“They downgraded his condition from critical to serious this Tuesday. We’ve all just been hanging out here in case he wakes up,” Dick concludes, and he seems exhausted after going through all of that.

“No one’s out there?” Jason asks, jerking his head toward the city beyond Tim’s room window.

“Everyone takes shifts. B and R were on tonight, but they should be back soo—”

“What is this?”

Everyone turns to face Bruce, who looms in the doorway, brows drawing downward; there’s some swelling in his jaw that even make-up can’t quite cover, no doubt a souvenir from tonight’s patrol. Behind him is a petite nurse and Damian, who peeks around his father’s bulk and imitates his scowl.

“Todd. What are you doing here?”

“Mr. Wayne, is there a problem?” the nurse considers the sudden tension in the room, and then frowns at Jason. “Young man, only family should be in here right now.”

“I was just leaving,” Jason says. It’s easier to run than to explain that, technically, he’s family, even if Jason Todd Wayne has been dead for years. He doesn’t belong here anyhow.

But then Dick, the fucker, opens his goddamn mouth.

“He is family,” he insists, shooting Bruce a warning look. “J—Todd lives with Tim. It’s not exactly a matter of public record, though, so we’d appreciate your discretion.”

The nurse blinks and then understanding passes across her face. “I apologize, I didn’t know you were partners. I’ve never seen you here in the past two weeks.”

There’s a note of reproach there.

Jason almost swallows his tongue at the implication, wanting to deny it immediately, but the look on her face is full-on judgment. And he kind of wants to put her in her place.

“Stationed in Syria. Manbij,” he tells her with a glare. “Only just got approved for leave.”

As expected, she flinches. “Oh. I see. Well, thank you for your service.”

And she makes herself scarce as if worried she’s going to put her foot in it again.

Damian snorts, unimpressed. “Really, Todd? Impersonating a veteran?”

“Fuck you, we’re all veterans in one way or another.”

“Language,” Alfred reminds, and motions them all inside, “And if we might take this discussion away from prying ears?”

Bruce lets himself be guided in, still watching Jason with the air of someone waiting for a bomb to go off. Jason shoots Dick a glare. “You couldn’t have come up with a better story?”

“It’s more believable than you being Bruce’s dead adopted son that got resurrected in a pit of green goo. Or were you hoping to make an Oliver Queen style comeback?”

Jason has nothing to say to that, but eventually manages an uncomfortable, “Point.”

“Mazel tov.”

And there’s a shadow of a grin there, an attempt at humor in the face of the dark situation they’ve all found themselves in.

Though he probably wouldn’t find it as funny if he knew the truth.

“Isn’t there something you want to say to Jason, Bruce?” Barbara prompts, tone hard.

There’s a pause, and then the older man’s frown eases the slightest bit.

“The life-saving measures you employed were integral to Tim’s survival.” His shoulders lose some of their tension, then. “Thank you, Jay.”

It’s on the tip of his tongue to acknowledge it, to say ‘you’re welcome’, and accept the praise. But the idea he might be responsible for Tim even being here keeps him from getting the words past his lips.

“I need a cigarette,” he says, and heads for the door.

“Wait, Jason, you don’t have to—” Dick begins.

“Cool your jets, Dickhead, I’m coming back,” he mutters. “I just need some air.”

“You know you just completely contradicted yourself, right?” Damian points out.

“You’re staying?” Dick asks, hopeful.

Jason has been lying, but there’s something desperate on Dick’s face. He remembers what Barbara said, about Dick needing his siblings right now. And the last time he outright rejected someone they ended up getting shot.

His eyes flick back to Tim, the image of blood and wide blue eyes flashing in his mind.

“Yeah,” he sighs and mentally postpones his plans. “Yeah, I guess so.”

⁂

It’s two more days of waiting before Tim wakes up.

Early Saturday morning, Dr. Scherr and Dr. Thompkins announce that his condition has once more been updated, from serious to good. It’s decided to wake him up to check his functionality.

The private room is big enough to accommodate everyone, but they hang back quietly against the wall as the doctors go about bringing him out of the coma. Bruce parks himself beside Tim’s bedside, holding his hand, while Alfred takes up space behind him as the nurse injects something into Tim’s IV.

It feels almost like everyone is holding their breath waiting for him to regain consciousness.

There are several minutes of silence before the eye that isn’t bandaged flutters and droops open. The blue is dulled by the medication, but the shade is exactly the one that’s been haunting Jason’s thoughts since the shooting.

“Good morning, Timothy,” Dr. Scherr says with a small smile. “You’ve been asleep for a while. Can you understand me?”

Tim groans.

“No, don’t try to speak. You have a tube right now that’s been helping you breathe. We’re going to take it out, in a moment. But for now, just blink once for ‘yes’, two for ‘no’. Understand?”

Tim’s eye droops closed and then slowly opens again.

“That’s great,” Scherr says, and then turns to Bruce. “He has some comprehension. This is an excellent sign.”

Bruce leans forward. “It’s good to see you awake, Tim. We’ve all been very worried.”

Tim’s brow wrinkles as he stares at Bruce, eye blank, and he squints into the distance at the group of people gathered in chairs along the wall.

“Do you remember what happened to you?” Dr. Thompkins prompts, drawing Tim’s attention to her. It’s a slow process, and she has to repeat the question once he focuses on her again.

Two agonizingly slow blinks.

Thompkins and Scherr look concerned, but continue on, asking a series of simple questions and asking if he can move certain parts of his body. There is an astounding number of negative responses that have them exchanging grim looks with Bruce.

“Tim, do you know who we are?” Bruce says at last, wary.

He receives a pained look in response like Tim is trying his best to recall, but the information isn’t there. At last, he blinks twice.

Alfred makes a sound like he’s been punched, Bruce’s expression darkens, and the others give varied noises of dismay.

He doesn’t remember anyone. Fuck, that’s not good.

Worse, Tim appears aware of this failing. The monitor on his heart is beginning to speed up, and his breathing becomes choked.

“What’s going on?” Dick asks, voice strained.

“Tim? Tim, are you okay?” Steph clamors. “Can we get you anything?”

“He has a tube down his throat, Brown, you really think he’s going to answer you?”

“Shut up, gremlin, it’s the thought that counts!”

“Perhaps you should all take a step back,” Thompkins suggests. “This is stressful enough for him.”

“He doesn’t recognize us,” Bruce states, having caught the same thing Jason did. “I want to see the chart. Exactly what parts of the brain were compromised?”

“This isn’t your company, Bruce, you can’t order people around, I don’t care how much money—”

“Would you guys knock it off?” Jason speaks up in irritation, taking a few steps forward. “You’re freakin’ him out.”

Tim’s good eye darts in the direction of Jason, and there’s a moment of non-recognition that hits him a little harder than he would have thought. Then Tim frowns, attention going to his right hand, where the fingers have begun to twitch.

And in front of everyone, his wrist suddenly explodes with swirling blooms of red and gold knotwork. The colors travel along his forearm and almost all the way up to his shoulder and beneath the cotton of his hospital gown.

Jason experiences the corresponding heat in his left as his own mark reacts and shoves his hand in his pocket, hoping no one notices.

No such luck.

While everyone else is focussed on Tim, the bedridden young man is zeroed in on Jason. His drugged gaze seemingly instantly drawn to the color, something like recognition flickers within his eyes. When he looks at Jason again, there’s an unmistakable glimmer of hope. His mouth parts, like he wants to speak. He can’t quite shape the words, though, beyond a raspy moan at the back of his throat.

It’s clear, though, what he’s trying to say, and everyone is now glancing from Tim to Jason in confusion. Except for Bruce, whose face is awash with conflicting emotions: shock, dismay, and concern.

Of course, he saw it.

“Is this true?” he asks Jason, eyes piercing.

“Is what true?” Dick wants to know; he’s confused and worried, and there’s a hint of protective anger there.

Everyone is staring at him now. Jason can’t help the sudden swell of panic, imitating a deer in the headlights as everyone in the family is suddenly laser-focused on him.

He could lie.

His mark is still covered, Tim’s the only one who saw it in full, Bruce is only guessing. Jason could deny it and back out of the room and not come back. Everyone might be happier if he did that, and it would keep the peace; keep them off his back about it.

But Tim looks so small and lost there, unable to recognize anyone there. Right now, he’s completely alone but for Jason.

And isn’t that fucked up?

He squares his shoulders, deciding that he’s gotten used to doling out the blunt honesty by now, hang the consequences. And for everything else’s he done, lying outright about being Tim’s soulmate is very different from pretending not to know. It’s wrong somehow, in the same way selling drugs to kids is wrong.

“Yeah,” he says, though the word cracks in his throat and he has to clear it, say it louder, “Yeah, I am.”

“Bullshit,” Steph says automatically, disbelief and anger evident in the snap of her eyes.

“Miss Stephanie Alfred chides, but it sounds vague, like a reflex instead of actual admonition.

And it’s that more than anything that gets Jason tugging off his glove and rolling up his sleeve. Everyone else can look at him however they want, but he doesn’t want Alfred to think he’s the type of person to joke or lie about this. 

There are murmurs from all around as everyone watches his mark blossom across his exposed skin, moving in the same manner as Tim’s—reaching out for its mate.

Tim’s mouth twitches, like he’s trying to smile, but can’t quite manage it. Then his eyes blink a few times, slowing, before closing completely.

“What’s happening?” Jason demands. Did he do something to mess him up again?

“It’s alright,” Thompkins says. “It’s a lot of energy for him to expend, even for short times, and the sedatives are still in his system. He’ll wake up sporadically until he kicks them.

“…Right.”

“Can we come back to the fact that Todd’s his soulmate?” Damian points out. “I think that’s more of a cause for concern.”

“I can’t believe it. You’re actually…” Dick falters, looking like he’s trying to reconcile bits of knowledge together like pieces of two different puzzles.

“I don’t understand,” the nurse says, having watched the exchange from her spot beside Tim’s IV stand. “You implied before that they lived together—how could you not know?”

“They just started seeing each other,” Barbara speaks up from her corner, only the tiniest hesitation before the lie. “I guess they didn’t want to tell us yet. I mean, Bruce and…Todd don’t get along.”

“Well, you had better get over that quickly,” the nurse states, frowning at Bruce. “Because as now, that young man has more right to be here than any of you.” She turns to face Jason. “Timothy’s under a lot of stress right now, you don’t want him picking up on yours too. You want anyone here gone, I’ll get them out of here.”

Jason can’t hold back the choked laughter at the idea of the four-foot-nothing nurse looking at Bruce like she’ll kneecap him if he questions her.

And wouldn’t that be a trip? Insisting everyone leave because by some ridiculous twist of fate he’s connected to Tim more than anyone else is? Normally, he’d get a kick out of the power he’s suddenly got.

Today, it feels hollow.

“No. No, they stay,” he says after a breath. “They’re his family.”

Another almost unnoticeable release of tension in the room, like they all expected him to kick them out after all.

I’m not that much of an asshole.

The nurse nods, eyes softening in something like respect or approval, and turns to leave. “Well, if there’s anything, you call me. Just ask for Judy”

When she’s gone, Jason forces him to look up at Bruce at last. The man’s expression is dark, looking more like Batman than Bruce Wayne, and it’s directed at him.

Should have taken my chance on the streets…

⁂⁂⁂

Next Chapter

This blog isn’t my primary, so my reblogs don’t show up very well. As such, please reblog the fic, otherwise not a lot of people are going to see it :)

<3 Violet

[aworldoffandoms]

Runaway - Chapter 4

Chapter 4 - Duty Calls

Pairing: Liam x MC [Ariel]

Word Count: 3, 857+/- (my words got away with me)

Rating: T 

Warnings: Minor swearing

Summary: Liam continues with his duties as king but stumbles upon information that brings him a step closer to getting the answers he seeks.

MASTERLIST

Tag list: @hopefulmoonobject @annekebbphotography @am-i-invisible777  @blznbaby @khakie4 @lauradowning29 @blackcoffee85 @captain-kingliamsqueen @moneyfordiamonds @super-secret-fandom-blog @jovialyouthmusic @zaffrenotes @ao719 @umccall71 @carabeth @furiousherringoperatortoad

Let me know if you want to be tagged!

Disclaimer: All rights reserved to Pixelberry and all characters belong to them. The plot is all mine.

A special shoutout to @ernestsinclairs ! Thank you for all your edits, suggestions and rewrites! You are honestly the best! :) 

The sun had chosen today of all days to hide behind the clouds as Liam exits the palace to head into the capital. Situations like a queen’s disappearance still didn’t exempt him of his duties. There was the grand opening of a new cancer wing of the Children's hospital, the annual yacht race preparations, the tedious task of approving foreign business licenses afterward. A little pang speared him in the heart as the first task strayed into his mind. The treatment had been set in a new healthcare scheme that Ariel had spearheaded as queen. One last act of the most benevolent person he knew. Families would be able to claim treatment on this scheme and be able to pay the treatment off within their price range. A win-win in any case. Liam would do anything to make it easier on the families going through turmoil with a sick child.

Liam knew he needed this, not only because Regina had urged him to, but for his people as well. He hadn’t been out of the palace for an official engagement in almost a month. His people were getting anxious and it didn’t help that the media was exacerbating the situation -- even bringing up Ariel’s disappearance more than twice in each broadcast.

In all instances, Liam had to agree with this statement, because, in some way, it was true. Although finding Ariel was his top priority, he feels his heart squeeze with guilt as he realizes that his people, his country, needs their King. He couldn’t afford them losing faith in him now.

Having a country which didn’t support him would be the final nail in his heart and his mental stability.

Ariel needs me also…

Liam had to prioritize in some way. This searching was becoming all-consuming and maybe, just maybe, it was starting to wear on him.

He was exhausted all the time. Less than 4 hours sleep, paired with those eight o’clock meetings every day and signing off on royal papers in between, while also searching for Ariel and he’s already on thin ice.

This was unhealthy and his people were starting to see the cracks.

Liam steels himself as he squares his shoulders while taking a deep breath and plasters the regal smile on his face he used for all royal occasions.

As soon as he steps out of the black SUV, the dulled voices of the crowd outside erupts into cheering and loud exclamations from the excited crowd at seeing their King again.

“Your Majesty! Your Majesty!”

“Oh my goodness! It’s the King!”

“I feel like we haven’t seen King Liam in ages. Does he look tired to you?”

That last comment hit a nerve but he pretends not to notice and keeps his carefully composed mask on his face as he continues his march towards the hospital.

He gives the crowd a smile and waves as he makes the rounds talking to a few commoners and nobles that have gathered for the cutting of the ribbon.

Bastien then guides him to the wing of the hospital where he is met with the Director of Medicine of the Cordonian Children’s Hospital. What was her name? Ingrid, probably.

Ingrid curtsies and raises her hand to Liam and gives him a smile. “Thanks for coming, your majesty. We are so honored to have you here.”

Liam smiles, reciprocating the gesture as he gives the director a firm handshake. “I am always happy to offer my support in any way possible that helps the children of Cordonia.”

Ingrid flashes him another warm smile.

“Well…if you’ll follow me I’ll give you a tour of the new wing and then you can cut the ribbon to commemorate its opening.”

Liam nods as he follows Ingrid with Bastien and the King’s Guard following close. The media trails behind them with a few cameras recording his journey through the hospital with avid interest.

The tour goes well and Liam offers a genuine smile to the cameras as he cuts the ribbon. On his way to the car, he stops and offers a few words to some kids that were clamoring to get a glimpse of the king. He had a few kind words to them until Bastien ushered him away. Duties in Valtoria awaited.

Hana and Maxwell had put all their energy into keeping that duchy alive and since both were on the Royal Council they had enough power to help. Liam had no qualms with that, given that he gave Ariel that duchy, to begin with.

Another royal engagement and another day without his queen. He almost wonders if this is what he’ll end up doing for the rest of his life. Taking it day by day, barely existing as the world moves on around him.

Liam sighs as he loosens his tie, stepping into the wardrobe that he once shared with his wife. His eyes glance to her side and another wave of pain spears through him at seeing it empty.

He swallows the lump in his throat. How can he still feel this way? Why can’t he move on? It was like he was stuck in mud or bound by chains and only Ariel had the means to get him out. She was the only one to lift him from this horrid, dark place that he’s been in ever since she left.

Liam turns around to step onto his side of their wardrobe and strips off his official daily regalia. As he shrugs off his jacket a flash of white catches his eye under the lights and his breath catches as he realizes that it was his royal wedding outfit. His heart thunders in his chest and his mind flits back to that day when Ariel’s face lit up as their eyes met from opposite sides of the cathedral. He wanted to run to her but knew it wasn’t the customary thing to do and instead marvelled at her beauty.

He runs his fingers down the sleeve of his wedding jacket, despite the pain he feels he can’t help but smile. He has to remember the good times he had with Ariel. He needs to have hope. That’s all he has left.

As he turns to go into the bathroom, his fingers catch on something as they were still trailing down the front of his jacket and he snaps his head to his white tux and furrows his brow.

What could that possibly be?  

Liam’s brow creases even further as he steps closer and digs into the front pocket of his jacket. His fingers latch on to something hard and paper-like. He lifts it from its confines and finds a folded piece of paper.

His eyes narrow as his mouth twists in confusion.

“What is this?” Liam mumbles as he flips it over.

Something nags at him and his stomach clenches when he realizes that this is another letter as he finds his name on top of it in the unmistakable cursive script of his wife.

Why would Ariel write me another note?

Liam’s heart almost stops. A new note? She honestly couldn’t break his heart more than she already has? Her words in her goodbye letter still haunt him.

He gulps as he slowly opens the note with shaking hands. His pulse increases when he finds his name at the top of the note, but it patters off in confusion when he finds a cluster of letters underneath it.

***

B TF WHBGC MABL YHK PHNK IKHMXVMBHG. 

PAXG RHN WXVBIXK

MABL, FTR RHNK CHNKGXRZ MTDX RHN MH FHLVHP  – KHNY TGLPXKL PBEE UX MHXKE

UX LTYX, FR EHOY

***

I am doing this for your protection.  When you decipher this, may your journeys take you to Moscow - your answers will be there.

Be safe, my love

***

What in god’s name is this?

They were all a jumble of words, though their meaning was obviously forthcoming. Something so important and astounding that it could blow this whole investigation of trying to find his queen wide open. As a king…should he know what this means?

Maybe he came across a topic like this in his studies as a teen, but being a teen and a prince at the same time, he’d followed in Leo’s example just once, wanting reckless adventure and wallowing in luxury. His education was important, but he found himself bored with Machiavellian theory and fork placement for five hours a day when all he wanted was to sneak out and play maze tag with his friends and brother.

Right now, he wants to kick his younger self.

One thing was for sure…he needed to get this piece of paper deciphered and the only person who knew how to at least try to understand that paper was Regina. Surely she would be willing to help - this was her daughter-in-law and the chance for a grandchild after all.

Liam wants to get to it straight away but as he glances at his watch, the time had simply flown by. Regina would most definitely be asleep, and she didn’t particularly like to be waked.

He’d ask her in the morning, he thought to himself as he felt a yawn overtake him.

Stepping in front of the vanity, the contents of the note still perplexing him as he finishes, dries and gets ready for bed.

Liam closes his eyes, the letters dancing behind his closed lids.

His gut told him that those jumbles of words were important. Hadn’t Ariel been the one to teach him that? It had to be a test. But…why did it take him two years to find it?

That suit jacket had hung on his shoulders for so many times since her disappearance…how did it just show up now?

Could it be possible that Ariel had planned this in her own way?

Liam’s face lights up in a smile, even as sleep starts to come for him. To this day, Ariel still surprises him. Her unpredictability and decisiveness always manages to surprise him. Damn, she was a force. And he loves her more for it.

I miss you, Ariel.

Liam’s eyes prickle with tears, the cloud of sorrow almost drowning him again as the remains of his broken heart melt on the floor as it calls for his life back.

Liam turns to his side and splays his hand out on Ariel’s side of the bed. He sighs. He wishes. He yearns and he aches and desires for her to be beside him so he can cradle her in his arms, sink into her scent of freesia and strawberries.

Liam drifts off into a deep slumber with the face of his beloved behind his eyes, hoping wherever she was, she was thinking of him too.

***

“Breaking News just coming out from Sweden...Prince Carl Philip has been confirmed missing by King Carl Gustav and Queen Silvia. The prince was last seen out with friends before disappearing after a royal engagement. The prince’s security detail was reportedly neutralized.

The Swedish Royal family has released a statement to the public:

“We are utterly distraught at the prospect of our son, Prince Carl Philip, missing. Our security staff and national police are looking into his disappearance. If anyone saw anything last night, please ring the royal press office at 9398-2345-5443 or email at royalpressoffice@swedenroyal.com

We thank you for all your thoughts and prayers at this tough time and we hope against hope that Prince Carl Philip will return to us soon.”

______________________________________________________________

“Prince Carl Philip was out celebrating his third wedding anniversary at the Villa Solbacken.

This news comes as a number of other royals have disappeared throughout Europe. Queen Letizia of Spain went missing three months ago. Today marks the one year anniversary since Prince Amedeo of Belgium also went missing. It’s been two and a half years since Queen Ariel of Cordonia vanished into thin air. Should the rest of Europe be worried?

Royalists like to think so. However, we cannot jump to conclusions.

Please remember that if you have seen or heard anything about Prince Carl Philip, let the royal press office know on the number on the screen.

Until then, I’m Kerri Constance, goodnight.”

“Seriously, Liam? You’re watching this shit?” Drake says as he arches his eyebrow at his best friend.

Liam gives Drake an exasperated scowl, his eyes still trained on the screen.

“No, Drake. I’m not watching this shit for fun. I’m watching it for a reason. The Prince of Sweden has gone missing.”

Drake’s eyes widen as he settles beside the king in the palace drawing room. The TV was blaring the six o’clock news, the anchors eagerly jumping on the story of the newest missing royal.

Liam stares intently at the screen and Drake just watches him for a minute, seeing the cogs turning in his mind. He was thinking and Drake liked to think that Ariel was on his mind. After all, why wouldn’t it be?

“They have been running this story all day. They’ve mentioned Ariel’s case a few times already.”

Drake nods as he leans forward in his seat, as he glances up at the TV listening to the anchorwoman talk about the missing prince and other royals that have been vanishing over the last few months.

“Have other royals been disappearing too?” Drake inquires.

Liam nods as he leans back against the couch, ticking off all the missing people on his fingers.

“They have. The Crown Prince of Denmark, Queen Letizia of Spain, the Belgian Prince, and Princess Marguerite of Monaco. She was at a summit for international relations with country leaders at the Royal Palace there. She went to freshen up, never came back. They’re . . . understandably upset over there.”

Damn! That many royals missing over a few months? And all of them in Europe? 

That put a bad taste in Drake’s mouth. 

Something didn’t feel right.

“Have you had any luck with the prisoners?”

Liam finally tears his eyes away from the television to give Drake his undivided attention. An actual smile seems to play on his lips, although faint.

“Yes. Under careful interrogation by Bastien and his men, they have managed to uncover plots that they were going to implement if the kidnapping was successful. One was using past indiscretions against us to blackmail into abdicating. They also got some information about some offshore accounts. Bastien did some digging and all of these link to many places in Europe and America.”

Drake nods, their American contact's words straying back into his mind. Nazario was his name, was it not? He’d be valuable in the future.

Liam sighs, his expression grave.

“I have a feeling that The Sons Of Earth have been funded by these people. And it seems like they are pretty powerful people considering that none of the money has been found anywhere else. Anton was sneaky. He went undetected for months as Ariel’s press secretary...so I wouldn’t put it past him to somehow get away with this.”

Liam glances down at the paper in his lap, fingering it for a few beats before he hands it over to Drake.

“What’s this?” Drake asks, his furrowing his eyebrows in concentration, the deciphering of the code now at play.

“A note I found in the pocket of my wedding tux.”

Drake’s eyes widen as he stares at Liam, then glance down at the note again. “What? How did it get in there? It’s been nearly three years since your wedding.”

Liam shrugs, exhaling heavily. “I have no idea. Ariel seems to have had everything under control even before she left. My guess is it’s a code or something.”

Drake glances at the note. The letters swam before his eyes almost teasingly, beckoning him to come and decipher them. But after a few minutes, the only thing he’d gleaned was that it was a sentence of some sort. What a pity that was. 

Drake leans forward on the couch as his mind runs, his mind latching onto some information he gathered when flitting through a Cordonian history book during one of his many journeys through the palace when a ball was underway. “I swear it was in a book...but I remember you mentioning something when we were kids...when that warrior Queen that founded the five kingdoms would use ciphers and hidden messages to send her allies details of where she was when she was in exile? Could this be something like that?”

At Drake’s words, Liam freezes, his back straightening in firm realization.

“Drake,” is all he says, the word pushed out like the dying breath of a man gasping for air.

Drake’s heart beats heavily, his stomach twisting in concern for his friend. Liam hadn’t stopped staring at him for a good two minutes.

“Uh...yes, Liam?”

Without a word, Liam snatches the cipher from Drake’s palm and stands up, charging out the door and stumbling into the main atrium.

“Liam, where are you going?”

Liam glances back at Drake, his eyes alight with the determination he saw only a few weeks ago when they were all gathered in his office.

Liam smiles. “I’m going to Regina to get this cipher figured out. She has experience with these. She had to decipher some letters my father would get in the mail. And then…”

“And then... what?” Drake says, Liam’s animated state disconcerting as his actions were almost robotic in nature.

“And then we find Ariel.”

Liam doesn’t say another word and continues on his way, Drake following after him at a brisk jog, still trying to catch the man’s attention.

“Liam...wait! Are you sure this is the right way to go?”

Liam glances behind his shoulder, addressing his friend as he takes the gilded steps up to the third floor two at a time. 

“Of course I am, Drake. Just have a gut feeling that’s all. I have no indication how long this,” Liam pauses, raising the folded piece of parchment up in the air. “...has been sitting in my jacket for. For all I know, it was there the whole time and I was too dense to notice it! It was right in front of my eyes this whole time!”

Liam takes a deep breath, his pulse rising in anger, his fists clenching beside him. He was angry. Angry at himself for being so consumed by his pain that he didn’t see the little details. At Ariel for sending him on this wild goose chase. At this whole situation. He should be living happily ever after with Ariel and here he was trying desperately to hold on to anything that could give him that.  

Add that to the fact that European royals are going missing and, deep down, Liam had no idea what was happening.

How could he be so foolish? How could he be so blind, so overcome by his pain that he couldn’t look at his wedding tux until nearly three years later? What kind of lurid joke was this? Had Ariel intentionally put that there? Would she be angry at him that he had taken nearly three years to find it?  

Liam sighs as he glances at Drake.

“What else can I do? Bastien has spent the last two weeks interrogating the captured prisoners. This may be the last bit of evidence we have. It could be what breaks the case and we have a solid lead.”

Drake stares at his closest friend and his heart tightens as he sees the light he saw earlier faltering in those blue eyes.

He couldn’t see his friend falling back into those old, destructive patterns again.

Drake sighs, nodding in resignation.

“Okay, let’s do this. Whatever answers we get from Regina - I’m with you all the way.”

Liam’s mouth lifts up in a winsome smile as his hand comes to Drake’s shoulder as he tightens his hold in gratitude. “Thank you, Drake.”

Drake shrugs. “All good.”

Liam chuckles at his friend's noncommittal answer as he knocks on the door three times. The pounding in his ears grows louder by the second until it’s replaced by another noise - the pattering of feet behind the door. A voice calls out, and Liam answers as he steps through the door.

“Regina? It’s Liam.”

Regina glances up and her grey eyes slightly widen as she catches the sight of both of them, disheveled from their trek up the stairs, Liam still slightly breathless.

“Liam? What is the matter? Is there something you wish to discuss with me?”

Liam nods. “Yes, there is Regina.”

Liam lifts the paper, Regina giving it the careful appraising look she was so famous for. “What is that?”

Liam takes a seat in front of Regina and passes over the note with the incomprehensible jumble of letters written on it.  Regina stares at it, before opening what was given to her, her fingers almost hesitant as she does so.  

Liam stares at his step-mother with intensely, his eyes scanning her face for any twitch or change in expression.

So, when he sees her eyes widen and a gasp escapes her lips, panic sets in. “What? What is it, Regina?”

Regina glances up at him, her eyes wide with shock. “Liam…”

Liam grits his teeth as he says, “What is it, Regina? Did you decipher it?”

It surprised Liam that it only took Regina a few minutes to read the cipher, but he shouldn’t be so surprised about that considering that she did it for his father all the time. He still kicked himself for not studying them in greater detail.

Regina sighs as she gestures in vain towards the letter in a futile attempt to explain its meaning.

“This cipher isn’t complex in the least but what it says is rather direct.”

Liam gives Regina a pleading look. “And does it entail exactly?”

Regina sighs, raising her gaze to his, her words blunt and piercing.

“It says the answers you seek are in Moscow. Ariel left to protect you. But from what?” Regina shrugs, as she shakes her head. “I’m not quite sure. But, I’m guessing it’s something big if it entails her leaving you and Cordonia behind.”

“Could the Sons of Earth be more involved in Ariel’s disappearance than we first thought?”

“As much as I don’t want to believe it -- I think they are. If we find the answers in Moscow…maybe the real reason that Ariel left may be revealed.”

Liam groans as he stands and runs his hands through his hair again, the frustration settling back into his shoulders.

He finally turns to Regina for a faint smile.

“Thank you so much, Regina. I will keep you updated on what we do next. You have helped me out immensely.”

Regina smiles and then turns back to the book she was reading, a quiet signal that the conversation was over.

Drake follows Liam out of the room, his voice ringing a little too loudly for his liking in the deserted palace halls.

“Liam. What do we do now?”

Liam glances to Drake, his eyes set in steely resolve, his jaw set.

“I’m not wasting any more time. We are going to Moscow. Tonight.”

[littleredroseonthevalley]

Dejame

Summary: Wildest Dreams sequel. In the wake of Nathan’s wedding, Emily decided to pick up and leave the city. So many miles away, at a bar on a border town, will she find someone new?

Rating: M -  Not suitable for children or teens below the age of 16 with non-explicit suggestive adult themes, references to some violence, or coarse language.

Notes: Here we are. Two-hundred followers, which is 199 more than I originally expected. Thanks to all of you, and a special thanks to @wickedgypsymoon, who joined the rank as my two-hundredth. Thank you!

Let’s get to business, shall we?

The inspiration for this fanfic is Dejame, from the Argentinean pop band Miranda! Yes, they style themselves with the exclamation. As this is a Latin American song, I placed a few references to the continent, and Argentina in particular, throughout the story. So, yeah, that’s where those are from.

Without further ado, enjoy.

It was sometime around three in the morning, in some lonely highway, right on the state line between New Hampshire and Maine. From the side of the road, it was possible to see the summer moon reflected on the calm waters of the Atlantic Ocean.

Emily was deadbeat tired, driving non-stop ever since she crossed the Martha’s Vineyard ferry. Her initial intent was to return to her shitty apartment in Boston, but when she got to the injunction, she just drove past, kept going north.

Finally, she reached Portsmouth, NH and ran out of gasoline. As the nearest station she could find already closed for the night, she decided to go over to a small pub that seemed to be open and running, still.

As she crosses into the threshold, she notices why: there was an ocean of men in navy blue Air Force suits, merrily shouting and singing drunken songs with long neck bottles of beer.

The thought of it being a private event did cross the redhead’s mind, but she dismissed it. She was much too tired, and depressed, to leave without even trying to argue a case favourable for her getting something to drink.

So the still-finely-dressed woman slithered her way through the heavy mountains of muscles that passed as soldiers, mostly inconspicuously. Reaching the bar, she raises a finger and the barman slugs tiredly over to her.

“A Bud, if you still have one.” She asks.

The middle-aged man bends down, places a bottle in front of her, and says, rather snotty: “There you go.”

“Thanks.” The woman gives him a weak smile, out of sympathy. “What’s going on here?”

“It’s the air base in town.” He says, gruff. “They’re going out on summer leave and come here for a last hurrah before heading home. Last call’s been hours ago and there’s nothing that gets them outta here! Anyways, if you need anything else, just call.”

“Thanks.” She smiles once more. “I’m sorry for all the rowdiness.”

He gives her an acknowledging nod and walks over to yet another customer demanding booze.

The clock goes on, while she admires the little bubbles and the cold fog on the muddy-coloured glass of the bottle. She does not know how long it been, until such time a man slides on the stool next to her.

“Hello.” He greets, amicably. He was tall and blond, as muscular as any of the men in the perimeter are, but with a naiveté of sorts on his light blue eyes, something that screamed boy-next-door.

“Hey.” She greets back.

“You’re not from around here.” He stated, clearly not meaning it as a question.

She smirks slightly with the question, amused. “What gave it away? The accent? The dress? Those stupid clasps on my head?”

He shook his head. “No, no, nothing like that. Just that you’re kinda crashing our party, and the locals try to avoid the military people.”

The woman could not help but laugh softly. “Coulda fooled me. But, anyways, I’m from Michigan, originally, but I live in Boston these days.”

“The Great Mitten!” He exclaims, well humoured. “Detroit?”

“Grand Rapids.” She corrects, and then asks, “Yourself?”

“Not a local, either, but I’m closer to home than you.” His grin shines on the dim lighting of the bar. “I’m from Cherryfield, Maine. A stone throw from Canada.”

“Cool.” She responds, not really knowing what to say. “You got anyone waiting for you over there?”

“You mean, like a girlfriend or something?” The blond asks, capisciously. “No, I’m a single man. Though, my mom’s still up there. I’m going over there to see her in the morning.”

“And your dad? Out of the picture?” She asks, bluntly.

The man did not seem to mind. “Yeah. He walked on us when I was little. And how about you? What’s waiting for you in Michigan?”

“A mother, and a bunch of busybody aunts and their harlot daughters.” She responds with a grimace. “I also don’t have a dad, though mine died when I was little.”

“Only child?” He follows up.

She nods. “Yup. You?”

“Two siblings.” He responds, with some wear. “AJ’s at San Francisco. She’s a freelance visual novel artist. And there’s Kyle. He’s a surfer.”

“Aren’t you guys from Maine?” The redhead asks, legitimately confused how a surfer could rail from such a chilly place.

“He moved to Hawaii for college.” It was the simple answer. Trying, and failing, to disguise his discomfort, the man asks: “I’ve just realized we never introduced ourselves.”

“Then by all means.” She extended him her hand. “I’m Emily Harper.”

“I’m Christopher Powell, but you can call me Chris.” He took her hand in his much larger one. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“Likewise.” She checked the sleeves of his shirt and salutes him slop and mockingly. “Captain Powell.”

“At ease, Cadet Harper.” He responds, in equal humour. “So, what brings you to New Hampshire?”

“Aw, man.” Emily says, self-depreciating. “How long do you have?”

The dirty-blond-haired man looked at his watch. “My bus leaves at five, so I’d say about one hour and a half.”

“Let’s hope it’s time enough, right?” She winked and threw him a smirk.

He chuckles. “That bad, huh?”

“You have no idea.” The woman says, in all seriousness. “Well, it all began last New Year’s…”

And so, Emily told Chris everything that had happened between her fateful encounter with Nathan Sterling to her crashing his wedding earlier that night. The man listened patiently to her tale, making appropriate interruptions for comments and elucidations.

“Now I’m not sure what exactly I want to do with my life. I’m pretty sure I don’t have a job anymore. I don’t want to go back to Boston, never liked it, really, but I’m on the fence about Michigan, too. Perhaps I need somewhere new, to start fresh, you know?” She finishes the tale. Checking the clock, she cheerily says, “Looks like I wasted exactly one hour and fifteen minutes of your life.”

“I had fun.” He says, earnest. “Deployed life doesn’t allow for good conversation, and you’re a good storyteller. I’m hung up on every word.”

The redhead laughs, self-conscious. “Don’t flatter me.”

He raised his arms in rendition. “I’m telling the truth. In fact, I want to make you a deal.”

“Hm?” The woman nods for him to proceed.

“Cherryfield isn’t far. It’s a few hours on the U.S. 1. Why don’t you take me there on your car? I’ll pay for your gas, and you get to be somewhere you’ve never been before. If, by the time we arrive, you decide to go back to Boston or to Michigan, I’ll help you out, too.”

She let out a wide grin. “Let’s do it.”

It was a fair weather day in Maine. The sun shone, and people could walk the sinuous and forested streets of Cherryfield with sleeveless tops and open shoes, and most preferred such, so they would soak in the rare sunlight that shone on that part of the world.

Emily sat alone with a book on her lap on the lonely red brick house that served as that little New English town’s library.

Ever since the last librarian’s retirement, some six months earlier, the place had been closed. It was an understatement to say the town council had been only too glad to have a Northwestern English graduate like Emily to take the job.

The pay was not anything to be proud of, but it came with a small loft and utilities paid. As long as it paid for the food, clothing and a health insurance, it was more than good enough.

That afternoon had been quiet, as usual. The only visitors she had up so far was a couple of schoolchildren looking for help on their summer assignments and a lady after her book club’s weekly title.

It left her plenty of time for leisure reading, cleaning and organizing the dusty shelves of the library and, most importantly, for her poetry writing. It was the greatest progress she made ever since moving to Boston, and certainly her new material was of a higher quality than whatever she had written since college.

On that particular part of day, the redhead had put on some music on her phone while she cleaned and repaired a pair of shelves on the far back of the library, which held several volumes in Maine history, as much so as the books were mostly history themselves.

“Déjame que te comparta, todo que lo siento dentro de mi alma.” She sang along the lyrics when the front door’s bell rung, signalling the arrival of a patron.

It was Chris, and he held a salad bowl neatly wrapped. “Hey, Emily.” He greets with a wide smile. “Nice show you’re having there.”

She smirked. “Glad you like it.”

“What is it, though? Never heard it before.”

A sad smile ran through Emily’s features quickly, before she supresses it and responds: “It’s Argentinian pop music. I grew up on a minority neighbourhood in Grand Rapids.”

“Argentina, huh? That’s nice.” He attacks her from behind, placing his hands on her waist, turning her facing him dead in the eye and dipping her very low, on a quasi-90º angle. “Land of romance. And tango.”

She laughs and slaps his arm. “Let me go, Casanova! Sneakers and t-shirts are hardly tango-appropriate.”

The man lets his ‘dance partner’ stand up straight and, with a wicked turn of lips, says: “Well, I think the one thing we were short of was a rose.”

“Those are usually provided by the gentleman.” The girl makes a slight swirl with her hand on her red hair and then continues, “What brings Captain Powell to my humble establishment?”

He held up the bowl. “I come bearing gifts. I’m starting to think my mom likes you better than me.”

“You brought me into your home.” She shrugs. “You should’ve had thought it through beforehand. It was pretty clear I’d steal your family and murder you from day one.”

“Of course, a grave oversight on my part. Please be kind when chopping my body into pieces before dumping me into the river.”

“I’ll think about it.” She winks. “What’s on the menu?”

“It’s chicken alfredo. She’s been testing that cookbook you got her. I don’t know whether to thank you or damn you.” He taps his still-hard-rock stomach for emphasis.

The woman rolls her clear eyes. “If ya gaining weight, it’s you who is lazing around. Go for a run, for Christ’s sakes! The weather is mighty nice for it.”

“I would, but it’s oh, so boring on my own.” He complains. “Would you like to come with? You didn’t see anything on Maine yet except from the town hall, the library and my house.”

She fishes a piece of chicken and plops it into her mouth before responding: “I thought that was it.”

“Very funny, big city girl.” Chris teases. “Come on, tomorrow morning?”

“Fine, but if you rush ahead on your big, G.I. Joe calves, I am taking away your library card.” She points an accusing finger at him. “And I’ll have a mighty good time slashing it into pieces.”

Chris takes a deep breath, filling his expansive lungs with the clean air of the Northeast. Smiling with the placidity of the taiga forestry, he stops for a moment so he could enjoy the feeling of being home, a feeling yet not made redundant by the two weeks he already spent at Cherryfield.

He was thrown back into what he was presently doing when a strained, woman’s voice called from down the trail.

“Oh, God!” She complains. “How long did you say until we reach the top again?”

“We’re close. It’s just after those trees.” He points to a pair of pines a few steps in front of him. “C’mon, Emily, it’s just a teeny, tiny hill.”

“What does the military feed you?” The woman wonders, rather bitterly. “I can’t. I really can’t! If I take another step, my foot is going to fall off.”

“We’ve walked greater distances over the week.” The blond points out.

Emily huffs. “I remember I whined quite a lot in all of those occasions. Something on the lines of ‘how a man who spends most of his time piloting an aircraft isn’t a fat slob’, perhaps?”

The man chuckles. “Yeah, how could I forget?”

“Go, Chris, go on without me!” She dramatically plops on the overgrowth. “Finish your hike, walk away into the sunset! I’ll be fine here with my calluses for company.”

Chris rolled his eyes and walks over to the girl. He kneels down and says: “Hop on.”

“What?” She shot him a puzzled look.

“Hop on.” He repeats. “We’re so close, I’m not letting you give up now.”

“You can’t carry me!” Her pitch rises in disbelief.

“We’re going to have to see about that, ain’t we?” He grinned, cockily. “I’m not going to drop you. Scout’s honour.”

“Were you a scout?”

“Not really, but I’m on the Air Force. Big-ass jet planes should trump needlework and pinecone arts and crafts, right?”

She looked wearily at him once more, and finally complied wordlessly. Chris smirked and navigated through the last leg of the trail until the forest clears into a small cliff that overlooked Millbridge and Narraguagus Bay.

The late-morning sun shone on the ocean water, reflecting placidly on the dark azure wideness. The small town on the seaside was far from bustling, as it was Sunday, but the stillness made it seem like a model train station underneath a Christmas tree.

Chris places Emily down gently on a rock where she could sit up straight. The Midwestern woman, however, was marvelled with the scenery.

“Chris…” She breathes out. “This is so beautiful! How did you know it was here?”

He shrugs lightly. “This is a small town. When I was a teen, I didn’t have much to do on weekends besides hanging around the town square with the other kids, so I thought I ought to put the time into something productive, so I explored the trails on the woods around here.”

“And you never got lost?” The woman wonders.

“Nah, I had a map, and most trails are marked.” The blond man points to the path downhill. “It’s not much different from walking down a street.”

“What was like? To grow up here, I mean.”

He scoffs in good-nature. “What’s that about now?”

“I just noticed that I’ve told you all about my life back in the Midwest and all the Nathan crap but I don’t know much about your past.” She weighs. “Your mom wouldn’t show me a single embarrassing baby photo!”

“I don’t think she has any.” The man stated, a little unfazed by it all. “As for not telling you anything, I guess I don’t have many interesting stories. I never crashed a wedding, I haven’t dated a People magazine’s eligible bachelorette, nor have I moved across the country to pursue a writing career.”

“It doesn’t mean I’m not interested on what you have to say.” The redhead counters.

Chris sighs. “Fair enough. What would you like to know?”

“Everything.” Emily says, rather excitably. “What was like when you were a child? What do you like to eat? Have you ever been in love? Why have you gone into the military? Have you ever robbed a bank?”

He shook his head. “Nope, never robbed a bank, sorry to disappoint.”

“How sad.” The girl laughs it off.

“As for my childhood, well, my dad was a truck driver. He worked for a shipping company here in Millbridge.” He pointed at the compound, on the other side of town. “He was on the road a lot, so it was mainly my mom and I.”

“What ‘bout your siblings?” She wonders.

“AJ and Kyle are close in age to each other, but I was eight when AJ was born. And, anyways, my dad bailed on us when Kyle was seven months old, so I guess it’s been mom and I for most of it.”

“How old were you when your dad left?” Emily asks, on a low, tactful voice.

“A little over ten.” He responds, grim.

“That’s rough.” She says with a sad smile on her face and a comforting hand on his arm. “My dad died while I was in college and it was hard enough. It must been terrible to lose yours so young.”

“Not really.” The blond says, chilly. “He was just this guy who would stop by once every two months. He was never there. I know this sounds rather terrible, but I didn’t miss him all that much when he was gone.”

The redhead woman smiles kindly at him. “You don’t have to feel sorry about that, you know? If your dad was lousy, then you’re not obliged to miss him. I wish your dad were a good man and that he stayed, but that’s because I wanted for you to have that experience, not that just because the man is your father, he’s any less of a dick.”

Chris gave her a thin, constrained smile in recognition. “Thanks, Emily. Anyways, where were we?”

“You were telling me about your rebellious years.” She shot him a lopsided smirk, full of mirth and wickedness.

The blond scoffed. “I had no such thing. High school and I was more of the dorky wallflower. The basement of the social totem, wallflower.”

“I have trouble believing that.” She states. “In fact, I see three pairs of muscle right about now further my point.”

He snorted. “That’s the work of the military. Well, that and a part-time I took junior year. Up until then, I was thin and scrawny.”

The redhead laughs and throws back her head. “Fine, whatever you say, Mr. Wet Dream.”

“I’m serious!” The Air Force official defended, his pitch a little high due to the stifling laughter that resonated through the otherwise silent forest.

“You also didn’t tell me anything juicy.” A thin, pale finger pokes him on the tip of the nose. “Tell me ‘bout your girlfriends, and make it saucy.”

“I only had one. Sorry to disappoint.” He responded.

“Tell me about her.” The librarian nudges.

He had a nostalgic smile on his face. “Her name was Nicole. She was the head cheerleader and my boss’ granddaughter.”

“The Geek and the Princess?” Emily scoffed. “How MTV-esque.”

“I have to admit it’s kind of a cliché, yeah.” He nods, slightly humoured. “We dated throughout our senior year. Come summer, though, she broke up with me. She was heading to Orono for college and I was to stay in Cherryfield, I was no football star or super genius to have a scholarship and I couldn’t afford tuition.

“She said college would be a new experience for her and she didn’t want to string me along.” He could not contain a pained grimace. “I know, though, that the truth is that she didn’t want to be with someone who was going nowhere in life. The following week, I enlisted on the Air Force, and that’s that.”

“What. A bitch.” Emily deadpanned. “Where’s her now? Please tell me she flunked out and has to flip burgers for a living.”

Chris shook his head. “Nothing like that. She met a guy from Presque Isle freshman year, really nice sort. Last I heard, they’re engaged to be married.”

“Twenty dollars say he’s gay.” Her eyes glinted on nastiness. “Nicole’s a beard, I’m sure of it.”

“You don’t even know the guy.” He points out.

She shrugs. “Don’t need to. If he’s willing to swear in front of the community, a minister and God to spend forever and then some with Nicole, either he’s retarded or gay.”

“Whatever you say.” He smirks at her. “Anyways, I’m starving. What you packed for lunch?”

“Oh, right! Pass me my backpack.” She said and the man complied. “Straight from Latin America, another devious concoction of mine to make you fat. Tres Leches cake!”

Emily stood in the middle of Augusta bus station with a tickle on the side of her clear right eye, the spot where a tear threatened to form and spill through her cheek.

The place was busy and loud, an expected scene on a summer Sunday, as people leave the vacationing bliss of Maine for their own grey, stressful lives in the south.

“Thanks again for driving me here, Emily.” Chris said, with the pitiful attempt of a cheerful smile. It ended up looking more like a grimace.

“No problem. I wanted to say goodbye here rather than back in Cherryfield.” She rubs her eye softly.

After a rather long leave, some twenty-something days, Chris was summoned again at the base in New Hampshire, and Emily drove him to Augusta, where the military had set up a bus, serving the enlisted from northern Maine. Having finished his pilot training the month before, he was to be sent into combat.

After a rather long moment of silence, Emily says: “God, I hate those things.”

“Goodbyes?” He asks, kindly.

She nods. “And geopolitics.”

“Geopolitics?” He asks, confused.

The young woman shrugs. “What I’m blaming over the fact you’re going to war.”

The blond chuckled softly. “I’m not going to war. I’m shuffling soldiers between Ramstein and Bagram. I won’t be seeing much action, it’s more like a very exclusive airline.”

The woman huffs. “Well, excuse me for worrying about you. I promise you it won’t happen again.”

Chris let out a vociferous laughter. “Don’t be offended. I’m even a little flattered with your concern, but don’t waste energy on it. I’m going to be fine.”

The young redhead cannot help herself but to let out a sigh. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.” He smiled confidently. “So much so, I’m willing to give you a keepsake, so that I’ll have to come back to get it.”

“Are we really going to do that? Because if you die anyway, I’m throwing whatever you give me in the river out of spite.” She nudges an accusing finger on his toned, stone-hard chest.

The blond smiles. “Yes, we are doing it, and please cooperate. You’re ruining the mood.”

He takes a step towards the young woman, places a calloused finger softly under her chin, and bobs her head upwards. With the shiny green on his eyes peering deep into hers, he closes the distance between their faces and gives her one of those toe-twirling kisses you see at the end of a romantic comedy movie.

However, it is fair to say, it was not the end of a movie. They usually end at a rekindling of a relationship, a meeting on a busy airport or at a ‘Happily Ever After’-kind of wedding.

This was nothing of that.

Much the opposite. This was a separation, and that tone peered from the edges of that kiss. Which, despite being very much pleasurable for both parties involved, lost a nickel of its glamour, its momentum.

Nevertheless, the two of them broke apart breathless. Chris seized the silent moment of his companion and says: “Emily, being with you this last month was one of the best times of my life. You make me feel like I could do anything, like I mattered more than anybody else in the world. I love that feeling, I love being with you, and I could very well see myself falling in love with you in the future.”

At a first moment, Emily’s lips were pressed together on a thin line of incredulity and appraisal. As he went on, it gradually dissolved into a smile, and finally, on a scandalous laughter.

It wasn’t the reaction Chris expected, and his face turned into a grimace. Then, the young woman pressed her hands on each side of his face and kissed him sloppily.

“Oh, God, that was so cheesy! I loved it!” She said and kissed him again. “I can see myself loving you in the future, too.”

He chuckled. “Good. But don’t laugh next time I tell you I like you. It’s not much of an ego boost.”

She smirked. “Duly noted, sweetheart.”

Afterwards, the joyful mood dissolved back into melancholy when Emily hugged the man’s broad frame as tight her puny arms could hold him.

“I’m going to miss you.” She whispered against his chest.

“I’m going to miss you, too.” He whispered back.

With that, they break apart and Chris walks over to his bus. As he boarded, he takes a last look behind and there she was, red hair and short stature, looking teary-eyed at his retreating frame.

She waves at him, which he responded with a small, rather depressive show of hands.

He will come back, of that much he was certain. What was still left to be undecided was how much it would pain him until he does.

The snow fell softly yet constantly over the small town of Cherryfield, Maine, forming a thick white carpet over the land and the houses.

It was Christmas night. Late enough for most children to be asleep, dreaming about the visit of Santa Claus, while parents spread the gifts under the tree and gorged on cookies and milk.

On a red brick house, near the school and the town hall, Emily sat alone, nursing a cup of hot cocoa. She gazed through the window, admiring the falling of snow from the sky.

She peered at her open laptop on her bed. She wanted to check and see if Chris had sent her something that night.

The two of them had been communicating via e-mail, mainly, ever since he was deployed overseas. But as of late, their exchange was spotty at best. The last message she received was about a week ago and it concerned her. She knew internet connection in Afghanistan was hardly worth mentioning, but the man had said that he would send word whenever he was in Germany.

That must not have been happening often as of late, must it?

She sighed one last time and reached for the computer to turn it off. There was nothing new in there, and it was depressing enough to spend Christmas alone, on the internet was sticking a little too far.

Her puny salary, even lower than what she made at the shipping company, was not enough for a plane ticket to Michigan. Some families in town had invited her to spend the night with them, but she did not want to impose on family time. She could pick on the leftovers in the morning.

As for Barbara Powell, her none-the-wiser mother-in-law, she went on a cross-country trip to San Francisco to see AJ and Kyle, last Emily heard.

She did not talk often with the older woman, funny enough. Mrs. Powell hardly ever came by the library, and Emily never seemed to find the woman at home when she swung by.

The redhead finished her tea and was about to cover herself for the night when she hears a loud banging noise coming from downstairs.

Cherryfield was as tranquil as one can expect from such a town, but Emily was from a rather rough neighbourhood in Grand Rapids and was wary of urban violence. A stint in Roxbury did not help, either. Not to mention, for a girl alone at night, any loud noise was enough to throw reason out the window.

She picked up a curtain rod she swore she would be putting up for weeks now and starts making her way downstairs, careful not to make any sound. Skipping the creaking last step, she sees him.

A large, dark figure was by the wide-open backdoor. He had a considerable amount of melting snow pooled on the floor by his boots and was fumbling with the door, having his back against Emily.

Thinking it to be her chance, she runs forward to hit him with the rod, all in the while shouting, “GET OUT OF HERE, YOU PERVERT!”

“What the hell!” He winces in pain, trying to protect the injured ear with one hand while turning on the lights using the other.

Emily drops the rod. “Oh my God, Chris! What are you doing?!”

“Trying to make a romantic surprise, that’s what!” He complains, between groans of pain. “Why did you hit me with a stick?”

“I thought you were a burglar or something!” She shouts back, still high on the adrenaline.

“What kind of person tries to rob a library, Emily?!”

“I don’t know! I panicked, I’m sorry!” She walks over him and checks his wound by moving his hand away from his ear. “Does it hurt?”

“Not so much.” He sighs. “I’m sorry, I should have known better. Looking back, it does sound pretty stupid to break into a single girl’s apartment.”

She smiled, in spite of the situation. “But I’m not single.”

“You’re not?” The blond’s voice raises a pitch.

“Nope.” The girl shook her head emphatically. “I have a very handsome, very kind boyfriend who’s kinda slow sometimes, but I’m very glad to see him, nonetheless.”

Chris grinned, wide enough for one to wonder if his face was going to crack. “Well, I’m pretty sure he’s very happy to see you, too.”

“Good.” Emily kissed his cheek. “Now let’s get you to bed, you feel too cold.”

He swept her off her feet. “Lead the way.”

Taglist: @alicars; @boneandfur; @choicesfannatalie; @emerald-bijou; @kennaxval; @liam-rhys; @liamxs-world; @lizeboredom; @mfackenthal; @mrsdrakewalkerblog; @radiantrosemary; @topsyturvy-dream

[jungnoir]

a whisper, a tune;

⇢ summary: "Music is kinda illegal and my friend just died and apparently he wrote music and wow I want to know what it sounds like and to play it at his funeral but I don’t know how to. You’re a well-known music dealer, do you happen to understand these notes? Can you help me?“ requested.

⇢ relationship: yoo kihyun/reader.

⇢ genre: dystopian au, guitarist!kihyun, angst, romance.

⇢ words: 9.6k

⇢ warnings: mentions of minor character death (none of the mx boys, no worries!).

a/n: what happens when you decide to have a day6 marathon apparently. was originally a drabble but shit (or rather, yoo kihyun) happens :) I listened to the piano cover of save me by bts for this one, so if you’d like to listen to it for mood music later on in the story, feel free.

Once upon a time, growing up without music was unfathomable. Unfortunately for you, you were not alive during that time.

You were not old enough to remember when music was all around you. You were not old enough to remember the annoying jingles on commercials or the feeling of bass bleeding into your bones in a packed night club. You were not old enough to remember nursery rhymes or lullabies sung to you by your mother, out of tune though she did try. It was needless to say you couldn’t miss something you’d never had in the first place, but God... the first time you’d heard it? You couldn’t forget it.

It was a bad idea to follow your friend out on a Friday night, to find anything to fill the dull void that had become your perpetually free weekends. Between weekdays of work and monotonous paperwork, you’d grown to find that any moments you had to yourself were either spent sleeping or waiting until the moment was over. It was a bad idea to take Seulgi’s hand in yours as she led you down a dusty dirt road in the middle of nowhere, a terrible idea really. You guessed there were just some terrible ideas that didn’t feel so terrible in the midst of it all.

“You’re gonna love it.” “Love what? It’s an old barn, Seulgi.” Your friend Seulgi had always been a little more outside of the box compared to you, always seeking an adventure where she could and putting her life on the line every moment she got. You remembered your father telling you a few times before that being friends with Seulgi would get you killed one day, and only half of you believed he was exaggerating. 

When Seulgi had stuffed you into the passenger seat of her old car and told you to enjoy the ride, you had really started to worry. Usually, Seulgi’s idea of enjoyment was seeking a thrill that meant life or death, and here she was, dragging you through the near darkness toward a large old barn with only the moon watching. If the large, heavenly body could be the last to witness you meet your demise, you hoped it’d tell your family (if they even cared) you loved them.

Seulgi looks back at you and rolls her eyes, “It’s not just a barn. You’ll see.” Her tone lifts at the end in a sing-song voice that has you cringing, wondering if maybe you could still make a run for it. “You need this. You know you do.”

You so badly want to pretend like you don’t know what she’s talking about but you’re not nearly that talented. It shows in your face that you’re suddenly feeling more hesitant than before, and Seulgi’s smile falls a bit as she tries to fix what she’d just broken, “I-I mean, I just want you to smile-”

You blink at her and cut her off before she can say more, “I know what you meant, Seulgi.”

The mood has significantly dampened, but she’s still leading you toward the barn. She’s quiet now, slowing down her walk as the two of you get closer. You don’t really know what you’re in for until you hear... something. It’s muffled, hard to hear unless you’re close.

A few more yards and you’re close enough. “Seulgi, no!”

The bright girl looks back at you sheepishly, “Please, I told you I’d do this for you one day.”

You start to tug your hand from her hold but she tightens her grip exponentially, the pair of you reaching the heavy wooden doors that separate you from the very illegal activity you’re about to partake in. Maybe, if the place got busted, you could lie to the authorities. Maybe you could convince them you were coerced into coming-!

Seulgi raises her other hand and knocks once, then twice, then four times in a rhythm that you quickly forget when a small slot on the door opens, revealing a pair of eyes that stare out at the both of you incredulously, “Evening ladies, what are you looking for?”

Seulgi clears her throat at the deep voice behind the door, “Adoonga.”

You look at her in confusion, but the person behind the door seems to understand fine. The door slides along the dirty ground, and everything sounds so much clearer now.

The barn is decorated as best as it can be, with stringed lights hanging from the ceiling in loops and tangling with each other, yellow light meeting rainbow light that casts the entire barn in a soft warm glow. One side of the barn is dedicated to a full-fledged bar, and the side furthest from you seems to be a stage setup, but there’s no one on it. In fact, it seems everybody in the barn is on the “dance floor”.

You feel so unfamiliar with music that when you hear the intruding beat reach your ears, it makes you recoil and pull away from Seulgi who is steadily pulling you in. “’s okay, come on.” She whispers to you encouragingly, pulling you closer to her side. You look away from her to the person who let you in, and meet eyes with a grinning boy with purple hair that stands out under the light. His smile seems to glitter dangerously, “Is this your new friend, S?”

Seulgi laughs from behind you and squeezes your hand, “Mhm, the one I told you and Changkyun about. This is (Y/N). She’s here to loosen up.”

The purple haired boy grins even wider, and like he’s already comfortable enough with you, he takes your other hand and starts taking you to the bar with Seulgi in tow, “Say no more! Bartender, something...” He looks back at you and narrows his eyes, “what kind of stuff do you like, doll?”

You blink at him, daring to say nothing.

He turns back to the bartender after an extended silence and says, “We’ll all have a 5:14.”

“514?” You turn to Seulgi to ask, not totally liking the way grape boy talks.

She giggles, “5:14, like 5:14 a.m.? It’s called that because if you drink it at 10 p.m., you’ll blackout and won’t remember a thing until 5:14 a.m.”

You suddenly don’t like this drink very much.

But sure enough, the magenta drink is set in front of the three of you in a glass and the mystery boy has released your hand to chug half of it down in one go, the boy making a small exclamation when he brought the glass from his lips, “God, I’m gonna feel this tomorrow!”

“Chill, Brian. It hasn’t been that kinda week. I think you’re gonna scare (Y/N).” Despite the scolding tone, Seulgi is giggling as she reprimands “Brian”, who just shrugs and grins back at her.

“Kinda has, actually. Do you know how hard it is to get MX to perform these days? It’s like they’re constantly on the run from the law. I’m starting to wonder if I should just find an act lesser known by the government.” Brian says as he leans an elbow on the bar, nearly no one lingering around it long enough before being drawn back to the dance floor.

You don’t know what an MX is, you don’t want to know what a 5:20 or whatever will do to you, and you really wish you were at home curled up into your sheets instead of being here with people who were probably going to end up arrested in the next few weeks.

Seulgi digs her elbow into your side, “This is what I brought you here for, MX.”

You look up at her, disinterested.

Brian looks between the both of you with a smirk, “Does your friend not know them?”

You have half an annoyed mind to snap at him and clarify that yes, the blank and confused look on your face did mean you had no idea what either of them were talking about, but that’s when the lights on the ceiling dim, and you start to feel your heart rate quicken when the voices of the crowd behind you all start to raise their voices. They’re screaming, and you almost misinterpret it as danger.

Seulgi grabs you before you could sprint toward the nearest exit, her hand comforting as it grips your forearm. She pulls you in and whispers into your ear, “It’s okay! It’s what’s supposed to happen.”

You still wiggle uncomfortably as the entire barn goes dark save for the light at the bar. Brian is next to you laughing in delight, and even Seulgi looks excited as she ushers you and Brian closer to the direction of the vacant stage. By the time you’re within feet of the stage, it’s not so vacant anymore.

You’re overwhelmed when five bright white lights shine down on the stage and the volume of the crowd grows deafening, but all that sensory overload seems to triple in intensity when the music from before cuts out, and a curious sound fills the air. It’s thin and shrill, and you’re not totally sure you like it. If anything, it makes you uncomfortable, but it makes the crowd near you go wild.

On stage are five individuals: There’s someone in the way back of the stage behind a set of round contraptions connected to each other, two wooden sticks in hand as he holds them in an “X” above his head. His short, blond hair is held back by a striped bandana tied across his forehead, revealing his sharp eyes and intoxicating smile. There’s another standing to the far right at a long machine, fingers bent as they hover over the instrument. This one is gangly, eyes clearly playful as he stares out amongst the crowd. Another is standing closer to you, tall and broad and muscly under his skin tight tee shirt and jeans, an instrument in hand that was large and had a long neck. His fingers closed at the neck with ease, ready for whatever was to come. And yet another person was standing on the other side of the stage with an instrument similar, but smaller, looking the most serious out of them all. At least, until you saw who was standing at the microphone.

After your first glance, your fear melted into something scarier. Curiosity.

The one at the mic was standing, his head of silvery hair hanging in his face to obscure most of his visage, but even you could see the hard set line of his mouth as his fingers idled over the instrument similar to the one the stoic member to his left held. You realized moments later that the shrill sound was coming from his instrument; he’d struck one of the wires on it, and it sang out in the air like a warning. The person at the mic raised his head, and you caught a good look at his face. Suddenly, the sound didn’t feel so uncomfortable anymore.

He’s absolutely gorgeous, a fact that makes you shrink back some in surprise at yourself. You were never one to be attracted to people easily, and yet this man had only been visible to you for less than a minute and had your undivided attention. His stage presence was just that strong.

“One! Two! One, two, three, four!” The blond haired man in the back bangs the two sticks in his hands against one another in time with his counts and you lose your breath when all five strike their instruments at the same time, filling the barn with a harmonious sound that has you dropping your mouth open in awe. The person at the mic begins moving his fingers on his instrument, and the tune is nothing like the song you’d heard back on the dance floor. No, this was something on a whole other level.

It’s almost embarrassing how quickly you fall into the hype when the music starts playing, the instruments having such an effect on you that you find it hard not to move to the beat. You feel wrong, knowing that you god forbid your parents saw, they’d want to disown you.

Yet, it’s so easy not to care when the music is so good.

Throughout each song the band plays, Seulgi explains the instruments and members to you. The one with the blond hair was Jooheon, and he played the drums. The muscly one was Hoseok, and he played the bass. The one with the playful gaze was Minhyuk, a keyboard player. The one with the strong gaze was Changkyun, playing the guitar. And the one at the mic with the other guitar, singing so heavenly that you almost couldn’t hear her say his name, was Kihyun.

Kihyun had surprised you with how sweet he sang, his hands with a mind of their own as they never missed a “chord”, as Seulgi explained. Despite looking so pensive in the beginning, he’d loosened up the most as the night went on. You couldn’t quite keep your eyes off him, and you’d never felt such a feeling before in your life. It felt like wherever he moved, you had to follow. Whatever he did, you had to match. If he was on one side of the stage, you found yourself trying to get as close to that side of the stage as possible. You could practically feel Brian and Seulgi’s laughter in the back of your mind but you had honestly stopped caring a half hour ago.

Kihyun, of course, didn’t even notice you. His eyes swept the crowd generally a few times but otherwise never strayed from his mic and his guitar. Every time he sang, he’d press so close to the mic that you started to feel a little hot... something you blamed on the proximity of everyone in the crowd to you.

In fact, it took you several moments to register that he’d stopped singing. It took you even longer to register the band bowing and making their way off stage, and the show ending altogether. What? That can’t be it?

You’re turning to Seulgi before you can stop yourself, “What’s going on? Are they leaving for good?”

The girl snorts and folds her arms over her chest, “What? Did you want more?”

You try to hide your embarrassment and look back forlornly at the stage, the members having disappeared into the darkness and you couldn’t locate them amongst the crowd at all. It was like they’d never been there.

Part of you wants to ask where they go after the performance: Do they leave after playing? Do they go party with the patrons among them? Why did the absence of the music make you feel so empty?

Before you can think to ask anything, Brian pulls Seulgi close by the shoulder and starts talking about something in her ear that you can’t decipher over the sudden blaring of the pre-recorded music, leaving you feeling lonely as the only two people you knew disappeared into their own little world.

You must have been so focused on your thoughts about the band that you let yourself forget about standing firm, because seconds later you’re swept into a flow of people and given no time to react.

There are suddenly people everywhere, and Seulgi and Brian are no longer in your line of sight. For a swift moment of panic, you feel like you’re going to get dragged to the ground and trampled on, and no one will hear your cries over the mindless beat playing over the speakers. The thought makes your heartbeat accelerate, and instead of wasting your breath yelling for your friend, you begin to try and fight your way through.

You can feel people getting a bit annoyed with you shoving through them, but they try to part nonetheless, thinking you better to deal with outside of their dancing crowd rather than trapped in. However, it’s not the same for everyone, and you find yourself getting stopped more than getting anywhere. The stagnant feeling rests in your throat and makes you wish you could just evaporate into the very air and disappear that way. Anything would be better than the suffocating feel of sweat and heat-

Suddenly, you feel your body jerked backwards, and you’re so sure that the next thing you’re gonna feel is the ground and hundreds of feet stomping you in your vital organs. However, when you instead meet someone’s chest, you start recalculating your death. You turn around to see who you’d fallen into, noticing one of your hands immobile and locked in someone else’s. The feeling had gone from confused to numb the minute you saw who was holding it.

Kihyun, who was still in his tee shirt and jeans from on stage, looks you down with narrow eyes, “You’re trying to get out, right?”

You nod as soon as your will over your movements come back to you, and he nods an affirmative at you before taking you along with him through a beeline in through the crowd. People part for him much easier than they parted for you (you note this with a little more bitterness than you probably should have, but who cares?), and in no time you feel the pleasant rush of cool air against all your limbs, finally free of the people in the crowd and ever so thankful for it.

You feel your hand being released and you dart your eyes up to Kihyun, about to thank him. In the midst of coming up with a good way to compliment his playing coming from the point of view of someone who’d never heard music in their life, you notice that Kihyun is no longer looking at you anymore. In fact, he’s staring clear past you, and it’s only until you register a distant wailing noise over the music that you realize just why. You know that wailing sound. You heard it whizzing through the streets in the city whenever another “criminal” was caught, and it sounded in abundance now. Several alarms playing over each other in a terrifyingly discordant melody that had everyone in the barn reacting at once. First stillness, than utter chaos.

You’re scared you’re going to be swept up in the mess once more, but find yourself surprised when that familiar hand that had led you out of the dancing crowd found your hand once more and much firmer this time, and this time you’re not nearly as spooked when you’re being jerked back again. You see Kihyun yell something at you over the screaming crowd all trying to pile out of the exits, some underground and some that didn’t appear to be there before. You don’t know what he says, but seconds later you feel him yank you until you’re flush against his side and running along with him toward one of those secret exits. You don’t even think about the fact that Brian and Seulgi are still inside, and that they probably have no idea where you’ve gone off to or if you’re even safe.

The rush of excitement was all too much as KIhyun led you out into the dark of the night from the back of the barn. You could make out the bright red, white, and blue lights from above and on the other side of the barn, and you could hear the sound of people thudding to the ground as cops caught and detained them. The very sound only made you run faster.

Kihyun was keeping up a good pace toward the forest behind the barn, not slowing down even as people fell over in fear and uncoordinated steps before you both. You found yourself stumbling over a few, but the need to get to safety was your first and most primal priority.

The run through the forest was calculated, Kihyun swinging you between this tree and that as white beams from the sky shined down between the leaves. You had never seen so many search helicopters in your life, and a bubbling fear for your life started to eat at you even as you doubted Kihyun would slow down to calm you. You could hear him muttering something under his breath as you ran, something that you couldn’t piece together no matter how many words you heard out of context.

It seemed Kihyun had prepared this kind of escape in advance, or maybe the people that owned the barn had told him about it when his band started performing there, but his movements were very deliberate the whole way. You started to wonder if he even remembered you were there, but then the deathly grip he had on your hand brought you back to reality. Even if you let go, you would not so easily slip out of his hold.

It’s only minutes later, when the sirens and screaming people were starting to sound distant, that you notice a black van on a road up ahead. Something in you stills your movements all at once, and you find yourself managing to reel Kihyun back as you stumble behind a large tree. The boy looks completely bewildered, trying to follow your gaze in case he had missed something, “What?” He hisses into the dark, warm breath feeling so different against your cool cheeks in the cold air.

You point toward the van, “What if that’s an undercover group of cops?”

Kihyun narrows his eyes at you until something clicks behind his eyes, and he releases a frustrated breath, “They’re not cops.”

Without waiting to explain to you any longer, he starts pulling you toward the van once more, even as you whisper for him to reconsider, to make sure, to check just in case-

And then the back door is slid open and two faces you recognize along with one you don’t are staring back at you. It’s Hoseok and Jooheon looking frazzled, and then a man with a slim face and striking eyes in between them both. You surely had not seen him up on stage.

“Who’s this?” Jooheon asks, and when you guys are much closer to the van, you realize that all of the members are piled inside. This was planned after all. A place to rendezvous if any members got caught up in something like this. Smart, you thought quietly.

“An extra passenger. Can she fit?” Kihyun asks, and you peek inside to see just how many seats there are. Three in the back, two in the middle, and two up front. Just enough for the five band members and the two strangers that tagged along.

You feel awkward as the members tear you apart with their eyes, looking particularly lost on who you were or why Kihyun would have even taken you this far with him when they’d never even seen you before.

“Maybe... She can sit in the divide in the middle, but I can’t promise it won’t be a bumpy ride.” The driver up front says, and when he turns around to give you a look up and down, you realize he is the other stranger. Strong build, short midnight hair, and... a badge on his shoulder.

“K-Ki-” You barely stutter out, pointing at the badge, and Kihyun ignores you completely as he piles you into the car and follows suit, climbing into the chair furthest away from the open door. It slides closed seconds after, and you don’t get a chance to sit on your ass between the two chairs on either side of you before the entire van starts shaking and turning on the dirt road. You bump your shoulder against Kihyun’s seat and wince, and you feel hands on your shoulder blades from behind pulling you back.

You turn around to rip those hands off when you lock eyes with the keyboardist, the one with the childish smile and kind aura, Minhyuk. “Hey, you can sit back between my legs if you want? I can hold your shoulders and keep you from flying around so much. It really is a bumpy ride.”

Out of context, being asked to sit between a stranger’s legs was a huge no-no, and you probably would’ve socked the poor boy in the face no matter how handsome he looked for offering. But you were in a tough space right now and you really didn’t want to go bouncing around the whole time on your inevitable escape from law enforcement. The least you could do was sit comfortably. 

Quietly, you scoot back until your back hits the end of the seat and his knees are on either side of you, holding you still as he promised with his hands respectfully on your shoulders. You can see the dark forest through the windshield, slivers of moonlight being mistaken for the flying lights in the sky more than once. You find that maybe holding on to Minhyuk’s hands would calm you down a bit, even minutely. He doesn’t seem to mind at all when you place your sweaty palms over his fingers.

Your mind feels oddly blank as you sit and wait for... something. You don’t know where you’re headed, only hoping that it was far, far away from the likes of that barn. What would your parents say if they found you here? What would they say if you ended up getting arrested with a band of all people? It would’ve been a shock to them, mere days after watching you completely shut down at the loss of one of your best friends in the whole world.

The sheer thought of him no longer being with you has you wincing and closing your eyes to try and block out the thoughts. This was all Seulgi’s plan to get you to forget about the pain for a little while; in the end... was it worth it?

Wait... Seulgi!

You jump in your spot and it scares Minhyuk, his eyes darting down to you as you frantically check your pockets for your phone and find that you can’t feel it anywhere. “Kihyun!“ You exclaim, and the other boys in the car turn back to look at you in shock. Kihyun is more concerned than them all, wide eyes searching you over for some sign of trouble.

“What’s wrong?” “My p-phone... it’s gone... and Seulgi, my friend, she’s the one that brought me here... I don’t know if she got out!”

“Seulgi?” Someone to the left of Minhyuk says, and when you look up, you recognize him as Changkyun. “She’s your friend? She told me she was bringing someone with her tonight.”

“You know each other?” You ask, bewildered. Sure, Seulgi knew their names and instruments well, but you had no good reason to suspect she was close friends with anyone in MX. You guessed it made sense, seeing as she was a regular attendee. With her charming personality, maybe it wasn’t so surprising she was friends with the band after all.

Changkyun nods and pulls out a phone, much more high-tech looking than your own. You notice you’ve never seen a similar model in your life, and your curiosity is piqued at once. You watch as he taps away at in in succession until he turns the screen toward you, “Don’t worry, she got out with Brian and his friends. She’s apparently been asking about you since the whole raid started. They couldn’t get her into the car for a while, she was so upset.”

You look over the texts between Changkyun and who was no doubt Brian, and heave a sigh of relief as you rest back against Minhyuk once more. At least she was safe, and at least she got out with someone you knew she trusted. It warmed your heart to hear how determined she was to find you though, and you secretly thank Brian and his friends for being determined enough to get her to safety no matter if your own was promised or not.

“So that’s who she is.” One of the strangers hums from up in the middle, his eyes on you as he displays a barely there smile, “I didn’t know you cared about Seulgi’s friends, Kihyun. Or Seulgi at all.”

Kihyun hisses, “I don’t. That’s all Changkyun.”

“So you grabbed her because...?” Jooheon sings from up front, a playful smile on his face that has you shifting in your spot in embarrassment.

Kihyun turns his head to Jooheon at lightning speed, “Because she was there and I’m not an ass.”

The boys don’t seem at all convinced, so you speak up, “He had actually saved me from the crowd moments before everything went wrong... He’s telling the truth. We had already been standing together so it just seemed natural to help, right Kihyun?”

You look over to Kihyun and find that he’s looking rather surprised at you for helping defend him against his snickering friends, and even his friends look a bit taken aback. Slowly, Kihyun nods, and you watch triumphantly as the boys drop the topic altogether.

“Where are we headed?” You ask after a few minutes of silence, the need to know suddenly itching at the back of your neck.

You can hear Jooheon say something along the lines of “the base”, but his words all go out of your other ear when a flash of familiar colored lights shine through the windshield. A collective muttering of “shit” fills the silence afterward and you instinctively curl in on yourself, the numbing terror you’d felt on your run through the forest coming back tenfold.

“Hyungwon!” You hear the man with the cop badge on his shoulder yell from up front, someone you’d almost forgotten all about. “Hyungwon” turns out to be the boy who had first teased Kihyun about you, the one next to you who immediately whips his phone out and starts tapping away. You can feel the van coming to a stop and your heart accelerates, looking to each of the boys to figure out what to do. All of them look stone still, mouths shut tight as the lights get brighter and closer.

And then, it all goes dark in the back of the van.

You find you’re still conscious after a breath, but your eyesight is completely gone. You can’t even see Jooheon and the stranger up front, but you can feel the boys in the back. Their warmth and small breaths the only indication you’re not alone. You’re too scared to ask anything at this point, afraid that any muttering would ruin everything.

When the car comes to a full stop, you can suddenly hear the sounds from outside enter the car, and the stranger driving speaks, “Hey, Kim. Find anything?”

You furrow your eyebrows as another stranger outside of the car talks back, “Not too much. I think this might be too far out for any of ‘em to come. Have you gotten any luck?”

The driver grunts, “Nope. Me and Keith have been searching with the lights out for the last twenty minutes. Nothin’. I’m kinda convinced I should just call it a night.” A pair of laughs follow between the driver and the cop standing outside, and your stomach churns as you try to figure out what exactly is going on.

“I don’t blame you. As much as I hate the dumbasses who try to break the law, I’m more concerned about catching those musicians. They can burn in hell for all I care, disrespecting our great country with their mindless lyrics.” You wince at the cop’s nonchalant tone, even as he says something as heinous as wishing a bunch of people burned in hell. You can hear a growl from in front of you, and you can’t tell if it’s Hyungwon or Kihyun.

“Heh, maybe someday, Kim. Listen, I’ll keep patrolling and if I find nothing still, I’ll go back to the station. You staying here?” Even you can tell that the driver sounds a lot less cheery as he was before, almost spitting his words out. It seems the cop is none the wiser as his easygoing voice is still even and undisturbed, confirming his place, and after a few exchanged goodbyes later, the van pulls off.

Light gradually floods the van again and you can see the driver gripping the wheel tight, muttering under his breath, “Fucking asshole.”

Jooheon puts a hand on the driver’s shoulder and whispers some comforting words to him, just as you say out loud, “You’re a double agent.”

Jooheon looks back at you with wide eyes before laughing softly, patting the driver’s arm once more, “He is! Guess you weren’t introduced to him. He’s Hyunwoo,” then Jooheon twists to point at Hyungwon, “and that’s Hyungwon, our tech guy. He’s the reason the cop couldn’t see you, and you couldn’t see him. He made a cloaking system for the car. It’s practically magic. All that cop could see was an empty backseat as far as he could make out.”

So that’s why it was so dark out of nowhere.

You nod quietly, and find that Kihyun is sneaking glances at you from the corner of his eyes. When you catch him, he locks gazes. There are no words exchanged after that, but you have a funny feeling he’s said all he’s had to with just that look.

You settle back against Minhyuk again and watch the trees as you all continue your drive to the base. The whole time you’re sitting, you’re praying to whoever might listen that you get out of this alive. It’s all you can do but wait and hope you’re with the right people, because there was no doubt in your mind that you were at the wrong place at the wrong time already.

You’re not sure what you expect when you think of the base, but when you arrive, you find it’s quite literally nothing you would have imagined in the first place.

It’s, from what you recognize, an abandoned amusement park. Hyunwoo parks the van off the road that leads to the park, the entire place miles from any form of civilization, and you have to applaud the group on picking such an interesting yet efficient place to set up camp. Once you all pile out of the car, you’re following the group toward one lone, large building with windows spray painted different colors. The doors seemed to have once been boarded up, but now are open and allowing you into the actual base of operations. The outside was shoddy at best, but the inside was so much better.

Straight ahead of you was a seating area dropped a few inches from the entry way, a small stairway leading you down where a few couches and tables were lined up facing a TV on the wall right in front of you. To the left, there was a functioning kitchen and dining room, and to the right was a setup of all kinds of desks and computers, some with more screens connected together than you had fingers. Spiral staircases in the far corner of the room led up to a second floor where you could only guess more surprises awaited. Despite how updated and livable the place looked, there were obvious signs of boys living here. Clothes were scattered on every conceivable surface, and there was still empty ramen cups lingering on a table here, a desk there.

The boys immediately disperse to different parts of the building but Kihyun, Hyunwoo, and Hyungwon. You feel something slim and cool slip into your hand, and when you look down to see what it is, your breath hitches at the sight of your phone. Funnily enough, Hyungwon is the one passing it to you, “You dropped this on your way into the van earlier.”

You stare at him perplexed, “And... you’re giving it to me now?”

Hyungwon smirks, “I’m a techie for a band in a world where music is seen as deplorable as murder. If you thought I was going to let you tag along with us without disarming the government tracking system on your phone, think again.”

You blanch at his explanation, but find he is definitely right. You would be putting them in great danger if your parents found out you went there. They would immediately try to track you, no doubt about it.

Closing your hand tight around your phone, you open it and check to see if anything looked out of place. Then you look back at him, frowning, “Did you... did you see anything?”

Hyungwon’s smirk drops. Looking around to see that neither Kihyun or Hyunwoo were very close by, he whispers to you, “I’m sorry about your loss... I saw the messages between you and his mother.”

You breathe in sharply and turn away before your emotions can creep on you, simply nodding it off and clutching the phone even tighter, “Please. Don’t.”

Hyungwon doesn’t need any more convincing as he nods to you and moves toward the computer area unsurprisingly. You can see, after he settles down, that he’s pulling up government files on you, and you decide to let him be.

Descending down the steps and into the seating area, you walk up to Kihyun first, feeling terribly unwell all of a sudden. When he looks up from his phone to you, he immediately notices and rises to his feet, “You don’t look good.” “Do you have a bathroom I can... I need to think.”

Kihyun takes a bit of time examining you with his eyes before he turns to Hyunwoo for a quiet go-ahead. When Hyunwoo nods, Kihyun holds out a hand toward you. This is the third time you’ve held hands with the singer, yet this is the first time he’s asked permission to do it. You would make a joke about it if you weren’t so sick to your stomach, the feelings of the night boiling and ready to burst right through you if you didn’t center yourself somehow.

You slide your hand into his and he carefully pulls you along with him toward the spiral staircase, the metal steps making a clacking sound with every step your shoes make contact with them. Kihyun, for better or for worse (you haven’t decided yet), asks you nothing.

When you both reach the second floor, you find it’s much warmer and you’re prompted to slip your jacket off your shoulders to help satiate the claustrophobic feeling you had. Kihyun quickly takes your coat from you and sets it over a misplaced dining room chair nearby, and you regard that there is a hall of bedrooms on the second floor, some tidier looking than the others as all doors are open and visible to you save for two at the very end. You follow Kihyun until you find that one of the doors is to a bathroom, and a rather spacious one at that.

“Did you guys do a lot of remodeling?” You ask quietly, trying to keep your words from tasting like bile by swallowing over and over. The bathroom was as tidy as a boy’s bathroom could be, but it was manageable.

Kihyun waits beside the open door, unsure if you wanted him to make conversation or be alone now that you were asking questions. You can see the awkward steps he takes as he lingers, “Surprisingly not much. Most of the bedrooms were offices before, and we just added the showers and tubs to the bathrooms with the help of some good friends of ours in the city. We’ve got a system running water and electricity here thanks to those same friends as well.”

You nod, leaning over the sink and turning the tap on. A rush of cold water fills your two hands and you gratefully splash it against your face, feeling your once feverish cheeks cool down at the sensation. Seconds later, you feel something soft and warm brushing your arm.

You open your eyes through the water dripping down your face to see Kihyun closer, towel in hand outstretched toward you. He doesn’t make eye contact for reasons you’re not sure of, but you take the towel in gratitude and pat your face dry.

“(Y/N),” he says, “are you okay?”

You start at the use of your name, not recalling a single moment during your hectic night where you’d told him it. “How do you know my name?”

His eyes widen a little and he quickly backtracks, “D-don’t be weirded out! I just... Seulgi told us. Well, she told Changkyun. And Changkyun told us. She was planning to introduce you to us after the performance but, as you know... things got crazy.”

You flush, holding the damp towel closer to you as you look down, “...oh... I see.”

“Did you have fun?” He asks without missing a beat. You look at him, wondering whether he meant the last hour or so of pure anxiety you’d suffered through on the way here, until you remember your zoned out state at the barn. How enchanted you were by Kihyun.

You try to play it off, “It was alright.”

At this, the boy snorts, “I saw you, you know. You may not think I did, but I caught a few glances of you with Seulgi and Brian during the show. You looked pretty into it for someone who has never tried to listen to music before. I was convinced you might have formed a crush on me with how hard you were staring the whole show.”

You raise the towel to hide your lower face and he starts to outright laugh at your bashfulness, much to your annoyance and slight mirth. It was funny, but it was still embarrassing! “I-I did not! There was no- stop laughing!” You squeal, but betray yourself halfway as you too begin to laugh yourself. You whack Kihyun with the end of your towel as if it would stop him, but he just blocks your attacks halfheartedly, trying to compose himself even as he continues to laugh at you.

You both probably sound like a pair of fools, laughing after what you’ve just been through and having the scares of both your lives. Or maybe just yours, because Kihyun probably had to live with the fear of being caught everyday.

But you also haven’t laughed in two days, and while you felt like you didn’t deserve to, you couldn’t help welcoming the momentary happiness in the midst of the despair you’d been in.

A question pops into your head once the laughter dies down, “Do you guys lead double lives like Hyunwoo? Like... do you actually live in the city and try to keep up appearances?”

Kihyun schools his expression into one of thoughtfulness, laughter still bubbling here and there, “Well, some of us do. Hyungwon stays completely in secret as he’s a hacker, and that’s already illegal as hell. Changkyun goes to college with Seulgi, but he’s been living here the whole time despite what his parents think... they live out in the country two hours away. The rest of us are accustomed to the underground. We have no other home but here and music.”

The thought that it was possible some of them were away from their families because of their love for music struck you at once, and you looked up to Kihyun who was still innocently clueless to your mind’s wandering. “And you? No other home? At all?”

Kihyun’s lips spread thin as he glances at the mirror above the vanity he currently leaned against, looking away just as quick. “No,” he says, a lot quieter, “nothing to my name but my guitar and a bounty, I guess.”

Why does your heart ache so when you hear this? Kihyun is a complete stranger, and while he’d saved you twice in one night, you didn’t know that much about him in the first place. You wondered if maybe you were still weak from two days ago, and that wasn’t a far-fetched idea in your mind at all.

You lean against the other end of the vanity and bite your lip, chancing it to just tell him what you were thinking, “Your music actually... it actually made me feel alright tonight. Better than I’ve been since for the last two days.”

Kihyun looks up, “...Oh, that.”

“You knew?”

“It was something Changkyun mentioned to me about why Seulgi was bringing you. I felt really... good, that you were having a good time. That’s why I kept stealing looks at you. I wanted you to have a good time, after losing someone- I’m sorry. You look sick even thinking about it.”

You must have been making a pretty nasty face to cut Kihyun off like this without use of words, but youd honestly don’t mean to. The feelings were still raw, and sometimes your body reacted before your mind did. Unlike how Hyungwon approached it, Kihyun didn’t feel so intrusive. If anything, you felt like he understood you. Seulgi didn’t understand, as she hadn’t been close to your friend like you had been, and your parents had only given you a brisk pat on the back and a silent nod to “get over it”. You’d been feeling so utterly alone lately, and it felt like Kihyun would understand that.

Maybe that’s why you began to spill everything, “His name was Mark. We’ve been best friends since we could talk. We shared everything together, from our crushes to our heartaches. And yet... the one thing he never told me before he died was that he loved music.”

You feel Kihyun’s surprised stare even though you avoid it in favor of looking at the wall ahead of you instead. If you looked at him, you weren’t sure you’d make it to the end of your story, “He died in his sleep two days ago. I guess if I wanted him to go out some way, at least it was peaceful. Apparently he’d had some stuff tucked away in his room that his father managed to go in and retrieve. There were little things I’d won for him at fairs and trinkets he’d kept over the years. But the most shocking thing for me was that he wrote music. He had CD’s upon CD’s of just music that he loved, and he wrote music. His parents knew, had always kept it a secret for his sake. This was the one thing I never knew about him and I feel like such a terrible friend to have made him feel like he couldn’t tell me-”

Your sobs cut you off as your throat closes up and all you can release are painful, mournful sounds that have Kihyun moving to you in an instant and pulling you into his embrace. You don’t even care that he’s a total stranger holding you now, all you care is that he cares. He’s listening, and that’s more than you could have asked for in your opinion.

The sobs rack through your body like a purging, tears falling in globs onto Kihyun’s shirt. For once, you’ve never felt so alone and yet so cared for all at once.

It lasts for a little while, as the sobs turn quiet and your hands shake with the exhaustion that your body wants to give out, but you can’t. Not until you make this right.

You peel away and wipe furiously at your face until you can look Kihyun in the eye, and he watches with mixed emotions as you speak your next words, “I can’t let him down again. I won’t let him down again. Please, Kihyun... teach me how to play his music. Teach me just one song... I owe it to him.”

Kihyun’s sympathetic look gave way to a plethora of feelings for you, but then he took your face in one of his hands and whispered, “I’ll show you. You won’t let him down.”

It surprises Seulgi when she finds out that over the next few days since the party, you’re meeting with Kihyun in secret.

At first, she had wondered if it was for carnal reasons, right up until you’d told her that it was related to Mark. At that, she had quickly shut up and went along telling you she’d help you keep up appearances in front of your parents and get you to Kihyun safely when you two would meet up. Everyday after work, whenever you were free, you were with Kihyun. Sometimes he’d pick you up at the edge of the city, and sometimes Seulgi or Brian and his friends would do you a solid and take you to the base themselves. At some point during the time Mark had been gone and you had been learning to play music with Kihyun’s help, you had started to resent your parents.

Their empty comforting words and pushes for you to get back on top of your life as usual, as if the closest person to you since you were a mere child hadn’t just died nearly a week ago, had started to harden your heart toward them all the more. Seulgi could see it in the way you looked whenever you bid them goodbye to go “hang out” with her. You had started to stay out all night and never come back until your parents were sound asleep, and honestly? You liked it that way.

Kihyun had since informed you that the type of music Mark played was on piano, and Minhyuk had been more than willing to lend you his instrument to practice on for hours and hours. It felt like so much to learn in such a short time, but with Kihyun, the concepts of hours and days turned into nothing. He made you feel how much progress you were making. He made you feel like every moment you practiced, you just got better and better. Even Minhyuk would watch you play for short periods of time, just to see how far you’d come.

There was a soft glimmer in each boy’s eyes whenever they saw you now, too. Jooheon would sing your praises no matter if you missed a key or not, Changkyun would always give you little tips and tricks he’d learned through studying music, Hyunwoo would make sure to save you a plateful of whatever they were eating that night, Hoseok would always make sure Kihyun wasn’t pushing you too hard, and Hyungwon had since become well acquainted with you through talking rather than hacking your accounts.

By the time Mark’s funeral had come around, you had felt like a whole new person.

His parents had decided to keep the funeral small, so it was them and you and another friend of his that he knew through the music underground. You’d never met him before in your life, but on the day of the funeral, he couldn’t stop telling you how much Mark adored you. You had to tune him out, if only so you could be competent enough to play later on.

Kihyun had let you leave early the night before, having told you that you’d gone above and beyond what he’d expected of you in such short time. You had invited him to come by, if only to hear you play, but he had promised you it was best he didn’t. You couldn’t lie, that left you awfully deflated even the following morning when you awoke.

But you were here now, in the black dress that your mother told you you looked best in, and you were standing in the middle of the living room in Mark’s home, a keyboard having been brought in from the basement by Kihyun’s father just for you. He had told you in a dreary tone that it belonged to Mark, and that it only seemed right to play his song on his own instrument.

Brushing your fingers along the keys, you felt your heart clench in incurable sorrow as you noted all the little beat up edges and accidentally marked surfaces. You could imagine how long Mark had had the thing, but it looked well-used for sure. It still worked though, as you played a tentative note to start.

Recalling all that Kihyun had taught you had been hard at first, told in the way your fingers shyly moved from key to key, but as you started to get into the heart of the song, things began to change rapidly. All those long nights of practicing with Kihyun in his room, listening to piano melodies on his studio headphones and watching Kihyun do his thing started to come back to you like a tidal wave of feeling.

Every memory with Mark, every second you’d spent with him... you felt it in each chord of the song you played. No matter how choked up you wanted to get, you had to get this right for him. He deserved as much from you.

You could feel the song starting to affect you however, and the splatter of warm tears on your working hands had you biting your lip in concentration, daring to keep from sobbing into your hands before the song was over. Not once did you look up from those keys, and not once did you chance a glance at Mark’s parents in fear that their facial features that his once resembled wouldn’t spur you into hysterics.

To your surprise, you manage to make it to the end of the song without crumbling, though you feel the strong urge to sprint elsewhere when your fingers leave the keys. Quiet applause fills the small room and you try to smile as much as you can through the tears not letting up, exposing the inner workings of your mind.

You take a hug from Mark’s parents each, and then one from Mark’s friend who compliments your playing in such a way that leaves you shakily trying to thank him through your strained voice. You tell them you have to leave the room for the moment, and they let you.

The moment you pass through the doorway leading into the front area of the house, you hear a soft voice from behind, “You did spectacular.”

At first, you feel like your heart might jump out of your chest until you recognize who is speaking to you.

Kihyun is there in a large, draping black hoodie that dangles to his thighs with a hood that covers most of his face, save for that telling smile of his. You let out a small breath of shock, “You came.”

“Minhyuk told me I’d be stupid to miss your first performance... and last, I guess.” He says, staying relatively quiet as he starts walking toward you. He pulls his hood down to reveal his silvery head of hair, all mussed from the hood. “Like I said, you did spectacular. I’m really proud of you.”

You feel a different kind of flattered at Kihyun’s compliment compared to the one Mark’s friend had given you, something much deeper and much stronger tied to his compliment compared to the latter. He’d only known you for so little time, yet it had felt like longer.

And to be honest, thinking of this as being your, most likely, last time seeing him, doesn’t quite sit right with you.

“Kihyun?” You ask after a while of silence, and he hums to let you know he heard you, “MX is part of something bigger. It’s part of a movement to bring music back to the world, correct?”

Kihyun’s eyebrows wrinkle, but he nods nonetheless, “That’s right.”

You look from him to the photos on the wall of the china room, pictures of Mark form the time he was a child to his last moments being alive amongst the glass cases of fine china. You lock eyes with the most recent picture, taken three years ago at your high school graduation with you smiling right beside him on the lawn of your old school. Never would you have thought you’d be where you are now back then. Never would you have considered what you were considering now.

“I want to do something else for Mark. If that’s alright with you,” Kihyun looks at you in puzzlement, “I want to join the movement.”

Kihyun’s jaw drops the moment you say it, but you don’t let him say a thing, “Music is important. It’s a part of our history, it has always been the thing that brought people together and those bastards in the government deemed it wrong just because people used it to speak out against their tyrannical ways. Well, it’s not wrong. Fuck, it’s so far from wrong. It’s beautiful. It’s wonderful, Kihyun. It communicates in ways that sometimes words can’t and Mark knew that. And I wish I could have known that when he was alive, but now all I can do is live on for him. Fight for the cause he loved so much. I’m not doing this solely for him, so don’t try to tell me that I should rethink this. I know what I’m asking and I know what I’m doing. So... Kihyun, if you’ll have me... I want to be a part of this movement. I want to be heard.”

Then it is just you watching him, waiting for what could be rejection or acceptance. Either or, you would take in stride.

Kihyun, after deliberation that makes you feel like a lifetime has passed or maybe more, holds out his hand to you. It reminds you so much of the times he’d done so before, but with a whole new meaning to it. He was not taking you anywhere. Now, he was walking with you.

“Welcome to MX. We’re glad to have you.”

[duskholland]

Six Nights (Stiles Stilinski imagine)

Prompt: “We live on the same floor and the dorm between ours always has REALLY loud sex so now we’re both in the main lounge at two am do you want this last bite of ice cream?” aka the college AU that grew legs and went for a walk. 

Warnings: only a few minor curses

Word Count: 5k

A/N: University AUs are a favourite of mine and this prompt was too good to ignore. It was supposed to be short, but as you can see, I got a little carried away... I hope you like it! :)

(Allison is alive because fuck Jeff Davis.)

NIGHT ONE

The first night, you were woken by the sound of a headboard banging against a wall. You tried turning over and burying your head in the pillows, but the loud noise just persisted until you were left completely conscious.

Groaning, you sat up. After glancing at your phone and discovering it was only a little after 1am, you swung your legs from the bed and pulled on a large hoodie. You debated knocking on your neighbour’s apartment, but decided against it - just because you weren’t getting any, it didn’t mean you had to ruin their fun.

After slipping on a pair of shoes, you grabbed your laptop and decided to go for a little walk. As tempting as staying in bed sounded, you really didn’t want to have to listen to your neighbours having sex, and there were other things you could be doing.

The corridors were desolate, students behind each closed door, undoubtedly busy with things like sleeping or studying. Seeing as your dorm building had a communal lounge, you headed in that direction and quickly set up camp at a small table in the back corner. You dumped your laptop on the desk and made use of the drinks machine to fix yourself up with a hot chocolate before going back at your table and beginning to browse the internet.

You didn’t have a plan, per say, but reckoned your neighbour wouldn’t take more than half an hour to...finish. You would just stay in the lounge for that long, reply to a few emails, scroll through out-dated social media, relax. You’d had a busy week and having a little time to catch up online didn’t sound so bad.

As time began to slip by, you became less and less aware of those around you. The night grew darker and the lounge grew quieter, people draining out until you were almost completely alone.

Absorbed in your laptop’s luminescent screen, you gasped loudly when a photo of one of your friends getting proposed to appeared on your feed, completely unable to contain the surprised exclamation. You slammed the mug on the table, pulling out your phone and immediately going to call her. You couldn’t believe she’d forgotten to tell you - you’d known Allison for years, and she’d just, what? forgotten to inform you of her engagement? It was completely unacceptable.

“Answer, goddamnit!” You growled, glaring at your phone when it went straight to voicemail. You were beginning to construct an angry - yet supportive - text message when a voice cut through the air.

“Y’know, people don’t normally answer their phones at,” the stranger paused, presumably checking the time, “2am.”

You looked up, cheeks burning when you realised you weren’t alone. “I, uh, sorry for disturbing you.”

Eyes wandering, you took in the sight of the stranger. He was sitting a few tables away, hands curled around a mug that steamed suspiciously similarly to yours. His wide frame lay swallowed by a navy sweater, and beneath the hood, you could make out his features. Although sleepy and relaxed, you could tell that he was a very attractive man.

“Oh, no, don’t worry. I wasn’t doing anything. What did your...friend do, though? Sorry that I was listening, I wasn’t trying to be weird or anything, I just-”

You cut him off with a roll of your eyes, finding his rambling slightly endearing. “My friend got engaged and forgot to tell me. It sucks because we’ve been friends for years and she just...left me out. She’s my best friend, but apparently Facebook matters more than me.” Trying not to sound bitter, you punctuated your response with a weak laugh.

The stranger gave you a sympathetic smile, sighing slightly. “I’m sorry, that’s rough.”

Returning the smile, you shook your head. “I’ll get over it.”

Not quite knowing what else to do, you glanced back at your phone and decided to polish off your text message. Your companion stayed sitting at his table for a few more minutes before getting up and walking a few paces towards you.

“D’you want another drink?”

Now closer, you were able to pick up on a few of his finer details. His eyes seemed to glow, radiating a youthful radiance that seemed out of place when compared to the lines of fatigue that traced his forehead. Long, spindly fingers held his Star Wars mug, and you grinned when you noticed the pattern on his jumper was a print of the Death Star.

“How do I know you won’t poison me?” You said, teasing slightly. He rolled his eyes, letting out a low laugh.

“I know you might not believe me, but I can assure you I’m not a murderer.”

“Yet,” you added. Nevertheless, you passed him your mug. “Hot chocolate, please.”

“Coming right up.”

He walked across the room, and you’d be lying if you said your eyes remained on your laptop. They were fixed on him, clocking each action. He walked smoothly, each movement fluent and silky. Then again, it was 2am, and everything felt ridiculously heightened.

When he returned a few minutes later, you did a good job at snapping your eyes back to your phone before he could notice the way you’d been ogling him. 

“Here you go, one hot chocolate. Sorry the side is kinda messed up, I spilt a bit of the powder.” He blushed, and you noticed how nice the flush looked against his mole-scattered cheeks.

“Thank you,” you spoke, taking a quick drink before moaning with delight. “This is amazing, oh my God!”

He gave you a short bow, smiling widely. “Special recipe. I’m Stiles, by the way.”

“Y/N.” You didn’t know whether to stick out a hand or stay still, so awkwardly reached out to pat his arm. Cringing at yourself, you decided to just barrel on. “You’ll need to teach me it someday.”

“I hope I’ll get the chance.” Stiles tugged at his sleeves, stealing a quick glance at his watch before groaning. “I need to get going. I hope I’ll see you around, Y/N.”

Surprised by the empty feeling that began to spread across your stomach, you nodded. “Have a nice night, Stiles.”

And with that, he walked from the room, figure nothing more than a distant memory. In the morning, you’d actually question whether or not he was real - it was a possibility that you’d simply imagined him during your sleep-deprived state.

Stiles would soon become so much more than just a sleepy memory.

NIGHT TWO

A few weeks passed. To your great relief, your neighbour decided to ease off on the late-night aerobics which meant that you were able to get enough sleep to stay away from the student lounge.

However, it all changed one Friday night.

Around 3am, the loud exclamations of ‘harder, Dave, harder!’ shattered your sleep. Groaning, you tried to turn over and ignore the noises, but eventually, you felt weird to be eavesdropping on them so decided to drag yourself back down to the communal lounge.

When you got there, you were slightly relieved to see there was only one other person there. They had their back to you, so you made a sound of greeting to signal your arrival before collapsing onto one of the comfortable sofas, laptop falling onto your lap a few seconds later.

Adopting your normal routine, you opened Facebook and began to scroll. More engagements, a few birthdays, and-

“Here you go.” A voice, warm and friendly, interrupted your browsing, and you jerked up. The man stumbled back, clearly taken aback by your sudden movement.

“Oh! I’m so sorry, Stiles,” you said the second you realised who it was. Stiles chuckled, clutching at his heart in mock surprise.

“Here I was, just trying to be nice by making you your favourite hot beverage, and you almost go and force me to spill it on myself! How rude, Y/N.” A warmth tickled your cheeks as you begrudgingly accepted the mug.

“You startled me!” You protested, patting the space on the sofa beside you. You didn’t know what it was, but you felt comfortable with Stiles. He had a sort of warm, openness surrounding him that made you feel completely at ease.

Stiles slipped beside you, and you noted that his burgundy hoodie looked particularly attractive against his skin.

“What are you up to?” He asked, pointing at your laptop’s screen. After taking a quick sip of the predictably-delicious hot chocolate, you used your cursor to select an image.

“My friend’s been visiting wedding venues all day. Keeps uploading photos onto Facebook.”

“Is this the same one that forgot to tell you about the engagement?”

Impressed, you nodded. “Good memory.”

Stiles shrugged, smiling bashfully. “I remember important things.”

Biting back a smile, you closed the images and sighed, rubbing your temples tiredly. “I haven’t even met this guy. I met her back in middle school, but she moved state when we went up to high school. She met him over there, but I’ve never been introduced him. She says he’s a good guy, but…” You trailed off, unsure of how to word your feelings.

“You never really know,” Stiles supplied. You nodded, managing a tight-lipped grin. “I’m sure he’s great. Your friend doesn’t sound like she’d make bad choices.”

“That’s true.” As you took another drink, your mind whirred at a million miles an hour - you desperately wanted to prolong the conversation. You weren’t sure what it was, but something about the man intrigued you.

“What are you studying?” You asked, looking at him curiously. Stiles’ entire face seemed to light up, amber eyes twinkling earnestly.

“Criminal justice! My dad’s the Sheriff of my town so I’ve always wanted to follow in his footsteps.”

“Sheriff, eh?”

“Yeah,” Stiles broke off, eyes shining, “he does a great job. Sometimes things get...rough back home, but he always pulls through. The guy’s my hero.”

“He sounds wonderful.”

You were surprised at how easy it was to talk to Stiles. Maybe it was the fact that it was 3am, and things always seemed easier with your mind a little sleep-deprived, or maybe you just clicked. You melted into comfortable small talk, and you soon discovered you had even more in common than you’d initially thought.

When he threw in the towel at 4.30am, eyes tired, posture sagging, he seemed sad to go. Feeling the burn of the moment, you pulled him in for a quick hug and buried your head in his shoulder to take a not-so-discreet sniff of his scent.

You knew there was nothing romantic about the moment - or any of the other moments you’d shared together - but as he disappeared from the room with a small wave, you found your heart aching.

There could be something there, and that was exciting enough to keep you awake for the rest of the night.

NIGHT THREE

“I just think it’s ridiculous! I came here to study and get a degree but I’m kept up half the night by ‘Daddy Dave’ fucking his girlfriend! My life is not supposed to be like this!” You exclaimed, angrily venting down the phone. Allison’s laughter followed so you scowled. “This isn’t funny, Alli, this is a disaster.”

From across the room, you could see Stiles holding back a laugh, his shoulders shaking. “Can you hear that much?” She asked, genuinely sounding interested.

“Oh, I can hear way too much. They’re into some serious kink, I’m telling you. In fact, tonight I think there was another person.”

Interrupting, Stiles called out, “Slutty Steve!”

Snorting, you repeated that to Allison. “Wait so there’s Daddy Dave, Daddy Dave’s girlfriend, and now Slutty Steve?”

“Yes. Yes, that’s right. Do you see what I have to put up with?”

“That’s terrible, Y/N. I’m so sorry.”

When Allison called it a night a few minutes later, you asked the question that’d been rattling around your mind. “Hey Stiles,” you asked, causing him to glance up, “how do you know about Dave and Steve?”

He sighed loudly, putting down his phone. “The sex noises...this is the third time they’ve woken me up.”

“Wait, you-” you broke off, cogs whirring. “They’ve woken me up three times, too. Which apartment do you live in?”

“4B,” he answered, and you gasped.

“No way! I’m 4D!”

A look of understanding flickered across Stiles’ face, and everything seemed to fall into place. “That’s amazing.”

You hummed. “Small world, huh?”

When you separated that night, you had a new number in your phone.

NIGHT FOUR

When Daddy Dave decided to wake you up again a few weeks later, you had a new text on your phone. After wrestling with the urge to ignore the lit-up device, you reached across to your nightstand and squinted in order to read the screen.

Stiles (hot chocolate guy): do you want to come over? i have star wars and popcorn ;)

Stiles (hot chocolate guy): that winky face looked weird im so sorry i swear im not creepy

Chuckling, you responded with an affirmative answer. You spent a little too much time picking something to wear and turned up at his door with a couple of blankets a few minutes later.

After waiting for a moment, you rapped against the door and stepped back, waiting, heart racing. It felt like a turning point, to be going into his home, but you urged yourself not to think about it. Overthinking would drive you crazy, and you just wanted to focus on enjoying the night.

You heard the sound of a scuffle, then a low groan, and a moment later the door to Stiles’ apartment was being jerked open. He stumbled forwards, blinking blearily, and gave you a slightly awkward half-wave. “Hi!”

“Hey,” you responded, smiling widely. “Are you okay?” You added, slightly concerned at the edge of frantic held in his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah.” He swallowed and stepped aside, gesturing you inside, “come on in! Sorry for the mess, I wasn’t planning on having you over quite yet.” Quite yet.

You moved inside and quickly kicked off your shoes. “I brought some blankets,” you said, waving the two fluffy things in the air. Stiles reached out so you passed them over, swallowing when his fingers brushed against yours.

“I thought we could just sit on the sofa and watch films until they...decide to stop. Hopefully the sound will block them out.”

Nodding, you stepped into the main body of his apartment. “Stiles, what’s that smell?” The very distinctive scent of burnt popcorn hung heavy in the air, and you found yourself giving him a concerned look.

“Umm,” he began, sounding uncharacteristically bashful, “I might have had a little bit of an accident with my microwave before you arrived. Everything’s alright, but the popcorn is dead.”

You glanced to the kitchen area and saw a few blackened cornels littering the countertops, rolling your eyes a few moments later. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

He smiled, and you quickly arranged yourself on the sofa. It was a comfortable one - plush faux-leather with a scattering of cushions - and you found yourself quickly melting into it. Stiles messed around with the DVD player after you both settled on one of the Star Wars films. When he approached the seat, you noticed a flicker of apprehension cross his face, so moved slightly to the side.

Trying to avoid over-analysing the way he sat closer to you than the free end of the couch, you took the opportunity to check the rest of your messages.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” You exclaimed a minute later, briefly forgetting you weren’t alone. You glared at your phone, a muddle of confused emotions moving through you.

“Everything alright?” Stiles asked, TV remote held in one hand.

Biting your lip, you made a sound of annoyance. “Allison - you know, my friend that’s getting married? She wants me to be her bridesmaid,” you grumbled.

“And that’s...bad?” He guessed.

“Yeah. They’re having a destination wedding and having that much responsibility just...isn’t appealing to me,” you explained. You couldn’t turn her down - you were her best friend - but you weren’t leaping for joy either.

“It won’t just be you though, right? There’s the rest of the bridal party? What about the groom?” Heart fluttering at the amount of concern he seemed to be feeling on your behalf, you nodded.

“Yeah. Apparently, Lydia - she’s one of Allison’s friends - is really good at planning, and I guess Scott probably has things covered. Huh,” you gave him a thankful look, “maybe it won’t be so bad, after all.”

Stiles fell quiet, and after you replied to Allison, you reached out to poke his arm. “Everything alright?”

Stiles put down the remote and stared at you for a few hard seconds. “Scott and Lydia. And Allison,” he stated. Furrowing your eyebrows, you nodded.

“Yeah?”

“You’ve known Allison since you were young, but when she moved away you fell out of contact,” he continued. “She’s getting married to Scott, and they’re all friends with a girl called Lydia.”

Again, you nodded.

“Oh my God!” He exclaimed, slapping his forehead. If you weren’t so confused, you would’ve found it funny. “You’re Y/N!”

“Uh, yeah, Stiles, that’s my name,” you said, watching as he seemed to be having some grand moment of realisation.

“I know you!” He said, eyes twinkling. You were about to ask him what he was talking about when he continued with, “Scott’s my best friend. I went to school with him and Lydia, and we all befriended Allison when she joined in high school! You’re her best friend.”

“You, uh, what?” You asked, puzzled. You understood what he was saying, but it seemed too coincidental to be true.

“Wait, wait,” Stiles stood and walked over to a mantlepiece, picking up a photo frame before bringing it back to you. “Us together, last day of senior year.”

You inspected the photo, gasping when you saw him with your friend. “That’s definitely Allison.” Shocked, you looked at him to find a similar look of incredulity reflected in his eyes. “This really is a small world.” Or it’s just meant to be.

Stiles nodded, sitting on the sofa once more. You shuffled up a few inches, throwing the edge of your blanket over his lap. “Now I think about it, I think I do know you. Sheriff’s son, slightly erratic, kind heart. I see it.”

“Kind heart?” He questioned, teasing you. You rolled your eyes and quickly stopped adjusting yourself when you felt his thigh press against yours. It was then that you realised just how close you were to him - legs touching, arms brushing against one another. You could feel his body heat radiating outwards, touching yours.

“Shut up,” you responded playfully.

You noticed that the activities in the apartment next door had ceased, but decided not to tell Stiles. A little selfish voice inside wanted to spend more time with him and you’d like to think that - if the way he slung his arm around your shoulder and pulled you closer to his side was any indication - he felt the same way.

The opening of Star Wars filled the apartment a few moments later, and you melted into his warm embrace.

In the morning - after waking up in his bed, the scent of breakfast in the air - you left his apartment with a wide grin on your face. Something had shifted: there was now a new energy in your friendship(?) with him. It had something to do with the revelation that you both - sort of - knew one another, but you’d also put it down to the way you’d spent the best part of two hours snuggling on his sofa.

Whatever it was, you were more than excited to see how it turned out.

NIGHT FIVE

A couple of months passed. The wedding had crept up on everyone, and at 7pm, just a few weeks before the event, you found yourself pacing your apartment, practically ripping your hair out as you checked your phone every other minute.

A short knock on your door made you jump, and you ran to it with slightly too much energy. After pulling it open, your eyes fell first on the box, and then on the man holding it.

“God bless you, Stiles Stilinski.”

He held out the white box and you took it very carefully, working your way into your apartment with small, tender steps. “Just hang up your jacket. Everything’s ready.”

Stiles’ small voice came from the door as you slid the box onto the counter. “You really didn’t have to do this, Y/N, it was no bother. Anything for a, uh, friend.” He appeared in your kitchen a second later, scratching at his neck, and for what felt like the first time, you drank in every detail.

A big, puffy jacket rested beneath his chin, the thick material clinging tightly against his chest. You had to fight back the urge to reach out and run your fingers across his torso. His jeans fit snugly, and it took all your willpower to ensure your glance was nothing more than a flitting glance. Moving up, his cheeks held a healthy flush to them, evidence of the biting winter air outside. The red fullness of his cheeks just seemed to exacerbate the golden flecks in his eyes, and you found the yearning feeling intensifying.

“I promised I’d make you dinner in return for collecting the cake. Please, Stiles, just accept the favour.” 

Smiling softly, he nodded. Your kitchen had an island counter so he slid into one of the bar stools, resting his head on his hands.

“It’s pretty good how everything worked out, huh,” he commented. You couldn’t help but hum in agreement, stirring the pot of pasta you had going on the stove. In response to Stiles picking up the wedding cake from the baker’s, you’d promised to make him dinner. Strictly platonic, of course.

“We make a good team.” Pulling the pan from the heat, you missed the look of...something that flickered across his face.

“A great team,” he corrected, causing a heat to warm your cheeks.

Ever since you’d spent the night at his, you’d grown closer to Stiles. He was now one of your closest friends, and you’d spent more time together, both under the cover of night and during the day. He’d been appointed the best man and with you as the bridesmaid, there had certainly been a lot of bonding opportunities.

Nothing had happened between you both. Movie nights featured platonic cuddling, and occasionally you’d make the other dinner as a kindness - but it was never anything more. However, you’d certainly be lying if you said a friendship was all you were after.

“Dinner is served!” You announced, finally finished spreading the sauce across the simple dish.

As you moved to sit on the barstool beside him, Stiles took a mouthful of the dish and moaned, the low sound borderline erotic. “Good?” You asked, quirking your eyebrows.

“Delicious,” he corrected, taking another bite. You had to stifle a laugh when a small bit of pasta sauce fell across his chin.

“You have a little,” you pointed at the patch and Stiles furiously wiped at his chin. “No, more to the left.”

When he missed it for the third time, you reached across and nabbed it with the pad of your thumb, fingers resting on his chin. The skin felt soft - almost too smooth to believe - and the urge to run your hands back around his head and pull him close grow overwhelming.

“Thank you,” he murmured, voice completely clear. His eyes met yours, and you felt your cheeks burn when you saw a note of encouragement hiding in them.

You knew you should let go. Not only was it slightly weird that you were just sitting there - food going cold, grasping his face - but it was overstepping almost every line you’d drawn between you both. You knew you should, but you didn’t.

Instead, you moved in. Every suppressed feeling bubbled to the surface as you carefully brushed your lips against his, eyes fluttering shut as you savoured the sweet moment.

Stiles made a sound of wonder, hands gravitating towards you and hooking to your sides, warm touch sending shivers down your spine. After the initial, tentative kiss, he pushed back against your lips and deepened the second, bringing you impossibly closer as your hands finally, finally slid to have a firm hold on his hair, fingertips grasping at the soft strands.

When you finally pulled back, moments later, you looked at him through new eyes. Gone were the invisible lines, gone were all your hesitations. In front of you sat a man you were beginning to love, and by the look on his face, he was on the edge of falling, too.

“Pasta’s going cold,” you muttered, unable to contain the smile that sprung across your face. Stiles grinned, bouncing his head excitedly.

“Hey, Y/N?” He asked, fingers toying with his fork.

“What?”

“Can I kiss you again?”

Aware that the meal was going cold, you nodded.

“Kiss me whenever you like.”

NIGHT SIX

As the setting sun dipped beneath the horizon, you found yourself relaxing. Your eyes followed the scattering rays as they worked across the beach, sea glinting a million shades of golds and blues. Everything around you was beautiful, and you finally felt as though a weight had been lifted from your shoulders.

“You did well.” Startled by his sudden appearance, you clutched your chest as Stiles approached, two cocktails held in his hand. He slid onto the beach beside you, kicking off his dress shoes and digging his toes in the side. You gratefully accepted the drink, taking a deep sip before moving to lean your head against his shoulder.

“So did you, best man,” you replied. Stiles wrapped an arm around your shoulder, squeezing your arm softly.

Allison and Scott’s wedding had been a success. They’d left the Hawaiian resort to embark on their honeymoon an hour prior, and as soon as the guests had left the venue, you’d retreated to the beach to find some solace. The entire day had been nothing short of hectic, but as it drew to a close you’d managed to find some sense of peace inside yourself.

“It was such a lovely wedding,” you spoke, tucking a hand around his side.

“They’ll stay together forever,” Stiles predicted, and you couldn’t help but agree. The love Scott and Allison showed one another was natural and unwavering. There was no doubt in your mind that they’d be together until they took their final breaths.

A silence fell over you both, the gentle sound of waves lapping against the beach providing you with a perfect calm.

“Do you ever wonder about Daddy Dave and Slutty Steve?” You asked, completely out of the blue. Stiles laughed, chest vibrating.

“Umm...Can’t say I have in a while. Why?”

“They stopped fucking. The girl’s gone too,” you mused. You sat back, losing your grip on Stiles, and took another sip of the fruity cocktail. “Makes you wonder about things.”

“Things? What things?”

Sighing, you turned to face him properly. The remains of the setting sun flickered across his figure, with his hair glowing angelically and amber flecks in his eyes enhanced. In a word, he looked even more attractive than usual.

“Life, love. Things start, things end, and that’s just the way everything goes. I just…” You broke off, words on the tip of your tongue. You wanted to say them, speak the little words that would change the course of your relationship, but you were scared to rock the boat on your already-fresh relationship.

In the distance, some children ran into the sea. You watched their parents cheering them on, and felt a warmth spread through your chest. “I want that someday. Want this,” you began, trying to pick your words carefully, “the wedding, the family, the love.”

Finishing your cocktail, you balanced the empty glass on the side of the bench and turned back to face him, taking his hands between yours. Stiles gave you a reassuring squeeze, smiling ever so slightly. “I want that all with you. And I don’t want to freak you out or anything because I know we haven’t been together long, but I just really want it someday. With you. Because I love you and I don’t know if you feel the same but-”

And then his lips were on yours. Soft, warm, tender. It lasted a brief second, but when he pulled back he left his forehead resting against yours.

“Y/N,” he said, voice heavy with emotion. “I love you too.”

“You do?”

“I do.” He gave you another swift peck. “Those things you said - the family, the love - we can do that. We will do that. Our future is so, so bright.”

Tears prickled your eyes and you distracted from the fact by going to kiss him again. Halfway through, however, you had to break off, a loud laugh destroying the moment.

“You know,” you said, voice shaking from the effort of trying not to laugh, “when people ask how we got together, we’re going to have to blame Daddy Dave. He gets all the credit.”

Stiles laughed with you, and you rested your head against his shoulder once more. “I love you,” you repeated once you’d calmed down.

With a picturesque beach ahead of you and a man who made you unbelievably happy beside you, everything had finally slotted into place. You were happy and he was happy, and in that moment, it was enough.

“I love you too,” he said.

You knew he meant it, and you also knew your love would rival that of your best friend’s. With the melodic soundtrack of the beach lulling you to rest, you let your brain switch off for a while.

You had him and he had you, and together you had the rest of your lives to build something wonderful together.

any feedback? I would love to hear any thoughts you have on this!

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[they-thember]

In Which Mr. Krupp’s Secret Superpowers Aren’t Quite So Secret

( @guiltyhipster and @thatanimationgirl because we’re writing and tagging friends!!) hey y’all remember when I said I wrote CU fanfiction like five months ago. uh. here it is!! I mostly wrote it as a self-indulgent thing because I had no clue there would actually like…be a fandom!! So it’s not my best work lol I just wanted to get my ideas out on paper. 

In this, our favorite terrible principal comes down with a cold, and it turns out that Captain Underpants’ powers begin to leak through while he’s in this miserable state…I am a sad writer’s soul and I would totally love comments if you wanted to give them but totally don’t feel obligated yo!! (ALSO I wrote this when I knew that Miss Anthrope would be Mr. Krupp’s love interest, but I DIDN’T know that she was the lunch lady now so like…she’s the secretary in this lmao)

George and Harold were terribly bright children who just happened to also be terribly, terribly naughty. They never caused any harm, of course, unless one would think that placing ketchup packets beneath toilet seats, replacing the American flag in their classroom with a pair of XXL underwear, and rearranging the letters on the lunchroom bulletin board so it would read “FRIDAY’S LUNCH WILL BE: SWEATY BRAS”, was harmful.

And Principal Krupp definitely considered all those things harmful….

And thus, George and Harold found themselves in detention quite frequently. You would think that he would show a little bit of gratitude to George and Harold for keeping his miserable life interesting. And also, of course, for continuously assisting Mr. Krupp in saving the world.

Though, they couldn’t exactly expect his thanks for that last bit. Mainly because Mr. Krupp didn’t know about it.

“Do you ever think that things might go a bit easier for us if we told Mr. Krupp that he’s Captain Underpants?” Harold asked one cloudy afternoon in after-school detention as he doodled in his sketch book, completely ignoring the pages of math homework in the corner of his desk.

George rose an eyebrow, not even looking up from the story ideas he was jotting down on the page where his English essay ought to be. “So he can expel us for hypnotizing him into believing he’s a superhero?”

“…Okay, yeah, not the best idea.”

“Not the best idea,” George agreed with a teasing grin, giving his best friend’s shoulder a harmless shove. “Besides, he’d use his powers to fly up to our treehouse and make sure we’re doing our homework.”

Harold couldn’t help a snort of laughter. “And he’d use his super strength to sit on us!”

“And use his super vision to peek into Miss Anthrope’s bedroom window!” George added, and the boys were soon giggling madly, hands clamped over their mouths.

“And he would use his authority as the principal to give you brats another two days of detention!”

Harold and George paled and slowly turned to find Mr. Krupp glowering at them from the detention room doorway, arms crossed over his chest and a scowl etched into his face (which was usually just as unpleasant to begin with). The boys shared a horrified look, wondering exactly how much of the conversation their principal had overheard. He couldn’t have heard them mentioning his status as Piqua, Ohio’s local superhero?

Clearly not. He would be far angrier than this. This here was Mr. Krupp’s usual ‘angry’ setting—perhaps the most overused emotion he had, but nevertheless, it was better than the blind rage that the boys knew would come about if he had overheard the beginning of that conversation.

Mr. Krupp stormed into the room, snatching up Harold’s sketch book before the fourth-grader could protect it. He grumbled to himself as he ripped out the newest page, and Harold clutched at the metaphorical rip in his own heart. “I suppose you boys are making your ridiculous comics rather than doing your homework?”

“Th-This is our homework!” George lied quickly before Mr. Krupp could reach for his own notebook of story ideas.

“Is it, now?” their principal snorted in disbelief. “For which class, then?”

“Art!” Harold exclaimed at the same time that George said “English!”

“Ha!” Mr. Krupp snickered, jabbing a finger in Harold’s horrified face. “Art! As if we would offer that here! You miserable little hobgoblins are creative enough as it is! Now, I’m going to take this sketch book of yours and lock it up in my desk until—”

“Benny?” came the nasally voice of the school secretary over the PA system in the classroom. “You’re still in Room 201, aren’t you?”

Mr. Krupp flushed and cleared his throat. “Yes, Miss Anthrope, and the brats in detention are, too!” he called up to the receiver.

“Oh! Well, excuse me, sir—” The way his obvious love interest called him ‘sir’ had George and Harold shuddering, their faces scrunched in disgust. “–But there’s a…bit of a situation.”

“Can’t it wait?” Mr. Krupp growled, still glaring daggers to George and Harold. 

“Well….you see, there’s a flaming giant robot from space heading for the school! It just ate the gym teacher!”

Mr. Krupp’s toupee nearly tumbled off his head as he scrambled out the classroom door. “WHAT!? His family will sue us for sure! We’ll never get those holiday bonuses!” And with that, he was gone, footsteps thundering down the hall as he rushed to avoid this lawsuit.

George and Harold exchanged a wary look before pouncing out of their chairs. “Oh no!” Harold cried, running faster than he ever had in gym class. The boys bolted down the hallway in search of their principal, knowing that the school–and perhaps the world–needed Captain Underpants far more than it did Mr. Krupp.  

“Here we go again!” George’s voice echoed down the hall, followed by an exclamation from their principal (“Hey! Just because the school is under attack doesn’t mean you get to leave detention, bubs!”) and a loud snap of Harold’s fingers.

~~

As far as adventures went….this one was a bit dull.

Captain Underpants was more than ready to take on the flaming robot from outer space, of course. Once Harold snapped his fingers, the sound turned Mr. Krupp into his cheery alter ego, as per usual, and the hero was flying out the door in seconds. Fortunately, the dark clouds rumbling overhead chose that time to unleash a downpour. The flaming robot, clearly, was not expecting rain in Earth’s forecast so soon after arriving to wreak havoc. It promptly collapsed, the flames extinguishing in seconds. Captain Underpants grinned victoriously, hands placed on his hips in triumph. This only lasted momentarily before the rain had the hero’s head completely soaked. Only a minor setback for most heroes, perhaps, but Captain Underpants was much like the damaged robot from space in that water was his only weakness. In seconds, Captain Underpants was Mr. Krupp once more. The school principal barely had time to blink in surprise at being up so high before he was, unfortunately, plummeting back to earth, screaming in horror all the while.

Even more unfortunate was the gym teacher hurrying out of the robot’s broken chest plate, obviously unharmed. George and Harold would have expressed more disappointment if they weren’t screaming and scrambling with their arms outstretched, more than prepared to try to save their principal. Despite their small size and naughty tendencies, George and Harold really were very warm-hearted children, if not a bit slow to realize that trying to catch the plummeting man would only result in massive injury for them.

Thankfully, Mr. Krupp landed in the massive oak tree outside of the school. George and Harold skid to a stop and sighed in relief while their principal screamed and swore from the branches of the tree that had him tangled. They could have just left– after all, he was still alive, wasn’t he?— but the fourth graders couldn’t bring themselves to do so.

“You alright, Mr. Krupp?” George called, hands cupped around his mouth.

“What would POSSIBLY make you think that I’m ALRIGHT!?” he growled from the tangle of tree branches. The principal was still in nothing but his underwear and cape, shivering irritably as the leaves did little in protecting him from the rain. “Now get back to detention, like I ORDERED YOU TO!”

“Fine…” Harold frowned, fists balled at his sides as he started back into the school with George. “You know, if he was nicer, I would probably tell him that he can just fly down. But he can figure out how to get down on his own…Maybe Miss Anthrope will have to call the fire department to get him down like a cat.”

“I sure feel bad for the firemen…” George shuddered. “Let’s just go home, since Mr. Krupp’s not here to make sure we stay in detention….”

Harold grinned and hurried down the hallway to their locker. “Yeah! My mom’s making grilled cheese. We can take them up to the treehouse and watch a movie!”

“But, wait!” George frowned. “Shouldn’t we do our homework first?”

The boys stared at each other before bursting into laughter. They grabbed their backpacks and umbrella before starting out the door. And with that, they forgot about their angry principal screaming from the top of the oak, and they forgot about the (unfortunately) alive gym teacher, and they forgot about the robot rusting in the rain. In fact, they didn’t think twice about their nearly-exciting adventure until the next day when they were walking to school.

“That’s….weird,” George noted with a cocked eyebrow as they walked past Mr. Krupp’s house. The irritable man had a strangely pleasant garden, and at the edge of the yard was his mailbox, bent awkwardly to one side.

“So, someone hit it with a bat. I’d probably do that, too, if he wouldn’t suspect us right away,” Harold shrugged, before quirking his head when he got a good look at Mr. Krupp’s front door. It was shut, but angled a bit oddly at the doorknob. Like somebody had yanked on the door to a dollhouse and it bent. “Maybe this was all…the storm?”

“There was only just a bit of rain yesterday….” George frowned. They reached the school, noting dozens of children playing on the massive empty corpse of the robot. Of course the school wouldn’t remove it. That cost money that could have been going to terrible field trips and massages for the teachers. 

The boys turned the corner, approaching the parking lot of their school. Thoughts of bent mailboxes and crooked doors fled their minds with ease as they hurried for the playground, only slowing when they saw Mr. Krupp emerge from his car. “Well, I guess he got down from that tree at some point….” Harold murmured to George.

“He looks kind of…awful,” George decided on after a moment, his brow knit with concern.

“Uh, yeah, and you say that as if he’s not awful every day of our lives.”

Mr. Krupp grumbled to himself as he rose from the driver’s seat of the car, stalling as he held onto the top of the door. His irritated expression softened, only for his brows to knit together a moment later. He rose a curled knuckle to his nose while the other hand began to close the car door. “GhiihhHHH–! ShHEEUUHH!!”

George and Harold were barely able to choke back twin screams when the car door seemed to be sucked into the side of the vehicle with the force of Mr. Krupp’s slam. It looked like another car had crashed into it, for how battered it was now. Meanwhile, the window of the neighboring car promptly cracked with a spiderweb break with Mr. Krupp’s fierce expulsion.

The principal blinked dazedly, not noticing the damage around him as his sights locked on George and Harold. His pudgy nose crinkled with a sniffle before he scowled. “And what do you think you two are staring at!?” he snarled, turning to storm into the school without a second glance.

“….George,” Harold croaked after a moment, staring at the aftermath before them. “Did you just see—”

“Yeah. Yeah, man, I saw it…” George murmured, swallowing as panic raced through his mind.

“Mr. Krupp–”

“Yeah.”

“He must have caught a—”

“Uh-huh.”

“And his powers–?”

“I know!”

“The door and the mailbox–?”

“Probably!”

“What can we–?”

“I don’t know!” George exclaimed, clutching his best friend by the shoulders. “I didn’t think he could use his powers when he’s not Captain Underpants! H-He doesn’t KNOW he has powers!”

“Well, I-I guess sneezing isn’t exactly something he can control….” Harold shrugged, running a hand nervously through his mess of blonde hair. “So his powers must not be controllable when he’s Mr. Krupp, either…”

George groaned and hurried for the school along with Harold. “So are we just going to be chasing him around like we were before he got powers? Make sure he doesn’t kill himself?”

“HihhHHH–!” they heard from down the empty hallway.

“Or anyone else,” Harold swallowed, skidding to a stop outside of the admissions office.

“IGGHSEEUUUHH!!”

Not hearing any alarming sounds following that sneeze, George and Harold peeked into the office. Miss Anthrope sat at her desk, fanning her face as Mr. Krupp trudged into his office. Her glasses were gone, and her hair resembled a mess of wind-blown leaves. “Gesundheit, Benny…” she said dazedly, blinking in surprise. “Wh-Why don’t I get you some tissues?”

“I’m fine…” Mr. Krupp grumbled as he thoroughly scrubbed the underside of his itching, reddening nose. His nostrils flared ticklishly, and George and Harold tensed in preparation. They watched cautiously as Mr. Krupp’s breath snagged unevenly, but the need to sneeze soon evaded him, and he released a shaky sigh. “Ughh…” he grumbled as he rubbed his nose once more, clearly not making the connection that the movement would just tickle him further. 

“It sounds like you have a cold! Maybe I ought to warm you up after school…”

George and Harold shuddered and slipped back out fully into the hallway. “I mean, at least it’s not earth-shattering every time…” George tried to lighten the situation.

“Uh, yeah, but it could also be WORSE than earth-shattering…” Harold noted.

George nodded as the first bell of the day rang. They boys hurried off to class, backpacks clutched in their hands. “We just have to keep an eye on him! That’ll be easy enough!”

It was far from easy, really.

~~

“Hey! Pay attention!” Melvin Sneedly hissed to George and Harold, giving the both of them a poke with his pencil.

“Melvin! Shut up!” Harold huffed, snatching the pencil from Melvin as he and George continued to peer into the hallway, eyes trained on the admissions office.

“This will be on a test!”

“Then you better pay attention!” George said with a roll of his eyes, and he and Harold immediately jumped when a booming sneeze from Mr. Krupp echoed down the hallway. The two boys tensed and listened. They waited a moment before sighing with relief. Maybe nothing happened?

An instant later, shouts were heard from the hall as the water fountain in the office had, mysteriously, been dislocated from the wall.

“You’re up to something…” their nerdy nemesis growled, adjusting his glasses in a menacing way that only Melvin could achieve.

“Melvin!” Miss Ribble hummed pleasantly, giving his desk a tap with her ruler. “Pay attention, dear, or you won’t get cookies after class!”

“But– they were–!” Melvin hurried to explain, jabbing his finger at George and Harold.

“He’s distracting us, Miss Ribble!” George said, blinking innocently up to their teacher.

“We’re just trying to concentrate,” Harold added, though he couldn’t exactly say what they were supposed to be concentrating on.

“They’re lying!” Melvin exclaimed shrilly, face going red with frustration as he clenched his tiny fists. “They weren’t paying attention. THEY were distracting ME!”

“Well! We can’t have George and Harold being a distraction, again, now can we?”

The best friends stiffened nervously while Melvin grinned ear to ear. The three of them turned to find Mr. Krupp glowering in the doorway, just as he had found George and Harold the day before. Their principal had dark rings beneath his eyes, and his reddened, cold-ridden nose just looked ready to wreak further havoc. “You two! In my office, now!” he barked hoarsely. 

George and Harold exchanged a fearful look. Normally they would be defending their stance in regards to Melvin being the jerk out of all of them, but the two friends seemed to have the same idea as they rose, following after Mr. Krupp. They ignored Melvin’s snickering, simply following silently behind their principal.

“Can’t seem to go a day without misbehaving, hmm?” Mr. Krupp grunted hoarsely before stopping in his tracks.

George and Harold bumped into his back, stumbling once they realized he wasn’t moving. Mr. Krupp brought his nose into the crook of his elbow, taking in a shuddering gasp of breath. “HIhh–!! HIhh–HIhhHHH….”

“Oh, no!” Harold squeaked, clutching George’s arm.

“Oh, no!” George gasped as well, though his eyes were trained on the ground.  Mr. Krupp slowly began to rise from the floor, unaware of his added height as he struggled with the impending sneeze. He floated steadily upward, chest shuddering with more and more hitching breaths as he went, hovering just as Captain Underpants might.

To make matters worse, the bell rang to dismiss the students to their next class.

At once, George and Harold grabbed the legs of Mr. Krupp’s pants and pulled. The man’s powers clearly were no match for the kids, as nothing happened other than Mr. Krupp’s trousers coming down with George and Harold’s pulling. The boys gasped and gave one more yank, this time to Mr. Krupp’s ankles.With that pull, they brought him back to the floor, sending him sprawling down and resulting in a slight tremor beneath their feet. As the students filtered out of their classrooms, they stopped to stare at their principal tumbling to the floor with his pants around his ankles, though thankfully, they didn’t seem to notice his previous floating.

And, as children do, they laughed.

“HuuRRGGSHEOOOHH!!” Mr. Krupp sneezed fiercely down towards his chest, hardly concerned with using his elbow again. His brow knit immediately after, upper lip pulling into a snarl with the need to sneeze again.  “HiiiHHH–!! GHIIsHhhhEEOOOHH!!”

George and Harold looked frantically around at their laughing classmates, trying to determine if anything super-powered and destructive had resulted from those two sneezes. Perhaps the floating itself had been the dose of energy allocated to those releases, as everything else around them seemed fine.

Then they saw Melvin. The genius had his eyes narrowed as he watched Harold and George. He had been the only one not laughing at Mr. Krupp’s pantless tumble. He looked suspicious with an eager tilt to his scowl, knowing that there was something afoot that he could expose.

George and Harold couldn’t think about Melvin right now. There were more important things at hand. 

Mr. Krupp rose slowly from the floor, however, his eyes filled to the brim with unbridled rage. He stared coldly at George and Harold as he silently pulled his trousers up, adjusting the belt. “My. Office,” he growled, sending the children in the hallway quiet with the eerie, tight fury in his voice. “Now.”

George and Harold forgot about watching him to be sure that he didn’t have to sneeze. They scrambled into the admissions office, and into Mr. Krupp’s from there, feeling like bugs being chased by a starved bird. They took their usual seats, eyes locked nervously on the “KNEEL HERE” sign on the front of the desk.

“We’re dead,” Harold croaked, seeing his tiny life flashing before his eyes. “He didn’t even yell! George, he’s REALLY mad! He’ll murder us!”

“I don’t think he feels well enough to murder us…” George tried to reason, but he was definitely terrified as well.

“Ohhh, you don’t look well, Benny….” Miss Anthrope said in a cooing voice once Mr. Krupp came back into the admissions office. “You should go home…”

While George and Harold gagged silently at the affection that the two nasty adults had for each other, they couldn’t help but silently beg Mr. Krupp to listen to the secretary. That would make their jobs so much easier if Mr. Krupp just wound up destroying his own house, where nobody could witness his super-powered sickness. Unless Miss Anthrope paid him a visit later. The boys both shuddered as they had this thought at the same time.

“I can’t go home, Edith….” Mr. Krupp murmured, rubbing irritably beneath his nose. His angry expression softened only slightly when she placed her hand on his forearm. “We have that damn assembly at 10…”

George and Harold didn’t even blink at hearing their principal swear. They both clutched their faces and stared at each other in horror, thinking about the entire school filing into the gym for the assembly. Everyone in the school staring at Mr. Krupp and his sickly, super-powered self.

“George,” Harold gasped, face drained of all color. “What are we supposed to do!?”

“I-I don’t know–But we have to do…something!” George shook his head, refusing to think of what would happen if the whole school paid witness to something similar to what happened in the hallway. Who wouldn’t be completely horrified at seeing their principal start to float, or break something with the force of his sneeze?

“How, though!?” Harold groaned, struggling to keep his voice low. “We can’t keep this up!”

“This is what we get for hypnotizing him! And now we’re the only ones who….” George trailed off before sighing deeply, placing a thoughtful hand on his chin. “…I was going to say, we’re the only ones who know about….his powers…but….”

Harold gulped and shook his head. “No.”

“Harold—”

“No! We’re not doing that!”

“We have to!” George said in a tight, shushing voice. “We need someone who knows how to…deal with this sort of thing.”

“But–! He’ll tell!”

“Not if we offer him something that he can’t refuse….” George said before sighing again, looking far more exhausted than a fourth-grader should. “….We have to ask Melvin for help.”

[808lionfire]

Baby Blues

A Fairy Tail Fanfiction

Overview: Rated T for minor heat and some foul language. Modern!AU. Characters are in mid- to late-twenties. Fluff. The summary is low-key misleading. It sounds like there’s angst, but there really isn’t.

Pairing(s): Natsu/Lucy (Main), Implied Sting/Yukino, Implied Jellal/Erza, Implied Laxus/Mirajane, Natsu/Sting - Friendship, Sting/Lucy - Friendship, Implied Lucy/Yukino - Friendship. 

Summary: With all the kids his friends were popping out, he never really found the urge to have any of his own. That feeling, however, was long before knew how wrong it felt when his weirdo best friend approached him with a child (that looked a little too much like her, and both draped in baby blues) on her arm, and it wasn't his.

Word Count: 4,343

A/N: Cross posted on FanFiction.Net. Inspiration is fickle and I still have to update my other story but lmfao. I’ll get to that when schooling calms down... probably.

Baby Blues

Natsu Dragneel wiped the sweat from his forehead, a bright grin on his lips.

Excited shrieks of children laughing around him, a few grabby hands tugging at the hems of his shirt. He tried to pacify their eager calling, one of his hand lifted in surrender as he dropped the ball he was holding in the other. The toddlers around him scooted to the side when he gently shooed them away. With a falsely anticipated voice, he slowly counted to three before he lightly kicked the ball and chuckled when three different children gave chase.

The salmon-haired man gave an exhausted sigh and walked over to break them apart when the kids started to tumble with each other, the soccer ball ways away from their small tussle. He noted to apologize to Makarov the next time he saw the old man, only now realizing how much grey hairs they must've given him when they were brats.

"Natsu Dragneel?" A voice called teasingly from the other end of the grassy clearing. "Breaking up a fight, and not being the cause of it? Now I'm sure I've seen everything."

The man in question looked up from where he was holding the collars of two different shirts, the children struggling in his grip to get at each other despite the obvious difference in their and their captor's strengths. Natsu had readied a glare and a sharp retort for the speaker, only to stop when a familiar mop of blonde hair and a playful smirk on the other man's face registered in his mind.

Sting Eucliffe, always the confident individual, swaggered over to where Natsu was, hands in his pockets and a sort of tired tint to his face. Natsu grinned as he let released the two kids and stood up to greet the blonde with a clasp of their hands and a brief bro-hug.

"What're you doin' here?" Natsu asked once they separated. "I thought you guys were on the first flight back to Crocus."

"We were stubbornly invited," Sting answered with a chuckle, glancing at the children who quickly forgot about the two adults and their previous squabbling and started chasing after the ball again. "Lucy insisted that we at least stay for Juvia's baby shower before we left. I figure she just wants us and Hugo to enjoy all the doting before we set off."

"Oh?" The pinkette's smile dropped, his lips pressing into a thin line.

"Yeah," the blonde man nodded, "but by how excited she looked, you guys must have some sort of surprise for us."

Natsu sighed, one of his hands slipping into his pockets while the other pulled his scarf away from his mouth. "Luce really doesn't know how to keep a secret."

"So I was right?" Sting looked a little shocked but then burst out into laughter. "Oh, man! It's a good thing Yuki is pretty oblivious to that kind of stuff. I guess also it helps that she still hasn't gotten used to taking care of Hugo on the go. That kid is an absolute monster at night, seriously."

"You and Yukino made Lucy happy though," Natsu chuckled. "She was really upset when she couldn't make it to Hugo's birth."

"Yuki too," Sting sighed. "That's why as soon as we got the green light from the doc, we got on the next flight here. I don't think I've seen my wife or our child the entire time we were here. It took six months, but my little family finally feels complete with Fairy Tail backing us up."

"You can count on us for anything," Natsu promised with an easy grin. "If it wasn't for your job back in the capital, Luce would've pestered you guys to move to Magnolia."

"Please. You wouldn't have to pester us," the blonde man admitted with a laugh. "If I know my wife, the she wouldn't let Lucy question before jumping at the offer. Yukino knows how important taking over the guild is for me though, and it would be a difficult move with Hugo so young."

"Congrats, by the way," Natsu told him with a chuckle of his own, "for the job and for the baby. Yukino must be relieved that he's not as ugly as you."

Sting punched his arm. "Screw off, man. I'm beautiful."

The pinkette laughed and opened his mouth to say more but an exclamation of surprise stole his focus and his head whipped to attention. "Oi, Simon Louis Fernandez! Put that down!" Natsu shouted across the clearing to the scarlet-haired toddler. "Your mother is going to have my head if she finds out I let you eat dirt again!"

The child, Simon, froze from where his dirt covered hand was poised halfway to his mouth and stared at him rounded eyes. Natsu sternly folded his arms across his chest when the child refused to budge and gave him the well-practiced 'eye' that Lucy always gave him when they first met. Mere moments later, Simon relented with a sag of his shoulders and dropped the fist full of earth back to the ground.

"Jeez," Natsu sighed when the child started after the other children again. "These brats stir up trouble the second you take your eyes off of them."

"That's why Uncle Natsu is here," Sting drawled in the most patronizing tone he could muster and snickered when the pinkette shoved him. "Kids are exhausting, man, but so worth it," the blonde man yawned and stretched his arms over his head. "So?" He asked, "when are we going to see little Natsu spawns running around and causing havoc?"

Natsu snorted. "These spawns are enough," he admitted, gesturing to the group of three children in front of him. "Erza and Mira synced their pregnancies with Simon and Elysia, so it's not like havoc is really a shortage in Fairy Tail. Thankfully they behave... sorta, with Asuka around." Natsu scratched the back of his neck, "I don't know how Jellal and Laxus can put up with this all day."

"Guess it's just something you won't really understand until it happens," Sting shrugged.

"Probably," Natsu agreed, "but don't count on it."

Elysia's gleeful shriek cut Sting's response as the four-year old broke away from the small crowd of children. "An' Usy!"

There was a quieter, but equally gleeful response and Natsu looked for the light-haired child's sudden interest. He knew, of course, that 'An' Usy' meant 'Aunt Lucy' in the child's warbled speech. He knew that Lucy wouldn't cause any harm to the kids, but constant cautious experience for the little humans developed a habit to always check what had gotten the kids so excited. Just for safe keeping.

What he wasn't expecting, though, was the sudden glow surrounding her as she held a lightly bundled child in her arms, beaming brightly at the children that ran up to her. She knelt in front of the kids, moved her body so she could cast a shadow over the bundle, and shifted the baby in her arms so the other kids' curious eyes could peek inside. Natsu couldn't hear what was said, but the excitement radiating off of the children had been enough to guess.

"There's the light of my life!" Sting exclaimed when Lucy stood back up to make her way over, a trail of duckling-children following closely behind her.

The blonde woman laughed, shooting the man a teasing look. "I'm flattered, Sting, I really am. But I don't go for married men."

"Oh, har har, Lucy. You're hilarious," Sting mocked in amusement.

"The talent oozes," Lucy shot back haughtily as she stopped in front of them, her chocolate-brown eyes glowing happily. "Hey, Natsu?" She grinned, bringing the baby up to her face and pressing their cheeks together, "doesn't he look like me? If I were twenty-three and a half or so years younger, we could be twins."

Natsu raised his eyebrow at her, but couldn't help but agree. The baby inherited Sting's blonde hair, just a shade paler than Lucy's, and Yukino's dark brown eyes. It wasn't the first time he was struck by Hugo's eerily likeness to the blonde woman; however, it was the first time they were close enough to compare. If he was a stranger looking in, he could have mistaken Hugo for Lucy's son.

And that really didn't sit well with him.

The grin on the woman's face slid off her lips, a frown of concern replacing it. "Natsu?" Lucy asked warily, cradling Hugo back into her arms. "Are you alright?"

Natsu blinked at her, his eyes focusing onto her own. "Huh? Wha– yeah. Of course I am, you weirdo. Why wouldn't I be?"

"You had a strange look on your face," Lucy replied, years of knowing him tuned out the weirdo comment. "I can take over watching the kids if you need a break."

"Nah," Natsu replied, an easy grin slipping onto his face as he shoved both of his hands into his pockets. "It's almost time for lunch anyway, right?" Lucy nodded, still hesitant. "See? I got them, Luce. Don't worry about it."

"If you're sure," she mused, eyeing him for a moment before turning back to Hugo with a affectionate smile on her lips. "Alright, Hue, you wanna go back to daddy?" Lucy's smile grew when the baby's arms slid out from the blanket and wiggled his fingers in the air. "What about daddy, huh? You think daddy's ready to take you back?"

In reply, Sting held his hands out and wiggled his fingers, mimicking Hugo's actions. Lucy snickered before she carefully passed the baby to his father and gave a final farewell coo before removing her hands entirely. The blond man loosed the blankets around his son, letting the baby's hands curiously explore his face as he playfully nuzzled their noses together.

"Hey there, little light," the blonde man cooed to his son, a finger lifted to move the blanket away from the baby's face. "Did you miss daddy? Mommy must have been desperate if she gave you to Aunt Lucy of all people."

The golden-haired woman rolled her eyes, folding her arms across her chest. "Yukino wants you to change Hugo's diaper," she informed, a smirk on her lips when Sting's quickly dropped. "I couldn't really smell it through the blankets, but if your son is anything like you, it's a stinker."

The children that were waiting faithfully behind Lucy finally drew her attention with their giggles and she missed the scowl Sting sent her at the jab. Natsu, however, chuckled at the expression the other man was currently wearing and could only smile in amusement when the (grown) man started to complain to the bundled baby. The pinkette turned back to his best friend just in time to see the children trying to drag her to where they caught an earthworm nearly an hour before.

Knowing Lucy really wouldn't take as smoothly to the wiggling worm as he had, Natsu quickly jumped forward and caught the blonde's wrist in his hand. "Hey, guys?" He addressed the children, ignoring the curious look Lucy sent him, "I really don't think Aunt Lucy wants to see the worm you three caught earlier."

"Aw! Uncle Natsu!" Asuka complained, a pout in his direction. "You ruined the surprise!"

Lucy's eyes rounded, her mouth popping open slightly. "A-Ah, well. U-Uncle Natsu has a p-point. "

"But is really big!" Simon tried to reason, his eyes widening up at Lucy. "Really, really big!"

Natsu's eyes shot towards Lucy's face, knowing the blonde was the biggest sucker for their wide-eyed attacks. As he expected, the blonde's chocolate-brown orbs melted under the stare. It also didn't help that Elysia, the more reserved one of the three, had started to tug at her other hand and gave Lucy the pout that Mirajane had most likely taught her to use on Laxus.

He could feel Lucy's hand weaken under his fingers as she quickly turned and shot him a panicked look. Natsu, who surprisingly doesn't fare much better against the visual assault when it's directed towards him, just shrugged back helplessly. He had to hide his amused smile at the comical look of betrayal that shot across her face.

Taking pity on his best friend, Natsu sighed and tugged her under his arm, giving the children a wary look. "Maybe later, yeah?" He asked with a grin. "It's almost lunch time, so why don't we get all cleaned up before your moms skin me alive?"

"Natsu!" Lucy hissed under her breath, elbowing him in the side. "That is not something you tell children!"

Natsu snorted, keeping a close eye on the children as they jumped and squealed over each other to get to the campground first. "Please, Luce. They each saw me get my ass kicked at least twice this week."

Lucy set harsh eyes on him. "Don't encourage them then, you dolt!"

"It got them movin', didn't it?" He asked with a noncommittal shrug. "And 'sides, it wasn't like I was lyin'."

"Oh, whatever," the blonde woman huffed, ducking under his arm to address the quiet father behind them. "Yukino's expecting you," she told Sting with a defeated sigh. "Are you guys sure you can't move here? I'm going to miss this little guy."

Sting laughed at this. "We have responsibilities back home, Lucy, but the wife would definitely take you up on that offer."

"Yeah, I know," she huffed again, blowing a stray strand of hair out of her face. "That's why I didn't ask Yukino."

"Doesn't mean you can't visit us up in Crocus, though," Sting offered and then continued with a wink, cuddling his son closer. "Who knows? Maybe you might have started your own little spawn buy then."

"Right," Lucy snickered, leaning back to press herself against Natsu. The latter glaring at Sting before the words even fell from the man's lips. "I have enough of my hands full with this big baby," the blonde woman cooed, reaching up and playfully tapping the pinkette's cheek with her hand. "Isn't that right, Natsu?"

The man in question gave her a mocking smile. "I wonder who's takin' care of who, Luce," he returned, wrapping his arm around her again. "Wasn't it just last week when you was complaining that you were just too sick to move?"

Sting cut in through Lucy's sudden silence, a grin on his face. "I'm still expecting some happy news the next time we see each other."

"Don't hold your breath," the blonde woman grumbled. She then shook Natsu's arm away and separated herself from the group. "I'm going to go check on the kids. Only the stars know what kind of trouble they'll get into at the sinks."

"Check Simon, yeah?" Natsu asked her, catching her hand in his and tangling their fingers together. When Lucy turned to look back at him with curious eyes, he winced. "Kid tried to eat dirt. Again."

Lucy huffed out a knowing laugh, turning on her toes and lifting herself up to plant a chaste kiss on his cheek. "I'll make sure there's no evidence," she giggled, dropping back on her heels. "You get cleaned up too, okay? Juvia wants to keep her baby blue tablecloths spotless and I really don't want to spend the night by my boyfriend's hospital bed."

"If she can catch me," Natsu snickered. Lucy just fondly rolled her eyes in reply before untangling their hands and bounded off to where the children disappeared.

"I don't know why you two are so against having a kid," Sting commented when Natsu turned back to him. "Having Hugo changed my entire life– and don't say it's because you're both too busy to have a kid, because I just inherited the guild and Yukino had her new internship at the office. I think Yuki and I know a thing or two about being 'too busy.'"

"It's not that," Natsu sighed, reaching back to fluff the hair above his neck.

Sting shifted Hugo in his arms, smiling down at his son when the child let out a happy giggle. "Did you ask her?" He questioned without looking, letting tiny fingers reach out towards his own.

Natsu blinked. "What?"

"Did you ask her?" Sting repeated, looking up this time. "Did you ask Lucy if she even wanted to have kids?"

"Well... no," Natsu admitted. "But– c'mon, man. You heard her earlier. She told you not to hold your breath."

"Geez, Natsu," the blonde man sighed. "Think about it. You've been together for what? Four years? Your friends are popping up babies left and right. There's no way that she hadn't considered having a kid with you. Women talk, man. One of the only women left in your group who hasn't had a kid yet is Levy, and it's not like it's for the lack of trying."

"Just talk it out, yeah?" Sting asked, clapping a hand on Natsu's shoulder when the other man stayed quiet. "We should get going. I still gotta change Hue's diaper and you gotta get cleaned up. I really don't want you to send us off in a hospital bed."

Natsu landed face-first in exhaustion, the crisp, soft sheets under him giving his aching muscles some reprieve from the harsh day. A laugh sounded from behind him him shortly before he was nudged aside and was joined in a similar fashion. Not caring that hot and humid the day was still clinging to their skins, he rolled enough to pull the equally exhausted blonde into his arms. He nuzzled his way to the side of her face and pressed a kiss to her temple. She giggled affectionately and curled closer.

"Hey, Luce?"

"Hm?"

Natsu lazily dug his fingers between her shoulders, easing the knots out of her back. "Did you mean it?"

"Mean what?" Lucy asked with a satisfied sigh, tension easing from her shoulders.

"When you told Sting not to hold his breath?" The blonde woman froze at his words, her body tensing appropriately. Natsu only continued his fingers' dance on her back until she was somewhat relaxed again. "Well, did you?" He prodded, the smug bastard's words willing him to continue.

Lucy blew out a breath, the air hot on his chest despite his shirt covering it. "Well... I can't say that I haven't thought about it," she admitted, her hand drifting up to rest on the area above his heart. "But, between our guild jobs, your work at the firehouse, and mine with Sorcerer's, I guess there really wasn't much time to really think about it. I mean, that's no excuse. Jason wasn't exactly being subtle when he said we could get maternity leave..."

"So... why don't we?" Natsu asked casually, his fingers falling on the bed when Lucy lifted herself up to look incredulously at him.

"This isn't the weather we're talking about, Natsu," she scowled at him, "this is a life we're talking about here! A baby is a lot of responsibility! Don't ask that so casually!"

He snorted. "As if asking if Hugo had any resemblance to you was such a complicated hint." The blonde went red, spluttering protests that only had the pinkette smiling. He reached up to pull her back onto his chest, quieting her protests but not the flame on her cheeks. "I'm not gonna lie. He does look like you and that doesn't sit well with me. If you have some secret kid, Luce, you better tell me about it."

"Shut up!" Lucy groaned at his chuckling, burying her heated face into his chest.

"But seriously," Natsu smiled, letting his hand drift to her hip. "I've thought about having a kid with you before. I didn't want to push it, though. I didn't want you to scare you off by bringing up a kid so soon. You know you mean the world to me, Luce, but you can do so much better."

"That's a lie and you know it," Lucy scoffed and shifted so she could press a loving kiss to the underside of his jaw. "No one can love me the way you can," she whispered quietly when she pulled back to lay her head back down. "You couldn't scare me off even if you wanted to."

"Unfortunately," Natsu admitted and laughed when she playfully hit his chest.

He shifted their positions, his elbows resting on either side of her as he hovered a breath above. Even in the dark, Lucy's dark-brown eyes gleamed mirthfully into his. He always loved the blissfully happy look on her face, so no one could blame him when he dipped his head to press a full kiss on his girlfriend's lips. She responded in kind, as she always did, submitting every inch of her body and soul to him.

He loves her in the only way he could; with every bend and twist and bit of strength that he could to keep her tethered so greedily to him. Each time their skin meets, he tries to leave a mark on her; a mark so bright and blinding that she would be reminded of him every time she remembered, but only as an act of retaliation because she so effortlessly leaves one on him without even trying. She had called him a greedy, hoarding dragon a few times before, mostly in the heat of a kiss when he robs her of her very breath. It makes him laugh and love her that much more.

Lucy reached places in him that no one dared to touch before, breaking down every carefully built wall he placed. Even through soft, pliant kisses, he monopolized all she had to offer while leaving himself bare for only her to see. For only her to feel. No one could love him the way she could.

Because she could be pretty greedy too.

"I want every piece of you."

It was a confession, soft but demanding in the limited air between them, and Natsu wasn't sure which one of them said it. Judging by the hot, mildly surprised breath that caressed his lips after the phrase was said, then it must have been him.

"You already own every bit."

The breathy reply made a small growling groan push past his lips.

Natsu drifted his hands up her arms, pushing them over her head and lacing their fingers tightly. He parted Lucy's lips with his own and delved deeper. He lost himself to the harsh breaths from her nose as she stubbornly refused to move back for air, and fell with each wanton whimper and desperate tug on his hair every time his sharp teeth scraped against her lip. Sometimes on accident, most times on purpose.

Phrases like before always stuck with him. They were promises. Vows. Guarantees for more without it becoming too obsessive. First came an admission, and then the reply. Like confessing what they already knew, but just making sure that they were still on the same page.

An admission: "I need you."

The reply: "I'm not going anywhere."

She tasted like spit and a bit like the s'mores they roasted over the campfire earlier, but he could swear that he never tasted anything more addicting. His heated hands detached themselves from hers and trailed a languid path down her arms, past the dip of her waist, and then clutched her hips where they stayed for a long moment. One dipped under her body to pull her closer, the other gripped the rising leg at his side and helped its path around his hips.

He liked surprising her in these kind of situations. Where she could easily be caught of guard, and where her reactions is always true. He liked bearing his soul in soft whispers despite being a man for action. That's why he confesses in this sort of way. So he takes leaps, and jumps without reserve. To honor that thought, the next admission came.

Well... sort of admission.

"Have a baby with me."

Lucy pulled back abruptly, breaking their kiss as a loud, surprised laugh erupted from her throat. Natsu chuckled at her mirth, his hand never ceasing their small patterns on her thigh.

"Is that a no?" He couldn't help but cheek, a grin on his face.

Lucy raised an amused eyebrow in his direction, her laughter slowly dying. "You didn't even ask a question, Natsu. Oh my god..."

Natsu blinked. "So that's a no on the no?"

The blonde shook in silent laughter and pulled him back down for another kiss, this one a bit more elated and, somehow, loving.

Later that night, when she was asleep in his arms, content and relaxed, he realizes that he never got his answer. He softly ran his hand down her bare back, slick with a layer of sweat, but he didn't mind in the slightest. At least it didn't feel like a no, he admitted quietly in his head. Natsu chuckled at the thought as he cuddled his loved girlfriend against his chest and dropped an affectionate kiss on the top of her head, following her quickly in slumber.

It definitely didn't feel like a no.