#The explanation makes it worse and mildly more painful

[notelcol]

The Duke and the Doctor.

Mildly edited, apologies for mistakes✨

You were a doctor from Inazuma who came to work at the Fortress infirmary as an escape. You were running from stagnancy and bitter memories. Over time you simultaneously rose up past your pain and through the ranks, to become Sigewinne’s trusted partner.

“Wriothesley?” Your confused voice echoed through the infirmary. “What brings you here?” He did not normally come down to this part of the Fortress. A sheepish smile graced his lips, as he removed his right glove to reveal deep gouges and bruising all along his knuckles.

“I’m afraid our newest inmate is going to be trouble.” His vague explanation left you curious. You decided to ask more.

“What are they in for?” You took his hand in yours and began cleaning as you spoke. The Duke chuckled and gazed at you fondly.

“I sometimes forget how nosy you are.” His voice did not shake despite the sting you knew he would be feeling as you cleaned his wounds. The truth was, he wasn’t noticing the pain. All he was paying attention to was the touch of your gentle hands on his. ‘There is nothing more pure than the hands of a healer.’ Something he read in a book once, that he was beginning to understand.

“You aren’t going to tell me are you?” You grinned, breaking his trance. You had missed his teasing, he did not visit enough.

“I will….next time.” His smile matched your own as his thumb began to rub your hand. You found your mind becoming foggy and all your medical knowledge flew out the non existent window. Luckily, his hand was finished being treated. So why were you still holding it? Your breathing halted as you both moved closer, eyes peering into one another’s souls. Then a throat cleared.

“Duke. There is a situation in the dorms, we can’t contain it.” The guard in the doorway looked uncomfortable as you jumped away from each other.

You let out a long breath and dropped onto an infirmary bed once Wriothesley and the guard left. You cursed Sigewinne for leaving you alone today. She left you prone to be embarrassed without her there to stop you from being silly. You did not get much rest as the same guard from earlier brought in a bloody man before leaving. You raced towards him to help him into a bed. Once you had sat him down, you started cleaning his wounds. It was mostly superficial face wounds, but the nose was definitely broken. It all looked much worse than it was.

“Let me know if I’m hurting you at all.” You told him as you wiped near his nose. The man did not speak. Only staring at your face in a very unnerving way. You felt like the prey of a hunter. You were almost done, when you saw the man shift in the bed. You ignored it, trying to finish treating him as fast as possible. Then you saw the glint in the corner of your eye. A knife. You gulped and tried to take a step back but his other hand pulled you back. Just as you were about to call for help, the knife plunged through your rib cage. White hot pain blinded you as you fell to the ground.

“I’m sorry. I just need to get out of here.” The man frantically paced around your dying body. “They will be so distracted with you that I’ll have time to get away.” His words did not help your fear. But if you were going to die, you would do your damn best to make sure he didn’t escape. But the man wasn’t done. “But not without killing that Duke first.”

It felt like adrenaline was replacing the blood that steadily oozed from your wound. You stumbled to your feet and looked around for something to use as a weapon. You had only done minor treatments today, all the scalpels were in the drawer. The man had noticed you standing now, and had begun to circle you. His breath shook as he too looked around for a weapon, his eyes landed on your torso. The knife was still inside you. It was then you knew what you had to do. You ripped the knife from yourself, feeling the blood gush out with it. Instantly you became dizzy. You knew you only had seconds before you passed out.

“Hey now, Doc.” The man tried to plead. “You don’t really want to hurt me do you?” You didn’t have time to question yourself. Pulling out the knife was as good as killing yourself. So, you used the last of your strength to thrust the bloodied knife into his heart. You knew you would die content in the knowledge that Wriothesley would be safe.

“Hey! Looks like our next visit came sooner than -“ The mighty Duke, who came to deal with the now dead inmate, crumbled upon seeing your body. He kicked the dead man lying next to you when he realised what happened.

“Wriothesley.” You strained. Your eyes were barely open when you reached out for him. He stopped cursing the inmate and appeared at your side. You could feel his hands on your face as you faded away to the sound of sweet whispers and a broken confession.

“I love you.” His voice was like a lullaby, brining you the peace to close your eyes.

Wriothesley blamed himself. He should have hired more medical staff. Then someone would have been there to help you. He shouldn’t have gotten emotional and should have plugged your wound himself. Instead the guard who came with him had to stop your bleeding. That guard saved your life. Not him.

“Wallowing isn’t going to help anyone.” Sigewinne spoke. “She will recover.” Her words were kind and true but did not cure his ailing heart. But it did inspire him. While he awaited your awakening, he hired more medical staff. Never again would a Fortress doctor need to be alone with a dangerous inmate. He also asked Sigewinne to hold a short first aid course for all the guards. The guard who saved you was, by the grace of the Archons, an ex nurse. But, he never wanted to leave life to to luck again.

You awoke to the feeling of your hair being brushed. As your eyes fluttered weakly, the hand stopped brushing. For a moment, everything was a blur until finally you focused in on Wriothesley’s face. You did not think you would be blessed with that sight again. Shakily, you lifted your arm to hold his cheek. He took your hand once it reached his face, as if trying to take on the weight of your arm. He could see the pain behind your eyes as you moved. You did not care though. You were just thankful for this second chance.

“I love you too.” You thought you would never get to say it back.

I almost let reader die but decided not to be evil 🤫

Thank you for reading this💓

#genshin impact #genshin fluff #genshin x reader #x reader #genshin fanfic #genshin x you #angst #light angst #wriothesley x you #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley #wriothesley x y/n #sigewinne #the duke #fortress of meropide #fontaine #anime and manga #gaming #fluff #angst with a happy ending #genshin x reader fluff #writing #teyvat

[jigensnacks]

okay okay hear me out

ima put this under a read more because i know there are people around who are generally uncomfortable with content relating to alcohol

but! I had a revelation about Jigen and his alcohol preferences.

Disclaimer, I am mildly tipsy as I am writing this. I may or may not get lost in my own thoughts, so please bear with me here, alright?

Content warnings: alcohol (of course), alcohol abuse, maybe more. I dunno at the moment.

Okay. Jigen's alcohol preferences.

At first I couldn't wrap my head around Jigen's appreciation of wine, like that guy's a borderline alcoholic with the way he drinks (which I extend into full-blown alcoholism in my writing, I'll get to this later on), he cannot possibly like wine, wine is weak, why would he even like the stuff?

I came at the issue from the point of view of someone who prefers liquor. Stuff like vodka, whiskey, borovička. You know, the heavy artillery. Poisons that dull the mind and destroy the liver.

But I've tried wine recently. Got the explanation of the ritual of wine-drinking.

And then it suddenly clicked.

Wine has its purpose in Jigen's toolkit of escapism. You have the cigarettes, a way to remind himself that he's not in danger, that he's out of the fight and just vibing, passing time, relaxing. Then there's scotch, the first-aid kit, when everything is too much and he's antsy and nervous and he needs to dull the edge. It's the painkiller, in a way. The glue to mend those invisible wounds, the cause and solution of all of world's problems.

And then there is wine.

It's not to be wielded like a sledgehamer known as liquor. Wine is a delicate tool, when liquor is too much, when he wants to relax, but he doesn't want to dull his senses too much. There aren't any demons to suffocate, he doesn't want to get drunk, his only intention is just to sit down, lean back, have a moment to himself.

To Jigen, wine is like classical music. It's not something to binge, but to immerse himself in, soak in it, have slow, ginger sips. Relish in the taste, the warmth. There's a reason the ancient Romans and Greeks had a god of wine.

Now, how does this tie to my 'Jigen is a barely functional alcoholic' headcanon?

It's the antithesis of liquor. Liquor is the main poison, Jigen pours it into himself to drown out the noise in his head, the lingering pains, to keep his limbs heavy and limp to keep himself from doing something worse. It's his salvation and his downfall, it frees the demons lurking in his mind, yet it keeps them docile, harmless. It allows his mind to swim along, face his fears, it frees his feelings... but it's also a pathway to destruction. With his thoughts and feelings freed comes a different danger - self-destruction. Liquor becomes not only the tool of healing, but one of destruction too. When a heist goes off the rails and they make it home, when the crushing weight of failure sets in and Lupin looks at him with a gaze full of apologies, that's when Jigen grabs his poison of choice and takes his anger out on himself. While Goemon subjects himself to gruelling training to make sure he doesn't fail again, Jigen instead drinks himself mute, lies on the ground staring emptily at the ceiling, reliving every past mistake. That's the start of the cycle, he falls into the drink, struggles to get out of it for months on end. Until his body starts showing the withdrawal symptoms when he's sobering up, the headaches, the feeling of a thousand ants marching all over his skin, the shadow people staring at him, the music plaing from the walls, the muffled conversations from other rooms that never happened, the way his hands shake...

Wine is a way for him to pace himself. His philosophy around wine is basically if someone drinks wine like liquor, there ain't no use hanging around them. Jigen doesn't want wine to become just another tool of thorough self-annihilation. Jigen sees wine as a way to regain control again. It's much weaker than liquor (if we ignore port wine, but I suspect he wouldn't like such wines), and, unlike the heavy artillery he relies on, wine has personality. While liquor is the path of scorched earth, wine is so much calmer. It has a soul, personality, it evolves like classical music. It has elaborate constructions, just swap the musical tones for taste ones.

He reaches for the wine when he doesn't want to fall into that horrible spiral.

Wine - along with food - marks the line between functionality and destruction.

Wine isn't something he can drink quickly. He tried, and found out it only makes him sick.

So he grabs a bottle of a four-year-old italian merlot. Pours himself a glass. Takes a sip. Feels the slight sourness at the back of his tongue. The woody tones playing at the rest of it. The sweetness at the very tip.

He stares down the beast. Sleeping, yet aware. And while he stays with the wine, it'll remain asleep.

I don't know where I was going with this. I blame the wine.

#moose rambles about jigen #just a mild headcanon exploration #don't expect anything great or deep #yes yes it's about alcohol again #and jigen. living up to my username like a good jigen enjoyer. #i should start reblogging stuff #i have over 2k posts sitting in my drafts #yes i am aware of the irony of being afraid to reblog on the reblog site #but i never claimed to be a logical animal

[lovelywingsart]

Eye trauma tw

So I was recently looking up orbital exenteration surgeries and it made me curious…In what way did Emilia’s eye heal?

Is it just a hole with skin grown around the inside of the cavity or is the hole filled with pinkish flesh? Like what would it look like when speaking to her?

I was seeing very drastically different types of results from the healing process on real people. Some fully grew skin around the inside of the new cavity where others it seemed to stay more the more delicate tissues of the inner face.

Sorry if this is weird to ask

Not weird at all! (Actually, thank you- I do need something to help keep my mind busy. 💙)

Her eye healed with the hole and tissue inside the socket, I believe is the proper explanation... It's probably not, so I'll just talk for a moment!

---

So, if you were to be looking at her while speaking, you would see the cavity hole with dark pinkish red flesh on the inside. It's literally just a hole in the side of her face- the roundness is, to put it simply, the edge of the socket from her skull, which is also why the hole is bigger than her remaining eye. However. It isn't as deep as it looks, but the darker flesh gives it a very deep look. The hole itself is a tad smaller than the space needed to fit the eyeball. 👍 Also, the inside isn't as 'smoothly' healed as an actual orbital surgery, considering she ripped the eye out instead of it being neatly surgically removed.

Its INCREDIBLY sensitive, as mass scar tissue is, and considering it's essentially an open hole in her face, it can get incredibly uncomfortable very quickly if she isn't careful. If she isn't down in the factory, she has to wear an eyepatch or suffer the threat of pain and/or a severe migraine from the temperature difference if its too cold (one of many reasons she prefers the heat), or a small headache at minimum in general. She also has a special patch that is designed to 'adhere' to the skin around the hole for , say, showering or going in the rain, or anything that could get in there and cause discomfort (the edges are made of a rubbery material that is specifically designed to be near seamless against her face- Karl took GREAT care in making it). Granted, she CAN go in water without it- its completely healed over, it won't hurt anything. It'll just be hella uncomfortable and she REALLY doesn't feel like sticking a towel or something in there to pat-dry. 🙃

She WOULD have the healing with the eyelid tissue thickening to cover it a bit as you see with some individuals, but almost the entirety of that flesh was burned off in the accident save for a few measly layers of skin that scarred over.

All that being said, it would probably be a bit unsettling to look her directly in the face while talking to her, which is yet another reason why she wears the patch in public. She only doesn't around Karl because he's seen worse.

Jokingly speaking, you could actually stick your finger in there to touch the tissue and it wouldn't hurt her, it would just be mildly uncomfortable. However, I wouldn't recommend it, as she will promptly break your hand and probably rip it off by the wrist. 😊

#poor thing got a little fucked up from that pipe burst #karl and regina are the only ones she ever allowed to even touch the scar tissue for the longest time #shes also very self conscious about it and avoids mirrors if she can help it #ask answered #answered ask #oc ask #Metalworks ask #im probably forgetting to say some things but im not thinking at 100% capacity right now

[ddarker-dreams]

Epiphany. Yan Albedo x Reader

Warnings: General yandere themes, implied unhappy previous relationship, and spoilers for Albedo’s story. Word count: 2k.

It wasn’t fair. 

A snowstorm, unlike anything you’ve ever seen rages outside, shards of lustrous ice falling from the sky with the intent to kill. The Dragonspine’s traditionally somber ambiance contorts into something far more sinister. Numerous hues of grays and dark blues blur together, obscuring your view of the mountainous region. It’s difficult to see anything outside Albedo’s workshop save for the storm. 

“Your shaking won’t stop unless you sit by the fire.” 

His matter-of-fact declaration startles you. Albedo hadn’t spoken in some time, his attention devoted to a specimen he had discovered prior to the storm. You would’ve shared in his enthusiasm if not for the overall situation and company. Sighing reluctantly, you stand from your spot, hugging yourself to stave off the biting cold. It’s impossible to settle on which is worse: staring at the blizzard or staring at him. 

Albedo’s fair skin glows from the light of the crackling fire, sandy blonde hair tousled around his face without care. As he studies the new specimen, his lips purse, eyes focusing on nothing but the work before him, like nothing else mattered. This is how you’ve always known him to be. Even if the world was falling apart around him, Albedo would never falter from what catches his interest until he felt sated. 

Sensing how you’re fixating on him, his attention flickers briefly to you, an unidentifiable emotion gleaming in his eyes. You’re the one to avert your gaze first. Sucrose is going to owe you majorly for this one, why did you even accept her request in the first place? Thinking about it now and cursing your past self does nothing yet you still occupy the time by doing just that. She had come to you panicked, pleading that you take this letter to Albedo in the Dragonspine, claiming it’s urgent. In the heat of the moment, your judgment lapsed and you caved. She spoke of needing to continue her research in Mondstadt or else she would’ve done it herself.

Look where your goodwill has gotten you now, you think. She owes me a week’s worth of dinner. 

You lament giving credence to his advice, but your stubbornness concedes, the cold too miserable to withstand any longer. The fire is right by his side to add insult to injury. Did he do that on purpose to spite you? It’s unlikely, yet your mind wanders to the worst-case scenario. If any other citizen of Mondstadt were privy to your suspicious thoughts, they’d think you unreasonable, as Albedo has established his reputation well. He’s a known eccentric, sure, but a genius one. A few quirks on his behalf that anyone else could overlook. 

Quirks that you used to overlook yourself.

“Would you please grab my bag,” he doesn’t look away from his prized sample but motions to the general area it’s in. “I need to write down my observations.” 

You follow through with what he asks. There was a time you’d have been over the moon to participate in his process, you used to practically trip over yourself to do anything he needed. That enthusiasm has long died off and been replaced by apathy. It’s when he reaches out to take the bag from you that you snap from your trance-like reverie. Whatever remnants of obedience that lingered in your subconscious are brushed away, as you decide to finally challenge him.

Inhaling sharply, you hold the bag just out of his reach, finally earning his recognition for more than a millisecond. 

“I’m not your assistant anymore.” Among other things, you think. 

The words come out more childish than you intended. What you had meant to communicate was your new, critical view on him — he’s a person just the same as anyone else — who held no authority over you. You hold your breath awaiting his response. Albedo doesn’t have an intimidating presence, not in the traditional sense. It’s his mind that you’re wary of. There’s no guessing what sentiments run through his head, yet that’s never stopped you from trying to unravel the mystery that is his thought process.

He gives you a long, hard stare. “I’m aware of that.” 

Where were you going with this again? Albedo doesn’t need to point out your needlessly spiteful behavior with words, his mildly irate facial expression says it just fine. His thin eyebrows threaten to furrow together and the corners of his lips curl down into a frown. You’re unsure of what bothers him more. What you pointed out, or that his work is being interrupted for even the slightest moment. 

The budding confidence you had is all but crushed beneath the weight of his unblinking gaze. Clearing your throat, you decide to take a new approach, straightening your posture in an attempt to be taken more seriously.

“Then tell me, why do you still act like I am?” Your question comes from a genuine place of confusion. Ever since your arrival, you’ve begrudgingly done the odds and ends he’s asked of you, almost like clockwork. You had fallen back into the rhythm that was your life up until a month ago. There was just something about the silent authority he carries that makes it impossible to say no. 

That is, until now. You’re determined to clear up the problems that have plagued your mind. Albedo’s had his time to be nonchalant like nothing happened between you two, but you’re not having it anymore. 

“Force of habit,” he nods his head towards your hand that holds his possessions captive. “Now, would you please…?” 

Your grip tightens and you shake your head defiantly. “No. Or at least, not until you give me a better explanation. Not just about that. How you act in general… none of it makes sense to me.” 

It wouldn’t take much effort from his half to wrangle his bag from you, you’ve seen him in action before after all, so it comes as a surprise when he instead gives in. You blink, gaping when he takes a seat by the roaring fire, and motions for you to do the same. An opportunity like this is hard to come by. The past few weeks, it’s been your code of conduct to avoid any interaction with Albedo, but your frustration can no longer be repressed. 

You take a seat by his side but intentionally leave some distance. 

There’s so much you want to say. Insults, questions, demands, anything. Anything that could give just a hint of closure that he refused to offer himself. It doesn’t help that this familiar area brings memories with it — good and bad alike — painful nostalgia eating away at your heart from the inside out. While you battle with your inner thoughts, he observes you in silence. For a time you hear nothing but the crackling of the fire and wind howling outside.

Finding the courage to speak up, your throat tightens as you force a question out. “Did I… mean so little to you?” 

It’s rare that Albedo ever looks taken aback, but your inquiry managed to do just that. His eyes widen ever so slightly, confusion etching onto his face before he manages to compose himself. Lots of intimate discussions had gone this way. You’d spend hours prepping yourself, meticulously going over what it was you wanted to say, only for the words to die on your tongue when you saw him. 

“I don’t understand what you mean.” He appears genuinely perplexed and you can’t help but feel silly. It may have served you better to think long about this, you realize, but now it’s too late. You rush to explain yourself in hopes of making better sense. 

“When I said I wanted to, er, part ways,” you can’t help but cringe at not knowing the proper label for ending whatever was going on between you two, “You just seemed, I don’t know, indifferent…?” 

In your head, this went down in such a different way. 

Your cheeks are set ablaze by the humiliation his silence brings. It’s not the first time you’ve felt this exact way when bringing up your feelings to Albedo, yet it’s just as awful. Archons, does he always have to look at you like you have three heads? 

When he finally gives you an answer, you wish you had never asked. 

“I knew you would come back to me eventually.” 

Now it’s your turn to give him an incredulous look. He says it without an ounce of hesitation, never once breaking eye contact, his resolve holding firm. Sensing a need to clarify, he attempts to do just that. 

“I considered a variety of variables,” he raises his hand and brushes his knuckles over your face, the unexpected tenderness making you shiver. “I know how your mind works very well. When you told me that’s what you wanted, your physical mannerisms didn’t line up with what you were saying.”

Your heart drops but he doesn’t stop there. 

“Biological responses never lie. It wasn’t anxiety that kept you from looking me in the eye then, it was reasonable doubt. You know it as well as I do. There’s something about me that you can’t place, and the natural human response to the unknown is caution.”

He stops caressing your cheek. “So, tell me [First], and maybe then you’ll reach the conclusion you’ve been searching for. Why are you afraid of me?”

Everything feels wrong. How he’s whispering such horrifying ideas into your mind, leading the conversation with expertise. Is it charisma? You don’t think that’s the proper word. No, it’s how damn certain he is, how he never once leaves room for argument. 

Albedo appraises your silence coldly. 

“See? You’re not sure yourself. Thus why I knew you’d return to me,” he retracts his hand and leans back, but the ghost of his touch leaves your face tingling. “When you don’t understand something, you study it. That’s who you are. It’s why I picked you to be my assistant, that quality of exhausting curiosity, much like the one I have myself.”

He’s hypnotizing you with his words, his even tone, his silent authority. You’re drawn in like a moth to a flame and trapped in a verbal standoff. Whether it was a result of your Vision flickering subconsciously resulting in the fire diminishing or some other cause, you realize what little warmth in the cave is disappearing, your breath materializing in front of you as a result. 

But it’s only yours. 

That’s when it clicks deep inside the recesses of your mind. Apart of what always bothered you about Albedo was this sense of uncanniness. Whenever you thought you were understanding him better, new mysteries would arise, leaving you worse off than when you started. This combined with his workload and the emotional distance you felt between the two of you is what led to your separation. 

Albedo’s face is but a few inches away from yours. He’s patiently awaiting a response or anything you could muster to challenge him with, though both of you are aware that no such thing exists. 

You manage to surprise him again by asking another question. “Why… why are you not breathing?”

And how could you never have noticed until now?

His long eyelashes flutter shut. “Relationships truly are troublesome. There are unspoken rules and expectations, both of which take effort to satisfy. I hadn’t mind trying to do so to keep you happy, but that approach didn’t work as intended.” 

Had it not been for the hammering of your heart and how lighthearted you feel, you’d challenge him on his definition of trying. Instead, you watch without so much as moving an inch, too in awe to utter a single word. 

“You always asked me to be more romantic, but I guess the phrase you take my breath away won’t suffice here,” he sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “I’ll tell you, but once you know… well, I don’t think I can ever let you leave my side.”

“I hope you won’t mind keeping me company a bit longer than you intended to.” 

#albedo #albedo x reader #yandere albedo x reader #genshin impact #albedo genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact imagine #yandere genshin impact #yandere #yandere x reader #my stuff

[sulphuryasecretcloset]

Goodbye

(Because I have no willpower and finally some hours to write, I had to finish Dez’ story arc. Thank you so much @mountevey​ for your kind interest and even kinder words, and thank you so much @phrenic-a​ for listening to me complain about Dez being so difficult and giving such wonderful input!)

-

Dez should have died. It would have been a lot better if he’d died. If he had died, he wouldn’t have had to deal with more mess added to his already messy life.

Neleem is pissed off at him, claiming he kept being sick from her and is not willing to believe his explanation that he didn’t tell her because it was no big deal. Paz looks at him like he’s some kind of monster that could explode at any moment and that boy will never call him buir again. 

Liita is threatening to insert a tracker in Dez’ neck so she can follow him everywhere because he clearly needs a bodyguard as he keeps getting trounced. The other kids act like he’s a homicidal nikto and avoid him like the plague. 

Dulcy has, for some reason, made it her mission in life to make sure Dez eats and she has a plain scary ability to pick up on it the second he gets a headache or feels nauseous and forces him to rest and drink this terrible herbal tea several times a day. And while all of this is bad, Davarax is worse.

He’d threatened Dez with his so-called friendship and he’d clearly meant it. It’s outright pathetic how the man tries to pretend that he doesn’t think he’s far better than Dez and that he wants him around. Too bad for Beskar Boy that Dez is too smart to fall for his charade.

As he is no weakling, Dez Vizla is up on his feet again to participate on the celebration of Paz’ Life Day. He had not been entirely convinced his son even wanted him there, but Liita said Paz did and she wouldn’t lie. It isn’t a comfortable experience, mostly because of his still healing wound but also due to the way the others look at him.

Dez is very comfortable being the centre of attention, usually he is deserving of it, but he viciously resents the concern and something dangerously close to pity he sees in their eyes. He heads back to his room after about thirty minutes. His stomach aches. His jaw hurts from clenching it so hard.

But Davarax follows him into the hallway and has the audacity to ask if something is wrong, acting like a worried parent, which makes red hot anger flare up Dez’ neck. He wants his pity least of all. It’s unbearable!

Throwing a punch, ignoring the pain as the sudden movement pulls at his wound, Dez aims for Davarax’ face and is quite surprised when his fist simply hits Davarax’ palm as he lifts his hand with frightful speed and blocks the attack with hardly any effort..

Davarax’ fingers curl around Dez’ fist and holds it there, all with a resigned and mildly chastising expression on his face. “That one is for free, Dez. Neleem says you do stuff like this because you got impulse issues like Raga and that you too need a little guidance when it comes to controlling yourself. So consider this your warning; try to hit me again and I will punch back. Understood?”

Glaring, Dez tries to tug his hand free but Davarax’ grip is too strong.

“Understood?” Davarax repeats patiently.

Tugging harder, still nothing, Dez seethes with humiliation. “Yes.” He grits out. “Understood.”

Davarax smiles and nods, pleased. “Excellent.” He lets go and gives Dez’ shoulder a light pat instead. “Is the wound giving you trouble?”

Dez lowers his hand, considers going for a second punch but decides against it. Davarax’ guard is up. He’d never land it. “I’m tired.” Dez turns his face away. “Tell Paz happy Life Day from me.” It would mean more to hear it from Davarax anyway.

“I will.” Davarax says, trying to sound like he’s sad about Dez leaving the gathering. “You want him to stop by later? I can ask him to-”

“No.” Dez figures the boy has stuff planned with Raga and his friends. It’s his Life Day, he shouldn’t be forced to deal with the mess of a father he has. Dez turns his back on Davarax and his stupid face and walks away.

Neleem enters the room a few minutes after Dez had kicked off his boots and gotten comfortable on the bed. She frowns, torn between her established irritation and now being worried. “You okay?”

Dez shrugs. His stomach churns. His wound aches. “I’ll live.” He hesitates. “You didn’t have to leave them to check up on me. I just… I couldn’t stay there. Paz jumps if I so much as coughs and Dulcy looks like she’s ready to do CPR on me whether I need it or not.”

Neleem’s lips tug a bit on a melancholy smile. “Yeah…” She walks over and sits down next to him. “Listen, would you mind if we stay for a little while? Maybe a week or two?”

Dez blinks. They were just meant to visit for Paz’ Life Day and then head back home. But clearly his fears about Neleem not being happy in the Covert were not unfounded. Dez feels a cold wave of nausea and it takes no small amount of will power to act unfazed. He even manages a smile of his own. “Sure.” He says. “Of course we can stay longer.”

-

Whenever someone in the Covert had brought a troubled child to him, Davarax figured time, patience and kindness would be the key to find out how to help them. In this case, he has little of the first, a lot of the second and Dez doesn’t respond well to the last. Davarax has no idea if he’s going to be able to undo the damage done to this grown man, but after Neleem told him how Dez had been willing to work on himself with her, he has decided to try.

But stars above, Dez is dead set on not making it easy for him.

“Hey, good morning, you want to grab breakfast and shoot some targets after?” Davarax asks as he pokes his head into the room the next morning.

Staring at him like Davarax has lost his mind, Dez shakes his head with a mix of disbelief and disgust. “No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Get out of my room.” Dez growls. “Before I use you for target practice.”

Okay, that didn’t work.

Later Davarax tries to approach him when Dez is working on getting the blood out of his armour. “Need a hand with that?”

Dez looks up at him, frowning with obvious confusion. “No. Why would I?” His eyes narrow with growing anger. “You think I don’t know how to clean my own karking armour?”

Davarax lifts his hands in mute surrender and walks away. Okay, that didn’t work either.

“Hey, you wanna-”

“No.”

Maybe a different tactic is needed…

Davarax sees Dez sending quick, pained glances over at his son whenever Paz is around and that gives him an idea. He arranges to have Paz and the others have a little play fighting tournament right outside the house and is pleased to see how that draws the ornery one out to observe.

“He’s a good fighter.” Davarax says, taking up position next to Dez to watch Paz and Din go at it. “You should be proud”

Dez grunts and crosses his arms, keeping his gaze on his son. “I am.”

This seems to work, until Dez interferes by shouting out orders and corrections to the youngsters, encouraging more force and mocking the losers, and the play fighting starts getting a little too intense. Davarax is just about to put an end to it when Raga, always the adrenaline junkie and eager to cross the line, ducks under Din’s half-hearted attack and puts all of her strength into it as she plants her fist deep in Din’s stomach.

The force and unexpectedness of it all has Din folding and grunting with pain. Raga takes a step back and throws both hands in the air with a gleeful cackle.

Dez laughs and applauds.

Davarax clenches his jaw and stalks forward. He gets there just in time as the furious Din gets up on his feet and is about to dive at Raga. Grabbing Din by the back of his shirt and holding him back, Davarax points a finger at Raga. “Ten laps around the property. Now.”

Raga huffs with offence. “What? Why?!”

“That was an actual punch and this is not an actual fight, Raga. You know the rules.” Davarax keeps his gaze steadily locked with hers. “Go.”

She lets out a frustrated hiss but sets off to do her laps. Din tries to follow her, still dead-set on payback, but Davarax yanks him back and then shoves him over at Corin and Paz. “Din, no. This ends here.” After that, he stalks over to Dez, who is glaring at him.

“Punishing your student for winning a fight?” Dez scoffs. “And you call yourself a Mandalorian?”

“They know the rules during training and they know the consequences if they break them.” Davarax will not let Dez turn his kids against each other. He does NOT get to ruin what it has taken years to build. “And as you lit the fuse, I really should make you run those laps with her.”

Dez’ eyes narrow and flash with anger. “I don’t take orders from you.”

When Dez’ fist comes at him, Davarax smacks it aside and delivers a lightning-quick punch of his own. As Dez stumbles back a step and cups his now bleeding nose, Davarax lets out a strained exhale to control his own temper. “I warned you.” He turns towards the nervous gathering of youngsters. “No more fights. We’re done. Separate corners everyone. Understood?”

“Understood.” Their voices echo back.

Davarax feels Dez’ scowl on him and turns back to face him again. “Understood?”

“Understood.” Dez snarls, but the fire in his eyes tells Davarax the fight between them is far from over.

-

“I don’t think I can do it.” Davarax admits that evening, hating to accept defeat but struggling to see any way he can get through to Dez. Not in a couple of weeks. This could take decades. Anything he says, Dez turns it into some kind of insult. Anything he does, Dez turns it into Davarax patronizing him. “I thought I could, but…”

Dulcy hands him his cup before settling on the sofa with her legs curled up under her and her hip against his. It’s a rare quiet moment with just the two of them there. “But?”

“He hates me.” Davarax shakes his head. “Maybe he’s right to. I don’t know. All these years and I never picked up on him struggling. I just thought he was a jerk. I should have done something, instead I just avoided him like a coward.” He gives a faint gesture with his free hand. “And now that I want to help, he won’t let me and I don’t blame him.”

Dulcy leans her forehead to his shoulder and hums. “The fact that you think like this is a big part of why I love you so much, you big lug.” She then kisses his shoulder and straightens to look at Davarax’ face. “You’re completely wrong, obviously, but I love you for thinking that. It just proves that you are a good man.”

“And I love you for trying to make me feel better by saying that. You’re completely wrong, obviously, but I love you for it.” Davarax counters with a faint smile and a soft kiss on her lips.

Dulcy leans in for a second kiss. “I’m never wrong when it comes to you.” She settles next to him again. “And I wasn’t wrong when I said you two need to talk it out. His issues are not your fault, but if you want to help him, you need to get him talking.”

There is a moment of silence before Davarax quietly blurts out something he’d meant to keep a secret. “He was crying.”

“What?” Dulcy sits up, startled, and stares wide eyed at him. “When? Why?”

Squirming, feeling guilty for telling, Davarax clears his throat. “After the fight in the town. He yelled at Paz and I was going to yell at him and… he was crying.” He shakes his head, still struggling to believe what he’d seen was real. “I’ve never seen him cry before. Never. I didn’t even think he was capable of being sad. Anyway, he wouldn’t tell me why he was so upset so I asked Paz about the yelling and he said Dez got angry because he called him buir. Paz thinks Dez found it childish, but I don’t think so.”

“No…” Dulcy mumbles, all pained empathy. “No, that wasn’t anger.” She bites her lower lip and shifts her gaze over in the general direction of Dez and Neleem’s room. “He doesn’t hate you. Neleem told me so. We just need to find some way to crack that cold, unfeeling act of his.”

Davarax sips at his cup. “I’m open for suggestions. After I punched him in the face, I can’t get near him. If I walk into a room, he’s leaving within ten to fifteen seconds. Aside from rolling him up in a blanket like an angry loth cat, I don’t see how I can prevent him from running away.”

“What if…” Dulcy purses her lips a little as she thinks. “What if you suddenly need a little help with some repairs on the shed? We know he’s good at repairing houses and such.”

Frowning, Davarax looks over at her. “How on Mandalore are you going to get him to agree to that?”

Dulcy grins.

-

Dez sits on the bed, uncharacteristically passive, while Neleem gingerly peels off the bacta bandage from his stomach. There are no signs of blood on the white patch and she brushes her fingertips over his skin where there is now only a faint scar.

“How does it feel?” She asks.

Honestly? Good. Dez is more than capable of taking care of his own wounds. He doesn’t need help taking off a bacta patch or a check up on the healing progress, but there is something about her gentle touch that just makes him feel calm and pliant. “It’s fine.” Dez mumbles.

How pathetic is it that he’s hoarding every touch and every smile she’s willing to send his way before he’ll have to go back to the Covert alone?

“That’s good.” Neleem says, sounding pleased and a bit relieved. She then runs her hand through his hair, as if giving him a reward for having a body that heals as it is meant to, and even smiles as a little at Dez catching himself leaning into her touch and the following frown on his face.

“But maybe you should rest a little more.” Neleem adds, her fingers touching his chin. “Just to be safe?”

Dez scoffs. “I don’t need more rest. I feel fine.” He’s no weakling. “The wound is healed.”

Neleem hums. “So you could handle a little… physical strain?”

Instantly intrigued by the tone of her voice and the choice of words, Dez goes from annoyed to alert within a single heart-beat. “Yeah. Definitely.” He is further encouraged by the smile on her lips at his reply. Dez reaches out and takes a light hold of her hip, encouraging Neleem closer. “I wouldn’t mind working up a sweat.”

“Is that so?” Neleem mumbles with a smug grin, indulging him by moving closer. She trails a promising caress along his jawline. “Are you sure? Because I don’t want you to tear up your wound again.”

Dez shakes his head eagerly. “It’s fine. I swear. That bacta took care of it. I’m perfectly capable of some… physical strain.”

“That’s good.” Neleem purrs, leaning down to give him a soft kiss, before she pats his shoulder and straightens back up, all business. “Because Davarax needs help with the roof of that shed and I said I’d ask you to help out if your wound was healed. You are good with roofs, I saw that myself. You will help him won’t you?”

Dez stares at her with utter disbelief.

Neleem smiles back at him.

Dez scowls. “You tricked me.” He has blamed his wound bothering him every time he’s retreated to their room to escape Davarax and now he can’t use that excuse.

“You mean you can’t fix the shed?” Neleem asks, tilting her head in such an innocent manner it screams shameless guilt.

Of course Dez Vizla can fix a damn shed! He just doesn’t want to. Not if Davarax is going to be there. “I can, but-”

“Excellent.” Neleem cuts him off. “Davarax is waiting outside. I’ll tell him you’ll be right out.”

Ten minutes later, a seething Dez finds himself stalking outside, where Davarax is leaning against the wall with arms crossed and appears to be half asleep. “Don’t talk to me.” Dez growls as he marches by him. “I’ll fix the shed, you shut up and stay out of my way.”

Sighing, Davarax follows him without a word.

It doesn’t take much of an inspection of the shed for Dez’ suspicions to be confirmed; Davarax is far from as hopeless with repairs and buildings as Dulcy and Neleem has made him out to be. Of course. Gods forbid the man be bad at something. He’s not as good as Dez, few are, but he’d be perfectly capable of fixing the roof on Neleem’s school and he’s more than able to put together a stupid shed. This reeks of bad plotting.

Dez jumps down from the roof of the shed and lands next to the obediently quiet Davarax. Wiping his hands on his hips, Dez shakes his head. “This is stupid. You don’t need any help with this. I’m going back to my room.”

“Wait.” Davarax blurts out.

“No.” Dez flings out a hand, almost shoving his palm into Davarax’ stupid face. He does not want to hear a single stupid word from his stupid mouth. “Shut up.” But to his surprise, Davarax grabs his wrist and yanks his hand down.

“Stop acting like a bratty man-child.” Davarax snaps. As if Dez is the problem.

Dez blinks. Then he flies at Davarax with every intention of beating him to a bloody pulp.

-

“Get off me!” Dez shouts, lying on his stomach, struggling to free himself and so furious he’s barely able to form words. “GET OFF ME!”

“No.” Davarax grits out, putting all of his weight forward to dig his knees deeper into Dez’ lower back and holds Dez’ right arm twisted behind said back. He sounds pretty angry too, which is probably due to the hits Dez had managed to land on his ribs and his jaw. Good.

Dez draws a deep breath, about to launch into an alphabetical list of physical harm he’s going to do to Davarax if he doesn’t let him go, but that is when the obnoxious man has the audacity to use his other hand to grab Dez’ neck, push his head down, pressing his cheek against the too dry grass, and forces him still.

“Stop trying to punch me, you idiot.” Davarax orders. As if he is allowed to order Dez Vizla around.

“How about I shoot you instead?” Dez spits.

Davarax lets out a frustrated shout that sounds like music to Dez’ ears. “Why?”

Dez snorts in utter disbelief before he bellows out; “You stole my son!”

That brings several long seconds of silence, where neither man move and the words just hover uncomfortably in the air until Davarax is the one to speak first.

“I didn’t steal him, Dez.” His words are quiet and his grip on Dez’ neck softens. “You drove him away.” His fingers move to simply rest on Dez’ skin, like a comforting touch. “And you know that.”

This time when Dez bucks, Davarax shifts off him and slides over to sit next to him while he scrambles up into a sitting position as well. Breathing strained, Dez has to clench his hands to keep himself from punching him again. “I was trying to keep him alive! He was my boy and I wasn’t going to bury him like so many other Mandalorian parents. Not my son. I made him strong.”

“You were pushing him too hard.” Davarax says, in a disgustingly kind tone. “He was a child.”

Dez gets up on his feet, still breathing hard and now also shaking. “In this Galaxy, children die all the time if they aren’t strong enough.” He wipes the back of his hand over his cheek, brushing away imaginary grass. “My father pushed me worse. You remember. I never hurt Paz like that.”

Davarax’ eyes flicker away for a second, as if he’s feeling guilty, then he glances back up at Dez. “I remember.” He clears his throat. “But you were too hard on him. Paz grew up thinking you didn’t love him. That he was a disappointment to you. He needed someone to care.”

Dez’ entire body goes cold. “Why would he think that?” It doesn’t make sense.

“All he ever heard from the infamous Dez Vizla was that he needed to do better. He was never good enough. A kid needs to hear...” Davarax hesitates. “Didn’t your father tell you he loved you?”

“No.” Dez can’t picture Borr saying anything remotely as sentimental as that. He was not the kind of man who loved anything but a good battle. “But I think you’ve been spending too much time with Dulcy. It’s just words. She might love to talk, but we Mandalorians don’t need words.”

Davarax studies him for a moment. “I think we need to get better with them. Both Dulcy and Neleem keeps saying it; words have power. And I agree. They do. Even a simple word like buir.”

Dez feels the word like an elbow to the face and at this moment, he really does hate Davarax. “I should have let that guy shoot you. I won’t make that mistake again.” Stalking away, Dez’ heart is beating so loud and so fast that it basically drowns out Davarax calling out his name.

-

Even after he’s back in the safety of his room, Dez is unable to calm down. He paces the floor and grits his teeth like an agitated barghest. A headache is threatening to settle in and that doesn’t improve his mood further.

Paz thinking he doesn’t love him? How is that possible? HOW? He had been tough on the boy, yeah, but never cruel like Borr was. Dez knows his parenting hasn’t been flawless, but he had never been cruel, dammit! ...Had he?

The door to the room slides open and Dez spins around, ready to draw his blaster and actually shoot at Davarax if the man is stupid enough to follow him in here.

It’s Neleem. And she doesn’t look pleased. Probably regretting ever getting involved with him.

Exhaling, Dez turns away. “He started it.”

“I doubt that.” Neleem mutters and walks over to stand behind him. “Talk to me, Dez. You’ve been wound up from the moment we got to the Covert and ever since we arrived here, you’ve been downright angry. What’s bothering you?”

Talk, talk, talk… What is it with these people and their talking? Dez grunts annoyed. “Nothing.”

“It’s clearly something.” Neleem insists, placing her hand on his arm. “Why won’t you let me help you?”

“Because it’s pointless.” Dez grits out, staring at the floor. His headache is growing worse.

“Pointless?” Neleem sounds puzzled, as if she doesn’t realize that he already knows that he’ll be going back to the Covert alone. And maybe that’s a good thing? Dez should be alone.

His son had actually believed that Dez didn’t love him, Liita deserves better than to trade her lonely life on the red planet for a lonely life with him, Neleem doesn’t want to live underground while Dez has no choice, and Davarax wins at life, these are just facts. No amount of talk will change that.

“Yeah. Pointless.” Dez confirms He puts on his most arrogant tone. He is a Vizla, he doesn’t need anyone. Not her. Not Paz. No one. It’s better to end it now. “It’s not your problem.”

“How is you acting like a goon not my problem?” Neleem fires back with sharp words.

“Because you are going to leave me too!” Dez shouts in a mess of anger and hurt, and he spins around to face her.

That’s a mistake. A huge mistake. Turning around means seeing the startled surprise on her beautiful face and be reminded of just how much he’d grown to adore that face of hers. Dez could draw every single marking she has on her skin by memory alone. He knows the taste of the skin under her jawline and how she will make this cutest little snort if she breaks into a proper belly-laugh. He knows how soft her lekkus are and how strong her will can be. He knows her calm. He knows his heart will never recover from losing her.

“Dez, I…” Neleem stutters.

Dez closes his eyes. His mother died when he was too young to remember her. His father got a fever and disappeared during a dark night. Cedia went to war and never came back. Pre lost his mind and didn’t come back either. Skade didn’t bother telling him she was going to leave and ended their marriage with a holo-message. Paz, his only child, also disappeared without warning and left behind nothing but a holo-message telling Dez he’d gone with Davarax and Dulcy. Everyone always leave Dez Vizla. In the end, they all leave. Always.

“Dez.” Neleem sounds close to pleading. “Dez, look at me.”

Dez shakes his head. “Don’t. I’m too tired to play games today.” He’s tired of trying and failing all the time. He’s tired of being angry. He’s tired of hurting. He’s tired of trying to watch over his clan and have them fight him every step of the way. He’s tired of craving peace but never being allowed it.

“Dez.” Neleem’s voice is a little stronger, more determined, but now Dez feels, to his horror, that his tightly shut eyes are burning with incoming tears.

No. No way. He will not appear this pathetically weak in front of her. Dez will shoot himself in the head before he’ll let that happen.

But when he moves to turn away, Neleem grabs a hold of his face with both hands and yanks him back, startling his eyes open, and she stares at him with tears of her own while she gives a faint shake of her head.

“I’m not going to leave you, Dez.”

“You can stay here.” Dez whispers, wanting to turn away but can’t make himself break eye contact with her. “You can stay here with Dulcy and Davarax. Help out with the kids. They’ll be thrilled. I’ll just pack my stuff and head back to the Covert. Look after Liita for me?”

“You’re not listening, Dez.” Neleem says, running her thumbs along his cheekbones and smiling a little through her sadness. “You’re stuck with me, buddy.”

She can’t mean that. She can’t. But… Oh, his heart aches.

Wanting to believe but seeing no reason why she’d want to put up with more of his shitty behaviour, Dez leans forward and cautiously seeks her lips with his. Her soft warmth is endlessly sweet and feels so very soothing and so he lets the one gentle kiss turn into two and soon three.

The anger and dread goes away when Neleem leans against him and his arms goes around her. It ignites some kind of hopeless, fragile need for more. he needs to get closer. As close as he can get.

And to his soul-crushing relief; she welcomes him.

-

Neleem pushes her head back into the pillow and tries to breathe as her eyes flutter close while Dez’ mouth works its way down her throat. Her entire body feels like liquid fire. A heavy, drugging heat, different from the kind of heedless heat they usually experience during intimate moments like these.

There is no rush, this is slow, unhurried and lingering. Carnal pleasure seems almost like an afterthought to him as he barely moves on top of her, there is only the occasional roll of his hips that has him let out a trembling sigh and her muscles quake with longing, as Dez is entirely focused on covering her skin with soft kisses and caresses to an almost obsessive degree. 

He spends a small eternity just mapping his way from her left shoulder to her right. He mouths at her shoulders, measures the roundness of her hips in his palms, nuzzles her neck and kisses her forehead before placing his own against it. He barely allows air between them.

There is so much affection in the softness of his lips and his touch, it brings tears back to her eyes.

Neleem had once overheard a couple of human girls talk about ‘making love’ and once she’d discovered what the term meant, she found it a bit hilarious and overly romanticized. Now, Neleem realizes, ‘this’ is what they meant. She never knew it could be like this. She had no idea.

Dez’ fingers braid with hers and he gives them a light squeeze as he slides his lips up her throat until he reaches her chin and she stops pushing into the pillow to lower her face and meet him a warm kiss. He doesn’t deepen it, just savours the push and give of their lips together, how they match to perfection, how every sensitive nerve between them is glowing with soft delight.

He has to release one of her hands when Dez decides he has to trail fingertips along her jawline, constantly planting soft little kisses on her lips, and Neleem absently runs her free hand down his back. The soft warmth of his skin makes every single one of his many scars seem like a crime. She wants to wrap herself around him and never let anyone hurt him again.

She lifts her hand to slide it up his neck and into that glorious mess of curls, pushing him into a couple of firmer kisses before leaning back into the pillow again and making him open his eyes to look into hers. He looks dazed, a bit drunk like her, but also still a little tense, as if he can’t quite trust that she doesn’t want their relationship to end. He looks like he thinks he’s on borrowed time.

Running her hand through his hair a couple of times, a soothing touch, she then cups the side of his face and states the obvious; “I love you.” This beautiful, stubborn, difficult, damaged and surprisingly kind human.

Dez stares like she’d just stabbed him. He’s gone completely still. He’s barely breathing.

Neleem lets him process the words while she is the one to explore his facial features with her fingertips.

“Say it again.” Dez says after a long silence.

Smiling a little, Neleem has no trouble obliging. She cups the side of his face again. “I love you.”

Being so close, she can feel the shudder running through his body.

“Again.” Dez whispers.

Now outright grinning, Neleem obliges once more. “I love you.”

Exhaling, Dez ducks down to plant a kiss between her neck and shoulder. “Again. Say it again.”

“I love you.”

His arms go around her and he squeezes her tight, as if he never wants to let her go. “Again.”

He sounds like he’s in pain. Neleem’s heart aches. “I love you.”

He moves up to kiss her lips with a taste of being lost. “Again.” Dez pleads against her mouth.

Neleem doesn’t hesitate. “I love you.” She says and feels his hand trail fingers by her temple. “I love you, Dez.”

Breathing something in what she can only guess is Mando’a and can’t understand, Dez kisses her again. Her mouth, her neck, her lekku, her hand, he can’t stop kissing her. And he keeps asking; “Say it again?”

Eventually he doesn’t even need to ask, Neleem continues to repeat the words. She runs her hands over his skin, draws her fingers through his hair, moves under him until he can’t resist and it all becomes a sweaty haze of raw emotion and growing need. “I love you.” Neleem breathes, eyes closed and fingers digging into his skin as he clings to her. “I love you.”

-

The silence in the room is almost deafening after the chaos that had been screaming in his head not too long ago. Dez is half-sitting in bed, propped up by pillows, and has his arm around Neleem, who is curled up against him, resting her head on his stomach and brushing light caresses on his hip with her thumb.

She loves him.

Her voice is still echoing in his head. Those words… Dangerous words. Addictive words. No one has ever told him they love him before. Not in actual words. 

He’d come to accept that he wasn’t a person others loved. He thought Skade did, he was young and naive then, but she didn’t. No one did. No one but his son. Until he lost him, that is. Wasn’t that proof that Dez Vizla was unlovable?

‘I love you’.

Words have power, Neleem had said that once. And now Beskar Boy too. Dez has always been told words are for weaklings. Vizlas act, they don’t talk.

Leaning back, thumping his head lightly against the headboard, once, twice, Dez exhales. He doesn’t know what to do. He wants to be better, but he keeps messing up. His stomach starts to burn and ache, bringing a wave of nausea too.

“You okay?” Neleem asks, looking up at him.

Dez meets her gaze and her words flutter through his brain. It makes his heart do a weird flip in his chest. He wants to hear her say those words again. He wants to die for her. “I love you too.”

Neleem’s beautiful face lights up and she leans up to give him a soft kiss.

Once again the tension and unease fades away when she’s close and when she returns to resting against him, Dez leans back again and with a clear mind, thinks about his future.

He can’t have everything he wants. That’s just not possible. He’s going to have to choose.

The very next day, Dez Vizla decides to first do the thing he least wants to do. It takes all of his will-power and he fears he might regret it, but he forces himself to do it anyway.

“I…” Dez has to try again. “I’m sorry. About yesterday.”

Davarax is half-hidden behind the shed, working on something there, and stares at Dez like he has grown a second head over night. There is an almost impressive bruise blooming on his jaw. “What?”

“I said,” Dez says, “I’m sorry about yesterday.”

There is a moment of hesitation and then Davarax steps forward to fully face him. “That’s...what I thought you said.” He looks like he can’t decide whether to be scared or curious. “What’s going on?”

Dez shrugs, looks away and then rolls his shoulder a little awkwardly. “I’m apologizing, you idiot.”

“Yeah, I can hear that.” Davarax replies, snorting a laugh. “I thought you said apologies were pointless?”

He should have known Davarax wouldn’t make this easy for him. That man always has to rub Dez’ nose into everything unpleasant. “Forget it.” Dez growls and turns to leave.

“Wait.” Davarax runs over and gets in his way, preventing him from leaving. “Wait-wait-wait.”

Dez sighs and settles to wait for whatever he wants to say.

“Nice to hear you’re the one sighing for once.” Davarax grins, as if his words make any sense. Then he reaches out a hand. “Apology accepted, vod.”

It can’t be this easy. It can’t. Still, Dez sees little choice but to take his hands and shake it. He only realizes he’s entered a trap when Davarax doesn’t let go. And the grin on his face is pure evil.

“I told you we were going to become friends, didn’t I?” Davarax says with utter glee.

Dez glares. “I said nothing about becoming friends.” He tries to tug his hand free. “Let go.”

In all fairness, Davarax does let go, but only after he’s yanked Dez forward and engulfs him in an embrace instead.

Dez snarls and starts squirming and pushing at him. “What do you think you’re doing? Let go of me, you-”

“I’m sorry too.” Davarax whispers.

Dez freezes. What does he have to be sorry for?

“I didn’t realize those injuries came from your father.” Davarax confesses. “I didn’t realize Pre was making your life miserable too. And I failed entirely to see how much you needed a friend.”

Dez swallows. His stomach rolls uneasily. “Calm your saviour complex. I outlived my father and Pre both, didn’t I? A-and it wasn’t like I didn’t have any friends, you weirdo.” So what if they were Vizlas and obliged to be on good terms with him? “Besides, that was ages ago. I don’t even think about it any more. You shouldn’t either.”

Davarax’ embrace tightens a bit and Dez is about to start fighting anew to be released when the man speaks again.

“If it’s okay,” Davarax’ voice is low, strangely uncertain, “I’d like to help you reconnect with Paz.”

-I don’t need you karking help! Dez’ pride sneers. But the sad fact is, even with Liita and Neleem to help him, Dez still manages to mess things up. He has to face that he needs all the help he can get. Why not let Beskar Boy do some good for him for once. Dez clears his throat. “That would be… Yeah… Thanks.” The things he will do, the depths he will sink to, for his son.

Bizarrely enough, this makes Davarax do that weird laughter-huff of his and he really curls around him in an engulfing hug, like Dez is his best friend that he hasn’t seen in years. It’s warm, comforting and kind of… nice.

Dez nearly rolls his eyes, of course even Davarax’ hugs are as ‘perfect’ as the man himself, but he can’t quite get himself to break free. It’s too tempting to give in. Maybe just a little. Dez can count on one hand the hugs he’s gotten in his life, not including the ones Paz had happily handed out during his youngest years. Besides, it’s not like anyone will know. So Dez relaxes a little and lifts a hand to put it on Davarax’ back.

“Do you two need some privacy, or…?”

Dez’ gaze snaps over and sees Raga watching them with her arms crossed and a huge grin on her face. Behind her, Paz is all slack-jawed disbelief.

Instantly shoving and cursing at Davarax, Dez frees himself and flees towards the house.

-

“You call that welding?” Liita scoffs. The sun is setting but neither are willing to stop working.

“There is nothing wrong with my welding.” Dez replies with calm confidence. The bratty girl is never satisfied with any welding she doesn’t do herself, but this is his ship, dank farrik, and if he wants to work on it as well, he can. He is currently fusing two outer panels by the ship’s nose, which is important work that needed to be done and not him hiding from Davarax at all, and Liita will just have to deal.

“It’s cold.” Liita complains.

“I told you to bring a jacket.” Dez reminds her, focused on his welding.

“How was I supposed to know you were right?” Liita huffs. “Most of the things you say are wrong.”

Dez sends her a sour glare. “I’m almost always right. And if you had listened to me, you wouldn’t be freezing right now, would you? You’ve only got yourself to blame, kid.”

“You got this one thing right. Let’s not have it go to your head.” Liita mutters, stepping in front of him. “I’m cold!”

Dez turns his attention back to the welding. “So what do you want me to do about it? Summon a sun? I’m flattered that you think I have such abilities, but I’m just a humble Mandalorian.”

Liita rolls her eyes with a frustrated huff and promptly tugs the zipper on his jacket halfway down. She then, with complete lack of the expected fear and awe one should have for Dez Vizla, ducks down, wiggles her way up under his jacket and eventually ends up standing with her back to his stomach and her sullen face poking out from his jacket to continue observing his work.

“You seriously don’t know how to weld a friction seam.” Liita mutters.

Dez carries on welding. “Shut up. My welding is fine.”

Liita does not shut up. She keeps nitpicking. And he keeps giving her orders she bluntly ignores.

It’s the nicest and most relaxing evening Dez has had in a long while.

“Dez.” Davarax’ voice shatters Dez’ tranquillity.

Closing his eyes, taking a deep breath, Dez needs a moment before he turns off the welder and prepares to face Beskar Boy again. He turns and a sour comment dies on his lips when he sees Davarax is not alone.

Paz is standing next to him.

“Paz.” Dez says, stupidly, and feels a flare of anger at himself for sounding so stupid, especially as his son responds with a faint nod and a puzzled look.

Luckily stupid is what Davarax does best and he does that stupid laughter-huff of his and beams with badly hidden amusement. “Hi, Liita.”

“Hey.” She grumps from where she’s peering out of Dez’ jacket.

Oh.

Grinning, clearly finding the scene hilarious, Davarax nods in Paz’ direction. “Mind if we borrow Dez for a bit? Paz needs a word with him.”

Liita sighs, then ducks down and wiggles out of Dez’ jacket to wander forward to face Davarax. She looks up at him with a stern look. “Okay, let’s go back to the house.”

Davarax hesitates, glancing briefly over at Paz. “I, uh… I was thinking maybe I should… stay?”

Of course. Dez feels a spark of anger in his gut and his shoulders tenses up. He gets why, he’s messed up so many times that he should probably be happy that Beskar Boy can supervise, but...

“No.” Liita reaches out, puts her hands against Davarax’ stomach and forces him to start backing up. “Dez got this. Let’s go.”

The anger is knocked right out of Dez at her words. That girl...

Still backing up, Davarax looks over at Paz again, sees him nod and nods back before he shifts to walk next to Liita instead of being pushed along.

“I’m cold.” Liita declares. “Give me your jacket.”

Davarax gives her his jacket. (Of course he does.)

There is an awkward silence after Liita and Davarax’ departure but eventually Dez puts the cooling machine on the ground, no more welding tonight, and he brushes his hands together in what he’d die before admitting is a nervous move. “So, uh… What did Davarax tell you?”

Paz doesn’t look as scared as before, but his walls are up and he’s eyeing Dez cautiously. “He said… you wanted to apologize for yelling on the ship. That you weren’t mad at me.”

Dez shifts his weight and clears his throat. “I… I’m guessing you’re getting really tired of hearing me apologizing after messing up all the time, huh?”

Paz looks down at the ground and doesn’t reply. He clearly doesn’t know what to say. Either he really is sick of Dez’ apologies or he’s worried what will happen if he admits Dez had messed up.

Dez takes a step closer to his son, reaching out and almost touching his arm before catching himself and lowering his hand again. “Listen, on the ship, that was me being stupid again. Not you. Never you.” Words have power, he reminds himself. “You know I’m proud of you, right?”

Paz’ gaze snaps up to meet his. He looks shocked, so clearly this is news to him.

Dez’ stomach churns and pained guilt floods his veins. “I am. I’ve always been.” He tries to smile and fails. “Remember I told you that your mother made me happy by giving me you? You’ve always been the one good thing in my life. Possibly the only good thing in my life.”

Paz draws a shivering breath and despite the years that have gone by, he suddenly looks like the lost little boy Dez remembers.

“I’m so sorry for the way I treated you.” Dez whispers with pained intensity. “I’m so sorry. I know it doesn’t change anything, it doesn’t excuse me in any way, but I thought it was the best way to make you strong, to keep you alive in a Galaxy that kills everything it can. I was wrong. I should have told you, I should have explained, I should have… done better. I was cruel to you. I’m sorry. You don’t have to say anything, I just wanted to say I know I was wrong and I’m sorry.”

Paz swallows hard and looks away. “I…”

“You don’t have to say anything.” Dez reassures him, and now his stomach aches so much it feels like he’s been stabbed all over again. He walks away, heading back to the house, aiming to give Paz some space and prevent himself from embarrassing himself even more.

“Can I…” Paz’ voice calls out after him. “Can I still call you buir?”

Freezing in his tracks, Dez blinks frantically to clear his eyes off the karking burning sensation again(!) before he can look back at his son. He actually manages to smile this time, feels light-headed with relief. “It would be an honour to me if you did.”

Paz exhales and smiles as well, and in three long strides he’s over by his father and folds into his embrace.

Hugging him tight, Dez doesn’t care that Paz is taller than him by now, every bit as muscular as himself if not more, he’ll always be his baby boy.

He’s not Dez. He’s not Pre. He’s not Borr or Tor or any other Vizla. He’s Paz and he’s perfect.

-

The mood in the house seems to change after that. It’s like everyone dares to relax, to laugh and go about their business without keeping a cautious eye on Dez. Paz even seeks him out for company and with him comes Raga, who is just an utter delight with her strength and rebellious nature. The Saxons are all amazing. Dez has always found the Saxons great fun to be around.

Then there is Corin, who has always been friendly, but now he starts asking Dez endless odd questions and stares non-stop at him when he thinks Dez won’t notice. He looks more at Dez than his own boyfriend. It’s awkward until Dulcy reluctantly tells Dez of the monster that was Corin’s biological father and Dez tenses up when he hears about a temper similar to his own, but it certainly explains why Corin is mesmerized; Macero Valentis would rather have died than apologize to his son or changed a single thing about his own behaviour. It’s weak of Dez, but after that he answers his every question and lets him stare.

Two who still do not approve of Dez are Din and Zev’sonya. Din shows Dez wary suspicion and she gives him rude indifference. But they are kids and are not worthy of Dez’ time, so he more or less ignores them.

The one who surprises Dez is Mose. Again. He hasn’t spent much time with him before, but once Dez does, he discovers that the Hutt is certainly nothing like he thought he’d be. He hasn’t forgotten that Mose saved Paz’ life during the Imp attack, putting him on his good side, but discovering that the Hutt is first in line to look after Davarax and Dulcy’s girl is most unexpected.

“I would have thought you’d be more interested in eating her.” Dez comments with a wry smile as he watches Mose wipe Nemi’s messy hands clean with a rag. “Hutts don’t babysit kids.”

“Know many Hutts, do you?” Mose mumbles with a touch of defiance.

Raising his eyebrows, Dez snorts a laugh. “You got me there.” He tilts his head and studies the gentle movements as Mose cleans the girl’s tiny hands with his huge ones. “But I think you’re a bit different from the rest, aren’t you?”

Mose frowns just a little. “So? It’s not wrong. Just because everyone expect you to be something, it doesn’t mean you have to become it.”

That brings another laugh from Dez. All of his worries and heavy thoughts haunting him day and night, and a Hutt puts things into the simplest way possible and gives him the answer he’s been searching for. “Mose,” Dez moves over and pats his shoulder, “don’t change, my friend. You’re more honourable and more clever than most humans I’ve met.” He can feel the stunned Hutt watching him as he walks away.

That evening, Dulcy has put together a feast, clearly influenced by the lighter mood in the house and eager to gather even more smiles. Dez doesn’t mind. He thinks it’s silly to put so much effort into something that isn’t a big deal, but he’s happy to join in and devour good food. It’s almost worth having to sit next to Davarax and listen to his voice. He even allows Davarax’ hand to linger on his shoulder while he goes on about some project he wants Dez’ opinion on.

Suddenly a shadow falls over them and he looks up to see Dulcy hovering in front of the table, biting her lower lip and radiating delight.

“What?” Dez asks through a mouthful, wary of this scheming mastermind.

“I’m just…” Dulcy gestures towards them. “I mean, Dav has me and the kids and it’s all good, but… he must have missed having a grown Mandalorian friend to hang out with.”

Dez blinks. Then he reaches up to gingerly peel Davarax’ hand off his shoulder. “No. No-no-no. No, we?” A quick pointing back and forth between him and Davarax. “We are not friends.”

Davarax grins. His arm goes around Dez’ shoulders and he yanks him close to squeeze him tight. “We are best friends.”

“Let go of me, you clown.” Dez snarls, trying to break free and failing. The man is freakishly strong. And why are his arms so long. He’s like a squid. A freakishly strong squid. “Let go!”

“No way, buddy.”

“LET GO!”

Dulcy giggles

Neleem giggles.

Pas and the others merely stare with disbelief.

-

It’s late, usually Dez is asleep at this hour, when they crawl into bed and Neleem wiggles close to him with a happy sigh. She pets his stomach with a cheerful hum. “How is this doing?”

“Growing, due to the rate I’m fed here and how lazy I’m getting.” Dez replies. It’s probably true.

Neleem snorts. “Relax, Vizla, you are just as slim and buff as always. And I’m being serious. Don’t make me get the medical scanner.”

Groaning, Dez flips her over on her side and slides close to her back, wrapping an arm tight around her waist to hold her there and to prevent her from getting the scanner. “How many times do I have to tell you? It’s just a gut ache. It’s no big deal.” He can feel her draw a sharp breath to object and cuts her off. “I feel better than I have in ages, cyar’ika. Relax.”

“I’d relax if you’d let me scan you.” Neleem declares, squirming and pushing at his arm to free herself. “I swear, Dez, if you’re feeling worse and hiding it from me, I will-”

“I’m not hiding anything from you. I give you my word.” Dez has to give up holding her in place, she is determined to free herself, and flops over on his back again as she turns and crawls halfway on top of him, glaring. “For the love of… it’s just a gut ache.”

“That ‘gut ache’?” Neleem jabs a finger in his stomach, making him flinch and grunt. “It could actually kill you. Do you understand? It will continue to make you sick, poison you from the inside and then, in agonizing pain, you will die.”

Dez smiles, just a tiny smile, a smile far softer than most that grace his face, and he shakes his head while reaching out to trail a gentle finger down one of her lekkus. “I’m not going to die.” He moves his touch to her lips. “Why would I die when I finally have reasons to stay alive?”

“I need you to take this seriously.” Neleem’s voice tremble. “Please. If you keep going like this, it will kill you.”

Maybe Dez should find it insulting that she seems to think him weak, that she thinks she can order him around, but he doesn’t. She’s worried. And all he cares about right now is easing her worries.

Dez tells her his plans.

Neleem’s face is a mixture of cautious hope and, surprisingly, a little regret. “Are you sure…?”

“I am.” Thanks to Mose. “I’ve been thinking about it for a very, very long time. I’m sure.”

The next day he tells the others when they are gathered for breakfast in the kitchen. Paz looks like he’s about to faint, Dulcy gets so startled that she has to sit down and Davarax so shocked that he has to stand up.

Dez feels Neleem, sitting next to him, finding his hand under the table and squeezing it. He is a little puzzled as to why she does it, but it’s appreciated nonetheless. She seems more nervous about his decision than he is. Truth be told, he’s just ready to get it over with. “I’ll travel back to the Covert today.”

“You are really going to go back like… that?” Paz asks.

Dez nods. He’s not wearing his helmet or his armour. He’s dressed like any other traveller.

“I’ll come with you.” Davarax says, adding more shock to the situation.

Not expecting that, Dez frowns. “They may not let you in.”

“They will if you tell them to.” Davarax says, trying to smile and not entirely succeeding. A sore point, then. Beskar Boy, always the popular one, it must hurt for him to know he’s not welcome.

“I’ll be an outcast too the second they see me. Why do you think they’ll listen to anything I say?” Dez mutters.

“Because they like me,” Davarax replies, “but they respect you.”

They respect Davarax fine. They always have. But there is the chance that his defeat and absence these years may have weakened his grip on their hearts and minds. Still Dez isn’t keen on the idea. “Why would you want to come with me?”

“If your grand plan of bringing as many as possible out from underground is to work, well…�� Now Davarax manages to smile and his eyes glitter with amusement. “They respect you, as I said, but they really like me.”

“You’ll be going against your sister.”

“No. I’ll just be helping to move out the ones who are already unhappy and giving her trouble.”

“I’ll come too.” Paz declares in a rush.

“Me as well.” Raga shoots in.

“And me!” Corin blurts out. Din glares at him.

Dulcy waves her hand and quiets them all. She then exhales a long breath before she focuses on the stunned Dez. “It certainly looks like you won’t be going alone, Dez Vizla.”

-

All his life, Dez has been reminded of the fact that he is a Vizla. All his life he was expected to be the strongest, the fiercest and an undisputed leader, and all of his life he’s tried to live up to that. He raised his son to think like that too. The Vizla blood runs thick in their veins.

- Just because everyone expect you to be something, it doesn’t mean you have to become it.

Everyone expected him to lead the clan after Pre died and it had never occurred to Dez to say no. After that, every soul in the clan brought their problems to Dez and it never occurred to him not to care. They were his people and his responsibility.

When the ship lands outside the Covert, Dez feels the first jab of nerves. He has decided and he’s not going to change his mind, but he’s bound to disappoint a lot of his followers with his decision to take off his helmet and leave and Dez hates that. They’ve all been so loyal to him.

Dez steps off the ship, leaving Liita in the cockpit, and he is followed by Davarax, Neleem and Paz. Raga, Corin and Din are ordered to wait in the cargo hold until their return.

As expected, two Mandalorians step forward to defend it when they approach the secret door.

“Step aside.” Dez orders.

The guards jolt with startled surprise as they recognize his voice, they probably scan him to confirm his identity, and Dez feels a flicker of irritation when they numbly step aside to let him in.

So much for security.

But Dez has barely stepped through the door before the guards move to block the entrance again and prevent the others from joining him. Davarax and Paz are both wearing their armour, sans helmet, but they are clearly not welcome any more. Neither is Neleem, who is a plain Outsider now.

“Let them through.” Dez says in his firmest voice. For half a nerve-wrecking second, he wonders if this is pushing it too far and will have the guards turn on him as well, but then, to his surprise, they step aside and let the others through.

“See?” Davarax whispers. “I told you.”

“Shut up.” Dez mutters back.

However, the guards must have used their comm links as there is someone waiting for them at the bottom of the stairs.

Dez exhales with relief. It’s Sungodt. His second in command and leader when Dez is not around.

“Dez?” Sungodt says, sounding like he doesn’t want to believe it is true.

“It’s me.” Dez confirms.

“Why?” Sungodt asks. “What happened? How could this happen?”

“Nothing happened.” Dez replies. “I happened. It was my choice.”

Sungodt hesitates. “But… “

“I’m sick of being stuck underground, hiding like a coward. And despite our best efforts; nothing has changed since we left Concordia. It’s time to break free, Sungodt. I want to talk to our people and offer them to join me. We can start over and make our own Covert above ground.”

Sungodt stares at him. “You want to break up this Covert? She won’t allow that.”

Davarax smirks. “I don’t think she’ll mind. She has never kept anyone here against their will.”

“I will talk to her first. Explain. Then I’ll meet with our clan.” Dez declares.

Sungodt hesitates. “They will follow you, you know.”

“I hope so.” Dez admits. Then he pulls his shoulders back and nods. “Okay, let’s go see her.”

It’s time to finally get his people out of the darkness.

Sungodt leads the way, Dez follows, behind him Neleem takes Paz’ hand and offers the nervous youth her support, and then finally Davarax, who keeps their backs safe. They march towards the new forge, ignoring the puzzled looks from fellow Mandalorians, and only have to wait a couple of seconds as Sungodt enters the room and informs their leader of the visitors before he appears in the doorway and nods.

Dez walks inside, hears the footsteps of the others following him, but most of all; feels the weight of the gaze behind that golden helmet. Fire is reflecting in the shiny metal.

She’s watching him, a silent figure behind her work bench, as ominous and omniscient as always. It’s one of the many things Dez has always liked about her.

“I have decided to leave this Covert.” Dez says, as if him not wearing his helmet or his armour isn’t screaming that already. “And I’ve come to ask my clan to leave with me.”

Sungodt raises his blaster and shoots Dez three times in the chest. “Traitor.”

As Dez is flung backwards, Davarax and the golden leader draw their blasters at the same time and fires four lethal shots each at Sungodt.

“DEZ!” Neleem screams as she rushes forward. Paz shouts; “NO!” and bursts forward as well.

Seconds later, Dez lies on the floor, muscles twitching and his mouth spitting blood, while Davarax kneeling by him and yanking Dez’ jacket open to get to his wounds. Paz is frantically bellowing at someone to bring him an emergency kit.

Tears flowing, Neleem touches Dez’ face with trembling fingers. “Stay with me, Dez. You have to stay with me.”

Dez almost smiles, despite the pain and being unable to breathe. She cares. Paz cares. Even Beskar Boy cares. They actually care.

Someone will mourn him. Nobody mourned Borr or Pre.

Dez Vizla was loved.

-

-Stay with me. She had pled. Neleem had been desperate and helpless as she watched Dez fade, bleeding out in front of her, but she kept pleading. -Stay with me. Please, stay with me. Dez, please.

Words have power, but they can’t heal three shots to the chest. There was nothing she could do but plead and cry while Davarax and Paz tried to stop the bleeding.

Sitting on the porch in front of the house, her feet resting on one of the lower steps of the stairs, Neleem stares emptily ahead at nothing. The neighbourhood is unusually quiet.

Stepping down on the top step of the stairway, Dez slowly eases himself down to sit next to her with a pained grunt escaping his lips. Three days and his torso still hurts. The bacta is speeding up the healing process, like usual, but this time the injuries were far more severe and not even Dez Vizla can ignore his body’s complaints if he tries to move around too much. “How are you feeling?” He asks.

Neleem huffs a laugh. “Asks the guy who got shot. Three times.”

“I’m a Mandalorian. It happens.” Dez says, but when he gets no response, he slides his arm around Neleem’s shoulders and pulls her close. “Hey. I told you; I’ve got no plans on dying now that I finally have reasons to stay alive. No insignificant fool like Sungodt can kill Dez Vizla.”

The betrayal hurt almost as much as the shots, yet he understands why Sungodt did what he did.

Also, a part of Dez wonders if this could be justice catching up and making him pay for all the hurt and misery he’d caused in the past. He’s in pain, but he’s not angry. It feels right.

“But you’re going to go back to the Covert, aren’t you?” Neleem says, finally glancing over at him. “They might actually succeed in killing you next time.”

Dez sighs. “I can’t just leave them there. I agreed to be their leader and they trust me.” He tries a faint smile. “But don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere for a while yet. I feel like crap.”

Neleem nods, still too serious for his liking, and she reaches out a hand to touch his chest where one of the bacta patches hide under his shirt. The incident had startled her badly.

And she’s not the only one still shell-shocked from what had happened.

Davarax has decided it was his fault for not spotting the danger and reacting fast enough to prevent Sungodt from attacking. Paz, the silly boy, claims that, no, it was his fault and that he had failed his father. Raga claims it never would have happened if she had been allowed to go with them.

Dulcy has turned into a complete tip-yip and monitors Dez’ progress with scary intensity. Corin has come by every day to deliver a gift and make sure he’s doing okay, and Din even joined him once to mumble wishes for a quick recovery.

The cutest visit to his sickbed was Mose and Nemi, while the scariest was Barthor just hovering by his bed and staring at him. The thin wire around Dez’ left wrist is evidence that Liita went partway through with her promise and he is now tagged with her tracking device.

Yeah, they all need a break. Dez included.

In the past, he would have thought of this as a show of weakness, but not any more. He sees a lot of things differently these days. (Davarax is still a pain, obnoxiously perfect and a magnet for the love of everyone within ten parsecs, but… he is tolerable if you just manage to disregard that. And don’t get close enough for him to get a hold and start hugging you.)

“Let’s go inside.” Dez mumbles, his lips against Neleem’s temple. “It’s late. You need to rest.”

“Again, coming from the man who was shot three times in the chest.” Neleem mumbles, irrationally stuck on that minor detail.

“Come rest with me then.” Dez drawls with a teasing grin and that finally lures a smile from her.

Neleem shakes her head with an amused expression. “Fine. I guess that is the only way I’ll know you’re actually resting and not up to something stupid.”

“I’m Dez Vizla. Nothing I do is stupid.” Dez grins, kissing her temple.

“You nearly died twice in less than two weeks.” Liita states, appearing from the house and walking over to sit down and burrow in under Dez’ free arm to settle next to him. “That’s pretty stupid in my book. That’s why I’ve tagged your signal in my tracker as ‘Stupidhead’.”

Dez grunts and tightens his grip, squeezing Liita against his side to savour her annoyed sputterings. “If you want me to adopt you, you’re going to have to start being nice to me.”

Liita squirms and shoves at him until he makes a pained sound and they both settle. “I never said you had to adopt me.” She scoffs. Then, after a moment of hesitation, the girl sends him a cautious look. “Why? Are you saying… you want to?”

Neleem rests her head on Dez’ shoulder and gives his arm an encouraging caress.

“If that would be okay with you, Liita.” Dez replies.

“I’ll think about it.” Liita mumbles and turns her face away, but not fast enough so Dez and Neleem can’t see the bright smile she’s desperately fighting against.

“You do that.” Dez says. “In the meanwhile, how about you two help a poor Mando to his feet?”

Neleem and Liita both eagerly help Dez get up, which he could have easily managed on his own but knows how satisfying it is to them when they get to be the strong ones, and the three of them start walking towards the door.

The door slides open and Paz freezes after a single step through it. He sees Neleem and Liita under each of Dez’ arms, appearing to be supporting him and helping him walk. Paz goes deathly pale. “Buir? Are you okay? Do you need help?”

Dez shakes his head with a faint smile. “Nothing to worry about, son.”

Paz takes another step forward and is clearly not reassured. “I can help.”

Gingerly lifting his arms to free Liita and Neleem, Dez is then the one to take a step forward and he reaches out to slide his hand behind Paz’ neck, making him focus on his eyes. “Paz, son, I’m just a little tired and achy, and these two fine souls were easy to trick into helping me. That’s all.”

That has Liita huffing with offence, Neleem roll her eyes and Paz grinning.

Dez will never ever tire of seeing his son smile. He used to smile so much as a toddler, but then came his teenage years and there were no smiles at all. They have so much catching up to do.

Paz easily moves forward when his father gives him a gentle tug and does not hesitate to fold into a warm hug.

So many hugs to catch up on as well. Dez doesn’t care that it is weak to want them, they feel nice. It makes him feel calm. And loved. And so what if his clan turns his back on him? Dez will still have his family and… friends. He’s not alone any more.

“Can anyone join in on that hug or…?” A voice asks with no small amount of amusement.

Dez turns around, startled as he recognizes that voice, and can only stare with mute shock as he sees a helmetless Sobek Saxon stands in front of the stairway leading up to them. Her arms are crossed, there is a wide grin on her face and Sobek radiates relaxed confidence. Behind her stands her husband, their three sons, and at least twenty more Mandalorians. None of which are wearing their helmet, but carries it under their right arm.

“What…?” Dez stutters.

Sobek shrugs one shoulder. “We followed you off Concordia. We’ll follow you above ground and into damnation too. This is our Way.”

Paz glances around, probably scouting for Raga as if she’d be summoned by her family’s presence.

A young Vizla makes his way closer to Sobek and tries to get a peek of Dez, but accidentally bumps into Shezmu Saxon, who grabs him and flings him to the ground and a vicious fight break out. Two Vizlas step forward to try to break it up, but that only causes Shezmu’s two brothers to join in on the fight.

“Now is not the time for this, you idiots!” Arren Kryze shouts, before he has to duck to avoid a punch and that is when mayhem really erupts among the Mandalorians gathered there.

Sobek doesn’t move, still looks up at Dez with arms crossed and a grin on her face.

The door slides open again behind them and Davarax comes charging out, followed by several of his children, but only to come to an abrupt halt next to Dez. He stares with disbelief at the chaos in front of the house. Dulcy clings to his arm and stares as well.

Somewhere, a window is shattered.

“There goes the neighbourhood…” Liita mumbles.

Dez grins. He sneaks one arm around Neleem, who is all eyes, and one arm around Liita, who is scowling at the loud ruffians. He looks over at his son. “This? This is the Way.” Then looks at Neleem. His heart is racing. “Will you walk it with me?”

Neleem studies his face as a smile slowly spreads across her lips. “Yes.”

“As my wife?”

“Yes.”

And amidst the loud chaos of the start of a new Tribe, Dez leans down and kisses her.

“I love you.” Neleem whispers against his lips.

“I love you too.” Dez replies with warm truth. “And, thank you. For saving me.” Without her, he would either have turned into a harsh creature like Borr or died in some random dispute. Without her, he wouldn’t have his son back in his life. Without her, he wouldn’t be a better man.

Dez Vizla has said goodbye to his old self.

Let the future begin.

#the mandalorian his son and the storm trooper #what if AU #Dez Vizla #Neleem #Davarax #Dulsissia Motti #Paz Vizsla #Raga Saxon #Corin #Din #Mose the Hutt #small mentionings of the others #the one-shots start coming and they don't stop coming #this is too long to be considered a one-shot but I don't care

[spencers-renaissance]

after rain

Summary: It's just a routine surgery; a simple appendix removal, so when Hotch gets the text from his newest agent, he doesn't think much of it until the hospital alerts him of a complication in surgery: Spencer's haemorrhaged, and they don't know if he'll pull through or not.

As the team race to the hospital, they're forced to confront how they've behaved towards their newest team member and hope desperately that it's not too late to make things right.

Tags: hurt/comfort, whump, surgery, appendicitis, hurt!spencer, dad hotch, team as family, guilt, angst with a happy ending, fluff

Pairing: Gen // Platonic Aaron Hotchner & Spencer Reid; BAU Team & Spencer Reid

Word Count: 3.1k

Masterlist // Read on AO3

Okay, so a couple things: - it's Rossi, not Gideon, purely because I couldn't think of why Hotch would be Spencer's emergency contact if Gideon was around, and I don't really know how to right that guy so I just... don't lol (I don't like Rossi either btw, all these old ass white men SUCK smh) - once again, Elle joined before Spencer & Spencer is the newest recruit because that's how I like to play out my early seasons fics - I'm so sorry I disappeared for so long and that this is late! I haven't had a spare minute in weeksss, university is kicking my arse rn, but I'm so happy to finally be sharing this with you guys <3

TW: mentions of surgery, death, and blood. Not medically accurate by any stretch of the imagination.

Hotch feels bad for Spencer when he gets his text at 7.33 in the morning, just as he’s pushing through the door into the bullpen. He had appendicitis when he was 13, and it was far from fun, and even just recalling that pain, as he weaves his way through the desks up to his office, makes him wince.

Hope the surgery goes well, he types out quickly. Feel better soon.

As soon as he hits send, he’s back in the zone of chasing serial killers and filing paperwork. He reaches for the next case file in the stack on the side of his desk, and all thoughts of his sick, hospitalised subordinate leave his mind.

The day progresses about as normally as it can without Spencer. The briefing goes a little smoother without the interruptions and tangents the youngest, newest agent likes to interject, and the rest of the team are forced to do far more research for their consults rather than calling across the bullpen for Spencer to yell back the answer (usually attached to another long-winded and mildly endearing explanation full of backstory).

There’s a sense of unease in the air around them, a slight tinge of worry on everyone’s faces at the knowledge that Spencer’s currently undergoing surgery. Still, with a job like theirs, they can’t generally afford much distraction, and the mysteries that underline every moment of their day do well to keep their minds off it.

Or at least they do until Hotch’s phone rings with an unknown number around 3pm.

“Aaron Hotchner,” he says into the phone, doing his best to keep the sceptical curiosity from his tone as he narrows his eyes and looks out the window at the pouring October rain.

“Good afternoon Mr Hotchner,” a young man’s voice sounds out over the line. “My name’s Samuel, and I’m calling on behalf of George Washington University Hospital. I understand that you’re the emergency contact for Dr Spencer Reid, is that correct?”

Hotch doesn’t know whether to relax or not. On the one hand, at least this isn’t a horrible surprise — he’s had his fair share of psychopath threats, and he’s really not in the mood for another one this afternoon. He already knows Spencer is ill, but why would they be ringing him again if he's already aware of that fact?

“Yes, that’s correct.” He internally curses himself at the slight waver in his voice, effectively shattering his eternally composed facade. At least Samuel’s the only one around to hear it, and he probably gets a lot worse than a wavering voice on a daily basis.

“I’m sorry to inform you that there’s been a complication with Dr Reid’s surgery this afternoon. Unfortunately, as the surgeons were closing up, he began to haemorrhage badly, and the operation has obviously been extended as they look for the cause of the bleed and, hopefully, repair it.”

Hotch doesn’t quite know what to say, so initially, he doesn’t say anything. He isn’t often rendered speechless — he’s replied instantly to gruesome threats on his and his family’s lives; he’s stared into a serial killer’s unflinchingly as he’s forced to listen to some of the most macabre tales he’s ever heard, but the sentence telling him that Spencer Reid’s life is in danger is the only one he’s ever come across able to completely stop his heart in its tracks.

His heart in his mouth, he swallows. “Uh, right— do I— do I need to come down?”

He doesn’t even have it in him to recoil at the sympathy in Samuel’s reply. “If you’d like to, sir, you’re more than welcome to, but he isn’t expected to come out of surgery for another couple of hours, and it will take a little longer than that for him to come around from the anaesthesia.”

It was a redundant question. Hotch is going down to the hospital even if he has to wait three weeks to see Spencer’s eyes flutter open.

As soon as he gets off the phone, he hurriedly packs his bag before bursting into the corridor and tapping insistently on Rossi’s door.

“Aaron?” Rossi asks, his face twisted in concern as Hotch enters the room without any of his usual calm restraint, anxiety and urgency written across his expression in a way it isn’t even when a victim’s life is on the line. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Spencer,” he replies, and he realises that this might be the first time he’s actually used the junior agent’s first name. “He haemmoraged during surgery, and I’ve gotta get down to the hospital.”

“Wait, slow down, Aaron. Is he stable? Is he okay?”

Hotch huffs a shaky breath, feeling panic consume him for a short second before he’s able to squash it down once more. “No, no, uh— he’s still in surgery.”

Rossi starts, confused. “Then why are you heading to the hospital, Aaron? You’ll just be sat there waiting. It could be hours before he’s out, I mean that kind of complication could lengthen—”

“I know,” Hotch interrupts impatiently, not in the mood to hear anybody speculate on Spencer’s condition. God, he feels sick. “And I don’t care. Spencer needs me, Dave. This is exactly what I signed up for when I agreed to be his emergency contact, and I’m not about to let him down.”

Rossi sighs, clearly realising he’s not going to convince him. “Alright. What do you need to me to do?”

The team is gathered in the briefing room only minutes later, and Hotch doesn’t waste any time jumping into it. He’s itching to be on the road and on his way to Spencer.

“There was a complication in Reid’s surgery this afternoon,” he explains bluntly, glad that this time he’s able to keep his spiralling emotions under a little more control. “I don’t know much, but I know that he’s still in surgery and they’re attempting to locate the site of the bleed. I’m heading down to the hospital right now and I’ll keep you all updated.”

He watches sadly as guilt and distress play out across his team’s faces, and he wishes he could take it all away from them.

“Is he— is he gonna—” Penelope can’t quite make herself say it, but Hotch knows instantly what she means by the look of horror in her eyes and the tears already making their way down her cheeks.

Hotch closes his eyes for a moment in a vain attempt to compose himself. “I don’t know,” he answers honestly, and as much as his emotions might have been locked up tight only seconds ago, his voice is thick, and he feels his eyes glaze over. “I hope not.”

“We should’ve been there,” JJ says miserably, not quite crying but looking well on her way, her distraught expression mirroring Penelope’s. “He shouldn’t have had to go through this alone. He was probably— he was probably in pain and suffering and called an ambulance or drove himself to the hospital, and he was all by himself, we should’ve been there, oh my god.”

Her own words are enough to tip her over the edge, and she begins to sob, turning her face into Elle’s shoulder as the three women attempt to comfort one another.

“Us being there wouldn’t have made much of a difference,” Hotch tries to say, “not when the complication happened anyway.”

He can’t talk, though, because he’s about to go and sit on a hard plastic chair in a cold and sterile waiting room potentially for hours, just to be closer to Spencer; just to make himself feel a little bit better about this god awful situation.

“I’m coming with you to the hospital,” Derek says determinedly, as soon as the shock has worn off and Penelope, currently pressed into his side and wrapped under a comforting arm, has calmed down a little.

“Derek—”

“No, Hotch, that’s my man out there, and I’m not— I’m not leaving him to go through this alone.”

“None of us are, Derek,” Hotch says heavily, but he knows he won’t be able to stop the other man, so he gives in. “Alright. Anyone who wants to come to the hospital with me can, but you have to prepare yourself for a long wait. He’s still in surgery and we have no idea how long it’ll take to finish and for him to come around.”

“We don’t care,” Elle says, her voice perhaps the most sombre Hotch has ever heard it, “we’re not taking the chance that Spencer wakes up alone.”

With the rest of the team’s affirming nods, it’s decided.

Hotch drives Derek and Penelope to the hospital, Elle and JJ taking another SUV, while Rossi decides to hold the fort at Quantico. Thankfully, the traffic is minimal, and before they know it, they’re pulling into the parking lot and all piling into the entrance.

They follow the signs to the General Surgery department, and Hotch goes up to speak to the lady behind the desk, informing the staff of their arrival while the others linger a couple of feet back. All in all, they’re sat in the waiting room less than an hour after Hotch initially received the notification of Spencer’s condition.

They’re the only ones in the small room, so it’s unsettlingly quiet, the only noise filling the air the uncomfortable shifting of fabric against the vinyl of the chairs. Derek leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he hangs his head, and Elle and JJ cuddle up together in the corner across from the rest of them, whispering almost silently to one another as they seek comfort in one another. Penelope sits rigidly upright, staring at the wall opposite her as tears stream down her face.

Hotch observes them all and wishes there was something more he could do for them than whatever this strange little pity party is. He lets them stew in their own silence for a couple of minutes before the unspoken tension and guilt radiating from every single team member really starts to bother him.

“Do you remember the first time Spencer toured the bullpen?” Hotch says into the silence, an edge of humour in his tone as he quirks an eyebrow.

Derek smiles, lifting his head and looking in his direction for the first time since they sat down. “When he tripped up the stairs and banged his forehead on the top step?” he chuckles. “His whole week was spent with a cut and a giant bruise smack bang in the middle of his face.”

The rest of the team is snapped out of their stupor at the mention of that memory.

Elle laughs properly, lifting her head from JJ’s shoulder. “I called him Harry Potter for months.”

Penelope gasps. “Yes! It left a tiny scar! Aww, that was so cute.”

“It certainly threw us into the deep end of life with Spencer Reid,” Hotch chuckles warmly.

“And what about the first time he came with us on the case and broke the coffee machine at the precinct on the very first day?” JJ laughs.

“I don’t know how that boy even made it to twenty-two,” Derek says fondly, shaking his head as he leans back in his seat, relaxing.

They all bask for a minute in the amusing memories of Spencer’s mishaps, but Hotch knows there’s so much more to the younger man than clumsiness and social faux pas.

“Remember that time he stayed late for a week just to help one of the junior agents with her caseload so she could take care of her sick son?”

Penelope nods, eyes big and wide. “And the time he taught himself how to cook just so he could make lunch for Anderson while he was taking care of his sick grandmother?”

“One time he came to my house after work to bring me some soup from his favourite restaurant, just because I’d told him it smelt good at lunch,” JJ admits.

“Yeah,” Derek muses. “That kid would do anything to help someone else out, even at his own expense.”

There’s a short pause, a moment of reflection, before Elle speaks up. “We fucked up.”

“We really did,” JJ agrees instantly, sounding as distraught as she looks.

“He was in pain,” Derek says sadly, looking up from his hands at the rest of them, “and he didn’t trust us enough to call us.”

They’ve all been thinking it, but hearing it said out loud just about breaks Hotch’s heart in two.

“Well,” Hotch rationalises, “we just have to do everything in our power to make sure that never happens again.”

“That’s a good resolution if I’ve ever heard one,” Penelope agrees, sounding stronger than she has since they first heard the news. “From here on out, Spencer Reid will never have to feel alone again.”

They spend the next couple of hours reminiscing on some of their best memories of Spencer and counselling one another through the guilt of how they’d treated their youngest member. It’s not like anyone’s been outright cruel, but none of them has made the effort they wish they had, and they all admit that they could’ve done more to make Spencer feel included, like the valued and loved member of their team he is.

Eventually, though, the surgeon comes out to find them.

“Family of Spencer Reid?”

They all stand up instantly, crowding around the doctor eagerly in anxious expectation. Thankfully, though, most of them are profilers — even JJ and Penelope are excellent people-readers — and bad news isn’t anywhere in his expression or body language. Hotch feels a good chunk of the tension ease out of the group as soon as the doctor appears.

“Dr Reid pulled through the surgery, and he’s currently sleeping off the remainder of the anaesthesia in his room, which I’ll take you to in a minute,” the doctor starts, smiling at them as they all relax fully at the knowledge their teammate will be okay. “We removed his appendix successfully, and we managed to stop the bleeding. Dr Reid has an excess of Protein C and Protein S in his blood, which is not usually medically significant, but these are the body’s natural anticoagulants, so when there’s too much in someone’s body, it prevents clotting and promotes abnormal bleeding.

“We eventually stopped the bleeding with antifibrinolytic drugs, but he received three blood transfusions to keep him stable. He should recover quickly with a course of these drugs to prevent post-operative bleeding and other standard post-procedure medicine that he would’ve been prescribed with or without the complications. I’ll take you to his room now, if you’d all like to follow me.”

“I’m gonna be honest,” Penelope whispers to Hotch as they follow the doctor’s quick pace through the sterile hallways towards Spencer’s room on the ward, “I didn’t understand a word of that.”

Hotch chuckles warmly. “I think the most important thing he said,” he whispers back, smiling at her, “is that Spencer’s gonna be just fine.”

Once the doctor leaves them alone, they get comfortable around Spencer’s bed, settling in for what will probably be another hour before Spencer comes round. Hotch and Penelope take one side, and Derek, Elle, and JJ sit opposite them, all watching fondly for a couple of minutes as Spencer sleeps soundly, his face squished against the pillow. It might look a little creepy, sure, but just minutes ago, they weren’t sure they’d ever see their friend alive again, so drinking in the sight of him sleeping soundly is just what they need right now.

“He’s too adorable,” Penelope coos as she brushes a gentle hand through his hair. Hotch watches her warmly, knowing that she’d definitely made the most effort to befriend Spencer, and this has probably been the hardest on her out of all of them. He’s definitely heard of more than one Dr Who marathon evening.

“He really is,” Derek chuckles. “He’s making the rest of us look bad.”

“To be fair, we have just spent the last couple of hours in a hospital waiting room,” Elle reasons, but the rest of them instantly turn to look at her incredulously.

“Yeah, and he just spent the last couple of hours bleeding out, babe,” JJ laughs. “He’s still got us beat.”

Elle winces. “Fair enough.”

They chat for a little bit, all livened up by the sight of Spencer again, before the conversation gives way to quiet again, and they all disappear into their own heads, processing the day’s events in all their uniquely different ways.

It’s not long before the silence is broken again, though.

“Don’t you guys feel kinda shitty that it took Spencer almost dying for us to really realise just how incredible he is?” Derek asks, a guilty look plaguing his expression once more.

“Yes,” Hotch admits, turning to look at him with an open, wise expression. “But the alternative was not realising it at all.”

A little over an hour after they first enter his room, Spencer begins to show signs of waking up, and they all watch him eagerly, waiting to see those big brown eyes again.

His eyes flutter open tiredly, but his face breaks into the loveliest smile as soon as he spots the team gathered around his bed. “You came,” he grins dopily, still sleepy from the anaesthesia.

“We did,” Hotch says, caressing the hand he’s been holding since they entered his bedroom. He’s always felt… protective of the kid, but it’s remarkable how quickly protectiveness spiralled into downright paternalism. “And we’re not leaving until you’re sick and tired of us.”

Spencer stirs, stretching within the confines of the bed a little as he smiles at them all. “Not possible.”

“I wouldn’t bet on it, Spence,” Penelope says through a watery smile as she lays a warm palm on his forehead. “Derek’s gonna eat his crisps with his mouth open and JJ and Elle are gonna flirt relentlessly, and Hotch is gonna tell us off whenever we do anything even slightly against the rules, and I’m gonna hug you constantly, and it’s gonna be a nightmare, just you wait.”

Spencer’s eyes close against his will as sleep reclaims him. Still, before he’s knocked out again, he smiles again and mumbles a sleepy, happy, “can’t wait,” and that’s more than enough for all of them as they do exactly as they promised and camp out beside his bed, eagerly waiting for the next time Spencer wakes up, and they get to spend more time with the 22-year-old genius who’s managed to worm his way into every single one of their hearts without any of them noticing.

It’s funny, Hotch thinks ten months later with Jack tucked into his side, his team sprawled out across his living room, and Spencer fast asleep in his lap as the last credits of their movie night roll, how some of the best times of your life begin with the worst days imaginable.

He supposes it really is true what they say. After rain comes a rainbow.

Cheesy ending, I knowwww, but I couldn't resist! I hope you guys enjoyed this one :) If any medically minded people have a better idea of how to have Spencer haemorrhage during routine surgery (other than a surgeon's mistake bc that seemed way too much hassle) then do let me know because this is all I could come up with based on my basic googling.

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @negativefouriq @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @hotchseyebrows @temily @enbyspencer @reidology @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @tobias-hankel @hotchscotchh @oliverbrnch @physics-magic @sbeno22 @im-autistic @thataveragenerd @anxious-enby @kuolonsyoja @reidreids @cmily @notevanbuckley @thebipolarbisexualnerd (add yourself to my taglist here!)

#criminal minds #my writing #aaron Hotchner #spencer Reid #BAU #elle greenaway #derek Morgan #jennifer jareau #bau team as family #aaron hotchner & spencer Reid #dad hotch #dad aaron hotchner #hurt spencer Reid #spencer Reid whump #whumptober #cm whumptober

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Mind the Gap: Two

Shang- Chi woke up alone in your narrow bed and lay there for a long moment looking at the ceiling. There are plastic stars and dozens upon dozens painstakingly handwritten lines of poetry and little quotes. He wondered how you’d gotten them up there. And he wondered if you kept them because they comforted you. Or inspired you.

It was… weird seeing the parts of yourself you’d tried to hide for so long. The instruments, the books, the crystals. The way the room was flooded with colored light as the sun hit the stained glass. He thoughts of your drab little apartment. The orderliness of it. How minimalist it was. This felt better. Somehow all the missing pieces that gave him any doubts at all made more sense.

He looked at the photos. Little, frozen, out of context moments. People he didn’t recognize. Until he got to the end. Kai in Uniform and holding you, smiling while your chubby dimpled hands cover your mouth. You couldn’t have been more than 5 or 6. All puppy fat and big smiles. That made him feel warm. It was nice knowing that you hadn’t just sprung up somewhere fully formed. And that Kai, for all his unbothered attitude really did love you.

Behind him, he heard footsteps and whirled around to face the door. He wasn’t sure if it was you or not. But. He didn’t want to be caught snooping. So when Katy stuck her head around the door, he exhaled slowly. “There’s breakfast downstairs,” she said quietly, “You okay?”

“Better,” he said after a long second. “I just-”

“I know,” she said. “Her Godmother said she almost died and then-”

“And then she woke up,” he finished.

“And heard someone talking in her head, which- what?”

Shang-Chi made a soft noise that even he didn’t know the meaning of. Last night, he still hadn’t pressed on you for answers. You’d been so disoriented and tired that it didn’t seem quite fair to probe something that obviously caused that much pain. Even as he held you, you’d cried in your sleep, your hands fisted around handfuls of his shirt. And now he didn’t wonder why he frequently found you either awake and working or asleep somewhere else. You talked. Alternating between defiance and begging. It hurt. It tore at him like sharp pointed teeth. It still hurt even in the bright light of day. And he wondered if you couldn’t remember or if- if the Archive wouldn’t let you remember.

“Let’s go eat,” Katy prompted, linking her arm through his. “Lea said Y/N may not be back for hours… Something about everything being a little “off” after she loses a day or two of time.”

He nodded and reluctantly allowed himself to be dragged away from the pictures. His stomach making most of the decision for him. He wasn’t sure what food was down there but it smelled amazing. And he realized that he’d not eaten anything since breakfast the previous day.

In the kitchen, he pauses for a second to take in all the details he hadn’t noticed before. Too worried about you being alone in the bedroom in the attic. Bundles of herbs are hanging to dry. Everything is copper and scrubbed oak work surfaces. The windows are open and the smells from the garden and wet earth from the rain the day before mingle pleasantly with all the pastry smells and warm coffee. It’s comfortable in a way that isn’t manufactured for the house guests. It’s a working room. One that operates the same way year round. And Shang-Chi wondered what happened to keep you away.

Even as your Godmother, Grandmother and assorted cousins quickly ply them all with breakfast and hospitality, he can’t help but feel a little… Overwhelmed. Everyone is just so friendly and warm. No one questions them. No one is apprehensive. And as the talk flies around the table, it’s quickly apparent that you come by your humor and broody tendencies honestly. Your grandmother likes to fuss and she likes guests. She especially likes having ALL of her grandkids at home which he’s given to understand is rare.

Outside there’s the sound of horses and incoherent masculine whooping sounds after a while and She smiles, “I wondered if they’d be back before lunch.”

Shang-Chi watched out the window over her shoulder and she chuckled, “I don’t know how neither of them has never broken their necks jumping that back fence… It used to take years off my life watching them do it when they were small.”

“Daredevils, huh?”

She half shrugged, “It was almost impossible to keep either of them in the house… Wild things.” But there was more fondness than heat in her voice even as she shook her head. “Though their father being what he is, it’s no small wonder.”

He’s only half listening now as he watched you dismount from the horse you’d been riding. Your hair is messy and windblown and there’s color in your face and the careless half smile. There’s a warmth that spreads through his chest, even as his heart skips a beat.

You pause in the kitchen, looking surprised to find people there and glance at the clock frowning before checking your watch. Almost like you aren’t sure which one to believe. “Sit, Eat,” Lea scolds, pressing a mug into your hands and gesturing at an empty chair.

“I don’t think I can,” you say hesitantly.

The taller woman cradles your face in her hands for a second and turns your head to the side to inspect the still fading bruises, “Is it better or worse than it was?”

“It depends on how long I’m out for,” you say after a moment. “It still takes at least a day. But sometimes a week or more.”

“And everything else?”

“The only thing that feels right is being outside.”

Shang-Chi watches Lea and Kai trade worried looks while you studiously look at the mug in your hands after Lea lets you go and deposits you in a chair. “Try any way,” she said softly, setting a plate down in front of you gently. There’s not much on it. A little fruit, some fresh bread and some ham. But even from where he’s standing Shang-Chi can see some of the color leave your face.

“I should call the Aunts and tell them we’re going to cancel the party…” your grandmother said after watching you try to pick at the fruit before giving up and trying a bit of bread.

“I’ll be fine,” you sigh, “It’s just some nausea from getting smacked in the head hell knows how many times and the usual disorientation from not being in the same timezone as everyone else.”

“Smacked in the head?” Katy asked over her mug.

“I made my phone call. The last thing I remember is getting pistol whipped before I was yanked out of the driver’s seat… You would think, given that the Archive lives in my head it would do more to prevent head trauma but… Nah. Who needs grey matter?”

“Driver’s seat?” she asked, wincing.

“It the easiest way I’ve ever found to explain it. This is a meat mech and I don’t always get to drive… The Archive has two main objectives. Protecting the vessel that houses it AND protecting the balance of the universe by preserving knowledge… Anything that interferes with those goals is typically dealt with with extreme prejudice.”

“Typically?” This time it was Wenwu who asked and you half turn that direction and shrug, honestly grateful to not have to pretend to eat.

“Archives have never had their own physical body. By their own account and every corroborating account I’ve ever found they’re… spirits for lack of a better word. A manifestation of desperation. Probably resulting from things like the destruction of the Library of Alexandria and so forth… So they don’t really have any moral quandaries. Not the way a physical entity might.” You sigh and tilt your head, popping your neck to try and relieve some of the discomfort.

“So how-”

“I was the most powerful person in the room when a previous vessel died,” you say exhaling slowly.

“You were a kid,” Shang-Chi said taking the vacant seat on your right.

“It’s- Atypical- according to the Archive for them to inhabit children… Their ability to complete their task can be hindered somewhat by the physical ability of a vessel. But. I had the potential, I guess. So here we are.”

“That was a very coherent explanation,” Kai said mildly.

“Getting out for a while helped make some space to think,” you say shrugging again, “And i did promise an explanation.”

“Space?” Katy asked, frowning.

“Imagine putting all my books into Shang-Chi’s apartment then trying to find something,” you snort. “It takes effort. And a little time. And some shuffling around.”

“Hey!” he protested, throwing one arm over the back of your chair to tug you closer.

“It’s not my fault you live in a literal shoebox.”

“It’s not my fault you’re a nerd,” he chuckles, kissing the side of your head gently.

_________________

You stand on the dock watching the sunlight on the water and sink gratefully onto the warm wood. For a person as introverted as you are, being bombarded on all sides all the time is… Overwhelming. You can hear the people in the distance. The talking and laughing and general ruckus. It’s familiar. But right now you’d kill for silence.

And you aren’t sure but, you think that the Archive might have similar feelings. That in itself is a blessing. You’re tired. Your body is sore. And all you want is to crawl back into your bed.

“You okay?”

You half turn to look up at Shang- Chi and smile a little. “Just tired,” you assure him.

“Are you always… this way?” He doesn’t really know how to put it. Or if you really want company. But, he settles behind you and pulls you against his chest.

“Tired? Yeah. The Archive doesn’t sleep. It interferes with the mission. Which means I’m more often than not awake the entire time… Unless it affects the performance of the vessel. Then I can sleep.”

He doesn’t really know what to say to that. So he doesn’t say anything. Gratified when you don’t pull away he pulls you a little closer and kisses the side of your head.

And not for the first time, you thank whatever gods might be listening for people who understand silence.

Shang-chi isn’t sure when you fall asleep. But when he hears the quiet little snores from your head being in a slightly weird angle, he smiles a little and adjusts you carefully to be laying more securely against his chest. It gives him some time to think.

For the years that he spent dancing around you as you started as a friend of Katy’s, he’d felt a pain. A sense that something was too raw to touch. It had made you feel familiar. It made you feel like a kindred spirit. A twin flame. Even as you both tried to hold back, to love people without letting them see the ugly things you kept hidden. Even as you’d tried to build a relationship on secrets. But now? This moment sitting in the sunshine on the dock with you snoring on his shoulder, it feels more intimate than any time he’d ever managed to get you naked. For you to be this comfortable with him… Not to belittle the sanctity of a drunk make out after a duet at karaoke but… It felt like progress. Real progress. He could see the person you were under all the secrets and little white lies. And somehow, it wasn’t very far from what he already knew.

Footsteps on the dock behind him make him half turn, careful not to jostle you awake. He’s not surprised to see Kai standing there. “Is she asleep?”

He nodded, reluctant to talk in case you weren’t as deeply asleep as you seemed.

“Good,” Kai said relaxing a little. “Listen, Grandma is going to turn this into a party… It’s Charity season and Y/N hasn’t been home for anything in… a while. So the aunts and subsequently all the kids are on their way. If you can I’d carry her into the house and put her back to bed. Once the kids learn she’s here there’s not going to be any more sleeping.”

When Kai noticed him frowning the other man smiled a little. “She means well. After… Everything happened Grandma just didn’t want her to be treated like a leper.” You stir sleepily and both men wince reflexively, “Can you-”

“I got her,” Shang-Chi answered, reluctant to let you go. Not even to Kai.

And to his credit, Shang-Chi thought, Kai let him go past without much more than a nod.

#shang chi #Shang-Chi x reader #fluff #mild angst #magic #family #hurt/comfort

[refinedbuffoonery]

Looking Through A Window (7)

macriley married undercover au

masterlist.

Sorry for the delay! I either have my shit together in real life or fandom life, but never both at the same time lol. Anyway, I got endless joy from reading all your reactions to last chapter’s clifhanger (sorry not sorry). I didn’t respond to comments because I don’t trust myself not to spoil anything, but just know that I appreciate every single one of your theories. Also, many of you were at least somewhat correct. (Yikes am I becoming predictable?? Gotta fix that.) This chapter ends at a good stopping point, so I’m going to switch gears and write a couple chapters of other fics (which I encourage you to read!!) before coming back to this. But fear not! I have big plans for the future of this fic, and I’ll send you all down the theory rabbit hole soon enough. xoxo

*****

The world narrows until Mac is only aware of two things: his racing heart and the fact that Riley is gone. 

The blood is fresh, but there’s no sign of a struggle—no sign of anything, really. The windows are locked and unbroken, the bedroom door is half-closed the way it always is. Not a single thing is out of place…except for Riley. 

So, where the hell is she? 

His body goes taut as the worst case scenario plays in his mind. Please don’t be gone, Mac silently begs. Please. 

The apartment is quiet. Too quiet. So when the shower turns on with a loud thunk, Mac flinches. Hard. Without thinking, he scrambles out of bed and lunges for the bathroom door. 

As he bursts through the door, Mac’s awareness shifts to three things: Riley is alive, she’s naked, and she’s screaming. 

“Mac!” She hisses, glaring over her shoulder. If looks could kill, he’d be very, very dead by now. At least her back is to him. “What the hell?” 

Mac barely hears her over the roaring in his ears. He scans her naked body, trying and failing to be professional as he scans for injuries. 

His eyes land on the blood smeared between her thighs, then the thin stream rolling down the inside of her knee. As understanding dawns on him, Mac holds out his own blood-covered hand in silent explanation. 

Riley winces. “Sorry about the blood.” 

Mac still feels a little disconnected from his body when he says, “I was afraid you were dead.”

Embarrassment floods Riley’s face. She begs,“Can we please finish this conversation when I’m not naked and bleeding all over the floor?” Mac’s gaze automatically flicks to the drops of blood between her feet, but he doesn’t move. His limbs are still frozen in place, the way they’ve been since he found her. “Get out!” Riley snaps. 

His own embarrassment finally taking hold, Mac stumbles backward, tripping over the door frame on his way out. 

While Riley showers, Mac busies himself by stripping the bed and washing the sheets and blankets. Not just because it needs to be done, but because it’s easier to process emotions when his hands are busy. It feels like he just experienced the entire spectrum of human emotion in the span of three minutes, and now all these untethered feelings are floating around in his head. As he works, Mac examines them one by one. 

He woke up this morning wanting to cuddle with Riley. Not just wanting to, but comfortable enough to act on that desire. 

When his hand landed in the blood, his brain immediately jumped to the worst case scenario. He is deeply afraid of said scenario. 

Then panic set in, as he desperately tried to prove himself wrong. 

Followed by relief at finding Riley and learning the blood was not from an injury, but from a normal bodily function. 

Then embarrassment, because he freaked out and barged in on her over something he could’ve deduced for himself if only he’d just stopped to think. He’s supposed to be smart, so why couldn’t that big brain of his, as Jack would say, figure this out? 

The answer to that question, at least, comes easily: Because it’s Riley, and he doesn’t always think with his head when it comes to her. 

For example, while he’s mortified at seeing her naked, a part of him wishes she’d been facing the other direction. 

Mac starts the washing machine and decides to do the mature thing and hide in the kitchen for the entire foreseeable future. He spies Harley lying on the couch, gazing out a window. “And where were you for all of this?” he asks. “A heads-up would’ve been nice.” 

Harley stares at him for a few seconds before resuming her vigil, and Mac hears the message, loud and clear: You’re on your own. 

When Riley still hasn’t emerged from the bedroom long after the shower turned off, Mac suspects that she’s hiding too. He doesn’t blame her. 

It’s late morning by the time the laundry is finished, and Mac can’t hide any longer. Clutching the still-warm sheets and blankets to his chest, he cautiously ventures into the bedroom. Riley is lying on the bed with her knees tucked up to her chin, and a pang of sympathy echoes in Mac’s chest. Her eyes are closed, but Mac doubts that she’s actually asleep. 

Dropping the sheets on the floor, he asks, “Are you alive?” 

Riley groans. “No.” 

“Could you please go die on the couch then, so I can make the bed?” She groans again and mumbles something incoherent. “Also you’ll feel better if you eat something.” 

“No I won’t.” She sounds like a whining toddler, and Mac has to stifle a snort. Still, a bit of the awkwardness dissipates. But only a bit. 

“Yes you will. I know you, Miss Hangry.” 

“I’m not hangry.” 

“Says the one who skipped breakfast.” 

“I was hiding from you.” 

“So was I,” Mac confesses. Riley cracks a single eye open at that, just in time to see his cheeks heat. “Trust me, I am way more embarrassed than you.” 

It takes him a second to notice that she’s blushing too. “Wanna bet?” 

Mac starts putting the fitted sheet on the unoccupied side of the mattress. “I didn’t see anything, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Nothing he hasn’t seen before, anyway, but Mac wisely decides to keep that part to himself. “Victoria’s secret is still a secret,” he adds with a wink. 

Riley rolls her eyes. “You did not just say that.” 

“Made you laugh, didn’t it?” Mac gives her a shit-eating grin, and despite her best attempt at hiding it, amusement slips through the cracks in Riley’s unimpressed facade. 

“Whatever. We don’t have to do anything today, do we?” Mac raises his brow at the question. For all the years he’s known Riley, she’s always been more of a ‘suck it up’ kind of person, not a ‘stay in bed’ person. So her question is surprising, if not mildly concerning. 

“Nope.” He pauses. “Are you okay? This isn’t like you.” 

Riley rolls onto her back. “Dude, it feels like someone took a cheese grater to my insides.” 

Mac winces at the mental image. “Ouch.” 

She pauses, as if contemplating her next words before she says them. “I got a new IUD a couple months ago, and this one makes my cramps way worse. I used to be able to ignore them, but this sucks.” 

Not knowing how to reply to that, he squeezes Riley’s ankle in a way he hopes is reassuring. Mac flicks his gaze up to meet hers and finds Riley already looking at him. Her gaze is warm and steady, but Mac can see hints of pain clouding her dark eyes. He thinks it isn’t fair that her body turns on her like this. 

"I'm getting back in bed the second you're done making it," she warns. 

"Go right ahead." 

Riley wanders into the kitchen, and, true to her word, reappears right when Mac finishes smoothing down the comforter, with Harley at her heels. To Mac's surprise, Harley jumps on the bed, waits for Riley to get situated, and then tucks herself into Riley's side. A smile blooms on his face. Riley puts an arm around Harley, pulling the dog into her stomach before moving to scratch her head. When Harley licks Riley’s face in return, Mac suddenly gets the feeling he's watching something private. 

Satisfied that Riley is in capable hands, Mac leaves without another word.

*****

Beneath the weathered wooden conference table, Harley’s head rests on Mac’s foot as she dozes through the Patriots’ council meeting. When they arrived, no one looked more put off by their presence than Conrad, but, true to his word, Ethan welcomed Mac and Riley with open arms and encouraged their participation. A murmur of dissent snaked through the room, but no one openly questioned Ethan’s decision to include them. 

Twenty minutes in, Mac would rather be anywhere but here. The “meeting” so far has been very little business and mostly rehashing some fishing trip a few of the guys went on over the weekend. Mac is holding out hope that it won’t be a complete waste of his time, but said hope dwindles each time someone exaggerates about the size of a fish. 

There’s nothing interesting to look at in the room, save for Riley. No art, no plants, no wall of guns. Not even a clock. Just drab gray walls with no windows. And he doesn’t dare study any of the men for longer than a second or two each. Making an enemy is as easy as looking at someone the wrong way, and Mac has no desire to antagonize the other members of the Patriots…at least not yet. 

Extricating his foot from beneath Harley’s head, he’s just about to make an excuse about needing to use the restroom when Ethan’s phone rings. After quickly checking it, Ethan excuses himself from the meeting with a curt nod to Conrad. Mac understands the look; he’s given and received it countless times himself, after all. Permission to continue without him. Because despite his tendency to toe the line, Conrad is still Ethan’s trusted lieutenant. The exchange is subtle, practiced, and apparently insignificant to the other men at the table, who are somehow still talking about fish. 

When the storytelling finally lulls, Conrad clears his throat. "Let's start with recruitment. Report." No nonsense, right to the point. Maybe he’s tired of the fish conversation too. 

As Conrad steers the conversation through the various items on the agenda, Mac realizes two things. 

One, the Patriots are far more organized than he originally made them out to be. This is no grassroots startup, and their plans go much deeper than protests and parking lot shootings. 

Two, Conrad is careful not to let anyone share too much information, instead asking everyone to give their detailed reports in individual meetings. And it's more than just trying to keep him and Riley in the dark. It's almost as if…almost as if Conrad doesn't want anyone to see the big picture besides himself. 

Mac decides to take his theory for a test drive. "I know I'm new here," he says, "but why have everyone meet with you a second time individually instead of sharing their full reports now? Wouldn't that be a better use of time?" 

Conrad sneers. "On the contrary, boy, why would I waste everyone's time making them listen to information they don't need to know?" 

It takes every ounce of Mac’s self control not to roll his eyes. 

Beneath the table, Riley grips his knee, nails digging in through his khakis. Mac wants to tell her that he’s thinking the same thing she is, but he can’t. The best he can settle for is a brief touch on her arm before needing to do something with his hands to distract himself from the way his skin burns under her touch. He elects to drum his fingers on the table, mostly to push Conrad’s buttons even further. 

If Conrad’s furrowed brow is any indication, it works. 

“Do you mind?” Conrad says with a pointed glare at Mac’s hand. 

Feigning ignorance, Mac replies, “Mind about what?” 

“The tapping.” 

“Oh!” Mac makes a show of sliding his gaze down to his hand before flattening his palm against the table. “My bad.” 

Looking none too pleased, Conrad moves on, but to Mac’s surprise, the man sitting beside him leans in to whisper, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. He's not the one to piss off." His words are tinged with genuine concern, and under different circumstances, Mac would appreciate the advice. 

"He's a man," Mac whispers back, "just like everyone else at this table." Minus Riley, of course. 

The man presses on. "The previous occupant of your seat was shot point blank for asking too many questions." Mac's brows raise at that. "You're sitting in a dead man's chair." 

Mac pockets that little detail gratefully, but he hesitates before ultimately heeding the man's warning. He fiddles with the button on his sleeve, impatiently waiting for the meeting to end so he can share his theory with Riley. 

What Mac doesn't anticipate is Riley beating him to it, pulling him aside before they're even back in the car. "Conrad's compartmentalizing information," she says in a quiet, confident tone. 

They’re too exposed to be having this conversation. Mac nervously checks for eavesdroppers, but doesn’t spot any. Deeming it safe for now, he replies, "Yeah I thought so too." 

"He's made himself essential. No one else knows how everything works." Riley pauses, eyes catching on something over his shoulder. Barely audibly, she adds, "An asshole and a control freak." He doesn’t need to turn around to know she’s looking at Conrad, not when she has a white-knuckled grip on Harley’s leash. 

"So if we eliminate him…" 

Riley nods in understanding. He’s controlling everything in an attempt to rise through the rankings and seize power. So if they eliminate Conrad, the whole organization may very well come tumbling down in his wake. 

Now they just have to figure out how the hell to accomplish that. 

"What if we help him?" Riley suggests, reading Mac’s mind. 

"What?" 

"We've spent all this time looking for the weakest link, but maybe…maybe we need to attach ourselves to the strongest one." A stray curl falls in Riley's face, and as she brushes it behind her ear, Mac absentmindedly wishes his fingers were brushing it back instead. Riley continues, "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I think we should help him become more powerful than he already is. That way, we can do as much damage as possible when we take him out." 

A man they don't know walks by, and Mac nods in greeting. Waiting for the man to move out of earshot, Mac drops to one knee, giving Harley a good scratch. She wags her tail and opens her mouth in a smile, clearly enjoying the attention. When the coast is clear again, Mac says, "You just made this op so much longer, but I think you're right." 

Riley snorts. "What, is there somewhere else you need to be?" 

Gazing up at the woman before him, the answer is obvious. Not unless you're coming with me. 

*****

In the gray hour before dawn crests over the world, Mac wakes to something tickling his nose. He exhales sharply, trying to blow it away, but the tickle persists.

His face is pressed into the nape of Riley's neck, and a deep inhale causes a few strands of her hair to go up his nostrils. Reaching up to brush Riley’s hair out of his face, he hesitates right before his calloused fingers brush her skin, afraid that even the barest touch will shatter the moment. As soon as Riley wakes, he'll have to hide behind his mask of indifference, and Mac isn't ready to do that yet. 

For as long as he dares, Mac allows himself to imagine what it would be like to wake up with Riley for real, in his own home. He sees her curled in his bed, sheets pulled up to her chin, hears the soft, steady cadence of her breathing, smells the lingering traces of perfume on her skin. 

Riley stirs in his arms, and the vision blurs, moving out of reach. Mac grasps for it, but it evaporates into nothingness as she settles back against him. 

He shifts his focus to the very real sensation of Riley’s body tucked into his. Her back to his chest, his leg slotted between hers, her ass pressed against his—

Shit. 

Mac jerks backward, trying to put as much space between them as possible before Riley wakes and realizes just what she scooted back against. 

Except, in his haste, Mac doesn’t realize there’s a third party present until his foot slams into the small, warm body lying at the foot of the bed. Guilt washes over him at Harley’s ensuing yelp. 

Awake, Riley mumbles, “Did you just kick the dog?” 

“It was an accident!” Mac insists, sitting up. He turns his attention to Harley. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. You can come back if you want.” He pats the bed in a way he hopes is reassuring, but Harley merely eyes him with suspicion before slinking out of the room. 

“I can’t believe you kicked the dog,” Riley says, still half-asleep. “She finally slept with us, and you betrayed her.” 

“I told you it was an accident!” 

“Betrayal.” 

Mac rakes a hand through his hair. “You’re never going to let this go, are you?” 

“Nope.” Riley sighs, rolling back to her side of the bed, and Mac isn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed. Or maybe a little bit of both. “You better go apologize.” 

Mac scoffs. “And let you take over the entire bed while I’m gone? I don’t think so.” 

And there it is. The closest they’ve come to acknowledging the evolution of their bed-sharing habits. Particularly the newfound lack of sticking to their respective sides. If he’s being honest with himself, Mac doesn’t know where to go from here. He wants to see it as a sign of things changing between them. Obviously Riley is aware of their precarious positioning, but based on her casual relocation, she doesn’t see this any differently than the dozens of times they’ve slept squished in a small space together in the past. Whether she’s aware of the other thing, she doesn’t let on. 

“Your funeral,” Riley says, pulling Mac out of his head. 

Right. 

The dog. 

The dog whose forgiveness he needs to earn via extra breakfast. Maybe extra dinner too. 

Sighing, Mac goes after her, cursing his inability to get things right with either of the females in this house. 

.

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[hailbop1701]

@friendlybelladonna picked prompt #76!

Fandom: Star Trek AOS

Type: X Reader

Frequent Flyer

Word Count: 1,298

BonesXRedaer (Star Trek AOS)

Yay prompt Wednesday everyone! This was pretty fun to write though I don't know if I got the original mood I wanted. I hope you all enjoy it anyway! As usual no beta so typos will be present.

-H❤🖖

“I’m honestly not hurting myself on purpose just so I can see him,” you grumbled from the biobed Christine Chapel helped you onto. The nurse looked at you unconvinced with her hands on her hips; she is one of your closest friends and had immediately seen who you had a little crush on.  

“Right and the flirtatious banter you two seem to have is-”

“Is nothing. The banter isn’t flirtatious,” you said mostly just to convince yourself. Christine laughed and rolled her eyes.

 

“Okay (Y/N) you know the drill,” she sighed. You took several deep breaths so the bed and Christine's tricorder could measure your heart rate. Several of the usual checks were made before they brought a doctor in to officially look at your arm. 

The Red Alert had died down quite a while ago and you had avoided sickbay for as long as you could but you knew for a fact that your arm was broken and the burn was already getting infected. “Hello (Y/N),” the voice of Geoffrey M’Benga reverberated around the small exam room. 

You looked up and gave the doctor a small but mildly disappointed smile, “Hey Geoff,” 

M’Benga returned the sad smile and shook his head in mild exasperation, “What are we going to do with you my dear girl? This is the fourth time this month,” he said gently, taking your arm. You scowled at your scuffed boots, cheeks red with embarrassment. Picking at your uniform you avoided looking at the two caregivers in the room. 

“I-” you began but the sound of loud frustrated footsteps cut you off mid -explanation. 

“Again?” a southern voice drawled from the doorway, you ducked your head cheeks becoming redder than before. Clearing your throat you looked up through your lashes at the ship’s CMO, 

“In my defense, the ship was getting hit like a pinata and that hot pipe technically shouldn’t have been there,” you said cheekily. Doctor Leonard McCoy gave you a stern look, while M’Benga smirked as he readied a hypo. 

“That was four hours ago, why did you wait so long to seek medical attention Ensign?” McCoy barked out his frustration growing. You bit your lip trying to come up with a better reason than ‘because you make me nervous and I’m a complete chicken,’ 

“Well sickbay seemed a bit busy and I figured if I’m gonna wait may as well be useful so I continued working-” 

The silence was almost deafening. You could feel the tension and it wasn't the good kind either. 

“I’m making it worse aren’t I?” you asked nobody in particular. Christine and M’Benga both hummed in agreement, almost feeling bad for you. 

“Geoff, Chris can I have a moment with Ensign (Y/L/N)?” McCoy’s voice was tight, his eyes never leaving your face; which was red as your uniform. M’Benga set the bone regen aside and got up from his stool, he caught your eye and winked. Gritting your teeth you glared at his retreating back. Christine gave you a cheeky smile and subtly motioned for you to breathe as she walked through the open exam room door. It hissed shut behind her leaving you and McCoy alone in the cramped space. 

“How much trouble am I in?” you asked anxiously. McCoy sighed and sat down heavily on the empty stool by your bed. He reached over and grabbed the bone regen and gently placed it over your arm. 

“Fourth time this month (Y/N) what’s going on?” he asked, trying to meet your eyes. You avoided his gaze as much as possible but he was persistent. Biting your lip again you glared at the biobed monitor when it showed that your heart rate increased. 

“I don't know what's wrong with me,” 

“Come on (Y/N) you’re not just coming in here to see my pretty face,” McCoy teased dryly while he skimmed through your medical file. You chuckled humorlessly, ‘Uh well, about that,’ you thought with a snort.  

McCoy looked up from his PADD at your very unladylike snort. Setting the device down he leaned forward making you want to lean back or at least get your heart under control. Your cheeks flared again and the twitch of McCoy’s lips was almost unnoticeable. 

"Well, if you're going to keep ending up here you may as well call me Leonard. You make me call you (Y/N) after all" 

“Leonard,” you tested the name carefully before nodding. Leonard smirked after you said his name like he enjoyed the sound of it coming from you. He pulled a tray full of supplies over to his side and picked up a hypospray, 

“Your burn got infected, I want to give you some antibiotics to help clear it up,” 

You nodded and tilted your head to the side so he could get to your neck. Leonard brushed your hair away and gently injected you with the medicine. He rubbed the injection site easing the sting, “Are you in any pain?” Leonard asked, eyeing your fluttering heart rate. 

Huffing out a breath you shook your head, “No I’m just-I have to get back to being a klutz in engineering. Thanks for patching me up again,” you hopped off the bed only wobbling for a second. Leonard grabbed your elbow to steady you an order to stay already on his lips. 

“I’m fine, you’re fine, we’re all fine and not-damn it stop looking at me like that!” you growled. Leonard smiled fully at that, 

“Like what?” he asked innocently knowing exactly what you meant. 

“Like I dunno! Like you want to…” you spluttered trailing off. Scratching the back of your neck you looked away trying to find the right words, sighing at your scrambled brain you did the only thing that could get your point across. Grabbing him by his blue shirt you pulled him forward so he was almost off the stool he was sitting on,

“Like this,” you breathed before capturing his lips with your own.

 You let him go after a minute, red-faced you looked up. He had a look of complete surprise and a stiff posture; you immediately regretted your actions. Rejection coursed through you as you back away toward the door, 

“Now that I made it weird, I’m going to make my exit,” you said hitting the door control so they hissed open. Halfway out of the room you felt a hand grab your uniform and a strong tug pulled you backward. Yelping indignantly you found yourself in the exam room again and the door firmly closed.  

“Wha-” 

You were pressed up against the wall by the biobed with his lips on yours. Gasping into his mouth you reached up and threaded your hands into his hair. Leonard took that as an invitation to explore your mouth as he moved his hands to your hips. 

Pulling back Leonard rested his forehead against yours as you both tried to catch your breath. “Please be more careful, okay darlin’?” 

“I make no promises,” you murmured letting your hands slide down from his hair so they rested on his chest. You smiled at his annoyed expression, 

“But I’ll try,” 

Leonard hummed lowering his head so he could whisper against your neck making promises of his own.

 Kissing you gently one more time he took his leave tossing an “I’ll see you tonight for dinner,” over his shoulder. 

You stalked past the nurse’s station where Christine and M’Benga sat chatting quietly. They both looked up at your approach. 

“Not. A. Word,” you growled at the blonde woman who merely smirked her eyes fixed upon the bruised spot just below your ear. After you fled back down to engineering Geoff groaned as Christine victoriously handed him a stack of PADDS full of reports that need to be done. 

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Star Trek X Reader: @lumar014ad

#star trek aos #leonard mccoy #leonard mccoy x reader #reader insert #leonard bones mccoy #leonard bones mccoy/reader #hailey the queen of typos

[arcticdementor]

The University of California system is getting rid of its SAT/ACT requirement. More will follow.

There’s a lot to say. First, we must distinguish between two types of tests, or really two types of testing. When people say “standardized tests,” they think of the SAT, but they also think of state-mandated exams (usually bought, at great taxpayer expense, from Pearson and other for-profit companies) that are designed to serve as assessments of public K-12 schools, of aggregates and averages of students. The SAT, ACT, GRE, GMAT, LSAT, MCAT, and similar tests are oriented towards individual ability or aptitude; they exist to show prerequisite skills to admissions officers. (And, in one of the most essential purposes of college admissions, to employers, who are restricted in the types of testing they can perform thanks to Griggs v Duke Power Co.) Sure, sometimes researchers will use SAT data to reflect on, for example, the fact that there’s no underlying educational justification for higher graduation rates1, but SATs are really about the individual. State K-12 testing is about cities and districts, and exists to provide (typically dubious) justification for changes to education policy2. SATs and similar help admissions officers sort students for spots in undergraduate and graduate programs. This post is about those predictive entrance tests like the SAT.

Liberals repeat several types of myths about the SAT/ACT with such utter confidence and repetition that they’ve become a kind of holy writ. But myths they are.

1. SATs/ACTs don’t predict college success. They do, indeed. This one is clung to so desperately by liberals that you’d think there was some sort of compelling empirical basis to believe this. There isn’t. There never has been. They’re making it up. They want it to be true, and so they believe it to be true.

…

2. The SATs only tell you how well a student takes the SAT. This is perhaps a corollary to 1., and is equally wrong. They tell us what they were designed to tell us: how well students are likely to perform in college. But the SATs tell us about much more than college success. Let me run this graphic again.

…

3. SATs just replicate the income distribution. No. Again, asserted with utter confidence by liberals despite overwhelming evidence that this is not true. I believe that this research represents the largest publicly-available sample of SAT scores and income information, with an n of almost 150,000, and the observed correlation between family income and SAT score is .25. This is not nothing. It is a meaningful predictor. But it means that the large majority of the variance in SAT scores is not explainable by income information. A correlation of .25 means that there are vast numbers of lower-income students outperforming higher-income students. Other analyses find similar correlations. If SAT critics wanted to say that “there is a relatively small but meaningful correlation between family income and SAT scores and we should talk about that,” fair game. But that’s not how they talk. The routinely make far stronger claims than that in an effort to dismiss these tests all together, such as here by Yale’s Paul Bloom. (Whose work I generally like.) It’s just not that hard to correlate two variables together, guys. I don’t know why you wouldn’t ever ask yourselves “is this thing I constantly assert as absolute fact actually true?” Well, maybe I do.

In general, progressive and left types routinely overstate the power of the relationship between family wealth and academic performance on all manner of educational outcomes. The political logic is obvious: if you generally want to redistribute money (as I do) then the claim that educational problems are really economic problems provides ammo for your position. But the fact that there is a generic socioeconomic effect does not mean that giving people money will improve their educational outcomes very much, particularly if richer people are actually mildly but consistently better at school than poorer for sorting reasons that are not the direct product of differences in income. That is, what correlation does exist between SES and academic indicators might simply be the metrics accurately measuring the constructs they were designed to measure.

And throwing money at our educational problems, while noble in intent, hasn’t worked. (People react violently to this, but for example poorer and Blacker public schools receive significantly higher per-pupil funding than richer and whiter schools, which should not be a surprise given that the policy apparatus has been shoveling money at the racial performance gap for 40 years.) All manner of major interventions in student socioeconomic status, including adoption into dramatically different home and family conditions, have failed to produce the benefits you’d expect if academic outcomes were a simple function of money. I believe in redistribution as a way to ameliorate the consequences of poor academic performance. There is no reason to think that redistribution will ameliorate poor academic performance itself.

5. SATs are easily gamed with expensive tutoring. They are not. This one is perhaps less empirically certain than the prior two and on which I’m most amenable to counterargument, but the preponderance of the evidence seems clear to me in saying that the benefits of tutoring/coaching for these tests are vastly overstated. Again, a simplistic proffered explanation for a troublesome set of facts that then implies simplistic solutions that would not work.

6. Going test optional increases racial diversity. This one, I think, must be called scientifically unsettled. However both Sweitzer, Blalock, and Sharma and Belasco, Rosinger, and Hearn find no appreciable increase in racial diversity after universities go test-optional. “Holistic” application criteria like admissions essays almost certainly benefit richer students anyway. What’s more, we have to ask ourselves what “diversity” really means in this context. Private colleges and universities keep the relevant data close to the vest, for obvious reasons, but it’s widely believed that many elite schools satisfy their internal diversity goals for Black students by aggressively pursuing wealthy Kenyan and Nigerian international students, whose parents have the means to be the kind of reliable donors that such schools rely on so heavily. I’m not aware of a really comprehensive study that examines this issue, and it would be hard to pull off, but the relevant question is “do various policies intended to improve diversity on campus actually increase the enrollment of American-born descendants of African slaves?” I can’t say, but you can guess where my suspicions lie.

…

All of that is prologue to the bigger point: the controversy over college entrance examinations stems not from the examinations themselves, but from the fact that they reveal profound differences in human capital that make progressives uncomfortable. The SATs don’t create inequality. They reveal inequality.

…

The racial achievement/performance gap is a curious thing even in the context of an American political discourse that seems to get more bizarre by the day. That the gap exists is, on balance, not controversial. Gaps in performance are observed on essentially every measured academic metric, though the size of the effects vary from context to context, and the general distribution is Asian American students at the top, white students next, then Hispanic, then Black. The Black-white gap in particular has shrunk from the era of (explicitly) segregated schools but progress has not been consistent or linear. Most people in academia and politics admit it exists: prominent Black politicians like Barack Obama and Kamala Harris reference it, every major think tank and foundation operating in the educational space identifies it as a major priority, and the NAACP used to address if often, though their Education and Education Strategy pages have recently disappeared so it’s hard to know where they stand now. These things are faddish but once upon a time every other dissertation written by someone getting a PhD in Education was about the gap. We can observe it even outside of reference to controversial tests, such as noting that the white high school graduation rate is 10% higher than that for Black students. The achievement gap is a thing.

And yet I also find a rapidly-congealing social prohibition against talking about these gaps in progressive spaces. If you refer to a racial achievement gap in a lot of liberal or left contexts now, you’ll find that people clam up fast and get visibly uncomfortable, even if you take pains to point out that an academic achievement gap does not imply an academic potential gap. People just don’t want to acknowledge that gaps exist at all; our racial discourse appears to have become such a blunt instrument that the acknowledgement of racial difference is controversial even when you preface discussion with the belief (that I hold) that the gap is the product of innumerable environmental and sociocultural factors rather than genetics or other inherent differences. Simply saying “Black students consistently score lower on tests like the SATs, have lower average GPAs, and have worse metrics on ancillary concerns like truancy” - again, Barack Obama’s position, Kamala Harris’s position, Cory Booker’s position - is enough for people to start launching into harangues about the inherent violence of those comparisons. People just do not want to talk about this stuff.

…

Those concerns with group differences, at least, have some sort of basic political logic and are amenable to complaints that they are the product of systemic inequality. (They are, but not the inequalities that people think, and again the SAT gap is a result of systemic inequality, not a cause of systemic inequality.) More disturbing to me is the rise of resistance within academia to the notion of inequalities between individuals. When I was in grad school more than a half-decade ago, I observed with some considerable unhappiness that it had become increasingly socially unacceptable to speak of some students as simply better students than others, as being more talented, harder working, or more prepared. All of this was seen as inegalitarian and, eventually, as “white supremacist” even if every student being compared in a given context was white. There were many instructors back then who bragged about giving all students As, etc., and I must assume this practice has only grown over time. In the humanities and social sciences especially there is a growing movement to reject assessment, including grading - the means through which we sort better students from worse - as the hand of illegitimate power that “does violence” to the students who voluntarily attend college.

…

Of course, that complicity in the neoliberal machine is not some recent injustice; it is the very reason that colleges and universities are funded by our society at all. If this trend continues, not just eliminating SAT requirements or increasingly refusing to hierarchize students with grades but in rejecting the entire sorting function of the university, academia will collapse. Wealthy parents aren’t paying Harvard to enrich their children in the humanistic sense. They’re paying Harvard to act as a marker of their child’s superiority in the labor market and the social hierarchy. Employers value college because it provides at least some meaningful information about who will succeed as a worker; remove that function and the financial justification for a hideously expensive system dies. I would love if education dropped its association with meritocracy, but that cannot occur within our current system. The professors who self-aggrandize through their rejection of their hierarchizing function, if successful, would cause the doom of the modern university. (These tenured radicals, of course, never are so moved by the inherent inequities of academia that they quit the profession.)

Today, it is somehow controversial to say “some people are smarter than others,” a reflection of one of the simple brute realities of human life and something that has been accepted as true for thousands of years.

Here is the essence of it: hierarchies of relative academic performance are remarkably stable throughout life, due to differences in inherent or intrinsic academic ability of whatever origin, and the SATs and similar mechanisms reveal those differences in a way that liberal America is increasingly unable to accept. This is the source of all of this angst, not the technical details of whether a test is fair or valid or just, but a liberal intelligentsia that is incapable of honestly confronting the fact that different human beings have fundamentally different intrinsic abilities. I believe in political equality, social equality, equality of rights, equality of dignity, equality of protection under the law. But the notion that all people are equally talented, in academics or anything else, is an absurdity, and as much as people will rush to deny intrinsic difference, I suspect that pretty much everybody knows that they are real. When you were a child you casually assumed that some of your classmates were naturally better at school than others, and you did because it was true.

This is the conversation that I tried, and failed, to force with my book: left-of-center political movements, from center-left to radically socialist, cannot achieve the goal of the greater good for everyone, including greater political and economic equality, while pretending that we believe in equality of human ability. The only way to intelligently address various social, economic, and political equalities related to differences in human potential is to acknowledge that those differences exist. The current rending of garments regarding inequalities within our education system has led to certifiably bizarre situations like the movement, currently gathering steam, to teach math as if it is as subjective as literature or art. But this won’t make Black kids or poor kids or girls or anyone else actually better at math. And if the universities really give up their function of creating an academic hierarchy for political reasons, employers will find new systems that do that, or a lot of people will get hired and quickly fired for not being competent. This is not an intelligent policy approach. Getting rid of the SATs won’t make unprepared kids prepared. It won’t make naturally untalented students naturally talented. It won’t make kids who aren’t smart into smart kids. All it will do is hide the reality of those unpleasant inequalities.

#freddie deboer #read the whole thing #substack

[swift--fox]

Don't Go

HERE we go I took all day to finish it but I kept up my end of the bargain. i WILL do it again if i must and next time you have to drink two cups of water >:( ignore the lame title my brain is sludge.

This is so cuuuute, Thank you @pissbabydean for writing this for me.  Even if its been over a week since you submitted it 😂😂 Jokes on you though, I haven’t drank water since.  So really, whos winning? (Definitely not my organs but they don’t count lmao)

Submitted by my adopted belgium child, @pissbabydean

——

Pounding on the door; something’s out there, something bad. There’s a burning weight on his shoulder, searing hot, his whole arm numb. There’s a sound - so loud he can’t hear it, just feel the vibrations, the pain in his ears. Then black; dark, cold, empty. 

Empty.

Dean bolted up with a strangled cry, hands already grappling with the warm and very present body beside him. Then he’s surrounded in comfort, familiar arms.

“Shh, Dean. Dean, it’s okay. You’re okay,” Cas whispers, arms wound tightly around Dean’s waist, face pressed against the side of his throat. He’s covered in a thin sheen of sweat, skin flushed from the adrenaline coursing through his system. He shakes, mutters, cries. Castiel rocks him through it, shushing him and rubbing circles on any available skin with his thumbs. 

“Will you talk about it?” 

Dean was still breathing heavy, but he felt more in control of his body. He twisted in the other man’s grip and nuzzled his face into the warm collarbone before him. He shook his head and Cas hummed in acknowledgment, sweeping gentle, warm, and loving across the planes of Dean’s bare back. 

Dean let himself relax once again, but the persistent fear still clawed at his insides. He swallowed thickly and whined when Cas shifted under him in an attempt to get up, winding his arms around Castiel’s neck indignantly. 

“Shhh, shh, I’m just gonna go make you some tea. I’m not going anywhere,” He cooed, rubbing Dean’s arms soothingly. Dean detached himself from his boyfriend and allowed him to stand up, quickly shrugging on his dead-guy robe over his boxer clad body and re-wrapping his arms around Cas from behind.

The angel huffs in amusement and covers the intertwined hands resting on his stomach with his own, squeezing them in reassurance. 

It’s awkward, but they manage to waddle to the kitchen without Dean relinquishing his sloth-like grip. Dean sits himself up on the counter, watching as his angel putters around; filling up the kettle, setting out mugs while the water heated on the stove. He opened the cupboard and rooted around their selection of tea.

“Rosehip or Hybiscus?” 

Dean looked up to see a pair of blue eyes looking at him expectantly. He shrugged and swung his legs over the edge of the counter, drumming them against the side.

“We got any of that, um-what’s it called? Ca…Camera? Cam…mo…uh-that daisy lookin’ shit.”

Then Cas was laughing at him, shoulders shaking and clutching at the edge of the cupboard door. Dean smiled back, even though he was a little offended.

“Chamomille. Yeah, Dean; we have chamomile.” 

Dean grumbled to himself and immediately grabbed Cas’s shoulder when he started walking past him.

“Where you going?” He accused, tugging him back. 

“To get a sweater. It’s too cold to be shirtless. I’m j-Dean, I’m only going to our room. I’ll be right back.” Cas frowned, taking Dean’s hand from his shoulder to kiss the back of it. It was downright unfair how Cas was still able to give him butterflies after six months. Dean reached out and grabbed Castiel again - this time with both hands and he even brought his legs into the mix. He hooked his boyfriend into an inescapable hold and pulled him against the counter, crossing his ankles at the small of his back.

“I’ll keep you warm. Don’t go,” Dean pleaded, smattering his face with kisses. 

He laughed and sought after Dean’s wandering lips with his own, snaking his arms around Dean’s waist under his robe.

“I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again; I’m not going anywhere, Dean.” 

Little comfort those words brought him now, after having had Cas taken from him so many times. So, he drew him closer.

“Good. So stay right here with me,” 

Cas sighed and kissed the bolt of Dean’s jaw, which he sensed was about to become a pre-emptive apology. 

“I’m still cold. And what if Sam sees? Or if Jack visits?” He said, kissing a trail across Dean’s chest. 

“Don’t care; Sam’s seen worse, and Jack has better things to do than ambush us at 3 am. Y’know, being God, and all.” Dean grinned lazily. 

Fingers curl at his sides, the mop of ebony bed-head tickling Dean’s forehead as he pressed theirs together. 

“That’s not very considerate of you,” Cas raised an eyebrow, voice low and teasing. The fingers hovering at his bare skin twitch and so does Dean, jerking away from the tingly feeling. A poorly masked smirk plays at Castiel’s lips as he trails his hands softly along the sides of Dean’s thighs that were hooked around his hips. He stops at the knee, though, and flutters his fingers at the soft flesh. Dean huffs and squirms, cupping his face to pull him into a kiss - in hopes of de-railing this train before it reaches its destination, which would inevitably be with Dean red-faced and laughing. 

And it works. For about 10 seconds. 

Then, there are fingernails tracing and stroking the tendons and muscles on the backs of Dean’s thighs. His reaction was swallowed by Castiel’s demanding mouth, never slowing the tickling of fingers, though. So Dean was conflicted between giving in to and just laughing into the kiss; slow and sweet and deep and sloppy - his favorite kind - or getting away from the infuriating yet addicting electricity buzzing just under his skin. 

Then the hands were at his sides again, squeezing and kneading his waist, which sent Dean into a fit of snorting laughter and actually made him jump, breaking the seal of their lips. 

“Dean, quiet down, you’re going to wake Sam,” 

Dean reached over to smack his shoulder, which he immediately realized was a mistake when a hand shot into the newly unprotected hollow. He shrieked and hunched forward, laughing and wheezing into Cas’s chest. His legs fell from where they were wound around Castiel and his heels thumped against the sides of the counter he was seated on. 

“Fuhuhuhck yohohou!” 

“Mm, I believe that’s my job,” 

Any witty response Dean may have been formulating was immediately forgotten when a hand clawed into his belly. A half-aborted screech shook his whole body and made Cas smile wide and toothy while he continued his ruthless attack on the soft abdomen. Dean kicked at Castiel’s legs, twisting and shaking and cackling, trying desperately to curl up into a ball. Castiel’s position between his legs kept him from drawing them to his chest, and then Cas pressed a palm flat to his chest and pushed his back flush to the wall - damn his angelic strength, and damn his ticklishness because now there was an even more desperate and squeaky quality to his laughter.

The angel only had one free hand, but, man, did he use it. Fingers vibrated, spidered, scribbled, and all manner of cruel things - and Dean could do nothing but laugh and kick at the air. 

“I-AH CAHAHAS C’MOHOHON I CA-CAHAHN’T BREHEHEATHE,” Dean panted hysterically, somehow managing to shout the words out between fits of unchecked giggles and guffaws. 

His attacker’s fingers slowed and traced feather-light patterns on his sides instead. Not enough to make him laugh, but it was enough to make him twitch and shift. Regardless, he sucked in air where he was allowed, his face was undoubtedly flushed. He slumped forward against a solid chest and grouched.

“What gives with the cruel and unusual punishment?” He whined, his heavy breathing occasionally punctured by a squeak or sharp intake of breath.

“I’d hardly call it ‘cruel’, seeing as you were enjoying yourself. And I was only trying to distract you, you were very upset a moment ago,” 

Dean’s face heated and went even redder and he grumbled, hugging his arms across his torso.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t have a stomach ache a ‘moment ago’,” 

Castiel sighed and finally took the kettle of the burner - he had no idea how long it’d been whistling. He set it aside and rest his hands on Dean’s thighs, schooling his expression into a wide-eyed, apologetic puppy-dog look.

“My apologies,” 

Dean rolled his eyes and jumped down from the counter, folding his arms across his chest, pitching forward in search of Castiel’s lips. He evaded Dean’s attempt and bowed his head, smacking an obnoxiously loud and wet kiss over Dean’s belly button. Dean’s entire body jerked and when Castiel straightened up he was met by a mildly amused and mildly dangerous-looking hunter.

“Kissed it better,” He said in way of explanation. 

Dean raised a single eyebrow and drew himself up to his full height, a dark and playful look settling on his beautiful features.

“Run,” 

#submission #supernatural #destiel #dean winchester #castiel #ticklish!dean #This is AMAZING #I am in love #their relationship is so sweet and soft #Your writing is so good #I love yoooooooou

[imaginedhaven]

Reluctantly Rooming: Part Four

Link to Masterpost

So glad I was able to knock out another part of this work! It is seriously so much fun to write, and I’ve loved incorporating the prompts I’ve gotten so far.

I am always accepting prompts for this work in my ask box!

Today’s prompt:

“You broke what?!?” / “Don’t worry, I’m okay.”

~*~*~

Aelin grimaced as she contemplated the call button on her phone.

“I thought you were getting along now,” Lysandra said beside her with a yawn.

“We are,” she replied, “but that doesn’t mean I’m looking forward to this.”

“Do you need me to call him?”

“No, that’d be even worse.” Aelin sighed and hit the button, nerves ratcheting up as the call began to ring.

“I was wondering when you’d either come back or explain why you never came home,” Rowan said by way of greeting.

“Wow, rude,” Aelin laughed. “I didn’t realize I needed to explain myself to you.”

“Aelin, you defy explanation at the best of times, but I doubt you’d willingly be awake at seven in the morning. What happened?”

Aelin glanced over at Lysandra, who gave her an encouraging nod. “I, ah, was hoping you could give me a ride.”

A gusty sigh crackled over the line. “Please tell me you didn’t wait outside the bar until just now because something happened to your car and you were afraid to wake me up.” In her mind’s eye she could see Rowan beginning to pace as he did when he was agitated, long fingers rubbing at his temples.

She laughed nervously. “I didn’t wait outside the bar, and nothing happened to my car.”

“Then why…?” she could hear the confusion in his voice even as the question trailed off into expectant silence.

“Well, ah, I’m not exactly allowed to drive right now.” Aelin bit her lip, glancing over at Lysandra again for support.

Before she could continue to explain, he let out another sigh. “What, exactly, did you do?”

“Rude of you to assume it’s something I did. I mean, you’re right, but I still feel like it’s rude.”

A sudden flurry of sound on the other side of the line indicated that he had placed the call on speaker. “I’m getting my shoes on, I can be there in about ten minutes,” he said.

“Um, I’m not at the bar.” Aelin winced, knowing he was unlikely to react well.

“Aelin,” he said, voice dangerously low and smooth in a way that made her knees weak even though she was already seated. “Where, exactly, are you?”

“I’m… kind of at Orynth Regional,” she admitted.

“The hospital?!” Rowan shouted, and Aelin winced and held the phone away from her ear for a few moments. When she finally brought it back he was still talking. “What. Happened.”

“Well, um, apparently I broke my ankle.”

Rowan’s response was immediate and too loud again. “You broke what?!”

“Don’t worry, I’m fine!” Aelin said, feeling more than a little defensive. “I just, the break is on the side I use to drive, and they’ve got me on painkillers so they won’t let me drive home anyway, and Lysandra lives on this side of town and she’s already exhausted from staying up this long so I don’t want to inconvenience her even more.”

“I’m on my way,” he said, and she sighed in relief. “I’m guessing your car is still at the bar?”

“Yeah. Sam said it’ll be fine for the next day or two, and we can arrange something between the four of us for getting it home later when everyone’s awake.”

The next few minutes were a brief exchange of the information Rowan would need in order to find her, and before long they were hanging up. “Guess you can get some sleep now,” Aelin said to Lysandra. “He’s only about fifteen minutes away.”

Lysandra responded with another yawn. “You don’t need me to stay until he gets here?”

Aelin shook her head. “I don’t think I can get into any more trouble than I already have in the next few minutes, you’re fine.”

“Okay, but promise you’ll call me if you need me?”

She promised, and then her friend was stumbling out of the room. Aelin relaxed back against the hospital bed and closed her own eyes, hoping to gather at least a little strength for when Rowan showed up.

If she woke up when Rowan came to pick her up, she didn’t remember it. Her next clear memory was being carried through the door of Aedion’s house and gently deposited on the couch, careful hands stuffing a few pillows underneath the boot locked around her right ankle. She struggled briefly to open her eyes, and when she finally did manage it he was looking at her, concern clear in the set of his brow and the tightness of his jaw.

“I’ll be fine,” she muttered, grimacing when the sentence sounded terribly slurred even to her own ears.

“You must be exhausted,” he replied. “Sleep for now. We’ll talk later.”

She barely registered the feeling of him covering her with a blanket before sleep returned to claim her.

~*~*~

When Aelin woke up several hours later, she was greeted by a painful throbbing in her ankle as well as the sight of a glass of water and the bottle of pain medication from their bathroom, with a note beside them in Rowan’s precise hand. Let me know if you’re in enough pain to need the prescription filled when you wake up, he had written. The pharmacy didn’t want to release a controlled substance without your permission.

While she was contemplating the level of pain in her ankle, Rowan’s head poked out from the entryway to the kitchen. “Now that you’re awake, are you going to tell me how you did this to yourself?” he asked as he walked toward her with a small plate in hand.

“It’s really not that exciting a story,” she replied. “I turned wrong while we were wiping down the bar.”

He set the plate next to her, and she glanced at it, blinking when she saw perfectly even thin slices of apple and at least two kinds of cheese with some crackers. “I don’t know how you usually handle being hurt, but I can’t manage anything more complex than this the first day when it’s me. And I don’t think you’re supposed to put weight on that for the next few days at least, even though it’s in a boot.”

She carefully picked up one of the apple slices. “These are impeccable knife skills,” she remarked. “I’m not sure if I should be impressed or afraid for my life.”

“I do know where you sleep,” he said, voice dry but eyes bright with mirth.

“And I’m sure you’ve promised yourself you’d stab me once for each thing I’ve left out of place,” she grinned.

“Twice if it was clothing,” Rowan agreed mildly. “Unfortunately, I lost count of the exact number over a month ago.”

“Hm, I guess that means you’ll just have to start over at not stabbing me,” Aelin declared with a laugh before biting into the slice of apple with a happy little hum.

“I suppose you’re right.” Rowan carefully folded the blanket that she had dumped onto the floor at some point while she’d been sleeping, draping it over the back of the couch.

“I’m always right,” she replied before focusing her attention on the food he’d brought over to her.

Once she’d eaten, she moved to get up and at least carry the plate into the kitchen. However, she was met with a firm hand on her shoulder and a fierce glare as Rowan took the plate away from her. “You’re not supposed to be putting weight on that yet,” he reminded her sternly.

“It’s called a walking boot for a reason,” she protested, but he was already halfway to the sink.

“It’s called a walking boot because you can walk with it on once your doctor clears you to do so,” he retorted. “Your discharge paperwork says no weight on it today at all, and that if you feel up to it tomorrow you can try walking then as long as you use the crutches you came home with to bear some of your weight.”

Aelin blinked. “You read my discharge paperwork?”

“Only the care instructions,” he admitted. “I doubted you had, or that you’d remember even if you’d looked at them.”

“Oh.” And there it was, the same fluttering warmth she’d first felt when she’d come home to him having fallen asleep waiting for her. Had he always been this attentive to what she would need, and had she simply missed it because she kept misinterpreting the way he spoke? Or was he trying as hard as she was to change how they interacted? Honestly, she wasn’t sure which option she would prefer.

When she looked up again he was looking back at her, brows furrowed and frowning slightly, and belatedly she realized exactly how long they had spent in awkward silence. “I don’t remember if I read them or not,” she admitted, “so thank you.”

Relief shone clearly on his face then, only to be quickly masked by amusement. “I should’ve guessed,” he teased. “You’re terrible at taking care of yourself.”

“Oh, well if you’re going to mock me I’m going to leave,” Aelin replied, moving once more as though she was about to stand just to see how he would react.

As she had suspected, he immediately set a hand against her shoulder to keep her on the couch, green eyes bright with a combination of irritation and worry. “So help me, if I have to tie you down to this couch I will,” he growled.

Aelin smirked. “Don’t threaten me with a good time,” she retorted, watching with glee as Rowan’s face did its very best to go pale and blush hotly at the same time.

“I hate you so much,” he muttered as he tucked her back into her makeshift bed.

“No, you don’t,” she teased.

Rowan sighed and turned on the television, clearly aiming to give her something to watch as a distraction. “No, I don’t,” he admitted as he found her small collection of classic films, turning to offer her a selection.

“I’ll make you a deal,” Aelin said without even glancing at the titles.

“Oh?”

“You can pick the movie if it means you’ll stay in here.”

Rowan shifted uncomfortably. “I wasn’t sure you would want me to.”

“Who else would I call if I need to get up and my obnoxious roommate won’t let me do anything alone?” she grinned. “Besides, I could use the company.”

As she watched, Rowan frowned thoughtfully. “I do need to try to get some work done, but I can set up in here instead of at my desk.”

“Please?”

Rowan left, but quickly returned with a small stack of paperwork and his laptop. As the movie began to play, she found instead her attention was more drawn to him getting situated in a nearby armchair and donning a pair of glasses she hadn’t known he possessed, muttering to himself as he became more absorbed in whatever it was he was doing.

This time when sleep rushed back in to claim her, it was because of the warmth and comfort she was surrounded by rather than the medications she’d been given.

~*~*~

Tagging:

@ireallyshouldsleeprn @queen-of-glass @fangirlprincess09 @sassys-world @morganofthewildfire @superspiritfestival @perseusannabeth @sis-it-dont-add-up @jlinez @julemmaes @emilyoftheshadows

#rowaelin #haven writes #reluctantly rooming

[virgil-is-a-bitch]

So I meant to get this out earlier than I did. However its here now!

The idea started from an ask @random-fander sent (You're amazing btw, thank you so much)

Warnings: Unsympathetic Virgil, claustrophobia, panic attacks, panic attacks described in detail, self hate, self hate talk, Virgil being a dick, mind manipulation, Remus being Remus (including-body gore, gore, food metion, burns, gross talk, being trapped, spiders, spider horror, caps) , ducking out being talked about, ducking out being a form of sh, slfhrm

This gets dark so be careful

This is split into four parts. All of the parts flow together in the order they are in, but if you need to skip a part, it should still make sense. Stay safe y'all

Anxiety vs The Brain - Logan pov

Anxiety vs The Ego- Romans pov

Anxiety vs The Rejected- Remus and a little bit of Thomas pov

Anxiety vs The Snake- Janus and Virgil pov

Each part is split up with ~~~~~~

Enjoy~

[Also I'm on mobile tumblr, and it won't let me put a read more. My apologies]

The Fight of Anxiety

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~Anxiety vs The Brain~

Logan was mildly upset. No, correction. He was... frustrated. Another pointless argument. More time wasted when something actually productive could have happened. Overwhelming heat swirled pushed against his ribs as he briskly walked towards his room. He was in desperate need of a break from the others. He needed to be somewhere spacious. His room, where he could let his feelings, the burning heat, out.

"Hey Teach?" He knew that voice, he didn't want to deal with the side who owned that voice at the moment. But he did the polite thing and turned around to face Virgil.

"Is there anything I can assist you with?" He asked, his voice flat like that a cool glass filled with ice water. Something he had practiced, it was easier to deal with the temperatures in his chest with the others being unaware that it even existed. So he gave no signs that things were off, if just to keep things running smoothly.

The sound of the others shoes squeaking against the floor, raised the temperature a few degrees inside Logan, as Virgil made he's way over to him. "Lets just walk for a bit, okay Lo?"

Logans fingers were about to burst from the heat that laid just below his skin. He's nickname left a ugly taste, like burnt coffee beans, in his mouth when it came from this side. However he just gave a short nod and continued walking down the hall, now with Virgil along side of him.

They walked in an uncomfortable silence for a while, the only sound was the squeaking of those shoes and light breathing. Logan refused to look at the other. That was until they got to Logans door. A sigh of relief escaped him as they both stopped, his shoulders relaxing just slightly.

Now all that was between him and being able to cool down: was simple door.

"I'm afraid this is my stop." He stated to Virgil, a small forced smile on his face.

When he didn't get a response, not even a shrug, Logan turned and faced his door. The deep blue paint was starting to chip in places, he would need to remember to borrow some paint from Roman later. The tips of Logans fingers cooled against the smooth metal of the doorknob as he grasped it. He turned the handle and opened it, and a sour taste nipped at his mouth. Hadn't he left his lamp on? Why was it so dark?

A pair of hands where on his back suddenly, causing him to flinch hard. But before he could turn around and inquire what the hell was going on, he was shoved past the door frame and into the dark, into something that felt like a boxes. He turned around in time to see Virgil.

His hair a mess, his eyes a deep cold purple (as cold when you forget a coat durning a winter storm) but worse of all was his smirk. The smirk that said Virgil knew exactly what he was doing. And he didn't regret it at all. And then Logan couldn't see him at all, as the door slammed shut.

The door made a harsh noise when shut, like a piano stopped midsong, never to finish the piece, leaving an empty feeling. Logans breathing speed up as his hands searched for a doorknob. But there was nothing on this side of the door. He put his arms to the side, just to find out he barely had a couple inches on either side. His breathing hitched, the heat swirled faster, making his chest feel like it was break open. An empty feeling clouded his head as he fall back against a tower of boxes. The tower swayed, threatening to fall.

Heat spilled from his eyes painfully, as he tried to feel for anyway out. Empty whimpers crawled out of his mouth, but were to quite for anyone to hear. The heat swirled with the empty from his head, both of them feeling like to much. It was to much as the sound of squeaking shoes started up and started going away from him.

"No- Virgil!" He cried as loud as he could, but the heat & emptiness muffled his words, "Please- I, please... Can't..." His voice burned from the bottom of his lungs to the roof of his mouth. There was so much pain, so much heat, so much of everything. But there wasn't enough space. No room to breath, no room to move. No room.

No room

No room

Not enough room to breath

Not enough room to move

Not enough room

No way for Logan to let go of anything, so it stayed in him. Trapped in him. The heat was trapped, and same with the emptiness. Suck in him. Just wanting out, where he could breath.

But he was stuck in his own hell, behind a simple door.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~Anxiety vs The Ego~

Roman hummed softly, humming always helped seemed to help soften other noises. And oh boy, he had a killer headache at the moment. It felt like all of the Disney songs had played at once at the loudest volume, and as much as he loved Disney, it was overwhelming.

However it hadn't been all of the Disney songs at once, it had been everyone arguing about Thomas hopes and dreams! Well, perhaps it hadn't only been about that... But that was the part that had made Romans head pound like a drum!

He tapped his fingers to the beat of the song he hummed softly as he headed towards Logans room. After the debate the normally calm logically side looked distressed, and if any side knew what distressed looked liked it would be Roman!

So, like the hero he likes to think he was, Roman decided to ignore the beat in his head and go check in on the distressed side who needed his help!

Although, "How can you think that 'you' could help anyone?" Virgil asked at breakfast interrupting Romans explanation of Thomas' dream from the night before. "Really Roman, how could you be a hero?" the memory pounded in his head, his humming got louder.

Maybe he could check on Logan as a friend, he didn't always need to be a hero anyways. Sometimes friends are needed, not hero's. Roman gave a nod at the idea, and continue walking, unaware that he had even stopped.

"Really Roman, how can you be our friend if it always has to be about you?" Virgil's voice seemed to whisper in his ear, repeating something he had said earlier. Romans breath hitched, his humming coming to a harsh stop.

"You act like you're better than us, look in a mirror once in a while Princy." Roman squeezed his eyes closed and shook his head. He really didn't think he was better than any of them. Virgil must have been upset, which is fair he had to deal with Roman after all.

Roman cover his face with his hands, hiding large tears rolling down his face. His back against the hall wall. His head pounding with the crude words of the anxious sides.

"Oh my fucking God Roman. Can't you do anything right?"

"It's not surprising that Thomas didn't get the part. You're his creativity after all."

"I'm not even surprised that you failed. Again."

Roman was on the floor now curled up against the wall, his body was shaking with heavy loud sobs. It was to loud, his voice was to loud.

"Wow." Romans head shot up, this time the voice wasn't just in his head, it was right in front of him. Virgil looked disgusted, as if looking at something worse then trash... And maybe he was. "Do you have to make yourself everyone else's problem? No one wants to see you like this. I thought Princes where strong. I guess not."

His words replayed in Romans head, like a skipping CD raising in volume every repeat. "W-What?" Roman asked, his voice broken and far to quiet.

But Virgil heard him just fine. "I know you heard me just fine Princey. Why do you lie like he does? Maybe you should join them. I wouldn't be surprised if you do. You would betray us, wouldn't you??" Virgil yelled, small tears running down his checks smearing his makeup.

Roman blinked, when did he start crying. Oh god he made Virgil cry. Oh god oh god. No, no he didn't mean to. He was sorry- oh god how horrid was he to make Verge cry. He stood up as fast as he could on shaky legs. "Oh god, Virgil I'm sorry-"

Virgil scoffed, "You are just like them, aren't you?" He wiped his eyes and shook his head. "I thought I could trust you.." He whispered before putting his hood on and walking away from Roman.

Roman hurt, his head hurt, his eyes hurt. The ego himself hurt.

He was broken. He couldn't breath. He sunk out of the hall, and into his room. The mirrors that once had been whole, were now shattered. Thomas's ego threw himself onto his bed. Bruised and broken, vowing not to come out unless absolutely necessary. Completing forgetting about looking for Thomas' logical side.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~Anxiety vs The Rejected~

Remus swung a baseball bat as hard as he could into basically anything in his room. His own laughter bouncing off the walls. He was upsettie spaghetti, Thommie didn't like his ideas as much as Romans. Not that Romans weren't good, but they didn't have Remus flair!

Remus wanted to be noticed not rejected! He really wanted even just one of his ideas to be at least considered- But if they wouldn't listen, he could make him self heard!

Remus let out a blood curdling scream, the baseball bat changing to a sword as he stabbed a wall and leaving it there. He let out a laugh before letting out a sob. But normal tears where Roman thing! So boring! So he cried battery acid, it burned, but at least it was interesting!

He tried to rub it away, but it only made it worse and more painful the more he rubbed. He let out a frustrated scream as it burned, snapping his fingers and the acid was gone, no marks on his skin.

"Haha Remus, maybe acid wasn't the best idea! Maybe milk! Ooooo chunky milk tears!" He started to cry again but with chucky milk, it smelled horrid, perfect!

Thomas cringed at the idea of chunky milk tears, but pushed the thought back. He hugged a pillow to his chest, his eyes where glued to the TV. He didn't understand why he felt so shitty today. Sure he and his side got into a argument, but he normally didn't feel this bad afterwards.

Remus snicker and wiped away the tears, grabbing a stuffie (a Pumbaa stuffie from lion king, Janus had given it to him, and Remus had given him Timon) hugging it close to his chest. "Pumbaa? Imagine if you had real organs and not fluff? Well not you. JayJay spent a long time working on you, so maybe a different stuffie, cool idea right?" Remus bit his lip in thought. His mind spiraling down a rabbit hole- pfht- of that idea.

He set Pumbaa down on his one nightstand, and grabbed a notebook and a simple blue pen and started scribbling down notes against the wall. Randomly yelling out what he was writing, or letting out a laugh. His mood going up now that he could write out an idea. That he could do it with out being told what he was doing was bad. It felt amazing.

There was a knock on his door, and Remus' face split into a grin. "Come right on in hoe bag!" The door opened and Remus spun around notebook held out in front of him, excitement flooding him. "Look at this Janu- hold on, your not Double Dee!"

Virgil stood in his doorway, eyes glancing around the room, the disgust evident on his face. "I see you still don't know how to clean."

Remus quickly closed his notebook and held it to his chest. "Nope! Cleaning is for losers who don't like the adventure of trying to find shit!" Remus said, feeling that he had been a bit to loud. And the worry was proven right when Virgil flinched at his voice and looked away.

Remus cleared his throat and made sure his voice was at a more 'inside' volume. "So, um," he cleared his throat, holding the notebook tighter. "Whatca doing here raccoon bitch?"

Virgil eyes jumped up to Remus and down to his notebook, "Isn't that your idea notebook or some shit?" Virgil asked, ignoring his question.

Not very sneakily, Remus thought, but had something else he was more forced on. "Its none of your business, maybe it's porn!" He giggled, knowing it wasn't the best lie, but it really could be porn, if he knew himself.

"You know Thomas doesn't like your ideas, right?" Virgil asked with a sneer. His voice heavy and gross. But not in a gross way that Remus liked, this gross felt heavy and sticky. It felt like his words clinged to his very skin. And no matter how hard he rubbed at his skin the feeling wouldn't leave.

Remus did not like sticky.

"Well you know Thomas doesn't like being anxious right??" Remus snapped back, a moment or two late. Making it noticeable that he was affected by his words.

Virgil smirked, having noticed that his words had the affect he wanted. "Well at least I have a purpose, I keep him safe. Not tear him down."

Remus huffed, his hands starting to rip at the edge of the notebook. "What do you want Anxiety?" He asked, his voice dark. It washed over his room marking the temperature drop a degree or two.

Virgil finally walked out of the doorway and into the others room. Stepping over and around anything on his floor. "I want you to stop existing." He said bluntly. Stopping once he was an arm length away from Remus.

Remus snorted and then started full on laughing. Even going to the extent to slap his knee, once he caught his breath and straightened (ha) he looked at Virgil, raising one of his eyebrows. However Virgil didn't look as amused. "What? I'm a part of Thomas. He needs me to be whole! I can't just stop, ya know, being. Like, I'm not you! I'm not gonna be a dramatic duck and duck out- oh, oh shit." Remus' eyes went wide, one even popped out of his socket which he quickly pushed it back in. "That's not what you meant, right Verge?"

Virgil smiled sickly, "I'm glad you figured it out so quickly. I was worried I would have to explain it for your tiny dumb brain." He took half a step closer, and Remus tensed up.

Remus dropped his notebook. And summoned his morning star, "I think its time for you to leave. You're not welcome here anymore." His voice dropped to gravely tone. His room walls shook violently, as stuff fell off. Pumbaa took a dive off the table to the floor.

Virgil's face pinched as he seemed to think it over. He gave a bitter sweet fake smile. "I don't think I will Remus." And with that he jumped at Remus.

Remus went to swing the moment Virgil moved but something held back his morning star, he glanced over his shoulder to see webs over it, connecting it to the wall. Oh fuck- and then he was knocked into the wall. He immediately started to struggle and screaming.

Webs were sticky, webs could caught you and keep you there.

And Remus was fucking shit his pants scared.

Virgil growled and covered his mouth, a sticky substance climbing from his sleeve and covering his mouth.

"No! Fuck no!" Remus tried to screamed, some of it going into his mouth. He gagged and threw his head back and forth.

The webs covered his arms and legs, pinning him to the wall. Virgil stepped back, panting lightly while smiling at his handy work. He wiped his brow before bending down and picking up Remus notebook and opened it.

Remus struggled harder, Virgil wasn't suppose to look though it, fuck! The stickyness of the webs made him so uncomfortable, he wanted to rub his skin with an metal sponge until it was all gone. He gagged at the feeling of it over his mouth, and tried to scream, but barely any noise got through the thick web covering his mouth.

Virgil tutted as he looked through the note book. "All of these are horrid- and I thought Romans ideas were shit!" He let out a chuckle before ripping out a few sheets.

Remus whimpered, eyes going wide. He shook his head wildly. Those where his ideas! He didn't care if Virgil liked them, he didn't care if everybody hated them! He just couldn't have them ruined, they were his! And he loved them-

Virgil rolled his eyes and rip the papers in half and then into quarters, and he kept going until the papers where confetti sized.

Remus had thick milk tears running down his face, pooling on the web gag. He wanted to yell, he wanted to hit Virgil. He just wanted Virgil out. But he was stuck. Quiet literally. 

Virgil tore up the rest of his ideas, and then threw it like confetti into the air. He smiled and dropped the cover of the notebook before turning around and walking towards the door. While going out of his way to stomp onto Pumbaa.

Remus growled as loud as he could, thrashing against the webs. Don't fucking leave me like this, you motherfucker! Fuck you piss bitch! He tried to yell against the gag.

Virgil smirked, and opened his door. "Wouldn't it be such a shame if your door lock? So no one could come in?" He chuckled darkly, "Or get out?"

Remus was rightfully freaked out, No! Satan's asshole, please no! The idea of being alone, no one knowing, no one being able to hear him shook him to his core. Whether or not Virgil could do it, didn't matter. Remus' thoughts were already running wild. What if he died here? Alone, even unable to scream?? What if there was spider babies in the sack on his mouth and they hatch and eat his face???

His thoughts were interrupted by his door closing, and the sound of a lock clicking. If he was freaking out before, he was losing his goddamn mind now. He couldn't make sense of his thoughts, the sticky webs seemed to be more sticky and climbing over his skin.

I need out, I need out, I NEED TO GET OUT!

That one solid fact stuck out in his mind, and he tried to sink out, only to find out.

That he can't. He just can't, no matter how hard he tried.

His mind turned from painfully full to excruciating empty.

Milk tears ran down his face and dripping around the web mask as he sobs went unheard.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~Anxiety vs The Protector~

Janus gripped the plate harder than needed, as the sound of squeaking shoes came down the stairs. He set the plate into the soapy water, clenching his jaw. The horrid squeaking made its way to the kitchen to right behind him. His back was stiff as he grabbed a sponge and started washing the plate.

He wasn't dumb, this wasn't the first time. It just had never been this extreme. As Self preservation he could always tell the stability of the mind as a whole, and right now everything was crashing to the ground.

"What the hell have you done to everyone Virgil?" Janus said in a calm voice, his angry barely noticeable. Like the last burning coal in a fire pit filled with charcoal, hard to see, but still able to burn. And if the right breeze blew, that single coal could start the spark to burn down a forest.

He kept his hands hidden in the soapy water, scrubbing the plate, hiding the ever so slight shake of his hands.

"Why do you think I had anything to do with it? We both know your the one that hurts Thomas." Virgil replied, his voice oddly soft which was off putting.

Deceit, gave a dry single 'Ha' as he lift the plate out of the soapy water and into the clear rinse water. The soap bubbles from the plate and his shiny gloves spreading out on the clear water. "Now Virgil, I'm suppose to be the lying side. You wouldn't want to be like evil old me, right?" He chastised lightly, shoving down any of his fear. He needed answers, he needed to know what happened so he could help others. To get Thomas stable.

Virgil growled softly, inching closer to Janus' back. "Deceit, you fucking snake. Trying to turn my own words against me?"

Janus rolled his eyes pulling the plate out of the water and placing it in the already half filled dish drainer. "Well, Anxiety, you shouldn't have said it then." He pulled out the plugs from both sinks and watched the water spin down the drains.

Virgil hissed, standing right behind him now. His eyes watched over his shoulder as Janus pulled off the bight yellow rubber washing gloves from his hands showing his scaled hands. "How does it feel to be the monster of the group?" Virgil's voice dripped in false honey, as if asking how Janus' day was going.

His breath hitched, it stung him somewhere deep. It hurt. But he couldn't focus on it at the moment. He needed to stay focused.

He pulled a pair of soft yellow cotton gloves from his pants pocket, slipping them on over his scaley, bumpy ugly hands. Hiding the sight of his hands from both of them. He turned to face Virgil, keeping his face blank. "I don't know, how does it feel?"

Virgils face flushed in anger. Unlike Janus, he felt no need to hide his emotions. His emotions fueled him, pushed him to do what he was doing. "Shut your fucking mouth!" He shouted, getting even closer to Janus face.

The threatened snake growled in warning. His scaled half of his jaw dislocated and dropped, showing off his sharp teeth.

Virgils brow furrowed as if in thought, and Janus felt a cooling pressure surrounding his head, pushing into his brain. "No-" he gasped out as he fell back, his hands catching on the counter, holding him up. Water droplets from the sink darkening his gloves. "You don't get to fucking try that shit on me!" Janus hissed, the pressure intensified before backing off. He winced, eyeing the other in front of him.

Virgil had a shit eating grin on his face, the rest of his face was relaxed. He had found what he needed, and Oh good God was this going to be fun-

"Do you know the real reason I left DeeDee?" Virgils voice was fluffy and sweet like cotton candy. Janus didn't trust it, he didn't trust him. His head ached from the earlier pressure. But maybe if he let Virgil talk he could figure out just what happened.

"I totally do, VeeVee," he spat out the nickname harshly like it had burned his mouth, "You defiantly told Remus and I the reason why, before you left. You, for sure, didn't just leave one day. No note or anything."

Virgil rolled his eyes with a sigh. He looked down at the ground and scoffed the floor with marks with his shoes, "Deceit. You're the reason. You're the reason I left, I couldn't handle you. Always lying about the simplest things.  Not caring about us. Me and Remus. You only ever cared about yourself!" When he started his voice had been soft, but by the end of his rant he was yelling and his voice was breaking... In pain?

Janus mouth was open, he couldn't help it. He was in shock. Damn, he was expecting it, but it still pained him. His brain seemed to grow heavy, he blinked hard, his mouth closing, and refocused his brain. No. He couldn't give in, Thomas needed him.

But Virgil wasn't done.

"Deceit..." He let out a soft, wet chuckle, "You're the reason I ducked out. Your voice haunts me every moment of everyday of my life. I can't stand you. You hurt everybody, you infect everyone you come in contact with." He was staring holes into Janus, the other was breaking before him. His eyes were clouded over, his human eye had a single tear drop out and roll down his cheek. And oh, did it feel great to break him. He just needed to do one last hard hit to get him to completely fall.

Janus was shattering like glass, and he knew it. He just needed to hold out a little longer. He wasn't sure what he was holding out for any more at this point, he just needed to hold on.

But Virgil sound hurt, maybe he really was that horrid. To dive someone to stop doing what they are made to- to drive someone to try to not be. Dear lord, he was a monster. A tear welled in his human eye and slipped down his check.

"You pushed Remus to it too..." Virgil muttered, pulling his hood over his head. He brought his hand up to his face as if wiping away tears.

The snakes legs shook, barely holding him up. "What do you mean, Virgil?" He ask softly. His voice was laced in pain. Virgil had to be lying, right? Remus was his best friend. They shared ideas, watched movies, made dumb plans on how to bug the others. Janus didn't hurt him, like that.

Right?

Virgil sighed, tired, as if he was explaining something simple to a child. "I meant what I said Deceit. Remus has ducked out, and you pushed him to it." Virgil let out a sob, "He ducked out because of you." He lifted his head to look at Janus, "Why can't you just let us be happy?"

Janus shattered into a thousand pieces. His legs gave out and he fell to the floor. He was the one to protect them, not hurt them. He had caused pain. He hurt Thomas, the main person he was suppose to care for. And now his best friend was- no! He could fix this. The lights had helped Virgil, he could help Remus.

He got back up, it was hard too, but he needed to correct this. He had too. He could feel the very foundations of the mind splint like old wood. He needed to fix this. He took a step towards the stairs, up the stairs was his and Remus' room. And once he figured out how to get in his room, he would help his best friend. Because that's what friends do. He had tunnel vision, all he could focus on was the stairs, and getting up those stairs and to Remus-

He took another step towards the stairs, but hand on his chest pushed him back. He turned his head to the owner of the hand, Virgil.

Virgil gave a shake of his head, "Janus," Janus felt a shiver run through his body, this was the first time his name had pasted his mouth, "Do you really think he would want to see you?"

He slowly sat down on the floor again, pulling his knees to his chest. The sound of shoes squeaking echoed in his head, even after the actual noise was to far away to hear. He couldn't really see anything, everything was to blurry with tears. He felt broken and dumb. How could he have been so selfish and not notice what Remus was going though?

Janus gasped, maybe Virgil was right. Virgil would be the one to understand what Remus was going through. Janus nodded, he would give Remus time.

He really was a monster, wasn't he?

#unsympathetic virgil #u!virgil #u! virgil #virgil is a dick #abusive virgil #logan sanders angst #roman angst #remus sanders angst #janus sanders angst #cursing #tw cursing #body gore #panic attack #panic #self hate #self hate talk #tw food #gross talk #remus being remus #spider virgil #spider horror #long post #the fight of anxeity #my writing

[shadowedoracle]

Amends

Summary: Rumple has noticed something up with Belle's behaviour over the past few days, and is concerned one morning when he smells blood on her. Belle is upset by his nosiness and he has to work out how to make things right with her.

Rating: G

[AO3]

A/N: Happy Belated Skin Deep Day/ Rumbelle Anniversary/ Fluffapalooza!

This was supposed to be my main Fluffapalooza fic this year but the last few weeks have been super busy. Then I started suffering from the what we now finally think are migraines that give me terrible vertigo so I can barely sit up half the time. Also they made looking at a screen kind of bad. So this got delayed. ***

Something was wrong with Belle. She hadn’t been her usual cheery self the past few days, and now she was an hour late with his morning tea.

Rumplestiltskin tapped his fingers against the wood of the long table in his Great Hall. Belle had never been late before but he supposed it should not surprise him his maid was late. After all she was a noblewoman he’d trapped in a humiliating bargain, poor service was indeed one of the downsides of picking her -- she’d made some truly dreadfully inedible meals the first week she was here. He was the Dark One hence immortal, so he knew she couldn’t poison him but he’d spent those first several days considering whether one could in theory die from foul tasting food. Eventually he’d given in (for his taste buds’ sake) and told her how to tell the castle to make the meals.

He hadn’t gotten around to telling her that the castle was capable of performing all her other duties itself. It would hardly do for his maid to simply sit around all day and read (well, more than she already did). After all, that would deprive him of the stunning sight of her standing on ladders and showing off her legs while she cleaned up high or the breathtaking view of her bending over while working on lower surfaces. It was definitely his own desires (admittedly long dormant), his... his depravity that stopped him from freeing Belle from her cleaning duties, he assured himself. It wasn’t due to any other emotions on his part.

So he continued to make her clean the castle and to serve his meals. Despite her poor culinary skills, it turned out that she made lovely cup of tea. Soon breakfast and afternoon tea had had become his favourite times of day. A few hours where they both sat around making idle chitchat about anything or sometimes just eating in silence. This had been quite unexpected and he refused to examine why he liked it so much.

But, predictably enough, it was over now.

Things had been going so well after they’d returned from chasing that thief and he’d shown her North Tower library (that he’d definitely not magicked into existence that very day). But now, for no reason he could see, they’d gone back to those first uncomfortable days of her time in the Dark Castle.

Perhaps she was trying to test him. But why he didn’t know. He hadn’t said or done anything abnormal in the last few days. They’d had no visitors to the castle, it had just been the two of them.

It would be easier if, as he’d intended, he didn’t care about her at all. Instead he actually quite liked his little maid. Although, of course, he would never actually tell her that. For her part, she no longer seemed scared of him. She’d even hugged him in the forest that one time. But he was still the monster who’d taken away any chance of the life she’d been planning to lead.

The whispering voice of his conscience -- that sounded like a certain fourteen year old teenage boy he had not seen for over two centuries -- told him he should let her go back to her family. But he ignored it. He wasn’t a good man. In fact, he hadn’t been a man for a long time now. No. He was a monster and monsters could do things like bargain for pretty maidens to come and live -- forever -- in their castles.

Rumplestiltskin sat mulling the situation a little longer. He’d just resolved to go and find where his erstwhile maid had gotten to when he heard the tap of her heeled shoes outside the double doors behind him.

He sat back in his chair as nonchalantly as he could, and set his face into the terrifying grin that had made grown men piss themselves.

She opened one of the doors and he listened to her muffled footsteps draw nearer and nearer to him. When he thought she was just a few feet away, he trilled, “You’re late.”

She paused briefly then continued her progress towards him and placed the tray in front of him.

She held her head high and said mildly, “Yes, I know. I’m sorry, Rumplestiltskin.”

Then she began pouring the tea in her usual way. She showed no sign of fright at his grin. The tea tray was clean and dry -- even his attempt to startle her hadn’t worked. Rumplestiltskin felt quite deflated.

“Well,” he trilled, “don’t you have an explanation for yourself?”

She shook her head. “I just got distracted by something this morning…”

She placed his teacup in front of him and her scent, of books and roses hit him. But something else was there too… Rumple sniffed the air and stiffened and turned to thoroughly look over his maid.

She frowned at him as she reached to place a plate of breakfast pastries in front of him. “What?”

He grabbed her wrist to stop her pouring her tea and she glared at him as she tried to free her wrist. He just ignored her and sniffed the air very deliberately and scanned over her.

She squirmed and growled at him, “What do you think you’re doing. Unhand me at once!”

“You’re bleeding. Someone’s hurt you,” he growled. “Did you help another thief out and he took a slice at you? Or did you cut yourself attempting some task in that kitchen that I’ve told you you should leave to the castle?”

Belle’s face shuttered but a faint blush appeared on her cheeks. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“There’s no use hiding it from me.” He said wagging his finger in her face, “The Dark One has his ways of finding these things out.

"There's nothing to tell."

He sighed, "Belle, I can heal you if you tell me where you’re injured. So why don’t you just show me where you’re bleeding and make this simpler for the both of us.”

He watched Belle carefully. He saw anger and embarrassment flit across her face, as well as a hint of… was that amusement? She bit her lip and seemed to be wrestling with herself before coming to some conclusion. She lifted her chin and gave him a haughty glare down her nose and he felt a surge of affection at her attitude and complete lack of fear.

“Well are you going to tell me what I want to know?” He asked impatiently as she still didn’t say anything.

“I’m not injured.” She said at last.

“But you’re bleeding...” He was going to say more but she cut him off.

“I’m not injured.” She repeated.

“If you’re not injured why are you bleeding? You’re being secretive and hiding things from me and I want to know why.”

She glared at him, “You really want to know?”

He rolled his eyes, “That has been the point of the last minute or so of conversation, yes.”

Still staring daggers at him she sighed and said, “I’m bleeding there.” As she pointed straight the centre of her pelvis.

“How the …?” Came out of his mouth before his brain caught up and clamped his mouth shut. But he couldn't quite tear his eyes away for another few moments, until he suddenly remembered how it would look to Belle that he was staring at her there and he focused himself to meet her gaze.

“Oh.”

“'Oh'? 'Oh'? All you have to say is ‘oh’? You all but force me to tell you and all you can say is ‘oh’? Not ‘sorry’? I mean I know you won't willingly admit to being wrong but you could at least apologize for being an ass.”

He rolled his eyes, “I’m sorry my concern for you has upset you. Next time I smell you bleeding, I’ll ignore it and just hope you will deign to tell me about an injury before you bleed out. Is that what you want to hear?”

She glared and him and her hand twitched. For a moment he thought his lovely kind maid was about to slap him but she just shook her head and stomped out of the Great Hall.

Rumplestiltskin slumped back in his chair and muttered to himself, “well that could have gone better.”

***

Rumplestiltskin was disappointed, but not entirely surprised when Belle didn’t appear at lunchtime. But when she didn’t appear for their afternoon tea, he knew she was still quite upset. When she didn’t appear for dinner he knew she was truly mad. She might be late once, might miss one mealtime sitting around reading. But she wouldn’t miss three like this.

Clearly he’d upset her even more than he’d realized this morning. He just didn’t know what to do to fix it. He didn’t have a lot of experience with women and their… moods.

Milah had become even more bad tempered before and during her bleeding. Eventually he’d learned to just stay out of her way as much as he could. His attempts to keep Bae protected from the worst of her rage and keep him from asking too many questions, meant he had often invented little father son activities (some of his favourite memories of Bae’s early years) to stay out of her way during those days. But that didn’t help his current situation at all. He couldn’t just avoid Belle until her bleeding passed -- he sensed that would make this much worse. With Cora he’d just helped her use her anger and pain at her body and turn that into more magic. Which didn’t help him with Belle at all either.

He frowned. Neither Milah or Cora had been particularly good tempered women to begin with. So perhaps he needed a different tack with Belle. Which just left him even more stumped.

He paced around the Great Hall trying to think. What could he do to get his maid to speak to him again? He knew many spells but he didn’t think she’d be happy if he used on on her. He supposed he could appear wherever she was hiding and frighten her back to work but then they’d lose that nice companionable relationship they’d developed of late.

So he had to find a way to make amends to her. But how?

He paced around the table and caught sight of the tea cup Belle had chipped on her first day here -- which was now the only teacup he ever used. He started to turn away from from the table when an idea occurred to him. He stared over at the cup and smiled to himself as the idea began to unfold in his mind.

Yes that could work. He thought as he magicked himself up to his tower to begin his work.

***

It was late when he finished, but still a few hours off midnight. He hoped this would work. Now he was done arranging it his little tray of offerings, it didn’t seem quite so clever or enticing. But he had no other ideas for how to appease Belle so he supposed he was stuck with it.

It took a matter of moments to work out that she was still hiding up in the North Tower Library. Without giving himself any more time to overthink this he magicked himself halfway up the staircase, where he could hear and see her before she could see him.

Belle was curled up on her little sofa and while she didn’t look her usual happy self -- she didn’t look as furious as she had this morning. He hoped that meant she had calmed down.

He climbed the stairs with quiet and deliberate steps and was almost to the top when she noticed his presence. Her countenance changed to an angry scowl. And he paused one foot hanging above the next tread, wondering if he should just magic the tray to her side and disappear until she was calmer again.

Before he was able to make that decision she spoke, glaring at him. “Are you here to apologize?”

He took the final steps up to the library proper and stood there, glaring down at her. He spoke with as much dignity as he could muster, “The Dark One never apologizes.”

“Then you should leave.”

She crossed her arms and looked away and he cursed to himself. This wasn’t going how he’d imagined at all.

He shifted from foot to foot and glanced around the room as he wondered again whether he should just leave the tray and go away. He took a step towards her side table when she turned to look back at him and he froze in place, his left foot hanging in midair.

She spoke in almost a whisper, “And what about Rumplestiltskin? Does he apologize?”

He stumbled. Getting his feet underneath himself again he glanced warily into her piercing blue gaze that seemed to be trying to read his very soul. He could only meet her stare briefly before he had to look away again. He should leave. He was on dangerous territory here and he didn’t know how to handle it.

He focused on his fingers twitching on the tray he was holding. The green-gold skin of the Dark One and the black nails -- so inhuman and nothing like his human hands had been. No the Dark One didn’t apologize but then again Dark One wouldn’t have brought that tray up here and expected nothing in return.

He didn’t know what it was about Belle. Why this young noblewoman affected him so. How she could look at him as if she could see his soul, as if she understood him. How could she even think that the Dark One and Rumplestiltskin were not entirely one and the same?The only other one who’d thought that was long gone from these lands. Would Belle become as disillusioned with him one day as his Bae had?

He risked another glance at Belle and she was still watching him calmly. He met her eyes for a second and she quirked her eyebrow as if to say “well?”.

He looked away again, focusing on the rows of bookcases behind her, and muttered quietly, “Rumplestiltskin sometimes apologizes.”

He moved towards her and placed the tray on the side table next to her.

Then he took a step back and stood in front of her swaying from side to side uncertainly. Belle didn’t say anything just watched him with those wide blue eyes of hers and he wavered between wanting to run away back to his tower room and stay here forever with her.

His gaze flitted over the room, to anything but her. He couldn’t think what to do or say, and Belle didn’t offer any assistance.

The silence wore on and on, until eventually Belle sighed. “Well, if you’re not going to say anything, perhaps you ought to go.”

The startled him and he looked up, to see yet more hurt that he had caused on her face. Now that would not do at all. What was it she had said was her motto? 'Do the brave thing and bravery will follow?' It seemed like arrant nonsense to him but then he was a lifelong coward. But perhaps he needed to try something new -- for her.

He took a deep breath and then said quickly, “I didn’t mean to upset you this morning.” When she didn’t respond he continued, “I smelled blood and thought you were hurt… It was an accident. I wasn’t trying to embarrass you or… or anything else. I swear.”

She chewed on her lip for a few minutes seeming to ponder his reply carefully. “I suppose I can understand how that happened.”

She paused and he wondered if she had done until she continued in a quiet voice. “It’s just… It felt like you were yet another man mocking and discomforting me just for being a woman.” She crossed her arms across her chest looking awkward and uncertain.

His fingers curled into fists as he felt a flash of anger at the men who had done that to her; he had a sudden urge to hunt them all down one by one. But his anger towards those anonymous men was soon overridden by a deeper an anger and shame. He’d made her feel like that. Bad enough any man had upset her so, but so much worse he had. His fingernails bit painfully into his palms as if as his hands wanted to punish him. He’d come up here to make amends but his appeasement offers now looked so pathetic and small compared with the hurt in her voice.

He didn’t know what to do now. He wanted to retreat and rethink his approach but he sensed that would make things worse. He just wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say or do now.

“Do you want to go?” He blurted out.

She looked puzzled, “Go? Go where?”

“Anywhere. Leave the Dark Castle. Travel the world as you’ve always dreamed... And get yourself far away from me.”

“I can’t. That would break our deal.”

“I could release you from it if you are no longer uncomfortable here.”

She blinked at him and frowned. “You spent the first few weeks I was here deliberately making me uncomfortable. What’s changed now?”

Rumplestiltskin shifted his weight and tried to think of a way he could get out of this conversation with his dignity in tact.

“Perhaps I’ve decided I don’t mind having you around.”

Her mouth quirked into a half-smile, “How does that lead to you wanting to let me go?”

“Because...” He shifted nervously, the urge to lie almost overwhelming. Taking a breath he said quickly, “Maybe I prefer you being happy here... Maybe I like some of your changes to the castle and our conversations about books… But those wouldn’t be the same if you truly hated and feared me the way you did when you first arrived.”

She shook her head and smiled slightly. “I didn’t like you at first, I’ll admit that. But I never really hated you and I wasn’t all that afraid of you.”

He smiled, “You are such a pretty, brave little thing aren’t you.”

She blushed and glanced away, and he cursed inwardly as he realized what he’d just revealed to her. He was digging himself into an even deeper hole with every moment he spent here talking to his maid.

Belle met his eyes again and he was once more held in thrall by her piercing gaze. “Do you want me to go Rumplestiltskin?”

He shook his head violently, “Gods no!”

“Then I will stay. On one condition.”

He stilled, “And what is that?”

“You tell me you’re sorry.”

He resisted the urge to hiss and automatically deny her request. He could feel the Dark One roiling inside him and yelling at him that only weaklings and cowards had to apologize. But he was beginning to think this apology might take more courage than almost anything else he’d done in his life.

He was dimly aware of the silence dragging on as the minutes passed and Belle watched him with her arms crossed protectively across her chest.

He took a deep breath looked down at his feet briefly and then raised his eyes to hers for a moment before flitting away to a point past her shoulder and mumbled in a low tone, “I’m sorry I upset you.”

Belle’s smile was brilliant. She stepped forward and squeezed his hands with hers. Then gave him a swift hug -- so like that one in the forest -- before standing back looking at him with that broad smile still on her face. “Thank you. I know that was hard for you, so thank you.”

He nodded not trusting himself to speak at that moment.

She looked to the tray he’d placed on the side table when he’d come in. “What is all this?”

“Oh, I knew you were upset so I brought you some things to make it up to you.”

She looked amused. "The Dark One doesn't do apologies but does do apology gift?" she said. “What are they for? I see herbs, some cloth and an envelope.”

“Ah well... the herbs are different teas you can make to ease your, um, symptoms.” He said, waving a hand vaguely towards her middle.

“And the cloth?”

“The printed cloth is a herb bag you can heat by the fire to ease any, um, pains you have. The, er, rest of the cloth is some soft cotton rags that are extra absorbent for the, um --” he was the Dark One damn it he wasn’t going to blush --”bleeding.” He could feel his cheeks heating and he hastened on with his explanation, “the pile will magically replenish itself when you get near the end it so you’ll never run out of the rags.”

Belle’s cheeks looked a little pink too, but mostly she looked like she was trying not to laugh. He hoped that was a good sign. “That’s very thoughtful of you. And the envelope?”

“Ah, well.” He magicked it over into her hands, “perhaps you should open it to see for yourself.”

She opened the envelope and pulled out the little slips of parchment and began reading through them. Then looked up at him with bright eyes.

“Are these real? There’s no secret deal or trick to them?”

He shook his head, “You have my word. They are exactly what they appear to be.”

She smiled that brilliant smile of hers and held out one of the slips to him. “In that case I want to make use of this one right away.”

He glanced down at the words written in his own hand, ‘Rumplestiltskin will read to you.’

She grinned up at him. “I trust it won’t be a problem for you to read to me right now?”

He shook his head and bowed to her, “No, I am at your service lady.” He straightened up. “Now what is it you wish to read?”

She smiled at him, “Why don’t you pick out something you like -- for us both to enjoy.”

He stared at her as he tried to think of anything suitable he could read to her. Distant memories of sitting on a little bed, reading to a sick boy appeared and he wandered to the section where he’d placed all oldest books upon creating the Library. He pulled out a dusty and well-worn book of children’s tales.

Soon he was seated in the armchair across from Belle, while she was curled up on her couch under a blanket with the warm bag of herbs on her lap and sipping a cup of the herbal tea he’d made.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

She nodded, “Yes, Rumple.”

‘Rumple’, he thought could get used to hearing her sweet voice saying that nickname… forever. But now was not the time for thoughts, or hopes, like that. Now was the time to focus on Belle, the here and now and this story.

He smiled and began, “Once upon a time...”

#Fluffapalooza #Fluffapalooza 2021 #Rumbelle #Rumbelle Fic #My Fic #Fic: Amends #Shadowedoracle's Fic

[5-falsehoods-phonated]

No problem! What if you used Cold Blooded Torture and Trying to Wake Them Up? (I would like it if you used Logan as the victim but you can do whoever!)

(Prompts with boxes have been taken, highlighted have been written.)

Requests for this card are closed for now as I have quite a bit to work on with this and personal projects. An ordered wip post will be made after this one if you’re curious what I’m working on. Also i apologize for this being written so long after you requested it, my hiatus took a little longer than expected. I hope you enjoy this though!

Across The Hall He Waits For You

Summary: Logan wakes up in a confusing environment with an even more confusing man keeping him prisoner. But just when he thinks he's finally free, he only becomes more trapped.

Warnings: psychological torture, physical violence, crying, minor character death, blood, broken bones. If there are more you need added please let me know!

Prompt: Cold Blooded Torture, Trying to Wake Them Up

Ships: Analogical, Logan x Virgil

WC: 4, 805

AO3 Link

Logan's breath caught as the faint screaming finally cut off, the final echoes bouncing around in his cell until they faded out completely. His was a soundproof room, as he expected the other's had to be since it seemed as if under any other circumstances this would be a regular house. The walls were lined with acoustic panels from floor to ceiling, the latter covered with them save for the light source and the former having plush deep green carpeting that was covered with a plastic tarp around where his chair sat. Logan shivered involuntarily as he thought for the umpteenth time what that could mean for him.

The chair was simple and wooden, his bare legs sticking to it uncomfortably with his ankles and knees strapped down tightly with creaking leather strips. The fact that they seemed to be little more than modified belts gave him the barest hint of hope that maybe whoever was keeping him here for whatever reason wasn't experienced in...whatever it was they were doing that Logan carefully pushed to the back of his mind. The window was shut and boarded up with more panelling from what he could see over his shoulder but dim light still filtered through to him from the slightly open door.

He smiled thinly as it reminded him of his son, always needing the door open just a bit with some form of light coming through to scare away the monsters he was sure were lurking in the darkest corners of his room, imagination that was so bright in the sun turned menacing fangs towards him in the dark, making him cry and run down the hall to their room most nights to crawl safely between him and his husband. Something that he now very much understood as slow tears tracked down his cheeks, wrists straining against more creaking bonds that held his hands securely behind the back of the chair. He hung his head low as he once again wracked his brain for any reason he could possibly be here.

A prank? Much too cruel of one to pull on anyone, especially for this long. It had been at least a day from what Logan could assess, maybe longer as he didn't know how long he had been unconcious in the room. Everything was placed just a bit too dilerberatly for this to be a prank as well, his bonds just a bit too tight, the fact that he was naked except for his boxers and the people who knew him certainly knew how uncomfortable he would be with it. So that left more malicious reasons. He was held like he was going to be tortured, that much he could gathe from the screams. The tarp made it seem like it would be heavily physical, though no tools were present in the room from what he could see to give a sense of how. Had a serial killer taken him? He hadn't heard of any cases. Assasination? He wasn't that important to his knowledge, a lowly lab tech for a blood lab hardly jumped out as being anyone with important enough knowledge to warrant whatever he was in for. That left just a random person taking another random person in to do with what they would, which also made very little sense since the room was so well prepared.

All the thinking did was deepen the pit of anxiety curling his stomach muscles tight and making him shake slightly with fear and anticipation, thoughts bouncing from one point in his skull to the next making him even more disoriented than he was before. He craved for something, anything to happen, just so long as he wasn't isolated with his spiraling thoughts anymore, on a chair his clammy skin stuck to with little relief from shifting and creaking leather binding him to it in a way that had most of his extremities falling asleep. His fingers flexed with maddening numbness as he once again tried to shift stiffly in his confines, really only succeeding in making everything worse. Huffing out a breath before holding it in sudden fear he strained his ears to listen.

Boots squeaked on what was either hardwood or linoleum outside his door and as the door creaked open he was mildly surprised that if he hadn't been tied down the man who entered wouldn't be intimidating at all. Wispy brown hair hung messily around bright green eyes that held no expression at all. A mask covered his mouth and nose while a plain rumpled tshirt, jeans and work boots dressed the rest of him. The door creaked as he shut it and he swung a small backpack down to the floor almost casually, making no effort to even look at the helpless man in the center of the room. Logan watched with baited breath as the man rummaged around, gathering his courage and opening his mouth.

"Where-"

The other mans reflexes were quick, a small pocket knife clattering to the ground between his feet before his mouth even registered the pain. It had thankfully been closed when it was thrown, leaving what he assessed to be little more than a swollen lip but his anxiety only climbed to new heights with the split second interaction.

The man continued to rummage in his pack, seemingly pushing around fabric and tools Logan couldn't see until he pulled out a water bottle. He tensed as the man stood and walked up to him, holding the open bottle to his lips patiently. Carefully Logan took a few sips before it was taken away. A folding chair was brought over from against a wall Logan couldn't see and the man sat down heavily on it, drinking from the same bottle lazily as he settled. Logan let out a tiny sigh of relief. At least the water hadn't been poisoned...unless poison could sit on top and he got the most potent dose and the man was leading him into a false sense of security and was just waiting-

Inwardly he shook himself from his thoughts. He couldn't afford to panic, that would be his husband's job, which he winced to think about. He was probably frantic, already suffering from anxiety and now Logan missing...did the man take him too? Is that who the other screams belonged to? His chest constricted as he looked back up.

"Where is-" Again he was cut off with the blunt end to the knife in his face, picked up when he wasn't paying attention and cracking his lower lip this time, falling in the same place between his feet. Leaning forward the other man grabbed the knife back, dragging it slowly against the carpet as he sat up.

"Speak when spoken to." He said simply.

Under any other circumstances Logan would say fuck it and yell and scream until he had no voice, but he needed more information and couldn't risk getting him upset. If he was able to escape he needed to be in the best shape possible and taking the chance the man was throwing randomly and risking getting an eye poked out certainly wasn't in his best interest. So he tried his best to relax, swiping his tongue over the well of blood on his lip and staring ahead expectantly.

The man settled back and regarded him with interest, the only clue into any emotion a slightly quirked eyebrow. He capped the water bottle and set it between his legs on the chair, bringing his hands up to rest on top of his head while twirling the knife expertly between his fingers.

"Logan Brian Croft. Interesting name."

Confused, Logan only nodded, swallowing hard as he tried to dismiss the fact that this man knew his full name.

"And your son, Roman, he's what...four? Five?"

"If you have done anything to my son, rest assured I'll-" He cried out as his lip split further, the knife once again between his feet.

"Speak when spoken to. Answer the questions given. You're smart this shouldn't be too hard." The wiry man picked up the knife again and twirled it aimlessly as he watched Logan squirm under his gaze, a glare fixed upon his swelling face. "So, four? Five?"

"He's seven." Logan spat, blood spattering on his knee.

The man smirked as he settled in more. "Seven then. Young enough to get fairy tales read to him still?"

What in the world was this person getting at? "Of course."

"What's his favorite?"

"...I- he likes so many. I suppose he's been partial to The Twelve Dancing Princesses lately."

"Mm. Bit of a less popular one." The knife was set down to Logan's immediate relief, the man's arms crossing over his chest. "Tell me about it. What's the plot?"

"What?" Thoroughly confused but quick to realize his mistake he hastily amended. "Yes right! It tells the story of twelve princesses being locked in their room each night but in the morning their shoes being worn down as though they were out all night. The king, not receiving any explanation from them, implores any man to discover their secret within three days or be sentenced to death." Here he paused and looked at the other for confirmation to continue, to which he nodded. Perplexed Logan pressed on.

'Just play the game right.' He thought. 'Just survive.'

"Many men try and fail to stay awake to discover their secret as the princesses give them sleeping potions each night. An old soldier on his way to the castle receives a magic cloak and a warning against the wine from an old woman. As might falls he pretends to sleep then dons the cloak to spy, following them through a trap door leading to a grove then a lake then a castle where they all dance the night away. Taking branches and a goblet as evidence to the king, the princess's finally confess. The king makes the soldier his heir and gives him the eldest daughters hand in marriage as a reward."

The man nods thoughtfully. "Odd he likes it so much but I guess that's kids for you. But wasn't it an old man who gave the soldier the warning?"

Logan furrowed his brow as he thought. He was certain it had been a woman but it was such a small detail, and with no means to look it up...he eyes the knife fearfully, his lip still throbbing. "Yes I- suppose it might have been."

Smirking, the man stands not before pocketing the knife and holds up the water bottle again. Getting a few sips before it was taken away the man refolded the chair, grabbed his bag, and left.

Logan blinked. That...couldn't be it. He was expecting an interrogation, more violence, personal questions; though he was thankful it hadn't gone that way it left him no less cofused. He tugged a bit more at his bonds and his heart leapt in his chest at the realization that maybe they felt just the slightest bit looser. Straining his ears for any signs the man would return soon and hearing none he settled back as much as he could and grit his teeth. Flexing his muscles he stretched the belt section as much as he could by pulling his wrists apart, the edges digging even more painfully at the already tender flesh. He didn't get very far but held it there for as long as he could before laxing and stretching his tingling fingers. Rolling his head back to stare at the ceiling he took a breath and tensed again.

-------

Waking up again had Logan flinching back from green eyes violently seeing his captor sat not one foot away from him. The door was slightly open behind him and he could just make out the sound of muffled crying coming from somewhere nearby.

"Who is-" A crack sounded shortly in the altered room, Logan's cheek throbbing and neck bending sideways with the force of the blow. Tears threatened to spill as he glared stubbornly back at the man, who looked on as impassively as ever.

"Forgotten the rules already? Figured you'd be smarter than that."

He shifted to sit straighter as the other leaned back, wrists aching from the strain he had put on them the day prior. He could feel the dull throb of his heartbeat in his fingertips and he tried in vain to flex his fingers, only earning painful spasms in return. A water bottle was again shoved in his face and with it came the realization that he needed a bathroom. Thankfully it wasn't yet uncomfortable but it was enough to make him hesitate taking the offer. Deciding staying hydrated was ultimately more important he earned a few sips against his cracked lip before it was taken away entirely too soon, making him want to whine at the loss but not wanting to give anything away.

Logan noticed the knife in the man's front pocket and cringed involuntarily while his abuser downed half the bottle himself, smacking his lips and laying a hand on the handle as a warning. Through nerves making his chest tighten once again Logan tried his best to concentrate on what the other might want today.

"Your son, you said he's six right?"

"Seven." Logan answered automatically.

"Hm. So that would mean he's in first grade."

"Yes." Llgan nearly smiled at the thought of how much Roman enjoyed school. He did very well, always getting straight A's and B's and making new friends. He was such an outgoing child, so much unlike his fathers and Logan honestly didn't know where he got it from. He supposed someone had to be the personable one in their small family.

"Does he talk about his friends a lot?" This sent Logan immediately on edge. If this person expected Logan to talk about his sons friends and possibly put them in danger- he would gladly take whatever punishment there was to keep them safe. Seeing the look on his face the other shook his head. "You can abbreviate their names, no harm is coming to them. Just making some friendly conversation. It's not as if I don't already have their information."

"I-"

"There's Patton right? Little curly haired boy, rather skittish. And Janus, odd name but he goes by Dee anyway...he's the one with eczema right?" Alarm bells ringing Logan began shaking his head.

"N-no, you have that wrong. Janus is someone entirely diff-" His desperate attempt to throw him off was met with another back-handed slap to the same cheek, making his vision wink with blackness temporarily.

"Don't lie. I have the information already and all playing hero will get you is more than you could handle."

Thoroughly fed up, Logan sat up and spat blood in the other man's face, earning slight satisfaction in the brief look of shock that crossed over it. Cringing slightly at the look he recieved but staring up with defiance none the less he watched as the man wiped his cheek in mild disgust.

"I wouldn't have done that."

"Fuck you." The words felt strange falling from his mouth, he rarely ever swore especially directed at others, but the fear was rapidly being replaced by adrenaline as his body braced itself for punishment, drowning out any and all rational thought. When the man stood however, he turned and left the room, leaving the door open enough that he could just catch sight of the beige hallways walls beyond.

When the screaming started, the adrenaline high he'd been riding left him so quickly it left him gasping for breath, the previous defiance replaced with a cold pit of dread as the persons pitch went up to a painful octave. Both doors must have been left open for how clearly their voice came through now. Shutting his eyes tightly against it he could only listen as wave after wave of guilt washed over him as whatever was happening seemed to go on endlessly.

The screams turned desperate as the other captive began pleading brokenly. "Please stop, please! I'll do whatever you want! I'll stay quiet, I'll talk, I'll die just PLEASE!"

The last word came out more like a pained shriek that made him flinch back violently in his chair. Something was thrown hard and clattered against something solid making the sound echo briefly over the gasping sobs coming from whoever was in the other room. A door was slammed shut cutting off the sounds before footsteps could be heard coming closer. Logan refused to look up as their torturer entered the room, earning a scoff as he hoisted up his pack to leave.

"I think I've given you enough to think about for today." The door was shut firmly as the rest of the fight drained from Logan and he slumped forward, not noticing the bonds pulling painfully at his joints. Screams echoed in his skull on a constant loop that try as he might would not be expelled from his mind.

Enough to think about indeed.

----------

"Tell me a fact."

Logan lifted his head tiredly from his chest, blinking slowly at the blurring man. It had been five or six days by his estimate, sleeping slumped in his chair for who knows how long, waking up to recieve sips of water and once a sandwitch crammed down his throat, using the alotted down time to stretch at the bonds around his wrists. Always with the out of the blue questions that he would get a detail wrong about. Lack of proper nutrition and hydration was leaving him feel slow and dimwitted.

What was his son's favorite fairy tale again? The Twelve Dancing Princess'....or was it The Frog Prince? He had a frog plush he really liked so maybe...but no, he knew his son. That had to be it, but the plot was fuzzy and out of focus, details from too many stories mushing together. Did his son have two friends he talked about or was it three? There was another boy who bullied him often but kids would be kids and perhaps it was more friendly competition...at least that's what the man had suggested. He couldn't verify the information and was too tired to care anymore. He got hurt when he asked questions so maybe questions weren't necessary. His captor knew a lot about them and seemed to be in much better health than he was at this point so maybe he did know better.

His thoughts were interupted with a harsh pinch to the frail skin of his thigh. Both of his thighs were covered in bruises from the days prior, and his face was a constant throbbing ache that made his head pound and thoughts slur even more. He was tired and cold and hungry. His mouth tasted like sour blood and he never got enough water to rinse it out properly. Above everything else he really had to pee, but he hadn't been taken out of the chair since he arrived. He wanted nothing more than to be at home, in bed with his husband and son under a mound of blankets with Roman's stuffed bunny pressed into his face and his love's arms securely wrapped around his waist. All he had instead were screams and a hard chair.

A punch to his other thigh made him yelp and look up. "Focus. Tell me a fact. Come on you're full of them."

He didn't understand the game they were playing. What was the point of talking if he'd be told he was wrong anyway? His memories were failing and just yesterday he had forgotten blood was red because it had no oxygen. That seemed so absurd to him at the time but he supposed in his deteriorated state mistakes were bound to happen. Even mistakes regarding a job he had held for years. What was it he had wanted? A fact, right.

"According to all known laws of aviation-" he slurred, giggling a bit to himself as his captive sat back with a carefully neutral expression. His heart leapt in his throat as he stood up and left the room, weakly calling out that he could do better. Before the door was shut he caught sight of a phone in the others hands, making his brain have a semi coherent thought if he ever escaped where to get to a phone.

The door failed to shut all the way and Logan strained his ears to be able to hear the muttering the other side, faintly catching a bit before he moved further down the hall.

"He's getting more and more delirious I think I'll be able to get it out of him soon. ......husb............breaking...." Logan's ears perked at the nearly incoherent sentence. Husband? His husband? Was he here? Was he okay? What about Roman??

With the door open he could hear faint moaning from the other room, and with it came a burst of numb resolve. He was weak but so were his bonds as he had steadily been working them loose over the last few days. Testing their strength he pulled as hard as he could, feeling the rough edge slice against his rubbed raw wrist until with a dull snap the leather fell to the floor. Eyes widening in surprise he wasted no time in bending over to unbuckle his legs and ankles , nearly face planting in his haste to stand. Taking a steadying breath he shuffled slowly to the door and squeezed through the crack, seeing his captor with his back towards him. Easy then, get whoever was in the other room, overtake the wiry man and steal his phone, call the police and get rescued.

Nodding through his doubt and fear he made his way slowly to another door, inching it open and slipping inside. Letting out a breath he turned around and froze, recognizing his husband's thin frame under the mess he had become. His purple hair was matted and plastered to his forehead with sweat and blood alike, his nose an indecipherable blood clot splattered against his face. His whole frame shook with pain as Logan took in the numerous open wounds dripping with blood and pus alike, fingers twisted at odd angles and twitching uselessly against the arms of the chair he was tied to. Haunted eyes darted to his fearfully as he drew a ragged breath through his ruined mouth, moaning with an urgency Logan barely understood.

"Virgil?"

"Lo-"

He didn't even hear his full name before the floor creaked behind him, bladder releasing in fear and adrenaline making him stumble with the intensity. He was seized by the throat before he could make a sound, vision swimming as the man's intense gaze filled his vision.

"And just where did you think you were going?"

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

The thick chains ground into his wrist bones painfully while his head lolled from side to side. Wrong. Everything was wrong. He didn't know anything, he didn't feel anything. Virgil's screams had gone quiet hours ago leaving a dull ache in his tired chest. His feet had lost feeling ages ago as his broken ankles swelled beyond his bonds. At least he didn't have to pee anymore. He didn't feel like he had to do much of anything anymore.

He barely twitched as the door opened. He was so, so tired. He had fallen asleep and woken up so many times since his escape attempt he couldn't guess how long he had been here if his brain wasn't already mush. All the facts he felt so accomplished in knowing and studying were wrong. All wrong. Details mixed up and spit out with enough inaccuracies to make him cry if he wasn't so dehydrated. Memories of Virgil and Roman skewed and rotted with the last of his concious thoughts. His husband's smile had forever been replaced by the bloodied face he had seen desperately trying to warn him of his stupidity, and now he had ruined their one chance at escape.

Moaning softly as his chin was pulled down he locked eyes with his captor, who smirked and nodded, holding out his phone. He noticed the call screen running and figured he must be on speaker. What was he meant to do now? Spout off more things that would be proven false with a backhanded slap or a hard punch to the gut?

"The password to your family safe. What is it?"

Somewhere, deep in Logan's subconscious his alarm bells were ringing. He had been beaten, starved and manipulated for days for just this moment, when all his walls were down and he doubted every word that left his mouth. Something wasn't right, the family safe where all their papers were, all their shared stocks and living wills and something else. Something important that he was sure he was forgetting. The thought was gone as soon as it entered as he groggily slurred out some combination of numbers towards the microphone.

His chin was freed as some form of confirmation was given on the other end. His cheek was patted softly, the gentlest he had been touched in so long it made tears prick his eyes. The man hung up and turned to dig through his bag, pulling out a full syringe and uncapping it as Logan watched in confusion, flicking out the air bubbles and turning back towards him.

"Shame my client didn't just recieve the inheritance in the first place, would've been much less painful for you." It clicked then that that was the important thing. The trust fund and pooled inheritance from Virgil's family they had stored away for Roman's future. The last thing that would be left to him if they didn't make it out alive. And he had just given it over to God only knows who.

"Wha-"

"Lethal injection. A mercy really, I have no more need of you and neither does my client. It'll be quick I promise. Just like ripping off a bandaid."

Logans mind connected the dots slowly as the man came towards him, and adrenaline shot through him one last time as he began to panic. Nonononononono! He had to get out! He had to get Virgil, find Roman; he needed them safe! The syringe came closer and closer as if in slow motion and in one last desperate attempt to survive he bucked up violently with everything he had. His ankles protested heavily making him scream in pain and tip his chair back, knocking the needle away and making him fall heavily to the side. As he blinked back the tears he heard a gasp and looked over at the man's shocked expression, moving his eyes down to his thigh where the syringe was now fully dispensed and sticking out of. Too late his abuser snatched it out, breathing heavily as he turned towards Logan.

"What have you done?" He turned and stumbled slightly, falling to his knees and crawling to the door clawing desperately at the handle as his strength seemed to leave him, breathing growing more and more labored until he slumped over limply, the erratic rise and fall of his chest stilling completely after only a minute.

For a moment Logan allowed himself to feel triumphant. He had survived! He had won and now he could- he jingled the thick chains uselessly around his wrists, ankles screaming in pain and head pounding from his fall. Looking over frantically at the body by the door his mouth opened and shut several times, low croaks the only sound working past dry lips. He couldn't get free and Virgil- he was trapped across the hall dying slowly, alone, all because of him. His captor was dead and Virgil was dying and Logan was dying and all he could do was bang his head against the floor uselessly as sobs wracked his frail body.

"Wake up!" He whispered uselessly. "WAKE UP!"

His dry vocal chords felt as if they were ripping apart as he screamed and cried to no avail in his sound proofed prison. They were all dead. And no one was coming.

As he grew weaker his sobs quieted enough for him to faintly hear the sound of someone crying in the other room. His heart broke as he thought of Virgil alone and terrified and hurting, thoughts mixing up and blurring the body in front of him until it more resembled his husband's. He missed him so much. He missed his home. He missed his son. He wished, above all else he could hear their voices one last time. As his eyes slowly shut the crying grew more familiar, sinking him into a dream of what once was, monsters no more real than the ones children ran from under beds. He smiled faintly as he thought back to the simple time, hearing Roman's shout of fear and knowing he'd be able to fix it with a kiss and a cuddle.

"Daddy!"

#false writes #sanders sides #virgil sanders #sanders sides fic #roman sanders #logan sanders #kid roman #bad things happen bingo #bad things bingo #bthb #tw violence #tw minor character death #tw blood #tw torture #tw broken bones #tw caps lock #tw crying #analogical #virgil x logan

[imagine-loki]

Coat hooks (5 + 1)

TITLE: Coat hooks CHAPTER NO./ONE-SHOT: ONE-SHOT AUTHOR: fanfictrashdump ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine one time, Loki hung you by the back of the shirt on a door peg to keep them from running head-first into trouble. Now he does it whenever you gets particularly annoying. RATING: T-M NOTES/WARNINGS: Um… I can only apologize for this. I saw this prompt and thought it would make a funny 5 + 1.

So, for your consideration–the five times Loki hung Lily from a hook for no goddamn reason and the one time he did it to be a hero. Each subsequent drabble is in reverse chronological order (so you go further into the past with each section). Some spicy language and a very cute friendship. Also, a speed-run, so there may be errors. 

=

“Come on! What’s the point in knowing all this hocus pocus if you don’t share it with anyone?” Lily argued for the twelfth time that hour.

Loki swallowed the string of expletives that were currently accumulating on his tongue. This newest member of their rag-tag team had a way of slipping under his skin and cause his blood pressure to rise with her antics. She was nice enough–didn’t presume of her abilities, carried her weight on missions, competent–but had adopted a certain familiarity with the whole group that made him uncomfortable. Her lack of hesitation in inundating him with questions about anything and everything concerning other realms coupled with the fact that she didn’t tend to cower under his withering gaze, as others might, was slowly but surely driving him up a wall.

With a groan, Loki turned on a dime to face her, forcing Lily to stumble backwards to prevent a collision. “Why, for the Norns’ sake, would I take the time to teach you something that took me hundreds of years to master? You’d die long before you made any significant progress!” His tone was matter-of-fact and entirely ignoring the fact that she already had some magical proclivities.

“Well, that’s because you didn’t have yourself as a teacher, so…” Her reply was easy as she shrugged off his concern.

Loki knew she was trying to appeal to his nature and flatter her way into getting some lessons. It annoyed him to think that it was sort of successful–the little, vain creature roosting inside his chest cooed at the praise and offered that it might not be the worst thing in the world to have her as an apprentice. The fact that her baby blue, doe-eyed gaze stared up innocently at him and prodded at whatever was left of his protective nature wasn’t helping matters, either.

“No.” He turned his attention to a handful of daggers on one of the lab worktables and the polishing rags.

Lily groaned, whining incoherently much like a toddler who wasn’t getting their way. “Come on! It’ll be fun!”

“I already told you no, Lillian.”

“Not my name, bro,” she snapped back, ignoring the telling smirk that informed her that he, in fact, knew that wasn’t her name. “You’re just worried I’ll be better than you.”

The rag in his grasp halted in its elegant slide down the blade. “What was that?” His tone was dangerous, but it barely registered on her expression, as per usual.

“I didn’t stutter,” she replied evenly, crossing her arms over her chest and cocking her hip. Loki stretched to his full height, crowding her form like a shadow. His narrowed eyes evaluated her stubborn features before they glanced shortly at the door. It was only then that she showed any sort of reaction. “No.” She stepped backwards, nearly falling as she tripped over her own two feet, Loki followed her with ease. “No. No, no, no…”

“Thor needs you down at the loading dock,” Bruce announced at the lab door a little while later. “Hey, Lily.” He frowned, doing a double-take at the scowling woman dangling a few feet off the floor while Loki silently polished daggers. “Wha–”

“Don’t ask.”

“Oh…kay,” he agreed, retreating before the situation could get any weirder.

=

Lily remained immobile, crouched behind a bit of shrubbery waiting for her moment to attack. The muscles in her thighs ached from remaining still in that position for so long, and she was mildly aware of the fact that she wasn’t breathing. All that faded to the background as she heard her target incoming. Just as they rounded the corner, she pounced, like spring snakes packed into a box.

“Boo!”

There was choked grunt of surprise, books and papers alike flying into the air and falling in an awkward mess around them, but the noise was mostly obscured by her raucous laughter.

“I got you! I finally got you!”

The wide grin slid off her face immediately at his darkened expression and she turned to run. Lily had barely made it ten paces before Loki’s arm closed around her waist.

“Whacha do this time?” Natasha asked looking up at the woman hanging from the metal coat rack by the communal kitchen.

“Well, I was–”

“Uh uh uh,” Loki tutted from the kitchen island, sipping at a mug of tea as he made notes in a beautiful leather journal.

Lily sighed, pouting. “I know what I did.”

=

The sizzling heat coursing through her veins was foreign to her easy-going nature. Rage rattled inside her ribcage until it caused her whole body to shudder with barely restrained venom. This was definitely not the plan she had made on how to spend her Wednesday afternoon. She had expected to be sitting on the grass at the park or sitting with Bruce as he gave a long-winded explanation about why particle physics should be a required course for all majors…

She hadn’t expected to be dangling helplessly off a door hook in a supply closet.

Nor had she thought that she would hang there in silence before being whipped face-to-face with a very confused Tony.

Stark pressed his lips together as hard as humanly possible. He was barely able to stop the snorting laugh that bubbled up his chest at the sight of her hissing in pain, as momentum had made her head had smack against the door. “Don’t tell me–,” he feigned watching her with rapt interest. “Door gremlin? Supply closet troll? Gatekeeper of the broom realm?”

“Get. Me. The. Fuck. Down.”

“Well, that’s not very nice, Lily-pad.” He pouted ridiculously, though it was interrupted by a laugh when she lunged for him, only to have the door gently swing away.

Damn Newtonian physics.

“Tony, I swear to everything you hold dear, I will–”

“You do know I’m still your boss, right?”

“TONY!”

Loki allowed the left corner of his mouth tilt up the slightest bit as he covertly watched Lily stomp her way through the hallway towards the common room. His eyes fixated back onto the book in his hands, making a spectacle of licking his middle finger to turn the page.

“I see you’ve been released from your prison,” he remarked casually just as she flitted by.

Lily stopped in her tracks, spine stiffening and fists clenching closed. “I was in there for three hours, Loki!”

“You shouldn’t have called me an evil smurf.” His grin stretched at the sound of her groan and he followed her path back down the corridor before she disappeared at the bend.

=

Loki burst into Lily’s room on a quiet morning. She was still in her casual attire, shorts and a t-shirt, and her smoke grey pixie cut locks sticking out in all directions. It took her a moment to land her eyes on the all-too-put-together demigod, wondering if he simply magicked himself dressed every morning and lucky he must be to be able to do that. She offered him a sleepy smile before sipping at more of her coffee.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Her small form bundled up into ball on the corner of her loveseat, conserving heat.

“I am meant to keep you distracted, but I can’t be bothered. So, come on,” he responded simply, gesturing with his head at the door.

Shrugging, she padded barefoot behind him until they reached his living quarters. He silently gestured her inside. As soon as the door closed behind them, Lily yelped at the pull around her waist and the sensation of her feet leaving the soft carpet below. The familiar sensation of weightlessness filled her as her feet brushed empty air and she gained a vantage point several feet above her height. To his credit, Loki always made sure that her shirt didn’t dig into her arms and neck or got damaged, but it was a little annoying that this had become his go-to response in having to deal with her.

“No useless protest? No pleading for freedom?” He asked curiously as he glanced up at her passive face.

She shrugged, a little awkwardly in her position. “I’ve had worse birthdays. And I have coffee.” She sipped from her cup as if to prove her point. “Do you mind getting me a blanket, though? It’s cold in here.”

Loki chuckled, flashing a genuine smile in her direction before he nodded. He summoned a thick, woolen blanket and wrapped it carefully around her form, laughing to himself at the absurdity of it all. Lily was so genuinely laid-back. He wondered whether her connection with flora imbued her with some sort of cosmic calm or if she simply wasn’t worried about anything that Loki might do. He also found it was hard to justify keeping her immobile on the hook when she had done nothing to deserve it.

He groaned at her friendly smile just as he had finished tucking her in. “Ugh, fine. You can sit with me, I guess.” Her feet met the ground a moment later.

“Score!” She shuffled, blanket and all and burrowed into one side of the sofa while he took the other. “Coffee?” She offered her mug from within the dense folds of the blanket.

“No. I’m alright, thank you.” As an afterthought, he added. “Happy birthday, Lillian.”

=

Loki had made a mistake.

Honestly, that was the reason he did not often contribute to conversations, either in the common room or during meetings. Everything he said was subject to a Midgardian lens and terrible misinterpretation. Well, he could have called it misinterpretation had it actually been so, but the resulting pity he was receiving was, nonetheless, ill-received.

“Have you really not gotten a hug in three years?” Lily asked, following him down the hallway to the library.

He rolled his eyes, barely resisting the urge to groan. “Yes, and I’ve yet to perish because of it. Imagine that.” He glanced over his shoulder to find Lily staring at him wistfully. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Sorry.” She broke contact, cutting her view elsewhere to blink away at tears that now clung to her eyelashes. “I just–well, I’d be sad if it were me. But, I guess you’re different. Of course you’re different.”

He hummed in acknowledgement, his attention seemingly diverted at the spines of several leather-bound tomes on the shelf. In reality, he was trying not to squirm under her evaluation. “Stop it.”

Lily had stepped away just a bit to reach for a separate stack of books.

Another moment passed and he turned in her direction right after he slammed the book onto the reading table. “Stop it or leave.”

“Sorry, I can’t help it!”

“I do not need your ridiculous pity or your sentiment or your tears. I don’t need you to care ab–”

“You’re lucky someone does,” she sassed under her breath.

Lily had barely any time to react before the god was crowding her. His fists had bunched the collar of her t-shirt and he had walked her backwards into a wall, all within the span of a few seconds. Loki expected her eyes to turn wide in fear, but she was just as even-keeled now as she had been while talking about her forest spies, earlier.

Somehow, that annoyed him more.

His arms trembled in an effort to contain himself, jaw clenched and the muscles jumping. He knew that if he remained in that position for any longer, something unfortunate was bound to happen. With a snarl, he lifted her easily onto a coat peg along the wall.

“I don’t need your presence or your misplaced sense of friendship,” he hissed, releasing her shirt.

“Good, ‘cause I don’t want to be around you, anyway!” She snapped and regretted it immediately.

Loki’s whole body had gone rigid, his scowl had fallen but for a second, but it was enough to tell her that was the exactly wrong thing to say. He had left before Lily managed to find her words again to try and cobble together an apology.

After a few minutes of struggle, Lily slipped out of her shirt and crumbled onto the ground. She pulled the garment off the hook and back onto her body. Just as she was headed towards the exit, however, she was surprised to find Loki doubling back. He stopped short of her, his eyes trailing downwards, instantly.

“I apologize for…” He trailed off, fidgeting in a way very much unlike him.

Lily swallowed against the lump in her throat. “Loki, I didn’t mean it.” He nodded silently.

“I know. But that makes it rather worse, doesn’t it?” His voice was barely above a whisper. “You knew it’d hurt.” He stuck his hands into the pockets of his trousers before he managed to glance back up. “Then again, I had the same intention, didn’t I?” He sighed. “I’m sorry.”

He had barely gotten the words out before her arms had tightened around him, his own stuck to his sides. A smile tugged at his lips as he managed to free one of his limbs to let it cling around her shoulders.

“Now I’ll have to start the timer all over again!”

“Shut up!” She mumbled back from somewhere against his chest.

=

Loki had barely managed to pull Lily out of the blast of flying debris of an exploding containment wall before it turned her into a colander. The easy mission to a supposedly abandoned bunker was not going according to plan. For starters, it was most definitely not abandoned. Secondly, they had sent the two worst-suited members of the team: one still very green, pun intended, and another with dubious understanding of the phrase kill only when strictly necessary.

Lily had shifted to her knees to peer down a narrow hallway, eyes trained on a group of HYDRA agents coming their way. She inhaled deeply, letting her body charge to ready herself to attack. Loki caught her movement, and had pulled her by the scruff of her suit and behind him.

“Hey, what gives!?” She hissed under her breath, smacking his hands off her form.

He scoffed. “What’s your grand plan, throw flowers at them? No. You are to sit this out. It’s too much of a risk.”

“I know how to fight, Loki.” She rolled her eyes when he returned her petulant gaze with one of his own. “Thor would let me fight. He doesn’t think he’s above me because he’s an Asgardian.”

“Yes, and he would shed pretty, pretty tears at your grave.”

Lily shoved him, though she had to ignore the fact that he barely budged when she did. “I earned my place on the team the same way you did. My powers may be different from yours–”

“Yes, you earned your place, but I also know your power comes from the forests and you get weakened the longer you are away from them. You already tired yourself getting us in here, so you’re going to be vulnerable against trivial little things like bullets and death.” He sassed back, rolling his eyes.

Another volley of gunfire had them crouching down. Lily peaked out from between her arms, spying the incoming form. Her hands extended purposefully, her veins all pulsing bright green before meter-long thorns flew through the air. Impaled, the agent slumped to the floor as Lily sagged, panting. She once more made to move into open space, forcing Loki to grab pull her back. This time around, she offered less resistance.

“Stand. Down!” He sounded like a hell-beast, lips snarling.

“I’m fighting with you, whether you like it or not! You’re not the boss of me!” She struggled in his iron grasp while he debated how to best keep her out of harm’s way.

This woman was proving to be a handful with an idiotic sense of bravery. When Steve had sent them off on mission, he didn’t think he would be doing as much babysitting as this. Loki wasn’t very bothered by the fate of a single human, but he was pretty sure there would be protest if he brought back a corpse rather than their new recruit.

A glint of silver along the wall caught his eye–a wire hook meant for anchoring cables. With barely a thought, he hoisted her by her suit and released her. The fabric caught on the hook and left her dangling.

“Stay.” He ordered, leaving no room for argument.

“Loki, don’t you fucking dare!” She swung for his body, but deftly swooped out of the way. “Put me down!”

When he circled back to rescue her, he flashed an impish grin made all the more manic by the blood speckling his face, only a small fraction of it his. “You’ve missed all the fun, pet.”

“I am not a child! You had no right to do this!” Her words barely held any heat. Loki could tell she was struggling to even remain awake after repeated bouts of using her ability.

“I meant no offense,” he defended, lowering her to the ground, “but you were exhausted. You still are.”

“I could’ve helped.”

“You could have died,” he riposted, frowning. He tilted her chin up with the flat of a bloodied blade, forcing her gaze upwards. “Let us leave that honor for something better than a petty raid, shall we?” Loki had eased his tone and offered her a sincere smile.

“Fine.” Lily pouted, staring straight down the hall they were to exit through. “Just… don’t ever do that again, OK? It’s humiliating.”

Loki chuckled, an expression of clear amusement on his face. “Oh, darling, I wouldn’t dream of it.”

#Loki #God of Mischief #Others #Submitted one shot #submission #Coat Hooks (5 + 1) #Fanfictrashdump