#the green thing in her hand is some kind of bandage

[mimocrocodilelol]

Friends

[searchingforserendipity25]

There are some things Davenport knows.

He counts them sometimes, the things he knows.

His name; how to tie his shoes with twelve different knots; how the Madame Director likes her coffee.

The rules of playing Fantasy Chess, and how to cheat at Fantasy Chess too.

How to tell when someone is afraid

How to make his bed, so tight and neat he can drop a coin on it and it jumps, newly polished and gleaming, right back into his hand

How to bandage up to twenty different kinds of injuries

How to make the best sea chowder on the Moon Base, and also on the planet

How to press a uniform so it lasts a week and several explosions with no crinkled corners

How to organise reports with proper colour-coding techniques

Not a great many words, when it comes to that - slippery as fishtails, words, hard to grasp in the mind and impossible to put into his mouth

How to laugh, and how to cry

How to be helpful, if not always in the most efficient way

Some very complicated geometry and arithmetic, though not the word for geometry, nor how to write down an equation to explain how he got his results.His name, the names of his colleagues, where he is, what time of the day it is, what happened yesterday.

His name, his name, even when he doesn't know anything else, his name is Davenport -

Most days, anyway

He cries, sometimes, over bowls of spicy soup and at cute dogs, when someone leaves a book half-open on the table - when he sees groups of people laughing, and when he's alone for a long time. He is rarely alone. The Madame Director finds him, every time. Brings him biscuits and jam, shares puzzles, gives him folders to file.

She tries to teach him new words from brightly coloured books, sometimes. Not often; Davenport hates to make her unhappy, and she looks very sad, whenever he fails. He hates failing - this he knows for certain. But regardless of what he does, the Director is sad a lot of the time. Busy, busy; but she goes very still, late at night, and writes lists in strange languages with shifting characters, and then burns them, with a look on her face like stone, like a closed fist. He sweeps the ashes, afterwards; there's nothing in them he can understand.

No one sees her in those hours. Only Davenport is there, with no one else around. Davenport does not count as company, really. Or at least the Madame Director trusts him enough to let him see her when it's very late and she is very tired, and there is too much work for a night's rest.

It's nice, being trusted. Davenport likes it, likes his little tasks, his schedule and his friends. He knows every corner of the Moon Base, except the ones he is not supposed to enter; he has a little map sewn into his coat pocket, for when he forgets he knows every corner of the Moon Base.

He loves slow music, and sea chowder, and to drink his tea (the Director makes it, sometimes; she knows just how he likes it) while standing behind the transparent windows and watch the planet down below, all green and blue and changeful, like a face with many moods.

He knows he likes these things.

It is only that, sometimes, Davenport is very full of a painful feeling, a feeling like being full of smoldering fire, a feeling like --

Anger has no face, no colour. Davenport does not know a lot of things; sometimes he grasps at the softened edges of his mind, looking for something sharp enough to cut himself with. Davenport is angry, sometimes, though he has no words for it. Sometimes, anger is the only real thing in Davenport's world, the first thing he ever knew.

And then he forgets about it.

There are few things Davenport knows. He can feel the shape of something very important, prodding at him, filling him up with a warm, unpleasant energy. It is there when he wakes, for a handful of moments - every day, in the dreaming place between wakefulness and sleep. Like a dream, it fades before he is done dressing for the day. He has no words for it. The truth is, most days Davenport only knows his name is Davenport, and the worst of it is Davenport forgets there might be anything missing.

[its-time-to-write]

hi sweetheart! i was wondering if you could do a jamie imagine where the reader is a physical therapist and he’s always finding the most ridiculous excuses to go see her, like getting a paper cut and things like that. i would also love if it could be before they got together :)

it’s okay if you don’t want to do it or already did it and i didn’t see it. thank you anyway, you’re one of my favorite writers here on tumblr 🩵

you called me sweetheart, so now I would die for you. pet names are the way to my heart, in case u didn’t know. hope u enjoy🍊

(important disclaimer, I don’t know how physical therapy works so if I’m wrong about things, remember this isn’t a medical journal, I am just a girl)

before you go

Apparently, it’s impossible to purposely give yourself a paper cut, but Jamie Tartt has been doing his damnedest all day to get some kind of ailment, so if that means being careless with some photographs in his locker then so be it. 

He really wishes his leg would cramp or something, but Will’s been keeping him far too hydrated for that. 

So Jamie has to settle for slipping a picture of his mum at just the right angle to draw blood. 

“Shit,” he whispers softly. He puts his finger to his mouth to catch the first beads of blood. 

“Paper cut?” Sam asks sympathetically. Jamie nods, finger in between his teeth. 

“Ay, sí, you should go see the physio for that one, amigo. Ask for the Rojas special,” Dani says with his ever-present grin. 

“It’s just a paper cut, mate,” Jamie says in order to keep up appearances. 

Sam knocks his arm. “You have to go. Dani only just let me request the Rojas special last week, and Richard still won’t talk to me about it.”

“Ça c’est merde,” Richard calls from across the locker room. “Put on a bandage and go home.”

Jamie won’t. He sticks his tongue out at Richard and turns to go to the treatment room because he needs treatment right away. Never mind that it’s a cut and not a muscle injury. He can hide under the excuse that Dani sent him. 

Jamie taps on the door and pushes it open to find you sitting on the table, absentmindedly tapping your fingers on your knees. You jump down at the sight of Jamie. 

“Hi! I was wondering if anybody’d be over today,” you grin. “Where does it hurt?”

Jamie holds up his finger. “Dani sent me.”

“Ah, right,” you nod, grin never leaving your face. Jamie wonders if your sunny disposition is why you and Dani are such good friends. Suddenly, he’s gripped by uncertainty. Maybe you and Dani are morethan good friends. After all, Dani is strangely tight-lipped about his affairs and besides, it’s not good for the physio to be openly screwing a player. 

Maybe he should go. 

But you’ve already come back to him after rummaging in a cupboard, small box in hand. 

“Technically, this isn’t part of my job,” you say as you select a band-aid, “but I’ve been doing this since I started going to my nephew’s footie matches. Kid’s almost ten now, but he still asks for me every time he gets a scrape. First time I was here it was like, force of habit, but Dani said it reminded him of his sister, so…” you trail off. “I dunno, it’s funny that even big strong footballers still want silly bandages, yeah?”

Jamie watches as you open a green bandage with yellow flowers and wrap it carefully around his finger. You press a kiss to it and smile up at him. “There. All better.”

Jamie is… well, he’s flustered. He’s heard about the so-called Rojas special and how it’s available through recommendation only, but he wasn’t prepared for the sweet way you cradled his hand or the fact that your lips touched him. In fact, he wasn’t prepared for anything beyond a bandage and the fact that you slipped sweets to Sam and Dani to numb the sting of injury. 

“Thanks,” he chokes out, aware of the fact that you’re still holding his hand. You give it one last squeeze before dropping it. 

“See you around,” you say. 

Jamie mumbles something unintelligible and finds his way out the door.

“Fuck you,” he says to Sam as soon as he catches him in the car park. 

Sam raises an eyebrow. “You didn’t get a chocolate. Did you not hold still?”

“I- you- it- fuck you,” Jamie says again. “You fucking knew.”

“Knew what?” Dani asks. He’s a horrible liar. 

“You knew I thought she was fit. You didn’t tell me she’s, like, emotionally fit as well. So fuck you both for that.”

Sam mouths emotionally fit as he and Dani dissolve into laughter. 

“Which band aid did you get?” Dani asks when he finally regains control of himself. “She ran out of Peppa Pig last week, but she promised to get some more soon.” 

Jamie holds up his finger, wishing the cut were on the middle one. 

Sam and Dani lean into inspect it and nod once. 

“Well?” Jamie demands. They just look at him with stupid grins. 

“Good night, Jamie Tartt,” Dani says, opening Sam’s passenger seat door. 

“Good night, Jamie,” Sam echoes. 

The fuckers just leave him standing in the lot, heart racing like a fucking idiot. 

—

Jamie’s ankle is barely twisted. Like, barely. But he grew up watching football so he knows how make an injury seem worse than it is. He’s mastered the art of not going overboard.  

“You should see the physio,” Beard tells him. Jamie pretends to protest a little bit, ignoring the way Ted shoots Dani and Sam quizzical looks. They’re making some sort of face and Jamie’s not going to figure out what they mean because he doesn’t care. 

(Or maybe he already knows what they mean. But he doesn’t give a shit.)

So he hobbles his way to the treatment room where you’re typing something on the computer. Reports, probably. 

You look up with a smile when you see him, the quickly school it into a frown. “Where does it hurt?” you ask. 

“My ankle,” Jamie grimaces. 

You pat the table and he obliges, sitting down on the crinkly paper. 

You squat to undo his boot and Jamie realizes that maybe this isn’t the best way to get you to fall for him but it’s too late now because you’re gingerly sliding it off his foot. 

“D’you mind if I get the sock as well?” you ask, and it’s all Jamie can do to mutely shake his head. You lightly run a cool hand over his ankle. 

“Feels a bit swollen,” you say. “What happened?”

Jamie has to gather his thoughts firmly away from the way he could feel the callouses on your palm. “Tackle,” he says. 

“Hm,” you reply. “Does this hurt?”

Jamie gasps as you press your thumb at just the wrong spot. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” you say. “Lie down. I’m going to massage it for a minute then put it on ice. You’ll be good to go in an hour.”

Jamie obeys, trying to ignore the way his breath hitches when your hand squeezes his calf for a fraction of a second. 

You’re able to find all the right spots, gently pushing the muscle back where it needs to go. You pat his foot gently and go to get an ice pack. “Keep this on for fifteen minutes, off for five, then on for another fifteen. If it still hurts I’ll get you another pack, or maybe a heating pad. Depends on what type of pain you have, but we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

“You sending me back?” Jamie asks in a feeble attempt to be his usual confident self. 

You hesitate. “I mean… the other option is you stay here. I won’t lie to you, it’s pretty quiet back here but it doesn’t smell. Will got me on these scent diffuser packs, so this is one of the least-gross rooms on the lower level. I usually just type reports, but I’ve finished for now so I was going to read but we can chat if you like. You don’t have to, but I can monitor your ankle for the next hour if you’re here. It’s up to you.”

Stay and flirt with the pretty physio or sit on the bench instead of practicing?

Jamie positions himself better on the table. “What’s your book about?”

—

Jamie wishes that he were just making an excuse to come see you, but if that were the case he’d have made sure to be showered. Instead, he’s fresh off the pitch after a long day of practice and he needs his joints like, replaced or some shit. 

He stumbles into the treatment room and practically flops facedown on the table. You’re up in an instant, combing his hair away from his face with your fingers. 

“Where does it hurt?” you ask, voice filled with concern. 

“Everywhere,” Jamie groans. 

“Okay, so full-massage with the extra-large ice pack at the end, then,” you say. 

Jamie just grunts in response and tries not to think about the fact that this is the most unromantic way he’s ever tried to date a girl. He tells himself that you’re a physio, that you’ve seen grosser, and that you’re not even interested in him anyway. It still doesn’t stop him from asking about your day and cracking stupid jokes the entire time you’re popping his muscles. His voice squeaks every time you forcibly release tension, but you just laugh and tell him, “You should hear Isaac.” So yeah, the worst training of his life has now turned out to be a goddamned blessing in disguise because you’re joking back and forth for a solid twenty minutes. 

“Come back any time,” you tell him with a wink as he heads out the door. “You don’t have to be injured to say hey.”

Jamie smiles at that, and goes to tell Sam and Dani that they’re shitheads but he loves them very much. 

—

It’s been a long week and an especially long match, but thank fuck it’s over. There’s a bit of an ache in his legs but he doesn’t give a flying shit. They’ve won, for once, so as a reward to himself he’s going to invite you out with the lads. Proper, like, probably with the words, “Hey I think you’re fit,” except he’s thinking he should probably swap “fit,” for beautiful, or stunning, or the most wonderful, funny, amazing woman he’s ever met and no, it’s not just because of the magical healing powers you seem to possess. 

Jamie showers, changes, then heads purposefully down the hall. He knows you’re still here, you never leave after matches until everyone who might possibly need physio is gone. 

He bangs open the door, ready to regale you with the shit Ted’s up to post-match when he catches sight of your face. Or rather, the fact that it’s in your hands as your shoulders shake. 

He rushes over to the desk and turns your chair so you’re facing him. 

His hands are on your knees as he urgently whispers, “Where does it hurt?”

“It doesn’t,” you gasp, wiping your eyes. “I’m fine, I don’t know what came over me, I’m good, I promise. What’s up?”

You move to get up but Jamie presses lightly where his hands were resting. “You don’t look fine, love,” he says, then internally winces. Not a good thing to say to a girl, no matter how true it is. 

“I’m good, swear down,” you choke. You move to wipe away another tear but Jamie beats you to it, swiping it with his thumb. You shudder involuntarily, trying not to notice the rough feel of his skin on yours. 

“I’m not hurt,” he says tentatively. “Came to see if you wanted to go out with me ‘n the lads.”

“Oh!” you exclaim, still trying your absolute best to pull yourself together and failing miserably. “Right. I um, I’m going to be here a while so you should just go, yeah? Tell Dani I’m proud of him.”

Jamie shakes his head. “Ain’t leaving you here all by yourself.” He realizes your hands have found their way into his, and he has no idea who put them there. He lifts one to his lips and brushes a kiss to your knuckles. “Just tell me where it hurts, yeah?”

Another shiver wracks your body. “You can’t- I can’t- you have to go, okay Jamie? I need you to go.”

Jamie will, he’ll do anything you ask, but first he has to know- 

“Why?” he asks, so softly. “What’s wrong, beautiful?”

“Don’t-” you half-choke. “Not- I’m gross right now.”

Jamie can’t stifle his laugh in time, so he does his best to save it. “Love, you’ve seen me at my fuckin’ worst. We’ll call it even.”

You’re breathing a little easier now, but just barely. You don’t seem too eager to get rid of him so Jamie pushes his luck and stays kneeling on the floor. 

“Tell me,” he urges again, but you just shake your head. 

“You really should go,” you say, breath catching in your throat. “You don’t want to keep Maia waiting. Heard actresses are notoriously particular about being on time.”

That’s confusing. Maia- do you mean Maia Stanwood? You must, that’s the only Maia he knows. But how did you know her, Jamie had run into her at dinner the other day and there’d been a brief article in the papers, but nothing that connects to what’s happening here. 

Unless-

No. 

Except- it’s the only thing that makes sense. 

But you don’t like him like that. At least, he’s pretty sure. And anyway, isn’t it prickish to assume everyone’s in love with him?

But you’re not everyone, you’re the team physio with nice hands and a sweet smile and an affinity to fix people, to mend what’s broken in the best way you know how. 

“I love you,” he says instead of everything else he had planned.

You’re silent, and he’s not sure you’ve heard him so he says it again. 

“Yeah, alright, I love you too,” you sniff with a half-smile, except it’s the way you’d say to a brother, the way you’d say it to Dani or Sam. 

“No,” Jamie says more insistently, “I love you. That’s why I’m here. I wanted to tell you, wanted to take you out proper. Impress you with my dancing and chat you up at the bar. Make the lads jealous that I’ve got a beautiful girl on my arm, then sneak out early to kiss you like I’ve been fucking thinking about since that fucking paper cut. Had a right crush on you like an idiot since you got hired.”

You’re staring at him open-mouthed, unable to believe what he’s saying, and Jamie doesn’t know much all the time but he knows that you’re gripping his hands like it’s a lifeline. He knows your eyes are wide open and that he was on the mark about you thinking he was with someone else. So he does what anyone in his position would do. 

He captures your lips in his, letting go of your hands only so he can slip one hand around your waist and another in your hair. 

God, you feel like you’re melting. 

Jamie Tartt is kissing you like there’s no tomorrow and the floor is tipping out from under you, but apart from that vague feeling all you’re aware of is his hands on you and the fact that he tastes like spearmint. 

His lips are soft against yours, mouth warm and inviting. 

It’s like taking a breath of air for the first time in months. 

“I love you,” you say as soon as you break apart. You’re breathing heavily as if you’re the one who just played a 90-minute match. Jamie’s lips are swollen and your hair is mussed, but you both share the same look.

“All better?” he asks, and you nod. 

“Good. You want to get dinner? I know a few places we can go, don’t have to worry about paps.”

“The team-” you begin, but Jamie waves that away. 

“They’ll understand,” he says. “Been flirting with you for ages, getting injured all the time. Think Ted’s starting to get fucking worried.”

You run your thumb down his jawline. “I always wondered about that,” you murmur. “Thought it was in my head how much you were down here. Didn’t want to be unprofessional.”

Jamie reaches up to hold your wrist and you just sit there, on the floor of the treatment room, looking at each other in the dim light. You’ll get up, eventually, but for now you’re going to savor this moment you have together. 

[g3tosugu]

a humble abode

xiao x f!reader

warnings: mentions of injuries but it’s not graphic or specific

wc: 1.4k

a/n: okay this was too cute to not try and do omggg i hope u like how it turned out!!!

“Traveler!” Paimon tried to rouse a bloodied and weakened Lumine. “Come on, it’s just a little bit farther to the Harbor. Please, get up” the flying girl tried her hardest to help her travel partner up. “I’m sorry Paimon. I just need to sit for a minute” Lumine propped herself up against a rock. “Traveler?” a familiar voice rang from up the path. Just before the two girls could look for the voice’s owner, he was already there at their side. “Ah! Oh! It’s Xiao!” Paimon beamed at the familiar face. “You’re injured. What happened?” the adeptus asked with concern plastered all over his face. “Paimon was trying to show the traveler a new spot for us to relax and a really strong looking geovishap came out of nowhere and tried to attack Paimon!” Paimon explained. “I took care of it so it won’t be hurting anyone else” Lumine tried to be positive like she was attempting to bandage her wounds with her own words.

Xiao looked as if he was having an internal struggle at the situation in front of him. “Xiao? You look like you have something to say” Lumine tried to gently pry into his mind. “These injuries are serious. Let me take you to a safe place” he quickly picked Lumine up in his arms. “Paimon, hold onto me okay?” he instructed. Paimon nodded in assurance and placed her hand on his shoulder. And within the blink of an eye the three of them were in a beautiful forest. The trees were various shades of orange and yellow and the sound of children laughing could be heard down by a stream.

Xiao set Lumine down on a bench and gave her another look over to check on her condition. “Wait here, I’m going to get someone” he quickly disappeared and left Lumine and Paimon alone. “This place is beautiful” Paimon spun around to take in all the lush scenery around them. “But, Paimon doesn’t recognize this spot. Do you think we’re in a realm of some kind?” she inquired. “I’m not sure. Xiao is very trustworthy though so I’m positive it’s safe” Lumine tried to sit up more straight, wincing at the pain in her side.

The two of them looked in the distance and saw Xiao approaching them again, but this time he had you with him. Following closely behind you two was a little girl with her hair in a braid that draped over her shoulder and she was carrying some sort of bag. They noticed how she seemed to be staying particularly close to you. “Oh my, you poor thing” you quickly sat at Lumine’s side, assessing her injuries. The little girl that was at your side placed the bag she was carrying at your feet. “Xiahui sweetie, go play with your brothers and sister okay? I’ll come see you again later after I take care of the Traveler” you gently pat the girls head. Xiahui nodded and smiled. “I hope you feel better soon” she shyly spoke towards Lumine before wandering off towards the stream.

You hovered your hands over the painful wound in Lumine’s side. A light green light began to radiate from your hands. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath as you concentrated on her injury. The whole time this was happening, Xiao’s gaze never left you. Paimon looked between you and Xiao as she tried to understand just who exactly who you were and why Xiao took them to you. “There we go. The general pain should start to fade for now but let me dress your wounds properly and clean them” you reached down to the ground where Xiahui placed your medical bag.

“Um, please excuse Paimon but, just who are you exactly?” Paimon finally asked, the question killing her inside having gone unanswered. “She is the adeptus [name]” Xiao answered for you as you focused on cleaning Lumine’s wound. “You’re the adeptus [name]?!” Paimon gasped. “I’m afraid so” you giggled at her exasperated reaction. “Please you can just call me [name]. No need to be so formal” you reassured. “So then this place is…an adepti abode?” Lumine asked as she looked around again. “Exactly” you smiled warmly and began stitching her wound.

“Wait so why are there children in your abode?” Paimon asked. “Well it would be strange to not allow our children to stay in my abode” you chuckled. Paimon and Lumine immediately looked at each other, “Our?!”. “Yes. She is my wife and those” he gestured towards the direction of the stream where your children were playing, “are our children”. “Wife?! Children?!” Paimon and Lumine shouted in unison again. “I can tell Xiao places a great amount of trust in you. Considering he brought you here without asking me“ you finished the last stitch. Xiao looked away and blushed at the subtle dig to his carelessness. You laughed as you placed your medical equipment back in the bag they were kept in. While you were known as an adeptus with a proficiency in healing, that didn’t mean you could heal wounds just like that. Your abilities were more like painkillers than actual healing.

“So you just live here?” Lumine asked curiously. “Sometimes I leave and go out but, why would I do that when I have my whole life right here with me?” you smiled fondly at your children playing. Three boys and two girls. The thought of Xiao having a wife and one child was already a lot to take in for Lumine and Paimon. But five whole kids and the adeptus [name] as his wife?!

You stood from the bench and walked over to your husband and linked arms with him, resting your head on his shoulder. “I trust you both greatly. You’ve seen things with me that no one else has and have helped me and the people of Liyue in so many ways. I will always be in your debt” Xiao spoke earnestly. “Paimon definitely didn’t see you as the type to have a wife and kids” Paimon looked between you and Xiao. “Don’t let him fool you Paimon. I’ve never met a more loving and attentive person in all my life” you tilted your head to kiss his cheek. Xiao’s ears turned a shade of red at the display of affection. “I don’t ‘fool’ people. I just like my privacy” he tried to defend himself. Lumine and Paimon just watched the two of you in awe. They had never seen Xiao so…bashful? The way you were making him blush by simply just expressing your love and appreciation was a side of him they never expected.

“Dad! Dad!” one of the elder boys ran up to Xiao. “Is something the matter Haitao?” Xiao ruffled the boy’s hair. “You have to come look! Qingyuan learned how to do a flip just from watching you!” he tried to pull his father’s free arm. You unlinked your arms and smiled as the boy dragged your husband off down to the others.

You took a seat next to the Traveler again and watched your kids and your husband, “Knowing that Xiao has such good company and allies out there with him brings me so much more peace”. Lumine looked over at you and took note of the loving look in your eye as you watched over him. “He’s a good person. Whether or not he would ever admit that, I’m not so sure. Thank you for being there to remind him of the fact when I can’t” you reached over and fixed a strand of her hair. She wasn’t sure why, but her cheeks heated up at the gesture. It was one thing that you were an adeptus, but you were also absolutely beautiful and the aura you had was borderline intimidating. And yet you were so kind and gentle. “Xiao is amazing! And he’s super reliable. As long as we’re around he’s always gonna have allies!” Paimon reassured with her hands on her hips.

The kids were now finding flowers to put in Xiao’s hair. Xiahui was braiding a small section at the front of his hair while he sat there with your other girl, Chanxin, in his lap. He was helping her braid her hair because she ‘wants to look like her big sis’. “Mommy is going to love your new hair daddy!” Xiahui beamed as she finished the braid. “I’m sure she will sweetie” he smiled fondly at the girl and kissed her forehead. You smiled at the unfolding scene before you, as well as Paimon’s words.

“Good. That makes me happy”

[mbr2]

Some Bridgerton season 3 things I noticed/payed more attention to when rewatching:

- In episode one, Colin looks in the direction of the Featherington house after first arriving. He kind of looks distantly, it doesn’t appear like he actually saw Penelope.

- Eloise actually refused the book Colin got her. I thought I must have missed her picking it up but no she actually didn’t take it.

- Colin is decidedly more reserved about his travels.

- Anthony invites the bros over for drinks at the bar and his reasoning for Colin is the fact that he… has admirers? Love Anthony but this is 🤨

- Penelope seems to be doing a lot of walking away from Colin and he seems to be a lot of wistful staring in her direction.

- Colin totally is trying to play off his reaction to Penelope’s dark green dress and is totally failing.

- Colin closed his hand around Penelope’s after she bandaged it, not the other way around.

- “Jealous” by Nick Jonas plays when Colin watches Penelope talking to a suitor of her own choosing (Lord Remington)

- When referring to Lord Remington and Lord Debling, Colin’s first questions are if Penelope has attachment to them/likes them.

- Colin’s dream is more about mutual confession 😭 he is so in love.

[mortiferumsomnum]

Soup Kitchens and Runaway Ghosts (Part 2)

Part 1 could be read here! Part 3 could be read here!

ASDGLHKASLGKHSDGK

thank you for liking my other post 👉👈 

 ***

It was night outside, with the owls hooting and bats flying under the light of the moon.

Jason had a hand on Dani’s shoulder as they sat in the (illegal) Doctor’s kitchen. Although she was putting on a brave face, she was trembling and pulling at the ends of her sweater. Her eyes never left the open door to the room Danny was getting medical help from. They couldn’t see his body, but they could see the Doctor walking to and fro’ the bed Danny was placed on.

“Hey,” Jason whispered, soothingly, hoping it’s the same comforting way Dick does.

Slowly, her gaze turns to him. Her chin was trembling, and she looked like she was on the verge of crying. Shit. What would Dick do? Jason didn’t think this far in the comforting thing.

So, he tugged the little girl closer, hugging her with his arm. “It’ll be okay,” he whispered to her. “He’s in good hands.”

She sniffed, and huffed through the sob that tore through her lips. “I... I don’t know how I could keep Danny safe...”

Jason glanced to her, but she was looking back to the open door. ‘What do you mean?’ he wanted to ask. ‘It’s not your job to take care of him,’ he wanted to say.

Instead, he whispered, “You did your best.” Because she did. She did her best to get food from his soup kitchen for both her and Danny, not at all stopping to eat in the cafeteria, only thinking to have her containers filled. She stole from drug stores. She tried bandaging Danny even if she didn’t know how to do it properly. She took care of him with everything she could.

(A passing memory of his mom, Catherine, flashes in his mind.)

That only made her chin tremble more, which prompted Jason to hug her closer. 

Finally, the Doctor stepped out.

***

- The Doctor tells Dani that Danny’s okay now, and that he’ll be telling the Red Hood everything that needs to be done to keep up with the treatment. Then, he tells Dani that she could go and see him. She didn’t need to be told twice and ran into the room.

- The Doctor closes the door, then grunted at the Red Hood. “Look, man. I know I said I would help you for anything medical-related, but I think I need to draw the line at freaky supernatural shit. His blood literally had green where the plasma was supposed to be.”

- Jason removed the safety of his gun.

- The Doctor was unfazed. “I’m not going to tell anyone, but men in white managing to track these kids down because they’re, what, ghosts???? Which is weird because that kid’s heart was beating????? And he’s alive??? In fact, the green stuff does a better job than regular human plasma, it’s unreal, man. Since it replaced the plasma the kid was supposed to HAVE, I’m calling it green plasma, for simplicity, yeah.”

- Jason’s not worried about that. “Tell me about the kid,” he said. “How is he, moving forward?”

- The Doctor’s face pinched. “It’s... not bad... anymore...”

- “Anymore?”

- “Look, when you brought the kid in, it’s exactly as you told me: Vivisection wounds, 3rd degree burns from laser guns, infection...” 

- The Red Hood was getting impatient with the way he was loosely fidgeting with his gun. 

- “Bottom line is, once everything was cleaned and properly stitched, he started... healing? On his own?? I took blood samples, and the green plasma has something to do with it. You know how plasma literally moves the blood cells? It seems to enhance their functions as well. The enhanced white blood cells were fighting against the infection that was also enhanced by the plasma. Once the infection was removed, it was smooth sailing for his body. Now, all the kid needs is rest, food and water.”

- Jason hummed. “I’m burning this house down.” There was a chance that the kids would be leaving some kind of bio-signature in this place, and the Doctor was one of the most competent people he knew after Leslie. He was also really easy to intimidate, but despite the fear, he does his job well. Works well under pressure, like what he wrote in his resume. “Change your clothes and pack your bags, Doc. I’m going to lend you one of my safehouses.”

- The Doctor was quick to nod his head. “I assume that you’re destroying the blood samples as well?”

- Jason pointed his gun towards him. “Did you take a sample?”

- The Doctor was fast to shake his head. “Like I said, I want nothing to do with the supernatural, man. I’m already knees deep in crime, and I really don’t want to be making contracts with beings more demonic than you are.”

- Jason huffed, putting his gun away. “The demon is my brother.” The Doctor squeaked. “After changing, leave your clothes here. It’s burning with the rest of the house.”

- “You got it, man,” said the Doctor, leaving the room with a brisk pace.

- Jason then went in where Danny and Dani were, and it seems like the kid was finally sleeping peacefully on the bed he was in. He was changed into a loose pajama that the Doctor probably had, and was tucked under a clean, beige blanket. Just as the Doctor said, he was looking a hundred times better. 

- Dani was smiling. Once she saw him, she jumped out of her seat and ran up to him, hugging his middle while laughing. “He’s okay!” she said. “Thank you thank you thank you so much!!”

- Jason chuckled, patting her head. “No problem, kid.” Even if the Doctor did most of the job.

- “Uh, yes problem?” The Doctor came into the room, clothes changed and face white. “There’s... there’s people... white suits... outside... secret police?? Government agents?? Oh god...”

- Unconsciously, Jason tugged Dani closer.

- Then, Jason took out a domino mask from his leather jacket and an extra rebreather, throwing it to the Doctor. “Put that on, Doc. We can’t have them knowing your face when we make our escape.”

- The Doctor scrambled to put it on. 

- Jason turned to Dani. “Get Danny and turn invisible like you did before.”

- “Uh, I can turn all of us invisible and get us to the car if you guys hold on to me,” she said.

- Jason blinked beneath his Red Hood helmet. “You... could do that?”

- Dani blushed in embarrassment while nodding. “I was panicking when they first showed up, okay?! I could fly us to the car as fast as I can, but they’ll still be able to track us...”

- Jason nodded. He turned to Danny, who was now being carried by the Doctor. “I got ‘im,” he whispered, eyes wide in fear and knees trembling. Jason really doesn’t want him carrying Danny since Dani did just fine earlier, but he also didn’t know how much concentration she needs to bring all of them out.

- Jason went into the kitchen and opened the gas tank connected to the stove. Then, he and the Doctor walked close to Dani.

- She grabbed onto the back of their shirts, and turned them invisible. Thankfully, he could make out the outline of Dani floating them in the room.

- Also, the Doctor was screaming like a banshee. A panicking banshee.

- “WOULD YOU PLEASE STOP?!?!?” Dani yelled.

- “I’M TRYING!!!”

- “Would my gun work through the invisibility?”

- “We’re not intangible yet, so... I think so?”

- That shut the Doctor up.

- The smell of gas was getting strong.

- “Let’s get outta here,” said Dani. And tuned them intangible, and---- holy shit. Jason couldn’t feel his insides... or his outsides... or anything from his body. He felt... nothing. Not even floaty or light. It was as if he didn’t exist. They fazed through so many walls until they made it out of the house.

- But just as they made it out, the men in white’s gadget started beeping like crazy again.

- “They’re close!”

- “Find them!”

- Thank God the Doctor was quiet.

- Jason watched as they were floated into the car. Jason lost his intangibility and invisibility first, being dropped into the driver’s seat. The Doctor was dropped in the backseat with Danny, and Dani sat in the passenger’s.

- “Put your seatbelt on.”

- Dani looked incredulously at him.

- The Doctor did as Jason told, wrapping one around Danny as well as he laid in the back with them.

- “They’re over there!!” one of the men in white yelled.

- Some blasters were shooting at them now, and the Doctor rightfully screamed again.

- Jason started the car, then took out his gun and shot at one of the blasters.

- The blaster was about to go off, and its shot was redirected to the window of the house.

BOOM!

- While the men in white ducked for cover, away from the explosion, Jason drove away, increasing his speed.

- But no matter how fast he was going, trying to get away, the men in white were chasing after them again in their vans, installed blasters getting out and ready to shoot them again. God, they’re annoying.

- “I... I could blast them too!”

- There’s too many of them. 5 vans, plowing through the trees with their comically giant blasters. One was moving forward.

- He turned to Dani. “Try to make the one in front turn around just as they’re about to launch a blast. It’ll hit the other vans.”

- Dani nodded and fazed through the top of the car, hands glowing green. Just as she left, Jason could see form the rearview mirror how Dani transforms. Although the dark of the night made it unclear in a few places, he could clearly see her hair turning white and clothes changing. He couldn’t see her face as she was faced towards their pursuers. 

- Her hands then let out a long green blast towards the van. Just as Jason said, the van flipped, it’s blasters hitting the other two vans behind it. Dani then sent another blast to the other vans, but it was unsuccessful, learning immediately from the first van that was attacked.

- Dani came back into the Hoodmobile (Jason still hates the name, but there really isn’t other name to call it), sitting in the passenger seat and buckling up once more. “What do we do now?”

- They were heading towards Brown Bridge, just past that is China Town, into GCPD territory. If he could just get into the abandoned sections, he’ll be able to get into Red Robin’s patrol route. The techy Robin would be able to fry their devices just as well as Oracle. 

- Only a few Gothamites brave travelling at night, but the streets are mostly empty, thankfully. No civilian will be involved in this crazy chase.

- “We’re heading into one of my brothers’ territories,” he said.

- The Doctor squeaked. “The Demon one???”

- “No,” said Jason.

- “You have a Demon for a brother?” Dani asked, eyes looking excited.

- “He might as well be one,” said Jason, increasing his speed once more. 

- He passed by a GCPD patrol car, but the driver didn’t chase after him after seeing two vans with massive weapons of mass destruction driving past him. Like the good, corrupt officer he was, he deleted the footage of what he had just seen from his police cameras attached to his person and car.

- Finally, Jason was driving through the abandoned warehouse district of Chinatown. Then, Jason activated his comms. “Red Hood to Red Robin, where the fuck are you?”

- “Red Robin to Red Hood, fuck you, too.”

- “Listen kid, there are some shitheads in white chasing after me. Have you heard from O?”

- “We tried hacking into their systems once they fixed it. No progress. Need me to fry their systems again?”

- “As much as possible. Where’s your nearest safehouse? One that could cover the biological-traces of someone.”

- “Including the post-mortem traces of someone?”

- “Fuck, Replacement, you got something like that? Should I be worried? How many bodies are you hiding??”

- “Hardy-har-har, Hood,” said Red Robin. “They upgraded their coding to avoid being hacked and frying their servers again. Can you hold out for 5 minutes?”

- “3 minutes, Double-R. They brought more of their buddies-- SHIT!!” Jason swerved the car to avoid hitting a pole, entering a warehouse and breaking through the old, wooden walls. “Make it 1 minute! They’re fucking multiplying!”

- “Oh shit! Hood! Look out!” the Doctor screamed, pointing to the biggest blaster Jason’s ever seen.

- Fucking hell. Jason turned to Dani, who was looking at the blaster with wide eyes and a panicked look on her face. “I... I can..” She was panicking, trying to think up of things to do to make the situation better, but Jason is NOT going to let her to anything. She did enough. It’s Jason’s job to take care of her and her brother/cousin right now. (And the Doctor, but that man is the least of his priorities. Sorry, Doc.)

- “I’m almost done, Hood!”

- A stray blast hit the already, severely dented hood of Jason’s car, knocking it off to show its engine. Shitshitshit... He unbuckled his seatbelt, to which Dani and the Doctor followed. ”Red! You done yet?!” he yelled into the comms.

- Red Robin didn’t answer. 

- Instead, Jason watched as the vans exploded. 

- Jason leaned towards Dani, covering her view before she could see the guts and limbs fly.

- “Shit... I didn’t mean to do that...” Red Robin said on the comms, voice trembling. “I didn’t...”

- Turning to Dani, her face was frozen. “They... they’re...”

- “Hey, hey, hey... it’s okay... it’s alright,” whispered Jason, taking her into his arms. He thought he managed to hide her from the deaths.

- She shook her head. “I... I could feel their souls leaving... I could feel... they’re scared... others are angry... They’re...”

- Well, shit.

- “Let’s get somewhere safe, yeah?” said Jason. 

- Dani only nodded, most likely numb and dissociating. Great. Trauma. Okay. Fantastic. Fuck.

- “Red Robin, you still there?” asked Jason.

- “I... yeah. I’m here.”

- Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck. Okay, Jason. You need to be the voice of reason for a whole bunch of traumatized kids right now. Okay. 

- “Double R? Where’s the safehouse and how far is it?” Jason asked.

- “It’s in Upper West Side, right along Schnapp Avenue. There’s an abandoned bookstore there. It’s right above there. The walls are covered with everything you need to cover you.”

- “Okay, we’ll meet up with you there.”

- “I... I’m going, too?”

- Jason wanted to sigh, run a hand down his face, or even punch one of the dead guys that were chasing after them. But he answered, “Yeah, kid. You have any chocolate in there?”

- “Agent A stocks up my safehouses himself.”

- “Good. I really do have everything I need there, then. I’m also bringing along some guests, ‘cause I’m not the only one these bastards are after.”

- Red Robin was quiet.

- “Kids, one who looks younger than the Demon Brat, and the other looks younger than you... and some Doctor that got involved in all this.”

- “Shit...” Red Robin whispered. “Did they...”

- “See? No.” Jason’s not going to tell him that Dani felt the deaths, tho. “I’ll be there in 15 minutes, Red.”

- It was quiet.

- “Red?”

- “Y-yeah... okay. I’ll... I’ll be there, Hood.” Click. Red Robin was no longer on the comms.

- Well... Shit.

*****

<<PREVIOUS (Masterlist) NEXT>>

[katieaki]

My ✨ post-apocalyptic Lesbian Cowgirl Mailman choose-your-own adventure✨ has just updated! Read it here for free on my Patreon and vote in the poll! There is a summary of the first part, here, the second part, here, and the third part, here. They have everything you need to know about Lou, her requited-but-complicated love, the religious assassin who just beat the tar out of her, the worst person she's ever met, and the ill-advised journey she is on! There is also now a discord where Pony Express readers from all across god's green internet can gather, here!

Costume check for the girls as of this update. They're all kind of doing their own thing. Holliday's relative cleanliness is indicative of how little she's working. Artie's overall apparent griminess is separate from how hard she's been working.

Read it for free on my patreon and vote on what happens next!

Excerpt below the cut.

Just as the spots in her vision began to clear, Artie set her down and began looking her over.

“Where does it hurt?” she asked. 

Lou lifted her arm in its sling. “My wrist,” she said. She only realized then that she was crying. Not just tears, but big, gasping sobs. The pain was unbearable. Her wrist had never stopped hurting since Artie had broken it in the first place, but she didn’t realize it could still hurt that much worse.

“Easy. I got you, cowgirl, you’re okay,” Artie said, sitting Lou down on the ground.

“What can I do?” Holliday asked, her hand at her throat.

“Grab some water and a rag,” Artie said. “And my first aid kit. It’s in the outside bottom pocket of my pack.”

“Sorry,” Lou said. She couldn’t stop crying and the pain had begun to subside just enough for embarrassment to creep in. “I’m okay. I’m– sorry.”

“I wish we had some ice,” Artie said. She slid Lou’s arm out of the sling and began to unwrap the splint. When she pulled the bandage away, Artie sucked in a sharp breath through her teeth.

Lou looked down but had to look away as soon as her eyes landed on the wrist. It had already been sitting at kind of a funny angle, but now it was bent back toward her body in a way that made her sick to look at. 

“Ooh, fuck. Something more than ice, huh?” Artie said absently.

[zukosdualdao]

will the scars go away with night? / try to smile for the morning light

zutara month day, 4: katara kept her scars, @zutaramonth

summary: the morning after the ember island players, katara trains earlier than usual. zuko notices the scars on her hands when she unwraps them, and they talk about some things.

warnings: references to the noncon kiss in teip. also some references to ableism wrt scarring and facial differences.

other notes: the title is a lyric from "a little's enough" by angels & airwaves.

When Katara finishes her training for the morning, running through the forms that still challenge her most in the courtyard of the Ember Island house Zuko took them to, she’s unsurprised to find Zuko waiting at the edge. She knows he usually wakes earlier than any of them to do his own training before a second session instructing Aang, and she’s often taken over the space after.

But she’d had an uneasy night of sleep after what was maybe the worst play anyone had ever put on, complete with the terrifying reminder of what was at stake in the coming weeks.

After what happened with Aang on that balcony. The way he kept pushing and then just… kissed her, like that could fix that she didn’t know what she wanted, didn’t know how she felt. After she’d already said so.

And if she can’t sleep, she might as well practice. When she’s unsure of everything else, at least she never feels more at peace than when the water yields to her command. It helps. A little.

“Sorry,” Katara exhales as she approaches, running the back of her hand over her forehead to wipe out the sweat of both exertion and the summer sun that’s finally starting to rise. “I’m done. I didn’t mean to steal the space from you,” she adds, smiling and trying not to linger on the image of his shirtless form as he leans his side against one of the pillars.

“It’s no problem,” Zuko replies, a soft smile playing on his lips. “I like watching you.” It takes a moment for the words to catch up to him, his right eye growing wide as he waves an unsure hand in explanation. “That’s not—I mean, because you’re so talented—”

Katara giggles, feeling more of the tension melt out of her as she stretches her arms and watches him stumble over the words. “It’s fine. It’s not like I’ve never watched you,” she admits in a soft voice. “You’re talented, too.”

Zuko blinks, looking… surprised and maybe a little embarassed, she thinks as she begins to unwrap her hands. He opens his mouth to say something but pauses when his gaze flits down to them before quickly looking back up into her eyes.

There’s a part of her that feels tense and strange about it—mostly, she tries not to to think about the burn scars that swirl around her hands. She often wears her bandage wraps when they’re out, so as to be ready for battle as needed, and even when she doesn’t, she mostly doesn’t mind leaving them uncovered. It’s only when she catches strangers staring too long at her mottled skin or when Aang makes passing glances at them with a look of guilt that her stomach clenches and she feels an angry kind of shame.

But… she knows it isn’t like that with Zuko, that he’s not thinking what other people are when he looks. 

My face, he’d said in the light of those green crystals, all those months ago in Ba Sing Se, far more hurt than she’d thought him capable of being before that point. I see.

“I got these a while ago,” Katara says as she raises them to show him. 

Zuko nods but doesn’t ask how she got them, though she knows Aang told him the bare details of the incident. Instead, he asks quietly, “Do… do they hurt?”

Katara considers it. It hurts to look at them. It hurts to think that Aang just… hadn’t listened to her, even though she knows it was an accident and how badly he felt afterward. But still. It was just like how he hadn’t listened to her last night when she said she needed time, needed to think, that she didn’t know.

And sometimes, she still thinks she feels the echo of the pain from the first moments after the burn, bright and searing and deep, but it usually goes away as quickly as it comes on.

Katara thinks maybe part of her does know, when it comes to her and Aang, and just hadn't known how to tell him that.

“Not usually,” she settles on softly as she moves a little closer toward Zuko. She knows the others love her, and that they would listen if she wanted to talk about it. But this is something else that she and Zuko share, something only he can understand. 

Katara so longs to be understood.

“When I first healed them, it took away most of the pain. But they still scarred. And sometimes, they still feel…” She doesn’t finish the thought, instead lowering them and turning them over, inspecting her palms as she does. “Sometimes I look at them, and I don’t think I recognize myself. See?” she adds, moving them closer to him, though she doesn’t quite know why.

Zuko nods slowly. He raises one of his own hands and hovers it inches away from her, ready to retract it at the first sign of distress.

“Is this okay?”

Katara nods, feeling choked.

Zuko traces the lines of her left hand briefly with a delicate finger. I see you, he says without saying anything at all. I do.

Katara nearly shivers at the touch, the feel of it muted but still so gentle that it sort of makes her want to cry. She looks up at his face. There’s no pity there, no fear or disgust or anything else Katara’s come to anticipate from those looking at her hands, either. 

Just a look in his eyes like he gets it, the shiny, textured skin set against his left eye making her feel safe to trust him with this.

“Aang kissed me last night,” she says suddenly, wanting to know what Zuko, the real Zuko and not some exaggerated, unreal stage version, might say to that. “And he said he wants to be with me, and he doesn't know why we're not together."

Zuko looks up to stare at her, but there’s no judgment there, nor any particular shock. He’s just searching for something.

“What do you want?” he asks after a long moment, the words like an echo of something that maybe he once heard.

Katara curls her lip, thinking it over. “For you to keep holding my hands.”

In an instant, Zuko reaches to take her other hand and holds both of them in his own. He squeezes them in a light, gentle motion. Katara swears she can hear her own heart flutter.

[shoshiwrites]

Hi! I’m the anon that requested the handholding prompt, and I just wanted to say thank you. It was everything I could have hoped for and more!! It made me smile!!

If you are still taking requests, I would request Jo/Egan with the prompt touching foreheads or bandaging/stitching an injury. As you can see, I couldn’t decide between one prompt, once again. I look forward to whatever you write and of course, never feel pressured to write anything. I hope you are doing well 🫶🏼

Hello anon! Thank you so much for your lovely message. I'm so glad you liked that prompt, and I appreciate your understanding very much. I've kept "bandaging/stitching an injury" on my list, and filled this one for "touching foreheads." This is my first try at Bucky POV, and we kind of ended up on the depression-nap side of things (see my terrible header below). Thank you to @mercurygray for helping me work the end. Bucky Egan x War correspondent OC.

Six months. 

And he’s felt every minute of every one, or at least it seems that way on days like this. Gray as all hell, like a storm gathering over the lake. Every minute if you didn’t count the gaps, the headaches, the days he sleeps away, the things he couldn’t remember those first few weeks. His jaw still wakes him in the night, dull if he’s lucky, a screaming pain if he’s not. He can never forget the things he’d actually want to forget, can he? Now that would be too easy.

Never coughed up an explanation for Buck either, even when Buck looked at him sideways about something or the other. Even if he wanted to, his throat goes dry at the thought, like the dust and dirt along the floorboards.

Holding onto it gives him something to hold onto, at least. The anger. 

Six months of this damn nightmare, the bloodshot bone-chilled day and night. Different nightmare than the sky. He has those too. This is the kind of dream where you’re stuck in it, you can’t move, there’s footsteps outside the door. He’d had those as a kid. Terrified him. 

It’s sure not the the kind they nail up pictures for, paper edges catching on the unfinished timber, hoping to summon some kind of vision. He’s so tired he’s practically drooling into the pillow, letting his eyes wander far enough along the wall that it hurts, over Rita and Ginger and Ava’s shining faces. 

There are pictures kept in books too, pouches and the occasional wallet, those all but sewn into jacket pockets. Girls back home.

Not even a letter. Not one goddamn letter, he thinks, the sigh of it harder than seems fair to his mother or his sisters, trying to get around the mail delays and sending cards for every holiday they could think of. What the hell even was Arbor Day, anyway?

(“Trees,” Brady had said, not looking up from the keys of his saxophone.

“...right.”)

He thinks about Texas, and Florida, and Idaho, and Nebraska. Girls and dresses and perfume, manicured hands, no dirt around them. Marge’s friend, he can’t remember her name, pretty, dark hair, disinterested in a kiss but amenable to dancing. They’d all wanted to forget, right? Not when you’re flying out the next day. 

He thinks of Lil, the cupid’s bow of her lip and the goosebumps under her sweater. She’d wanted to forget too. A brother somewhere in…he can’t remember now. Burma? Her grandfather hadn’t had too many nice words for him, John. Not that he could blame the man.

He thinks of Jo. Crouched over that little green typewriter the way Brady fiddles with his sax, the sound of the bell, the sound of the keys. Like Buck over the radio. The way she looked up at him, like she’d just realized something important. The way she smelled when she let him get close enough, like flowers after a spring rain. 

The air’s sour in here, and cold. Showering helps, besides freezing your damn balls off. 

He lets himself think it, about his head in her lap in the grass, or on a sofa, or anywhere, really, where she’s leaning down and she’s touching him, the little calluses on her hands, and her forehead close to his.

It hurts too much, and maybe he can admit it, here in this damn coffin of a bunk, mattress about as comfortable as one, that maybe she’d wanted to forget too.

You don’t kiss like that, he thinks, with acid in his throat, when you care what comes next.

She writes like she cares, though. She writes like she believes in all of them, like it’s real and not just what her paper wants or somebody wants to hear. 

Maybe he can admit that now, if he doesn’t think about the note she’d left.

He’d rather think about anything else, hell, he’d rather walk outside with no shoes on, listen to the Yankees lose by a single run.

He’d rather wish this damn pillow was a different kind, her thigh or her body or her forehead, even, pressed against his. Not that he’d admit it out loud. 

And her mouth right there, he thinks, like he can just make that half-second trip to kiss her, and kiss her again.

[farity]

Obsession, part 18

When you walked by the room Alicent had been given your jaw almost dropped. There was a rack with an array of dresses, all in shades of green, a shelf with several pairs of heels, another shelf with what looked a boutique's worth of hair and cosmetic products.

Alicent Hightower might be crying and worried, but she was going to look good doing it.

Helaena had brought her laptop over last night - she usually arranged to have a set of clothes for everyone in the family, as well as the basic necessities, ready to go whenever needed, so she'd left two neat piles on the bed in your room. One with clothes, the other one with electronics and toiletries.

"We might be here a couple of days, I can have something ordered and it will be here within a couple of hours."

You looked down at your sweater and leggings. "If it's okay, can you get me some more of these? As long as they're comfortable so I can sleep in them, I'm good."

Helaena smiled. "Of course. Any particular colors? I know you like soft pinks."

"Blue, maybe. Thank you, Hel." You hugged her and she kissed your cheek.

* * * * *

You returned to Aemond's room to find Alicent praying at his side. As you turned to let her have her privacy, you heard the chair move.

"It's fine, I'm finished."

"If you need more time, I can wait outside."

Alicent smiled at you, "you're the wife. You take precedence over me."

"Alicent, I don't believe in that," you said, "your son is hurt, you take all the time you need. I would never kick you out because I 'take precedence'," you added, making quote signs with your fingers. "I'll be back in a minute."

You went to grab a bottle of water and when you returned, she was holding Aemond's hand. "Your wife is back, I will return later." She leaned down to kiss his forehead and gave you a small smile as she left.

"Aemond," you said gently, sitting next to his bed. "It's time to wake up, my love." You felt tears beginning to gather behind your eyes. "I miss you," you whispered. "Please come back to me."

You grabbed his hand, threaded your fingers through his, kissed the wedding ring he wore. There was a bruise on his elbow where he'd probably landed when he was thrown to the ground, and there was a larger bruise forming beyond the edges of the bandage over the surgery site.

So close to his heart, you thought.

You pressed your forehead against the back of his hand. "Aemond, I love you. Please wake up. None of this means anything to me if you're not with me."

You started to cry, afraid and exhausted, wanting nothing more than for him to come back to you.

* * * * *

"He was lucky in that the collapsed area was small, and that he was flown over quickly," the surgeon was saying.

"Why hasn't he woken up, is there anything else going on?"

"No," the surgeon said, "he is in excellent health. Sometimes it takes a little longer to wake. I wouldn't worry too much about it for the next few hours, Mrs. Targaryen. Excuse me."

You watched him walk away, and once again resisted the urge to start Googling partially collapsed lungs because you were sure to find the worst case scenarios.

"Here."

You turned as Helaena pressed a pastry into your hand. It was some kind of apple thing and it smelled amazing.

"Have you or Aegon ever been hurt?"

"Um, someone shot at Aegon once but Aemond got him out of the way. And of course, you saved me," she smiled at you. "Dad was shot at a few times, he was hit in the hand once, but other than that, nothing major."

By the motherfucking Seven, just about everyone in this family had been shot at.

You took a bite of the pastry.

"Where did you get those, I want one," Aegon said, coming up to take a bite of Helaena's pastry.

"Hey!"

"That's good shit," he said through a mouth full of food, then took another bite and ran off before Helaena could smack him.

"Daeron is on the way. You'll like him, he's so nice. He's the baby of the family."

You smiled at her. "I've seen pictures, it will be nice to meet him. Thank you for breakfast," you said, heading back into Aemond's room.

You sat next to him, finishing up your pastry, and then took his hand again. "Daeron is coming to see you. We are all here, Aemond."

You wouldn't cry again. You knew that sometimes people were still able to hear those around him, and you didn't want him to just hear you cry over and over. "I was thinking about what you said, going somewhere? That would be nice. I know we need to take guards, but maybe when you're all healed up we can take a little trip?"

You rubbed his hand between yours, kissed the back of his fingers. "I was thinking of getting back into drawing. I used to do it a long time ago and I saw this online course I could take. Your mom has been here a lot, we've had some good conversations. So has Aegon, he really does love you, Aemond," you said against his hand."

"And you?"

His voice was so faint and so raspy that you thought you'd imagined it, but when you looked up, he was looking right at you.

You let out a breath, all words forgotten. You started laughing and crying as you rose and kissed his cheek, trying not to move him too much. You kissed his cheek, his lips, his hair, his hand going up to take yours. "I love you," you said against his mouth, "I love you so much."

* * * * *

Alicent was the first to run into the room when you called out that Aemond was awake, her killer heels no impediment as she rushed in and took his other hand.

You moved aside to let the doctor look at the surgery site. "It's healing very well," he said. "If you're feeling up to it, you can go home in a couple of days. With a lot of restrictions," he warned. "I will leave you to your family.

You watched as Aegon, uncharacteristically emotional, ran his hand through Aemond's hair, nodding silently at his brother.

"I see the party started without me."

You turned to the doorway to see a young man you knew to be Daeron, who stood with a backpack hanging off one shoulder.

Daeron hugged his mother, let himself be engulfed by Aegon, and got a kiss on the cheek from Helaena before he made it to Aemond's side. "Glad to see you awake, Aem."

"Glad to be awake."

You took a step back, letting Daeron through. "Hey, nice to meet you, new sister," he said, hugging you before he leaned over and pressed his forehead to his brother's.

You watched the usually composed Alicent crying as all her children gathered. Helaena linked her arm through her mother's, placing her head on Alicent's shoulder. You watched Aegon pull Daeron into a hug, slapping his brother's back.

And you watched Aemond watching his family with a smile on his face.

* * * * *

Two days later, as you walked down the concrete hallway, you felt your heart pounding in your ears. You had gotten a few pointers from Aegon, but still, you were nervous.

The door opened and you saw an empty space with a single chair in the center and a man tied to it.

You nearly ran over to punch him in the face.

"Steady, sis," Aegon whispered beside you. "You'll get your chance."

"Where is my daughter?" Borros Baratheon bellowed.

"Dead" Aegon snapped at him, and Borros roared. "Your own fucking fault, old man."

Borros kept screaming and for a moment you felt badly for him. Floris had died amidst the volleys of gunfire and Borros had been swiftly taken by Aemond's men.

Helaena and Daeron walked in and Borros looked at everyone facing him. His eyes, the renowned Baratheon blue, landed on you. "And who the fuck are you?"

You felt Aegon's hand on your back.

"I'm Aemond's wife."

Borros looked you up and down. "Wife?" he asked, "or widow?"

"Wife."

He snapped his eyes to the doorway, where Aemond stood. Daeron had pushed the wheelchair the surgeon had insisted he use until he left Tarth, down the hallway, but Aemond had insisted on facing Borros on his own two feet.

"I am sorry for your loss," he said gently.

"You'll see her again soon, you sick fuck," Aegon added. "Lets get this over with, I want to go home."

He pulled out a gun and handed it to you. He looked at you and nodded.

"Tarth!" Borros screamed, hoping for rescue.

You'd practiced a little but there was no way you were remotely comfortable holding a gun. You held it securely and aimed at Borros's chest.

"Borros Baratheon," you said, "know that you didn't take him from me, but we will take everything from you, and make House Baratheon a memory."

You pulled the trigger, your arms ready for the kickback, and saw the moment blood started to bloom below Borros's shoulder. He jerked back, growling in pain.

"I will pay you," he gritted out, panting heavily.

"You already have," Aemond said, and took the gun from you. He raised his hand and shot him through the forehead.

Borros's head fell back and his mouth went slack, and Aemond gave the gun back to Aegon.

"Let's go home."

* * * * *

You hadn't let go of Aemond since he'd woken up, other than to use the bathroom or when the doctor was examining him. And you didn't let go of him on the way home, sitting next to him on the plane, and then in the car.

"You did well."

"I meant to shoot him where he shot you," you said sheepishly. "I should take lessons."

Aemond kissed your hair. "First self defense, then shooting."

You leaned into him, his hand in yours. He squeezed your hand, then turned it over. "About time I get you an engagement ring, don't you think?"

"I don't care," you replied.

He rolled his eye at you. "Then maybe, an 'I took my first shot' ring since you did so well."

You laughed. "That is so morbid."

He leaned over to kiss you, his lips gentle. You remembered how you had looked at him while he was on the hospital bed, so still, his skin so pale, and you cupped his cheek.

When he pulled back he looked at you. "I'm here," he murmured, reading your thoughts. You nodded at him. You were almost home and you wanted nothing more than to know you were both safe and sound.

* * * * *

"I heard you, you know."

She was arranging pillows behind his back, tucking a blanket over his legs, making sure his water and pills were within reach. When she heard him, she looked up.

"When?"

"Before I woke up."

She looked around, remembering, and then she smiled. "Which part?"

"You told me to come back to you."

She nodded and went to sit next to him, her legs tucked under her. "I did."

"Don't ever say I don't listen to you."

She laughed, and then her lips pressed together and she buried her face in her hands. "I'm sorry," she said as she broke down. "I really don't mean to be so weak."

He pulled her in, "you're not weak," he kissed the top of her head as she sobbed, "the last fucking thing you are is weak."

When she stopped crying, he kissed her cheek. "You know, I thought I'd never find someone. Between what I do, my family, that fact that I didn't want a fucking mafia princess which ruled out 90% of my options, I just didn't think it would happen."

"But then you appeared," he continued, "and you wanted nothing to do with me."

She smiled, remembering well their first meeting.

"And then I saw you at the wedding and I thought you were a goddess-"

She scoffed, shaking her head.

"You were. And then I followed you, and then I kissed you. And whether you knew it - whether I knew it - I was yours."

She pulled him in for a kiss, leaning over so he wouldn't have to turn.

"And I came to you, covered in blood, thinking I could frighten you and then you'd push me out of your life and that would be it."

"Aemond," she said softly.

"Because if you couldn't handle it, I had no business pulling you into this life. But instead I found I didn't want to leave your side."

"I'm with you," she replied. "I love you."

"I love you," he whispered, pulling her in, breathing the scent of her hair, her skin, smiling when she repeated I love you over and over. It was the sound that had pulled him back.

* * * * *

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3 9 7  P A G E S

Hey everyone! I realised it's been forever since I posted anything and since I'm not quite finished with the chapter, I thought I'd at least post a story snippet to let you know that I haven't fogotten about you and about HNTBAW. It's just been a little much lately and I've been struggling with writer's block (as always).

But anyway, this is a random scene from the post Hogwarts series (which I might title A Catalogue of Us). It's kind of a flashback memory sort of thing and maybe it's a little confusing and sad, but maybe some of you enjoy it. I hope you had wonderful holidays / Christmas if you celebrate it and I promise I'm still writing.

Let me know what you think if you feel like it... hearing from you guys always helps my motivation, honestly :)

When James fell, the world stood still. I stood still. 

Sometimes I still dream about it. His muddled form falling through the sky, the burst of levitation spells in the pouring rain, like perverse fireworks, missing him again and again and again. There was nothing anyone could have done and yet… 

And yet.

I take a sip of my coffee, trying to banish the scraps of the nightmare that still cling to my mind as I wrap the blanket tighter around my shoulders. The air is crisp, laced with salt and the subtle sweetness of the heather that grows along the cliffside, trembling in the breeze. I’ve been staring at the horizon for almost an hour, watching the darkness fade into that bluish glow that only exists in these few minutes before sunrise, when the world is in-between. Like the sky holds its breath for just a moment.

Like I held my breath when I was an ocean away, unpacking my old life into my new flat, barely paying attention to Ludo Bagman’s tinny commentary in the background. I didn’t even know why I had turned on the match in the first place. I should have stayed away, taken advantage of the physical distance, but there was comfort in the familiarity of it. In hearing his name chanted by thousands of voices. I missed him and I hated him a little for it. And then I heard the screams. 

I thought I had lost him before, but this was so much worse.

***

The room is bright, made of sun-drenched walls and filled with flowers and too many people. But I barely notice. James isn’t moving. There is a tangle of tubes, pumping healing potion from the IV bags into his system, mending his broken bones and his cuts and gashes as much as it can. But even magic can only do so much. 

Ginny sees me first. I’m lingering in the doorway like an intruder, not sure if I have a right to be here. I couldn’t not come. I don’t know what to say, though. My throat closes off when our gaze meets over the hospital bed. She’s clutching James’s hand in both of hers like she’s holding on for dear life, her eyes brimming with tears, and I’m crying too, biting my bottom lip to keep myself from sobbing.

“Seth!” Lily calls out, making both Harry and Al look up, but I still don’t know if I’m welcome. Not until Ginny lets go of her son and extends her hand towards me, the faintest of smiles curving her mouth as she summons me to his bedside.

I want to touch him, to feel that he is still here, warm and real and alive, but I don’t dare. There are too many IV lines and bandages and I’m afraid I might hurt him. “How - how is he?”

It’s a useless question, I know it, but there’s still the naive hope that the answer might have changed. That he’ll open his eyes and give me that infuriating half-smile, calling me Woodley and telling me that everything will be alright.

“I’m sorry,” someone says behind me and I turn around to look at the healer that has come into the room. “Only family is allowed in here.”

“Oh. Right. Sorry.” 

I make to get up, wiping away the tears with shaky fingers, but Ginny’s hand circles my wrist, her bloodshot gaze firmly on the woman in the lime green coat. “She is.”

***

I wanted to buy him some magazines, but half of the stock in the small St. Mungo’s kiosk is about brooms and Quidditch and the other half are gaudy newspapers that still seem to be in a competition over who can print the most disturbing pictures of James plummeting through the air. I was ready to give up and settle on the Kneazle Lover’s Digest when I saw the flashy book pyramid by the checkout. 

“I got you something.” I’m barely in the room when I hold up the shiny hardback with the gaudy cover and James raises an eyebrow at the shirtless guy that takes up most of the front.

“Holy Morgan, what is that, Woodley?” He lets his head fall to the side, smiling at me, even though he is too weak to move. Bruises and scratches still paint brutal patterns across his skin, covering his face and neck, his shoulders, his ribs, but they’re healing. 

Unlike his legs. 

“They had it in the hospital bookshop!” I can barely contain my excitement as I sit down in the chair next to his bed, thumbing through the pages, because this feels like a sign. A very dumb sign, but a sign nonetheless, and I’ll take anything I can get. “No way!” I press the open page against my mouth, my eyebrows arching at James over the edge of the book.

“What?” He’s frowning, amusement still tugging on the corners of his mouth. 

“It’s set in the 1800s.” 

He groans, though the grin on his face definitely dampens the effort. Rain is lashing against the windows, drowning out the steady drip of the IVs and, for a moment, it feels like it used to. Like Sunday mornings at his and Freddie’s flat, when he would refuse to get up and pull me back into bed with him.

“I’m so excited.”

“I bet.” He’s laughing, properly now, and my heart flutters behind my chest. It should know better. Especially because I saw her name flash across his phone screen last night before I left. “How long is that damn thing?”

I flip to the very back of the book, catching a few of the final words even though I try to not read them. “397 pages.”

***

“How many pages?”

He used to ask how many chapters. Then it turned to pages. Because he knows it too - that we only exist like the words on paper, between the pages. Until we reach the last one. The last sentence. 

“191.”

When the story ends, so do we. But ours is a tragedy. Maybe it was always meant to be.

I come back every day. I sit next to his bed and read A Witch’s Guide to Rakes and Romance, blushing fiercely at the spicy scenes but reading it all. James covers Lily’s ears when she’s cuddled up next to him and she complains loudly while Al and Freddie laugh and Harry and Ginny exchange soft, tired smiles.

Sometimes, the room is crowded. Sometimes, it’s just us - James and me and the steady whirring of the machines - and I read to him until he falls asleep. I read to him until twilight creeps into the room and we have to turn on the neon hospital lights. 

I read to him until he can feel his legs again. 

Until the IV lines become less.

Until he can sit up by himself.

“How many?” He says and I don’t look at him.

“16.”

It’s the last chapter. And, though I know that it’s time to go, that this semi-real version of us has an expiration date, I dread every page I turn.

“What if you stayed?” James says, quietly, and I feel like I might choke. I can barely breathe.

What if I stayed?

“I - I can’t.” My fingers are clenching the book in my lap, digging into the cover for something to hold on to. This feels awful, like a second break-up, and I wish I could just fold myself into his arms. 

But I can’t and he doesn’t argue. Because he knows me too well.

His lips are pressed together as he nods, a tear sliding down the side of his face into his pillow and I’m crying too. When he reaches out, I take his hand and weave my fingers through his, careful to not dislodge the catheter in the back of his hand.

“Do you want to hear the ending now?” I ask, wiping the tears from my cheeks, and his gaze slides from my face to the book in my lap, to our intertwined fingers.

“No.” I feel his hold on me loosen, his hand slipping out of my grasp a little. “I don’t want to know how it ends.”

[ishouldbedoinghw]

You Can't Erase Me

One Piece fanfic, part 6

Previous parts are in my pinned masterlist.

A woman enslaved by the celestial dragons is found by a man with red hair. Angst and comedy ensues.

A/N: This story will follow the canon loosely; some events will stay the same, others will be edited for the plot. The timing of events will also be slightly edited from canon so that certain characters are included. The main character is an OC of mine and in her mid-20s. Yes this is important. Character design will likely come soon.

TW: slavery, human trafficking, discussion of trauma, general angst, mention of nudity but it isn't sexual, alcohol consumption, Shanks

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

I'm not sure what color hair I have. At first I think it's pink, then red, then a purple. I can't help but feel as if I've seen the color somewhere, but I couldn't remember what it's called.

I lean in closer to the mirror, my nose almost brushing the cold surface. My skin is a dull shade of chestnut, and freckles are spattered over the bridge of my nose, which seemed a little too big for my face. My eyes are wide and sunken into my skull, the skin around them a dark purple. I couldn't decide whether or not I liked the color of my irises, the bright yellow-green reminding me of bugs.

I trace my fingers around my neck. It's paler than the rest of my skin, and rough to the touch. Every direction I twisted my head, it puckered and wrinkled, as if it was protesting against being stretched.

Seeing myself and knowing my name made me feel alive.

I was Jett. I was real.

Someone knocked on the door.

"Girlie, you done?" Hongo called.

I hurredly tugged on the blue shirt and baggy shorts Shanks had given me before pulling open the door. Hongo stood there with an older man with long gray hair pulled into a ponytail. Somehow he seemed taller than even Shanks, and he barely fit in the bathroom doorway.

"This is Benn Beckman, he'll bring you onto the deck if you want. Some jackass got himself stabbed in a bar, I'll change your bandage later." Hongo disappeared down the hallway, leaving me to hold onto Benn's outstretched arm.

"I'm assuming Shanks gave you that to wear," Benn remarked as he led me down the hall opposite the direction Hongo went.

"Um- yeah."

He chuckled. "I'll apologize for him, lass, because he probably won't."

I really hadn't thought about how the clothing looked, but when I peered down to study my shorts I grimaced - they were heinous.

"Don't sweat it, lass, we won't make you look like a Shanks clone for too long."

He paused in front of a door, turning to look down at me with his hand on the latch.

"Just a fair warning, some of the crew's back, and-"

The door was snatched open, and Benn moved his hand to grip the one I had curled around the crook of his elbow.

What was it with this crew and just barging in places?

A blonde, dark-skinned man wearing a headband that said 'YASOPP' was leaning against the now-open door. He didn't do much to block the sunlight pouring in, and I had to massage my temples and blink away the white spots dancing in my vision before I could even look outside.

"Damn, Benn got to the lovely gal first," the man, who presumably was the Yasopp Hongo often complained about, drawled. I almost laughed in his face, knowing damn well I looked like hell and not a touch "lovely."

"Don't be a nuisance, Yasopp," said Benn.

Yasopp clutched his chest dramatically and pretended to weep, throwing an arm over his face. "You wound me, Bennjamin. I'm nothing but kind and compassionate to you-"

"Shove that horseshit up someone else's ass," Benn grunted, "Preferably your own."

I couldn't help but giggle, catching the two men's attention. Benn sighed, rummaging for something in his coat pocket before leading me out the door.

The sea had to be the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.

Benn led me over to the railing along the side of the ship, careful to keep me steady over any damp spots. Letting go of his arm, I leaned over the railing as far as my nerves would let me.

Light danced over the little chopping waves that pattered against the ship, creating a kaleidoscope of colors that almost hurt my eyes to look at. Bright turquoise faded into a deep sapphire as it stretched into the horizon. My vision blurred off into the distance, but the vast nothingness that laid before me was almost haunting. I wondered what it would be like to soar on wings above it, to feel lost in the sky surrounded by nothing but blue.

The gentle flick of a lighter drew my attention, and I turned to see Benn taking a long drag from a cigarette, the end burning a bright amber. He let out a heavy breath, smoke spilling from his lips. My eyes watered, a bit, and I struggled not to cough as I tried scooching away.

"Shit, sorry, lass," he says, his face turned in the opposite direction.

I faced the water again, squinting to see how far my vision could reach.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Benn grunts, a slight smile on his face. "It never seems to end."

"Has anyone seen all of it?"

If he's surprised by my question, he doesn't show it. "One man has, but that's a story Shanks knows more about than I do." He grimaces, then mutters, "Maybe you shouldn't ask him, he might gab on about the damn clown-"

"Benn, if you don't shut the fuck up right now, I'm going to shoot your kneecaps." Yasopp's voice was chilling compared to the easy tone he had earlier, and his expression was downright murderous.

"I guess Shanks is on his way back, then," said Benn, undisturbed. "Please never mention clowns or bugs around him, lass, you'd be signing us up for torture."

"A sick and unusual punishment, indeed," said Yasopp somberly.

Benn, having finished his cigarette, steps toward me. "Guess we'd better introduce you to some of the crew."

"Although I'm afraid you've already met the most handsome and awesome member," Yasopp cuts in, dramatically flexing his arms.

"Don't you have other shit to do?"

"Such a dirty mouth around a lady, Benn! I would never-" and he faded off, still babbling as he disappeared below deck.

Benn let out a sigh, rummaged in his pocket again, then paused before thinking better of it. "Alright, lass, in case no one's told you yet, welcome to the Red Force, ship of the Red-Haired pirates."

I almost pointed out that Shanks was the only one with red hair that I'd seen, but decided to keep my mouth shut.

More of the crew started appearing here and there, carrying various crates and bags of things, though I couldn't make my vision focus enough to see. I had to squint to make out some of the various crew members Benn started pointing out, but most of them seemed so happy to be introduced to me that I couldn't bring myself to say I couldn't see most of them from where we were.

What I was able to notice, however, was how odd some of their names were. Rockstar? Limejuice? Bonk Punch? Building Snake? What in the actual hell? Benn gave no indication that these were just nicknames, either, and didn't acknowledge how strange they sounded.

Another thing I noticed was how big everyone was. I thought Benn would be the tallest man I'd ever seen, but Building Snake - damn, it felt stupid to refer to anyone like that - was basically a giant. Despite everyone's daunting appearance, however, everyone seemed good-natured and cheerful - with the exception of Limejuice, who seemed more quiet and serious, though still polite.

Gab won me over almost immediately, with his sweet and bashful demeanor contrasting his fearsome appearance. As one of the few members I actually saw up close, I was able to see just how much he looked like a lion with his long, wild hair and sharp teeth. He didn't say much, but he did give me a timid smile before scurrying off, evidently not for conversation with strangers. I couldn't blame him. I was leaned over the railing again, watching the water as the sun started to dip when Hongo shouted for me.

"Jett! Let me change up your bandage before we eat." I didn't think I'd ever get tired of hearing other people say my name. It made me feel less like some poor, weak stray that had turned up and more like a person.

As soon as I was wrapped back up, my back stinging slightly, Hongo was pushing a cane in my hands, telling me I needed to start walking longer distances on my own. While it was exhausting, I had to admit it was liberating to be able to move around independently, with no grumpy pirate to lead me around.

I'd just made my way back out onto the deck when i heard a loud, sharp whoop. The men seemed unfazed by it, continuing to load up- whatever pirates loaded up. Food? Water? Weapons, maybe?

It wasn't until Shanks made it up onto the deck that I figured out who it was. I was right - Shanks was the only crew member with red hair, and I was able to decipher him from much farther away than the others. He was carrying something large and round on his shoulder, and as he drew closer, I could see the wide grin on his face.

"We're celebratin' tonight, boys, I got my hands on the good stuff!" he shouted, all but slamming down what looked to be a barrel from his shoulder to the floor.

"We've got a new crewmate to welcome!"

-------

It was the first time since arriving that I had eaten with the crew. We were all out on the deck stuffing ourselves, and I was still buzzing from what Shanks had said earlier.

Crewmate.

Did they like me that much? Everyone seemed so happy that I was here, it was unreal. They didn't even know who the hell I was- although I didn't exactly know that either.

All night, I'd received choruses of "Oi, lass," or "Aye, miss," or the occasional "Need more food, little lady?"

The last one tended to come from the ship's cook, Lucky Roux, who was about as wide as he was tall. He always seemed to be knawing on a meat rack, a wide smile across his face. Out of all the crewmates I'd met, he was the sweetest; though if he was a little more outgoing, Gab could certainly give him a run for his money. Roux also seemed hellbent on making my stomach explode; any time I finished something on my plate, we was shoveling me more.

Benn sat beside me, his manners probably as proper as any pirate's could be. Shanks sat opposite him, having finished eating a while ago and was continuously chugging a foul-smelling liquid that Hongo had forbidden from me. He'd said that it would react badly with the medicine I was on; he also looked like he'd murder everyone on the ship if I didn't listen to him.

It seemed like everyone was drinking the stuff - liquor, I thought, after watching Shanks's cheeks flush and and most of the crew get a little less precise with their movements. Benn and Hongo were the only ones aside from me staying sober, and I was grateful for it. Hongo was in and out, making sure I was eating the right things then disappearing back into the cabin.

"He's cleaning," Benn grunted, fiddling with an unlit cigarette.

"Honey?" Shanks piped in, "the man's obsessed, I swear."

"Someone's got to be clean on this ship, and I know it won't be you, Captain," Benn snapped.

"What's up your ass, Benn, you've been a dick all night," Shanks giggled, "oh my god, maybe it's dic-"

"He hasn't had his smokes today," Yasopp interrupted, swaying slightly with an arm around Lucky Roux's shoulders.

Benn just grunted, his hand twitching.

I thought back to earlier that day, when he'd looked so guilty at making me cough. Did he stop because of me?

"Um- Benn- if it's because of me," I hesitated before continuing, "I don't mind if you smoke."

Shanks gasped dramatically, saying, "She does speak-"

"Shut it, you arse. Don't be rude," Benn snapped. He turned to me, and in a gentler tone he said, "I'll be fine, lass, don't want to spoil your lungs."

"I'm not a child, Benn, I'll be fine if you go somewhere else to smoke," I blurted out before I could stop myself.

If I'd pissed him off, he didn't show it; he just squeezed my shoulder, muttered an "alright then," and walked off.

Shanks absolutely cackled at this interaction, having no shame in teasing his first mate. "Spooky, I wish you could see well enough to look at his face right now." Genuine tears rolled down his cheeks, and he sloppily wiped them away.

With the absence of Benn, Yasopp and Lucky Roux had fixed themselves around me, snickering at each other.

"So, Jett," Yasopp started, "how old are you, if you aren't a kid."

I had to think for a moment. In truth, I had no idea how I knew I wasn't a kid. How young did I think I kid was, anyway? Eighteen? Twenty? Was I older than that?

"I- I'm not sure," I admitted, and Yasopp stiffened a bit.

"Amnesia that bad, huh?" he jokes lamely.

"I WISH THAT I COULD WAKE UP WITH AMNESIA-" Shanks's singing was awful, and the crew seemed to share that opinion, Yasopp grimacing and Lucky Roux's smile faltering.

"Shanks-" someone started to say before I interrupted.

"You're going to make me more deaf than I already am." It was quiet, but Shanks caught it, and he guffawed before his face settled into a pout.

"I'll have you know I'm a terrific singer, Spooky, you lot just have no taste."

Yasopp scoffed, before covering it with a cough that made Roux chuckle.

"The lady's got a bit of a mouth on 'er, even if she is quiet," Yasopp slung an arm around me, his blonde dreads brushing my shoulder.

-------

The night wore on, and although I was exhausted, and Benn had suggested more than once that I should probably be asleep, I found myself captivated by how the crew interacted with each other. They laughed and joked around each other, and everyone was happy to be there. A few of them seemed to have partied to hard - Shanks being one of them - and were either vomiting into the ocean or passed out.

Somehow, Shanks's head had ended up in my lap, and Yasopp and Roux were sitting across from us. Benn was constantly smoking a small ways from us, something that worried me until Yasopp assured me it was completely normal "Benn behavior".

"Ssssshhhpooookyyyyyy," Shanks slurred from my lap, and I awkwardly patted his head.

"Hm?" I'd gotten more confident in my voice as the night had worn on, saying a few more words at a time, and responding more often.

"Benn said - hic - Benn said the shorts I gave you were uglyyyy," he whined.

"Well- I- yeah," I said, looking at the bright purple stripes that adorned said shorts. "But thanks for letting me wear them."

The redhead shifted to face me, grinning. "Don' worry Shpook, we'll get you some woman clothes sometime."

I hummed a minute, looking away from him.

"Shanks," I finally said, gazing out over the dark where the ocean should be.

"Hrrngh," he grunted.

"Why are you letting me stay here?"

----------

Shanks POV

I looked at her, but she wouldn't meet my eyes. I'd seen the look on her face countless times on countless faces. I tried moving to sit up, but glaring white spots danced over my vision, and my head spun. Fuck.

I was way too drunk for this.

The truth was that in the time she'd already been with us, no one had been able to find any record of her existence. No missing person reports, no recent kidnappings - nothing that suggested someone was looking for her. It was Benn that suggested she might've been gone long enough that people had stopped looking for her; and I had a terrible suspicion he was right. It wasn't uncommon for all records of a person who'd been sold as a slave to "mysteriously" disappear, but usually someone would get by with reporting them in the News Coo. Some of the crew, including myself and Benn, had looked through almost a year's worth of any news, reports, or even wanted posters.

Our girl was nowhere to be found. To make things worse, Hongo shared his fear that the amnesia she had could be permanent, even if her vision and hearing improve. So, she couldn't tell us herself.

Maybe I could get Mihawk to look at some Marine record or something.

I shoved those thoughts away. We'd keep looking, but at some point, we'd have to tell her. But for now, I'd do my best to keep her happy.

"Finder's keepers, Spooks," I said finally, pushing myself up and groaning.

She watched as I raised my bottle, and I could've sworn I saw her smile a little when I shouted, "A toast! To our newest crewmate and friend!"

Nothing but cheers erupted from the crew.

[boygiwrites]

Harley D. Dixon 32

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Herschel still looks like he's sleeping peacefully after a long day's work on the farm, with one of his arms flopped over the side of the bed, handcuffed to the frame. His fingers, curled loosely around nothing, refuse to twitch no matter how long I stare at them.

Maybe that's why it's so hard for me to imagine him as one of the walkers.

It's easy to forget that they used to be people.

"You best wake up soon," I tell the motionless old man, trying my best to sound like I mean business. It ain't lost on me that my Dad was in this same position last year, laid up in bed after he took that bullet to the guts and refused to die. It was Herschel that had saved him, only outta the kindness of his heart and nothing much else at all, 'cause he ain't got a bad bone in him, not even one. "We need you."

Crouched at his bedside, Maggie squeezes her eyes shut, a tear slipping down her cheek as she holds his hand.

When she opens them again, they're green and watery like fresh grass after a sun shower.

Even though Carl and I got an earful from our Dads about sneaking off, I'm glad we managed to get the supplies from the infirmary.

His leg — Or should I call it something else, now that half of it is gone? Is there a word for such an impossible thing? — is wrapped up in clean, white bandages, no longer pourin' blood. I know any one of us would happily give him one of ours, but we just can't.

"Thank you," Carol glances from me, to Carl, to Glenn. "By the way. I couldn't have done this without your help."

Glenn smiles a bit. "Should I say it was no problem?"

"Probably not," She chuckles softly, going back to tidying up the thin gauze around the wound.

Herschel was always so kind to me, even when I wasn't kind in return. There are just some people who are like that — Good. Like Dale — and can't ever be anything else. I used to think it was a weakness, because what good is an animal that doesn't know how to bite? How's it meant to survive? Nobody I ever knew was brave enough to be gentle, but Herschel was. He took us in when we needed help, fed us warm tea and potato soup when all we had to give in return was trouble. He cleaned the blood from my wounds, gave me a clean bed to sleep in.

No matter if somebody is as mean as a snake or as loyal as a dog — In my case, if they're both — we all bleed the same.

"Harley?"

Everybody turns at the sound of Beth's voice, the blonde girl peering around the doorframe.

"Yeah?"

"Could you come help me with somethin' real quick?" She asks, adding, "It won't take long."

"That reminds me, actually." Carol tells Glenn, "I need your help with something, too."

"I don't think I can leave Herschel again," He says.

"Let's talk about it outside."

"Um. Sure thing," I nod to Beth, standing from the metal seat and following her outta the cell, and into ours. "What is it?"

She kneels down on Carl's mattress where Mouse is napping, picking up a bundle of brown cloth and laying it across her lap. "He's gonna have a hard time walkin' around with one side of his pants draggin' on the ground. He could, you know, trip or somethin'."

She takes a tiny sewing needle and sticks it through the fabric.

Trip?

Her Daddy's on his deathbed and she's worried about him tripping?

"I just need you to keep the string from knottin' up," She explains as I sit in front of her. "So I can focus on the sewin' part."

Taking the string and picking the tangled pieces apart as she continues weaving the needle in and out, her thin fingers trembling, I decide to humour her, because it's the right thing to do. Some people cry when they're nervous, but I guess others sew up pantlegs.

"I asked Maggie to help me earlier," She muses, frustrated. "But she wouldn't do it."

I almost lose my grip on the string as she tugs harshly on it, catching it at the last moment.

"Oops."

"Apparently, she didn't want me to get my hopes up too high," She says. "You believe that? It's like s-she thinks he's gonna die."

I struggle to know whether or not I should tell her that's exactly what Maggie thinks, and that nobody can blame her for it. I thought my Dad was gonna die when we were on the farm, but it was never because I didn't have faith in him. I was just scared.

Feeling my stare on her, Beth looks up at me through her furrowed brows, pouting, "What?"

I shake my head. "Nothin'."

"Just say it, then." She slumps. "You think the same thing, don't you?"

Gesturing to her with the ball of string, I try to convince her, "Well, I'm helpin' ya, ain't I?"

She sighs as she looks back down at her needle. "Yeah, but I know you're just feelin' sorry for me. I felt sorry for you when your Dad was unconscious. You were like a sad little puppy dog waitin' for her owner at the door, but I couldn't do anything to help."

"I'on think he's gonna die," I insist, because it's true. "I think he's either gonna die or wake up, and that's totally different."

She pulls the needle through with a long, sweeping motion. "Sorry. I'm just... I appreciate you gettin' the medical supplies."

"O'course."

I ain't gonna lie and tell her I didn't second guess going with Carl, but what matters is that I only ever had Herschel in mind.

If you were to ask my Dad, though, he'd say that's exactly what the problem was.

She adds, "Just... Promise to be more careful, next time?"

"Who bribed ya to say that?"

"Nobody," She giggles, biting the string with her teeth and tying it off. "Nobody needs to be bribed to care about you, Harley."

"What'd they give ya?"

"Nothin'!"

"If it was cookies, I want one."

"Oh, shut it." She smooths out the pantleg before holding it up to look at. "There. These will do. Decent, right?"

I smile, "Yeah, you're really good at that."

"Thanks." Folding them neatly and grabbing the next pair of pants, she says, "My Mom taught me all about textiles when I w—"

"Oh, my God!"

Mouse's head whips up.

"Maggie?" I call out worriedly, throwing the string aside and running outta the cell. "What's wrong?"

She's backed up against the wall when I come to a stop outside Herschel's cell, staring wide-eyed at him, shuddering somethin' about, He ain't breathin', He stopped breathin', as Lori pushes past everyone and presses her ear to his chest.

"'Stopped breathin'?'" I exclaim but I don't know who to, horrified it means, dead.

"Oh, Lord," Beth croaks.

Lori lifts her head and without wasting any time, she starts pumping his chest, grunting with each brutal squashing of his sternum. I watch on, unsure what I can do, unsure if I'm gonna stop breathin', too. His heart's stopped, and I know that means dead.

Lori's hair hangs down, tickling the end of his nose like a feather.

"Come on," She's gritting through her teeth, "Come on."

I swear his nostrils twitch.

I'on even have to think about it. I pull my gun out, point it at his head, watching for any sign that he's waking up in the wrong way. It ain't like all the other heads I've had hovering on my sights. It ain't mishappen, rotted, peeled back, leaking. It's just our Herschel.

The handcuffs rattle.

I gasp.

All the little hairs on my arms stand up.

Lori squeals as his body lurches up like he's being sick and his arms reach out for her, Maggie pulling her into her side.

They hold each other, gawking at him.

Has he turned? Is he gone?

I'm about to move my finger onto the trigger when he lets out a thin sigh, slumps back down on his pillow, and starts to snore like a happy baby, none the wiser to any of the horror he just caused us. Well. I'm glad somebody's havin' a good time.

Lowering the gun, I look at poor Maggie, Beth, and Lori, suddenly quite ashamed that I had drawn.

When I look to my left, Carl's shakily lowering his gun, too.

"It's okay," Maggie soothes us after a breathless moment has passed. "It's— It's okay."

"I'm sorry," I say. Even if he had turned into a walker and I was forced to shoot him, it still would'a had her Dad's face on it.

"Don't be, honey. It's okay." She says. "He's okay."

Beth suddenly breaks free of them and marches outta the cell.

Not wanting her to be alone after what just happened, I holster my gun and follow after her, Mouse at my heel. I don't care that I'll probably be stuck with her for hours. Some people sew up pantlegs when they're nervous, but I guess others help them hold the string.

Beth and I have finished tailoring and folding away all of Herschel's pants by the time Rick, Dad, and T-Dog return to the cellblock, approaching Carl, who's standing in the doorway of Herschel's cell, telling them, "Herschel stopped breathing before. Mom saved him."

"It's true," Glenn nods as they crowd into the cell with us, Rick coming to his bedside, sadly gazing down at him.

"I almost shot him, Dad," I whisper, thinking of the night he was forced to raise his gun to Dale's head. "Thought he turned."

His expression solemn, he reaches down and wraps a hand around the nape of my neck, squeezing reassuringly.

"S'alright," He rasps quietly, leaving the rest unsaid.

I let the pressure calm me as I watch Herschel's sleeping face, his wrinkled mouth parting as if to speak a silent word.

Wait.

His mouth is parting.

Realizing the same thing, Maggie rushes to his side.

"Daddy?" She softly calls out to him, searching his closed eyes for something. "Daddy, we're here."

"We're here," Beth agrees.

Please, I think to myself, This has to be it, right?

I feel Dad move his hand onto my shoulder, stopping me from reaching for my holster. He rests his fingers on the grip of his gun. Rick gently puts his hand on Maggie's back, glancing back at him with a tense sort of look before focusing on Herschel again.

Then, without any grand affairs or a single word from anybody in the room, his eyelids slowly flutter open, and they're not milky, or bloodshot, or twitching, or anything. They're just a tender blue, focusing and unfocusing on the bottom of the bunk above him.

The first thing he turns his head to look at is Maggie's tearful, laughing face. Beth lets out a squeaky cry, and the corner of his mouth pulls into a weak smile as his hand twitches in the handcuffs, tryna reach out for them in the human way, gentle and loving.

He's okay. He really is.

Dad relaxes, removing his hand from his gun.

Taking the keys from his belt, Rick unlocks the handcuffs and they fall away, letting Herschel embrace Maggie's wet cheek.

"Hey, sleepyhead," Beth sniffles.

"You scared us," Maggie adds, putting her hand over his.

He looks over her shoulder at Rick, at me and Dad, at Carol and T-Dog, at Lori, Glenn, and Carl, and lastly, at smiling Mouse.

"I hope my bed hair isn't going to s-scare you all over again," He says hoarsely, making us all chuckle. "How long?"

"About half a day," She says. "We dressed your leg up real good. Got the bleedin' to stop. You're gonna be okay, Daddy."

"Of course I am," He smiles.

"Let me get you some water," Carol says as she turns outta the cell, leaving everyone to bask in the moment, sharing relieved glances.

We got no choice but to believe him when he sounds as certain as he does. He's a tough one, alright. Tougher than all of us combined.

When she returns, Maggie shuffles outta the way to give her room to crouch down, helping him take a long sip.

"Easy," She cautions, pulling away. "We want you rested up."

"Yes, I think that's a good idea," He agrees, peering down his belly at his half-leg, giving it a bit of a wiggle.

"Does it hurt?"

"Oh," He chuckles. "Only my pride, my dear. You did an excellent job."

"Well, I had an excellent teacher," She says proudly, brushing some of the hair back from his face.

"And, Rick," He reaches out for the man, who takes his bony hand in his strong ones. "I think I owe you just about everything."

He shakes his head. "No more than I owe you."

"I haven't quite taken an axe to your leg, yet, son," He jokes, releasing his hand to point at him, "S-so, not exactly."

Dipping his head, he laughs, "Fair enough, old man."

Taking Maggie's hand again, Herschel's eyes begin to droop sleepily before he falls back asleep, a faintly happy look on his face, like he's having a nice dream. Maggie kisses Beth's cheek and holds her Daddy's hand under her chin, placing another kiss there.

"Let's leave him to rest," Carol says, gently guiding everyone out. "He needs it if he's going to be up and walking."

Stepping into the cell hall, Rick sighs heavily, "That was a relief."

"He's a tough son of a bitch," Glenn agrees.

Rubbing her belly, Lori asks, "What happened with the prisoners?"

"We tried to take cell block C with them," He explains, his brow splattered with wet blood and gunk, but with no wound. "I mean, these are guys who thought we might have a phone for 'em to use, so you can imagine how it went. The rest, I'on think the kids should hear."

"So, where are they now?" Carol asks.

"Two of 'em are in cell block C," He says, leaving me to wonder where the other three are. "It's a mess, but they agreed to stay."

I ain't sure how I feel about havin' neighbours in here. The prison is definitely more than big enough to share with them, but some neighbours are just better off dead, even if they give us dry corn and canned beef. It's not what Dale would've said, I know, and I think that's the reason Rick let them live. For now, at least. It's not as if they've threatened us, unlike that group of bandits he murdered last year.

Yes, the prisoners' leader did have his gun aimed at Rick's head, but Rick had one aimed at his, too.

"Hopefully they stay out of our way," She shrugs, though she doesn't look very happy. "Nothing else we can do."

"Don't worry. We're keepin' an eye on 'em," T-Dog reassures her.

"Well, I'm gonna go clean myself up," Rick announces, his exhaustion suddenly obvious. "I need a good sleep."

"Ditto," Dad groans.

That night, I think we all rest more than a little easier knowing that Herschel will survive.

My knife sinks into the soft meat of the walker's knee, the bone popping open as I twist the blade like a key.

It gives out a gurgling cry, gripping the fence with its blackened fingers as it falls to its knees, tonguing at the wire.

SQUELCH.

Stabbing it through the eye, the rotting lady's jaw goes slack, right before she slumps over and another walker replaces her.

"Nicely done." Dad says. He's making good on his promise to let us help clear the courtyard. "How many's that now, girl?"

"Eight," I pant.

He's standing a few feet down the fence from me, holding his hand over his brow and sneering against the glare of the sun. Behind him, Carl deftly drives his knife into the knee of a walker and then its head, pulling it out with a spray of blood. 

In the background, Mouse is busy doing his own thing, sniffing weeds.

"Good. Make it ten." Dad approaches me and takes my knife from me, wiping it on his thigh. "And remember to keep this clean."

With the newly gunk-free blade, he swiftly kills the walker in front of me.

It drops to the ground.

"Like I said, it don't gotta be sparklin', but you don't want all that sticky shit dryin' on there and makin' it harder for you to pull out," He explains, handing it back to me. He watches me stab the knee of the next walker, breaking the bone. "That's it. Now the head."

Its face presses up against the fence, eye level with me, only managing half a growl before I stick the blade through its eye.

It's all the more satisfying when I imagine it's the walker that tackled me on the farm, or the one from the hospital, or the one from yesterday. It sure feels good being able to kill a thing that wants to kill me. With each kill, I'm gettin' better, faster, more accurate.

"And you, boy?" He calls over to Carl. "How many?"

As the walker in front of him collapses, the boy grins. "Ten. Guess I've mastered the class, huh, Daryl?"

"Ten?" I sass. "You lyin'."

"Make it twelve," Dad orders, wiping the smug look from his face. "Remember yer footin'. S'why you're stumblin' all over the place."

I can't help but snicker.

Dad unlocks the small gate as I cripple and take out one more walker, bringing me to ten kills, one for every one of my fingers.

Dad pulls his bandana over his head. One of the many walkers shuffles toward him, but before it can do any damage, he effortlessly lunges forward with the fabric and braces it between its teeth, dragging it into the courtyard and tying a knot behind its head.

As Mouse starts barking at it, I soothe, "Shh, boy. It's okay."

Dad kicks the gate closed, and with the walker angrily chewing on the bandana, he muscles it over to us.

"We're gonna practice without the fence."

I remember we did this a few months ago on the side of the highway when we were first learning how to properly kill walkers.

Until then, we only knew the basics — Aim for the head!

Now, he makes us practice every few days.

It's one of my favorite pastimes. Even better'un playin' soccer and ridin' our bikes!

"Y'all know the drill. It can't bite ya." He reassures us, the walker's thrashing no match for the strong grip he's got on it. "I'm gonna let it go and you're gonna take it down however you feel is best. But you wanna keep on its eight and four. Why ya gonna do that?"

"That's its blind spots," I recite. "And ya don't wanna get behind it, 'cause it might fall on ya."

"Easier to dodge," He agrees. "Harley, you're gonna go first. Carl, you get seconds. Hold the dog. Ready?"

Carl crouches, holding Mouse still. "Yep."

"Ready," I nod.

"I'm right here if things get messy." Dad shoves it forward. "Alright. Meathead, in the ring. Show 'im who's boss, girl."

The walker locks eyes with me.

Without anything to hold it back, it starts to clumsily stride toward me with purpose.

"You got this, Harley," Carl cheers, Mouse whining worriedly.

"I'mma kill it, Mousey," I reassure him. "It's okay."

Let's do it. Eight and four, eight and four. As soon as it's within arm's reach, I dodge it, ducking under its arm. Confused, it looks around, sniffing at the air to find out where I went because it's a fuckin' idiot. Rearing my knife back, I drive it into the back of its knee.

It stumbles drunkenly, landing on its stomach, but with my hands still wrapped around the knife, I fall with it.

Landing against its thigh, I grunt.

Mouse's whining gets louder.

"I'm here. Stay calm," Dad coaches me as Carl shushes the dog. "Get that knife out 'fore it gets back up."

Righting myself, I pull the blade out and crawl up to its head, stabbing the nape of its head.

Pink brains and blood leaks out.

It's dead!

As I stand back up, heart racing, Dad comes forward and starts untying his bandana from the walker's mouth.

"Good work," He says, shaking it out. "You know why you fell, right?"

"I ain't took the knife out quick enough. Pulled me down with it."

If I was up against any more walkers, they would'a piled on top of me while I's on the ground. Eaten alive, in Rick's words. Eugh.

Not a good pastime.

"Was only practice," He soothes, kissing my hair. "Next time, give it a bit of a wiggle and it'll free up quicker."

"Alright."

"You didn't warn us about us falling on them, Daryl," Carl jokes, releasing Mouse, who runs straight for me.

"Shut up, Carl," I smile, petting the dog's big snout. "It was only practice."

"Woohoo, Harley!"

We all look up at Glenn standing out in the field with Rick, grinning and holding a bunch of firewood.

"Good job!" Rick adds, waving.

Dad scoffs. "Didn't know we had an audience."

I cup my hands around my mouth. "Thanks!"

After that, Dad dresses up another walker for Carl to practice on. While he don't fall over like I did, he keeps nervously dancing around it like some sorta twinkle-toes ballerina, until my Dad's patience wears thin and he shouts at him to make a move, and he finally kills it.

SQUELCH.

"Alright," Dad says, "Back to work."

Fifteen, I count in my head, pulling my knife free, when the door behind us suddenly swings open.

What was that?

At first, I think it's more walkers spilling into the courtyard, but when I turn around, I see it's not walkers at all.

It's the prisoners.

The white guy with the ugly moustache and the black guy that wanted a phone to call his family.

That's them, emerging from the dark.

"Oh. H-Hey, guys," The shorter of the two greets us breathily, holding up his hands as the door shuts behind them. "Fancy se—"

"Back the Hell up!"

Dad's got his crossbow aimed at their heads before they can take a single step toward us, his finger curled around the trigger.

Mouse starts bark, bark, barking at them, but I lunge toward him, holding him back.

"Holy shit," The prisoner exclaims, looking like he's about to wet his jumpsuit, or cry, or both. "Man, w-we don't want no trouble."

If he ain't careful, he's gonna get an arrow to the head and a dog bite to the neck.

"What do you want?" Dad growls, blocking their view of me and Carl with his body. "Cell block weren't cozy enough for ya?"

"Please, mister. We know we had a deal," He begs. I ain't never heard nobody call my Dad, mister, before. He must really wanna get on our good side, but what he don't understand is that when it comes to strangers, we don't got no good side. "But you gotta understand! We can’t live in that place another minute, you follow me? All the bodies. People we knew. Blood. Brains everywhere. There’s ghosts!

Rick, Glenn, and T-Dog must have noticed all the commotion, rushing into the courtyard.

Frowning hard, Rick demands to know, "What's goin' on? Why're they out here?"

Lowering his crossbow, Dad sneers, "Fellers got cold feet, is what I'm hearin'."

"We just can't live like that," The taller one says. "We can't."

"Why don't'cha move the bodies out?"

As Glenn herds me and Carl behind him, T-Dog scoffs, "You ain't done that, yet? You should be burnin' them."

"We tried," The blonde blubbers.

"The fence is down on the far side of the prison." The other explains, making everybody share tense glances with each other. A downed fence ain't good at all, if we wanna fortify this place. "Every time we drag a body out, those things just pile up."

Well, that's what they're best at. Piling up. That, and bitin' into people like they's burgers.

It's a bible-level miracle these two ain't dead, yet.

"Look," The weaselly little man says, becoming even more antsy at our prolonged silence. "We had nothing to do with Tomas and Andrew. You tryna prove a point? Yeah? W— You proved it, bro! I swear, we’ll do whatever it takes to be part of your group!"

When he gestures to me and Mouse, Dad's hands twitch around his crossbow.

"You—? You got a dog? I mean, that's awesome," He puffs. "Clearly, you been doin' well for yourselves. What's his name?"

"Don't'chu fuckin' talk to my daughter, man," Dad scolds him.

"It's just, I love— We love dogs. I actually used to have a labrado—"

"Man, will you stop?" His friend tuts. "Have some balls."

Mouse gives a little huff.

He don't like 'em, neither.

"I'm just sayin'," He sighs, "I really, really, really don't wanna go back to that cell block again. Please don't make us."

"Our deal is non-negotiable," Rick replies coldly. "You either live in your cell block, or you leave. We have kids here."

"We ain't pedos, mister. Swear!"

"Jesus Christ," Glenn mutters under his breath, because this guy is embarrassing.

"We ain't here to test that theory out," Dad scowls.

Rick agrees, "You even think about steppin' into our cell block, and you can consider yourselves dead."

"You know, I told you this was a waste of time," The tall one scoffs, smart enough to ditch the begging route. "These guys ain’t no different than the pricks who shot up our boys. You know how many friends’ corpses we had to drag out this week? Just threw ‘em out-like. Those were good guys! Good guys who had our backs against the really bad dudes in this joint, like Tomas and Andrew!"

None of these guys were put in here for no reason.

Everybody used to say that only bad guys went to prison, but I never believed that. I saw the people I cared about be rounded into cop cars and driven away into the night more time than I cared to count, always watching the flashing lights disappear down the road while standing on the porch with Merle, shivering in the wind in my pyjamas. No, I knew it was only people the police ain't liked that went to prison.

Whether it was because they was murderers, or brawlers, or tax-dodgers; or if they had only given 'em a sour look.

My Dad, he was all'a those things, but it weren't no sour look that got him put in handcuffs in the end.

He ain't like Herschel and Dale. Ain't all good. He's nasty and he swears and he's killed people, but that's only part of him.

I feel a little bad for these two.

They're clueless, like babies. They don't even got a word for the walkers, yet. But I know that even though our group love my Dad for who he is, and they know he's been to prison, and that it don't make him all bad, they won't feel the same way for these two strangers.

The most important thing we have is each other.

I've seen first-hand what we do to anybody that threatens that.

"Now, we’ve all made mistakes to get in here, chief," The man continues uselessly. "And I’m not gonna pretend to be a saint, but believe me — We paid our due. Enough that we would rather hit the road, than to go back into that shithole for one more second."

He doesn't know he's just described to a T what's about to happen.

Rick levels them with an indifferent look. "Then you're on the road."

His face falls.

And it's probably not because he won't get to pet Mouse.

"We'll die out there."

Again, Rick shrugs.

Raising his crossbow once more, Dad herds them outta the courtyard and into the field.

Author's note.

I enjoyed writing this chapter! Probably because nothing bad happened. We have low standards here at Harley D. Dixon.

As always, I sincerely hope you enjoyed reading! 💙

@poetoflawed

[bearlytolerant]

mtas | fang x oc | ch 6 rating: T | AO3

Ch 6 Excerpt:

The door swung open, hinges crying out in need of oil. Filed away on a mental note card for later. Fang used the tip of a blade to strip away the thin green layer of an aloe leaf. Though the clinic didn’t technically open for another hour, he wasn’t one to refuse a patient.

“Hi birdie!”

“Hello, X.”

Recognizing Sage’s voice immediately, he finished separating the gel from the bottom layer of the skin and set the knife down while X chatted with her. Wash, rinse, patted hands dry with a towel and he wandered his way over to Sage. She eyed the rules on the wall, X perched on her shoulder. He shuffled up behind her.

“May I?”

She spun with a nod and he reached for her, placing her wrist in his palm, the thrum of her pulse steady and becoming familiar under his thumb. He eyed her bandages. She startled briefly under his touch as his fingers grazed gauze. Then relaxed as he tugged at the loose edge, unraveling it with methodical leisure.

“Vi insisted I come to you,” she said.

“She did the right thing,” he said. The gauze revealed angry and blistered skin with a dewy sheen. A second degree burn. “How long?”

“Thirty minutes ago? Maybe? I ran it under cool water for a while and wrapped it, assuming it would be fine. But Vi wouldn’t let me get back to work unless I came over here and I really need to get back to my customers. Not that I don’t trust Vi but it’s opening day and, well...” Her voice trailed off. “You can blame Vi for wasting your time.”

“Not—wasting time.” He circled back to the aloe he’d been taking apart and put some of the gel into a mortar, squishing it up into an applicable paste to spread on her burn. “Sit,” he directed, gesturing to the patient bed next to his work desk.

X flitted off, landing on the top of the room divider.

Sage followed his directions to sit, struggling a bit to get onto the bed and a brief moment of guilt plagued him for not assisting her. But Sage situated herself well enough out of determination and she most likely would’ve refused his help anyway, he was sure of it. Setting the mortar filled with gel next to her, he lifted her hand and met her gaze. Her eyes were like the green sea glass that would surface along the shore of the oasis, crystalline and enchanting. Sometimes he’d collect them and set them in a jar for X.

He couldn’t place why he was so drawn to her. Or why holding her hand made his heart flutter inconsistently and his palms clammy, while simultaneously being the most natural thing to do in the whole world. Almost as if he was always meant to hold her hand. Suddenly self conscious and she didn’t seem to notice, he glanced away. All his observations about his feelings were a secret of his own for now. Easy to dismiss. Not that any of it mattered. He’d witnessed her dancing with Owen earlier in the week and that seemed to make her happy. Owen was kind and good. He could keep her happy. Again, not that it mattered.

“Grabbed the cast iron handle without a mitt,” she explained. “In case you wondered what happened.”

He did wonder and that did matter.

[rlbbackup]

Just This Once...

This was inspired by SxF Chapter 87 and Aerequest's lovely comic! Please enjoy!

Beware minor spoilers.

AO3 Link Aerequet's art!

~~~~~~~~~🕵️~~~~~~~~~~

He hadn’t intended to get caught in the hallway.

With all the commotion coming from the living room, how was a man to get any kind of rest (or, in Twilight’s case, finish working on his report regarding the whole shit storm that had gone down in Shellbury and maybe catch fifteen minutes of shut eye). His arm ached, his head throbbed, and every sound felt amplified by a thousand, even with the door closed.

It was probably his injuries that led to his slower reaction after opening the door from his room to hear clearly what was going on out there. Blue eyes simply staring down the hallway, watching as Yor knelt down at Bond’s side. The large dog rested his paws and face on her lap, his fluffy tail wagging eagerly.

Over the chaos that was Anya and Franky arguing about something Twilight could barely catch, the spy could see his wife’s lips move, inquiring to their dog.

“You’re enjoying this, huh Bond?” She asked, a happy smile on her lips as she brought her strong, bandaged hands gently on the dog’s fur, one hand patting him lightly while the other moved in gentle strokes with a brush.

He was so exhausted that he couldn’t turn away from the sight. A little voice told him to go back to his room, that he had work to do, that no one was in danger and he needed to sit down, dammit.

But he was pinned to the spot. Too weary to move, to look away, to go. Torn between want and responsibility.

Which in turn led to his daughter spotting him. Her head snapping towards him, her green eyes honing in on him like heat seeking missiles, her expression morphing into something not entirely innocent but not entirely malicious either.

“HaHa!” She called, letting go of Franky’s arm and clutching her fists in front of her. “You have to fsshh Chichi! Since Scruffy is a coward!”

Fsshh? What the -

“Hey!” Franky called in protest, but was drowned out by another anxious voice.

“Oh no!” Yor called, her voice pitching up into that range when she was worried she had messed something up irreversibly. Ruby red eyes landed on him, wide and remorseful. “D-Did we wake you up? I’m so sorry, Loid-san!”

“Wh-” Twilight began only to be cut off.

“Fssh him, HaHa!” Anya demanded, now jumping up and down. Her little Mary Jane’s clacking on the wood and most definitely bothering the neighbor below.

“Heh! Yeah, I’d love to see that!” Franky added, cackling...even if he had been distraught only moments prior for some reason. "A nice downpayment for retrieving those things you needed from work, eh, Loidman!"

“No!” Yor squeaked, hands outstretched towards Anya over Bond’s prone form to stop her from stomping. “Your Papa needs his rest, a-and he did say his head hurt so -”

Oh. The dots finally clicked. Thank goodness this was just a small (but demanding) request from his daughter and not something that ticked seconds closer to the end of the world. \

Fsshh must mean brush. Like what Yor had been doing to Bond only seconds earlier.

Taking a deep breath, Twilight felt his ears redden. Should he give in? Anya was already making a loud fuss over this and with Franky encouraging her... there would probably be a tantrum on the horizon.

If only he had been fast enough to retreat back to his room before he had been spotted.

Some spy he was.

Clearing his throat lightly, two of the voices quieted, eyes boring into him to see his answer. Drooping his head slightly, Twilight acquiesced.

“Once is...fine.” He answered, barely audible down the hallway, his feet finally able to move, move towards the living room.

Yor’s face snapped towards him. “Huh? But-”

Although everything ached, his strides still took him to his wife’s side in a few seconds. “Just once and then you really should get back to you schoolwork.”

Their daughter had the gall to look a bit smug at that, as if her father had complimented her antics, even with this insistance that she study. If he had been well enough, he probably would have thought that something was afoot, but he was just...so worn out.

Careful to not accidentally trip over or step on Bond, Twilight sat down on the floor next to Yor and pulled his knees to his chest. Blue eyes staring ahead, unseeing as his wife shifted beside him. Her bandaged fingers came down softly on one side of his head while the brush made contact with his golden locks on the other.

Just once. He thought, though he could feel his mind beginning to unfurl, a soft...barely remembered memory coming to the forefront.

“Hold still, baby! Let me get these knots out of your hair. Then you can go play with your friends.”

“Just this once, Mama! I’m a big kid! I can take care of my hair myself.”

The gentle sound of fsshh... fssshhh so close to his ear made the memory go stronger, heavier in his heart. His expression flattened, his eyes narrowed but not in anger or suspicion...just distant as the past came flooding back.

Just this once...is fine.

[wellpresseddaisy]

On a Wing and a Prayer

The Dark Lord Voldemort came back Wrong.

Or, what happens when @greens-your-color thinks I'm funny. :)

“Hermione, I don’t think I’ve ever been this confused in my life.” Harry worried the infirmary bedclothes between his fingers.

Ron and Hermione sat on either side of him, pressed in tight. Ron barely said a word since they were allowed in, only throwing an arm over Harry’s shoulders and squeezing gently. Harry leaned against him, exhausted after everything he’d been through that horrible year.

“More confused than with Snape’s essay on powdered gemstone as a stabilizing agent in potions brewed under specific zodiac signs or more confused than when you saw Charlie Weasley take his shirt off and choked on your tongue?” Hermione asked, bumping his shoulder with hers.

Harry squeaked and hid his face in his hands.

“Merlin, Hermione, you can’t just go bringing that kind of thing up like that,” Ron scolded, pulling Harry closer. “That gemstone essay scarred us all.”

“More confused than either of those,” Harry admitted, his cheeks flaming. “I’ve no idea what actually happened…a few hours ago? When did I even…”

“It was a few hours ago,” Ron confirmed. “Thought mum might try to strangle Dumbledore with his own beard and come find you on her own. She knew something was wrong from the start.”

“How?” Harry asked.

“Dunno, mate. Mum just knows these things sometimes. She’s worried after you all year.”

Harry sighed. He felt worse, somehow, knowing he’d worried Mrs. Weasley.

“Oi, none of that.” Ron poked him in the ribs. “Mum likes having people to worry over. She said it made a nice change from worrying what the twins might be up to.”

Harry snorted. “Thanks, Ron. It’s…tonight was so weird.”

“You don’t have to tell us,” Hermione hastened to say. “If you really don’t want to discuss it. You can wait as long as you need to.”

She took one of his hands in hers and leaned hard against him. Feeling both of them squishing in helped more than Harry wanted to think about. Something about the steady warmth and pressure helps calm him down.

“But I share everything with you. And���and I do want to. It’s just…tonight was even weirder than finding out Scabbers was actually a person and the basilisk combined.”

“Do you know,” Ron began. “I think we’re all stunningly sane, considering. Who wouldn’t be a gibbering wreck after all the things we’ve seen together. And there isn’t a gibber to be found among the three of us.”

“You wouldn’t have said that if you saw me…” Harry trailed off and then took a deep breath. “The goblet was a portkey. It was meant to go back to the main stand so the winner would be seen immediately, but someone messed with it. Cedric and I got to it at almost the same time and…and I said we should both win. It wouldn’t have been fair, yeah, if I grabbed it first. It took us to a non-magical graveyard. I don’t know where; Dumbledore already tried to find out and even he doesn’t know. We stood up and…and we were stunned.

I came to…I don’t know how much later. My watch broke at some point in the maze. I…I was tied to a gravestone and Pettigrew said something. Something about bone of the father and blood of an enemy unwillingly taken. He hadn’t touched me yet, so I thought as hard as I could that he could have my blood. That I was willing to give it. Maybe my intent would change things? I don’t know if it helped, but it made me feel a bit better in the moment. Then…” he trailed off, gulping, and rubbed a hand over his heavily bandaged forearm.

“Harry, you don’t have to,” Hermione reminded him, gripping his hand tight.

“Pettigrew split my arm with a knife.,” Harry soldiered on. “I think I screamed, but everything went fuzzy. The next thing I knew, there was loads of fog and a figure stepped out of the cauldron.”

Ron made a noise that sounded like ‘eurgh’.

“I kept sort of wavering in and out, but first thing after he had a robe on, he said ‘Oh, Pettigrew, giving into the urge to dramatize everything again?’ and he…he sounded like McGonagall when she’s really done with the lot of us. Or Percy when even Fred and George know to stop.”

“I…what?” Ron asked.

“That’s why it was so weird!” Harry stared down at the bedclothes. “He didn’t try to kill me immediately!”

Hermione sighed and squeezed his hand. Ron budged in closer and Harry wondered if he’d end up in Ron’s lap before the end of it.

“He looked normal, too,” Harry continued. “Like a grown up version of the diary Riddle. He called everyone then, through Pettigrew’s mark. He didn’t seem happy about it, though, and I heard him mutter something about how disgusting it was, branding people like cattle. The Death Eaters arrived slowly, robed and masked. He didn’t look pleased by any of it. There were a few empty spots when they’d all got there and…he didn’t say anything about them. I expected he’d be furious or something, but he just started pacing in front of everyone. I heard…I think I’d lost a lot of blood, but I thought I heard him say they were meant to be the Knights of Walpurgis, to protect and guide, not this…perverted abomination of his vision. And…he said this was the first coherent thought he’d had since he had tea with Abraxas Malfoy in nineteen-forty-two. One of the Death Eaters twitched really violently then.”

“Stop picking at the bandage,” Ron broke in, putting a hand over Harry’s to stop him. “And if it was Abraxas Malfoy who…yeah, that would be why Lucius Malfoy twitched.”

“Would you like to share with the rest of us, Ron?” Hermione asked crisply.

“Oh, yeah. Look, if Abraxas Malfoy dosed him with something that sent him mad, and there are rumors about the Malfoys having some family recipes like that, then the whole of the Malfoy family could be held liable for everything done after. It’s an old law, but it’s one reason mum and dad go spare when Fred and George dose people.”

“Oh…oh.” Hermione tapped at the bedspread in a way Harry knew meant she was thinking things through. “Without the intervention nothing would have happened…but the whole family?”

“Legally it would be the Pater- or Materfamilias. Socially it would be the whole family. No one would ever trust any of them again after that kind of scandal. They can forget influential dinner parties until the end of time.”

“What’s a—no. No, I’ll ask later.” Hermione stopped herself. “Harry, are you comfortable telling us more?”

“There isn’t too much, really. That was about when he turned around and saw me bleeding all over everything and went spare at Pettigrew over, er, harming a magical child.” Harry felt his cheeks warm. “He really got in a twist when Pettigrew bragged that I’d competed in the Tri-Wiz to show I was a formidable enemy despite my age. I…is it really weird that a resurrected Dark Lord is on the list of adults who’ve actually given a damn when I was hurt?”

Neither Hermione nor Ron had an answer.

“I thought so,” Harry muttered. “Anyway, he healed my arm and Madam Pomfrey says it won’t scar as much as it might have because of that. Then he sent Mr. Malfoy to tell Professor Snape everything…he seemed a bit hacked off that no one had told Snape anything—said he was the only one of them with any common sense so of course they bypassed him—and woke Cedric. He pulled a hood over his face before that and had all the Death Eaters except Pettigrew leave. Then he had us hang on to each other and had Cedric summon the cup. And, er, then we landed on the dais with me all over blood and Cedric really confused.”

“Is that the whole of it?” Ron asked quietly and Harry blushed scarlet.

How did Ron always know?

“He said it was clear I wasn’t being taken care of properly and the magical world would certainly hear about it. Last I heard from him before the portkey took us he was headed to Gringotts to settle everything. I don’t think anyone believed me, though. Dumbledore said something about repressed trauma.”

“Merlin’s pants but he sounds like he’d get on like a house on fire with mum,” Ron breathed, ignoring Dumbledore for the moment.

Hermione snorted, choked, and giggled into Harry’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry!” she managed after a moment. “It’s just so…Mrs. Weasley!”

“He came back wrong!” Harry insisted. “Or right…or something. I don’t even know anymore!”

“It’s just you’re used to someone trying to kill you every June and you don’t like the routine being upset?” Ron hazarded, sending Hermione into a fresh bout of giggling apology.

“I don’t want someone trying to kill me, you know. Adults only seem to care once I’ve survived, which sounds incredibly grim and dramatic,” Harry sighed. “It shouldn’t be so weird for me, someone doing his nut over me being in danger.”

“No, it shouldn’t.” Hermione sobered at that. “You should be used to adults being angry you were hurt.”

“But they aren’t usually, unless it’s inconvenient. Er, my relatives are like that. Dumbledore just seems sad it had to happen. It’s just…it’s Voldemort. I didn’t think he had feelings that weren’t rage.”

“Harry,” Ron started, thoughtfully. “Have you ever had your family tree done?”

“Er, no. Why?”

“Him saying he was going to Gringotts to get things sorted. If...there are two ways to do things like family trees. One is the Ministry Hall of Records, but you only go there if you like having your business as lunchtime conversation in the canteen. Most people go to Gringotts. They can do all the family records and trees and things only they don’t gossip. What if you show up somehow for him? Sounds like he’s keen on you living, but you could wind up his ward or something.” Ron bit his lip.

The three of them snugged closer reflexively.

“And since I didn’t know I should have it done, we don’t know what he might find.” Harry’s voice shook. “But there’s Sirius.”

“He isn’t free to take you in and I don’t think they’d find him a fit guardian right now. You’re in limbo, a bit, with your guardianship. The courts may not even recognize your aunt’s right to have you if someone powerful can show a magical relationship,” Ron explained. “Mum kept pouring over her and dad’s family trees to see if she could find any way to get you away from them after we met, but they don’t show any of the squib lineages and without that it isn’t close enough.”

Harry ignored the undercurrent of ‘the squib lineages are extra’. That Mrs. Weasley would go to so much trouble warmed something in him.

“Would it have to be a relationship through the Potters?” Hermione asked.

“Most likely, they don’t always recognize squib lines, but they might have to get Harry back to the magical world. I think a couple of the Death Eater families tried, but they weren’t related closely enough.”

Harry shuddered. His aunt and uncle were bad enough. What would have happened if a family like the Malfoys got him?

“It’s going to be a long wait,” Harry murmured. “Until we know.”

“I’m going to ask mum tonight and see if she’ll take us to Gringotts after we get off the train,” Ron decided. “She said they’re staying until morning and I can explain everything to her.”

“Do you think I…” Hermione trailed off. “Does your mum know how much a family tree might cost?”

“I’ll ask. And…maybe it would be best to ask your parents to come, too. We can make our own plans.” Ron nodded as if comfirming everything to himself.

“I hate waiting,” Harry groused.

Far below magical London, a man sat with two goblins in a stuffy, little-used office. The filing cabinets lining the wall barely closed against the reams of paper inside. Files stacked deep across their tops threatened to spill onto the floor. Dim lights cast a fitful glow over everything and hummed terribly. The whole environment, Thomas Riddle thought, reminded him of one of those crime films from the States. He half expected detective in a crumpled fedora to come bursting in, spouting nonsense. They probably kept this room in this state purposefully. It was the sort of pokey corner where he’d stick a nutter asking for a new identity if one came up to him.

“And why would Gringotts go to the trouble of assisting you?”

Thomas looked around the office for a moment as if deeply interested in Goblin filing systems. He’d been in this sort of situation before, only he’d been seventeen and without any leverage. Not that he wanted a new identity then, but they’d turfed him out of the bank before he could get half his family tree request out.

“Slytherin, Potter, Peverell, and Gaunt,” he said. “Accounts that have lain dormant for far too long. And that, gentlemen, won’t do at all. No account fees collected, no transaction fees collected…it’s a terrible thing for a bank to be considered just a repository.”

“Gaunt has nothing.”

“Perhaps. Or perhaps that vault holds something you’d like to have back. It’s an old family and old families often had Goblin-made items. Pity that dormant vaults can’t be entered by Gringotts staff until, ah, yes, until the Family is declared officially extinct by the Ministry. Amazing what information you can find these days, isn’t it?”

The Goblins stared at one another for a long minute. He knew it was risky, coming here, but they offered certain services regarding identities that could be difficult to obtain elsewhere. You could find any number of chaps loitering in Knockturn who’d swear on their mother’s graves that no one would ever know, guv, not no way. They were usually proved false in five minutes or less. He didn’t sigh though they’d been going in circles for the better part of three hours.

“I suppose for a reasonable fee of thirty percent of each vault and an ongoing fee we could—”

Thomas rose and started for the door. “I will not be treated like an imbecile. I thought to keep my business with Gringotts, but I suppose I can go to the Ministry just as easily. Pity that will close the Malfoy accounts. I expect you do rather well out of those.”

“We haven’t heard anything about the Malfoy accounts, Mr. Riddle.”

He paused with his hand on the doorknob.

“That’s because I haven’t yet sworn out a complaint against the Malfoy family. While Abraxas is no longer with us, his actions against me have a longer tail than one might expect. The Ministry does take dosing people with madness-inducing elixirs seriously. The fines and reparations alone…”

“My colleague spoke hastily. I believe we can come to some accord. Perhaps a flat ten percent fee taken only from the Slytherin and Gaunt vaults and…three Goblin-made items, to be agreed upon after an audit?” the other Goblin broke in, clearly booting his compatriot in the ankle under the table.

Thomas sat and smiled at the Goblins before him (he had to get their names before he left as they never bothered to give them…he hadn’t had so much fun negotiating in quite some time).

“I believe we can come to an agreement, gentlemen. Now, shall we begin with my family tree? We may need to go quite a way back and branch out considerably to find an identity rooted in some truth, but I believe we should begin with the Gaunts.”

They produced a ceremonial blood quill and specially treated parchment and got to work.