#yes i have plans for this fic

[fanboy-sloth]

Chapter 6 lads here we go!

Damn right this is the first update in five months, hold your butts because this chapter is chonky!

[shadebloopnik]

Angelic Alastor AU

"Al!"

The angel turned to the voice and the sound of flapping wings just in time to see the two Archangels land behind him. The smaller of the two- with porcelain skin, rosy cheeks and an otherworldly beauty, bounded towards him full of energy. Golden eyes peered up at him as he spoke.

"Just finished with our spar, and Michael said he loved the hat! I told you it was a good idea!", Lucifer spoke, deep chuckles seeming to brighten the area by its mere presence. He punctuated his words by adjusting the top hat on his head, replacing the usual golden crown, a prideful smile on his face.

"Your brothers clearly love you too much.", Alastor snipes before facing the taller angel, and giving a polite bow. "Your Highness."

Michael gives a solemn nod, adorning a small soft smile. "Always good to see you, Altruist. I had ample time before my next meeting, so I figured I'd accompany my brother on his way to your little appointment."

Michael bore nearly identical features to his younger brother, possessing the same blonde locks, white skin, and golden eyes, albeit being considerably taller. What he lacked, falling a bit behind Lucifer's beauty, he made up for with his dignified grace, a regal authority that rivalled no other. He reminded Alastor of a frozen tundra amidst the plans for the creation of life, as precise as every detail on each snowflake.

"Very well that you did, your Grace, as your brother appears to need it quite a lot."

"It was ONE time! And your directions were very unclear!"

"I fail to see how 'meet me at the gates' translates to 'circle the entirety of heaven for 3 hours', my friend."

"There are a lot of gates in heaven! No matter! They just finished constructing the new nebula! We gotta check it out Alastor! Come on!", Lucifer said, practically bouncing on his feet in excitement and circling the other in flight before dashing off in a burst of speed.

Michael let out a rare chuckle as Alastor sighed in seeming annoyance.

"Always so sprightly, makes me wonder how you keep up with it all, Altruist.", the Archangel spoke, stepping to stand beside the red eyed angel.

"Trust me Sire, its tempting not to follow.", Alastor replied, deadpan as he set his gaze to the direction the Morningstar set off on. Left alone with the other Archangel, without Lucifer with him, Alastor couldn't help but feel a bit insecure. Shuffling his mismatch wings, he subtly moved the upper white set to cover the red and black wings below, his hold on his cane, tightening ever so slightly, though not enough for Michael to notice.

Michael smiled, finding no offense whatsoever from Alastor's words and the casualty of his jabs towards Lucifer. Despite his words, Michael could see the fondness Alastor possessed for the shorter angel, clear as day. Alastor was powerful, only ranking below the Archangels themselves in sheer strength, and would be of higher standing if not for his reclusive nature.

He always wore a smile wherever he went, but it was different for Lucifer, softer, fuller. Alastor shied away from any interaction with his angelic kind, but fully welcomes Lucifer's presence, seeking it, even. It was without a doubt that Alastor cared for his younger brother, his loyalty and selflessness when it came to the younger angel was palpable, fitting of his title, and for that, he had Michael's complete and utter respect.

"But you will, you always do.", Michael turned to face the angel, golden eyes meeting peculiar red. "Its why I trust you with his life."

Its a bit ridiculous perhaps, considering Lucifer was far more powerful than Alastor could ever be, but in the end, it mattered little. Alastor held his brother's heart, and Michael could guess it rang true vice versa.

Alastor's smile froze on his face, his sharp tongue silent as he gazed into the Archangel. A bout of silence passed, broken only by the Morningstar barreling back into Alastor at high speed.

"Alastor come on slow-wings! Hah! Get it? Slow? Wings? Come on, its hilarious, lets goooo!!", Lucifer bounced, gripping at the taller angel's arm, making a show of pulling him along. Evidently he didn't use much force, seeing as how Alastor wasn't immediately carried off, but it was enough to drag the angel rather quickly still.

"Later Michael!", the star spoke with a cheerful wave, before speeding off, dragging a squawking Alastor behind him as the other hastily flapped his mismatched wings, as he struggled to keep up.

Michael smiled at the scene, before turning to leave for his meeting.

Protect his heart, Alastor, it's all I ask of you.

_________________________

The wind roughly brushed the trees around them, as 3 pairs wings fluttered to land, every flap bringing forth powerful gusts. Michael surveyed the area as he went down to Earth, a mossy swamp littered with fireflies, blues and greens seeming to glow under the night sky. He wrenched his eyes down. He couldn't bear to look at a star right now, not after....

He shook the thought away, marching to look for the angel he was looking for. He'd been searching for hours, burning through the whole day. Alastor truly was a recluse, he was impossible to locate when he didn't want to be found. This was the last place he didn't look yet. They'd let Alastor design these swamps, letting him have at least a little hand in the creation of Earth despite his numerous refusals.

There at the edge, he could see him, standing at the edge of the water, mismatched wings cocooning him, the white set covering his entirety until his black wings were nearly out of sight.

"Altruist."

Alastor remained silent, his back to the Archangel. It was perhaps the most disrespectful thing Alastor's ever done to him, what with all his usual obsession with propriety.

"Altruist.", he called again, voice growing desperate, frustrated.

Still, there was no answer.

Michael clenched his teeth, the day's proceedings catching up to him, leaving him with far, far too many emotions.

"Alastor-"

"Don't."

Alastor's voice was cold, an icy tone that rivalled his own. It made Michael angry, frustrated and bitter. Can't Alastor see that he's hurting too? That he's also grieving?

"I lost him too, Alastor."

His voice was filled with emotion he wouldn't dare name. He had to be strong and steady for his brothers, for the rest of heaven. Im front of Alastor though? In matters regarding Lucifer? There was no one Michael could relate to more.

So why can't Alastor see? Did he think this was easy for Michael?! He lost his brother too! He's not the only one suffering!

But deep inside, Michael knew. It wasn't the same. He knew how deep the bond between Alastor and Lucifer ran, perhaps deeper than he ever had with his brother.

Michael's heart was already given to Heaven as a whole, but Alastor's only belonged to one.

"Tell me Michael, whose life did you entrust to me, again?", Michael felt ice crawl up his spine, his heart growing heavier with each word. Alastor spun around, unfurling his wings to face the Archangel. His crimson eyes were redder than usual.

"How, pray tell, am I supposed to do what you asked, when you cast down the one I was supposed to protect? Tell me how can I protect him from the fiery pits you all threw him into? How, am I supposed to GO ON WITHOUT-!"

'Without them', he almost said. No, he couldn't be reckless, couldn't let his emotions get the better. They couldn't know about his own relations with Lilith, he promised the two he'd stay safe. No matter how much it ached, he couldn't go against them.

Michael furrowed his brows in understanding, letting the accusations wash over him. If it were anyone else, he'd have already smote them down for the audacity, but this was Alastor. This was the angel who held his brother's heart; angry and emotional and dreadfully loyal to the star even now. If anything, in respect for his brother, he could endure this.

Schooling his expression, he'd gaze back at the fuming angel before him, his face a blank slate.

"Lucifer's actions were reckless and destructive, with severe consequences. His reckless disobedience, his affiliation with the first woman, its shattering the very foundation of order we worked so hard to maintain. Such crimes cannot go unpunished."

His voice was cold, adopting the mask of a ruthless prince. Right now, he wasn't a brother, he was Michael, Sword of Justice, Protector of Heaven. He had to learn to separate each title, it was the only way to ensure he did his role right. He can't be a brother right now. He won't, not for this.

He wishes it made it hurt less.

As emotionally compromised as he was, Alastor couldn't mask the pain in his face as he squeezed his eyes shut at Michael's tone, knowing he was now speaking to a soldier, not a friend. The sight of it almost made Michael want to break down the mask. Almost. Not nearly enough to actually do so. He was able to bear casting down his own brother, this was nothing.

The thought sent another pang to his heart, and he pushed it to the back of his mind.

"I love him too..", his voice was low, resigned, all energy leaving him as he looked away from the angel before him. Michael was so so tired. "It had to be done."

The swaying of the leaves and the buzz of nearby fireflies were the only things breaking the deafening silence. Now that he thought about it, didn't Lucifer help make these? Little bursts of light flying amidst a darkened swamp...

Why must everything hurt Michael today?

He heard the other take a deep breath, and turned to see the other adopt a smile. It didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Thank you for your visit, your Highness. You may take your leave now."

Alastor always smiled, even when he didn't mean it, but none of those ever felt as wrong as this one.

"Alas-"

Michael cut off his own words at the other's glare. Alastor's eyes glowed a deep red, his sclera giving its own crimson glow. His glowing wings seemed to curl closer around him. All this while still keeping on that damned smile. It was uncomfortable. It served little to intimidate someone as powerful as Michael, but this wasn't about power.

He's never seen Alastor look so broken.

He may be set apart from the other angels, but he always looked so happy with Lucifer.

......but Lucifer isn't here anymore, is he?

Suppressing a sigh, Michael kept his voice level. ".....Altruist."

Alastor's smile only seemed to widen, contrasting with how his wings curled tighter around himself in a cocoon.

"I wish to be alone. Now.", the deceptively cheerful tone made Michael sick.

Without another word Michael turned around. There was no fixing this. Alastor looked as though a single action would cause him to flee. If Michael didn't take his leave, he'd have left anyway. All Alastor wanted was Lucifer, and Lucifer was condemned in Hell. There's nothing he could do.

As he spread out his wings, he took one last glance at Alastor's smiling face, before taking off, ignoring the muffled sounds of sobbing he left in his wake.

It was the last time he's ever seen Alastor smile.

[astral-mariner]

Vegebul headcanons: Vegeta fell for Bulma first

So lots of ppl in fanfic often write Bulma falling for Vegeta first. I see it the other way around.

The ship explodes while he's training, and he suddenly has all this downtime he never had while serving under Freeza. They've had surface-level conversations before, gotten at each other's throats over alien-human misunderstandings as well as serious moral and/or experiential differences. But while he's recovering, he gets a bit stir-crazy and just...finds himself around Bulma rather often, and they actually start to get to know each other.

Bulma finds him dark and mysterious---fascinating to her in an almost scientific way because he's so like a human but so different at the same time. She admires his tenacity; though he would never characterize himself as a victim, she knows he's faced grief and hardship, and carrying on with such clarity of purpose anyway is heartening in a way. Meanwhile, Vegeta just doesn't understand why this woman insists on talking to him, making sure he takes care of himself... He can understand her providing gear and housing---she and her friends need him for the upcoming battle. But the interest, openness, and basic kindness she displays baffles him, especially when he is a sworn enemy of Kakarot's. With Nappa and Raditz things were always complicated. So many roles and expectations with him being their prince. But with this Earth woman, there are no expectations at all. So he doesn't know what to do with her.

He won't let himself think of her as beautiful even if his eyes linger on her. He has just seen so few women like her. Certainly, he's never spent so much time with one either. Always on his way to a new planet. No real friends or consistency of any kind. That's not to say he regards her as a friend. Of course not. He tells himself that she's useful. She has resources, power. And she pursues her own ends with intensity and fearlessness---saiyan qualities he understands.

And then she's in his thoughts day and night. He thinks of her scent or her voice when he's trying to train, when he's lying awake and can't sleep. That sparkle in her eyes when he challenges her, but it doesn't shake her in the slightest. Her laugh, her little touches. He's head over heels for her long before they have sex, but he has no context for feelings like that. He just feels like he's losing his mind.

And it scares the shit out of him. How can he focus on transforming and defeating the one who took his birthright and Freeza's death from him when this woman is just fucking haunting him? He doesn't even know it's romantic attraction. He won't even accept that he's sexually attracted even though his body reacts to hers however fiercely he avoids looking at or touching her.

Meanwhile, Bulma has just broken up with Yamcha. She's not really in a place where she's thinking about a new relationship. She might want to have some fun here and there now that she's single, sure, but she's much more focused on the arrival of the Androids. Especially since she knows how hard her future self worked to warn everyone and give them a chance to have a different outcome than she did. And Vegeta is a powerful asset to have on her side. As much of a jerk as he can be, he works tirelessly to prepare himself for the battle, and helping him become stronger may make a difference in their survival.

Sure, it tickles her scientist brain to have an alien living on her property she can ask about space and otherworldly tech whenever she wants. And Vegeta himself has a fascinating (if dark and disturbing) personal history. He's not what she expects in some ways. Proud, and yet also very reserved and even shy. Aggressive and intense, but at the same time thoughtful, introspective, and so dedicated to his calling that she realizes it's a spiritual thing for him, perhaps even religious.

She finds herself enjoying his company even when she knows that she shouldn't. He's not exactly a true ally. He's not a good person. But he's just so...interesting. And he's more attractive than he seems to realize. She indulges a fantasy or two of what he might be like in bed. But it's not serious. She knows she shouldn't. It would never work out. It would be so fucking complicated and fraught for everyone involved. There's no way an alien man would have the same (or even compatible) ideas about relationships or sex. Even if Vegeta did, he'd never fucking tolerate having a frank conversation about it. He's really kind of a prude.

And yet...they spend more time with each other, and the tension between them just builds. Over months and months, it builds slowly but surely. And one day, it just fucking breaks. One evening, they end up closer than usual. Touching each other, and it gets really intense really fast. No time to really discuss where things are going or what anything means---they just need each other in that moment. And it works out. Somehow. It's almost too easy. Despite all the cultural differences. They have sex, and it feels...good.

For Vegeta, sexuality had previously always been something tainted with negativity. What's the point of having a drive for sex, after all, when you're the last of your kind, and fleeting pleasures are hardly more than distractions? But with Bulma, everything just felt so fucking right and good. Like finally getting to experience all the things he'd always wondered about and longed for even if he never admitted it to himself. Things he thought were impossible. Having sex in a situation where he had a real choice in the matter. With a woman when he had spent his whole life having to accept the fact that no saiyan women had survived. On top of everything, not only does he want her---desperately---but she wants him in return. How she squirms when he touches her, how her scent changes, how she trembles and whimpers when he gets to do all the things he never let himself want before.

It just completely and utterly unravels him, and he can't get enough of her. He thought that, just maybe, if he gave in and slept with her, she wouldn't fucking haunt him anymore, but it just gets fucking worse. He needs her like water. Like if he doesn't get to be in her presence and touch her, he will just fucking lose it even more than he already has. And it fucking terrifies him. He's only ever wanted one thing: to transform and make things right after Freeza destroyed everything. But now he's preoccupied, and he can't handle it. He doesn't know what to do. What any of it means. What he really wants out of any of it. And he has no idea what she wants either. Only that however many times he tries to stay away from her, they always end up tangled up again. He couldn't even tell her how he feels even if he wanted to because he's so clueless about what's happening to him.

Meanwhile Bulma is just absolutely floored by how intense everything is from the beginning. She wonders if it's a saiyan thing, or if he's just intense like that himself. She doesn't know what Vegeta's full history with sex is, but she knows it's complicated. All she knows is that he kisses her like it's his last day on Earth. That he fucks her like he couldn't resist her if he tried (and he does try). And she can't help but ride that high. She brings this mysterious, strong, and austere man to his knees, and her power over him is intoxicating. She knows she shouldn't play around with someone so dangerous even if she's convinced he'll become an ally eventually. She knows that most of her friends wouldn't approve. It's not like she wants to DATE Vegeta. But gods...his desperation, the way he almost worships her, how wild and even frightening he can be---she can't help but indulge herself at least a little bit even if it's against her better judgment. It's not serious, after all. It's not like Vegeta of all people would even want to be some kind of partner to her anyway. He just wants sex (right?), and that's all she wants too. So she proposes a friends-with-benefits situation that they are determined to keep on the down-low.

Vegeta's head is just spinning at all of this. He still doesn't fucking know what to do with her. He can't have an attachment to her---especially not now when his sole focus needs to be transforming---but imagining his life without her is just... So he just lets her call it whatever she pleases, as long as no one else is involved and no one else knows about it. The weakness all the more glaring and real if other people know about it. He can tell himself he is just having sex with her so he can stay focused on training. Nothing more than that. Certainly not.

Over the course of it, Vegeta's feelings for her just intensify. If he was head over heels before they had sex, the more time they spend and the more intimate they become, he only falls more madly in love with her. And while Bulma tells herself that feelings aren't really involved for her beyond the friendship she develops with him, she has little pangs of romantic longing that hit her out of nowhere from time to time. Almost hard not to when the sex is the way that it is. She wonders sometimes if he has feelings for her. Real feelings. But he just couldn't, right? She's just being a silly hopeless romantic like she was when she was younger, and she's over that. He's an alien with a tortured past, and he's not boyfriend material, and she's fine with that. That's not what she wants anyway. Certainly not right now with the end of the world around the corner.

We all know how things go down after this, though, don't we?

But yeah. I headcanon Vegeta falls first and harder, whereas Bulma falls gradually after they become involved. Bulma has experienced good relationships before, and she wasn't looking for a romance with Vegeta in the wake of her breakup. Vegeta, on the other hand, hasn't experienced romantic love or sexual attraction where things weren't fucked up and fraught in some way before. So his "relationship" (re: passionate affair) with Bulma means so much more to him even if he couldn't articulate it. It completely blows him away, but he doesn't have the context or emotional insight to make sense of it. So he just panics, lol.

[arson-09]

tonights acotar thoughts are with the Illyrian women and how rhysand has utterly failed them despite his supposed efforts

Hes ‘allowed’ them to become warriors if they wish. But thats not even the bare minimum. from my memory he acknowledges that he doesnt enforce the wing clipping laws (smooth move) so that’s basically useless and as to be expected of a man, he misses the point of feminism and equality laws. WHERE are the laws and protections for women in marriages?? if the illyrian are so ‘brutal’ and ‘backwards’ the assumption can be made that divorce isn’t a thing unless the man requests it. No women requested divorces and probably no such thing as no fault divorces. As well as forced marriages (which also brings up the consent age) Adding on, what about abortions and other pre natal and natal laws and protections? again, assuming women arent allowed to have abortions or simply any bodily autonomy, where are those decrees rhysand? Im not even getting into the potential of LGBTQ+ illyrians and their rights (Logically there are LGBTQ+ illyrians but ofc sjm wouldn’t mention them)

He makes such a fuss about it being a womans choice (a hypocrite as we see in acosf) yet unless a woman is able too or wants to fight he doesnt seem to care. Which is also a major flaw of sjms writing, women only gain their independence if they can kick ass and fuck as they want. Which is of course valid but thats a very shallow way to view feminism and equality. The whole point is that a woman can choose, wether its to be a warrior or a stay at home mother, but theres nothing done for those women who want that lifestyle.

This has influenced me in my fic writing a lot to where a this topic has become a major focal point in my fic somewhat by accident. I think that logically there would be a rebellion from mostly illyrian women against rhysand, hes promised them so much yet has delivered so little.

[itsjaywalkers]

i will take the sun in my mouth

jegulus | explicit | 33k | for my beloved @imdamagecontrol <3

Regulus is nothing if not a liar. And a really damn good one at that. Or he tries to be, at least. You see, making mistake after mistake isn't as easy if you don't have a certain amount of delusion. How do you think he manages to stay on that stupid branch until it breaks each time? Of course, it doesn't really work with Sirius, because his brother has always been able to see right through him. And as luck would have it, James Potter also appears to be somewhat of an exception.

[bcdrawsandwrites]

(Please reblog if you want to, do not repost! Do not post to Pinterest!)

[ID: A Team Fortress 2 fanfic cover featuring a render of Pyro and Spy standing back-to-back in profile, with Pyro facing left and Spy facing right, standing against a dark purple background. Spy is smoking. Both characters have a yellow/orange rim lighting. Above them is the title of the fic, Flickering, glowing the same glowing yellow/orange. /end ID]

Fandom: Team Fortress 2

Rating: K+

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Friendship

Characters: Spy, Pyro, all the other mercs, and Miss Pauling (primarily Spy and Pyro, but everyone else has important moments too)

Warnings: TF2-typical violence, PTSD, panic attacks, trauma in general (none of these guys are okay)

Description: After the events of the comics, the mercs try to go back to how things were, but it's never that easy.

Spy can see his teammates going through their own struggles… but something seems to be very, very wrong with Pyro in particular.

And since no one else seems to be doing anything about this, Spy makes it his mission to get to the bottom of what is troubling Pyro. For no particular reason.

Beta Readers: @mechmolar, @gonturan0, @junuve (Teeth (mechmolar) also did the render for the cover!)

Notes: This fic is legit like around 80% complete already because it takes me forever to actually post anything these days. I'll be posting new chapters as I feel like it. It'll be around 10 chapters in total. Also, Pyro is nonhuman and uses it/its pronouns in this fic. Okay? Okay.

---

Prologue

They were pretty sure they knew what awaited them when they got to Gray Mann's base. Or, Spy was sure, anyway. Mann was after the same Australium they were, and they'd be interrogated for what little they knew. And he wasn’t going to get that information out of them easily.

Spy’s tongue nudged one of his fake teeth. The time would come for that eventually.

His suspicions were confirmed when Demo, still distraught from the loss of Sniper, was dragged out by a couple of the enemy mercs, who snickered over the ways they could "make him talk."

That left him, Miss Pauling, Soldier, Zhanna, and Pyro, all of them chained up in a tiny room, waiting out their fate.

Well, until that thing entered.

It was the other team's pyro. Their Pyro perked up with an interested hum when it saw the other, only to jump—as much as it could with its feet chained to the floor—when the enemy pyro removed its face.

Spy had, admittedly, been caught off-guard, but rolled his eyes immediately after. This was not like their Pyro. This one was a human—a woman, her face scarred with old burns and one eye missing, her hair pepper gray with half her scalp scarred over. The fact that she was human had startled him more than any disfigurement could have.

Of course, he had to remind himself that his team was the exception, as always. They'd become so accustomed to the incredibly strange nature of their comrade that it felt eerie to actually see a human behind a similar mask.

Pyro must have felt the same, with the way it tilted its head with a hum of consternation.

The woman stared at it in turn. "Hm. This one seems promising."

Miss Pauling's head shot up, but Spy nudged her and subtly shook his head.

Unfortunately, Soldier was not on their wavelength. "That one? HAH! If you need a building burned to the ground, maybe! But Pyro doesn't talk!"

One of the woman's eyebrows raised in interest. "Really."

Spy shut his eyes, imagining himself flipping open his butterfly knife and driving it through Soldier's throat.

"Nope! It's completely incomprehensible! It can’t tell you anything! The rest of us won’t, either—we will not yield under torture, especially not me. Though I'd love to see you try!"

"Soldier, no!" Zhanna cried. "I must be tortured first!"

But the enemy pyro did not respond to them—likely still staring at their Pyro. "It doesn't, eh?" she said, putting a heavy emphasis on the pronoun. "Good. I like a challenge."

Seconds later, several robots filed into the room, immediately heading for Pyro and unlocking its shackles from the floor. Pyro mumbled something at them.

"Wait, no!" Soldier cried. "Pick me, pick me! I'm a good challenge!"

But the robots paid them no mind as they escorted Pyro out, and Spy cracked an eye open to see it showed no signs of worrying about what was about to happen. The door slammed shut, and he let out a sigh, tipping his head back. "Soldier, you are going to get us all killed."

"We're gonna die anyway!" Soldier protested. "We can at least go down fighting!"

"We are not going to go down fighting, you imbecile. We are—" He stopped himself there, deciding he didn't particularly want to reflect on their fates with someone who wasn't going to care anyway.

"Poor Pyro," Miss Pauling murmured. "What are they going to do to it?"

Spy shrugged. "Better it than us." He lowered his voice. "With luck, they'll waste several hours trying to get information out of it before they realize Soldier, idiot that he is, was more-or-less telling the truth. That may buy us some time."

"You think we can still get out of this?" she whispered, hope edging into her voice.

"Not likely. We're probably delaying the inevitable." His tongue nudged one of his molars.

"We'll have to hope.” Miss Pauling sighed, staring at the door. "I guess Demo or Pyro could break out."

Spy barely resisted the urge to snort. "The drunkard? Not likely. Pyro? Who knows."

"I still can't imagine what they would do to it."

Spy tipped his head back to regard the ceiling for a moment. "Who can say? Waterboarding, perhaps?” A random guess, and he snorted at the absurdity of it. “Though I struggle to imagine what could break that creature."

"Neither could the Administrator. That's one of the reasons she recruited it." Miss Pauling shook her head. "If that's the case, maybe it'll find a way to break out. And break us out of here."

"Unless it decides to burn down the whole base with us inside. Regardless, resisting torture and breaking free are two different things. But we shall see."

Soldier groaned. "But when's it gonna be my turn to get tortured for information?"

"Will be our turn soon," Zhanna reassured him.

Spy heaved a sigh, and Miss Pauling shut her eyes.

They sat in uncomfortable silence (save for Soldier and Zhanna's chatter) for some time, Spy keeping an eye on the door while Miss Pauling stared at the floor, lost in her own thoughts.

The minutes ticked on. For how long, Spy was uncertain—he couldn't reach his watch to read it, and the feeling of dread in the air was not helping with their perception of time. Next to him, Miss Pauling occasionally muttered to herself, and every so often he could pick up phrases.

"...and we could go back to Australia, and..."

"...if Scout or Heavy are still out there..."

"...and Sniper could... wait, no..."

Sighing, he almost considered tuning her out, but it was a good distraction from his nicotine cravings, at least.

At some point, she raised her head. "Where is it?"

Spy raised an eyebrow. "Hm?"

"Pyro. They've been keeping it for a long time."

"Yes. Demo has been gone for some time, too."

"Yeah, but... they can get information out of him." She turned to face him again, and an unspoken question hung in the air.

Spy returned her gaze. "Miss Pauling, if you are under the impression that we are in the hands of anyone other than violent sadists, I do not know what to tell you."

Before she could react, the door burst open.

“I VOLUNTEER!” Soldier cried, straining against his manacles.

But instead of their captors, Pyro stumbled into the room.

Spy would have hoped that it had indeed broken loose and come to rescue them had it not been for the fact that its hands were shackled behind its back.

The robots escorted Pyro to the end of the bench, where they shackled its feet to the floor. Meanwhile, the enemy pyro stepped into the room.

"Finally!" Soldier exclaimed. "You've had your turn, Pyro. Now it's mine!"

"Our turn," Zhanna corrected.

With an unfriendly smile, the woman turned to face them. "If you insist."

While the robots got to work escorting the two least intelligent people out of the room, Spy and Miss Pauling looked over their recently-returned companion. "Pyro?" Miss Pauling whispered. "You okay, buddy?"

Pyro said nothing, sitting still on the bench and facing forward.

"...Well, it looks okay, anyway." Miss Pauling shrugged. "Guess the Administrator was right."

"Hm." Spy's eyes narrowed as he continued to look Pyro over. While it was true that it looked more-or-less uninjured—the suit was a little roughed up, but that was it—he couldn't be too sure that it was unharmed. The enemy wouldn't have just done nothing with it, and the way Pyro did not answer them, nor even respond to its surroundings, was not encouraging.

Nor was the fact that it was trembling.

But before he could analyze Pyro's behavior any further, the doors burst open again, and this time a barely-coherent Demo was practically dragged into the room.

In the whirlwind of events that followed, the torture that their fellow mercs had endured was nearly all but forgotten.

But it would not stay that way.

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

hi. here's a little over 5k words for the modern human au! entirely unedited, as usual! you'd think this is a full oneshot... ha... no... i actually have some warnings for this one - hospitals, panic attacks, major character injury / discussion of death / clinical description of injury.

in short, my writing comfort zone <3

~

The dial tone plays, and Barnaby looks down at his phone. Call ended stares back at him under Wally’s cheerful profile picture.

“He hung up on me,” Barnaby states. His lips twist and he tosses the phone onto the couch with a snarl of, “That little bastard.”

“Hey now,” Howdy says sharply, frowning at him. “That’s our friend you’re talking about.”

“Like he doesn’t deserve it! All I do is be supportive, understanding, and worry about his damn well being. And then he goes and acts like my very much well-founded concern is an attack!”

Howdy’s frown softens as he watches Barnaby pace, gesturing wildly.

“I love that RV. Maybe not as much as Wally, obviously, but it pains me that it needs to go. And it does need to go! Thing’s becoming a damn deathtrap.” Barnaby pushes his hair back and huffs. He glances at Howdy. “Right? I’m making the right call, here?”

“Of course you are,” Howdy says. “But-”

Barnaby cuts him off. “I tried to be nice about it. I tried to warm him up to the idea of retiring Home, yaknow? And what does he do instead of handling it - he revs up the tin can and runs. Home shouldn’t be started, let alone driven. It’s dangerous.”

It’s extremely dangerous. Wally is skilled at driving it, but no amount of skill will save him if it breaks in the middle of the freeway. What if the engine catches fire? What if a tire pops, or comes loose? Home is old, and wasn’t made to crumple in a crash. Barnaby doesn’t even know if the airbag still works. It’s not safe. 

The thought of Wally bringing Home hurtling down the freeway at ten at night in a - quite honestly - not great mental state turns Barnaby’s stomach. 

“I just wanted him to come back so we could talk about it,” Barnaby says. “I let him keep worming his way out of a serious conversation and now - now he’s -”

“Running away,” Howdy finishes. The point of his pen taps a rhythm against his notepad. 

Barnaby jabs a finger at him. “Exactly. One tough, necessary decision and he turns tail. This isn’t gonna go away if he skips town! Not to mention how he isn’t giving a thought to how this might affect the rest of us.”

“Especially you.”

Barnaby throws his hands up with an indignant look. “Now not only do I have to hunt him down-”

“That would be a we scenario, Barn.”

“But we,” Barnaby concedes, “gotta try to knock some sense into that thick skull ‘a his, and drag him back home - kicking and screaming if we hafta.” 

Howdy’s pen taps faster. “What if he doesn’t want to come back?”

“What if he-” Barnaby stops short and stares at him, wide eyed. 

That’s not. 

That wouldn’t happen, right? Wally would come back in the end. He wouldn’t decide to up and leave entirely, would he? He is in Home… all the essentials he needs are in that RV. Barnaby sits down heavily on Howdy’s threadbare couch. “What if he doesn’t want to come back.”

Wally would have to come back to clear out his studio - he’d never abandon his art. Then they’d have to go through everything inside the house and see what he wants to take, since not all of it is Barnaby’s. A lot of it is shared, so they might have to bargain on who gets what. 

Then they’d all have to watch Wally get into his motorhome and drive away. Possibly for good. 

Barnaby would be alone in that big house with Welcome, knowing that his closest companion is out of his life. Living somewhere else. It's sickening. 

“I’m sure it won’t come to that, Barn,” Howdy says, watching him with furrowed brows and a deep frown - if Barnaby were feeling like himself, he’d crack a joke about him emulating Frank. “I can confidently say that Wally loves you more than that old RV.”

Barnaby snorts. “You sure about that?”

“Unflinchingly. Believe you me, he’s going to wallow for a day or so, and then Home will come rumbling back down your driveway like it never left.”

“I wish I could have your faith,” Barnaby mumbles. He exhales and picks up his phone. No missed calls, no messages. “Maybe if I call him and ask him to just come back, no strings attached, he will.”

“That’s the spirit! Save the talk for another day - tell you what, I’ll help you corrall him so he can’t escape the conversation. I’ll tie him to a chair and bar the door if needed!”

“Good luck with that. Kid’s slippery.” Still, Barnaby hits call again. It rings only a couple of times before a robotic automated message states the caller as unavailable. Barnaby doesn’t enjoy being upset with Wally. However, it feels like his blood is simmering, and the wall is starting to look like great target practice for his phone. He grits his teeth. “He turned off his phone.”

From the corner of his eye he sees Howdy’s eyebrows shoot up as the man turns back to his paperwork. He exhales a controlled breath and writes something down. “I have to say, I’ve never known him to be such a-”

“Pain in the neck?” Barnaby offers.

Howdy clicks his tongue. “You said it, not me.”

“Yeah, well, he’s full of surprises.” Barnaby lets out a frustrated huff. He’s half tempted to run Wally down right now, but he wouldn’t even know where to start. There’s only one freeway out of town, but it goes both ways, and it branches. Wally would have hit one of those branches by now, and who knows which he took. North, south, east, west. Deeper into the woods, or towards the city? To the coast? Somewhere else entirely?

He has to face the facts - there’s nothing to do. He just has to wait until Wally pulls his head out of his ass and realizes how stupid and insensitive he’s being. Those are two words Barnaby would never normally use to describe Wally, but after tonight? They seem fitting. 

Barnaby can’t even muster up guilt for thinking such harsh things. He tried to be nice. He was patient. He’s always kept a lid on it whenever Wally frustrated him, which doesn’t happen often, but it does happen. And what does he get for caring? For being tactful and careful about a shitty situation? 

Avoidance, a shove, and a cut call. Wally left Barnaby’s been left to stew in his own anger and worry. Right now, he’s inclined to lock up that worry in a tiny box in the back of his mind. 

Barnaby pushes himself up with a grumbled, “I’m makin’ some coffee, want some?”

“If you’re offering then I will not decline.”

Barnaby pretends not to feel Howdy’s eyes following him to the apartment’s tiny kitchen. It’s hell to maneuver around in, and the frustration of bumping into something every five seconds only makes Barnaby’s mood worse. By the time the coffee is brewing, he’s ready to punch the cabinets. He won’t, but he wants to. He’d regret it immediately, but he stares at the chipped paint and fantasizes. 

The coffee machine breaks after brewing a whopping single mug. Barnaby stares at it for a long moment, and tallies up the consequences of taking a hammer to it. In the end, he just clenches his fists for a long moment and counts to ten. He takes the mug and sets it in front of Howdy, then goes to the window to brood. Thankfully Howdy is too reabsorbed in his work to notice beyond a mumbled thanks.

For the next hour, Barnaby’s thoughts are entirely composed of Wally. Different scenarios of what might happen next, how Barnaby might handle those situations without shaking Wally for doing something so needlessly reckless, and cruel daydreams of setting Home on fire. Barnaby wants to feel bad about that. He doesn’t. That damn RV has caused two different rifts between Barnaby and Wally - and Barnaby was the one to fix both of them, because both times Wally just left. 

He gets it. He really does - for a time Home was all that Wally had. It’s been with him since Wally was thirteen, and if the thought of retiring it to a dump makes Barnaby sad, he can only imagine how much it distresses Wally. Well, he can do more than make an educated guess. Wally practically told him tonight, if not with words than with actions.

Still. They’re adults - Wally is older than him, if only by a handful of months. When does Barnaby ever ask something of him? When does Barnaby ever push? Why can’t Wally see that Home is becoming a liability, and why won’t he listen? Barnaby can’t make it make sense. 

Wally has always been more inclined to avoid conflict, but this is too far. Barnaby swears, when he tracks Wally down he’s going wring that scrawny little-

His phone is ringing. 

Barnaby lunges for it, relief dousing his anger. He picks it up, ready to give Wally a piece of his mind and then beg him to come back-

“It’s an unknown number,” he says, shoulders slumping. Of course it’s an unknown number. Wally wouldn’t change on a dime and decide to be considerate for once. He exchanges an exasperated look with Howdy and declines. He goes to set the phone down - the number calls back.

“That’s one determined scammer,” Howdy says. He leans back in his chair and holds out a hand. “I’ll deal with ‘em.”

Barnaby is all too happy to hand it over. Let the poor sap on the other end of the line deal with a master swindler. 

“Howdy-hi, how can I help?” Howdy starts with a mischievous grin thrown Barnaby’s way? He leans back in the chair and hums. “Who, may I query, is asking?”

All at once, the ease drains out of Howdy and he stops fidgeting. He sits up, already looking at Barnaby with a paled expression that has something cold slithering down Barnaby’s spine. Something is wrong.

“He’s right here.” Howdy holds out the phone. His throat works uselessly for a moment before he plainly states the obvious, “It’s for you.”

Barnaby takes it, his mouth abruptly dry. Howdy is already up and moving - grabbing his coat, his keys. “Hello?”

“Is this Barnaby Beagle?” a professional feminine voice asks, tinny through the phone.

“B. Beagle, yeah.”

The woman introduces herself as the nearest city’s hospital, and Barnaby’s heart drops through the floor. She asks him to confirm that he’s Wally Darling’s emergency contact. He confirms, his voice sounding distant to his own ears. Howdy takes his arm and gestures to his shoes by the door, spurring Barnaby into motion.

“Is he okay?” Barnaby manages to say. He puts the wrong shoe on the wrong foot and almost curses aloud as he switches it. 

“Mr. Darling was involved in an automobile accident,” is all the hospital employee says. “He was brought in a few minutes ago.”

Barnaby steadies himself against the doorjamb, choking on a whispered, “Oh, god.” 

Keys jingle as Howdy opens the door and pulls Barnaby through, then locks the door behind them.

“But is he okay?” Barnaby asks again as they hurry down the short hallway to the stairs. 

“I’m not at liberty to disclose that information at present.”

It’s bad. It has to be bad if they won’t say anything over the phone. He must be silent for too long, because Howdy takes the phone, tells her they’ll be there soon, and hangs up. He tucks the phone into Barnaby’s pocket before opening the door to the store’s back lot. 

The frigid air slaps the shock out of Barnaby, and sensation comes flooding back in. He grabs the keys out of Howdy’s hand and strides to the car with long, powerful strides that would leave anyone shorter than Howdy in the dust.

“Are you sure-”

“I’m driving,” Barnaby growls, cutting Howdy off.

Howdy makes a disapproving noise, but relents. They get in and Barnaby adjusts his seat with harsh movements, jabs the key into the ignition because Howdy’s car is a dated hunk of junk, and peels out of the parking space before Howdy even has his seatbelt all the way on. 

Howdy clings to the ceiling handle as the car tears down the mostly empty street, going at least ten miles over the speed limit. Barnaby doesn’t know exactly where the hospital is, but he knows how to get to the city. They can figure it out from there. Several people honk as Barnaby brings them flying onto the freeway. 

“Holy Marilyn marmalade!” Howdy screeches as they narrowly avoid side-swiping a minivan. 

Barnaby ignores him and cuts off a pickup to get into the right lane for the interchange. Howdy whispers a string of something high pitched and strained and clings to the handle with both hands. 

It takes him a moment to parse out the constant ramble as, “-pull over pull over pull over pull over-” Two honks and a squeal of tires as Barnaby almost causes an accident, and Howdy yells in a louder and deeper tone than Barnaby has ever heard from him, “PULL OVER!”

Barnaby clenches his jaw and cuts across the carpool lane’s double whites. It only takes a moment to reach the shoulder. Howdy leaps out of the passenger seat as soon as the car stops, marches to Barnaby’s side, and wrenches the door open.

“Out,” he snaps, breathing hard. “Barnaby, I swear to all things priceless, get out. “

Barnaby meets his steely gaze for all of a second before unbuckling and getting out. Cars whip by. Howdy huffs at him and slips into the driver’s seat, muttering about recklessness and disasters and if you would wait to try and kill us until we’re right outside the hospital, if only to save us the ambulance fee-

When Barnaby gets into the passenger seat, Howdy waits for him to buckle in with fingertips drumming on the steering wheel. He merges onto the freeway smoothly and carefully. They go slower than the speed Barnaby had them flying down the asphalt at, and it makes something deeply impatient itch in him, but it’s safer. 

“I know you’re upset,” Howdy says, eyes still fixed on the road, “and I know that you’re scared. But what in hell’s bells was that, Barn?”

Barnaby side eyes him and grimaces, folding his arms. “I don’t know. I’m sorry - I shouldn’t have put you in danger like that.”

“You put yourself in danger too, you know.” Howdy sighs and relaxes his grip on the steering wheel. “We’re of no use to Wally if we get ourselves in a crash. What would he say?”

“Whatever he’d say would be hypocritical,” Barnaby says before he can think better of it.

Howdy glances sharply at him. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“He..” Barnaby’s voice fails on him, and he swallows hard. “He was in an accident.”

Howdy is silent for a full few seconds before he exhales a thin, pained sound. “Oh, Walls…”

He must not know what else to say, which is good and well, because Barnaby doesn’t either. A long few minutes pass of silence. Headlights of passing cars on the other side of the freeway flash over them before plunging back into darkness. The dials on the dash glow. The check engine light is on. They’ll need to get gas in order to make it home. 

“I’m sure it’s not as bad as you’re thinking,” Howdy says. He’s tapping the steering wheel again. “It’s likely just a few scrapes and bruises, at worst a broken bone. Nothing Wally can’t handle, and certainly nothing to be concerned over.”

Barnaby can’t bring himself to agree. Maybe… maybe if Wally was driving slowly… but that wouldn’t matter if someone crashed into him with enough force. Home is a large, sturdy vehicle, but it isn’t invulnerable. Wally certainly isn’t.

Without the distraction of driving, all Barnaby can think about is the what ifs. Yeah, what if he’s only a little bit hurt, but what if it’s worse? All of the worst images Barnaby can think of roll through his mind like a messed up movie reel.

Wally dead on the scene, caught in a hunk of twisted metal. 

Wally, choking on his own blood in an ambulance, dying en route to the hospital.

Wally flatlining on a metal table. 

Wally’s small body covered with a sheet-

“Almost there,” Howdy says, slowing at a stoplight. It bathes them both in red. Barnaby didn’t notice when they got off the freeway. 

Barnaby squeezes his eyes shut and presses his forehead to the cold window. After a moment, a slender hand rests on his thigh and squeezes. It’s such a small, stupid thing, but Barnaby breathes a little easier. 

Despite the drive down the freeway feeling like it took hours, the drive through city streets to the hospital passes in a blink. Before Barnaby knows it the car is spiraling up to an upper floor of the parking garage. The floor is mostly empty - Howdy pulls into a spot right by glass double doors. 

Barnaby gets out a split seconds before Howdy, staring at the pristine white walls just inside the doors. In a moment he’ll find out if it’s not that bad, or if he’s about to have the worst night of his life. He’s been to a hospital twice. The last time was for Howdy, but he went with the knowledge that it was only a precaution. The other time was for Mama’s health scare. 

That had been terrifying. The waiting, the wondering, the too-bright hallways and the staff’s rigid smiles. It ended well, but it had still been horrible, and hospitals took center stage in some of his recurring nightmares. Barnaby never wanted to see another loved one in a hospital bed again.

Looks like he doesn’t have a choice. 

Howdy comes around from the driver’s side and lays a hand on Barnaby’s shoulder. “If you need a moment to-”

“Nah,” Barnaby says, his voice rough. He nods and adjusts his sleeves. “Better rip the bandaid off.”

They go into the sterile maze. The bright overhead lights dazzle Barnaby’s eyes after being in the dim parking garage, and he grimaces at the strong odor of antiseptic and floor polish. Howdy makes a beeline for the nearest receptionist and talks to her in rushed, low tones. 

Barnaby shuffles after him, rubbing his shaking hands together and eyeing every person in scrubs that walks past. Something beeps somewhere. He thinks he hears someone crying. This is a place without color, art, or happiness. 

“This way,” Howdy says, walking past him and tilting his head at the elevator. Barnaby follows, feeling like a lost puppy dropped at the side of the road. 

A nurse gets into the elevator with them and politely smiles before staring at the floor counter and pretending they don’t exist. It’s fine with Barnaby. If he has to make small talk right now, he might actually snap. The man’s pink scrubs are almost an eyesore in the harsh lighting. 

The elevator dings, and they all get out on the same floor. Howdy reads door plaques and wall signs like a hawk, his head turning on a swivel as he reads everything at lightning speed. Barnaby nearly has to jog to keep up with his hurried pace. 

Howdy changes direction without warning and heads straight for a door at the end of a short offshoot hallway. Barnaby reads the sign next to the door.

[can’t remember if it’s icu or the other thing, research later]

It’s bad.

The waiting room is small - longer than it is wide, and there’s a woman sleeping in a chair in the corner. It looks nicer than the emergency room, or where Barnaby waited to see his mama. The benches have colorful cushions, and the walls are a pastel green instead of white. There’s an abstract geometric painting on the wall next to the woman. 

Barnaby slowly takes a seat on stiff cushions, watching Howdy talk to the receptionist from afar. He nods and pats the counter before joining Barnaby. He sits close enough that their legs press together.

“Someone will get us up to speed as soon as there’s news,” Howdy says. “I tried to pry some more out of him, but he wouldn’t give up another word.”

Barnaby nods, staring down at his hands. His nail polish is already chipping, despite Julie painting them only last weekend. Barnaby picks at the bright red on his pinkie until Howdy pulls his hand away and enfolds it in both of his own. 

When Howdy takes a deep breath, Barnaby finds himself mimicking him. Their gazes meet - Howdy’s is unflinching, and steady. He smiles and runs his thumb over Barnaby’s knuckles, soothing the nervous trembling, and Barnaby is struck by how darn grateful he is to have Howdy with him. 

If he had to do all of this alone… Barnaby doesn’t think he could. Either he’d have gotten himself into a crash to join Wally, or he would still be sitting in his car, staring at the hospital doors. He doesn’t have the courage. But Howdy does, and Barnaby loves him for it. 

For once, Howdy lets the time pass in silence, though after a long stretch of indeterminable time he gets up to pace. The bench cushions are high quality, but they start to feel uncomfortable. Barnaby doesn’t dare go for a walk. At least they’re not the usual waiting room chairs - he’d rather stand than try to fit into those plastic, narrow things. 

At some point the woman in the corner wakes up. She startles seeing two strangers in the room with her, but quickly ignores them. Barely a few minutes pass before she leaves, mumbling something about coffee. She doesn’t come back. Barnaby spends a while wondering why - did she go home, or wait somewhere else, or did she receive news in the halls?

Howdy sits down again and starts typing furiously on his phone. When Barnaby gives him a curious nudge, he quietly explains that he’s texting the group chat. Barnaby feels a twinge of guilt at that. He completely forgot to let everyone know that there’s a… situation. Who knows if any of them will see it until morning. 

Message sent, Howdy gets up to pace some more. His rhythmic gait gives Barnaby something to focus on, seeing as the clock on the wall is silent, and the receptionist seems to be sleeping. Barnaby could probably pass time on his own phone, but every second spent distracted is a second he might miss someone coming to tell them…

What? Tell them what, exactly? That Wally is okay? That he can receive visitors? 

That he didn’t make it?

The door opens, startling Barnaby to his feet. Howdy scurries over from the far side of the room and rests a steadying hand on Barnaby’s lower back. A woman clad in blue scrubs enters, reading something on a clipboard. There are shadows under her eyes, and she looks beyond exhausted. Barnaby can sympathize.

“Mr. Beagle?” the doctor asks, looking between them. When Barnaby nods, she smiles thinly, gaze flicking briefly to Howdy. “Hi. I’m Dr. Allen. Before I disclose any sensitive information, I’d like to confirm what your relation to the patient is.”

The question gives Barnaby pause. He’s always had a difficult time putting his and Wally’s relationship into simple terms, because it’s anything but. Wally is his best friend, his dearest companion, the man he lives with and can’t imagine being without. 

“He’s my partner,” Barnaby settles on, because it’s a good umbrella term. Partner can mean a lot of things, and people don’t usually pry for specifics. “We’re as good as family.”

Dr. Allen writes something down on her clipboard. “No worries, I’m not going to kick you out if you’re not - you’re his emergency contact for a reason, after all. It’s just basic information that I’d like to have on hand.”

“Course - so how is he?” Barnaby cuts straight to the chase. He’s not in the mood for niceties. 

“Well, Mr. Darling is certainly giving us a run for our money,” Allen sighs. “He’s not out of the woods yet, but I believe he’s gotten through the worst of it.”

“He’ll make it?”

Allen offers another tight lipped smile. “We’re doing our best.”

Barnaby has seen enough hospital dramas to know that we’re doing our best means no promises, prepare for the worst. Howdy must feel the tension gripping him like a vice, because his hand slips from Barnaby’s back to his hand. 

“What are his injuries, if I may?” Howdy asks. 

“I’m not sure-”

“Please. We’d rather know than wonder.” 

Allen looks between them and sighs again. She flips a page on her clipboard. “Unfortunately, there was a bit of time between the crash and when emergency services were called. Between blood loss and the near-freezing temperatures, Mr. Darling developed mild hypothermia.”

Wally was dying, cold and alone in the wreckage of his home for who knows how long before anyone came to help. Barnaby sways in place, and Howdy helps him sit down on a bench instead of the floor. Allen looks apprehensive.

“Keep going,” Barnaby rasps. He needs to know.

Allen doesn’t look happy about it, but she continues. “Mr. Darling also suffered several low-grade lacerations from shrapnel, some fractured ribs, a compound fracture in his left tibia, and currently unidentified damage to his right hand and lower arm.”

Barnaby swallows a mournful sound. That’s fine, it’s fine. Broken bones heal - Wally will be painting again in no time. 

“He also developed an intracranial hematoma. It’s been treated, but we won’t know the extent of the damage until Mr. Darling wakes up.”

“What is that?” Howdy asks before Barnaby can figure out how to speak again. “Intracranial hematoma - tell me if I’m wrong, but that sounds like a head injury.”

“It is - in layman’s terms, it’s a brain bleed. Head trauma can cause bleeding inside the skull, which puts pressure on the brain. We caught it as quickly as feasibly possible, which should raise his chance of a full recovery.” Allen flips the clipped page back into place. “There may still be lesser complications and injuries we haven’t been able to diagnose or address yet. I’ll be forward with you - this is one of the worst crash cases I’ve seen in some time. Mr. Darling was lucky to be found alive.”

Allen goes on to offer platitudes that Wally is a fighter, and easily answers the flood of questions Howdy has about the mentioned injuries. It all sounds distant. Underwater. The room is too small and the air is stale - are the vents working? Is there a window they can open?

In a blink - and yet the conversation lasts ages - Allen promises to come back with more information as soon as she has it. She smiles one last time and leaves. 

“Barn?” Howdy sounds muffled. “Barn, are you alright?”

What kind of question is that? Of course Barnaby isn’t alright - his best friend is dying, likely on this very floor. There’s a chance he’s already dead. Barnaby might have already lost him, he just doesn’t know it yet. 

Mr. Darling was lucky to be found alive. 

One of the worst crash cases I’ve seen in some time. 

Mild hypothermia - brain bleed - lacerations - fractures.

Lesser complications and injuries we haven’t been able to diagnose or address yet.

We’re doing our best.

“He hung up on me, the little bastard-”

Barnaby is up and out the door before he registers moving. He staggers down the hallways in a blur, everything swirling together into a mess of sight and sound as his lungs struggle to get a full breath. He bypasses the elevator and takes the stairs down to the level they parked on. 

The cold air does nothing to help him breathe. Barnaby chokes on it as he leans against the rough wall grasping at his chest. Howdy is there immediately - he must have been on Barnaby’s heels the whole time. 

“Talk to me, Barn,” Howdy pleads, a hand on the back of his neck and the other over the one Barnaby has on his chest. “What is it - you’re not having a heart attack, are you? Tell me you aren’t, I can’t handle that right now.”

Barnaby doesn’t know. Maybe? He feels like he is. He can’t breathe. He tries to say so, but the ragged gasps his breathing has devolved into doesn’t allow it. Howdy must know something he doesn’t, because he doesn’t run to get a doctor.

“How can I help?” he asks instead.

“Don’t - don’t - know,” Barnaby wheezes. 

“Okay, alright, don’t worry, Barn, I’m here, I’m not going anywhere. Let’s try, ah - what were the steps? I didn’t exactly write them down, though in hindsight I should’ve - that’s not the point! It was… what a time to take after Eddie’s memory-”

It shouldn’t be helping, but Howdy’s constant stream of words grabs Barnaby’s attention. He manages to inhale nearly a full breath before it stutters back out and he’s struggling again.

“Breathing!” Howdy says. “Yes, that was it - Barnaby, I need you to focus on me. Copy my breathing.”

He sucks in a slow, dramatic breath through his nose and exhales just as slowly through his mouth. Barnaby catches on and tries to mimic him, but-

“Can’t, I ca-an’t,” Barnaby says. His chest hurts. 

Howdy presses their foreheads together. “Yes, you can. Come now, Barn, in… out. Simplest thing in the world.”

It doesn’t feel simple, but Barnaby tries. It feels like forever before he manages a full inhale. He butchers the exhale, but Howdy praises the minor win before launching right back into measured breathing. 

Barnaby finally manages a slow inhale and exhale, and suddenly it feels like the pressure filling his chest has vanished. He slumps against the wall, worn out. He puts his hand over Howdy’s mouth in the middle of another dramatic demonstration.

“You’re alright now?” Howdy says, peeling his hand off. Barnaby nods, and Howdy leans next to him with a whoosh. “Thank the stock market - I was starting to get light headed.”

It takes another few minutes for them to catch their breath. Barnaby straightens enough to rest his head on Howdy’s shoulder, breathing in his cheap cologne and homemade laundry detergent. Howdy cups the back of his neck and massages the tense muscle there. 

“This will all turn out okay,” Howdy promises. “Wally is stubborn - I think we both know that well enough. By this time tomorrow we’ll be moving forward.”

Barnaby wants to be that optimistic, but this is real life. For all they know, moving forward means making funeral arrangements. His breathing stutters and he forces it to even out before he can start hyperventilating again. 

A car pulls into a parking space with a gravelly sound. Barnaby pays it no mind until Howdy makes a surprised noise - Barnaby looks up, and his stomach churns.

Frank, Eddie, and Julie are all getting out of Frank’s car. They’re all in various states of dishevelment. Frank’s hair is a mess, and he has what looks like Eddie’s company jacket thrown on over his pajamas. Eddie is in little more than a shirt that says male? lol, more like mail! and boxers - he’s even wearing slippers instead of shoes, and his hair flops over his forehead in soft tufts. Julie’s hair is still in curlers, and though she’s wearing shoes, she’s in a too-long shirt over sweats that don’t belong to her. They’re paint-stained. 

They rush across the parking lot, all worried faces and tired eyes. They’re already asking what happened, is Wally okay, Sally is getting Poppy, they should be here soon, has there been any news-

Barnaby lunges at the nearest trash can and vomits.

[plutolovesyou]

i wanna show yall this rn because i'm excited about it tbh...it's gonna be cheesy and fluffy and silly. (can you tell i have way too much fun in picsart- that means i genuinely can't tell if the header thingy looks atrocious, cringe sure but legit can't decide just how bad). the imagine that inspired this.

[kingabezka]

This is my pride month contribution this year

[rist-ix]

can we get a snippet of the next chapter of tbhtbh, queen?

My bros it has been 84 years but I swear to god it’s getting done one day. Have this and my eternal thanks for your praise and patience in the meantime.

A few hours earlier, when the light falling through the windows had been muddled sunlight instead, Darcy had come to her.

The witch had stood in the middle of the room, seemingly alone to anyone who merely glanced inside. Her back straight, her eyes downcast.

“You knew.”

It's a rasp, barely more than a whisper. She doesn’t recognize her own voice, but Darcy hears her anyway. Still, she doesn’t turn towards Bloom, hidden in the shadows of her corner as she is.

“I know many things,” Darcy says evenly. Composed. But there's a small, narrow edge of defiance there, too, something almost childishly deflective.

Bloom doesn’t look up either.

“You knew about Andros. You knew about his plan.”

Her hand clamped over the side of her neck tightens.

“His mark.”

She opens her eyes.

“My friends.”

Darcy has her back turned towards her. If there's any emotion at all on her face, genuine or false as it may be, Bloom cannot see it. The witch runs a dark blonde strand of hair through her fingers and stays silent.

Then:

“I advised you not to give him the excuse, didn’t I?”

“You advised me to give up. In more flowery words, maybe.”

“I told you, Bloom. You're not my priority here.”

She breathes out. Leans her head back against the wall and pulls her knees closer, as if there's any comfort in that.

“Was it your idea?”

“No. But I would have suggested it to him, if it had been.”

She steps towards the window, stares down at the frozen surface of Domino beneath them. Or would stare down at it, if it weren’t hidden by the eternal clouds surrounding the tower.

“He's toyed with the idea since before we even found you, I think. But I don’t think he considered it… urgent, until you were shot.”

She crosses her arms. Dignified or defensive, or maybe a mix of both.

“Your friends weren't as careful as you. Icy figured out they were involved on Icthos, and from then on it really was just a matter of making the right people believe the right thing. He's good at that, you know.”

She does know.

On the other side of the room, backlit by the cold, harsh daylight, Darcy inclines her head just a little.

“Icy told me he hesitated. For a while, at least. The day before you escaped.”

Her nails dig into her skin, and her memory seems to taunt her, snippets of half-heard conversations floating through her head. Things she'd found confusing, now seeming perfectly clear. So laughably obvious, in hindsight.

“Was there ever a chance he would have stopped, if I'd stayed?”

It's not really a question. There's no answer to it she doesn’t know already.

It's the hollow hope of reassurance, maybe. A demand for confirmation, pointless as it is.

Darcy breathes out a laugh.

“No. Not really, huh?”

She turns around and leans back against the glass, finally facing her.

“Doomed if you do, doomed if you don’t. I still think you would have improved your circumstances a lot, though, if you'd listened.”

There are no circumstances that could have fixed this. The look she throws Darcy says as much.

The other girl sighs.

“Not that it matters now. If there ever was a point to back out, we missed it.”

She walks out as calmly as she'd entered. But she pauses at the door to look back, just for a moment.

“And I don’t dwell on what-if's, Bloom,” the Witch of the Darkest Night says. The shadows of the hallway seem to reach for her, as if to welcome her home.

“I do the best with what I have.”

[fanfoolishness]

the mess you left behind

Tech called Plan 99. But Wrecker's still here. Wrecker tries to navigate new grief, but he can't do it alone. Wrecker POV, Wrecker & Hunter, angst, grief, family feels, a little bit of hope. 3500 words.

-----

Something was wrong with him.  He was sure of it.

It started with the food.  At first, Wrecker thought the ration bars must have gone off.  They’d been loaded in the Marauder for months, maybe they’d just expired.  They crumbled in his mouth like ash, utterly flavorless, dry chalky stuff.  It was hard to swallow them, like his mouth had forgotten how to make saliva.  He choked them down and only ate three instead of his usual six on their way back from Ord Mantell.

But the food back on Pabu didn’t taste any better.  Shep and Lyana made them dinner that first night back, their faces shocked and sad.  Lyana brought out a tray of rockfish rolls and then ran back into the house, burying her face in her hands.  Shep stayed out with them, took them each by the shoulder, told them he was so sorry.  Hunter just nodded.  Echo looked away.  And Wrecker tried to smile but found his face didn’t work like that anymore.

He still tried to eat.  They’d gone to so much trouble, making all this food for them.  But his stomach turned, and he managed only a few bites before he shoved the food away and stared at the meal until it blurred.

It wasn’t just the food.  His tongue felt like sand, no matter how much water he drank.  Though sometimes he’d forget to drink any for hours, and realize only when he tried to talk, his voice coming out dry and cracked.  He’d drink water until he felt he couldn’t bear to drink anymore, and his tongue would still stick to the roof of his mouth.

He thought sleeping might help.  At least it’d be a break from Echo and Hunter scrolling endlessly through comms and intel, stuff he couldn’t help with anyway, focusing on that instead of anyone saying how much easier this would be if Tech was here.  He tried not to think about that, too.  Not that it made any difference.

Sleeping didn’t work any better.  He lay there long into the night, listening to Hunter’s breathing, Echo’s typing, Gonky’s soft little night-gonks.  If he closed his eyes, he could see him -- 

There is no time, Wrecker!  

Tech dangling helplessly, Wrecker’s arms straining against the railcar, his heart pounding in his chest, there had to be a way, there had to be --

Plan Ninety-nine.

No.  NO.  Not the one plan he’d never forgotten, the one plan he’d always thought he’d be the one to carry out if it came to it, the one plan he’d never wanted to hear any of his brothers call --

Don’t you do it, Tech --

And he’d open his eyes with a gasp, panting, tears damp on his face.  Okay.  So sleeping wasn’t an option, either.

-----

The days blurred together.  He wasn’t sure how to count them.  They slid past, one after the other, all of them horribly the same.  Beautiful weather.  Birds singing.  Waves on the shore.  

No leads on Omega, just an empty room and endless dead ends.

Tech’s goggles, broken and awful and so confusing.  

He tried holding them once, when Echo and Hunter had left the ship.  They were so small in his shaking hands.  He realized he’d never actually touched them before.  Tech had always kept them in such good condition, and the strap had always kept them in place even when he’d taken hits and needed patching up.  They’d been as much a part of him as Hunter’s tattoo.  

So how could Wrecker be holding them now?  It didn’t make any damn sense.  Goggles.  Tech.  They were supposed to be together.  

He half-thought he’d glance up and see Tech in the pilot’s chair, leaning in with a squint and an annoyed, “Wrecker, give those back.”  Maybe all of it had been some massive mistake.  Maybe Tech was injured, but alive.  Maybe he’d come back --

The pilot’s seat sat empty.  And Wrecker bowed over the goggles in his hands and cried.

-----

Echo left.  Wrecker had been wondering how long it would take.  Said Rex might be able to help him track down leads on Tantiss and how to find Omega.  

Wrecker knew it made sense.  But he also wondered how much of it was that Echo didn’t want to be here, where Tech’s ghost haunted the Marauder, where the ship seemed so empty without Omega’s laughter, where Hunter was grim and quiet and Wrecker was just… whatever he was.  

“I’ll keep you posted.  Anything I can find, I’ll be here in a heartbeat,” Echo said.  “We’ll find her.  I know it.”

“We’ll contact you right away if we find anything,” said Hunter, his voice rough.  “We won’t stop until we do.”  He clapped Echo on the shoulder and walked away, staring off into the horizon.  

Wrecker didn’t have anything to say.  He just drew Echo into a bonecrushing hug.  Echo hugged him back just as fiercely.  

“It’ll get easier,” Echo said quietly into Wrecker’s ear.  “Eventually.”

Wrecker closed his eyes.  Echo had told him about Fives, Hevy, Droidbait, Cutup.  He knew.  He’d lived it before.  

Now he was having to live it again.

“Hope you’re right,” Wrecker whispered.  “‘Cause I -- I don’t know how to do this.”

Echo sighed.  “No one ever does.”

-----

AZI checked on them both regularly.  He told Wrecker cheerfully one day that his neck had fully recovered and he was clear to resume his normal activity.  “However, there is something else,” AZI said.

“Yeah?”

“You have lost five kilos and are slightly underconditioned for your typical height and mass.  Your exam also shows evidence that you have been sleeping poorly and may be experiencing erratic moods.  This is one of many typical grieving responses in humans,” AZI said.  “Perhaps you would like to discuss your emotions.”

Huh.  So all of it came back to Tech, then.  

“I thought… I thought if you lose someone, you’re just sad,” Wrecker admitted.  “Never really had to do this before.”

It wasn’t quite true.  He’d missed Crosshair -- sometimes badly, especially those early days out on their own -- but it had all been tangled up in confusion, anger, frustration, not knowing where the chip ended and where his brother began.  And there’d always been hope, a thin small thread, that someday Crosshair would realize he’d been wrong and he’d come back to them.  That they would be together again.

Of course, that was a hope that no longer made any sense.  They’d never all be together again now.

“Grief is a complex emotional and physical response,” AZI explained.  “It may affect sleeping and appetite, and it may include anger, sadness, denial, and acceptance.  It is a process that is never fully completed, but time does appear to contribute greatly to healing.”  

“Well, can’t make time go any faster.”  Wrecker sighed, rubbing his face.  “How else do I fix it?” 

“Talking about the subject of one’s grief can be a great help.  I am happy to listen to any stories you may wish to share about CT-9902.  You may also wish to speak to CT-9901.”  

“Easy for you to say,” Wrecker muttered.  He looked up at the droid tiredly.  “Maybe another time, AZI.  Thanks.”

Talking to Hunter did feel like it might help.  Except that Hunter was avoiding him.  

Wrecker hadn’t been sure about it at first.  He’d wake up in the morning after his jagged, stretched-thin sleep and find Hunter already at the comms.  “Morning,” he’d say, and Hunter would wave a hand vaguely in his direction, grunt, and keep his eyes on the screen.  He’s focused.  I get it.  I want her back just as much as he does.  

But Hunter started skipping meals.  Wrecker would go for dinner with Shep and Lyana, only for Lyana to say “Hunter got food earlier.  He didn’t tell you?”  

Wrecker sat alone with them, struggling for something to say that wasn’t Sorry we lost your best friend or Want to hear a story about my dead brother? Shep would usually fill the silence with something light, talk about the rebuilding efforts or stories about the day’s events, and Wrecker would listen gratefully.  When he went back to the ship, he’d find Hunter already asleep or right back at the comms, eyes fixed on the screens.

He finally tried, one night.  Came back to the Marauder with a cup of black caf, Hunter’s favorite.  Spotted him sitting in the co-pilot’s chair -- never in Tech’s seat -- staring at a datapad.  

“Brought you something,” he said, raising the caf.  Hunter glanced at it for a second, then retreated back to whatever he was reading.  

Wrecker set the caf down by Hunter’s arm and leaned over the back of Tech’s chair.  He didn’t want to sit in it, either.  He cleared his throat, keeping his gaze off Hunter, except that meant he glimpsed Lula all alone in Omega’s room.  He turned the other way, and there were Tech’s goggles, shattered on the dash.  He sighed, settling for looking out the viewshield.  

“So.”

“...so.”

“Can we… talk?” Wrecker asked, rubbing the back of his neck.

Hunter lifted his head, looking up at him, waiting.  This close, Wrecker could see the shadows under his eyes, the days’ growth of stubble, the headband rumpled and askew.

“About Tech.”

Hunter swallowed, looking away.  “He’s gone, Wrecker.”

“I know that,” Wrecker said, an edge of irritation in his voice.  Come on. He was trying here.  “It’s just -- it’s hard.  Maybe it’s not as hard if we talk about him, you know?”  He took a deep breath, trying to stay calm.

Hunter leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms.  “Talking about him won’t bring him back,” he said heavily.  “It’s… better to look forward.  Put everything we have into finding Omega.”

Wrecker growled, anger flashing bright and sudden in his mind.  His hand curled into a fist, just for a second, and everything that had been boiling under the surface since Eriadu came erupting up.   “Don’t you think I want to find her, too?  Of course I miss her.  Of course we have to find her.  And we will, Hunter, but I’m not gonna pretend she’s the only one we lost!  Don’t you even miss him?  He’s our brother!”  His voice rose into a shout.  

No -- this isn’t what I wanted --  But he couldn’t help himself.

“He was a soldier!  Like we all are!” Hunter snapped, getting to his feet, his eyes narrowed.  “He knew exactly what he was doing, and he made the only choice he could.  Any of us would have done the same.  Plan Ninety-Nine was always a possibility.  We have to accept that!”

“I don’t want to!” Wrecker roared, his chest heaving.  He shoved his brother back into his seat, and turned and fled out of the ship, the walls closing in, the air too thin to breathe.  He broke into a jog as he hit the cool night air, and he let his legs take him as far away from the ship as he could get.

He finally stumbled to a stop an hour later, somewhere down by the water, the soft sound of the waves a stark contrast to his ragged breaths.  He staggered out onto the sand, finding a rocky ridge up above the high water line.  He sagged down to the ground and tried to catch his breath.  

Eventually his breathing slowed.  He leaned back against the rocks and stared up at the stars.  The constellations swam and shimmered above him, splitting back and forth into two sets of starfields.  He blinked and lowered his head to gaze off into the dark.

Why won’t he talk about him?

He folded his arms atop his knees, pressing his face into them, screwing his eyes shut.  He sat like that for a long, long time, until his cheeks were wet, until his head throbbed.  He listened to the waves, and he knew he’d lost something he could never get back.

-----

Seabirds, squawking somewhere out in the distance.  A cool breeze on his face, warm sun on the back of his head.  A hand on his shoulder.

“Wrecker.”

He opened his eyes, narrowing them against the bright morning light.  He groaned.  “What am I --”  He looked around, realizing he was still on the beach.  Oh, hell.  The fight --

Hunter sat beside him on his good side, a basket of food and a thermos resting near him in the sand.  He gave Wrecker a tired smile.  

“Morning.”

Wrecker yawned, stretching, carefully avoiding looking at Hunter.  “Guess you found me.”

“It wasn’t exactly hard,” said Hunter.  He sighed, leaning back against the rocks, stretching his legs out in front of him.  

“Hm.  Guess it wouldn’t be, for you.”

“Yeah.”

They both fell quiet, looking out at the water.  A pack of moon-yos played at the water’s edge, scampering in the surf.  They chittered cheerfully at each other, completely ignoring the two soldiers in the sand.

Wrecker swallowed.  “Sorry, Hunter.”

Hunter took a deep breath.  “I’m sorry, too, Wrecker.”  

“For what?  I’m the one that flew off the handle.”  His cheeks burned at the memory.  He’d been trying to get Hunter to open up at him, and all he’d done was get angry at him and run off.  Some conversation that had been.  “Maybe you’re right.  Maybe we just need to move on.”  

Hunter shook his head.  “No, you were right.  Ignoring it… isn’t helping.”

Wrecker looked at him in surprise, his chest aching at Hunter’s words.  Huh.  He hadn’t been expecting that.

Hunter had fallen silent again, but looked like he was struggling to figure out what to say.  This close, Wrecker could see his brother’s eyes were red and puffy.  Had he even slept since their fight?

“You okay?” Wrecker asked.

“No.”  Hunter tried giving him a smile, but his mouth twisted up all wrong.  At last he managed to get a few more words out, but they were halting, nothing like his usual direct, confident way of talking.  “I… I thought that if I could just focus on Omega… then I could… stop thinking about Tech.  That’s why I didn’t want to talk about him.”

“You do think about him?” Wrecker asked hopefully.  

“Of course I do,” said Hunter.  He crossed his arms over his chest, shaking his head.  “Every time I sit in that damn cockpit, I look over and I --”  He closed his eyes, a muscle going in his cheek.  “It’s too hard to think about him.  So I kept trying to move on, tried to focus on something I could fix.  I know I can’t bring him back, and I hate it, Wrecker.  We couldn’t save Crosshair.  We lost Omega.  Echo’s moved on, and Tech…”

“I should have saved him,” Wrecker bit out.  “I was there.  Maybe if I’d tried something different, I could have got to him.  I could have hauled him up, I know I could have.  But the railcar -- I couldn’t figure out how to get to him --”

“Don’t you dare blame yourself,” said Hunter sharply.  “That’s an order.  If anyone could have seen another way out of it, it was Tech.  You didn’t have any other options.”

Wrecker’s leg shook, boot jittering in the sand.  Arms straining, trying to hold the second railcar back, he just had to keep it steady so Tech could climb up -- there had to be time, he had to make it -- 

Tech’s hand raising his blaster, Wrecker’s heart stuttering in his chest, no, no, this wasn’t happening --

When have we ever followed orders?

“Wrecker.  Wrecker, hey.”  Hunter’s hand was on his shoulder, shaking him gently.  Wrecker scrubbed at his eyes with his fingertips, shoulders heaving.

“Damn it, Tech,” he croaked.  He broke into a rough chuckle, but it was dangerously close to a sob, and he stifled himself.  “Look at this mess you made.”

“Well, he always was messy,” Hunter said slowly.  “All that tinkering of his… the way he said he always had a system.”  He smiled a little at the memory, though his eyes were redder than ever.

“Ha.  I have a system for my stuff, too.  Remember what he’d used to say?  Something like this?”  Wrecker pitched his voice higher, tried to adjust for Tech’s accent.  It was a terrible impression, but he was doing his best with it.  “‘Wrecker, my chaos is confined to my own living space.  Yours is a tripping hazard for everyone in the vicinity.  There is a difference.’”  

He snorted, remembering Tech’s indignation when Wrecker had made a joke about the two of them being the messy ones.  Hunter had laughed fondly at both of them, Crosshair had rolled his eyes, and Wrecker had just laughed and said “Yeah, you keep telling yourself it’s a system!”

Wrecker stopped, a realization coming over him.  He’d just laughed.  He shook his head, surprised.  Was he even allowed to do that right now?

“Hunter?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m all mixed up.”  He shifted, grabbing a handful of sand and watching it pour from his palm, grain by grain.  “I can’t… I can’t believe we’re never gonna see Tech again.”

“I know.”

“And I’m mad at him.  He’s gone, and we didn’t even complete the mission.  It didn’t mean anything.  How could we lose him on this?  How could he do this to us?”  He closed his trembling fist, sand pouring out even faster.  

“I know.”

“And I --  I can’t sleep.  Can’t eat.  Me, can’t eat.”  Wrecker dropped his hand, let it fall open.  “Am I gonna feel like this forever?” he asked, voice going quiet.  “Echo said it gets better.  But I can’t see it.”

Hunter leaned against him, their shoulders touching.  Wrecker raised his arm, settling it around Hunter in a loose hug.  It was the first they’d shared in… a long time.  Too long.

“I don’t know if it gets better,” Hunter admitted.  “I’ve never done this before, either.  But… I think you’re right.”

“Me?  About what?”

“Maybe talking about him is exactly what we need to do.”

-----

The sun had risen high above them, wheeling toward the noontime hour, when they fell silent again.  They’d been talking the whole time.  Sometimes about the scary stuff -- turned out Wrecker wasn’t the only one struggling with flashbacks and nightmares -- sometimes about the weird stuff -- Hunter admitted he kept blanking out for minutes a time, and it was taking him twice as long as usual to get through reading anything -- sometimes about good stuff, like stories about old missions where Tech had pulled off the impossible and really shone.  

They were so proud of him.

They always would be.

They’d managed, somehow, to laugh a few times.  Wrecker had cried three times and Hunter had cried once.  Now Hunter looked just as exhausted as Wrecker felt, but in a good way, like they’d both come through something. Together.

Wrecker yawned, leaning back against the rock, hands behind his head.  “Hey, didn’t you bring something down here with you?”

“Oh yeah.  Peace offering,” said Hunter, rummaging in the bag at his feet.  He pulled out a thermos and a sturdy box made out of some of the large shiny leaves on the island.  “Got some pastries at the market square and brought down some caf.  Figured it was the least I could do.  You hungry?”

Wrecker thought about it, and surprised, said, “Yeah, I think so.  What you got in there?”

“I just asked for the variety box.”  Hunter opened the box, and sweet scents of fruit, vanilla and pastry wafted out.  His face fell.

“What’s wrong?” Wrecker asked.  “Smells great.”

Hunter lifted up a delicate pastry curled into a horn shape, stuffed with fresh custard.  Wrecker recognized it instantly.  Tech’s favorite.

The skill necessary to create the overarching layers of pastry is remarkable.  Preserving the architecture of the pastry while also suffusing it with custard is ingenious --

Hunter gave him a half-smile.  “Want to split it?”

“Sure.”  Wrecker reached out, and they tore the custard horn into roughly equal halves.  Wrecker held his up to his face, catching its sweet scent.  His stomach rumbled.  He nudged his pastry into Hunter’s and said, “To Tech.”

“To Tech.”

He took a bite, expecting it to taste like sawdust like everything else had been lately.  But it didn’t.  

He tasted butter, vanilla, sugar, egg, flour.  He tasted layers of flaky, golden pastry with a cloud-like center, vanishing sweetly within his mouth.  He tasted comfort.  He tasted home.

Wrecker finished his pastry, swallowing past the sudden lump in his throat.  “That’s… that’s really good.”  He reached out, taking the thermos, opening it up and taking a drink of hot caf.  It was bold and rich, bracing without being bitter.  He glanced at Hunter.  “...you got any more pastries in there?”

Hunter laughed, passing him the box.  “Thought you’d never ask.”

They finished off the box beneath the noon sun, watching the moon-yos play and scamper in the waves.  And something shifted in Wrecker’s chest, clicking into place; not a question of if they would get through this, but a realization that they would.  He had a feeling it was still going to be mixed up, and awful, and wrong, for a long time.  Maybe always.  

But he wouldn’t be going through it alone, and maybe that was all he needed, at least for now.

[zuppizup]

The Sun Staff, Sunforge and Dark Magic purification.

Sunfire elves play a pivotal role in the history of Xadia. They have the largest, most centralised civilisation and Queen Aditi was trusted with deciding the next Archdragon Monarch after the fall of Luna Tenebris.

Assuming he’s responsible for her disappearance, is this why Aaravos targeted her?

Or… was there more at play?

Were the abilities of healing and purification associated with Sun magic an issue for his overarching plan?

Aaravos targets mages, tempting them with hidden knowledge. It’s not stated that he’s targets human mages exclusively and he seemed to bring chaos to the entire continent indiscriminately.

(Considering where we last saw Karim, I am concerned for him…)

Still, the implication seems to be, in order for a mage to fall under his control, they need to have used Dark Magic.

Even a single time.

Which got me thinking… would Viren have been “free” of corruption and therefore immune to Aaravos direct control had he been purified (and survived).

What does this imply for Callum?

Is it possible to purify the corrupted Sun Staff and recover the Sunforge? Can these be used to purge mages of Dark Magic corruption? (Is Claudia at risk of also being controlled if she “rebels”?)

Just how vulnerable to Aaravos direct control is Callum? Are we going to see another Dark Magic coma revelation for him, allowing him to resist Aaravos control and another path? Or is he literally a ticking time bomb?

[missygoesmeow]

papa and his principessa💙 (yeah its the cardinal face I DONT CARE !!!)

[bamsara]

I've been awake since 4pm Yesterday and if I go another 2 hours then it's a full 24 hours and if I go another 6 hours after that then I can go to sleep and finally have a fixed sleep schedule. Wish me luck fellas. I'm dying

[analogwriting]

Star-Crossed

Chapter 20: Kardiá

Donquixote Rosinante x gn!reader word count: 3k first|next a/n: whoops didn't mean for this to take so long but thus is the price of me working every single day for two weeks straight ayeo.

You woke up with a loud gasp, sitting up quickly and falling into a coughing fit as the tubes in your throat moved around from your sudden intake of air. You felt a hand begin to rub your back and a voice followed by footsteps running into the room and yet another voice, but it was far away and you couldn’t understand what they were saying. You felt tears prick the corners of your eyes and your already raw throat began to hurt even more.

A glass of water was held in front of you and you took it, giving yourself a moment before trying to swallow some of it down. It helped a bit, your coughing subsiding. Everything still hurt, your head absolutely pounding from the suddenness of everything; consciousness, the coughing, your body moving, etc.

After a few more moments, you were able to settle yourself back down. You were concentrating on regulating your breathing and making the room stop spinning. “Are you feeling better?” You blinked, honestly forgetting where you were at the moment. Right - the hospital. You looked over, seeing Corazon sitting there with concern sketched all over his face. 

Everything seemed to hit you all at once. What your father did, the heist, the dream - and tears began to roll down your face. The concern only grew on Corazon’s face. “Y/n?” 

“I’m sorry,” you rasped out, your voice completely gone from not using it for so long. You felt terrible for everything you had put everyone through. For all the worry and stress, just all of it. 

Corazon said nothing, pulling you into his arms. Being surrounded by such warmth and love, it reminded you of what you once felt all those years ago with your parents, bringing forth the dream or whatever it was that you had while you were out. Emotions began to run absolutely wild and you buried your face in his shoulder as you cried, clutching on to him for dear life. 

You were worried that if you let go, he’d disappear. That this was the dream and you’d actually chosen death somehow. You knew that wasn’t the case logically, but your mental fortitude wasn’t exactly rock solid at the moment. 

It was even a while after that before you finally calmed down again. Your body hurt, heavy from the sudden activity it was experiencing. You’d lied as a vegetable for the past month and now you were exerting yourself, overly so. As you slowly calmed down, you felt your body slowly becoming heavier and heavier.

Fuck. You didn’t want to fall asleep. You’d just woken up, after all. You wanted to be able to see and converse with everyone. You wanted to get out of this room. Sure, you were a doctor and you loved your hospital, but you sure as shit hated being a patient. You hated being sick - even if you technically weren’t. You hated being the patient.  Besides, what if you went to sleep and then didn’t wake back up? Or what if everyone was gone somehow? What if the hospital was overrun again? Not that you could even do anything in this state.

You pulled away from Corazon, barely able to keep your eyes open, but determined to stay awake. He could see this, trying to get you to lie down. “Get some sleep, you need it.” His voice was soft, soothing. Ugh, you wanted nothing more than to curl up with him and do just that.

You shook your head. “No. I’ve been out long enough. I…” You trailed off, your train of thought becoming lost. You knew that was due to being tired. You knew how the human body worked, that was your livelihood.

“See? You need to rest. I know you’ve been out, but it’s okay this time. I’m sure you’ll wake back up in a few hours.” 

You shook your head again. “No,” you mumbled, pinching yourself to keep from falling asleep. This made him hiss softly as if he’d been the one you did it to. “Stop.” His voice was still gentle, but firm as he took your hands in his.

You looked at him, frowning as fear started bubbling up. “What if I don’t wake back up, though? What if this is the last time I see you? The last time I’m alive? There’s so much I need to do. To say. I-” 

“You don’t need to worry. I’m not going anywhere and neither are you.” Corazon offered a warm smile, trying to keep you calm. He pressed a kiss to your forehead and you felt a wave of calm wash over your body.

You didn’t even know what you were saying. Logically, you knew this wasn’t true. You knew the human body well enough to know what state you were in. You’d sleep and wake up in a few hours feeling a whole lot better. Then you could eat a proper meal and get some more rest in. Recover was going to be a piece of cake from here since your bullet wounds were already mostly healed.

So, why couldn’t you just let yourself sleep? Why were you still scared? Why were you saying these things? It didn’t make any sense. You weren’t making any sense.

Suddenly, you felt a wave of something wash over your entire body and you weren’t able to fight anymore. You looked behind you, spotting Marco. “Oh, you fucking bastard,” you mumbled, feeling yourself slowly sink into the bed. 

Marco sighed, shaking his head. “I’m sorry. It’s for the best. You need to rest.” 

You didn’t say anything else as the sleeping agent he’d put into your IV took over and the world around you went black.

--

When you came to, your entire body felt sluggish - must’ve been due to whatever Marco drugged you with. You were still slightly salty, but from a doctor standpoint, you understood. Technically, if he’d done that to a patient it was a pretty big no no since you weren’t exactly a danger to yourself or others other than making yourself sleep deprived, but it was you. 

You would’ve done the same thing to him if roles were reversed.

The room was darker. The curtains drawn, but no light peeked through so you assumed it was nighttime. The tubes that had been lodged up your nose and down your throat to help you breathe were no longer there. Since you were conscious again, you didn’t exactly need them. You were glad too, you hated that shit. Most of the IVs you were hooked up to were gone as well. You only had your heart monitor on now, probably to make sure you didn’t freak out or at least they’d know if you did.

 You heard someone mutter something next to you, noticing Corazon sleeping at your side once more. A small smile stretched across your face. You weren’t sure what you did to end up with someone like him at your side, but you were grateful and hoped he stuck around.

Though, if he was still around after all of this, you supposed he might keep at it. And you were thankful for that.

You slowly sat up, trying not to disturb the sleeping man next to you. You knew he needed his sleep just as much as you had. He had looked absolutely exhausted. Whenever he woke up, you were going to make him go home and get some real rest. 

“You’re awake.” You looked over, seeing Law standing there with a shocked look on his face. “I heard you had an episode earlier, I wasn’t expecting you to be awake already.”

He entered the room, but stayed near the door. You watched him for a moment, thinking with amusement. How the tables have turned. You had taken care of him so long ago and now he was taking care of you. You’ve come full circle. “How are you fairing, Law?” you asked, watching him.

“I should be asking you that question.” 

“Too late. I’ve already asked you.”

Law shook his head, a hint of a smile on his face. “I’m doing just fine. Now that you’re awake and fine, I can stop having to worry about Cora.” He rolled his eyes, folding his arms. You could tell he was really concerned. For you or Corazon you weren’t sure, though you assumed it was his father. 

“That’s true. When he wakes up, can you make sure he goes home and sleeps? He needs some proper rest in a proper bed.” 

“I’ve been trying for a month and he won’t listen to me.” He was pouting slightly and you couldn’t help but chuckle quietly to yourself.

“Well, now that I’m awake, he should be more willing to listen, no?” 

“Hopefully.” He rolled his eyes, shaking his head. He walked over to you, seemingly over whatever weird spell that had been keeping him from coming close to you. He began a standard check up. “Now you answer the question. How are you feeling?”

You let him do his check up, shrugging. “As good as I can after waking up from a coma and having my entire life turned upside down.” 

That made the corner of his mouth turn up a little. “I suppose I can relate to that a bit myself.” 

You didn’t know Law’s backstory. You didn’t know what he went through before Corazon had found him and you didn’t exactly plan on asking either. It was probably a sensitive topic that you didn’t want to touch.

“Life be like that sometimes, huh?” A small smile stretched across your face and he just looked at you before nodding. He probably expected you to ask, but he also looked relieved that you didn’t. 

“It sure does.” He stood back up, writing down on his clipboard.

“You’re doing a great job, by the way. Stellar check up.” You winked at him and his cheeks tinted slightly. Technically, he was still your intern and you were still his boss. You just also now happened to be dating his dad. A little messy, but you weren’t going to let that get in the way of your job.

“You’re just saying that beca-”

You cut him off by holding up your hand. “Absolutely not. It doesn’t matter if I’m dating your dad or not. I will always judge fairly. If anyone can separate work and home - it’s me. Don’t undersell yourself - you’re shaping up to be an excellent doctor.” 

Law bit the inside of his cheek and nodded. “Ah, y-yes, doctor.”

Just then, Corazon stirred a bit, grumbling slightly. You watched as his eyes cracked open slightly. They looked towards you before shooting open, sitting up as he noticed you were awake. “You’re awake!” 

You laughed softly, nodding. “I am.” You felt your heart race at his excitement. For fuck’s sake, you loved his man. 

Despite his excitement, you could see the exhaustion catching up to him. The bags under his eyes, the puffiness of them. You reached over, touching the side of his face gently. He looked caught off guard, but his features softened, only further making him look more tired.

“Go home and get some rest.” That made him perk up. He shook his head. “No! I’m fine. I’ll just-”

You shook your head. “Go home. Get some rest. Law.” You looked at your intern and he jumped. “Take him home.”

“But I work overnight tonight.”

“I know Marco is here. It’s fine. Take Corazon home. If he gives you trouble, send him my way.” You looked back at your boyfriend. “Go home and get some real sleep or we’re going to have an issue.”

Corazon frowned deeply, pouting. “But I just wanna stay with you,” he mumbled with a slight whine to his voice. You shook your head, fighting the urge to giggle at his antics. “You can come back tomorrow after you’ve rested up. I won’t be going anywhere.”

There was a bit more back and forth, but eventually Corazon folded, leaving with Law. You sighed, sinking back into the bed. You stared at the ceiling, thinking.

“I hear you’re sending Law home?” You looked over, seeing Marco standing in the doorway.

“Yeah. He needs to keep an eye on Corazon. Make sure he sleeps and takes care of himself.”

“Can’t argue with that. The man’s barely left your side since you went under.” Marco sighed, walking over to your bedside.

“How ya feelin’?”

You just looked at him with an expression that could kill and he held up his hands. “Don’t hate me. Just doing my job.” You rolled your eyes, shaking your head. “Whatever.”

You were tired, but you weren’t necessarily the sleepy kind of tired. Not the kind that taking another nap would fix. Just overall body exhaustion.

“How are my charts lookin’?”

Marco pulled out his clipboard, flipping through the pages. “Everything is fine. You just need to rest and eat to regain your strength and then you’ll be good to go.” He shrugged. “The bullet wounds on your back are all healed up, but don’t overexert yourself and it should be hunkydory.” He immediately pursed his lips and cringed at his word choice.

You looked at him, a shit eating grin spread across your face. “You sound like Pops when you use words like that.”

He groaned, shaking his head. “I know. I don’t know why I said it.” He pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh. He looked positively exhausted too.

“When was the last time you slept?” 

He shrugged. “I had a nap in our office earlier.” Technically, Marco didn’t have an office. You two just shared once since the two of you were always at the hospital. Eventually, he just started referring to it as the both of yours. 

“Well, you should go home and get some sleep too. I’m sure everything will be fine here.” Marco scrunched up his nose before shaking his head. “I think I’m good.” 

You rolled your eyes. Unfortunately, you knew there was no arguing or winning with Marco. At least not right now. He was the one currently in charge. You could probably convince him later. “Then could you please bring me some food? I could probably eat a horse, honestly.”

Marco snorted, nodding. “Will do. I’ll send a nurse in to bring you something shortly. I need to check on some other things.”

After he left, you sighed. Once the room fell silent, your stomach growled loudly. You were sure the sound traveled down the hallway. You groaned, holding your stomach. It hurt with how hungry you were. Sure, you’ve been hooked up to machines and fed that way, but now that you were back to running normal, you were starving. 

It wasn’t long before a nurse walked in. Lo and behold, it was another one of the interns. Shachi bounded over to you. “I heard you were awake!” He smiled widely, setting your food down on one of those lap trays and setting it on the bed over your legs. “Glad to see you’re doing better.”

“Yeah.” You looked over at him. “Thank you for the food. I trust things have been going okay? How are you adjusting to the hospital?”

He looked at you for a moment before chuckling. “Always the workaholic. You’ve barely woken up and you’re already back at it.” He rubbed the back of his neck and shrugged. “Things are great. I’m enjoying my time here and the people are really nice. Got pissed on the other day, but that’s whatever.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Glad it didn’t deter you, then. It’s good to have you. Hopefully you’ll be able to stick around.” Besides, after everything that happened, you thought about having all staff or at least more than what you had previously be staff that isn’t unfamiliar with the underbelly of the city.

People like you who wanted to leave that life. People like your underground staff who were looking for a way out. People who have seen the ugly and wanted to help. If you had people like that on both sides, the hospital could be more well rounded and you could probably rest a little easier.

Part of the reason you were at the hospital so much was to keep it safe guarded, but if you had more people that were aware of the stakes, it might be better.

“Oh definitely!” Shachi tore you out of your mental tangent. “I plan on staying for as long as you let me! We all do.” A lopsided grin appeared on his face. “A lot of people are fond of you, doc. And we’re all relieved to hear you’re doing well.” He nodded, his comment stunning you slightly. “Well, I’m off. Holler if you need me!” Then he sprinted off and you watched him with a fond smile. He was full of life and seemed eager to help people. That was good. You hoped he’d be able to keep that energy for a long time.

You turned to your dinner. It wasn’t much, some soup and some bread to cut up to eat with it. Since you hadn’t ate in a while, your stomach was small - it’d be a while before you’d be able to eat any big meals again. This would be more than enough for the time being.

You cut into your small loaf of bread, making bite size pieces for you to soak up the soup and pop it in your mouth. The first bite made you groan. It tasted like it was the greatest thing in the world. It probably wasn’t like a five star restaurant level good, but it tasted like it after not eating for so long.

You finished up your meal, setting the tray to the side on the table. Someone would probably come and get it later. As you set it down, you felt the air immediately shift in the room. You immediately tensed and the hairs on the back of your neck stood up. You looked over to the doorway and you paused, eyes widening.

There he was. Your father, Anthony.

next

[asgardiandino]

Another Crack Ship for Ace

Okay so I know we, as a fandom, make the most absurd crack pairings, especially when it comes to Ace and characters the man has literally never met.

BUT YA'LL GOTTA HEAR ME OUT ON THIS ONE.

LOOK I HAVE MY REASONS

They're both the older brothers. Ichiji was born first considering his name literally has 1 in it. But they both have different views on what it means to be an older brother. Ace views it as being protective over his brother. Ichiji views it as being the strongest.

Both have flame powers, even if Ichiji's are more explosion/sparkler based

Both are technically princes. Ace being the son of the Pirate King and Ichiji being the eldest Germa prince.

BUT on that note they both have different feelings about that. Ace resents his father, wanting to not even associate with him. Ichiji is proud of his royal heritage.

Like yes I know they have never met. IchiAce?? Aciji??? Whatever they are essentially two sides of the same coin.